Galatians 6:1-16
As our country’s freedom is celebrated this weekend, I believe we’re called as people of faith to remember the painful truth of our history and to acknowledge that freedom has never been free. It has been and must continually be fought for.
Our remembering is especially important as history itself is under attack with a dangerous push to whitewash the truth.
Books are being banned, libraries are being closed, and words like “slavery,” “racism,” and “reconstruction” are being scrubbed from school curriculums like they never happened. And just last month, we saw the Juneteenth holiday denigrated by those in power complaining about Americans getting “too many days off.”
They want us to forget the truth and just move on, because if we forget the wounds, we might lose the urgency to heal them. And if we forget the cruelty, the brutality, and the inhumanity, they can more easily repeat it.
So today, we gather to remember the truth, and we do so in the name of Jesus, who proclaimed that it is the truth that sets us free (John 8:32).
Long before 1776, sovereign nations like the Monacans who lived on this land in harmony with the earth, had their lands stolen, and treaties were broken by the same men who would declare liberty and justice for all.
In 1776, while white men signed the Declaration of Independence,
Black people remained in chains, counted as property, not people.
And the pen that wrote “all men are created equal” didn’t write for women, the poor, and the indigenous.
Since then, the story of America has been a story of contradiction:
of beautiful promises and brutal practices; of high ideals and hard-hearted policies. And true liberty and justice for all has always been a struggle.
· It was a struggle when Harriet Tubman followed the North Star through the night leading herself and others out of slavery.
· It was a struggle when Frederick Douglass stood in pulpits and pointed out the hypocrisy of a slaveholding church.
· It was a struggle when Sojourner Truth asked, “Ain’t I a woman?”
· It was a struggle when immigrants crossed deserts and oceans to chase a dream—only to be met with discrimination, quotas, and cruelty.
· It was a struggle when laborers organized for a living wage.
· A struggle when LGBTQIA siblings stood at Stonewall and said, “No more.”
· A struggle when King, Lewis, Williams and others marched across Edmund Pettus Bridge on the day remembered as Bloody Sunday.
· A struggle when Cesar Chavez and farmworkers fasted for dignity in fields that fed the nation.
The truth is that freedom has never rolled in on the wheels of inevitability. As Dr. King said, it comes by struggle and sweat, by movement and by sacrifice.
And that’s why Paul’s words to the Galatians are so prophetically powerful today:
“Let us not grow weary in doing what is right, for we will reap at harvest time, if we do not give up.”
How appropriate are these words today, as those committed to the freedom of all people are, quite frankly, worn out.
We’re tired of begging for justice for the poor and the marginalized.
-Tired of the lies, the hate, the cruelty.
-Tired explaining why it is unfair to call poor people “lazy” and just plain mean to call them “parasites.”
-Tired of explaining why the dignity of LGBTQ persons is not up for debate.
-Tired of explaining why science is real, women’s rights are human rights and Black lives matter.
-Tired of sowing seeds of peace in a land still addicted to violence.
And this weekend Paul has a message for us:
Keep going. Keep working. Keep struggling. Keep sowing those seeds. Don’t grow weary. Because the harvest is coming.
So today, on this weekend of noise and nationalism, injustice and immorality, we gather to tell the truth:
-We’re tired of marching for justice while lawmakers pass bills to steal it.
-We’re tired of praying for peace in a nation that budgets more money for bombs than any nation on earth.
-We’re tired of hoping for change in a country that celebrates independence while restricting who gets to be free.
Today, freedom is fatigued, but the good news is, the struggle is not over. Because our faith is calling us to keep sowing, believing the harvest is coming.
And being exhausted today only affirms our faithfulness to the gospel, because gospel work is heavy work.
Jesus talked about the heaviness of the gospel when he criticized the Pharisees’ hypocrisy for playing lightweight religious games, tithing spices like mint, dill and cumin, while ignoring the weightier matters, the heavy matters of mercy and justice (Matthew 23).
