Tag: hope

New Year’s Eve Prayer

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Advent and Christmas1 Comment

Holy God of yesterday, today, and tomorrow,

we arrive at the edge of this year carrying more than we expected.

Some of what we carry is joy: surprises we did not plan and moments of grace we did not and could never create.

Some of what we carry is grief: names we speak more quietly now; dreams deferred; wounds that did not heal on our timeline.

We bring it all to You, trusting that nothing in our hands is too heavy for Your mercy.

As this year closes, we confess we have grown tired in a world that never seems to rest.

We have been tempted to numb ourselves to suffering that feels endless, to shrink our compassion in order to survive, to settle for outrage instead of action.

Forgive us for the ways we have learned to look away when love required us to look closer.

Yet, even now, O God, You are still at work.

You have not abandoned this world to violence, nor surrendered it to despair.

You are still planting seeds of justice in places we were told nothing good could grow.

You are still calling ordinary people to live brave, inconvenient, nonviolent lives.

So, as we step into a new year, we do not pray for mere optimism.

We pray for resilient hope.

The kind of hope that tells the truth about what is broken and still believes repair is possible.

The kind of hope that refuses to dehumanize our neighbors, even when fear tells us to do so.

The kind of hope that keeps showing up, to love, to serve, to resist, to heal.

Teach us to measure this coming year not by what we accumulate, but by who we protect.

Not by how safe we feel, but by how faithfully we love.

Not by how loudly we speak, but by how courageously we act.

When the road ahead feels uncertain, remind us that You go before us.

When we feel small, remind us that a bite of bread and a tiny sip of wine is still enough.

When we stumble, remind us that grace does not run out at midnight.

Receive this year that is ending. Bless this year that is beginning. And shape us into a people who do not merely watch the world change, but who, by Your Spirit, help bend it toward justice, mercy, and peace.

We pray in hope,
we pray in resolve,
we pray in the name of Jesus,
who makes all things new.

Amen.

Limping into the New Year

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Advent and Christmas, Short Articles3 Comments

On the Friday before Christmas, my wife Lori was returning home on I-85 near High Point, North Carolina, when the dashboard lit up, and the car did something no one ever wants a car to do going 70 mph on the interstate. It went into “limp mode.”

If you’ve never experienced it, “limp mode” is exactly what it sounds like. The car doesn’t stop completely. It doesn’t break down and shut off on the side of the road. But it can no longer go as it once did. Power is reduced. Speed is limited. Everything is suddenly fragile.

Lori stayed calm while panicking a little at the same time. However, she kept both hands steady on the wheel. She said to herself: “I am still here. I am going slow, but I am still moving.” She listened to what the car could still do, not what it could no longer do. And little by little, she guided it safely off the highway to a convenience store. A tow truck came. A mechanic took a look. A few days later, the problem was fixed. And now she’s back on the road.

As we step into a new year, Lori’s limp-mode adventure feels like a parable, as many of us are not roaring into January with full power. Honestly, we are limping, emotionally, spiritually, financially, physically. Some are carrying grief that didn’t resolve itself by December 31. Some are exhausted by a world that keeps demanding more while offering less. Some are doing the brave work of survival and calling it what it is.

The good news is that “limp mode” doesn’t mean we have failed or need a complete overhaul.

It only means that something in the system needs attention. It means slow is the new faithful.

The temptation in a new year is to pretend we’re stronger than we are. We make bold promises we don’t have the fuel to keep. We shame ourselves for not accelerating fast enough. However, wisdom teaches us something different. Remain calm, even if we are panicking a little. Pay attention to what we still have. Protect what’s still working. Get to a safe place.

There is hope, not because everything is fine on January 1, but because we are still moving.

Hope looks like pulling over instead of pushing harder. Hope looks like asking for help. Hope looks like trusting that repair and recovery are possible, even if we don’t yet know how or when.

The car didn’t heal itself on the highway. It needed a tow. It needed a mechanic. It needed time.

So, if you are limping into this year, the good news is that you are not broken beyond repair. As long as you are still moving, even slowly, there is a future for you in 2026. As long as you are paying attention, pulling over when needed, and letting others help carry what you cannot, there is grace for the road ahead.

And sometimes the most hopeful thing we can say at the start of a new year is this: “I’m still here.” “I am going slow, but I am still moving.”

And that is enough to begin.

Do Not Be Afraid: Love Is About to Be Born!

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Advent and Christmas, Sermons Year A1 Comment

Matthew 1:18-25

On the fourth Sunday of Advent, we stand with a man named Joseph, on the threshold of a future he never expected.

Week after week, Advent has been inviting us to look for God to show up where no one is looking: in the wilderness, in the shadows, in the cries of prophets and the songs of unlikely women. And now, as Christmas draws near, our gospel lesson leads us into the quiet and conflicted heart of a man who wanted to do the right thing but wasn’t sure what the right thing was.

We’ve been there before, haven’t we, asking: “Now, what?” “What in the world do we do now?” “How should we respond to the news we’ve just received, this loss, this change, this crisis?” And how do we respond faithfully?

How do we believe with the prophet Zechariah in a future that seems impossible? How do we believe that what is broken doesn’t have to stay that way? How do we move past our grief and our cynicism?

Here’s some good news that we shouldn’t miss: Matthew writes, “This is how the birth of Jesus the Messiah came about.”

How about that? Christmas didn’t come wrapped in certainty, clarity, or confidence, but in confusion, shock, and scandal, in questions that kept Joseph up at night.

Joseph receives the news that Mary is pregnant with a child that is not his. But Joseph is righteous, which means he loves God and neighbor. He believes in the golden rule and wants to do the merciful thing, the kind thing, the just thing. But sometimes, even righteousness can get tangled in fear. Even righteousness can struggle to imagine a horizon beyond the one we can see.

And so, Joseph, like so many of us, makes a plan to manage a difficult situation quietly, discreetly, safely.

This may be where that old saying “If you want to make God laugh, make a plan.”

Joseph had a plan. A good plan. A righteous plan. And then God showed up, and God being God says: “We’re going to need to revise that!”

An angel of the Lord interrupts his plans: “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid.”

It’s something perhaps we all need to hear:

Do not be afraid of uncertainty.

Do not be afraid of mystery.

Do not be afraid of this news you did not expect.

Do not be afraid to love beyond what the world tells you is reasonable

or socially acceptable.

Do not be afraid to let go of your plans and let God write the rest of your story!

And then comes the promise: “The child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit… and you shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.”

It’s important to understand that this is not just about personal sin, as we have been led to believe. It’s about God stepping into a world shaped by injustice and rescuing God’s people from everything that keeps them bound. Jesus is born to save people from the moral sickness of systems that deny dignity, distort truth, and crush the vulnerable.

Joseph stands right where many of us stand in this season: between the world as we know it today and the world God is unfolding; between our lived reality and the day when love will finally win; between answering a call and fear of where saying “yes” to that call may take us.

And it is precisely here, in this fragile in-between space, that Advent makes its final turn, not toward certainty or explanation, but toward love. And not toward just any love.

The love that breaks into Joseph’s life is not a sentimental love that asks nothing from him. It’s not a love that Joseph is only meant to feel deep inside.

 It is a fierce, courageous, and public love that asks something of Joseph: for him to be selfless; for him to sacrifice; for him to give of himself, for him to walk humbly and do justice. It’s the kind of love that refuses to leave any of God’s children cast aside or put away. And it is a love that refuses to allow fear to keep Joseph on the sidelines, insisting instead that he become a participant in God’s unfolding promise.

We know something about that kind of love; because this year, we have lived it. We have seen this love hold us together when the world felt like it was falling apart.

It’s the love that kept us going when mercy was mocked, when compassion was ridiculed, and empathy was dismissed. It’s the love that kept us committed when the holy values of equity, diversity and inclusion were attacked.

It’s the love that kept us showing up when the headlines were heavy, when the rhetoric of the powerful dehumanized the vulnerable, when policies wounded the poor, and when silence would have been much easier than faithfulness.

It’s the love that steadied us as we protested, prayed, voted, organized, fed, welcomed, and spoke out, sometimes with trembling voices, always with stubborn hope, because being silent was not an option, and we knew disengaging was not faithfulness.

It’s the love that has held us.

It’s the love that has carried us.

It’s the love that keeps us from surrendering our conscience,
even when cruelty is normalized, lies are rationalized, faith is compromised, and the truth is redacted.

It’s the love that will not let us look away, back down, or give up.

It’s the love that compelled us to feed the hungry, welcome the stranger, stand with the marginalized, and speak truth even when it came at a cost.

It’s the love that refused to let exhaustion become indifference, or disappointment become despair. It’s the love that sustained Marian Stump in the last year of her life, and so many who faced unexpected hardships, giving this year meaning and purpose with hope.

Time and again, when it would have been easier to retreat, this love called us forward.

And, like Joseph, it asks us not merely to survive the moment, but to participate in what God is still bringing to birth in the world. The same love that has carried us through fear and fatigue continues to call us today: to choose courage even when the path is uncertain. It asks us, like Joseph, to march into God’s unfolding promise, not safely, not quietly, but faithfully, boldly, and without delay.

The story of Joseph, of fear giving way to faithfulness, of uncertainty giving way to courageous action, is the Advent story.

