Tag: Peace

Is There a Balm in Gilead? A Cry for Peace in an Age of Fascism

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

Jeremiah 8:18-9:1

My joy is gone. Grief is upon me. My heart is sick. Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician there? O that my head were a spring of water, and my eyes a fountain of tears, so that I might weep day and night for the slain of my poor people.

How many of you can feel the enormous grief of the prophet? It’s heavy. It’s exhausting. And I confess that there was a time this week I felt like just giving up.

Jeremiah’s gut-wrenching lament comes from the suffering of a broken city—amid a people demoralized by a corrupt government, betrayed by those in power, and abandoned by the religious establishment.

The prophet’s voice trembles with profound sadness. He sees a nation that has lost its way: a people who claim to believe in God but who fail to practice kindness, justice, and mercy; leaders who have consolidated power by telling lies, scapegoating the weak, silencing dissent, and threatening violence.

Sound familiar?

In Jeremiah’s time, the Babylonian war machine bore down on Judah.

Instead of defending the vulnerable, the powerful protected their own wealth and position, leaving ordinary people exposed to invasion and suffering. The poor were crushed, widows abandoned, orphans ignored, and migrants exploited. The powerful told the people what they wanted to hear, proclaiming “peace,” when there was no peace, because there was no justice.

And Jeremiah wept.

Jeremiah wept because people fell for the lies. He wept because the cries of the vulnerable went unheard. He wept because leaders in the nation had hardened their hearts. And he wept because those leaders were blessed by religious leaders.

Sound familiar?

It was not only a political crisis. It was a moral crisis, a spiritual crisis.

And on this International Day of Peace in 2025, we find ourselves in a strikingly similar crisis, as fascism tightens its grip on our nation.

Power has been consolidated by dividing the nation, scapegoating immigrants, and silencing dissent. The playbook of the powerful demonizes the most vulnerable among us. It criminalizes protest, censors history, dismantles education, denies science, and spreads lies, all to protect their power.

We live in a time when comedic satire aimed at the rich and powerful is silenced, while hate aimed at the poor and powerless is protected. A comedian was pulled off the airwaves after mocking the President. Yet, a Fox news host openly called for the killing of the homeless and the mentally ill—those whom Jesus would say that “if you do it to them, you do it to me”—and not only did he keep his job, he was defended by many who claim to be Christian.

This is much deeper than politics. It’s about the soul of the nation. When truth is silenced, when the poor are demonized, and when those in the church bless it, it is more than democracy at stake. It is our very humanity and witness to God.

This is the sin-sick world Jeremiah saw.

Judah was collapsing under its own corruption. The prophets who should have spoken truth to power bowed down to power. Babylon loomed large, an empire built on conquest, intimidation, and fear. And Judah’s leaders tried to imitate the empire, believing violence would secure peace. Peace through strength, as they like to say. Prophets like Jeremiah were threatened, beaten, and even imprisoned for speaking truth (Jer. 20:1–2; 26:7–11).

But Jeremiah rose up and spoke out anyway. Listen to his words from the previous chapter:

Don’t for a minute believe the lies being spoken here: ‘This is God’s Temple, God’s Temple, God’s Temple!’ [It’s] total nonsense! Clean up your act, the way you live and treat your neighbors…[quit oppressing the alien NRSVUE], exploiting street people and orphans and widows. Quit taking advantage of innocent people, [and stop going after other gods to your own hurt …NRSVUE] Get smart! Your leaders are handing you a pack of lies, and you’re swallowing them! Use your heads! (Jeremiah 7, The Message).

Jeremiah wept because the people had been conned, falling for the lies of the powerful, even against their own interests, choosing violence over love, a false peace over justice. And Jeremiah wept because people were being hurt in the name of God.

His nation was sick with sin and Jeremiah lamented: “Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician here?”

It’s difficult not to see the parallels to 2025.

Today, politicians quote scripture while cutting food program and taking away healthcare. Governors sign laws to censor history, erasing the stories of Black, Brown, and queer lives. Politicians want to control the media and criminalize protest, making dissent itself illegal. They attack education, deny the reality of climate change, and sneer at science.

And they bless it all in the name of God. They silence the prophets in the name of peace. They embrace fascism in the name of patriotism.

The nation is sin-sick when comedians who poke fun at power are silenced, while broadcasters who fantasize about killing the poor are protected. The nation is sin-sick when protest is criminalized and violence is excused, when truth is silenced and lies are amplified, when bigots are honored and those who speak out against bigotry are villainized.

Thus, Jeremiah’s cry becomes our own: “Is there no balm in Gilead?”

So today, we join Jeremiah’s weeping.

We weep for all who are still swallowing lies at their own peril.

We weep for immigrants locked away without due process, terrorized and scapegoated for problems they did not cause.

We weep for our unhoused neighbors, those whom many wish would just disappear.

And we weep for the silenced voices—journalists, teachers, artists, prophets—punished for telling the truth.

However, here’s the good news. We weep with the prophet today, but we weep with hope. If not, I don’t think we would be in this sanctuary this morning. We weep before God as those who know the tears of the faithful are sacred, that the laments of those who believe in love are holy, that weeping itself is an act of resistance in a culture that tells us that everything is fine.

Jeremiah asked: “Is there no balm in Gilead?”

Two thousand years later, the African-American church of the 19th century answered the prophet. Although the powerful what us to forget it, while African Americans were considered chattel property with no rights, subjected to forced labor from sunrise to sunset, while they were bought, sold, and separated from their families, their lives defined by brutal coercion, including whippings and the threat of death, while they were denied legal rights and autonomy, they were somehow still able to sing out loud, words that we will sing in a few moments: “There is a balm in Gilead!”

Not the balm that came from bowing down to their masters. Neither was it the balm of hating them or responding to their violence with more violence. It was the balm of God’s justice, the balm of Christ’s love, and the balm of Spirit’s fire. The balm with the power to make the wounded whole, to heal the sin-sick soul. The balm that is found wherever people choose love over hate, truth over lies, and justice over fear.

The balm of Gilead is in the streets where the people march. It’s in the pulpits where prophets preach and in the pews where worshippers pray. It’s in the classrooms where teachers defy censorship, and it’s in the laments of all who believe in love.

The balm of Gilead is found in our tears, our laughter, our songs, and our courage.

Jeremiah cried, “O that my head were a spring of water, and my eyes a fountain of tears.”

In 2025 America, we know our tears can become rivers of justice. Our lament fuels our resistance, and our weeping gives birth to action.

When protest is criminalized, our tears compel us to march anyway.

When immigrants are demonized, our tears move us to stand with them in solidarity and proclaim that no human being is illegal.

When history is censored, our honest tears become words telling the truth in our classrooms, in our pulpits, and in our homes, because we know it is only the truth that sets us free.

When science is denied, our weeping stirs us to honor the creation, because we believe in our hearts God has entrusted this world to our care.

When God’s name is used to do harm to our neighbors, our grief send us out of the sanctuary into the streets to protect them in the name of God.

When satire is silenced, even in mourning, we will laugh louder, for we believe humor is holy and joy is a weapon.

When hate is excused, we will raise our trembling voices for love, because we know love will ultimately win.

On this International Day of Peace, we cry with Jeremiah, we weep with Jesus, and we rise with the Spirit. We stand to reject the fake peace of empire and the immoral peace of silence, while we embrace the true and costly peace of justice, the risky peace of love, and the revolutionary peace of the gospel.

Because while fascism may grip the nation, it cannot crush the Spirit. Those in power may silence prophets, but they cannot silence God. Hate may roar for a season, but love is eternal.

“Is there no balm in Gilead?”

Yes, there is a balm! And we are called to be it!

Today, we weep. But the good news is that our tears are not the end of the story. Because there does come a time when our tears turn into hope. There comes a time when lament gives birth to testimony, when weeping rises up into a witness that shakes the foundations of empire.

And now is that time!