For the gospel is not just about personal salvation. It’s heavier than that. It’s about communal transformation. We are called to confront sin, not just in the soul, but in systems. Because we are called to not just look after ourselves, but to carry each other’s burdens.
Verse 2 of our verse needs to be repeated today as many Americans who call themselves Christians and talk about bootstraps and personal responsibility seem to have forgotten it: “Bear one another’s burdens, and in this way, we fulfill the law of Christ.” Bearing another’s burden, having empathy for others, says Paul, is the essence of what it means to be Christian.
And Christians today, not the Christians in name only, but Christians who fulfill this law of Christ, haven’t been this burdened in years.
And Paul’s message for us is to keep going, keep bearing those burdens, keep sowing those seeds, reminding us that we will one day reap what we sow.
Of course, we in America know all about reaping what we sow.
We elect leaders who sow division, declaring that they hate over half the people in the country, and then ask why we’re so polarized.
We sow billion-dollar weapons, and billion-dollar detention centers, and billion-dollar border walls, and then wonder why there’s no money for education and healthcare.
We sow exclusion and meanness, and do so in the name of God, and are shocked when young people leave the church.
So, we ask today:
What kind of country are we sowing?
What kind of church are we planting?
What kind of future are we tending?
If we sow silence when immigrants are deported, we will reap a nation with no conscience. If we sow tolerance for white supremacy, we will reap a church with no soul.
But if we sow solidarity, if we sow compassion, if we sow truth with love and justice, then we might just see the harvest.
In speaking of the harvest to come, how appropriate is Paul’s warning: “Do not be deceived. God is not mocked.”
Because another truth we must tell today, especially here in Lynchburg, Virginia, is naming the seed that’s continually mocking God and choking the harvest: the seed of White Christian Nationalism.
So many have been deceived into believing that this the Gospel of Jesus. When in fact, it’s the exact opposite. It’s the idolatry of race, the weaponizing of scripture, and the spiritual disguise of liberty that’s only for the privileged. It’s the heresy that says God loves America more than other nations, that straight whiteness is holiness, guns are sacred, and power matters more than people.
It wraps the cross with the flag, prays over injustice, and oppresses all the people Jesus would invite to a party. It anoints hate with holy water. It baptizes voter suppression, xenophobia, patriarchy, and LBGTQ bigotry and dares to call it “religious freedom.” But it’s far from freedom. It’s spiritual fascism dressed in red, white, and blue.
And Paul has a strong warning for those who have been deceived by such fascism: “God is not mocked.”
I believe that means that God is not fooled by the praise songs sung in a sanctuary of a church that turns its back on the oppressed.
God is not honored by churches that preach salvation but vote against food programs, health care, housing, and human dignity.
It’s not just bad theology—it’s deadly theology. And if we don’t name it and speak out against it, it will keep reaping violence, apathy, and war against the image of God in every non-white, non-straight, non-male, non-citizen body.
So, on this Fourth of July weekend Christians must say it clearly: We renounce the false gospel of white Christian nationalism. We will not grow weary naming it, resisting it, and working to plant something more beautiful in its place.
And Paul tells us exactly what we need to plant. Look at verse 15.
“For neither circumcision nor uncircumcision is anything; but a new creation is everything!”
Paul is talking about more pointless, lightweight religious stuff, saying it means absolutely nothing.
Worrying about how much foreskin one has is pointless when you couldn’t care less about the deeper wounds of others. Hanging the Ten Commandments on the Wall of a classroom is ridiculous when you refuse to feed the hungry children who sit in those classrooms.
America doesn’t need more lightweight, God-mocking religiosity. America needs something heavier. America needs a new creation.
A new creation where human dignity isn’t decided by documentation.
A new creation where education and health care are not luxuries.
A new creation where Black and Brown lives matter and queer kids live and thrive.
A new creation where people live like our ancient ancestors— in harmony with the earth, air, and sea.
A new creation where the church never bows to empire but always stands in solidarity with the least, the last, and the left out.
