Resurrection: Right Here, Right Now

 “Resurrection: Right Here, Right Now” was preached at First Presbyterian Church of Allentown, PA on May 11, 2025. You can hear/watch this sermon here, starting at 29:40.

--

Scripture texts:
Psalm 23
John 10:22-30

--

It was winter in Jerusalem. The people had gathered at the temple to celebrate the Festival of Dedication.

On this Sunday in Eastertide, the lectionary sends us back to the middle of the Gospel of John, before Jesus’ death and resurrection. Here, he is wandering around the temple during a time set apart each year to remember a moment of Jewish history and faith.

Roughly two centuries before Jesus, the temple had been seized by King Antiochus IV. Jewish practices were outlawed. Sabbath observance was banned. Scrolls were burned. And the altar in the temple, once the center of their worship, was desecrated with offerings to other gods. Those who resisted were met with violence, imprisonment, and death.

Eventually, a group of the faithful, led by Judah Maccabee, rose up and reclaimed what had been lost. They purified the temple, rebuilt the altar, relit the menorah, and rededicated the space to God. That act of resistance and restoration became a story the community would tell again and again during the Festival of Dedication.

This festival, today known as Hannukah, was a reminder that even when faith is threatened, God’s presence and the people’s perseverance endure.

So when Jesus enters the temple during the Festival of the Dedication, it’s not just a passing detail. The people around Jesus aren’t simply curious about who he is; they are standing in the middle of a time that remembers how easily dignity and humanity can be stripped away and how much courage it takes to reclaim what is holy. They ask him, “How long will you keep us in suspense?”, which, in the original Greek, reads more like, “How long will you keep holding our lives in your hand?”

The people gather around Jesus and ask him to tell them if he is the Messiah. But they’re not seeking a title so much as they’re seeking a promise. They want to know whether he is the one who will finally see them, protect them, and restore what’s been lost.  

Jesus, being Jesus, answers them like this. He says, “My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me.”

In the Jewish tradition, shepherding was a symbol of kingship. King David was literally called from tending sheep to rule over Israel. In 2 Samuel, we hear God’s words: “You shall shepherd my people Israel.” This shepherd – this king – knows the sheep, lead them gently, protect them from harm, and bring them home.

But Israel’s leaders hadn’t always lived up to that calling. That’s why the prophet Ezekiel condemned the false shepherds who had abused their power and left the people scattered and vulnerable. And so out of that comes a promise from God through Ezekiel, “I myself will search for my sheep. I will seek them out.”

So when Jesus picks up this language and speaks as a shepherd, one who knows his sheep and whose voice they recognize, he is stepping into that understanding. This is a fulfillment of a promise.

Where leadership has failed, Jesus will not. Where others have scattered, Jesus will gather. Where the world has treated them as disposable, Jesus will claim them as his.

This’s the Shepherd Jesus is.

Then, Jesus makes another promise during the festival: "I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand."

For us, eternal life has been understood as life after death. But in Jesus’ time, that’s not how it would have been understood.

His listeners, first-century Jews living under Roman occupation, weren’t primarily thinking about a place beyond this earthly life that we might now refer to as heaven. They were thinking about liberation, restoration, and the long-awaited arrival of God’s kin-dom in the here and now. Eternal life wasn’t about leaving earth but more so about seeing the world made right.

Jesus knowing his sheep is the beginning of eternal life; not rules or status or perfection, but simply recognition, intimacy, and belonging. For people who had been pushed to the margins, for people living under empire, for people wondering whether God still saw them; it was everything.

To say that no one can snatch them out of his hand wasn’t just comforting. It was defiant. It meant that no ruler, no oppressor, no religious gatekeeper had the final say. If they belonged to the Shepherd, they were safe and secure.

And that’s still true.

Eternal life isn’t something we wait for after death. It’s the life we begin to live when we trust the voice that calls us by name.  It’s life in the presence of the Shepherd who gathers us, holds us, and does not let go.

I believe we saw a glimpse of that just last Saturday, right here in our own Presbytery.

As part of a denomination-wide vote, our Presbytery joined many others across the country in voting to approve an amendment to the Book of Order that adds sexual orientation and gender identity to the list of identities protected from discrimination in the life of the Church. And our Presbytery was not alone. In fact, a majority of Presbyteries have already voted in favor of this change, which means the amendment will be officially added to our Book of Order at next summer’s General Assembly.

It may look, on the surface, like a minor decision. But it is more than that. It is a witness. A visible sign of what it means for the Church to listen for the voice of the Shepherd and then to respond faithfully to that voice.