We see that people in our nation are already paying the price for being a moral witness. Workers are being fired from their jobs, teachers dismissed from classrooms, journalists silenced—all because they dared to post on social media what Jeremiah would have shouted from the streets—”Those with power are lying. Fascism is here. And anyone who does harm to the poor, to the immigrant, to the most vulnerable among us, is no friend of God!”

And when prophets are silenced like this, when truth is censored, when jobs are lost for speaking conscience, the church must rise with even greater courage to say: “Yes, these days are heavy, but we will not bow down. We are exhausted, but we will not give up! We will not allow fascism to have the last word! We will not allow love to be silenced while hate is amplified! And we will not allow truth to be buried beneath lies! Even if there is a price to pay!”

So, let’s rise together as balm in a broken land.
Let’s rise as physicians for a sin-sick nation.
Let’s rise as a river of justice, a mighty movement of revolutionary love, because we are the balm. We are the healers.

This week, we have wept for the nation. Collectively, in the words of the 119th Psalm, our tears have cried a river. But let’s remember that rivers have power. Rivers carve valleys. Rivers reshape the land. And they move history itself.

Now is the time to let our tears carve a new way forward.

Amen.

Pastoral Prayer

God of weeping prophets and wounded people, we come before You with broken hearts and open hands.

We weep for children taken too soon by gun violence,

for immigrants cast out and scapegoated,

for unhoused neighbors treated as disposable,

for truth-tellers silenced while lies are protected.

You, O Lord, hear the cry of the poor.

You see the fear that grips our nation, the cruelty that masquerades as strength, the empire that blesses weapons more than it blesses life.

Yet, you also see the power of love rising,

voices refusing to be silenced,

hands building communities of care,

feet marching for peace with justice.

Heal us, O God. Make us bold enough to speak truth in love,

to resist every system that thrives on fear and division,

and to live as balm in this wounded land.

We pray not only for peace but for the courage to embody it—

in our homes, in our streets, in this church, in our nation.

Through Christ, who wept with us and yet rose with power, we pray.

Amen.

Invitation to Communion

This table is not the empire’s table.
It is not gated, policed, or censored.
It does not silence the hungry or privilege the powerful.
This is Christ’s table—where the broken find healing,
where the weary find rest,
where the silenced find a voice,
where the despised find welcome.

On this International Day of Peace,
we come to taste a peace rooted in justice,
a love that breaks chains,
a hope that refuses to die.

Come, not because you are worthy,
but because Christ makes you whole.
Come, because there is a balm in Gilead,
and it is poured out here in bread and cup.

Invitation to Give

Our offerings are not hush money to quiet our conscience.
They are seeds of resistance, investments in justice,
fuel for the Spirit’s movement in this place and beyond.

When the world blesses weapons,
we bless children.
When the empire silences prophets,
we empower truth-tellers.
When systems sow fear,
we plant love.

Let us give, not reluctantly but boldly,
trusting that God will multiply these gifts
into balm for a wounded world.

Commissioning and Benediction

Go now as people of lament and of action.
Let your tears water the seeds of justice.
Let your weeping fuel your courage.
Let your prayers become protest,
your songs become strength,
your love become revolution.

The world asks, “Is there no balm in Gilead?”
We leave this place answering:
Yes, there is a balm—and we will be it.

Go in peace, go in power, go in love.

And let the church say: 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.

Time to Be Prodigally Prophetic

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

 

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32 NRSV

One day, Jesus is confronted by some grumbling Scribes and Pharisees: “Jesus, why do we keep hearing these stories about you hanging out in some sketchy parts of town? We hear these rumors about you eating and drinking with those people, the kind of people everyone knows are sinners!”

 “And you claim to be a man of God!”

“Rabbi, if you are a Rabbi, let me tell you something. Our God is an awesome God who will punish not only the sinner, but the sinner’s children and grandchildren. God will strike you down with a lighten bolt, and if not that, send a cancer, a heart attack or maybe a stroke. And, Jesus, you better watch out, because if you get too many sinners in one place, too many sinners at one bar or pub, or in one city or in one nation, God might send a tornado or an earthquake, and take out everyone!”

When Jesus is confronted by these religious people with a bad and violent theology, he responds as he usually does—by telling a story. Here, he tells three stories—one about a lost sheep, another about a lost coin and another about a lost boy. The parable of the lost boy has been commonly referred to as the “Parable of the Prodigal Son” for some pretty good reasons.

Growing up in church, my home pastor would often use the dictionary when he came to a point like this in his sermon. I think he defined a word for us every Sunday!  He would say, “Now, Webster defines ‘prodigal’ as…”  In that spirit, but with a 21st century twist, allow me to do the same: Now, Google defines “prodigal” as…

  1. wastefully or recklessly extravagant
  2. giving or yielding profusely; lavish
  3. lavishly abundant; profuse
  4. a person who spends, or has spent, his or her money or substance with wasteful extravagance.

The youngest son had the gall to demand his inheritance so he could leave home.  Demanding his inheritance meant that he had come to this point in his life where he did not mind regarding his father as being dead and buried. Isn’t that nice?

Then the surprising part. The father just hands it over. Then, we are told that the boy ventures out into a wild and “distant country,” I guess like West Virginia, where he wasted every red cent whooping it up—thus, the designation “prodigal”— reckless, lavish, wasteful, extravagant.

When the boy ran out of money, there was a great famine in the land. That was when the prodigal son found a job feeding pigs, and things got so bad, the boy thought about eating and drinking with the pigs!

“Oh, of course there is a famine,” say the religious leaders with their bad and violent theology! “That is what we are trying to tell you!  A famine! That is brilliant!  Oooh. God is soooooo good. I bet that boy starves to death! Or at least gets a bad case of salmonella from eating with the pigs. And serves him right! A just punishment for a prodigal—one who had everything only to recklessly waste everything. Death from lack! Death from scarcity! What wonderful irony. How cool is God?”

 Jesus continues… “the boy decides to go back to the father and beg forgiveness…”

“Yeah, good luck with that!” the religious leaders howl, laughing at such a ridiculous scenario!

However, we know the rest of the story…

“And when he was “a long way off,” the father saw him and ran and embraced him. Think about this. How do you suppose this father saw him “a long way off?” Because the father had been waiting, looking down the road every day for the boy to return.

Some of my fondest childhood memories are sitting on the front porch with my brother and my sister, waiting and watching for Daddy to come home from work. We would position ourselves on the porch at just the right angle so if we squinted and strained hard enough, we could see through our dogwood trees and our neighbors’ crepe myrtles to get a glimpse of Daddy’s Green Ford LTD from a half a mile away. Then we would be ready to run out into the yard to pounce on Daddy as soon as he opened the car door to welcome him home.  As soon as he got out of the car I would jump on his back, while my sister and brother would grab both his legs. On a good day, if we could muster just enough leverage, Daddy would fall into the grass where we would lavish him with hugs and kisses like three little puppy dogs while he nearly tickled us to death. Mama, used to get on us. She’d remind us how tired Daddy was from working all day, and how one day when he drove up and saw us running and screaming towards the driveway, he was going to just keep going down the road!

I think mama was just jealous.

Every day, this father sat on his front porch, gazing down the road, watching and waiting, hoping and praying, grieving for his boy to return home. And while the boy was still a long way off, when through the fig and the olive trees the father could just make out his silhouette coming doing the road, the father got up and started running to meet his child, and throwing his arms around him, he began kissing him profusely.

I wonder how long the father waited for his son’s homecoming.  I wonder why the father waited. Can’t you just hear his concerned friends and neighbors, or maybe even his pastor telling him: “Old man, it’s time for you to move on. You’ve gotta get past this.  You’ve gotta face the facts. He’s not coming back. It’ time to get over it. It’s time to move on. Concentrate on your older boy who’s still here with you.”  But every day, the father still waited and watched and hoped and prayed and grieved.

 And he really didn’t have any evidence that his son was still alive. A young kid with a pocket full of cash, first time away from home, traveling alone—he was an easy target to any would-be thieves and murderers. Remember the story of the Good Samaritan? Still, the father patiently, and you might say…recklessly… waited. Every day, he kept looking down the road in front of his house. Straining to see, hoping and praying to see, his son coming home.

