Tag: Racism

Grumpy Jesus: The Fierce Face of Love

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

Luke 9:51-62

Jesus seems a little stressed in our gospel lesson this morning. And who could blame him?

Luke tells us his face is set toward Jerusalem, not toward comfort or safety, not toward respectability or popularity, but toward the seats of power that believe the love he proclaims is weak, the empathy he demonstrates is a sin, the mercy he shows should get him deported, and his grace—His radical inclusion and acceptance of the marginalized? His free handouts of fish and bread and healthcare? His solidarity with foreigners? —Why, all of that lunacy oughta get him crucified!

And at this point in his ministry, he seems exasperated by the lack of support around him, by the religious culture, including his disciples, so much so, the obvious title for this sermon is “Grumpy Jesus.”

Jesus’ journey toward Jerusalem doesn’t get off on the right foot, as he receives word that there no hospitality awaiting him in a village of the Samaritans. No room in the inn, or this time, even in a barn! This is not surprising considering the Samaritans and Jews mutual animosity; yet knowing Jesus’ love that has no borders, he’s obviously frustrated. But perhaps he is more frustrated by his disciples’ response.

James and John, bless their lil’ hearts, ask Jesus if he wants them to reenact a scene from 2 Kings by asking God to rain down fire from heaven and wipe out the entire Samaritan village!

Episcopal priest Rick Morley says this is like “one of those moments at Thanksgiving when your crazy uncle says something so ridiculously inappropriate that everyone just turns and stares with their mouths agape.”

After James and John’s outrageous suggestion, he imagines Jesus doing a face palm.

Of course, grumpy Jesus immediately rebukes them.

Then, Jesus has a series of three encounters with some pretty good disciple prospects. And after James and John’s hell, fire, and brimstone comment, wouldn’t it be nice to have some fresh blood?

The first would-be disciple comes, and without Jesus asking him, presents himself as the perfect candidate: “Jesus, I will follow you wherever you go!”

Now, what’s not to like about that? It’s exactly the kind of people this world needs more of!

But, Jesus, perhaps still exasperated because no one in Samaria left the light on for him, responds: “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”

“Okaaaay, Jesus. I’ll check back with you when you have had your coffee.”

Jesus then encounters another prospect and invites him to join the movement. He agrees but asks permission to go and bury his father first. It’s a very reasonable, loving, and faithful request. It was his part of fulfilling God’s law to “honor father and mother.”

But then, if you thought the “foxes have holes and birds have nests” comment was a bit snarky, Jesus responds: “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the Kingdom of God.”

Now, he’s really sounding grumpy.

C’mon Jesus. I know you are upset that you have nowhere to lay your head, and I know your disciples are idiots, or at least can be very frustrating, but the poor man just wants to bury his father! What can be wrong with that? Isn’t honoring our parents part of discipleship? Isn’t taking some time to grieve over the loss of a loved one something God would want us to do?

Then, Jesus encounters the third would-be follower, who like the first one, also volunteers for discipleship without being asked. But first, he wants to go and say good-bye to his family, perhaps to let their children know why Daddy wouldn’t be home for a while. Again, sounds like a reasonable request. Even Elijah allowed Elisha, who was plowing a field, to first say good-bye to his parents before leaving to join Elijah’s ministry (1 Kings 19:19-21).

But grumpy Jesus isn’t having it. Echoing the calling of Elisha, he says, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the Kingdom of God.”

This is when I wanna say: “Look Jesus. I know you’re upset. I know you’re tired. I know you’ve nowhere to lay your head. I know you’re frustrated. I know the disciples that you have been training to be compassionate, loving, forgiving, merciful and peaceful want to fire bomb an entire village. I know you have your face set on Jerusalem and all the opposition that is to come. But come on, Jesus, take it easy. Let this man say good-bye to his family. And for God’s sake, let this one bury his father!”

But this is Jesus. Thus, my faith tells me that there must be something more going on here—something more than a little fatigue, frustration, and fear.

His face is set toward Jerusalem. This could infer that he knows the that his time on earth is short. And he knows that if he is going to usher in the Kingdom of God before he dies, there’s no time to waste.

The same is true for us. The reality is that our time here is also short. And if we want to make a difference for the Kingdom of God while we’re here, there’s not a moment to lose.

But maybe Jesus’ grumpiness has nothing to do with himself. Afterall, Jesus is always demonstrating the importance denying and losing one’s self. So, perhaps Jesus is not thinking about his own circumstance at all.

Perhaps he had in mind other circumstances and people who needed the good news he was proclaiming. Perhaps Jesus knew that, not for him, but for others, for many, there wasn’t a moment to lose.

So, his grumpiness is really a holy urgency, a sacred stress fueled by a divine love with a height, a depth, a width, and a breadth that we can only begin to understand. Perhaps Jesus knew that for God’s kingdom to come to those who need it the most, there’s not a moment to lose.

There’s not a moment to lose –

For those who are poor, for those who hunger, for those who weep, for those who are hated, insulted, excluded, and rejected (Luke 6:20-22).

There’s not a moment to lose –

For those Samaritans who believe they have lost favor with God (Luke 10:25-29);

For a woman who had been crippled for eighteen years (Luke 13:10-17);

For a man who had been suffering with dropsy. Remember that Jesus healed him on the Sabbath in the presence of the Pharisees (he didn’t wait until the next day when it was lawful), proving, there is not a moment to lose (Luke 14:1-4).

There’s not a moment to lose –

For the rich man who thought he was blessed because he was rich. For the poor man who thought he was cursed because he was poor (Luke 16:19-31);

For the ten lepers who approached Jesus in a region between Galilee and Samaria (Luke 17:11-19);

For the blind beggar sitting beside the roadside near Jericho (Luke 18:35-43).

There’s not a moment to lose –

For a man named Zacchaeus who defrauded the poor;

For all of the poor people he defrauded (Luke 19:1-10).

Jesus is frustrated, because there’s not a moment to lose—

For an entire world that feels rejected, cursed and lost;

For LGBTQ people whose lives are not worth the cost to fund a suicide hotline.

For millions of Americans who are one step closer today to losing their health insurance because of a big, brutal, not beautiful, bill in congress.

For immigrants snatched from their homes, their gardens, their schools and workplaces without cause and due process and cruelly imprisoned separated from their families.

Jesus is exasperated, because there’s not a moment to lose—

For all children who suffer from neglect and abuse;

For girls who are raped and then denied healthcare;

For boys who are taught that it is okay to objectify girls;

For the person with a disability who feels like the whole world, even God, is against them.

Jesus is stressed, because there’s not a moment to lose –

For the one dying of loneliness in a nursing home;

For those who have to make the choice every week to either buy their medication or to buy groceries;

For those unjustly locked away in our prisons because of their economic status or skin color;

Jesus is grumpy, because there’s not a moment to lose –

To respond to climate change that threatens God’s good earth;

To end the destructive pollution of the planet with plastics and carbon.

And Jesus has his palm planted on his face today, because many of his disciples still don’t have a clue. Some still want God to rain down fire and brimstone on those who believe and live differently. And many would-be-followers still have no sense of urgency to be public witnesses of love, peace, mercy and justice.

And the clock is ticking. The Kingdom is at hand. The time is now. We don’t have the luxury of comfort. We don’t have the privilege of delay. We can’t afford to wait until the children are grown, until the house is paid off, until we’ve buried all our grief or kissed everyone goodbye. For there’s not a moment to lose.

This world is on fire, not with holy fire, but with the flames of greed, racism, heteroism, white Christian nationalism, militarism, and climate catastrophe. And while some are lighting matches, too many are just watching it all burn. Too many are saying: “Let me finish what I was doing first” or “let me look after my own first,” while the Samaritan is bleeding in the ditch, while the trans teenager is hanging on by a thread, while hungry people with brown skin are afraid to go to the grocery store for fear of being deported to a country where they’ve never been and have no connection.

Jesus has set his face toward Jerusalem, and he is calling us to set ours—not toward comfort or safety, not toward respectability or popularity, but toward the place where justice is born.

We are not called to admire Jesus from a safe distance in some comfortable sanctuary. We are not called to study him or sing praise songs to him. We are called to walk with him, to move with him, to carry his gospel like it’s a matter of life and death. Because it is.

So, let the church rise up, not with stones in hand, but with bread and wine, with towels and basins, and bullhorns and ballots. Let’s sound the alarm, flood the phones, take to the streets, and send so many emails to our representatives we crash the servers.

Let the church understand that there’s not a moment to lose to tell the truth—
Not a moment to lose to dismantle hate.
Not a moment to lose to march with the poor.
Not a moment to lose to shout that Black and Brown Lives Matter.
Not a moment to lose to say queer and trans people are sacred.
Not a moment to lose to break the chains of every modern-day Pharaoh.

In our text Jesus may be tired. Jesus may be exasperated. Jesus may even be grumpy. But Jesus isn’t giving up, and neither can we.

So, let’s stop looking back.
Let’s stop making excuses.
Let’s put our hand to the plow and move forward…
with power, with grace, with courage, with compassion, with mercy and with the fierce, unrelenting urgency of love!

Because the Kingdom is not coming later.

The Kingdom is coming now.

And there’s not a moment to lose!

Amen.

A Hundred Fifty-Three

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Easter, Sermons Year C2 Comments

John 21:1-11

Happy Star Wars Day! May the fourth be with you!

You may laugh, but there are churches that are observing this day, May the 4th, as Star Wars Sunday, focusing on the spiritual struggle between darkness and light, drawing parallels between “the Force” and the Christian concept of God.

Numbers, like the 4th when it occurs in May, have always been significant in the life of the church, as numbers always seem to be significant in the Holy Scriptures.

