Tag: exclusion

Radical Welcome. Revolutionary Love.

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year CLeave a comment

Luke 17:11-19

I want to begin this sermon talking a little bit about preaching.

There are basically two kinds of sermons you’ll hear in churches today. One starts with a thought the preacher has. They then hunt through the Bible to find a verse or two to back up that thought.

The second kind starts, not with the preacher’s idea, but with the scripture itself. Preachers who follow this path use a tool called the lectionary, a three-year cycle of readings first shaped by the early church in the fourth century and rooted in the reading traditions of Jewish synagogues. The lectionary keeps preachers from preaching their own pet ideas, and since it always includes a gospel lesson, the preacher is encouraged to interpret each reading through the life and love of Jesus.

That’s the kind of preaching I believe in.

And it’s probably why, in my previous congregations, I’ve been criticized for preaching too many sermons about the poor and marginalized. Because here’s the reality: Besides the truth that Jesus said his very purpose was to proclaim good news to the poor and liberation to the oppressed, there are over two thousand scriptures instructing people of faith how to treat the poor. As Bishop William Barber says, “If you cut all those verses out of the Bible, the whole book would fall apart. There’d be nothing left.”

So yes, I plead guilty—for preaching the Bible in the light of Jesus. And every week, the scriptures amaze me. For they never seem to read like old stories but read more as a mirror to the present. This is why I was taught in seminary to prepare for a sermon with the Bible in one hand and a newspaper in the other, as I would always be able to find a relevant word of challenge and hope.

Today, Luke’s gospel brings us face to face with Jesus on the border, where he once again encounters the marginalized poor who are crying out for mercy.

It’s a beautiful story about healing and gratitude, but when we look closer, we see that it is about so much more than that. It’s about who gets welcomed and affirmed and what kind of love has the power to change the world.

And that’s why it’s the perfect reading to launch our stewardship season with the theme: “Radical Welcome. Revolutionary Love.”

Luke tells us that Jesus is walking along the border between Galilee and Samaria. In 2025, there’s no way we can rush pass that detail. Jesus is on the border—that place where boundaries get policed, where soldiers get sent, where dreams are crushed, and walls get built. It’s the place where the desperate gather, immigrants are scapegoated, and the poor are told to go back to where they came from.

It is there that Jesus meets ten people with leprosy—ten people who know exactly what it means to be told they don’t belong. They’ve each heard the words of Leviticus cherry-picked and used like weapons against them, if you can imagine such a thing:

The person who has the leprous disease shall wear torn clothes and let the hair of his head be disheveled; and he shall cover his upper lip and cry out, ‘Unclean, unclean.’ … He shall live alone; his dwelling shall be outside the camp. (Leviticus 13:45–46)

That’s what marginalization looks like in scripture form, an ancient version of “You’re poisoning the blood of our country.”

So, the outsiders keep their distance while they cry out: “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!”

And isn’t that the same cry echoing all around us today?

It’s the cry of immigrants and of all who are excluded from the opportunities enjoyed by the privileged.

It’s the cry of anyone denied due process under the law or denied representation in gerrymandered voting districts.

It’s the cry of LGBTQ people shut out and abused by the church.

It’s the cry of women who are denied access to reproductive care.

It’s the cry of every Black and Brown neighbor who drives past a Confederate flag waving in the wind—a painful reminder of the systemic racism they are forced to endure.

They all cry out: “Lord, have mercy!”

And what does Jesus do? He doesn’t ignore their cries. And he doesn’t ask for credentials or proof of worthiness. Without asking whether they’re citizens of Galilee or Samaria, he opens a free clinic right there at the border.

But notice something else: Jesus doesn’t just give them free healthcare and send them on their way. He wants to make sure they’re restored back into community. That’s why he says, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” Because according to the Mosaic Law, only a priest could officially declare them “clean” allowing them to re-enter society.

Because Jesus is never satisfied with individual healing. Jesus wants liberation. Jesus wants justice. He wants inclusion. He wants acceptance, belonging, and abundant life for all.

But the story doesn’t end there.

Out of the ten who are healed, only one turns back to say thank you—and Luke wants to make sure we know that the hero of the story was a Samaritan, the foreigner in the group. The outsider of outsiders. The religious heretic. The one the establishment called impure, illegal, and alien. And when this outsidiest of all the outsiders turns back to Jesus, “Jesus doesn’t say, “Sorry, you’re not one of us.” “Sorry, you don’t sing in our language.” “Sorry, your faith and traditions are different from ours.” He says, “Your faith has made you well.”