Then the great reunion and the biggest, most extravagant homecoming party anyone has ever heard of! The sandals, the ring, the robe, the best one! The calf, the fattest one! Nothing held back for this son who everyone thought was dead but now is alive, was lost and now is found.

And the religious leaders are seething, but now, with the older son. Listen how the older son talks about his brother: “How can you do this for ‘this son of yours?’ “How can you do this, not for ‘my brother,’ but for this one who’s, as far as I am concerned, a stranger, a foreigner, from some distant country?”

Then, it occurs to us.

We thought this was a story of a prodigal son, but it’s really a story of a prodigal father. It is a story of a parent’s love that is “reckless,” “profuse.” “extravagant,” and “excessive.”

When the boy wanted to leave home, the father recklessly gave him his inheritance. While the boy was gone out into the far country, his friends and neighbors would say that the father recklessly waited. And when the boy at last returned, the father recklessly threw an extravagant party. The father loved his son prodigally when he left home, he loved him prodigally while he was away from home, and he loved him prodigally when he returned home.

The good news is that is how our God loves each one of us.  It’s the exact opposite of violence. Our God is a God who, when it comes to love, holds nothing back. God’s love for us is extravagant, excessive, relentless, even reckless. The point of the story is that God’s love for us is profusely prodigal.

This is why we should never apologize for loving others in a way that the conservative religious culture would characterize as “liberal” or “radical.”

God is profusely prodigal in God’s desire to draw all of us unto God’s self. God is relentlessly radical to have us in God’s arms so God can shower us with divine kisses. And as the ranting of the religious leaders and the anger of the older brother reveal, such prodigal love, such extravagant grace and profuse mercy, such over-the-top compassion and empathy, will always be rejected by the conservative religious culture, and even frowned upon by some of our family members.

In fact, if we are praised by the predominant religious culture and by most in our families, then that is a tell-tell sign, that when it comes to love, when it comes to being a disciple of Jesus, we are doing something terribly wrong.

So, like a parent waiting on the porch for their wayward child to return home, may our love for others and for this planet, may our love for justice and equality, our love for diversity, equity, and inclusion, may our love for peace and freedom, always be profusely prodigal.

Then, it will be prophetically prodigal. Because love—when it is extravagant, when it is lavishly abundant and reckless, when it is completely nonviolent and unconditional, when it is radically counter-cultural and seemingly foolish—that’s the type of love that has the power to change the world! In fact, it is the only power that can change this world!

Ya gotta love that we are having our first nonviolent peace vigil this week on April Fool’s Day, as I am sure that we will have some passersby look at the signs we will be holding and say: “Look at dem crazy fools!” Because when we dare to be prophetically and publicly prodigal in a conservative, religious town, we are going to look foolish. And perhaps we are. How foolish are we?

  • We’re prodigally prophetic and foolish enough to believe that the only life worth living is a life that is given away.
  • We’re foolish enough to believe the Kingdom of God belongs to the poor.
  • We’re foolish enough to believe those who hunger and thirst for justice will be filled.
  • We’re foolish enough to believe the last shall be first.
  • Thus, we’re prodigally prophetic and foolish enough to use our power and privilege, not to enrich ourselves, but stand up for the marginalized, defend the most vulnerable, and free the oppressed.
  • We’re prophetically prodigal and foolish enough see every human being, every race, color, gender, and every sexual orientation, is the image of God, that every person is a beloved child of God.
  • We’re foolish enough to forgive seventy times seven.
  • We’re foolish enough to turn the other cheek, go the extra mile, give the very shirt off our back.
  • We’re prodigally foolish enough to feed the hungry, love an enemy, welcome a stranger, and visit a prison.
  • We’re foolish enough to believe that this world, this earth can be a better place, that all of creation can live in peace.
  • We’re prodigally foolish enough to get back up when life knocks us down.
  • We’re prodigally foolish enough to never give up, never give in, and never give out.
  • We’re foolish enough to believe that nothing can separate anyone from the love of God.
  • We’re recklessly, profusely, prodigally, prophetically foolish enough to believe that nothing can stop us, not even death, because nothing can stop love. Nothing can cause it to fade or to fail. Love always wins, and love never ends.

Things Are Getting Scary Around Here

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

 Mark 4:35-41 NRSV

There was a great church pianist and composer studying in Chicago who was known throughout the Midwest as Georgia Tom. He was scheduled to help with a revival at a large church in St. Louis about a month before his wife was due to have their first child. He was afraid to leave her so close to the due date, but he was committed to fulfill the promise he made to the church over a year earlier.

As soon as he got off the train in St. Louis, someone handed him a telegram which read: “Congratulations, you are the father of a new baby boy. However, it is with deep regret that we inform you that your wife died during childbirth.”

He boarded the next train back to Chicago. Overcome with grief, he arrived at the hospital to hold his new-born baby in his arms—however, shortly after he arrived, this little boy, the only part of his wife that he would ever be able to hold again, passed away in his sleep.

Georgia Tom took a leave of absence from his studies, and his ministry. He moved to South Carolina where he did little but grieve. It was sixth months before was able to sit down at the piano and compose a song. When he did, these first words that he wrote and set to music were the following:

Precious Lord, take my hand. Lead me on, help me stand. I am tired, I am weak, I am worn. Thro’ the storm, thro’ the night, Lead me on to the light. Take my hand, precious Lord; lead me on.

Georgia Tom, or Thomas Dorsey, as evidenced by this wonderful hymn and a long-life lived in dedication to God, knew what the disciples knew about Jesus. That Jesus is the one who helps us overcome our fears. Jesus is the one who helps us get through the storms of life, figuratively and literally, into a peace that is beyond all understanding.

In today’s lesson, Jesus and the disciples are in a boat. It is night, a dangerous time to be on the sea. And sure enough, “a great gale arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped.”

The fearful disciples cry out to Jesus who is sound asleep on a cushion in the stern: “Teacher! Don’t you care that we are perishing?”

Of course, Jesus cares. He wakes up and stands up. He immediately rebukes the wind and speaks against the waves. And a miraculous calm settles over the sea.

This is what God does. When we call on God in the storms of life, if we allow him to take our hand like Thomas Dorsey did, it may take some time, but we believe miraculous calm will settle over us. As disciples, we have perhaps experienced this.

This is what makes our scripture lesson this morning so strange. After Jesus rebukes the wind and speaks against the waves, after he brings a miraculous calm, notice that the disciples are still afraid.

In the Greek New Testament, Mark says that the disciples not only feared, but they “feared a great fear.” After Jesus calms the storm, the disciples become more afraid than ever.

Notice, that it is then Jesus asks: “Why are you afraid?” I’ve stilled the storm. I’ve calmed the waves. Why are you, even now, afraid?

And then, fearing a great fear, the disciples begin to ask one another, “Who is this that even the wind and the waves obey him?”

The disciples were afraid, but now they are afraid for a very different reason. I believe it’s a completely different kind very different kind of fear. First, there’s the fear of the death-dealing storm. Death, divorce, disease, in a thousand different ways, the storms of life come. You receive a grim diagnosis. A good friend loses their job. A child dies. Winds are howling. Waves are crashing. And we cry out to Jesus, “Do you not care that we are perishing?”

Of course, Jesus cares. He wakes up, stands up, rebukes the wind and speaks out against waves, and all is calm.

And the disciples have never been more afraid.

This is the fear that comes from standing in the presence of the one the wind and the sea obey. This is the fear that comes with the realization that this one who has been teaching them how to love this world, is none other than the Creator of all that is.

Thus, it is the fear that comes with the realization of the personal change and sacrifice that following the creator of the universe that is demands.

This is the fear that comes with the realization that when any of God’s children are perishing, it is God who is calling the disciples to care, to wake up, to stand up and rebuke the winds of injustice, to speak against the waves of oppression.

This is the fear that comes with waking up to the realization that if they want be on the side of the Lord of hosts, the Master of the earth, wind, fire and sea, then they must love this world as he does.