It’s Joseph’s story. And it is our story. It’s a story that teaches us that God’s love does not always look like what we wanted or expected. But it’s always more than we knew to hope for.

Matthew says that all of this happened “to fulfill what the Lord had spoken through the prophet.” A virgin. A child. A name: “Emmanuel, God with us.”

And it’s important to pay attention to where the prophet imagines Emmanuel showing up: not in palaces; not in legislative chambers; not in the places where people wield power as if it belongs to them. Emmanuel is born among the poor, the marginalized, the least of these, in places the world least expects.

And today, if we want to see where God is Emmanuel, where God is still showing up, we must look where the world still refuses to look:

among immigrant families demonized for daring to hope;
among those struggling in poverty in the richest nation in the world;
among workers whose wages don’t cover their rent;
among seniors choosing between food and medicine;
among children whose schools are underfunded;

among those who are dismissed, dehumanized, or told their lives do not matter.

If Christmas teaches us anything, it is that God does not wait for systems to change before God moves. God enters the world right in the middle of the darkness amid the injustice, and says: “Look what I’m about to do!”

“When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him.”

Joseph steps into God’s calling even though everything around him still looks uncertain. This is the moral courage William Barber calls “standing on higher ground,” on the ground where justice outweighs fear, where mercy outruns judgment, and where love overrides everything!

Joseph chooses love over reputation. Love over comfort. Love over convenience. Love over any path that would have been easier. Love over everything!

And friends, Christmas 2025 asks nothing less of us.

When laws are passed that deepen poverty, we must be Joseph.

When families are separated, migrants are demonized, and immigrants are treated as threats rather than neighbors, we must be Joseph.

When leaders weaponize fear, pitting race against race, faith against faith, neighbor against neighbor, we must be Joseph.

When cruelty masquerades as strength, when lies are repeated until they are accepted as “truth,” when power is prized over people, we must be Joseph.

When the right to vote is narrowed, restricted, or quietly taken away, especially from the poor, the young, the elderly, and communities of color, we must be Joseph.

When creation itself groans under neglect and exploitation, when people cannot afford health insurance, when children are denied safety, dignity, or opportunity, we must be Joseph.

And when our own lives are disrupted, by grief, illness, injustice, or futures we never planned, we must be Joseph.

And the good news—the hopeful, peaceful, joyful, love-filled, good news of Christmas—is that God is still whispering to a fearful people: “Do not be afraid. I am Emmanuel. I am with you.” “Do not be afraid, because Love is about to be born!”

And when Joseph holds that newborn child, he will hold a future no empire can contain, no lie can stop, and no hatred can overcome. And on this Fourth Sunday of Advent, we are reminded: God is still writing the story!

And so, as Christmas approaches:

Let the weary find rest.
Let the silenced find voice.
Let the broken find healing.
Let the fearful find courage.
Let the struggling find companions on the road.
And let love—real, disruptive, justice-making, life-restoring love—be born again in us.

Because Emmanuel is still with us. God is still moving toward us. And Christ is still being born wherever love takes the risk that Joseph took.

May this Advent love, bold, disruptive, and steadfast, fill us with hope.

May it remind us that no matter what the new year brings—uncertainty, struggle, sickness, or sorrow—we are not alone.

May it strengthen us to speak truth, to stand for justice, to welcome the stranger, and to act with courage.

And may it remind us, again and again, that God is still at work. God is still bringing light out of darkness. God is still calling forth life and making all things new.

Amen.

Trinity in the Trenches

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year C3 Comments

Romans 5:1-5

Ok, here it is! The sermon that you’ve been waiting for! I wouldn’t call it a sugar-stick sermon, but it’s certainly a hopeful sermon. And oh, how we need some hope today! Because, in today’s world, we wonder how we’re still standing.

Our epistle lectionary lesson Romans 5:1-5 enters our turbulent time like a divine disruption, a flame refusing to be swallowed by the night. It doesn’t offer quick fixes or shallow answers, but it offers deep, lasting, transforming, Trinitarian hope.

I know, I know. Some of you have never been big fans of the Trinity. That’s because you’re not fans of any doctrine or creed, especially if it was decreed by the empire centuries ago, with other edicts and declarations that have caused more harm in the world than good. You don’t get it, and I get that. The Trinity is a strange concept. Three in one? Why three? Why not 7 or 12 or 17 or 153? Actually, I kinda like 153!

The good news for us on this day we call “Trinity Sunday” is that the Trinity doesn’t have to be a dusty old imperial doctrine. The Trinity can be divine, living reality.

I know, I know. Some of you didn’t like the sound of that. A preacher telling you what reality is. We have too much gaslighting these days from the power-that-be, and you’ve come to church this morning to hear the truth!

But hear me out. I am saying that maybe the Trinity, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, or the Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer if you prefer, is not an ancient puzzle to solve. It’s a real, living, transforming, presence in which to dwell. The Holy Trinity is something to be lived more than learned, experienced more than explained, something or someone with whom to relate more than to understand. It’s not abstract; it’s active. It’s moving. It’s breathing. It’s calling, prodding, pushing, pulling us toward who we have been and are still being created to be.

Listen again to how the Apostle Paul describes the Trinity in his letter to the Romans:

“Since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ… and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”

Let’s walk together in this text and let the Trinity meet us in our grief, our protests, our healing, and our rising.

“Since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God…”

To say, we are “justified by faith” is to say that God, the source of all that is, made a decision about us before the world could.

Before society tagged you as expendable, God named you “beloved”. Before empires wrote policies and made decrees to discount or disappear you, God wrote your name in glory.

  • Before redlining maps were drawn, God marked your entire neighborhood and called it blessed.
  • Before school districts were zoned to maintain inequality, God declared your mind worthy of wisdom.
  • Before they looked at your skin, your gender, your sexuality, and your zip code, and said “unworthy” God looked at you and said “very good!”
  • Before they erased you from textbooks, God had written your story in the Lamb’s Book of Life!

And it is God, the creator of everything, the energy of, in, and behind the universe, Love Love’s self, who is the one who declares peace over us— a cosmic, reconciling, justice-making peace.

It’s not the peace of silence. It’s not the peace of the status quo.

It’s not the peace one enjoys when they decide to play it safe.

It’s not the peace that comes with caution, following the rules or staying out of trouble.

It’s the peace that always lifts up the lowly, the least and the left out, even if it means flipping a table or two to do it!

It’s the peace that comes with the freedom of being justified. It’s not passive peace. It’s a prophetic peace. It’s the peace that tears down what divides and oppresses and builds what unifies and liberates in its place.

  • It’s the kind of peace that marched with Dr. King and bled with John Lewis on the Edmund Pettus Bridge.
  • It’s the kind of peace that says “Black Lives Matter” not to exclude anyone, but to expose what peace really demands.
  • It’s not the kind of peace that settles, but the kind of peace that agitates until justice rolls down like waters.

Let’s look at the next line:

“…through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand…” (v.2)

Jesus is our access point to grace. Jesus didn’t just die because of our sins; He lived to show us what love looks like under empire, under oppression, under the shadow of the cross by living a life of grace.

Grace is not a loophole. It’s a lifestyle. Grace is what empowers us to stand tall in the rubble, to stand in front of an army deployed by a corrupt authoritarian and still speak truth. Grace is opportunity. Grace is an opening, a door, a window, even a crack. Grace is how Jesus reached out to the woman at the well, touched the leper, and restored the outcast.

And Paul says, Jesus is the access to this grace.

Sadly, this is where the church has really messed up its theology. Grace is not a ticket to heaven to escape the world. Grace is the opportunity to bring heaven to the world.

This is the grace Jesus came to give.

So let me say this prophetically: If your theology makes room for grace but not justice, you haven’t met Jesus yet.

If your gospel preaches forgiveness but ignores the systems that crucify, it’s not good news. It’s a performance.

Christ gives us grace to stand. Not to retreat. Not to hide. But to stand—

· To stand in the courtroom when the system is tilted, and still speak truth to power, with trembling hands but with a steady soul.

· To stand in the streets, in the pouring rain or the scorching heat and still lift up signs and prayers for a justice that won’t wait.

· To stand in your weary body—chronically ill, over-policed, underpaid—and say, “My presence is still a miracle!”

· To stand in grief when you’ve buried too many dreams, too many loved ones, and somehow still hope again.

· To stand when depression tells you to stay in bed, when anxiety says you’re not enough, and say: “Grace brought me here, and grace will keep me, and grace is enough.”

The good news is that there is more, much more! Look at verse 5.

“…and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit…” (v.5)

Ah, the Spirit. The One too many of us try to explain instead of experience.

This is the Spirit who whispers to us when all hell is breaking loose.

This is the Spirit who moves us in protest chants and in silent prayers.

This is the Spirit who pours—not sprinkles, drizzles, or cautiously trickles, but liberally pours the love of God deep into us until we can breathe again, smile again, even laugh again.

And this is why we don’t give up or stand down or ever bow down. Because love has roots that run deep. Love has a heartbeat in us. And even when suffering surrounds us, the darkness envelops us, even when the trauma returns, the Spirit keeps saying, “Hold on. The good old days may be gone but good new days are coming!”

The Spirit does not eliminate suffering. The Spirit takes suffering and makes suffering meaningful. The Spirit resurrects and transforms suffering. The Spirit assures us that suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces a hope that never disappoints us!