This is what radical welcome looks like in a world obsessed with borders—literal and figurative. Who’s in, who’s out. Who’s legal, who’s illegal. Who’s acceptable, who’s disqualified. This is the world Jesus dares to say: “All belong. All are worthy. All can be healed, and liberty and justice can be for all.”

This is the radical welcome we’re called to embody as a church. To be people who don’t just tolerate diversity but celebrate it. To be a community where God’s wide, universal, unconditional embrace is visible, tangible, and undeniable, where every person hears the gospel loud and clear: “You belong here!”

And this welcome is not only radical. It’s revolutionary.

Because this kind of love doesn’t just heal individuals; it transforms systems. It disrupts the status quo. It flips tables. It tears down walls. It not only welcomes—it honors. It not only includes—it affirms.

And because of this, revolutionary love is always costly. It cost Jesus his reputation. It cost him his safety. It eventually cost him his life. But he showed us that the only love worth living for is the kind of love worth dying for.

This is the kind of love we are called to practice. A love that refuses to let anyone stand outside the circle, and keeps widening that circle again and again, no matter the cost. A love that refuses to stay silent in the face of injustice and is always willing to risk comfort for the sake of compassion, willing to be called an “insurrectionist,” to even get shot in the face with a chemical weapon like the Presbyterian Minister in Chicago this week.

So, you may ask, “What does this have to do with stewardship?” The answer is “everything.”

Because stewardship is not about maintaining a building or keeping the lights on. Stewardship is about resourcing the ministry of radical welcome and revolutionary love.

When we give, we’re not paying dues to an institution; we’re investing in liberation.

We’re not buying comfort; we’re building community.

We’re not keeping the lights on; we’re keeping hope alive.

We’re not feeding our souls.

But every dollar we give is bread for the hungry, balm for the wounded, space for the excluded, and hope for the desperate. Every pledge we make is a declaration: “We refuse to be a church of scarcity, fear, or maintenance, but choose to be a church of abundance, courage, and mission!”

Giving to our church is much different than giving to a charity. It’s resistance to the forces of greed and self-interest. It’s protest against a world that says money is for hoarding, power is for the few, people should be divided, and love is conditional.

Giving to our church proclaims: God’s economy is different. In God’s economy, generosity multiplies. In God’s economy, love grows stronger the more it is shared, and our lives become fuller the more we give them away.

It’s the Samaritan who shows us that gratitude itself can be revolutionary. When he turns back to give thanks, he refuses to be silent. He refuses to treat his healing as a private, personal blessing and interrupts our gospel lesson with praise, teaching us that gratitude interrupts despair and fuels generosity.

That’s what this year’s stewardship season is about. It’s an invitation to practice gratitude like that Samaritan. To turn back to Jesus. To say, “thank you.” To recognize that every good gift comes from God, and that the only faithful response is to give back.

So, here’s our call this stewardship season:

To give back by walking the borderlands with Jesus, refusing to let anyone be cast aside.

To practice welcome so radical that people say, “I never knew church could look like this.”

To embody love so revolutionary that systems tremble, powers take notice, and hope is rekindled.

To give with such joy and generosity that the world knows: this is a congregation that truly takes Bible seriously while living in this world as disciples of Christ.

And no, it’s not easy. It takes faith. It takes sacrifice. It takes courage. People will laugh at us, dismiss us, and even attack us. But here’s the good news: the same Jesus who healed the ten and honored the Samaritan is still walking with us. The same Spirit that moved then is moving now.

The lepers cried out for mercy, and Jesus answered. The Samaritan turned back to give thanks, and Jesus affirmed his faith. Today, we stand in that same story. We are the ones who have been welcomed. We are the ones who have been loved. We are the ones who have been healed.

And now it’s our turn. It’s our turn to welcome, to heal, to affirm, to love, to give.

So, let’s stand up with gratitude.

Let’s step out in faith.

Let’s lean forward in love.

Because the world is waiting for a church like this—a church that practices radical welcome and revolutionary love!”

It’s not just a theme or a slogan.

It’s not just the idea of a preacher with some cherry-picked verses to back it up.

It’s the gospel.

It’s the good news.

And it’s our calling.

It’s our witness to the world!

Amen.