If they want to stand with the Most High, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, then they must stand with the sojourner in their land, with the vulnerable in their midst, with those who mourn and grieve their lives, with all who hunger and thirst for justice.

And with that realization, the realization that they must always be on the side of the underprivileged and the powerless, comes the fear of the push back that will surely be coming their way by the privileged and the powerful. This is the persecution that Jesus points out in the beginning of this chapter when he compares those who acquiesce to evil to avoid persecution, or those who are seduced by power and wealth, to seeds falling on rocky soil.

I cannot tell you how many times I have been asked: how are things going your new church? And each time, I respond the same. “Things are great! I am loving it!”

But perhaps the way I should be responding to this question, the way you should respond when people ask you is: “How are things going? Well, to tell you the truth, it’s a little scary. Doing this work of following Jesus wherever he leads is downright frightening. And being a part of such a church, well, it’s like fearing a great fear!”

For you see, I am working alongside people who believe God, the Holy Creator of all that is, is wide awake in our midst. Christ himself is here rebuking and speaking out against the storms of life. But at the same time, he’s shaking things up! He’s stilling the waters, but he’s also rocking the boat! He’s recreating and resurrecting. He’s making all things new. He’s creating a brand-new world: a world where every human being knows they are loved, where justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. He’s creating a world where no person perishes but has eternal life, a world where every life is equally valued. He is calling us to wake up. He is calling us to care. He is calling us to take a stand. He is calling us to go out into our world to love in a way that will not only be socially unacceptable, but will certainly upset the privileged and the powerful. He leads us out of one kind storm only to lead us directly into another kind of storm!

So, you see, being a part of a church that is committed to following the sacrificial, justice-seeking, love-winning way of Jesus is a most frightening venture!

But here’s the good news. When Jesus cared, woke up and stood up, rebuked the wind and spoke against the sea, I believe another realization came: This way of Jesus, this way of inclusive, sacrificial love, has the power to literally change the world!

When we follow the way of Jesus, when we care, wake up and stand up, rebuke the wind and speak out against the waves the whole world can change.

When we care, wake up and stand up, rebuke the wind and speak out against the waves by standing with poor people, then poor people can receive affordable housing, healthcare and education. They can earn fair living wages.

When we care, wake up and stand up, rebuke the wind and speak out against the waves by standing with the oppressed, discrimination of every kind will be defeated and liberty and justice will come for all.

And, although none go with us, we still will follow. Although our friends forsake us, we still will follow. Although family members desert us, our cross we still will carry. Although persecution befall us and things get scary, we still will be unashamed to faithfully preach the gospel and be unafraid to sing aloud with the Psalmist:

God is our refuge and strength,

a very present help in trouble.

Therefore, we will not fear, though the earth should change,

though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea;

though its waters roar and foam,

though the mountains tremble with its tumult.

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,

the holy habitation of the Most High.

God is in the midst of the city; it shall not be moved;

God will help it when the morning dawns.

The nations are in an uproar, the kingdoms totter;

he utters his voice, the earth melts.

The Lord of hosts is with us;

the God of Jacob is our refuge.

Come, behold the works of the Lord…

…He makes wars cease to the end of the earth;

he breaks the bow, and shatters the spear;

he burns the shields with fire…

The Lord of hosts is with us;

the God of Jacob is our refuge (Psalm 46).

A Cloudy Ascension Sunday on Mother’s Day

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Easter, Sermons Year B2 Comments
Photo taken by Carrie Knutsen

Acts 1:6-11 NRSV

In today’s epistle lesson, on what the church traditionally calls Ascension Sunday, we have one of the first hints of how we are capable of mucking up the purposes of God in this world.

 It’s the first inkling of how we got to this place today where the Christianity not only doesn’t look anything like the way of love that Jesus taught and embodied, but in many ways, looks like the exact opposite.

The risen Christ has been telling his followers for months that he would one day leave them and how he expected them to continue his mission in the world loving one another as he loved, by being his hands and feet in the world, and in today’s lesson, we read where time had come. But before he departed, they asked him: “When will you come again and restore the kingdom to Israel?”

 Jesus replied: “It is not for you to know the time or the period…But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea, and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”

With those words, he ascended into heaven and left the followers of standing there, looking up into the clouds.

And while they had their heads in the clouds, suddenly, angles show up saying: “Why do you stand there looking up toward heaven?”

Jesus’ followers were instructed to get their heads out of the clouds. They didn’t need to be alarmed about the departure of Jesus, because one day, God’s kingdom would fully come, the day is certainly coming when love will finally win. The disciples are not told when, but they didn’t need to know.

“All you need to know,” said the angels, is that the Kingdom is coming. Justice will prevail. Love will eventually win, and here’s the thing, you are going help to make that happen! That is, if you get your head out of the clouds and keep loving this world as you witnessed Jesus loving this world, if you keep being his “witnesses to the ends of the earth.”

I believe this wonderful Ascension story has much to teach today’s church that seems that still seems to have its head somewhere in the distant clouds.

Angels say: “Church, God needs you to get your heads out of the clouds, get your minds off going to heaven, and come back down to earth and to do something for this world. Do the things that you witnessed Jesus do in the gospels. Feed the hungry. Make a place at the table for the left out and the left behind. Stand up and speak out advocating for those who are marginalized by sick religion and greedy politics. Love your neighbor as yourself. Give something, create something, be something that will make a positive difference in the world, especially in the worlds of those considered to be the least of these.

Get your heads out of the clouds, come back down to earth and go to Jerusalem. Go all the way to Richmond and Washington DC to be public moral witnesses of the Jesus who preached good news to the poor and freedom for the oppressed. Why are all of you hunkered up in one place? Don’t close yourself up in a sanctuary of comfort and security. Get out of here. Go into all of Judea. Go all over Central Virginia. Go to places like Samaria and Palestine, those place that you may not want to go. Be witnesses to the ends of the earth to the good news of the inclusive, unconditional, generous love of God that Jesus revealed, embodied, and commanded.

And what’s the church’s response:

But these clouds are so pretty. They are so soft. So comforting. Let’s just stay right here. Let’s keep our heads in the clouds.

Giving ourselves to transform the world seems too risky, too hard, just too exhausting. Everyone knows that standing up for the marginalized won’t get you very far in this world, and fighting for the rights of the oppressed will only get you in trouble. It’s all too costly. After all, look what it cost Jesus.

So, instead of all of that, let’s make the faith about these pretty clouds. We can even get some smoke machines to create some real clouds in our worship centers. Instead of inspiring people to give, live and love like Jesus, let’s just encourage people to worship Jesus. Instead asking people to feed the hungry and fight for the least of these, let’s just study Jesus with a cup of coffee, sing praise hymns to Jesus and listen to sermons about Jesus.

We are going to take this clear, but very uncomfortable, call to go into all the world to fight for the least of these, and we are going to cloud it up by turning it into a religion, better yet, we are going to make it a blissful, personal, relationship that we must have as a ticket to heaven.

Then, we can use this ticket-to-experience-the-clouds-of-heaven- while-avoiding-the fires-of-hell to frighten people to do things that serve us. We can cloud it up a bit more and get people to love the Bible more than they love Jesus. Then we can use the Bible as a tool, really as weapon, to protect our power and privilege, to keep us comfortable and to even make us some money.

And if we must compromise a little, even cloud it up more with some dark, mean, sinister clouds to get it, that will be ok. If we have to lie a little,  hurt the planet a little, stir up a little racism and bigotry, scapegoat a group of people, pay workers a low wage, even embrace a little Nazism along the way, it will be worth it. Because at least we will be more comfortable, our taxes will be lower, and our wealth, you know, it will eventually trickle down to the least, right?

To say that we have clouded up what it means to be a public witness doing the things that Jesus did in this world is an understatement.

Which makes it all the more ironic, that this year, Ascension Sunday falls on Mother’s Day. Because we have done the exact same thing to the original Mother’s Day proclamation written by a prophet named Julia Ward Howe in 1870. We have taken a clear call to action, a summons to work and sacrifice to make this world more loving, more peaceful and more just and clouded it up creating something that serves our own interests.