So, what do we do when the world is on fire?

When empires write decrees and send in the troops?

When systems still crucify the innocent?

When liberty and justice feels like a luxury only for the privileged?

When the whole world seems to be upside down, and we’re barely hanging on?

That’s when we remember the One, or the Three, who are holding on to us. The Father speaks peace. Christ gives grace. And the Spirit pours out love!

This is our Triune hope in the trenches, our Trinitarian anchor in a turbulent world. This is why we preach. This is why we worship in a pew, sing a hymn, and give an offering. This is why we pray and why we protest. This is why we forgive and feed, cry and console, resist and rise!

The Trinity is not an idea. It’s not just a concept. The Trinity is our inheritance, our identity, and our liberation. It’s how we can still stand when all is falling around us.

Still stand when policies crush the poor.

Still stand when truth is unfashionable.

Still stand when they gaslight and try to divide us.

Still stand when they deploy the military against us and threaten to kill us.

Still stand when love looks like resistance and hope costs everything.

The Trinity is not theoretical. It’s revolutionary!

The Father says, “Stand in this love.” The Son says, “Stand in this grace.” The Spirit says, “I’ve poured this love in you like wildfire—now go and light up your city, your state, your nation, and my world with my love. Go and stand and love until the torch of liberty and justice burns for all!”

So, let’s go and stand. Stand in courtrooms and stand in classrooms.

Stand in pulpits and in stand in peace vigils.

Stand in mourning and stand in movement.

Stand with our scars and with our sacred calling.

And when the world asks: Who gave you permission to stand like this? Who told you that you could be this courageous? How are you this strong, this confident? And why are you smiling like that?

That’s when you say, “I’ve been justified by faith!” “I’ve got peace from the Father!” “I’ve been given grace from the Son!” “And have been anointed with fire from the Holy Ghost!”

Now stand, and let your life be a sermon the world has been waiting for and cannot ignore.

I Have Seen the Lord!

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

John 20:1-18 NRSV

It’s Easter, and all over the world preachers are feeling the pressure to preach the better-than-the-average sermon. All week they’ve been burdened to come up with something insightful, something profound, to say about this story of stories, preferably something their congregations have never heard before. Oh, the pressure!

Each week for a sermon, I write, on average, 1,800 words. This is the number of words that I, with my seasoned homiletical and ecclesial acuity, have deemed theologically and linguistically necessary to bequeath the congregation an appropriate word from the Lord. And on the Sundays I need to be better than average, like Easter, I am always tempted to go a little longer, like upward to 2,000 words or more.

Now, my wife Lori believes that I should be able to write a sermon, and she’d prefer I write a sermon, even for Easter, with much fewer words. But Lori hasn’t been to seminary, I tell myself.

That’s why, by the way, every now and again, I throw in seminary words like “ecclesial” and smart-sounding words like “bequeath”—to convince the congregation, and myself, that I know what I’m doing up here. And we preachers especially like to use big words on Easter!

However, as I prepared for today’s sermon, I came to realize that Lori may be right.  In fact, esteemed professor of homiletics Karoline Lewis, points out that the best Easter sermon ever delivered, and the sermon we desperately need to hear again today, was nowhere close to 1,800 words. It contained 5. Lewis says that the best Easter sermon ever delivered was proclaimed by Mary Magdalene on that first Easter morning: “I have seen the Lord!”[i]

That’s it. There’s your Easter sermon. “I have seen the Lord!” Now, let’s sing a hymn, have communion, and pass the peace!

Now, because I don’t want to be accused of being lazy on Easter, I will attempt to say a little more. But I tend agree with Rev. Lewis that, too often, our preaching, especially on Easter, is just “too much –too much explanation, too much justification, too much rationalization.” She says our preaching is too much expository and not enough experiential. It’s too much illustrational and not enough incarnational. She argues preaching needs to be less performance and more personal, more down-to-earth, more authentic.

That struck a chord with me this week, as I recently heard local colleague make the shocking assertion, that on some days, he has this sinking feeling that God is not in Lynchburg.

Now, that’s a dark statement coming from anyone, but coming from a pastor in this town, it’s especially chilling. Almost as chilling as it is ironic with the vast number of churches in our city.

Last year, one of my guilty pleasures in life was binging the dark TV drama series called “Preacher.” Lori didn’t care for it. I loved it. It’s a story based on a comic book hero, a Texas Preacher, who’s on a mission in Louisiana searching for God who’s gone missing. God just got tired of being God one day, vacated the throne, got on motorcycle, and headed to New Orleans to listen to some good jazz and have a good time. It’s a very dark and rather bloody story about the chaos that ensues when God forsakes and abandons the world. All hell literally breaks loose as vampires, fallen angels, demons, and the devil himself wreak havoc upon the earth.

And my colleague says this is what it can sometimes feel like serving as a pastor in Lynchburg, Virginia. He says he sometimes wants to cry out like Jesus from the cross, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken us?”

Maybe we have had days when we have wanted to do the same.

The lack of affordable housing, the number of people living with food insecurity, the plans to cut spending on public schools and social services, the ugliness on the city council—it can all seem like God has left the city limits.

Just last week, an owner of a new restaurant told me that he recently served dinner to a member of the city council who had the hateful audacity to advise him to refuse service to members of the LGBTQ community.

And then we have the number of people who claim to be Christians or even “Champions for Christ” who support ways that the exact opposite of the way of the inclusive, universal, unconditional love that Jesus taught, modeled, and embodied.

Looking at some parts of our city, we can easily identify with Jesus when he lamented what seemed like the absence of God in Jerusalem, crying: “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it!”

And you don’t even need to be religious to believe that God may have even fled the country—a nation where people can be snatched from their homes and disappeared to a gulag in El Salvador without any recourse. Bishop William Barber notes: “Like the lynching trees of the South and the crosses of Rome, these public acts of brutality are designed to inspire fear that compels the masses to comply. But we cannot comply.”[ii]

This is why on this Easter Sunday, we need to hear the personal, authentic, first-person, five-word sermon of Mary Magdalene: “I have seen the Lord!” We need a first-hand witness of the resurrection, not a third-person account, confession, or creed.

In these dark, seemingly God-forsaken days, we don’t need to hear the stale and old: “He was crucified, dead, and buried; the third day he rose from the dead…” or “Christ the Lord is risen; he is risen indeed.” That’s nice, that’s good, but these days, we need more.

We need a first-person, eye-witness testimony. We need to hear of a new and fresh encounter. We need somebody to stand up before us today and exclaim: “I have seen the Lord!”

As we demonstrated during our Maundy Thursday service, the good news is that we can easily point out all the places in Lynchburg where we have seen the Lord, where there is resurrection in the midst of ruin; the light of new life in the shadows of death; love, when all that seems visible is hate. There’s much goodness, generosity and compassion in the midst of all the meanness, selfishness and cruelty: Parkview Mission, Interfaith Outreach, Meals on Wheels, The Free Clinic…It would take much more 1,800 words to name all of the non-profits and organizations that are being the hands and feet of the Lord in this town.

 But proclaiming, “I have seen the Lord,” means even more than that.

“I have seen the Lord” means personally bearing witness to the resurrection. It means being a first-person, eyewitness, living testimony of Easter.

In the hateful darkness of a violent world that has rejected the way of Jesus and would crucify him all over again if it got the chance, “I have seen the Lord” means demonstrating that there is another way of being in the world— a loving, justice-seeking, non-violent way that embodies all that is life-giving. It means living and giving and loving and serving in such a way, that when others see you, watch you, listen to you, they say: “Wait one second. Did I just see the Lord?”

“I have seen the Lord” insists that the ways of love will always win over the ways of hate.

“I have seen the Lord” affirms that the way of peace will always overcome the way of violence.

“I have seen the Lord” confirms that the truth of kindness, mercy and decency will always be louder than the con of fear, confusion, and chaos.

“I have seen the Lord” asserts that the voices of compassion will always be heard over the clamor of cruelty and retaliation.”

“I have seen the Lord” is what Gandhi proclaimed when he shared a vision of a world where all of creation and every living creature is revered and respected, thriving in peace and harmony, when all most can see is ecological devastation, violence, war, oppression, injustice, colonialism, and imperialism.

“I have seen the Lord” were the exact words of Martin Luther King Jr. when he preached on the day before his assassination: “I have seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I’m happy tonight. I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”

“I have seen the Lord” is a proclamation that neither death by starvation in India, nor death by a bullet in Memphis, nor death on a cross in Jerusalem, can prevent love from winning and justice from coming.

Mary’s proclamation “I have seen the Lord” proclaims not only that a single stone was rolled away 2,000 years ago, but countless stones are still being rolled away today, all the stones that are used to prevent new life from rising: racist stones blocking paths to citizenship; bigoted stones blocking the doors of closets; corrupt stones blocking the power of free speech and due process; greedy stones blocking care for the environment; deceptive stones blocking the truth of science and history; and violent stones blocking any possibility of new life, justice, and peace.

“I have seen the Lord” is the justice those are demanding on the behalf of Abrego Garcia and every person deported unjustly. It’s the defiance of Harvard University, and the cry of all protesting the rise of fascism.