Terrible Traditional Tendency

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year BLeave a comment

Mark 7:1-15 NRSV

Well, I have made it as your pastor now through 13 months without anyone coming into my office suggesting that the pastor search team had made a horrible mistake. Which is pretty good, considering that I was told that in my first month serving one congregation!

I believe there are several reasons that you and I seem to be getting along so far. One reason is that we just are a pretty good fit. You are my kind of people. And what I mostly mean by that is that we value the same traditions.

I served one church that accused me of trying to convert them to Catholicism when I added a responsive reading for the Call to Worship in the worship bulletin for the first time. This church also had some serious issues with my clergy robe. After wearing my robe during an Advent service, one parishioner commented on my “dress” and asked me if he could kiss my ring. Oh, and I also got into big trouble in that same church for using the word “parishioner” instead of “congregant” to refer church members.

I greatly disturbed members of several congregations when I proposed that we allow people who were baptized as infants in other denominations to be members of the church without being rebaptized.

I got into big trouble after hosting a dinner for food-insecure people as a furious church member, whose small group used the church kitchen once a month, approached me on Sunday morning saying, “Pastor, those people you fed last week used our Sweet-n-Low!”

After hosting a bi-lingual worship service for Hispanics in the community, a member of one church came up to me, his face red with anger, almost shouting: “They need to learn English or move back to where they came from!”

And I caused all kinds of waves when I would make statements like: “Well, of course we should be an “open and affirming” congregation, because no group of people who seek to follow the inclusive and gracious way of love Jesus taught and embodied has any business being “closed and condemning!”

At a wedding reception, I really upset one church leader as he looked at the delicious beverage I was enjoying in my clear plastic cup, and said, “Preacher, that does not look like iced-tea!”

So, traditionally speaking, you and I are a pretty good match. And another reason that you and I are seem to be getting along is that I am now seasoned enough to know about the importance of traditions, and I am wise enough to know not to mess with them, at least during my first year. Thus, you may notice that our Order of Worship looks exactly like it did before you even heard of me.

Perhaps you have heard the joke: “How many people in the church does it take to change a light bulb?”

“Change! Whatcha talkin’ ‘bout ‘change?’ My grandfather donated that light bulb!”

Over the years, I have learned the art of making subtle changes, if any changes, when it comes to a church’s traditions. Over the years, I have also learned of the value and the importance of traditions.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with rituals and traditions. They can good for those who practice the tradition and good for the larger community.

For example: Those of us who are sitting in a sanctuary with a bottle of hand sanitizer on each pew have no qualms with the tradition or ritual of hand-washing, especially when COVID is still in the air.

Those who have ever enjoyed a spicy shrimp or crawfish boil can appreciate the signs were posted in 2020 in public restrooms in New Orleans which read: “Wash your hands like you ate crawfish and you need to take your contacts out.”

The purity laws of Leviticus encoded simple common-sense traditions for the common good, some that we still follow today, like good hygiene and sanitation. Ultimately, though, the purity traditions ritualized an exhortation from God: “Be holy because I, the Lord your God, am holy” (Leviticus 19:2). When the Psalmist asks in our Call to Worship: “Lord, who may dwell in your tent?” the traditional understanding was that only people who were ritually clean and holy may approach a holy God (Psalm 15:1).

Scholars debate how much ordinary first-century Jews followed the ritual purity traditions in Leviticus, but the Pharisees about whom we read so much in the gospels certainly did. Throughout the gospels Jesus is continually criticized by the Pharisees for his flagrant disregard of such traditions. We read where Jesus is ridiculed for touching a leper in Mark 1, for not fasting with his disciples and ignoring sabbath laws in Mark 2, for touching a woman with a menstrual issue and for handling a corpse in Mark 5, and for healing two Gentiles in Mark 7. And here in our gospel lesson this morning we read that he is criticized because his disciples ate with “unclean hands.”

The Pharisees accused Jesus and his followers for being ritually unclean, unorthodox heretics who flaunted the time-honored traditions of faith. And, in a sense, they were right.

Because Jesus understood that although traditions are not inherently bad, because humans are flawed creatures, we have traditionally made them bad with our terrible tendency to justify ourselves while scapegoating others. And since purity traditions symbolized Israel’s unique identity differentiating its people from other nations, these traditions were easily used to exclude, otherize, and even demonize others.

Folks who are ritually clean are considered to be close to God, whereas those who are not are abominations to God. Instead of demonstrating the holiness of God, ritual purity traditions become a means of excluding people that we really don’t want to deal with.