The number 40 is symbolic of testing, trials, and periods of preparation, as we remember the story of Noah and the rain that fell for 40 days and 40 nights, and of Moses and the Israelites’ 40-year journey out of slavery into the Promised Land, and of Jesus’ 40-day fast in the wilderness.

The 144,000 protected from judgment we read about in the book of Revelation is based on the number 12, a symbol for wholeness based on the 12 tribes of Israel and the 12 disciples. The number 7 in Revelation symbolizes divinity, whereas the number 6, particularly 666, symbolizes evil.

So, when we read the story of the miraculous catch of fish in this post-Easter story, the number 153 leaps off the page!

Verse 11 reads: “So, Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, a hundred fifty-three of them, and though there were so many, the net was not torn.”

Such an odd number. Such an exact number. Why not just say 150 fish? Or tell a good fishing story by exaggerating it, rounding it on up to 200?

But John says the net contained exactly a hundred fifty-three fish. There are so many possibilities with and no shortage of interpretations.

Some have interpreted 153 fish to mean: “It’s just a lot of fish.”[i] And that moments of such abundance say something about living in a world where the good news of Easter is a reality, as grief is transformed into action, scarcity is transformed into abundance, and despair becomes hope we discover that what seems like the end is only the beginning!

It means living in a world, that when it comes to the love that Jesus taught, modeled, and embodied, we can never give in, give out, or give up, because we know that such love always wins. Such love never ends. Not even death can stop it. It means never retreating in despair believing that things in the world cannot get better.

But something tells me that the number 153 means even more. If it’s just about “a lot of fish,” why didn’t John simply write, “they caught so many fish the nets started to break, and the boats began to sink,” as we’ve heard in another story (Luke 5)? Why does John specifically record the number 153?

Some scholars believe the number symbolizes the truth  that Jesus did not come to abolish Jewish law or the Torah. They point out that the Torah, the first five books of the Bible, was divided into portions to be read in worship. Like the Lectionary that I use each week to preach, the portions were part of a three year-cycle, and the three-year Torah cycle used in Palestine around the First Century had, you guessed it, 153 portions.

Now, if you think that is interesting, listen to this.

St. Augustine pointed out that the number 153 is the triangular of 17. That means that if you add all the numbers decreasing from 17, you get 153. That is to say: 17 + 16 + 15 + 14 +13 + 12 + 11… all the way down to +1 = 153.

So 153, according to Augustine, is all about the number 17, which Augustine believed was a sign of the union of Judaism and Christianity as we have 10 commandments in the Old Testament and 7 Gifts of the Spirit in the New Testament.

How about that? But wait, there’s more.

In the book of Acts, we read that 17 nations were present for Pentecost. So, Peter’s catch of 153 fish at the end of John’s gospel might mean something like the end of Matthew’s gospel when Jesus calls us to make disciples of all nations.

It was St. Jerome who pointed out that during the time John tells this story that there were only 153 species of fish in all the world. Hence, 153 signifies the universal hope that every person of every class and time would be saved through the Gospel.

St. Gregory the Great believed 10 and 7 are perfect numbers, added together make 17. This, times 3, factoring in the Trinity, makes 51. This, times 3 again, makes 153.

St. Augustine also notes that there were 7 disciples in the boat (Peter, Thomas, Nathanael, James and John, and two other disciples), who had all been filled with the 7 gifts of the Holy Spirit. 7 times 7 equals 49. 49 plus 1 (that’s Jesus) makes the perfection of 50. And 50 x 3 for the Trinity gives you 150 plus another 3 for the Trinity gives you 153.

St. Cyril breaks 153 into 100 (the great number of gentiles to be saved), plus 50 (the smaller number of Jews to be saved), plus 3 (the Trinity who saves all).

Others have pointed out that 100 (representing the number of married faithful in the Church), plus 50 (the faithful who commit themselves later in life to celibacy either living as widows or living with their spouse in a brother-sister relationship), plus 3 (the precious few who commit their whole lives to celibacy as virgins) equals 153.[ii]

I hope you are writing all this down.

Now, do you want to know what I believe is the significance of 153?

Allow me to first preface my opinion by reminding you that I have a Doctorate in Ministry and have been a student of scripture for half a century, if you count my Sunday School classes as a child. Plus, I grew up on the Outer Banks of North Carolina; thus, I know a thing or two about fishing.

Here it is. You will really want to write this down. For it is going to blow your mind and probably change your life.

Here it is. Drum roll please. People who go fishing like to count their fish.

That’s it. People who fish count their fish. Now, it may mean a little more than that, but not much more.

I also believe this Easter story has something to do about people, as the story is very similar to other fishing stories when Jesus tells the disciple anglers that they were going to go from catching fish to catching people (Mark 1 and Matthew 4).

Thus, a hundred fifty-three means that people, like fish, are to be counted. Now, compared to the hyper-symbolic, mathematical theories of the saints, that may sound like a hollow interpretation; however, when we consider the number of people who are discounted and marginalized in our world today, this simple interpretation is nothing less than prophetic.

So, what this Easter story says to me is that this movement we call discipleship where we can be confident love will win and justice will prevail, is a movement that prophetically proclaims that every person counts.

A hundred fifty-three is particularly prophetic for Americans as the United States has always had a problem counting certain people, as some in this nation, including those in power today, have always had a problem with equality. There have always been those who want to put a tear in the net, so all will not be counted.

Ever since the Constitution’s original framework, when enslaved people of color were counted as three-fifths of a person, there have been people in this country who have sought to undermine equality, suppress the vote, and discount entire groups of people.

And today, those people are in power, intentionally tearing the net by rolling back all the progress made for equality and civil rights in the 20th century, calling desegregation “a historic wrong,”[iii] and going after any organization, business or university that seeks to count everyone with programs focused on diversity, equity, and inclusion. And now, democracy hangs in the balance.

Perhaps we should have seen the end to democracy coming —when every ten years there’s an argument in our country about who should be counted and who should not be counted in the census, as counting every person is fundamental to democracy, based on the principle that each person counts and deserves representation.

So, I believe 153 is a profoundly prophetic number for America today. A hundred fifty-three affirms democracy and the principle that all people are created equally. A hundred fifty-three means there is no person who does not count.

A hundred fifty-three affirms our annual Holocaust Remembrance Service, as a hundred fifty-three means that six million Jewish people count. And they still count, despite those today who are seeking to re-write history or “move on from past guilt.”[iv]

And a hundred fifty-three also means that 2.3 million people in Gaza count, 2.3 million Palestinians who are starving to death today because of the Israeli and US-backed ban of food and humanitarian aid.[v]

One of the best things about living in New Orleans was when I had the opportunity to officiate a funeral where we marched in the cemetery behind a jazz band singing: “Oh when the saints go marching in, when the saints go marching in, oh Lord, I want to be in thatnumber when the saints go marching in!”

Oh Lord, how people just want to be counted.

People of color who cry for their lives to matter just want to be counted.

Trans men and women asking not to be called by their dead name just want to be counted.

Pregnant women who desire to have a choice in their healthcare, just want to be counted.

Disabled people requesting fairness and equal opportunity, just want to be counted.

Immigrants, refugees, and Asylum-seekers in the pursuit of happiness, just want to be counted.

People who are being snatched off our streets and disappeared, need to be counted.

Books banned; history erased; votes suppressed; due process denied; free speech stifled; basic rights deprived; Medicaid, SNAP, Head Start, low-income energy assistance, and other programs cut—it’s all about people who must be counted!

Think about who you know today—at work or at school, in your neighborhood or in your family—who may feel like they are of no count. And think about what actions you could take, or this week, or next, to let know that they do count—to you, to this church, and to God—and maybe, one day, to the nation.

“Simon Peter…hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, a hundred fifty-three of them, and though there were so many, the net was not torn.”

The net was not torn. All were counted. Amen.

[i] https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/resurrection-is-abundance

[ii] https://parish.rcdow.org.uk/harefield/wp-content/uploads/sites/148/2022/10/The-mystery-of-the-153-fish-in-the-Gospel-of-John.pdf

[iii] https://wpde.com/news/nation-world/doj-department-of-justice-officially-ends-desegregation-order-at-louisiana-school-plaquemines-parish-after-nearly-50-years-court-system-integrated-racial-segregation-south#

[iv] https://www.npr.org/2025/01/27/nx-s1-5276084/elon-musk-german-far-right-afd-holocaust

[v] https://www.pbs.org/newshour/world/palestinians-struggle-to-feed-their-families-as-israel-blocks-gaza-aid-for-nearly-60-days

Resisting the Devil

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

Luke 4:1-13 NRSV

If you are like me, you can probably resonate with the Ash Wednesday prayer that was shared this week by Week of Compassion, our denomination’s relief, refugee, and mission agency:

Dear God, we are so weary. Honestly. Just flat worn out. Everything is so much…too much…right now, and there seems to be no end in sight. No end to the worry. No end to the tragedy. No end to the questions. No end to the confusion...

 

Can you relate? I know I can. The good news of our faith is that Jesus also can.

The season of Lent seems to have arrived at the perfect time. In the words sent in an email to encourage pastors this week by Rev. Jim Wallis, the executive director of the Center of Faith and Justice, I believe it is “not accidental, nor coincidental, that this Lenten season comes to us at this moment of history. It is providential.”

Because on this First Sunday of Advent, our gospel lesson reminds us that Jesus understood what it felt like to be “flat worn out” or “depleted.” The word Luke uses is “famished,” as Jesus has been fasting in the wilderness and tempted by the devil.

I know, I know. We don’t talk that much about “the devil” today. And maybe that is part of our problem.

Now, back in the day, my mom had something to say about the devil nearly every day! I probably heard it most often when I was being scolded for some kind of mischievous behavior. I can still hear her say: “Jarrett, the devil’s really gotten into you today!”