Howe writes:

Arise, then, women of this day!

Arise, all women who have hearts, whether our baptism be of water or of tears!

Say firmly:

“We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies.

Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause.

Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn all that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.

We, the women of one country, will be too tender of those of another country to allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs.”

From the bosom of the devastated Earth a voice goes up with our own.

It says: “Disarm! Disarm! The sword of murder is not the balance of justice.”

Blood does not wipe out dishonor, nor violence indicate possession. As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil at the summons of war, let women now leave all that may be left of home for a great and earnest day of counsel.

Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead. Let them solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means whereby the great human family can live in peace, each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar, but of God.

In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask that a general congress of women without limit of nationality may be appointed and held at someplace deemed most convenient and at the earliest period consistent with its objects, to promote the alliance of the different nationalities, the amicable settlement of international questions, the great and general interests of peace.

And what was the response?

We’ve all become more committed to the general interests of peace? To the relearning of charity, mercy, and patience? To disarmament? To the recognition of the one great human family? To living for God and not for Caesar?

No, that’s too risky, too costly, too woke. I tell ya what. Let’s make it about clouds, soft, fluffy, white clouds.

And in 1914, a white supremacist named Woodrow Wilson proclaimed Mother’s Day a national holiday– as a moral call for world peace and justice? As a call for mercy and patience? A call for a world summit of women to negotiate how nations can finally live in harmony?

 Nope. He clouded it up, making it a “public expression of our love and reverence for all mothers.” Instead of making it a call for a ceasefire, a call to disarm, and to work for peace; instead of making it a plea to create sensible gun laws, we will make it about flowers, candy and greeting cards.

And what was the church’s response to the original Mother’s Day proclamation?

Do we finally answer our call to be prophetic witnesses for world peace and justice? Do we finally stand up for God’s children everywhere who are bullied, mistreated, and harmed for being different, for being poor, for belonging to another ethnicity or nationality or religion?

In the words of Hosea, do we finally rise up and “fall upon those who do harm” to any of God’s children, even if they are from Samaria or Palestine, “like a bear robbed of her cubs” (Hosea 13:8)? Whenever we see injustice in our world, whether it comes out of Washington DC, Richmond or Lynchburg, do we finally echo the words of the prophet Isaiah: “For a long time I have held my peace, I have kept still and restrained myself; now I will cry out like a woman in labor, I will gasp and pant” (Isaiah 42:14)?

No. That’s too risky. It’s much too costly. So, what do we do? We cloud it up. We sentimentalize it. We make this day in the church about recognizing the oldest mother and the youngest mother with flowers. We make it about giving a special gift to all mothers who attend worship.

And on Mother’s Day in 2024, the church looks nothing like the clarion call of Julia Howe to be prophetic voices of peace and justice, as on this Ascension Sunday, it looks nothing like the summon of angels to go into all the world to live, serve and love like Jesus.

Now, I love my mother. I called her first thing this morning. Most of us love our mothers. We wouldn’t be here without them. And I love church. I love worship. I love our faith. But the truth is: we’ve clouded it all up.

Today, on this cloudy Ascension Sunday on Mother’s Day, I believe God wants those who claim to be friends of Jesus to get our heads out of the clouds to heed the clear call of angels and a prophet named Julia. Let’s be moral witnesses continuing the work of Jesus in this world. And today, let’s rise up with women everywhere to be public prophetic voices for peace and for justice, a holy movement for wholeness in this fragmented world.

Christmas Shoes

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Advent and Christmas, Sermons Year BLeave a comment

Mark 1:1-8 NRSV

About the gift of Christmas, the gift of God’s enfleshed self to the world, John said, “I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals.”

It was written in Jewish law that “pupils should do everything that is commanded by their teacher with the exception of unlacing the teacher’s shoes.”  The subservient task of kneeling to the ground and unlacing another’s shoe was something only a slave should perform.[i]

 This means that John not only regarded himself unworthy to be a disciple of Jesus, John believed he was unworthy to even be a slave of Jesus. When he compared himself to the one wearing the shoes of Christmas, John regarded himself as lower than the lowliest lowly.

And who could blame him? John was talking about God, the Holy Creator of all that is, the Divine One, Love Love’s self who has come down to earth wearing shoes. John was talking about the great sovereign of the universe from on high, miraculously and lovingly stooping low enough to the earth to kneel down to the ground, put on, lace up and wear shoes. John was talking about heavenly feet accustomed to walking on streets where angels trod that have put on earthly shoes in order to walk the same roads each one of us walk.

Although it was John’s plan to make our windy and rocky roads straight and smooth for these holy shoes, the purpose of the divine shoes was to walk every crooked path, experience every twist and turn, identify with every bump, every dip, every rut. The Lord of Hosts stooped down, knelt down, and laced up shoes to walk down snaky roads; travel down uncertain roads; journey down long, lonely, and desolate roads.

God knelt down and put shoes on feet that would grow weary and sore from those roads. God laced up shoes that would cause great suffering when Jesus’ feet would swell, blister and bleed.

Those shoes ran down fearful, foreign roads to escape Herod’s sword. Those shoes would journey down dark, dangerous wilderness roads that try the soul. Those shoes would travel down desperate roads to bring good news to the poor. Those shoes would travel down neglected roads to give dignity to those marginalized by a religion that had been hijacked by greed and privilege. Those shoes would walk roads lined with the hypocritical and judgmental to defend and forgive the sinner. Those shoes would move down roads paved with suffering to heal and restore the sick. They would go down tear-soaked roads to comfort mourners and raise the dead. They would march down fearful roads to stand for justice and to bring peace.

And near the end of his road on this earth, those holy shoes, worn, frayed and tattered by life, would lead him to a table with his friends. After supper, he would get up from that table, take off his outer robe, and tie a towel around himself. He would then pour water into a basin. And like his humble beginning in a lowly manger, he would once again stoop down, kneel to the ground, and lovingly, empathetically and subserviently untie the shoes of each one at that table, even the shoes of the one who would betray him and of the one who would deny ever knowing him.

Now, in the historical and cultural context of the day, the disciples’ shoes would be removed long before they reclined at the table. However, figuratively and theologically speaking, Jesus untied their laces and removed their shoes.[ii]

Relief, respite and release overcame them as they realized that none of their unworthiness prevents their Lord from graciously taking their feet into his hands and washing away all the dirt and grime from every road they had ever traveled. None of their filth is too offensive. There are no stains too deep. The fresh water from the basin that restores, refreshes and relaxes their wearied feet is miraculously transformed into living water that saves their wearied souls. And a holy peace beyond all understanding overwhelmed them.

The good news of Christmas is that the Holy One, whose laces John believed he was unworthy to untie, comes to us, stoops down, kneels before us, and unlaces our shoes, freeing us in the places we have been too tightly bound.  He empathetically takes our feet into his hands and washes our dirty, sore and weary feet, and makes us ready for the road again.

That is the good news of Christmas. Now, listen to the good irony of Christmas.

John believed he was unworthy to untie the shoes of Christmas. However, because of the good news of Christmas, John is not only worthy to untie and remove those shoes, John is actually worthy to put on, lace up,  and wear those shoes.

Through the gift of Christmas, through the gift of the God who has walked where we walk, through the gift of the Divine who stoops down, unties and removes our shoes, washing our feet and our souls, we are made worthy to not only untie the shoes of Christmas, but to wear the shoes of Christmas. We are worthy to put on Christmas shoes to go where he went, to do as he did, to include as he included, to forgive as he forgave, to love as he loved, to bend ourselves to the ground to touch the places in people that most need touching.

It is believed that fourteenth century saint Teresa of Avila once said:

“Christ has no body but yours, no hands, no feet on earth but yours.
Yours are the eyes with which he looks with compassion on this world, and yours are the feet with which he walks to do good.”

The Apostle Paul has written: “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring the good news” (Romans 10:15).

Don’t worry. It is perfectly natural to feel unworthy to untie those laces, to wear those shoes, to be the hands, the feet, the body of Christ.  And if you believe you are unworthy you are in very good company.