“I have seen the Lord,” when we speak it into our own lives, become words that have the power to roll back all the stones that confine and constrain the possibility that liberty and justice, dignity and respect can be for all people.

But “I have seen the Lord” is so counter-cultural, so counter-intuitive, often defying what we see with our own eyes, that it can be difficult to speak it. Especially to speak it personally, authentically in the first-person, to speak it with faith and conviction. It’s much easier to walk out of this service this morning and recite a third-person creed, “Christ the Lord is risen. He is risen indeed” than it is to honestly say in the first-person, “I have seen the Lord!”

Perhaps, like anything difficult, we need to practice it, and practice it daily.

So, in what places do you need practice it today? In front of what tomb do you need proclaim resurrection today?

What stone in your life needs to be removed today so you can be free?

What’s preventing you today from experiencing the joy of new life? What is blocking you today from enjoying peace, possessing hope, and knowing love?

On this Easter morning, when we walk out of this church building, where’s the first place we need to go to proclaim: “I have seen the Lord!”

Who do we know that may be unable to say it today, but needs to hear it, because they have been hiding in the tombs too long?

Today, we thank God for Mary Magdalene, the preacher of the best Easter sermon ever proclaimed, the good news we all need to hear today: “I have seen the Lord!”

[i] Sermon inspired by the thoughts of Rev. Dr. Karoline Lewis shared in an article entitled: True Resurrection, March 20, 2016

[ii] From The Power of a Moral Opposition: A Holy Saturday Reflection, April 19, 2025.

A Crowded Table

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year B1 Comment

Sermon delivered during the Interfaith Service of Unity at Peakland Baptist Church in Lynchburg, VA, Thanksgiving Day 2024

Isaiah 25:1-9 NRSV

I begin the sermon with the two questions that are on everyone’s mind today: #1 “Will this divided nation ever come together?” And #2 “When will there finally be peace on earth?”

Nah. That’s not it. The questions on everyone’s mind today are: #1 “What’s for dinner?” and #2 “Who’s all invited?”

The prophet Isaiah answers the first question “What’s for dinner?” with a song about God’s promise of a generous and extravagant table where (as we read in the New Revised Standard Version):

The Lord of hosts will make a feast of rich food, a feast of well-matured wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-matured wines strained clear.

I imagine Isaiah adding: “Did I mention we’ll be havin’ well-mature wines and rich food?”

Isaiah understands that life is best celebrated with plenty of delicious food and the best wines, particularly when times have been dark, when the table’s been empty, when the cupboards ae bare—when tyrants have the upper hand, when the shadows of chaos and catastrophe cover a nation, like it is being punished for their poor choices causing the entire creation to suffer.

In the previous chapter of Isaiah, we hear the desperate lament of the prophet:

The earth is utterly broken, the earth is torn asunder, the earth is violently shaken…the moon… abashed, and the sun ashamed (24:19, 23).

A dark shroud of universal dismay and despair covers the land. And there, under the dismal cover of darkness, everything good seems to be wasting away.

Of course, the first thing Isaiah grieves is the wine cellar. Isaiah cries out:

The wine dries up, the vine languishes, all the merry-hearted sigh, the mirth of the timbrels is stilled, the noise of the jubilant has ceased (24:7-8).

It is in this dry, dark, and desolate setting that a shocking announcement is made by the prophet. It comes in the form of a gracious invitation to attend a most extravagant dinner table with rich food and plenty of delicous wine!

Which brings us to the second question on our minds this day. Now that we know what’s for dinner, we want to know who’s all invited?

And here comes the real shock. Who’s invited? All are invited to enjoy the feast.

And notice that it’s like Isaiah understands that such radical inclusion will be difficult for some folks to believe. So, the prophet uses the word “all” five times in three verses to make sure he gets his point across!

In verse 6 we read that the table is “for all peoples.” And just in case some interpret all peoples to mean just the legal, documented citizenry, the prophet adds, “all nations, and all faces.”

Talk about a crowded table! A table where everyone whose got a face is welcome!

“All are welcome.” That’s the words that we are accustomed to seeing outside some of our houses of worship or our meeting places, right? All are welcome. But it was my son who once pointed out the fallacy of that simple welcome. Referring to the sign outside a church building where I once served, he commented: “Dad, all can’t be welcome unless someone is doing the welcoming. A better sign would read, ‘We welcome all.’”

I had never thought about that. But he’s right. For all to be welcome, someone must do the welcoming. Someone must put in some effort. Someone must take some initiative. Someone must have some radical intentionality to create the revolutionary hospitality. Especially if all faces are invited. Especially if strange faces might show up. And most especially if the table is going to be crowded with strange faces.

I will never forget the first time that my wife Lori came home with me to meet my parents back in 1987, a few months before we were engaged to be married. I am very tempted right now to tell you that it was Thanksgiving, but it was actually Easter.

After attending worship that Sunday, my family gathered around a very crowded table for dinner, nine of us scrunched up together to sit at a table made for six. My aunt and uncle and cousin joined my brother, sister, Mom, Dad, Lori, and me. I was sitting at one end of the able. Dad was seated to my left. And Lori was seated to my right.

As my father asked the blessing using the vernacular of King James in 1611, to make Lori feel welcome at the strange, crowded table, I took my foot under the table and gave Lori a little love-tap on her ankle. (Most inappropriate during the high Old English Eastertide blessing my father was offering, but I suppose that’s what made it so much fun). Feeling my affection under the table in the middle of the prayer, Lori made eye contact with me gave me the sweetest little grin. I know, we were so bad.

A few minutes went by, when Lori got the notion to reciprocate, reaching out her toe to tap my foot. But when she looked over at me, she was rather disappointed to see that I didn’t react. So, she did it once more, this time, a little more playfully. But again, I was as cool as a cucumber, sitting there eating my dinner like it never happened.

That’s because it never happened. Lori, in a state of confusion sat back and peered under the table, only to discover that she had been flirting with my father!

But here’s the thing. My dad also never reacted. He too sat there like it never happened.

Now, I can only come up with two explanations for Daddy’s stoic lack of response. The first one, which I refuse to believe, is that is he enjoyed it and didn’t want her to stop. So, the conclusion I have chosen to draw is that he realized that Lori, bless her heart, didn’t really know what she was doing, and thus he made the decision to extend grace. Instead of embarrassing her, he chose to forgive her, accept her, and love her.

To set a crowded table where every face is welcomed, all those at the table must be intentional when it comes to grace, more so if strange faces are present. All the grace Daddy offered that day would have been for naught, if my cousin, or one of my siblings, was gawking under the table judging all the inappropriate footsie carryings-on.

To set a gracious table, one where every face fed feels safe, appreciated, respected, affirmed, liberated, and loved, takes some work, especially for those faces who have not been feeling those things. To set such a table might mean that we have to go so far as to turn over a table or two. It might mean we need to get into some trouble, in the words of John Lewis, “some necessary trouble, some good trouble.”

Because as history as proved, there are always privileged tyrants in the world who believe it’s their role to play the judge: deciding who deserves a seat at the table and who should be excluded or deported.

I believe it is notable that the Hebrew word for “tyrant” is repeated three times in three verses (verses 3, 4 and 5). In Isaiah 13 and 49, we read that Babylon was the tyrant. But here in chapter 25 the lack of a specific reference conveys the frequent cyclical threat of tyrants throughout history—tyrants in every age whose refusal to demonstrate love and grace, to treat every face with equality and justice, benefits them and their friends at the top, while everyone else suffers, while “the wine drys up, the vine languishes, and all the merry-hearted sigh.”

In every generation, there are those seek to enrich themselves at the expense of others. And fearing a revolt of the masses who will certainly suffer, they lie and make up stories, conning the masses to believe that it’s not them and their oligarch cronies who are preventing them from having a seat at the table, sharing in the rich bounty of the table, but it’s some poor marginalized group who’s preventing them.

It’s the poor and the immigrants, the Eunuchs and the sexually different, the widows and the unmarried, we should fear. They are the ones who are poisoning our blood, making us weak, destroying our culture. The tyranny of the greedy and the powerful who are now at head of the table have nothing to do with our low position or no position at the table, or why there is so little on the plate in front of us.

So, not seated at the prophet’s extravagant table set with rich food and fine wines for all faces, are the tyrants. Because the problem with just one tyrant at the table is that all faces will no longer feel welcomed at the table, especially those who hunger and thirst for a seat at the table, those who have been the victims or the scapegoats of tyranny. These were Isaiah’s people, the faces for whom the prophet was most concerned: the faces of all who have been pushed to the margins: the faces of widows and orphans, the faces of Eunuchs and foreigners, the faces of the poor and needy.

This is the sacred table I believe people of faiths are being called to set in our world today: a large, crowded table where there is no injustice, no bullying, no cruelty, no hate, and no oppression whatsoever.

Setting such a gracious table will most certainly require possessing the courage to flip a table or two, as we will have to work diligently to prevent anything, or anyone, opposed to love from taking over the table.

Public dissent is essential around the table, because the one thing that tyrants count on is the silence of others. As the old German saying goes: “If one Nazi sits down at a table with nine people, and there is no protest, then there are ten Nazis sitting at that table.”