As some of you know, I came down with some type of 24-hour bug this past Wednesday night which forced me to miss the Ash Wednesday service. Thankfully, the elders didn’t hesitate to step up and lead what I was told was a beautiful and encouraging service to begin this year’s Lenten. You know what mama might call a fever that prevented me from going to church? “It was the devil.”

And today, if you are invited to mama’s house for dinner don’t expect to be ever serve “deviled eggs.” Not in her house. Oh, she still makes ‘em, but she calls ‘em “angel eggs.” And if I ever slip up and make the observation: “Why mama, these eggs look and taste just like deviled eggs to me!” You know what I’ll hear: “The devil’s gotten into you today, Jarrett!”

And like many teenagers in the 70’s, at least those who grew up Baptist, I got my fill of sermons calling Rock ‘n Roll, “the devil’s music.”

But that’s not the devil that we need to talk about today. That’s not the devil that we need to summon the energy to resist today in our famished, weary, worn-out state.

We need to talk about the devil that is working against us like the force of gravity as we climb together to reach Dr. King’s mountaintop where all people are finally free at last.

We need to talk about how to resist the devil in our nation today that is trying to send us backwards, even knock us off our feet!

We need to talk about how to resist the devil that has pulled many Christians today off and away from the narrow road following Jesus.

We need to talk about the devil that Jesus somehow found the strength to resist even when he felt depleted and powerless.

Let’s look closer at our gospel lesson this morning which comes to us at a most providential time.

First, Jesus resists the devil by refusing to make some bread from the stones that are around him to feed himself. It’s a temptation to follow a way using one’s privilege and power to look after one’s self, to feed one’s self, to put one’s self first, instead of following a way that uses the power and privilege we’ve been given to care for others, to tend to the needs of others, to feed others, even putting the needs of others ahead of our own needs. Jesus resists any movement that suggests that one should put one’s self, or even one’s nation first and any power that believes “empathy is a fundamental weakness of civilization.”[i]

Secondly, Jesus resists the devil by refusing to sell his soul in order to gain political power. Jesus refuses to worship the devil, to join others today who fool-heartedly believe that the end somehow justifies the means, even if those means are the most vile and ugliest of means like: celebrating mass deportations and the separation of families; pardoning men who violently attacked police officers; allowing women to die without access to healthcare and children in other countries to die without food, all the while passionately defending a obvious lies, flagrant greed, unethical behavior, violence against women, and gross immorality coming from the highest seats of public service, sacrificing everything that Jesus taught and stood for on the idolatrous and insidious altar of White Christian Nationalism.

Thirdly, Jesus resists the devil by resisting the enticing promises of protection, comfort, and safety. As is obvious in Luke’s next scene as Jesus is nearly thrown off a cliff for inferring that God loves, and may even favor, those considered to be foreigners, and when later in Luke’s gospel Jesus scolds Peter for drawing his sword to protect Jesus, Jesus refused to succumb to the temptation to follow any path that promised to protect him. Even in a wearied, famished state, Jesus would not fall for any promise of protection by the devil, even from exaggerated or made-up threats like: liberals coming for our guns; refugees coming for our pets; immigrants coming for our jobs; or boys are coming for our daughter’s place on her swim team.

See why the season of Lent has come at a perfect time?

For today, we find ourselves in a wilderness, and like Jesus, we are famished. We wonder how we will ever resist the anti-Christ spirit that so many people today find so attractive. How do we resist the devil when we feel so depleted, defeated, and powerless?

Now, please hear me this morning when I say that the need for resistance today is not a partisan, political issue. It is not a Democrat or Republican issue. It is a gospel issue. Because we’re not talking about a political attack on a political party, we are talking about an anti-Christ attack on the “least of these” whom Jesus has called us to care for, warning us that how we care for them is “the final judgment of the nations.”

So, when we’re talking about resisting the devil, we are not talking about defending a political or partisan agenda. We are taking about defending and caring for the stranger, the sojourner in our midst, the hungry, the homeless, the imprisoned, and the sick, because we believe this is how God judges a nation, and how we can determine if we are on the path of Jesus. We are talking about resisting the devil who is actively tempting us to get off that path. For example— to look the other way as Congress prepares a budget bill that cuts Medicaid, SNAP and other food programs for the almost 50 million hungry people, mostly children and seniors.[i]

But how do we resist the devil when we are so tired? So weary? How do we resist the devil when we feel overwhelmed and distracted by all the lies, chaos, and cruelty that the devil throws our way? How do we resist the devil when are famished?

This is why Rev. Wallis says the season of Lent has arrived at the perfect time.

For today we remember that Jesus was able to resist the devil – how? Look at the very first verse of our gospel lesson. Because he was “full of the Holy Spirit.” And do you remember what had just happened before Jesus was “led by the Spirit into the wilderness”?

In the previous chapter we read: “…and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’”

So, what does that mean for us?

I believe Jesus was able to resist the devil, even when he was flat worn out, because of his identity as a beloved son of God. Jesus was able to keep climbing the mountain because he was full of the Holy Spirit. And the good news is because we identify with Jesus and with his baptism, because the Holy Spirit has descended upon us, because we also God’s beloved children, because we are also full of the Holy Spirit, we too, even when we are famished, have all the power we need in the world to resist the devil!

And look again at verse one. Luke tells us that Jesus was “led by the Spirit into the wilderness.” You and I did not just stumble into this wilderness in which we find ourselves today. The Holy Mountain we need to climb today did not just suddenly appear in front of us. The devil standing before us didn’t just arbitrarily show up to stand in our way, tempting us to go another way.

The Holy Spirit has led us to this place of resistance. We are called by God to be here, and we are empowered by the Spirit to resist the devil in our way, to climb the mountain before us, remaining true to the path we are being led by Christ himself to take.

This is our place, our purpose, and our moment to come together as followers of Jesus to embrace this providential Holy Season of Lent praying for the courage show up to advocate for the way of love Jesus taught and embodied.

This is our time to gather in public places to speak out against the idolatry of Christian Nationalism and for liberty and justice for all.

This is our time to resist the power of fascism, the allure of greed, and the appeal of hate, and the charismatic attraction pulling us down a path of self-service, self-indulgence, and self-preservation.

This moment is ours to align our purchases with our purposes by boycotting goods and services from mega corporations today who are bending their knee to the devil.

This is our time to join with people of other faiths, and with people who may not claim a faith but believe in loving our neighbors, especially those Jesus called the least of these, to resist any power which threatens such neighbors.

This is our time to love out loud, to take the church into the streets, so that others might have hope and say of us, “The Holy Spirit has really gotten into them!”

In the words of Rev. Wallis from that email encouraging pastors today: “It’s time to bring our liturgical season of Lent into our historical crisis, right now, and bear the cost of doing so. Lord, have mercy. Amen.”

[i] https://www.cnn.com/2025/03/05/politics/elon-musk-rogan-interview-empathy-doge/index.html

[ii] Sermon inspired from email received from God’s Politics with Jim Wallis, March 6, 2025.

When Jesus Falls Out of Favor (and nearly off a cliff!)

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year C1 Comment

Luke 4:14-30 NRSV

Once upon a time, in a land far away, but not so different from our own, excitement was in the air as folks began gathering in the narthex, sipping their coffee. Everyone was looking forward to the sermon. Because today, they had a special guest preacher!

Many were just glad to have a break from listening to their pastor who they’ve had to now put up with for a year and a half. But some were really looking forward to hearing one of their own, someone who had moved away, made a name for himself, and made them proud. He had come back home for a visit and had been asked by the Elders to fill the pulpit.

No one paid attention as the announcements were being made. In the pews, heads moved and necks stretched, as everyone was trying to catch a glimpse of their hometown pride and joy.

After the Children’s Moment and the Pastoral Prayer, the young man stood up in the pulpit.

“Look! There he is!”

“My, hasn’t he grown!”

“He looks just like one of us, with his dark eyes and complexion.”

The worship leader handed him a scroll. He unrolled it and began reading words from the prophet Isaiah:

‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,

   because he has anointed me

     to bring good news to the poor.

He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives

   and recovery of sight to the blind,

     to let the oppressed go free,

to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.’

He rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the worship leader, and sat down. All were smiling as he had just read one of their favorite scripture passages.

It is then, that he stood back up and dropped the mic by declaring: ‘Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing!’

Countless amens could be heard throughout the sanctuary. One congregant shouted: “Hallelujah!” Another exclaimed, “Praise Jesus!” Another said, “I wished he was our full-time pastor!”

Everyone was pleased as they could be! Because the scripture he read was being fulfilled for them. Good news for the poor meant good news for them, because they didn’t consider themselves to be among the rich oligarchs that were in power.

And because they were living in an occupied territory, release to the captives, meant liberation for them!

Because they had lost hope and had a difficult time seeing anyway forward, recovery of sight to the blind meant recovery of hope for them!

And because they felt oppressed by the Romans, freedom for the oppressed meant freedom for them!

So, amen, brother! Preach it!

They could not have been more enthusiastic with their hometown hero! All throughout the sanctuary, you could hear proud comments like: “Why isn’t that Joseph’s oldest boy?”

After the choir sang the anthem, the young preacher stands back up, takes a sip of water, and begins the sermon: “There’s no doubt many of you will say: ‘Doctor, cure yourself.’ ‘Do here also here in your hometown the things that we heard you do Capernaum.’”

“That’s right!” someone shouted!

Another yells: “Charity begins at home!”

Someone else screams, “America First!” (I mean, “Israel First!”)

On the edge of their seats, their ears are itching to hear what their hometown boy had to say next!

It is then he says something like: “You know that no prophet is accepted in his hometown

Someone cupped their hands to their mouth and shouted: “We’ll always accept you Jesus!”