Abraham and Sarah did not believe they were young enough to be worthy (Genesis 17:17). Jacob was not truthful enough to be worthy (Genesis 27). Moses was not articulate enough (Exodus 4:10). David was not faithful enough. (2 Samuel 11:2-4). Rahab was not pure enough (Joshua 2:1). Jeremiah was not mature enough (Jeremiah 1:6). Mary was not rich or powerful or old enough (Luke 1).

Yet, God makes the unworthy worthy to be God’s enfleshed presence in this world, to be God’s body, hands, eyes, and feet in this world. As the Apostle Paul reminds each of us:

 “Consider your own call, brothers and sisters: not many of you were wise by human standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong” (1 Corinthians 1:26-27).

United Methodist Bishop William Willimon tells a wonderful story about a visit to a fraternity house one night while he was the campus minister at Duke University. The reputations of the fraternity houses at Duke were getting so bad that the University Dean required each fraternity to have a certain number of religious programs each year to give them at least some semblance of respectability.

 One of the fraternities invited Willimon to lead one of the programs. He was tocome to the frat-house and give a lecture on “Morality and Character on Campus.”

On the appointed evening, Willimon went to fraternity and knocked on the door. When the door opened, he was greeted by a young boy who appeared to be nine or ten years old.  He thought, “What in the world is a little boy like this doing in a frat house at this time of night?”

“They are waiting for you in the common room,” the little boy said politely. Willimon followed the boy back to the common room where all the young men were gathered, glumly waiting for the preacher’s presentation.

Willimon says for about an hour he talked about morality, responsibility, character and faith and how the frat houses on campus gave little evidence of any of those things. When he finished his harsh talk he asked if there were any questions. Of course, they were none. So, he thanked them for inviting him and headed out.

 One young man got up and walked him to the door. Before they got to the door, Willimon overhead him say to the little boy, “Hey buddy, you go and get ready for bed. I’ll come up, tuck you in and read you a story in a few minutes.”

When they got outside, the fraternity boy lit a cigarette, took a long drag on it, and thanked the pastor for coming out.

 Willimon turned and asked, “Who is that kid in there, and what is he doing here?”

“Oh, that’s Donny,” said the young man. “Our fraternity is part of the Big Brother program in Durham. We met Donny that way. His mom is addicted to drugs and is having a tough time. Sometimes it gets so bad that she can’t care for him. So, we told Donny to call us if he ever needs us. We go over, pick him up, and he stays with us until it is okay to go back home. We take him to school, buy his clothes, books, and stuff like that. Just trying to give him a little bit peace in his life, if you know what I mean.”

The dumbfounded preacher stood there and said: “That’s amazing. You know, I take back everything I said in there about you guys being immoral and irresponsible.”

“I tell you what’s amazing,” said the college boy as he took another drag on his cigarette, “what’s amazing is that God would pick a guy like me to do something this good for somebody else.”[iii]

 In other words: “What’s amazing is that God, the Holy Creator of all that is, would make an unworthy guy like me worthy to not only untie, but to wear the shoes of Christmas.”

[i] Alan Culpepper, Smyth and Helwys Commentary: Mark, 2007, p. 47.

[ii] From a sermon by J. Will Ormond entitled Advent on a Shoestring preached during Advent in 1987 at the Columbia Theological Seminary.

[iii] From a sermon by William Willimon in Pulpit Resource, January 2006, p. 19.

Remembering Naomi Hatley: Things Are Not What They Appear to Be

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Memorials1 Comment
Naomi Pic
Naomi Hatley
April 17, 1924 – November 16, 2018

Esther 9:20-23

John 16:20-24

The late Reverend Warren Carr, a friend of mine and mentor, once said that a person’s eulogy in a Christian memorial service should be limited to those aspects of a person’s life that proclaimed the gospel, proclaimed the message Jesus proclaimed.

The good news is that we have much to say about Naomi today for she proclaimed the message of Jesus in ways that Rob and I never could.

When many think about proclaiming Jesus, they might first think about preachers. However, as those words attributed to St. Francis, “Preach the gospel at all times. If necessary, use words,” teach us, you don’t have to be preachy to preach.

Naomi was anything but preachy. Her faith was quietly practiced but deeply felt. Always self-effacing, she never imposed her faith on others.

However, her faithfulness was clearly evident to all. Many witnessed her faith through her active participation with this church as she led worship by singing in the choir and playing bells with the Primetime Ringers. She was an active member of the Christian Women’s Fellowship and possessed the heart of a servant, always enjoying potluck dinners and other fellowship occasions. When she could no longer drive to church, she had the church van pick her up at Butterfield Place so she could be here to faithfully worship and serve with her family of faith.

However, this was certainly not the only way that Naomi proclaimed the gospel.

It could be said that Jesus spent much of his ministry trying to teach us that things are not always as they appear to be. Sometimes reality is the exact reversal of actual appearances.

For example, Jesus said that those who appear to be last are actually first. And those who seem to be first are actually last.

In his first sermon, he said that it is not the rich who are blessed, it is the poor. It is the not the strong who inherit the earth, it is the meek. The Apostle Paul said it is not the wise who shame the foolish, but it is the foolish who shame the wise. It is the weak who shame the strong.

The gospel continually teaches us that things are not what they appear to be.

Of course, Naomi, first taught us this reality with her name.

It is not Nayomey or Nyomi.

It is Nayoma.

No matter how it is spelled, or what you’ve heard, or what you’ve read, no matter what you’ve seen or think you see and hear right now, things are not what they appear to be.

Naomi taught us this gospel truth in many other ways. Perhaps the the ways we will most remember, and for which we are most grateful, are the ways Naomi taught us, in the words of Ralph Sockman, that “nothing is so strong as gentleness, and nothing is so gentle as real strength.”

If you thought Naomi was gentle and quiet, then you probably never watched a Dallas Cowboy or Arkansas Razorback football game with her.

If you thought Naomi was a non-athletic spectator, someone who sat serenely on the sidelines of life, you probably never saw her slalom waterski, which she did until the age of 69 when she fell and cracked three ribs.

If you thought Naomi was this prim and proper Southern Belle, you probably never saw her play in the waves of the ocean. You never heard her laugh like a child as the waves would crash over her head knocking her off her feet.

If you thought Naomi only enjoyed soft church music, the chimes of handbells, the harmonious sound of a choir, a piano and organ reverently praising God, then you’ve probably never been to an Eric Clapton concert with her.

If you thought her husband of 66 years Pete, with his large, confident personality was the rock of the family. Then you probably didn’t know Naomi as well as her children knew her, as one with an iron backbone in a fluffy coating.

If you thought Naomi might be a pushover, a softy, a patsy you were probably not raised by her and as one of her children never did anything or said anything that would make her chase you with a fly swatter.

And you probably did not do or say anything that caused any harm to any of her children, because you would have quickly discovered that, like a mama bear robbed of her cubs, you simply do not want to mess with Naomi.

Naomi was soft as a pillow, but she was hard as a rock.

Naomi was tenderly ladylike, but she was a tough old broad.

Naomi was humble and unassuming but the sound of her laughter, the melody of her heart, and loud reverberations of her spirt can still be heard today.

Like the good news of the gospel, things are not always what they appear to be.

Of course Jesus taught us this reality to lead and to guide us down a certain path, on a specific journey, on a particular and peculiar way:

A way where the hungry are filled with good things and the rich are sent away empty;

A way where those who mourn are comforted and the meek inherit the earth;

A way where those who are hungry and thirsty for justice are satisfied;

A way where those who show mercy because they know they need it for themselves receive mercy;

A way that those who may not be pure, undefiled and unbroken on the outside will see God.

It is a particular and peculiar way where peacemakers are called children of God, the blind see, the deaf hear, the lame walk and outcasts are included.

It is way that always graciously extends hospitality, always asking if you need anything to eat, something to drink, a time to rest.

Her children tell me that had to stop visiting their mother when it was mealtime at the nursing home. Because she would always try to share her food with them. No matter her circumstance, the needs of others came before her own. Whenever it appeared that you were the one being hospitable to her, being a blessing to her, she was actually being a blessing to you.