And Paul reminds us: We don’t get there by accident. And we don’t get there mocking God with religious hypocrisy. We get there by sowing it in faith and never giving up.
So, here’s the good news:
If you are exhausted today, it means you’ve been bearing a heavy burden fulfilling the law of Christ.
If you are tired today, it means you’ve been in the struggle sowing a new creation.
If you feel like giving up today, it only means you still care.
If your patriotism feels today more like fatigue than fireworks, you are on the right path.
And today, God has three words for you: Don’t. Give. Up.
Don’t give up on the child who needs your voice.
Don’t give up on the system that looks too broken to fix.
Don’t give up on the Church, even when it’s lost its moral compass.
Don’t give up on the movement. Don’t give up on the struggle.
Don’t give up on your calling, and never give up on love.
And know you don’t have to carry it all alone. Because we’re going to bear the burden together.
So, this weekend, while the nation celebrates its imperfect, incomplete freedom, we’ll keep sowing for the freedom that still hasn’t fully come.
And we will not give up. Because we know the harvest is coming.
And God will not let our labor be in vain.
So go, worn out but willing. March on, wounded but not defeated, stunned but not silent. Sow seeds of justice with trembling hands and tired feet.
And trust that the God who began a good work in us will one day bring home the harvest.
Amen.
Pastoral Prayer
O God of the long road and the tired feet,
You have seen every protest march, every underground meeting,
every whispered prayer beneath the weight of oppression.
You were with Harriet Tubman in the woods,
with the veterans of Selma on the bridge,
with the mothers crying at detention centers today.
This weekend, as a nation sings of liberty,
We are grieving, for we know the truth that not all are free.
We know freedom is more than fireworks and parades—
it is housing, it is healing, it is dignity, it is truth.
We grieve the cruelty of a nation that passes a bill soaked in injustice: that takes healthcare from the sick, food from the hungry, and dignity from the poor to fund tax breaks for the rich and concentration camps for immigrants.
We grieve, O God, for Texas Hill Country—where catastrophic floods struck on July 4 killing at least 51 people including many children, sweeping away cabins at a summer camp with 27 girls still missing.
May the families waiting in anguish feel your presence.
Give rescue workers strength, bring swift comfort,
and awaken in us a fierce call to care for our neighbors in every disaster.
We confess, God, that we sometimes grow tired of it all.
Tired of the suffering of this world. Tired of fighting the same battles.
Tired of speaking truth in ears that won’t hear.
Tired of watching laws be written that wound your people.
So, pour your Spirit upon us like a second wind.
Give us the courage to keep showing up—
to sow goodness, to bear burdens, to carry one another.
And give us joy that this labor is never in vain.
Make us co-creators of your new creation,
until the tired are lifted, the wounded are healed,
and the world becomes your Beloved Community. In the name of Jesus, our justice, and our rest. Amen.
Invitation to Communion
Jesus never promised an easy road, but he did promise a shared table.
At this table, the tired are welcomed, the wounded are fed, and no one carries the Gospel alone.
Here we remember that Christ’s body was broken not just for individuals,
but for communities—for the collective healing of the world.
If you are weary, if you are burdened,
if you are longing for a taste of real freedom—
come. All are welcome.
This table is for you.
Invitation to Give
Giving to this offering is not about guilt or obligation. It is about sowing.
And we reap what we sow.
When we sow into justice, we reap a more beloved world.
When we give with compassion, we build up the Body of Christ.
On this weekend when so much is spent on fireworks and celebration,
we invite you to invest in something eternal:
a love that serves, a truth that speaks, and a justice that marches.
Let us give, not out of surplus, but out of hope.
Not to keep the lights on, but to light the way.
Commissioning and Benediction
Go now, tired but unbroken.
Go now, weary but still willing.
Go now, and do not grow weary in doing what is right—
for the harvest is coming.
May the Spirit strengthen your hands.
May the Christ who bore our burdens walk beside you.
And may the God who is not mocked guide you into new creation.
Go in peace, go in power,
go in love—
and never give up.
Amen.