Another yelled: “That’s right! You are one of us!”

Still another shouted: “We’re with you all the way!”

He takes another sip of water and then begins to proclaim that Isaiah’s prophetic vision of good news, liberation, recovery of sight, and freedom is not for them only, or even for them first. It is for everyone, maybe even especially for those who need it the most, folks that may not be from around here

In the congregation, shoulders tense, and heads turn. More comments could be heard, but the enthusiastic tone becomes disconcerting: “Wait a minute! I know he’s not talking about diversity, equity, and inclusion, is he?”

Jesus, though, is undaunted by the sudden aggravation in the air, because he wasn’t there to win a popularity contest or to scratch itching ears. He’s  there to tell the truth, even if that truth is unsettling, because Jesus knows that the truth of God’s inclusive and equitable love, as offensive as it may be, is the only way to create a more peaceful and just world.

Jesus then reminded the congregation why the prophets are never popular in their hometown by referring to two stories, one about the prophet Elijah and one about the prophet Elisha.

“You remember Elijah, don’t you? And the story of those three and half years it hardly rained a drop, causing a severe famine throughout the region? Now there were countless widows living in Israel during that time who were starving to death. But God didn’t send the prophet Elijah to help any widows in Israel. No, instead, God sent the prophet to save a widow in Lebanon.”

Apart from a few gasps, the congregation fell so silent you could hear a pin drop.

“And you remember the prophet, Elisha? There were many lepers suffering in Israel, but instead sending the prophet to heal those in Israel of their disease, God sent Elisha to heal a leper in Syria.”

The sanctuary exploded! People rose to their feet. Some began shaking their fists in the air.

How dare he say that the blessings of God extend beyond our borders, to other cultures and ethnicities!

The audacity he has to say that God’s mercy, justice, and freedom are not just those of us who have the proper papers or the right genes!

And how dare he infer that God may even favor someone from Lebanon or from Syria, over us!

The unmitigated gall he has to say that this scripture is fulfilled in our hearing, but not fulfilled for us!

Overcome with rage, the congregation turns on Jesus.

Some demand an apology.

Others call his words “ungracious,” his tone “nasty.” And his service “boring.”

One accused him of being a left-wing lunatic who was bringing woke politics into the synagogue!

Someone else cried: “Deport him!” Another shouted: “Send him to Guantanamo Bay!”

They become so angry that before Jesus is able to finish the sermon, they chase him out of the sanctuary and run him clear out of town right to the edge of a cliff. But he doesn’t fall off the cliff. He somehow sneaks through the crown and escapes.

How quickly had Jesus fallen out of favor and nearly off a cliff!

But that’s the world in which we live—a world where empathy is considered a sin. Because empathy involves loving our neighbor—not the just ones who live next door, but the ones who live in Lebanon and Syria, in Mexico, Gaza, Columbia, Cuba, and Venezuela—as much as we love ourselves.

The word “freedom” has always been a threatening word when it is applied to a group people that another group of people deem “other” or “less.”

 “Diversity,” “equity,” and “inclusion” have always been offensive words to those who want good things for themselves only, or at least, for themselves first. Equality can feel like oppression to those accustomed to privilege. And in our nation, that means that the angry mobs have historically been white people.

It was only a little over 60 years ago, a time that those currenlty in power are trying to take us back to, empathetic people from all over the United States traveled to the South to take a stand for the civil rights of all people. Some were called Freedom Riders, as they rode buses throughout the South to nonviolently resist unjust Jim Crow laws.

Like the time Jesus preached freedom for the other in the synagogue, an angry mob formed. And on Mother’s Day in 1961, in Anniston, Alabama, 50 white men, many of them religious, attacked a Greyhound bus carrying black and white Freedom Riders with pipes, chains, and bats. They smashed windows, slashed tires, and beat the sides of the bus to terrorize the Freedom Riders who were inside.

Once the attack subsided, with the Freedom Riders still on board, the police pretended to escort the damaged bus to safety, but instead they abandoned it just outside the Anniston city limits.

Another armed mob surrounded the bus and began breaking more windows. The Freedom Riders refused to exit the bus and received no aid from two highway patrolmen who were watching nearby. When a member of the mob tossed a firebomb through a broken bus window, others in the mob attempted to trap the passengers inside by barricading the doors of the bus.

The mob fled when they feared the fuel tank was about to explode. Somehow, the Riders were able to escape the ensuing flames, only to be attacked and beaten as they exited the burning bus.[i]

Kindness, grace, and compassion have always made people wickedly angry when it is applied to outsiders. Some people have always called empathy a “sin,” because empathy involves caring for someone other than yourself, or other than “your” people. Thus, the powers of wickedness have always tried to trump the power of love. Darkness has always sought to overcome light.

The good news is that darkness is no match for even a little bit of light, and love always wins. The good news is that Jesus did not fall off that cliff, and through the resurrected body of Christ, he is still alive and preaching in our world today.

I know that it may feel like we are standing at the edge of a great cliff. Our feet may be slipping as the rocks move under our feet. Some of us have slipped, and our feet are dangling over the edge. We’re barely hanging on. But we are not falling.

Somehow, someway, as Jesus escaped those angry worshippers who chased him to an edge of a cliff outside the city limits of Nazareth, and as the Freedom Riders escaped that bus set on fire outside the city limits of Anniston, Alabama, we too have escaped.

 We are still here. Jesus and his followers may have fallen out of favor with the powers-that-be, but we have not fallen off the cliff!

And despite the opposition in our nation today, the intimidation in our state today, and the hostility in our city today, we are still proclaiming good news today, not just for ourselves, but for all people.

We are still committed as ever to fulfilling the promises of God for black and brown people—

Proclaiming God’s liberation for non-binary and transgendered people—

Proclaiming God’s freedom for undocumented people, asylum seekers, refugees, migrants, and victims of war.

And proclaiming a hopeful vision of God’s peace and justice—

God’s empathetic vision of mercy and compassion—God’s prophetic vision of diversity, equity, and inclusion—shining our lights so all can see it!

The dark winds of wickedness are howling, but our candles are still burning!

On the edge of a cliff, we may feel we are barely hanging on today. We may have fallen out of favor. But we are not falling off! Say it with me: We are not falling off! Amen.

[i] https://calendar.eji.org/racial-injustice/may/14

A Pentecostal Outpouring

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

Acts 2 NRSV

I have heard more than one person say: “the Spirit of God is in this place.”

I have also heard people make the counter observation about other churches, saying something like: “I no longer felt the Spirit in that place.” And I am sure that there are some who have made, and who still make, that observation about our church.

So, a good question for us to ask on this Pentecost Sunday is: “How do we know whether or not the Holy Spirit is here?” How do we know if any church ever experiences something like Luke described as a violent wind and tongues of fire? How do we recognize a Pentecostal outpouring of the Holy Spirit?”

As a child, I remember our congregation often opening a worship service by singing:

There’s a sweet, sweet Spirit in this place. And, I know that it’s the Spirit of the Lord; There are sweet expressions on each face, And I know that it’s the presence of the Lord (Doris Akers, 1962).

“Sweet facial expressions?” Is that how we know? I suppose I see a few of those today. But are you happy because the Spirit is here or because you know there’s some good food waiting for you at the end of the service?

I have heard some people talk about an outpouring of the Spirit as they describe a worship service where people are standing singing praise songs to Jesus with their hands raised and tears rolling down their cheeks.

I once served on a town’s recreation committee with the responsibility of organizing the summer church softball league. After leading worship on Sunday, I drove over to a neighboring church to deliver the schedule for the upcoming season. As I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed that cars were pulling out, so I assumed their service had just ended. As I opened and walked through the front door of the sanctuary, I was alarmed to see several people lying motionless in the aisle! The pastor, who was gathering his notes at the pulpit, saw me come in, and without even a hint of concern in his voice, greeted me with a smile saying: “Brother Banks, welcome! Come back with me to my office, and don’t mind those folks lying there in the aisle.”

More than a little distressed, as I walked around the bodies lying in the aisle, I asked: “Are these people ok?”

The pastor said: “Oh, don’t you worry about them. They’ll get up soon enough. We just had a tremendous outpouring of the Holy Spirit today where several people were slain in the Spirit. It happens from time to time.”

I anxiously followed the pastor into his office, where he asked me to sit down across from his desk. As I handed him the softball schedules, I must have had a not-too-sweet expression on my face, because he asked, “Brother Banks, you don’t ever have people fall out during your services, do you?”

I answered: “Oh, it’s happened a time or two, and each time, somebody called 911.”

He smiled and said, “Well, that’s how we know that the Holy Spirit is in this place.”

So, should be concerned that no body passes out in the floor during our worship here? That no one stands and raises their hands as they sing overwhelmed with emotion?

So, what do we mean when we say we feel the spirit in this place?

Some Sundays, I am amazed how the anthem that Jeremy selects or the hymns that Judy plays fit perfectly with the sermon. I sit back here and say to myself: “That’s the Spirit working!”

However, as amazing as that is at times, I am not sure that exactly what is being described by Luke on the Jewish festival called Pentecost.

Luke writes: “When the day of Pentecost had come…all of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.”

I suppose we could ask someone who knows a few languages, like Brian Cox, to come up here and speak to us this morning. But there’s a problem with that. The miracle of Pentecost was not so much in the speaking as it was in the hearing.

Amazed and astonished, they asked, ‘How is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language?

If Brian comes up here and speaks to us in German, I am pretty sure we are not going to hear him in English.

Perhaps Luke, in describing the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, is trying to paint a portrait to help us see something larger, more wonderful, and more astonishing.