Thus, Jesus disregarded and actively demolished these ritual purity distinctions as a measure of spiritual and social status.

The late American theologian Marcus Borg pointed out that Jesus turned the traditional purity system with its “sharp social boundaries” on its head. And in its place, he substituted a radically alternate social vision, a new community characterized “by love and compassion for everyone, not by compliance to a purity code [or tradition]”; “by egalitarian inclusivity rather than hierarchical exclusivity.” In place of the traditional call to “Be holy, for I am holy” (Leviticus 19:2), Jesus deliberately substituted the radical new call to “Be merciful, just as God is merciful” (Luke 6:36).

In his book What Jesus Meant, Garry Willis writes that “no outcasts were cast out far enough in Jesus’ world to make him shun them — not Roman collaborators, not lepers, not prostitutes, not the crazed, and not the possessed.”

Thus, some good and humbling questions for disciples who seek to follow the way of Jesus are: “Who do we sanctimoniously denigrate as impure, unclean, or ‘far from God’— People of other faiths? People with no faith? Christians who worship differently? What about Christian Nationalists or MAGA extremists?”

In what ways have we distorted the self-giving, egalitarian love of God into self-serving, exclusionary elitism? In what ways do we justify ourselves with faithful observance of traditions honoring Jesus and miss our call to faithfully follow Jesus?

And how can we together build what Borg calls a “community shaped not by the ethos and politics of purity, but by the ethos and politics of compassion?”[i]

In response to the Pharisees’ criticism about his disciples disregarding the tradition of handwashing, Jesus immediately points out their hypocrisy: “You want to talk about tradition, then let’s talk about tradition! Because you have a fine way of rejecting the commandment of God to honor your parents in order to keep your tradition!”

“What about the obligation to take care of them in their old age when they are most vulnerable? You’ve created this terrible tradition you call ‘Corban’ where you can exempt part of your 401-K as an offering to God, so you can avoid supporting poor ol’ Mama and Daddy when they need you the most!”

Jesus quotes Isaiah accusing them of “honoring God with their lips with hearts that are far from God, abandoning the commandment of God to hold on to tradition.”

I believe Jesus is essentially saying to the Pharisees and to the Christians behaving terribly today who seemed to have forgotten that the faith is more than saying some words but a way of living, serving, governing and voting:

Your hands may be traditionally pure from all kinds of filth, but your hearts are terribly impure with all kinds of greed. Your hands may be traditionally healthy, but your souls are terribly sick.

Your hands are clean, because you never get them dirty lending a hand to help someone in need.

Your hands are sanitized, because you never use them to care for someone who has been wounded.

Your hands may be thoroughly washed. You even sang, “Happy Birthday” to ensure that you scrubbed for a full 20 seconds. But you never use your hands to reach out to the poor, protect the vulnerable, feed the hungry, lift up the lowly, or shake a hand in solidarity with another who is being oppressed.

Your hands may be germ-free, but they’re not guilt-free, as you have made them into a fist, closing them to the needs of strangers and threatening anyone who is different.

Your hands may be beautifully manicured, but they are as unsightly as they can be, as you won’t risk breaking a nail doing anything for anyone other than yourself.

You lift your hands to praise God in the sanctuary, but you won’t lift a finger to love your neighbor as yourself out in the world.

After serving as your Senior minister for 13 months now, experiencing all of the traditional liturgical seasons, I have learned what traditions are important to you. Like every Disciple congregation I have served, our most important tradition is what is getting ready to take place around this open table. And like many beautiful traditions, Christians have had a terrible tendency to misuse Communion to exclude or alienate others.

Growing up, I remember the minister excusing everyone who was not a member of the church before serving Communion. I have heard ministers stress that one’s heart must be pure, before one can partake. And I have even heard ministers in our own denomination say that this meal is only reserved for baptized Christians.

That is why I choose my words very carefully when I walk behind this table…

Invitation to the Communion 

…proclaiming the good news that the invitation to this table is wide open to all, and all always means all, Believing the only people who should be excluded from the invitation to this table are those that Jesus excluded and that is no one.

Here, in this place, this meal is our most important tradition. We believe it is good for us and for the world– as long as it will always remind us of the beloved community of egalitarian inclusivity and self-giving love that we are called build  outside of these walls, as long as it reminds us, not to “be holy as God is holy,” but “to be merciful as God is merciful.”

[i] https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/3637-20090824JJ