However, when the nine stand up, speak up, and speak out, taking steps to ensure that just love remains at the table, either the fascist will leave the table, taking their prejudice, fear, hate and toxicity with them, or they will find grace for themselves, experience liberation and redemption, and be given a welcomed place at table.

And in the safe space of the table, as the people eat and drink together, as they share their grief and cry together, as they are filled with grace and love together, the dark shroud that had been covering their world will begin to dissipate, and suddenly they will once again be able to celebrate and to laugh together.

Gathered around the crowded and diverse table, Palestinian and Jew, Ukrainian and Russian, Indigenous people and colonists, queer and straight, documented and undocumented, able-bodied, and differently-abled, brown, black and white, all God’s children begin to understand that they share more in common than that which divides them, most importantly, one God, one Lord, and Creator of all faces. And there around the prophetic table, they are able to see their great diversity as the very image of God.

So, what’s for dinner?

As prejudice leaves and fears are relieved and tears are wiped away, mercy and compassion are for dinner.

As disgrace is forgiven and barriers begin to fall, grace and love are for dinner.

As despair dissipates and sorrow fades, hope and joy are for dinner.

As plates are passed and the wine is consumed, as people are seen, their voices are heard, and their beliefs are respected, as enemies become friends, and strangers become siblings, peace and salvation are for dinner.

And who’s all going to be there?

Here, now, this afternoon, tomorrow, next year, and well into the future, around our family tables, around the tables of our faith, around the table of our city, around the table of our nation, around the table of the earth, all who believe in love and need love, all who hunger and thirst for justice, are going to be there! Your faces are going to be there, and my face is going to be there. We are all going to be there, regardless of our religion or lack thereof, ensuring that no one and no thing opposed to love, no matter how powerful, will be there.

And the good news, proclaims Isaiah, is that our hungry and thirsting God will be also there, seated in our midst at the very crowded table, swallowing everything in heaven and on earth that divides us from one another, and consequently, from the love of God.

God will be there with a ravenously righteous appetite, swallowing even death, forever. And the most divided of nations will be united as all become one, and on earth there will be peace, as the entire creation is born again. Amen.

Birth Pangs!

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

Mark 13:1-8 NRSV

One of the great things about living in southern Louisiana were the countless stories I heard about two infamous Cajuns named Boudreaux and Thibodeaux.

One story goes like this:

Pastor Boudreaux was the pastor of a small, rural church and Rev Thibodeaux was the pastor of similar church directly across the road. One day, they were both standing out by the road in front of their churches, each pounding a sign into the ground as fast as they could. The sign read:

“Da End is Near. Turn Yo Sef ‘Roun Now Afore It Be Too Late!”

As soon as the signs got into the ground, a car passed by. Without slowing down, the driver leaned out his window and yelled as loud as he could: “You bunch of religious nuts!”

Then, from the curve in the road Boudreaux and Thibodeaux could hear tires screeching, and then, a great big splash!

Pastor Boudreaux yells at Rev. Thibodeaux across the road and asks: “Do ya tink maybe da signs should jus say ‘Bridge Out’?”

I wonder sometimes if I am like that poor driver, as I am quick to look past scripture like Mark chapter 13 thinking that such passages about the end of days is for the nuts of my faith. After reading each of the lectionary lessons, I told Jeremy and Maria earlier this week that I was going to sidestep Mark 13 and preach the epistle lesson of Hebrews. My thinking was that, right now, no one in this church wants to hear about the end of the world. If we wanted to hear about dooms day, we’d just turn on the TV and watch the news!

And right now, to keep ourselves from sinking any further into the depths of the utter despair, many of us are trying to avoid the news.

However, all week, there’s something about this strange, cataclysmic passage in Mark that kept drawing me to it, something hauntingly relevant, eerily significant.

Most scholars believe Mark was written during, or just after, the catastrophic Jewish revolt against the Roman occupation of Palestine in the year 66. The Roman army crushed the revolution destroying the Jewish temple, and the Jewish people could not have felt more defeated and more hopeless.

Thus, the message of Mark’s Gospel is a message of hope proclaimed amid great devastation and despair. To really hear the message, to truly understand its meaning, we need to listen from a position of desolation, chaos, bewilderment, and panic.

See what I mean when I say, “hauntingly relevant?”

In the ancient world, whenever the forces of darkness seemed to be on the winning side— whenever the powers of deception, division, and oppression seemed victorious over truth, unity, and freedom— whenever fear, hate, and greed seemed to conquer love, justice, and compassion— people sought hope by turning to a peculiar genre of literature called “apocalyptic.”

“Apocalypse” is a word that sounds foreboding and dystopian. We associate it with “impending doom” or “the end of days.” But it literally means “to uncover” or “to reveal” a vision of hope during those times when all hope seems lost.

It’s where the book of Revelation gets its name as it is written a beautiful letter of hope to Christians in Ephesus who were suffering under the tyranny of a narcissistic authoritarian name Caesar Domitian. The book of Daniel is another example of such literature as it was written to encourage Jewish people to refuse to bow down to another narcissistic autocrat named Nebuchadnezzar.

The purpose of all apocalyptic literature is to inspire resistance to the fascism and oppression that is in every age. And it does so “by envisioning an imminent future in which God comes to the rescue in spectacular, vividly poetic fashion,” righting all wrongs and setting things right, inaugurating a new era of liberty, justice, and compassion.[i]

Apocalyptic literature paints a hopeful portrait of God pulling back the veil of what we read in the paper, or watch on the news, to reveal what God is truly up to in this world, revealing that God is still at work transforming sorrow into joy, despair into hope, and death into life.

Despite all appearances, Mary’s song that we call the “Magnificat,” like Hannah’s song from 1 Samuel that inspired our Call to Worship this morning, is even now being fulfilled. Wickedness is perishing. Righteousness thunders. Grief is becoming gladness, times of trial, times peace. The powerful are coming down from their thrones. The lowly lifted up. The hungry filled with good things, and the rich sent away empty. Despite all appearances, under the great veil of darkness and despair, love is winning, justice is coming, healing is happening, freedom is ringing, possibilities are growing, and the entire creation is being born again.

In Mark 13 we read Jesus’ warning to the faithful not to be led astray. Jesus challenges his disciples to see the good news behind the veil, the love behind the fear, the mercy behind the hate, while resisting being among the many who will led astray by those who say, “I am he!” or something like “I alone can fix it.”

When we hear of wars and rumors of wars, of nations that are rising up against nation or are deeply divided, when we hear of natural disasters, when we witness the entire creation crying out in angst and agony, the challenge for the faithful, says Jesus, is to believe that all of this is but “the beginning of the birth pangs.”

“The beginning of the birth pangs.” What a beautiful, hopeful, and expectant description of the suffering of this world! The groaning of creation is but a sign that something new, something wondrous, and ironically enough, something inconceivable, is about to be born. Our grief that is associated with the oppression and hate of this world is but a holy movement of liberation and justice that is even now in gestation. Our grief is the dawning of a new era of healing, mercy, and love.

I believe Jesus is saying: Right now, things are terribly bleak. People are being led astray, many in my name. You have great, seemingly unsurmountable obstacles before you, as large as the giant blocks of stone Herod used to build the temple. You are reeling in shock, sadness, and anger. You are fearful for your neighbors who are vulnerable, undocumented, Muslim, or transgendered. You are grieving the loss of friends and family led astray by lies, fear, and hate.

But that pain that you have? That ache that feels like you’ve been punched in the gut? That wrenching inside of you that keeps you awake at night?

It only means that you are in labor! It only means that something miraculous is about to be born! The misery you feel and the suffering you are enduring are but birth pangs from the Holy One— signs of the inbreaking of the kingdom of God, signs that God is on the move and moving inside of you. Your grief, your stress, and your sleepless nights are but holy contractions letting you know that God is coming in you and through you, to rescue, to restore, and to rebuild.

Jesus is saying: Take heart! All the obstacles before you, no matter how large and impressive, will be thrown down. The mighty upon their thrones shall fall. The hungry fed. The lowly lifted up. The yokes of oppression broken. For the God of love and justice is turning the whole world upside-down, or right-side up!

This past Thursday local clergy with the executive directors of Interfaith Outreach and Park View Mission met downtown at the El Mariachi restaurant for our weekly meeting to support one another while figuring out how to solve all the world’s problems, starting of course here in Lynchburg.

Like all good clergy gatherings, we started the meeting complaining about bad religion, lamenting over the state of the Church today—how many, maybe the majority of churches today, are not just off-track, but having been led astray, they are actually heading in the opposite direction from which they should be going. We shared our grief how this has led to our current national crisis.

We grieved the number of good people we know who have given up on the church. How at one time they claimed to be Christian and were part of a church, only to watch the people in their church behave in the most un-Christlike of ways, disparaging and denigrating the people whom Jesus cared for the most: the poor, the vulnerable, and the marginalized.

We concurred with Lutheran pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber who said:

People don’t leave Christianity because they stop believing in the teachings of Jesus. People leave Christianity because they believe in the teachings of Jesus so much, they can’t stomach being a part of an institution that claims to be about that and clearly isn’t.

Todd Blake from Park View and Shawne Farmer from Interfaith Outreach lamented the great needs in our city and shared their fears that things were only going to get worse.