Perhaps Luke is describing what our country needs today, what our world needs today— a divine grace to listen, to hear, to understand, to empathize with others who may be so different from us that they speak a different language. Perhaps Luke is describing an outpouring of the Holy Spirit that produces a divine compassion for more people than the people we see as “our own,” a holy call for people to possess an empathy that transcends countries, ethnicities, sexual orientation, gender, and race. In this great Pentecostal outpouring-of-the-Spirit event, Luke just well may be describing the first Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion Conference!

Luke is describing a Pentecostal outpouring that transforms the hearts and minds of people to have the heart and mind of Jesus who listened to, heard, and learned from a Syrophoenician woman, saw the Samaritan as his neighbor, and accepted Eunuchs, who Matthew records Jesus saying were “born that way” (Matthew 19).

Luke is describing a people who would never say “God bless America” without a sincere desire for God to bless the entire world. He is describing a group of people who would never condemn the genocide of one nation without condemning the genocide of another. He is describing white people who do not hesitate when they see a black man mercilessly executed by police in the street to stand up and say “Black Lives Matter” or to speak out at the school board when the history lessons taught to children in our schools are being whitewashed.

Luke is describing people who do not merely worship Jesus, but they follow Jesus, and teach the way of love that Jesus taught, a generous love that is expressed as goodwill for all people.

Luke is describing hearts that are so generous “they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need.” These are people who never complain about food stamps, free healthcare, and increasing the minimum wage, because they truly believe in supporting the welfare of all people, so no one, regardless of their citizenship is in need.

Luke is describing people who feel a deep sense of connectedness to all people.

The COVID-19 pandemic taught us many things. Like all communicable diseases, that a virus can originate on the other side of the world and quickly spread to every nation on earth taught us how connected we all are to one another.

But it also taught us something about our refusal to acknowledge such connectedness. It taught us something sinister about our selfishness and self-centeredness as some refused to wear a mask in public or get a vaccine to protect their neighbor. Even some churches refused to abide by the stay-at-home orders at the beginning of the pandemic, revealing that we have many churches in America devoid of the Holy Spirit of the One who said the greatest commandment is to love our neighbors as ourselves.

It revealed that what this world needs today is some Pentecost, a serious outpouring of the Holy Spirit!

And by “serious,” I mean the world doesn’t need more people tearfully worshipping Jesus with their hands raised in the air. It needs more people following Jesus by extending their hands to help their neighbors in need.

The world doesn’t need more anthems or postludes that pair well with the sermon. It needs more people who are offering their spiritual gifts to pair with the needs of the world.

The world doesn’t need more people slain in the spirit on Sunday morning. It needs more people to be awakened by the spirit to a live a life of generosity for the goodwill of all people every day of the week.

And the world doesn’t need any more congregations with sweet expressions on each face. It needs more of the fire that was experienced on that day the Holy Spirit showed up enabling people of all nationalities, ethnicities, and races to see, to listen, to hear, and to care for one another.

The world needs more empathy and equity, more justice and generosity, more sharing and more goodwill, and not just for people who speak our language, are born in our country, share our pigmentation, or go to our church, but for all people.

The good news is that I believe this is indeed a spirit-filled church. Now, we are still calling 911 if you fall out in the aisle this morning, but there’s plenty of other evidence that the Spirit of the Lord is in this place.

The building and the blessing of the little food pantries, our donations to the Rivermont food pantry, our volunteers each month who serve at the Park View Mission, our folks who have signed up to deliver Meals on Wheels—these are all evidence of a Pentecostal outpouring of the Holy Spirit, or as my childhood preacher liked to say, “an unction of the Holy Ghost!”

And just this past week, our Outreach Team met with the Interfaith Virginia Center for Public Policy to discuss a partnership that will enable us to not only feed our neighbors in need, but to be advocates for justice, so our neighbors will not be hungry in the first place. This may be the strongest evidence of all that there’s Pentecostal outpouring in this place.

So, as we celebrate 150 years as a church, on this day which has been called “the birthday of the Church” (that’s Church with a big ‘C’), there is indeed a sweet, sweet spirit in this place. There are sweet expressions on some faces, but there are also some holy scowls, some furrowed brows, some eyes filled with divine determination, souls ignited by a fiery Call of Love to make this a more generous, equitable, and just world, not just for some of the people, but for all people. And I know that it’s the Spirit of the Lord. Amen.

Witnesses of Humanity

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

Luke 24:36b-48 NRSV

The Risen Christ stands among the disciples saying, “Peace be with you.”

And what’s the disciple’s response?

“And also with you.”

Nope, not even close.

They are startled, skeptical, and terrified. They think they are seeing a ghost.

Now, think about that for a minute.

Because of fear, the Risen Christ finds himself in a position that many find themselves in today: trying to convince others of their humanity.

“Look at my hands and my feet… Touch me and see that I have flesh and bones.” Look at me, and see I am a human.”

Jesus has joined all those who have yearned and who yearn today for their humanity to be recognized.

I will never forget visiting Berlin, Germany in the 1986 before the Berlin Wall was torn down. We toured a small museum dedicated to the holocaust at “Checkpoint Charlie,” before going into East Berlin. As a stark reminder that the Germans are not the only ones guilty of racism, one of the last exhibits displayed pictures taken during the 1968 strike of sanitation workers in Memphis, Tennessee. I will never forget standing in the city where Adolph Hitler once ruled looking at pictures of black men in my own country, in my neighboring state, in my lifetime, holding signs which read: “I am a man.” I am a human. I am somebody. I have flesh and bones.

And this was Jesus. “Look at my hands and my feet.”

But “in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering.”

I suspect that is where many of us are today. Justice and mercy prevailing and love winning brings us some joy when we first think about it, but it seems too good to be true. As much as we want it, we have difficulty believing it, seeing it, recognizing the possibility of any true peace in our world. Because for love to win, the first thing we must do is to recognize the humanity in others. And that is something we human beings have always had a difficult time doing.

The good news is that Jesus is not finished with his disciples. For it is then Jesus asks a rather embarrassing question: “Do you have anything here to eat?” Now think about that for a moment.

Jesus is put into the awkward position to invite himself to dinner, to ask the disciples for the most basic form of hospitality. Because of the disciple’s fear, Jesus has to remind them that when someone pays a visit, the polite thing to do is to offer that someone something to eat or drink.

Amy and David, you will be glad to know that one of the first things we discussed after you agreed to be here this weekend is how and what we were going to feed you!

Perhaps we also need to be reminded that offering another food and drink is simple, yet profoundly powerful. For when we offer someone something to eat, we are recognizing and affirming their humanity. Thus, not only is it the polite thing to do; it is the humane thing to do. It is also a faithful thing to do.

Father Abraham taught us this truth that hot day by the oaks of Mamre.

In Genesis 18, we read where three strangers appear on the street and get Abraham’s attention. Which raises a good question: “Whose humanity gets our attention? Are there some lives that get our attention over other lives?

Next, Abraham simply does what people of faith do for others, he welcomes them with a generous, gracious hospitality.

Notice that when he sees them, he doesn’t ignore them and allow them to pass on by. He doesn’t politely nod or wave in their direction. Nor does he safely call out to them from a distance asking them to come to him, and he certainly does not tell them to go back to where they came from. Abraham goes out to them. And he doesn’t cautiously walk over to them. When he sees them, the scripture says that he “runs” to meet them where they are.

And when he encounters these strangers, notice that he does not stand arrogantly over them or above them, but he humbly bows himself to the ground before them and speaks to them like a servant:

“Please do not pass me by. Let me get some water and wash the dust off your feet. Let me make a place for you to rest in the shade. Oh, and my wife, Sarah, bakes the best bread. Come and allow us to serve you. Then, you can continue your journey refueled and refreshed.”

When the strangers agree to stay a while, Abraham can hardly contain himself. He runs back inside, “Hurry, Sarah, prepare three cups of choice flour, knead it, and bake a delicious cake. He then runs out back to the field and takes the best-looking calf of the flock and has his servant prepare a delicious dinner. He brought it to them under the shade tree and waited on them while they ate.

And as verse one of chapter 18 suggests, we later discover that these three strangers were actually angels, messengers from God. This story teaches us that when we graciously and generously welcome the stranger, we welcome God. When we invite others to the table, the Lord appears.

In chapter 10 of Mark’s Gospel, we read the following words of Jesus:

Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me (Mark 10:40-42).

In the previous chapter we read where Jesus took a little child in his arms, and said:

Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me (Mark 9:36-37).

And in Matthew 25 we read Jesus’ words:

I was hungry, and you gave me food; I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink; I was a stranger, and you welcomed me.

Do you see the pattern here? Jesus said that when we welcome others, we are welcoming him. And when we welcome him, we welcome God.

There was once a monastery that had fallen on hard times. The order was dying out. There were only five monks left, the abbot and four others.

The four monks feared that the monastery would have to be closed. In their desperation, they went out and sought counsel from a wise man they knew who lived in a hut in the woods that surrounded their monastery.

The wise man agreed to a meeting to talk with the abbot regarding the fate of their monastery. The meeting was very brief. For the only thing the abbot had to say was that he knew that “the Messiah was among them.”

The wise man returned to the monastery where the monks were eagerly waiting. “Please tell us! What do we have to do to save the monastery?” “Well,” the abbot replied, “the abbot was rather cryptic. He simply said that the Messiah is among us.”

“The Messiah is among us?” The four monks scratched their heads. How could the Messiah be among them? As they pondered the meaning of those words, the monks soon began to think of each member of the order as a possible Messiah. They started to treat one another with tremendous respect and kindness. And when people came to visit, they treated each of them as if they could be the Messiah, too.