This is a way that sets a high bar in a culture that seems to have no bars, that offers a righteous morality in a culture influenced by a distorted morality, that teaches ethics rooted in a selfless, self-expending, self-effacing love for this world and every human being in a culture with ethics rooted in greed and self-interest.

Jesus also taught us that this particular, peculiar counter-cultural way is the way to life everlasting. To save ourselves, we must lose ourselves. To truly and fully live we must die. And all who embrace this way, live this way, though they are dead, live.

The good news is as Jesus and Naomi taught us, things today are not what they appear to be.

Four years ago, when Naomi broke her hip, and then suffered a stroke during surgery becoming wheel-chair bound and unable to communicate clearly, it appeared that her life was over. She had no reason to live, no reason to smile, and certainly no reason to play the piano.

However, this tender soul made even more tender by the difficulties of life was a tough old broad, under the fluffy and frail coating, an iron backbone was as strong as ever. Thus, Naomi continued to play that piano. She continued to live her life and she continued to be grateful and always found a reason to smile.

No, nothing in this world is what it appears to be. Nothing this hour is what it appears to be.

Naomi appears to spell her name Naomi yet it is Naomi.

Naomi appears to be buried in the National Cemetery, yet her music is still filling this sanctuary.

Naomi appears to be gone from our presence, yet her gifts live on through her children and grandchildren.

Naomi appears to be dead and no longer in our presence, yet those of us with faith know that she is alive and is in the presence of the Lord.

It appears to be a cold, dark, rainy day, but somehow, some miraculous way, the sun is shining.

When some learned of her passing, they may have thought about how losing someone during a holiday week makes it all the more heartbreaking. Families are supposed to be gathering together this week to celebrate life and to give thanks for the blessings of life. They are not supposed to be gathering for a memorial service.

But the good news is, things are not what they appear to be.

In the wonderful little book of Esther, we are told about the Persian Empire’s plot to destroy the Jewish people. Under Queen Esther’s leadership, the Persians are defeated and Israel was saved. Mordecai, who had adopted Esther, and raised her as if she was his own blood, decreed that the days had been transformed “from sorrow into gladness and from mourning into a holiday; that they should make them days of feasting and gladness…”

There is no doubt in my mind that on this day after Thanksgiving with Advent and Christmas approaching this family is going to be alright. Pray for them, but don’t despair for them. Console them, but don’t pity them. For if Naomi taught them anything, it is that these days are not as they appear. What is going on right now, today, this very hour, is not what it may appear.

Sorrow has been transformed into gladness. Pain has been turned into joy. A day of mourning has been transformed into a holiday, and everyday are becoming holy days. And because we believe what Naomi proclaimed with her life, this week of Thanksgiving will always be for her family days of feasting, gladness and celebration. Thanks be to God.

Profiting from Perpetual War

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Short ArticlesLeave a comment

dwight-david-eisenhower-photo-portrait-cbs-archive-1964

Today, we remember and give thanks for those who have given their lives in the service of our nation. During the pastoral prayer yesterday, many pastors in our country asked God to help us honor their memory by…

…caring for the family members they have left behind, by ensuring that their wounded comrades are properly cared for, by being watchful caretakers of the freedoms for which they gave their lives, and by demanding that no other young men and women follow them to a soldier’s grave unless the reason is worthy and the cause is just.[i]

The late pastor of Riverside Church in New York, Harry Emerson Fosdick, once said:

I hate war for its consequences, for the lies it lives on and propagates, for the undying hatreds it arouses.

In January 1961, President Dwight D. Eisenhower used his farewell address to alert the nation of what he viewed as one of its greatest threats: the military-industrial complex composed of military contractors and lobbyists perpetuating war.

Eisenhower prophetically warned that “an immense military establishment and a large arms industry” had emerged as a hidden force in US politics and that we “must not fail to comprehend its grave implications.”

Failing to heed his warning, today we find ourselves in perpetual war. While perpetual war creates perpetual losses for families and perpetual increases in our national debt, it also creates perpetual profits for private business.

In 2015, the Department of Defense budgeted more money on federal contracts, $274 billion, than all other federal agencies combined. In 2016, CEOs of the top five military contractors earned on average $19.2 million each — more than 90 times the $214,000 earned by a U.S. general with 20 years of experience and 640 times the $30,000 earned by Army privates in combat.

In his sermon on militarism at Riverside Church in 1967, Martin Luther King, Jr., one of the leaders of the original Poor People’s Campaign said:

If we do not act, we shall surely be dragged down the long, dark, and shameful corridors of time reserved for those who possess power without compassion, might without morality, and strength without sight.

To honor those who made the ultimate sacrifice for our country, I believe we must do all that we can to escape this dark corridor, or at the very least, be dragged down it kicking and screaming.

This is just one of the reasons the Poor People’s Campaign has been reignited. We are marching and screaming that no more blood will be shed for this country unless the reason is worthy and the cause is just.

Calling for a moral revival in this nation, we do not believe we can remain silent when we discover the immoral profit that is being made by perpetual war.

We cannot remain silent when we hear war-mongering speech from our leaders that supports this immoral profiteering.

We cannot remain silent when our leaders call for a privatization of the Veterans Administration that will allow corporations to profit from the injuries of war.

We cannot remain silent when the Commander-in-Chief, who has the power to declare war, lies repeatedly to the American people.

We cannot remain silent when we learn that 53 cents of every federal discretionary dollar goes to military spending, and only 15 cents is spent on anti-poverty programs, many of which assist our veterans.

We cannot remain silent when those who profit by war proliferate our peaceful communities and with weapons of war that kill our children.

We cannot remain silent when people of color are being unjustly victimized, demonized and dehumanized by a “war on drugs” or a “war on terror” that has become a war on the poor.

We cannot remain silent when children who are immigrants are being separated from their families to support a political agenda.

We cannot remain silent when the political agenda is to support a war economy for the financial benefit of a few. If we want to honor those who gave it all for our country, we must agree as a nation that it is morally indefensible to profit from perpetual war.

Speaking on behalf of those who sacrificed their lives in WWI, Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae ends his beautiful poem In Flanders Fields:

To you from failing hands we throw the torch; be yours to hold it high.

May we honor their fallen hands by holding high the torch of truth while marching for peace.

[i]J. Veltri, S.J.

 

Mirroring the Self-Giving Love of the Triune God

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

reclaiming jesus

2 Corinthians 13:11-13 NRSV

We Americans are often guilty of trivializing things that are important. Consequently, survivors of loved ones who gave their lives for their country often struggle during the Memorial Day Weekend, and rightly so. For it can sometimes be difficult to tell if Americans truly know what Memorial Day is about.

Is it about the end of the school year and the beginning of summer? Is it about going to the beach, the river, or the lake? Is it about playing golf, having a cookout, or opening the backyard swimming pool? Is it about red-tag sales at the mall or some other self-fulfilling activity?

No, it is about sacrifice. It is about self-denying, self-expending love. It is about people giving all that they had to give, for they so loved their country more than self.

This weekend is about honoring those who died for us, and it is about praying for those they left behind. It is also a time to recommit ourselves to those who continue to selflessly fight evil in our world, evil that demeans, devalues and destroys human life and sometimes does it in the name of God.

May God forgive us for forgetting what this weekend is all about or watering it down for our own selfish gain.

I am afraid that we have done the same thing to the Christian faith. Consequently, followers of Jesus everywhere struggle, and rightly so. For it can sometimes be difficult to tell if Christians really know what the gospel is about.

Is it about judging and condemning others who believe and live differently? Is it about pure beliefs and possessing an attitude of superiority? Is it about having the right to discriminate and treat others who differ from us as second class citizens? Is it about banning people of other faiths from our communities? Is it about depleting our natural resources because we believe the Lord is returning and the world is ending in our lifetime? Is it all about going to heaven one day or on some other self-absorbed venture?