Then, in our grief, we began to brainstorm together. We explored ways we could take the love and justice movement (that we believed we were somehow a part of as an interfaith clergy group) and expand it. We talked about ways we could invite others to join, not our churches, but to join a movement we are calling “Just Love Lynchburg,” a movement whose only agenda is love and justice. We discussed creative ways to recruit volunteers to support the work of Interfaith Outreach, Park View Mission and others who are doing good work, mobilizing volunteers of different faiths or of no faith who believe that the greatest thing we can do while we are on this earth is to love our neighbors as ourselves, especially our most vulnerable and marginalized neighbors.

  We started talking about building a “Just Love Lynchburg” float for the upcoming Christmas parade. We talked about how going to church and inviting people to come to church with us isn’t going to make this world a better place, or our city a more just and equitable place—that only love can do that.

Excitement around our table grew. We got a little loud. And suddenly and miraculously, El Mariachi transformed from a Mexican restaurant into a labor and delivery room!

Now, I am sure our exuberance baffled the other patrons who overheard our hope and witnessed our joy while they sipped their sipped their margaritas and dipped tortillas in queso. Some of them probably scoffed, whispering to one another, or at least thinking: “what a bunch of religious nuts!”

The good news is, even for all who scoff and doubt, the veil is being lifted, and the holy truth is being revealed. Despite all appearances, under the current cover of darkness, defeat, and despair, love is winning. For the pain we are feeling today only means that the Holy One is moving, moving even now, in each one of us. Our sufferings are but birth pangs, letting us know that a little something miraculous is growing inside of each of us, and those little somethings, collectively, because we are all in, together, have the power to change the world.

Thanks be to God.

[i] https://www.saltproject.org/progressive-christian-blog/lectionary-commentary-for-twenty-sixth-week-after-pentecost

A Word from the Lord

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

I Kings 17:8-16 NRSV

More than one person has reached out to me this week saying, “I hope you’ve been working on your sermon, because I really need to hear a word of hope and encouragement from you.”

But there’s a tiny little problem with that. I am not sure I have such a word, because after this week, I need someone to share a word of hope and encouragement with me.

What I need today, and what I believe you need, is not a word from a preacher. What we need today is a word from the Lord.

The good news is that is how our Hebrew Lesson this morning begins. In verse 8 we read:

The word of the Lord came to him.

Whenever I read a verse like this one, someone will inevitably comment: “I sure wished the Lord spoke to people today like God did back in the day.”

Well, I believe God is still speaking. The problem is we’re usually not listening.

The passage continues:

Go now to Zarephath and live there; for I have commanded a widow there to feed you when you arrive.

The good news is that the Prophet Elijah is listening. For he sets out and goes immediately to Zarephath.

And when he comes to the gate of the town, just as the Lord had said, he meets a widow who is gathering a couple of sticks to build a fire for supper. Elijah calls out to this one who has been commanded by the Lord to invite him to supper: “Will you pour me a glass of water? And while you’re at it, bring me a slice of bread?”

But she answers:

As the Lord your God lives, I have nothing baked. I have only a handful of meal in a jar, and a little oil in a jug.

Like many our nation today, maybe she wasn’t listening when the Lord commanded her to extend hospitality to strangers when they arrive at your border.

Or perhaps she heard the command. She just doubted the command. But maybe she didn’t so much doubt the command as she feared the command.

Perhaps she wanted to follow the command. She just didn’t feel like she was able, that she had any more to give. For she had fought so hard, given so much, only to have everything for which she worked for taken away.

Like us, the widow remembered more triumphant times: when freedom was won for the enslaved; opportunity won for immigrants; liberation won from fascism; civil rights won for minorities; reproductive rights were won for women; and civil rights and protections won for the LGBTQ community.

But now there’s a great famine in the land, and paralyzed by grief, the widow didn’t know how to follow the commands of the Lord. How could she keep giving? How could she continue loving? She had almost nothing left. She’s distraught and disillusioned, dejected and depleted. She didn’t see any way forward.

The last time she checked her pantry, she saw that she had only enough flour and oil to make one final meal for her and her family. Then, in the midst famine in the land, she knew that they would surely die.

Elijah then says something to the widow that many of us need to hear today. The prophet says: “Do not be afraid.”

But, there’s something patronizing, hollow, even offensive, about those words.

Hebrew Scripture Professor Katherine Schifferdecker imagines the widow responding:

Easy for you to say! You’re not the one preparing to cook one last meal for yourself and your son before you die. You’re not the one who has watched your supply of flour and oil relentlessly dwindle day-by-day, week-by-week, as the sun bakes the seed in the hard, parched earth. You’re not the one who has watched your beloved son slowly grow thinner and more listless.

In other words: the privileged audacity to tell me not to be afraid! You’re not a widow. You’ve never been devalued, been the victim of injustice or ever been this vulnerable.

We can hear her saying:

You’re not an immigrant. You’re not transgendered. You’ve never had anyone despise your very existence. You’re not poor. You don’t depend on Affordable Care or live on Social Security. You don’t live in Ukraine or Gaza or in states where women have fewer rights. You’ve never had to worry about being refused medical care and you have never feared dying from a miscarriage. You’ve never had to plead for your life to matter, only to get ridiculed for doing so. You’ve never been labeled “the enemy from within” or “the problem with the country.”

You’ve never walked in my shoes. You don’t know how many miles I have marched for liberty and justice. You don’t know how many friends I’ve lost, how many family members I’ve offended, the bullying I’ve endured, by standing on the side of those demeaned by sick religion and by a culture of greed. You don’t know all I’ve sacrificed. You’ve never felt my prayers of anguish and tears.

But Elijah says to her once more: ‘Do not be afraid; go and bake a little cake and bring it to me, and afterwards bake something for yourself and your son’ (1 Kings 17:13).

Schifferdecker continues:

How dare this prophet of God ask me for cake, knowing that I have so little? Who does he think he is, asking me for bread before I feed my own? I told him that I have only ‘a handful of meal, a little oil, and a couple of sticks.’ There’s not enough. And Death waits at my door.

Then the good news, a word from the Lord comes:

For thus says the Lord the God of Israel: ‘The jar of meal will not be emptied, and the jug of oil will not fail until the day that the Lord sends rain on the earth.’

When you are knocked down and can’t see any path forward, when you feel like we have nothing left to give, if you can somehow, someway summon the courage to rise up to continue following the difficult and risky commands of the Lord, loving courageously and giving generously, if you dare to step outside our comfort zones to follow the steps of the Lord, you can be assured that “Your jar will not be emptied, and your jug will not fail.”

 So, she got up, maybe hesitantly, perhaps fearfully, but that didn’t matter.The only thing that mattered was that she got up and faithfully followed the Lord’s command. And she and her household ate for many days.

The jar of meal was not emptied, neither did the jug of oil fail, according to the word of the Lord that he spoke by Elijah (1 Kings 17:14-16).Do you hear it? Are you listening? It’s a word from the Lord.

 Maybe we hear it, but we are still doubting it, still fearing it.

 Following the commands of Jesus these days is just too dangerous. We need to play it safe. Focus inward. Get out of from politics. Stay away from trouble.

As sure as the Lord God lives, it’s too risky to speak truth to power. We can’t continue to call out their lies and their greed, their stoking the fires of fear, their fanning the flames of hate, their sowing the seeds of vulgarity, division, and violence.

As sure as the Lord God lives, we just don’t have enough power now to fight for the rights of women which have been stripped away, the rights of immigrants threatened with deportation, or fight for the rights of transgendered people, that those with all the power now, want to erase.

Have you heard the news? Do you know what is going on? There’s an anti-Christ spirit gripping our land! As sure as the Lord God lives…

We can’t afford put the needs of others over our own when it is more popular to serve only ourselves.

We can’t identify with the least when it is more popular to scapegoat them for all the country’s problems.

We can’t welcome the immigrant when it is more popular to dehumanize and deport them.

We can’t be peacemakers when it is more popular to support a militia.

We can’t preach loving our enemies when it is more popular to call for their executions.

We can’t care for our environment when it is more popular to scoff at science.

We can’t mention words like “racism,” “sexism,” “Antisemitism,” “Islamophobia,” and “transphobia” when it is more popular to hate.

We can’t support affordable healthcare, fair living wages and access to equitable education when it is more popular to do the exact opposite.

We can’t follow Jesus these days when it is more popular to just worship Jesus.

We simply don’t have enough left to follow the risky commands of the Lord.

We don’t have enough sticks to lose ourselves.

There’s not enough meal in the jar to deny ourselves.

And there’s not enough oil in the jug to even think about picking up a cross.

When morale is low and our sticks are about to run out, when we can see the bottom of the jar, and we’re squeezing mere drops from the jug, the grace of Jesus seems too extravagant, the mercy of Jesus too generous, and the love of Jesus too gracious. The light that Jesus commands us to shine takes too much energy and involves too much risk! And we are afraid we just don’t have what it takes.

We doubt such light. We question such light. We fear such light.

Our defense mechanisms are telling us that, right now, it’s best to keep the light hid, out of sight, tucked away under a bushel. Fear tells us to take down the flag, get off the internet, and retreat behind locked doors.

But then comes a word from the Lord.

Are we listening?