When people from the surrounding area often came to picnic on the monastery’s beautiful grounds, to walk along the paths, and to pray in the chapel, the visitors were amazed by the generous welcome they received from the monks. There was an aura of respect and love that filled the place, making it strangely attractive, even compelling. Hardly knowing why, they began to come back to the monastery more frequently, to picnic, to play, and to pray. They began to bring their friends to show them this special place. And their friends brought their friends. Some of the younger men who came to visit talked more and more with the old monks, and they began to join the order. So before long, the monastery had once again become a thriving order, and a vibrant center of light and love for all people.

When we recognize the humanity of another, the dignity of another, when we graciously set a place at the table for another, when we do something as simple but as powerful as offering them something to eat or drink, we can begin to see the Imago Dei, the image of God in that person. And that is when something shifts and something we call “resurrection” happens, something that once seemed too good to be true becomes reality. Justice and mercy prevail. Love wins and peace comes.

As Jesus eats, enough of their fear subsides that their minds are opened, and they begin “to understand.” With each bite of fish that Jesus takes, the disciples are transformed from fearful skeptics to “witnesses of these things,” emboldened to be public witnesses for justice, mercy, and love in the world—which is exactly what our world needs today!

The world needs witnesses who do not merely talk about “these things” here, among ourselves, inside these four walls, but who do “these things” out in the public for all those who yearn for their humanity to be recognized:

For those whose basic human rights, even their bodily autonomy, are being stripped away;

For those who would love to have a seat at the table but are not invited or feel unwelcomed;

For those who have been traumatized by sick religion;

For those who are living in poverty, for workers denied a living wage;

For those whose lives are terrorized by war and violence.

We need to witness in public spaces speaking truth to power, asking questions of our presidential candidates, our governor, our representatives, and our mayor and city council, all who claim to be Christians:

“What are you doing to be a witness for the least of these?”

“What are you doing to be a witness of mercy for sick people and elderly people?”

“What are you doing to be a witness of justice for poor people and for incarcerated people?”

“What are you doing to be a witness of love for all those who are crying out for their humanity to be recognized?”

Jesus, the brown-skinned Jewish Palestinian, has risen from the dead and is standing before us today, pleading: “Friends, I’m hungry. Will somebody please give me something to eat? Will somebody please recognize my humanity by being a witness to the humanity of others?”

As disciples, may we push past our fear—fear of the stranger, fear of losing some friends, fear of upsetting some family, fear of some failure, fear of not having enough left over for ourselves—and understand that to be Easter people, to practice resurrection, is to first practice hospitality. And may we understand that we feed Jesus every time we feed the least, every time we offer a seat at the table for someone hungering and thirsting for justice.And the good news is that when the disciples fed Jesus, he fed them in return. When they chose generosity over suspicion, love over fear, their eyes were opened, their doubt vanished, and the resurrected Jesus came alive in them. Peace didn’t come first. Sharing a meal did. A recognition of another’s humanity did.

May we be witnesses of these things. And may the peace of Christ be with us all.

The Good Exorcist

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

Mark 1:29-45 NRSV

As I mentioned last week, Mark 1 can be a challenging chapter for the educated mainline modern ear with its references to unclean spirits and demons. We progressives would always prefer to call Jesus “The Good Teacher” rather than “the Good Exorcist!”

However, when reading this chapter, it is impossible to ignore the fact that it seems very important to Mark to inform his readers that a primary responsibility in the job description of the Son of God is confronting, rebuking, and exorcising demons or “unclean spirits.”

Last week we read in verse 27:

They were all amazed, and they kept on asking one another, ‘What is this? A new teaching—with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him.’

And today, beginning with verse 32 we read:

That evening, at sunset, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons. And the whole city was gathered around the door. And he cured many who were sick with various diseases and cast out many demons; …And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons.

Now, before we decide to amend the church budget so we can purchase some holy water, a few giant crucifixes and a book of exorcism rights and begin looking for people whose bodies contort and heads spin around, let’s keep reading this chapter in Mark.

For I believe to understand the nature of demonic or “unclean spirits,” I believe it is important to look closely at the details of the story which ends chapter one.

A leper came to him begging him, and kneeling he said to him, ‘If you choose, you can make me clean.’

 Isn’t that interesting? At the end of the chapter about Jesus casting out unclean and demonic spirits, comes someone considered to be unclean begging Jesus to make him clean.  In other words, “Jesus, if you choose, you can exorcize the unclean or demonic spirit that is tormenting me.”

Leprosy was the most feared and dreaded disease of Jesus’ day, one that always brought horror and despair. “Leprosy” is an indefinite and general term used for a whitish rash on the skin. Spots, sores and swelling may also be present. It was an uncomfortable disease; however, what made leprosy so feared, and so demonic, was not what it did to a person physically, but what it did to a person socially. Perhaps like no other disease, leprosy excluded, marginalized and utterly otherized. You could say that it demonized another.

And it must be pointed out that this demonic otherization was created by so-called, “good,” Bible-believing folks who loved to quote passages from Leviticus to back up their demonic acts.

Chapters 13 and 14 of Leviticus discuss the social side effects of this disease at great length. Because a person with leprosy was considered “unclean,” a leper had to wear clothes which had been torn so they could be easily recognized and avoided. Lepers also had to cover their mouths and cry “unclean, unclean” in the presence of others so no one would approach them. Eduard Schweizer comments that rabbis considered a leper to be a “living corpse.” They were alive, but not alive. They were here, but not here; in the community, but not a part of the community. They were unalive, unaccepted, and untouchable.

We are then told that Jesus is “moved with pity…”

It is important to note that the Greek word used here describes visceral, gut-wrenching feeling. Jesus was moved from deep within his soul. Jesus literally felt the pain and the stigma of the leper. Because the leper suffered, Jesus also suffered. Some scholars say that the word is better translated: “angry.” When Jesus encountered the suffering of the leper, it angered him, but he was angry not only by the physical pain of it, but by the social pain of it— how this dehumanizing disease took people out of community, how it made them social outcasts, outsiders, other.

Here’s how we know that Jesus is angry at not the disease itself, but at the social injustice of it all.  Jesus reaches out his hand and “touches” this one who was considered by faith and culture to be “untouchable.” “Immediately the leprosy leaves him, and he is made clean.”  Then we read: “He sent him away at once, saying to him, ‘See that you say nothing to anyone; but go, show yourself to the priest, and offer for your cleansing what Moses commanded, as a testimony to them.”

Although Jesus had healed the man from the leprosy, Jesus needed him to follow through with the cleansing rituals that would restore him back into community. More than anything else, Jesus wanted this outsider to become an insider. Jesus wanted this untouchable to be touchable, this otherized to be welcomed, seen, heard, valued, loved, and supported.

1972 was a year of enlightenment for me. For it was not only one of the first times I experienced the love of God in action when Mrs. Banks came to visit me in the hospital after my tonsils were removed, it was the first time I had an encounter with the demonic.

 Since I attended a segregated church and a private kindergarten, First Grade was my first exposure to children whose skin color differed from mine. During the first few weeks of school, I immediately became friends with a student of color named Robert whose desk was directly behind me. I also remember playing on the playground with Robert during recess and eating lunch with him in the cafeteria.

About a month into the school year, I remember overhearing my parents and my grandparents, who lived just down the road from us, having a discussion that I did not understand. Although it had been three years since the assassination of Martin Luther King, I remember his name being invoked as an example of how “colored people” like “to stir up trouble.” They talked about a racial riot which had occurred at the high school, how a school bus was set on fire and how a white girl was stabbed with a knife by a black boy.

I remember hearing my parents and grandparents talk about people of color as if they were animals, suggesting that they, like the Native Americans, did not have souls like white people. And I distinctly remember them somehow using the Bible to back up their beliefs.

Before going to school the next day, I will never forget my mother sitting me down at the kitchen table and telling me that “colored people were bad people and wanted to cause trouble,” and they may try to start a fight with me.

Mama said: “So, if a colored person comes up to you, I want you to just ignore them. Don’t pay them any attention. Do you hear me?” I had learned that whenever she ended a sentence with “Do you hear me?” I better do what she said, as I was constantly reminded as a child that God would punish me if I disobeyed my parents.

While standing in the front of the line preparing to go to the cafeteria on the following day, I will never forget Robert, who was standing three or four students behind me calling my name, “Jarrett, Jarrett.” And obeying mama, I ignored him. “Jarrett, Jarrett, Jarrett, Jarrett,” he kept calling my name. “Jarrett, can’t you hear me? Jarrett!” I just stood there, acted as if Robert did not exist.

And as we walked in a single line to the cafeteria, I remember feeling sick, convicted that I just did something terrible, diabolical. It was the very first time that I realized that my parents could be wrong. That their understanding of scripture could be wrong.

All because during the first few weeks of first grade, Robert had become me my friend. All because we talked and listened to one another in class, at lunch and on the playground. As novelist and gay activist Sarah Shulman has written: “Nothing disrupts dehumanization more quickly than inviting someone over, looking into their eyes, hearing their voice, and listening.”

It has been said that the greatest problem of the twenty-first century has been the greatest problem in every generation: the problem of “othering,” a demonic evil that has existed since the human beings first walked on the earth. Virtually every global, national, regional, denominational, church and family conflict is because someone made the decision to identify a group that is “us” and another group that is “them.” Othering undergirds territorial disputes, sectarian violence, military conflict, genocide, the spread of disease, hunger, food insecurity, and even climate change.

And it almost always begins with words. A few dehumanizing, otherizing, demonizing words describing a group of people as “illegals,” “aliens,” abominations,” “animals,” “vermin” or an “infestation.”

We heard it this past week from a congressman from Florida when he suggested that we not refer to even babies on the Gaza strip as “innocent Palestinians’”

And recently we have heard a presidential candidate repeat the assertion: “They are poisoning the blood of our nation.”