No, our faith is about sacrifice. It is about self-denying, self-expending love. It is about a God giving all that God has to give, for God so loved this world more than God’s self.

Thus, faith is about honoring a God who died for all. It is about recommitting daily to continue to selflessly fight the evil in our world, evil that seeks to demean, dehumanize and destroy human life and sometimes does it in the name of God.

Monday is Memorial Day. May we remember what it is truly about. And everyday is the day the Lord has made. May we remember how God is made known to us, relates to us, and loves us, and how God calls us to make ourselves known to, relate to and love the world.

This is where I believe the doctrine of the Holy Trinity can really help us—Three persons in one. Throughout the centuries, people have been trying to explain this complexity in simplistic language.

You have probably heard that God is like a pie. You can cut a pie into three pieces, but it’s still one pie. Or God is like many of us. I’m a brother, a father, and a son, but I am still one person. Or God is like water, and water has many forms: steam, ice, and liquid, but it is still water.

However, I believe each of these descriptions only scratch the surface of who our God truly is. It is only a watered-down, version of who our God is. Furthermore, it is defining God based on our understanding of the world, instead of allowing our understanding of God to define the world.

God, the creator of all that is, the power behind our universe, gave God’s self, emptied God’s self, poured God’s self out and became flesh and dwelt among us through Jesus Christ.  And Jesus Christ, while he was on this earth, gave himself back to God by becoming obedient to God even to death, even death on the cross. But before he left us on this earth, he promised not to leave us orphaned, he promised to be with us always by giving himself back to us through the Holy Spirit.

Do you see the one characteristic of the Holy Trinity which stands out?  God gave God’s self through the Son. The Son gave himself back to the Father. And God once more gives God’s self back through the Holy Spirit. God is a self-giving God. God is a God who loves to give to others the very best gift that God has to give, the gift of God’s self.

God is a giver. That means that God is not a taker. For givers are never takers.

Isn’t interesting that many Christians, often characterize God as a taker? Again, I think it is because we like to create a God in what we want our image to be, instead of allowing the image of God to define and guide us.

For example: How many funerals have we attended and heard the phrase: “God took her home or God was ready to take him?”

We have all lost loved ones to death. But the Trinity teaches us that Lord did not take them. For givers are not takers. A more accurate way of describing what happened to our loved ones when they breathed their last on this earth is that God wholly, completely and eternally, gave all of God’ self to them.

When we experience the heartache and heartbreak of this fragmented world, there is one thing of which we can be certain, God is here with us, not taking, but giving us all that God has to give, the best gift of all, the gift of God’s self.  If we don’t know anything else about God, we can know this. For it is God’s very nature.

As we renew our discipleship mission as a church, let us renew our commitment to mirror our God by living not as takers, but as givers.

For I believe with all of my heart that mirroring the self-giving love of God that is revealed to us in the Holy Trinity can help us reclaim the gospel that has been high-jacked by people who prefer to live in this world on their terms instead of on God’s terms.

Mirroring the self-giving love of God can help us recover our faith that has been co-opted by takers, by people who have used and misused the name of God for their own selfish gain

For if we mirrored the Triune God as self-giver, think of how everything would change.

Think of how our Christian faith would change. Our faith would not be about what we can take from God—healthier marriages, stronger families, deeper friendships, peace, security, comfort, a mechanism to overcome trials or to achieve a more prosperous life, or even gain an eternal life.

Our faith would be what we can give back to the Holy Giver—namely all that we have and all that we are, even if it is costly, even if it involves risk, danger and suffering, even if it involves the loss of relationships, stress on our marriages, sleepless nights, a tighter budget, even if it involves laying down our very lives.

Church. Church would not be about what we can take from it. It would not be about getting fed, experiencing some peace, attaining a blessing or receiving some inspiration to help us through the week.

Church would be about opportunities for self-giving. Church would be about feeding the hungry, working to bring peace, being blessing to our communities and inspiring the world. Church would no longer be a place that we go to on Sunday, but who we are every day of the week, the body of Christ, the very embodiment of holy self-giving love in the world. Church would not be a way to for us to get some Jesus. Church would be way we allow Jesus to get us to love our neighbors as we were created to love.

And our neighbors. We would look to our neighbors, not for what they can give us, not for what we can take from them, or how we can use them, but for what we may be able to offer them, especially those things that others are constantly robbing them of in order to support their dominance and superiority over them—their dignity, their equality, their value as human beings created in the image of God, their hope, their freedom, their justice.

We would look to our city, our state and our nation, not for what we can selfishly take from it, but for how we can selflessly give to it to make it a more just place for all.

The environment would not be something for us to take from, plunder and exploit for our own selfish wants, but something for which we sacrificially care for, respect, nurture and protect.

I believe if we would truly mirror the triune image of our God as givers instead of as takers, God’s kingdom would fully and finally come on earth as it is in heaven.

Mirroring the triune image of God as self-givers can rebuild a broken world.

Mirroring the triune image of God as self-givers can correct a distorted moral narrative.

Mirroring the triune image of God as self-givers can heal sick religion.

Mirroring the triune image of God as self-givers can bring down walls and break the chains of injustice.

Mirroring the triune image of God as self-givers will erase racism and sexism. It will end sexual harassment and assault.

When we mirror the triune image God as givers, all hate, bigotry, and violence will pass away, and all of creation will be born again.

When we mirror the triune image of God as givers, liberty and justice and peace will come, and it will come for all.

When we mirror the triune image of God as givers, the words of the prophet Isaiah will be fulfilled:

Many peoples shall come and say,
‘Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord,
to the house of the God of Jacob;
that he may teach us his ways
and that we may walk in his paths.’
…[Then] they shall beat their swords into ploughshares,
and their spears into pruning-hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
neither shall they learn war any more (Isaiah 2:3-4).

The First Easter Word

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn EasterLeave a comment

 

Easter Welcome

Sermon delivered at the 6 PM service  following the first Enid Welcome Table Meal, Easter, 2017

John 20:19-23 NRSV

The very first word that the risen Christ brought to his fearful and anxious disciples who denied and abandoned him was: “PEACE!” “Peace be with you!”

It was the same word that was proclaimed at his birth by the angels: “Glory to the God in the highest and on earth, peace!” And it was the last word that came from the cross: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

“PEACE!” It is the word that every human being living in this fragmented world needs to hear from our risen Savior.

Thus, after Jesus pronounced the word to his disciples, he said, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”

The Church has been commissioned by none other than the risen Christ to share this word with others. “PEACE!” It is the word people need to hear from the church more than any other word, and it needs to be the very first word that they hear from the church.

However, sadly, even after nearly 2000 Easters, churches all over this world have ignored this commissioning. And tragically, the very first words that many hear from the church are words that denote the exact opposite of peace.

The first words they hear from many in the church are words of judgment and condemnation. They hear loud, angry, hate-filled rants and protests. They hear words judging them as not only sinners, but as “abominations.” In the name of God, they are condemned by those who justify their hate with the same type of Christ-less scriptural interpretation that was used to support sexism, slavery and racial discrimination.

They may hear reserved words of welcome to come in and sit on a pew, but they clearly get the message right away that they are not to expect to truly become a part of the church. They are not to expect to be able to use their gifts to serve with and alongside those who have been deemed worthy for service. They are not expected to be truly accepted, forgiven, and loved.

However, I believe the Risen Christ still speaks to his disciples today. He is still saying to us that first word of Easter, “PEACE;” and is still saying, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”

For God knows that there are people in every town, at every crossroad,  who hunger and thirst for a community of people in our world who have the audacity to truly live as followers of Christ who take the commission of their Risen Christ seriously to share “PEACE” with all people.

They are yearning for a church that seeks to be, not an institution or club of moral and devout people with right religion, right beliefs, right color and right lifestyles, but a church that seeks to be the living embodiment of the Risen Christ in this world, serving, loving, accepting and embracing the poor, the lost, the broken, the fearful, the grieving, those riddled with guilt and shame, and those whom society has rejected as outcasts, offering them the unlimited hope, unfettered grace and unreserved love that is in that first beautiful first Easter word, PEACE.