When an anti-Christ spirit possesses the nation;

and we’re tempted to believe we do not have enough sticks to keep the fire burning;

that we need to retreat into the sanctuary;

that we need to accept a personal, private Jesus, keep him deep down our hearts and out of the public square;

that we need to be tightfisted with grace, scrimp on mercy, and be stingy with love;

Behold, we hear a word from the Lord:

“Do not be afraid. Because when you follow the commands of God, your jar will never be emptied and your jug will never fail, and as long as you are working for justice, you will always have a great big pile of sticks!”

There’s no number of bomb threats from Russia, no amount of misinformation from Elon, no amount of lies on Fox News, no amount of false prophets in our churches, bullies on the city council, or fascism in the White House, that will  ever empty your jar.

There’s no amount of hate in Congress, meaness in the Senate, and Christian Nationalism on the Supreme Court, that will ever cause your jug to fail!

There’s no new policy, no executive order, no tweet, and no political rally that will ever deplete your basket of sticks!

In the Second chapter of Kings, we read about a man who brings the prophet Elisha a prophet’s tithe: Twenty loaves of bread and some fresh ears of grain in a sack.

Elisha accepts the tithe, but says, I want you to take this food and give it to 100 people who who are very poor.

The man responds: “But there’s just no way. There is not enough food here to set before a hundred people.”

But then comes a word from the Lord: “Because of your great faith in giving to the Lord during this time of scarcity, I have this feeling that there’s is going to be more than enough.”

The man set the food before the people, and there was not only enough, but it was indeed more than enough, as they had leftovers.

Just like they had after the disciples fed 5,000 people with a few loaves and a couple of fish.

Just like I am sure they had had after Jesus turned water into all that delicious wine!

Just like I am sure they had after the father welcomes the prodigal son home with that extravagant dinner party!

The good news is that God is still speaking today. God is still filling jars and replenishing jugs, and in God’s kingdom, the sticks that fuel the fire of the Holy Spirit are renewable resources!

So, let’s listen up! Don’t doubt, and don’t be afraid!

Let’s follow the commands of the Lord. Let’s love generously, love extravagantly, and love graciously! Let’s deny ourselves. Take up a cross. Take a risk. Continue to put the needs of others ahead of our own. Let’s make some folks uncomfortable. Be willing to lose a friend. All the while being kind, doing justice, walking humbly, speaking truth to power, preaching good news to the poor, and proclaiming freedom to the oppressed.

Let’s show the world that hope will never be silent, faith will never fade, and love will never cower.

Because, although we may think we don’t have what it takes, there is enough. There will always be enough.

No, in God’s abundant mercy, there will always be more than enough.

This is the word of the Lord.

Thanks be to God.

A Vision of Heaven

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

Revelation 21:1-6a

Well, as someone who loves you and is concerned for your well-being, I need to ask you, “How are you doing?”

“Well, preacher, how do you think we are doing!”

“We are living in some very uncertain days. These are some very dark times. We are living in the shadow of grief and despair. Our entire future is in doubt. We are anxious, as there is so much to fear. People have rejected the gospel, the good news towards the poor, the immigrant, all who live on the margins.

And there’s this narcissistic, authoritarian tyrant in our land. And people we know and love, are bowing down to him. They are not just defending him, but they seem to worship him. He spews hate, and the people cheer! He threatens anyone who is against him, and the people love it!”

Of course, I am talking about Caesar Domitian, that ruthless ruler of the Roman Empire who persecuted Christians in the first century. And I’m imagining a conversation between the Christians who lived during that time in Ephesus, and a concerned preacher named John, the author of the beautiful letter of hope that we call Revelation.

Imprisoned on the island of Patmos for offending the powers-that-be by preaching the inclusive good news of the gospel, John writes a powerful letter of encouragement in which he describes the divine culmination of all that is, a heavenly vision to hold out for and to work towards—a beautiful vision of a new heaven and a new earth and a holy city; where, in the end, all who thirst for peace and justice and love will drink from the spring of the water of life.

Now, to be honest (in a way that may be offensive to some), the promise of going to heaven one day to live forever and ever and ever and ever has not always been appealing to me. I have never desired to live in a mansion or walk on streets of gold. Because I seek to follow Jesus who intentionally identified with the poor, such opulence turns my stomach.

Floating on a cloud playing a harp for all of eternity has never sounded like good times to me. Furthermore, I have always been leery of Christians who seem to make going to heaven one day the whole point of what it means to be a Christian. That sounds rather selfish to me. And when I consider the selflessness of Jesus, the words and works of Jesus, I believe that type of theology misses the whole point of what Christianity is all about.

Consequently, I believe the vision of heaven in Revelation (while it might be our eternal home) it’s not so much our future home, as it is our present purpose. It’s not so much our final destination, as it is our daily goal. It’s not so much where we are going when we die, as it is what we are called to create while we are alive. It’s God’s vision of what the world should be, could be, and will be. It’s the vision of the kingdom of God that we seek to prophetically proclaim. It’s the vision of life that we are praying for and working toward until it fully and finally comes on earth as it is in heaven.

It is the vision we are called to live into no matter the outcome of Tuesday’s election, as we know that the status quo is not the divine destiny. The current darkness of hate and division, even if it grows darker, is not the holy purpose that God is calling every human to and leading the entire creation toward.

What does heaven, this holy purpose look like?

We are called to live into a vision of a world where no one is thirsting for their lives to matter, where no one is treated as second-class or is ever called “garbage.” In the twenty-second chapter, in rich, symbolic language we read that the water of life which quenches all thirst is a mighty river flowing, bright as crystal, from the very throne of God, accessible to all in the middle of the holy city’s main street!

What does heaven look like?

On both sides of the river, again, accessible to all, we read there is a tree of life, bearing twelve kinds of fruit, and the leaves on the trees have the power to heal the nations, bringing an end to all war and violence, greed and oppression, sickness and disease.

What does heaven look like?

We continue reading that nothing accursed will be there. There will be no more hate; no more bigotry; no more ugliness; no more name-calling; no more racism and sexism; nothing that is vile, foul, or evil.

What does heaven look like?

Here’s my favorite part: Heaven looks like the servants of Christ, all the saints of God, gathered around the throne worshipping together. The good news is that we don’t have to only imagine heaven or just read about heaven. The good news is that we have seen heaven. We have experienced heaven.

For what does heaven look like?

Heaven looks like Coretha Loughridge. Heaven looks like a saint who faithfully and courageously lived into the vision of heaven as she answered a call to ministry during a time when most believed that God only calls men to such a vocation. Undeterred by the prevailing sexism of the culture and attacks from misogynistic bullies in the church, Coretha not only faithfully served as a pastor and as a regional minister, she taught, modeled, and exemplified the radical inclusivity that we see worshipping around the throne in Revelation, encouraging countless other women to follow in her steps.

And the good news is this saint of God, is still encouraging and still inspiring the church to stand up today for the rights of women in a patriarchal religious culture where men seek to subjugate women, objectify women, control women, tell women what they need, whether they like it or not.

What does heaven look like?

Heaven looks like Dorothy Watkins. Heaven looks like this saint who lived into the vision of heaven by teaching us that when grief casts a dark shadow in our world, when the dark clouds of despair appear our world, when it seems impossible see any path forward, we can carry on knowing that the darkness will not overcome us.

Dorothy became well-acquainted grief at a very young age when she experienced the untimely death of her father who died when he was only 34 years-old and was subsequently sent to live in an orphanage. Then as an adult, Dorothy lost her husband, like her father, before he turned 40. She later lost her stepson Daniel, and then lost her granddaughter Christy in a tragic car accident.

The miracle was that though the darkness overshawdowed her, it did not defeat her. With faith Dorothy persevered, as evidenced through her selfless service with Fairview Christian, Euclid Christian and First Christian Church, and through her dedicated work as an accountant with Herb Moore and the Lynchburg Covenant Fellowship. Dorothy’s light shined in the darkness teaching us that no matter how dark the world seems, faith will not be dimmed. Hope will not fade. And love will never die.

What does heaven look like?

Heaven looks like Linda Cox. After teaching for Lynchburg Public Schools, Linda and Bryan moved to Northern Virginia in 1974 for Bryan’s new job. At the time, public schools were not hiring, so she interviewed for a teaching position at the Catholic School where she was asked how she felt about teaching black kids. Linda’s response was beautiful, saying: “kids are kids.”

“Kids are kids” –a simple, but at the same time, a profound vision that is perhaps most needed in a world where there are powers that seek to divide us and keep us afraid of one another. A beautiful, holy vision needed today where the children of God are dehumanized, referred to as “vermin,” “an infestation,” “dogs,” “aliens,” “low-IQ,” “low-life,” “bimbo, “human scum,” or “theys” who are “poisoning the blood of our country.”

I love how Revelation describes the divine human destiny. In Revelation 7, we read where every person is present—all nations, all tribes, all races, and all languages. Puerto Ricans are there. Haitians are there. Mexicans are there. Venezuelans are there. Palestinians are there. All ethnicities, all languages, all people are there, and all means all.

What does heaven look like?

Our holy purpose looks like diversity, equity, and inclusion. Our divine destiny that we are praying for, working toward, and fighting to create, is a world where “kids are kids” and there not distinction between male and female, Jew and Gentile, slave and free, as all are one. Our present purpose is what Jesus taught, modeled, and embodied, and it is what the saints of God we remember this day lived.