I often wonder how much better this world would be today if churches took Jesus’ response to the evil of otherization as serious as we took Jesus’ acts of healing, if along with the great hospitals that churches have built all over the world, churches built advocacy centers for social justice. What kind of world would it be if every church taught and advocated for social justice like they pray for people who are sick?

As disciples of the Good Exorcist, we must always stand ready rebuke and call out any otherization we encounter today, in all its forms, as the abhorrent, demonic evil that it is. We must be moved to holy anger like Jesus when we see anyone marginalized by culture or religion.

We don’t need carry around holy water or a giant crucifix. We just need to possess some courage to speak up and speak out whenever we encounter racism, xenophobia, queerphobia or any type of hate. We must never be ashamed of the good news of the gospel that all people, all tribes, all nations are beloved children of God. And we must continue to be a church that welcomes all people to the table, believing that there’s no such thing as “us and them,” because there’s only us. This church must always be a place where everyone is seen, heard, valued, loved, and supported, and there are never any exceptions.

All Heaven Will Break Loose

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

hatewall

Matthew 16:13-20 NRSV

Jesus understands the importance of perception and identity.

He asks the question about himself. Who do people say that I am, and who do you say I am? It is Peter who answers correctly: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.”

Then Jesus shifts the conversation from his identity to the identity of the church, which is very important for us to consider today. This, by the way, is the first of the two times the word “church” is mentioned in Matthew. The word does not appear in Mark, Luke or John. So, it’s probably a good idea that we pay careful attention here.

What is the church? Who are we? How do people perceive the church? What is our purpose? What makes the church special?

Of course, we love part of Jesus’ answer, especially as it is read in the King James Version: “The Gates of Hell will not prevail against it” (KJV).

In a world where hate crimes are on the rise, wildfires are claiming lives, storms are more violent, COVID still threatens, war is still raging, and all hell seems to be breaking loose, this is indeed some very good news.

The forces of death, despair, and darkness, no matter how great those forces seem to be in our world, will not prevail.

Sickness, disease, war, hate, any power of Hades, a word that is accurately translated “the power of death,” will not have its way with us.

That might be one of the reasons we call the place the church meets each Sunday morning a “Sanctuary.”

Death is moving and hell is coming, as the old hymn says. It threatens us. It frightens us. But together, gathered in this sanctuary as the church, we are reminded that we are safe and secure from all alarm leaning on the everlasting arms.

There’s no way I can count members of my congregations who have told me that they don’t know how people make it in this world without the church.

Because, as we are gathered in community, assembled in our sanctuary with people who are praying with us and for us, worshiping together, singing hymns together, as we make commitments to support and to care for one another, when we hear evil knocking at the door demanding to come in, threatening to do us harm, with nothing to fear and nothing to dread, we respond with utmost confidence:

“What’s that you say? You say it’s darkness and despair out there knocking on our door? You say it’s ‘hell’ out there trying to get in here?”

“Oh, not no. But heaven no!”

“In the name of Jesus, heaven no, you’re not coming in here. Heaven no, you’re not taking away our blessed peace. Heaven no, you’re not getting any of our joy divine.”

The good news is, and those of us who are the church know it, despite the constant onslaughts of Hades, despite the powers that seek to destroy us, the church hangs on, because we know that, ultimately, we will emerge victorious. We hang on knowing that, in the end, love always wins.

We hang on.

We hang on.

We. Hang. On.

How many times have you used that expression to describe the church? “How are things going there at First Christian Church in Lynchburg?”

“Oh, we’re hanging on.”

“It’s tough being church in today’s world, but we are making it.”

“We are surviving.”

Sadly, that describes both the perception and identity of many churches today. They’re in survival mode.

And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. For who doesn’t want to be a survivor, especially when all hell is breaking loose?

It’s a struggle, but we’re hanging on. It’s tough, but we’re paying the bills. It’s a fight, but we’re keeping the lights on. COVID knocked us down, but we are getting back on our feet.

Not exactly sure what we think of him yet, but we got a new preacher. He’s not perfect. He’s pretty bad with names. But we seem to be getting by.

But wouldn’t you like to be more than a church that is just getting by? More than just hanging on?

Wouldn’t you like to be a church that is more about making a difference out there, and less about maintaining the status quo in here?

Wouldn’t you like to be a church that is more about bringing some heaven to earth and less about hanging on until we die and go to heaven?

Although we love this place, shouldn’t the church more than “a sanctuary?”

Let’s look again at this passage. About the church, Jesus says: “The gates of hell will not prevail against it.”

Do you hear it? Do you see it?  Jesus says that it’s the gates of Hades, it’s the gates of death, it’s the gates of despair, it’s the gates of darkness, that will not prevail.

Notice that he’s not talking about the gates of the church, the doors of the sanctuary, prevailing against an onslaught from Hades. He’s talking about the gates of Hades that will not prevail against an onslaught from the church!

When Jesus describes the identity of the church, when Jesus talks about who we are, and who we are called to be in this world, he doesn’t talk about a host of evil rounding us. He doesn’t say death is coming and hell is moving. He says that it is the church that is coming, and it is heaven that is moving. It is the host of good that is rounding the host of evil.

By talking about the gates of Hades, Jesus is expecting the church to be on the offensive. Jesus is expecting the forces of truth, light, grace, justice, mercy, empathy, kindness, love and life to be on the move tearing down the gates of death, darkness and despair.

Jesus isn’t talking about all hell breaking loose in our world. Jesus is saying that when we embrace our identity, when we answer the call to be disciples, when we claim our authority, when we fulfill our mission to be the church in our world, all heaven is going to break loose!

Sadly, the perception of the church is often the other way around. We are the ones cowering behind the gates, hiding behind the walls, shrinking behind the stained glass. We are always on the defensive. We are gatekeepers and wall builders. For our own protection and preservation, we decide who can come in and who must stay out.

But Jesus warns us: “what is bound on earth is bound in heaven. And what is loosed on earth is loosed in heaven.”

In other words, too often the church— by taking a defensive posture, with our gates and with our gate keepers, with our walls and our barriers, with our obstacles and our hurdles—the church has been guilty of preventing all heaven from breaking loose in our world.

However, Jesus says we possess the keys, we are given the authority, to open doors, remove barriers, and get rid of obstacles. As the church, we are not gate keepers, deciding who’s in and who’s out; we are gate destroyers. We are not wall builders; we are wall demolishers!

And when we do that, when the church swings wide its doors, when God’s people leave the safety and security of the sanctuary, when we boldly go out into our world to confront the gates of death, darkness and despair, Jesus says, the gates of hell will not prevail, and all heaven will break loose.

But, when we live in a time and place where all hell seems to be breaking loose, with Rev. Dr. King, we must remember that Jesus does not want God’s people to use darkness to defeat darkness or use hate to defeat hate.

I believe Jesus wants God’s people to use the authority entrusted to them to overwhelm deep darkness with illuminating light; overthrow bigoted fear with revolutionary love; overcome deliberate deception with gospel truth; overtake passive attitudes with empathetic mercy, override uncalled-meanness with called-for kindness, and overrun white nationalism with a non-violent determination to work for the liberty and justice of all. Because I believe what our world needs more than anything else is for all heaven to break loose!

There are many ways I am looking forward to breaking loose some heaven with the First Christian Church in Lynchburg.

Next year, as we mark 150 years of serving God and community, in addition to our three celebration dinners, the planning team has already started having a conversation about providing opportunities for service out in the community to compliment each dinner. Together, we will address big problems such as: food-insecurity, affordable housing and illiteracy. And when we tackle these problems head-on, all the while lavishing others with love and grace, then I believe all heaven will break loose!

When we partner with Rabbi Harley of the Agudath Sholom congregation and other faith leaders to offer special opportunities for faith dialogue in the community, such as something called: Theology on Tap; when we demonstrate to the community the holy value of sitting at a table in a public place with people of all faiths and people of no faith, discussing important, albeit difficult matters of faith such as: racism, gun violence, climate change, reproductive justice, and substance abuse. And when we act on these matters with love, then I believe all heaven will break loose!

When we invite and inspire students from our neighboring colleges and universities to join a movement for wholeness in our world, when we harness their passion, their youth, their energy, their love, and their unwavering faith that love always wins, then all heaven is going to break loose!

As advocates for prophetic justice, as part of an anti-racism, pro-reconciling church, we are going to join with the prophets and Jesus to proclaim love for the marginalized and liberation to the oppressed. We will seek to transform racist systems and to change hearts and minds by communicating our faith convictions to policy makers and people in power. We will continue working to fulfill the dream of Dr. King and speak out against the whitewashing of history and the hateful, anti-woke, anti-Christ agenda of racist politicians who embolden others to commit deadly crimes of hate and acts of terror. And when we work for change with love and determination, hell may tremble. Hell may shake, and hell may push back against us; but then, if we don’t moderate our voices or compromise our convictions, all heaven is going to break loose!

We are going to continue to break down the barriers of bigotry that are dividing our nation by partnering with people who truly believe that the greatest thing we can do as human beings is to love our neighbors as ourselves. And when, together, when we pledge to stand up and speak out for the equality, the dignity, and the worth of all people, while celebrating and affirming that the diversity of humankind is the very holy image of God, I believe all heaven is going to break loose.

And as a church committed to unconditional love of God, to the extravagant grace the Christ, and to the unwavering persistence of the Holy Spirit, we will destroy any gate, remove any hurdle, and break down any barrier that any person or institution tries to erect to prevent anyone from coming to the table of the Lord. And when we do this, when we welcome all to the Lord’s table as God has welcomed us, when we encourage all people to answer the call to be a movement for wholeness in our fragmented world, we believe all heaven is going to break loose!

So, let us embrace our identity. Let us claim our authority. And let us answer the call to fulfill the mission to be the church, to move heaven and earth, so the world may know who we are and whose we are: disciples of the Christ, the Messiah, the Son of the Living God. Amen.

Responding to the Cries

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

Matthew 15:21-28 NRSV

“Inclusion” has always been one of my favorite words. I have proudly worn the word like a badge of honor and have been criticized by the religious culture for being “too inclusive.” Which, by the way, I consider affirmation that I am following the way of Jesus.

However, over time, I have been challenged to re-think the virtue of the word “inclusion.”

For five years or so, I was an Ambassador for an organization called Ainsley’s Angels. I recruited runners to include children and adults with disabilities (another word I have re-thought, preferring now to use “different abilities”) in 5Ks, 10Ks, or marathons, as they rode in what we called “chariots.”

The word “inclusion” was our mantra. Runners included those who could not run in the sport that they love. However, I quickly learned that the runners were not the only ones doing the including. The children and adults with Cerebral Palsy, Traumatic Brain Injury, Angelman Syndrome, Downs Syndrome and other diagnoses which impaired their ability to run, were actually including us in their lives. We even would say: “As runners, we don’t push our riders. They pull us. We are pulled by their positivity and joy across the finish line.”

They included us. They taught us, They challenged us, and they changed us. Perhaps more than anything, by including us in their lives, they taught us the virtue of empathy. How to really put ourselves in the shoes of another.

I believe that if we prayerfully think about the state of our divided nation today, it becomes obvious that what we have here is an empathy crisis. Some people just seem unable, or unwilling, to walk in the steps of another, to really hear, to listen, to truly understand and empathize with the groaning or the cries of others who are tormented by evil. Many are unwilling to leave their safe, protected bubble, where people who don’t look like them or live like them are excluded, to empathize with the cries of others yearning to be free, cries of others in their pursuit of some happiness, some acceptance, some affirmation and love, cries of others begging for a chance to just survive.

I believe this is why Jesus said: “On this, hangs all of the laws and message of the prophets, ‘you should love your neighbor as yourself’” (Matt 22:40). It is as if he was saying, “The entire Biblical witness comes down to this: “Love your neighbor and love your neighbor empathetically—as yourself. Which is to say: “put yourself in the shoes of another.”

I believe this morning’s gospel lesson has much to teach our nation today.

Just then, a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, ‘Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.’ 

We hear this cry every day. Yet, many really don’t hear this cry. Many don’t understand this cry, nor want to understand this cry. Many don’t like this cry. Thus, never truly listen to the cry. To privileged ears, it’s just shouting. Strange, foreign shrieks that, frankly, we find offensive.

They are cries of mercy for a child tormented by demonic evil.

They are hopeful cries for a safer, more loving and just world for their child.

They are moral cries for equality.

They are cries for equal access to a quality education, for equal protection of the law, for fair living wages, for access to equitable healthcare.

They are prophetic cries against injustice.

They are cries against racism, against discrimination, against predatory loans, against voter suppression, against Gerrymandering, against oppressive government legislation. They cry out that their black and brown lives matter. For their queer lives to be seen and acknowledged.

Jesus’ first response to the cries is the most common response: it’s one of silence.

We know that response all too well. Silence, just silence.

If we ignore their cries, maybe they’ll go way. Responding to their cries will only stir things up, make things worse, uncover old wounds. And responding might cost us something. It might make us feel guilty. We may have to give up something. We might have to change something.

The second response comes from the disciples. It’s shocking, but not surprising. For it’s as familiar as silence: “Send her away.”

It’s the response of fear: fear of the other; fear that causes defense mechanism to go up; fear that breeds selfishness, anger, and hate.

Then, they blame the victim.

“What about her shouting?” “She keeps shouting.”

“What about the way she is behaving?” “She needs to be more respectable.” “She’s only making things worse.” “She needs to go away, get a life, get a job, go volunteer somewhere.” “She needs to learn some personal responsibility, stop begging for handouts and learn that God only helps those who help themselves.”

“They are what is wrong with this country.” “These snowflakes need to grow up, toughen up and shut up.” “And they need to learn that all lives matter.”

Jesus breaks his silence, but like the disciples, with words that are all too familiar. With words that are culturally popular; not biblically informed:

I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.

“We should put our people first. We must look after our own interests. We need to do what is fair for us. We can’t give you a seat at our table, especially if you have needs. If you don’t possess the skills to help yourself, how can you help us?”

Nevertheless, she persisted. The outsider continues to protest. In an act of defiance, she takes a knee.

He answered (again with language culturally accepted; not divinely inspired):

It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.

But the good news is that is not how the story ends.

The foreign mother from Canaan keeps shouting. She keeps fighting. She does not lose heart or hope. She believes that justice will come, truth will prevail, and love will win. She speaks truth to power saying:

Lord, at my house, the dogs eat at the same time we eat. Lord, at my table, there’s room and enough for all, especially for those tormented by evil.

And here is the really good news: Jesus listens to this outsider, and although he was neither Canaanite, nor female nor a parent, Jesus empathizes with this mother from Canaan. Jesus just doesn’t merely include this mother. He is not inviting her to accept what is culturally accepted in his religious bubble of doctrines or traditions. Jesus doesn’t expect her to assimilate to his culture and speak only his language.

Jesus is able and willing to do something that many are unable, or unwilling, to do these days; that is, to put ourselves in the shoes of the other. Jesus is able and willing to see the world as she sees it, bear the pain of it, experience the brokenness of it, sense the heartache and grief of it, feel the hate in it.

And because he is really listening, because he is truly paying attention, because he has what so many are lacking these days, because he has empathy, because Jesus truly hears her cries, I believe Jesus is outraged. I believe Jesus begins to suffer with her, offering her the very best gift that he has to offer, the gift of himself, which is breaking before her and for her.

Jesus loves her. He loves her empathetically, authentically, sacrificially. He loves her unconditionally, deeply, eternally.

And loving like that always demands action.

After hearing her cries, listening to her pleas, empathizing with her pain, becoming outraged by the demons that were tormenting her child, Jesus announces that her daughter will be set free from the evil that was oppressing her.

However, her daughter is not liberated by his love alone. She is liberated from her oppression, both by the love of Jesus, and by the persistent faith of her mother, this mother who would not give up, back down, shut up, or go away.

When we hear the cries of people our culture considers to be outsiders— instead of responding with typical silence; instead of criticizing their shouting, their protesting, their marching and their kneeling; instead of blaming them for their situation— if we will follow the holy command to love them as we love ourselves; if we will listen to them and allow their cries to penetrate our hearts; if we will empathize with them; if we will put ourselves in their shoes; walk in their steps; experience their plight; feel the sting of the hate directed toward them— then a place will suddenly become open at our table for them.

Outsiders become family. The underprivileged become equals from whom we can learn, be led, be challenged, and be changed.

And then, together— because the miracle we need today cannot happen unless more of us come together— together, with the one who is no longer a foreigner, no longer feared, no longer ignored, no longer ridiculed— together, in community, side by side, hand in hand, with faith in God, and with faithful, holy persistence— we will stand up, we will speak out and cry out, and we will fight the demonic evil today that is tormenting any of God’s beloved children.

Of course, there will be great cost involved, for the Bible teaches us that love is always costly. But the cost of refusing to love is greater.

I love reading what happened next (“the rest of the story,” as Paul Harvey used to say). It’s the story of justice coming, truth prevailing, and love winning.

Beginning with verse 29…

After Jesus had left that place, he passed along the Sea of Galilee, and he went up the mountain, where he sat down. Great crowds came to him, bringing with them the lame, the maimed, the blind, the mute, and many others. They put them at his feet and [without asking any questions about where they were from, what they believed, or what they had to offer] he cured them, so that the crowd was amazed when they saw the mute speaking, the maimed whole, the lame walking, and the blind seeing. And they praised the God of Israel (Matthew 15:29-31).

The words of the prophet Isaiah were fulfilled:

Foreigners were brought to God’s holy mountain, and there, experienced great joy in God’s house of prayer. They received the good news that God’s house of prayer is for all peoples. The good news is that their offerings are accepted, and God gathers the outcast and sits them beside those already gathered (from Isaiah 56).

Amen.

COMMISSIONING AND BENEDICTION

Go now and respond to the cries for justice.

Don’t ignore the cries. Don’t try to send them away.

Listen to them, empathize with them, love them.

Make them your sister, your brother.

And then, together— in the name of the God who is Love, the Christ who exemplified love and commanded love and the Holy Spirit who leads us to put our love into action—together, may we stand up, speak out and defeat the demonic evil that is tormenting God’s children, until justice comes, truth prevails, and love wins.

It’s Not Complicated: Don’t Be Terrible

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Short Articles1 Comment

love it or leave it

People asked the prophet, “What is the one thing the Lord requires?” He responded: “He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8).

Is that all? Really?

People asked Jesus, “What is the one thing, the one commandment that is above all other commandments?” He responded: “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ The second is this, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these” (Mark 12:30-31).

Seriously? That’s it?

Micah and Jesus say: “Yes!”

Could it be that they understood when we make life more complicated than justice, kindness, humility and love, then terrible things tend happen?

When we make it more complicated than kindness, then we might excuse racist chants of “send her back.”

When we make it more complicated than justice, then we may ignore the harm done to the brown children of asylum-seekers who have been separated from their parents.

When we make it more complicated than humility, then we could overlook and perpetuate racial privilege.

When we make it more complicated than love, then we might defend hate, bigotry and discrimination.

When we make it more complicated that the main things that the prophet and Jesus said that it was all about, then we may be apathetic and silent when the President imitates the Ku Klux Klan by saying: “Love it or leave it.”

So, let’s stop making it so complicated.

Let’s be just. Let’s be kind. Let’s be humble. And let’s love all our neighbors.

And then, maybe, we will stop being so terrible.