And now, as someone who loves you and is concerned for your well-being, (it’s me now, not John) I need to ask you, “How are you doing?”

“Well, preacher, with a holy vision of a new heaven and new earth, how do you think we are doing!

We are living in some uncertain days. These are some very dark times, but our future is not in doubt, thus we have nothing to fear. For our hope has been revealed. We’ve seen our destiny. We have been shown our purpose. We have heard our calling; thus, echoing the words of Bishop Steven Charleston, a Native American elder and citizen of the Choctaw Nation, whose people have endured days much darker than we have:

When they hate, we will love!

When they curse, we will bless!

When they hurt, we will heal!

Because we are servants of the light!

And we are not afraid of the darkness.

We will carry on with our work as stewards of the Earth and all her children.

When they divide, we will unite!

When they rage, we will calm!

When they deny, we will affirm!

We will simply be who we are, for that is what the Spirit has created [and destined] us to be.”

Amen.

 

Commissioning and Benediction

Envisioning the divine destiny of this world, having received a revelation that the saints of God have shared and share this day, may our faith, hope and love be a beacon for others who feel as though darkness has engulfed them.

Let’s go and be who we are, the people the God has created, Christ has called, and the Spirit has destined and is leading us to be. Amen.

A Prophetic Response to School Shootings

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

Isaiah 35:4-7 NRSV

It was around 600 BC when a dystopian 1930’s-like dictator named Nebuchadnezzar was on a mission to make Babylon great again by building and renovating tall buildings. His armies invaded and occupied Assyria, Egypt, and Palestine, destroying Jerusalem. Judah had three kings during Nebuchadnezzar’s reign who were either taken as hostages or killed. The entire territory was desolated, and the Jewish people were exiled.

I imagine it was difficult, if not impossible, for those in exile to see any light in the darkness. And it was easy for them to resign themselves to the belief that things could not and would not get any better, to acquiesce to despair.

It is in this fearful time and dark place that a prophet named Isaiah reminds people of faith that they are called to speak out proclaiming words of courage to those with fearful hearts (Isaiah 35:4).

The phrase “those with fearful hearts” only scratches the surface in describing the people’s despair. Anathea Portier-Young, Professor of Old Testament at Duke Divinity School, points out that a more literal reading the Hebrew language is: “ones whose hearts are racing.” Isaiah calls people to proclaim a word of hope to people “whose hearts are racing.”

Perhaps we have all experienced something of what this professor describes when she writes:

The heart races. A hormone we call adrenaline or epinephrine courses through the bloodstream. It stimulates muscles, directs blood-flow, and accelerates metabolism. At the same time, it causes the senses to close in — the field of vision narrows and the world becomes strangely quiet. It is a stress response. It might energize the body for battle, or to run away. Or it might mimic paralysis.[i]

The Jewish people who had been terrorized by Nebuchadnezzar and forced into exile certainly knew something about this.

And today, the students and faculty of Apalachee High School, along with their families and friends in Georgia, tragically know something about this, along with every child in our country who has experienced active shooter drills teaching them to first run, then to hide, and then to fight, when someone with a gun comes to the school.

Every parent who has a school-aged child and every person who has a heart, knows something about a racing heart every time we are alerted with breaking news of another senseless school shooting.

And, like the Jewish people in exile, it has become difficult, if not impossible, to see any light in the darkness. We acquiesce to the despair, calling it “the new normal.” Even people of faith have no faith that things in this life can be any better, thus many have placed all of their faith and hope in an afterlife.

The only reason many folks are in church this morning is to make preparations to leave this God-forsaken earth for heaven, not to be inspired to do something to bring heaven to earth.

So today, perhaps more than ever, we need to hear a prophetic word, at least as much as the Jews in exile needed such a word. We need to hear someone like Isaiah calling faithful people to stand up to proclaim some prophetic good news to those today whose hearts are racing.

To understand the prophetic word that people of faith are called to proclaim today, it might be helpful talk about what the prophet does not say we are to proclaim.

Isaiah does not say: “Tell those with racing hearts that you are sending them your thoughts and prayers.”

Isaiah does not say: “Tell those with racing hearts that you hate what happened, but such evil is just ‘a fact of life.’”

Isaiah does not say: “Tell those with racing hearts that we live in a dangerous world full of ‘sick and deranged monsters,’ and instead of making common-sense laws to prevent them from attaining weapons of war, we actually need to make such weapons more accessible, even to our children, to protect us from the danger.”

The prophet doesn’t say: “Tell them that this is just the way it is, and things are not going to get any better, so we just need to accept it. Gun violence will always be the number one cause of childhood death in our country. We had 1,708 mass shootings last year, and we can expect more next year. This is the new normal, and there’s really nothing we can do about it, except to arm ourselves, lock our doors, continue to put our children through active shooter drills, maybe get them some bullet-proof back-packs, and display the Ten Commandments in classrooms.”

And Isaiah doesn’t say anything close to: “Tell the people that the reason they live in so much fear is because they have taken God out of their schools.”

In fact, the prophet says the exact opposite.

The prophet says:

Have courage and take heart because God is here, right here. God is coming to put things right and redress all wrongs. (Isaiah 35:4 The Message).

What bothers me the most about the state of the church today is not that the church has a difficult time articulating the prophetic good-news. It is not that it has clouded or even lost the message. What troubles me the most is that the church often proclaims a message that is the exact opposite of the good news that we are called to share, the antithesis of everything that the prophets proclaimed and Jesus taught, modeled and embodied.

Instead of loving our neighbors, we preach take care of yourself.

Instead of welcoming the stranger, we preach building a wall.

Instead of healing the sick, we preach denying their healthcare.

Instead of forgiving the sinner, we preach throwing rocks.

Instead of treating the poor like they are blessed, we preach treating them like they are cursed.

Instead of standing up for the marginalized, we preach calling them abominations.

We choose to favor the rich over the poor, greed over generosity, judgment over forgiveness, selfishness over sacrifice. We choose to embrace a lie and reject the truth. We choose the arrogant, the proud, the condescending and the self-important, while rejecting anyone who comes close to embracing a way of service and humility.

And instead of protecting our children, we’d rather protect our second amendment right.

Instead of sharing hope in God’s restorative justice, we’d rather share gloom and doom, hell, fire, and brimstone.

The message we proclaim is the exact opposite of the message of the prophets and Jesus. And this is why I don’t hesitate to say that the message that is proclaimed by many churches today is “anti-Christ.”

Anne chose to read this prophetic passage this morning using The Message translation of the Hebrew, because the NRSV translation we usually read translates the Hebrew word naqam into the English word “vengeance.” Verse 4 reads in the NRSV: “God will come with vengeance.”

Like Anne, I have a difficult time linking “vengeance” with the good news of God’s presence. To be honest, I almost chose not to preach this passage this morning when I first read it in the NRSV, as I choose to believe that God’s dealings with creation is restorative, rather than retributive.

This is why it is always good to take a close look at the original language when studying scripture. Biblical scholar Hendrik Peels points out that the Hebrew word translated “vengeance” in the NRSV literally means “the restoration of justice.” Thus, the meaning of the word is closer to what we call “restorative justice.” It means setting things right.

Isaiah is calling faithful people to proclaim to those with racing hearts: “Have hope for God has not abandoned you. This world is not God-forsaken. God is here with you, and God’s restorative justice is on its way. God is here working in our world, creating and recreating. God is addressing and redressing everything that is wrong in the world making it right.

Isaiah is saying to tell the people with fearful, racing hearts: “Be greatly encouraged for violence is not the new normal. Resignation to despair is not a fact of life. It does not have to be this way! For God is here! Justice has arrived! Love is coming, and love will win!”

With rich poetic language, the prophet says to the people with racing hearts: “Eyes that have been blinded will be opened.”

I hear:

Eyes that have been blinded by selfishness and greed will be opened! because I know that some of God’s people, some faithful disciples, who are shining a light.

Deaf ears that are unable to hear voices of mercy and peace will be unstopped! because I know some of God’s people who are proclaiming the truth.”

People who are feel paralyzed and powerless to bring about change will leap like deer all the way to the ballot box! because I know some disciples who are out in the streets preaching hope.”

Tell the people with racing hearts that those whose voices have been silenced by the loudness of hate, fear and privilege will break into song! Because followers of Jesus are going to be louder. Voices will be raised demanding that legislators enact common sense laws to protect all people society, especially those who are most vulnerable.

Tell the people with racing hearts that justice is coming like springs of water bursting forth in a wilderness! Streams of justice will flow in the desert!” because people are answering the call to heed the message of the prophets and to follow the non-violent, peace-making way of Jesus. People are speaking out passionately and prophetically with beautiful words of hope and transformation.

We are prophetically proclaiming to the people that when the scriptures talk about being born again, it applies to the entire creation!

“Hot sands will become a cool oasis and thirsty ground a splashing fountain, and even the jackals, even creatures regarded as lowliest of creatures, will have fresh water to drink. Barren grasslands will even flourish richly!”

Because no matter how bad things seem, we will never give out while working as God’s prophetic agents of restorative justice in this world. We will never give in to the darkness that surrounds us, and we will never give up on love and the power that it has to transform the world!

[i] https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-23-2/commentary-on-isaiah-354-7a-3