At a time when LGBTQIA+ people are being singled out in harmful and dehumanizing ways through legislation, rhetoric, and fear; here is the Church saying something different.

And that message matters! Not just for LGBTQIA+ community, but for everyone who has ever wondered if they truly belong. Everyone who has questioned whether they have a place in God’s Church. Everyone who has hoped that God’s love might be deeper than they’ve been taught to believe.

In our tradition, we trust that the will of God is discerned through the prayerful, gathered life of the Church. And so when Presbyteries across the country make decisions and those decisions are in the majority, we are bearing witness to the Spirit still at work among us.

We are leaning into the promise that eternal life is not reserved for the future. It’s something we’re called to live into now.

And it’s one thing to believe that resurrection is possible out in the world.

It’s another thing to believe that resurrection is possible for you.

That you, in whatever valley you’re walking through, whatever grief or uncertainty you carry, whatever ache still feels unanswered; you are still being held by the Shepherd’s hand.

Nothing will remove us from God’s grasp. Not doubt. Not exhaustion. Not fear. Not failure. Not grief. Nothing!

We don’t always feel that.  There are days it’s hard to hear the Shepherd’s voice.  There are seasons when it feels like we’re wandering and lost, not sure what’s next and whether goodness and mercy will follow.

But Jesus doesn’t wait for our certainty before claiming us. Jesus doesn’t wait for us to have it all figured out before offering eternal life. The promise rests not on how firmly we can hold on, but on how firmly Jesus refuses to let go.

The Shepherd who gathers the Church is the same Shepherd who gathers you.

The same voice that calls communities into belonging is the voice that still calls your name when you need to know that you too are part of God’s kin-dom.   The same hand that holds the community in love is the hand that holds you when everything feels uncertain.

Eternal life is not the absence of pain. It’s the presence of God in the midst of it.  It’s the promise that even now, resurrection is unfolding in you.

You are not forgotten. You are not outside the reach of grace.  You are not too far gone, too lost, or too late. You are known. And you are valued. And the Shepherd who claims, gathers, provides, protects, and holds is still here.

It’s easy to think of resurrection as a single, dazzling moment: a stone rolled away, an empty tomb, a sudden flood of joy after so much pain. And sometimes it is!

And resurrection looks more subtle then that. It looks like a small act of courage. Inclusion with compassion. A room where people are finally seen. A table set for someone who never thought they’d be invited.

Sometimes resurrection looks like being reminded that you are still held. That your life is not a mistake. That even when you feel forgotten or afraid or filled with regret, there is a Shepherd who knows you. A Shepherd who has already claimed you. A Shepherd who will not let go.

Not just that there will be life after death.  But that there is eternal life right here, right now, in this messy and beautiful and complicated world. 

And so wherever you find yourself today, whether you feel close to the Shepherd or far away, whether you are walking in green pastures or stumbling through the valley, know this:

You are known. You are loved. You are already being gathered into the promise of resurrection. The promise is not far off. It’s unfolding. Right here. Right now. And no one, no thing, no injustice will ever take that from you. Nothing will remove you from God’s tender care.

In a time of where it feels like dignity and humanity can be stripped away so easily, Christ our Shepherd gives us the hope and the promise that God’s Church is different.

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

--

Swanson, John August. Psalm 23, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56560 [retrieved May 11, 2025]. Original source: Estate of John August Swanson, https://www.johnaugustswanson.com/.

Divine Encounters

“Divine Encounters” was preached at First Presbyterian Church of Allentown, PA on March 2, 2025. You can hear/watch this sermon here, starting at 31:35.

--

Scripture texts:
Exodus 34:29-35
Luke 9:28-36
2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2

--

Have you ever had an experience that changed you forever? A moment where you saw the world or yourself differently? Maybe it was standing in the mountains, looking out at a vast horizon that made you feel both small and deeply connected to something greater. Maybe it was holding a newborn baby, realizing the weight of love and responsibility in a way you had never understood before. Maybe it was a hard conversation, one that shook you but also woke you up to a truth you could no longer ignore.

Moments like these change us. They open our eyes, shift our perspective, and mark us in ways that cannot be undone. Encounters with the divine are like that except even more so. When we truly encounter God, we do not remain the same. We are transformed. And that transformation is both beautiful and costly.

In today’s scripture, we see people encountering God in powerful ways: Moses, whose face shines so brightly after speaking with God that the people around him are afraid. Jesus, transfigured on the mountaintop, his divine radiance revealed to his disciples. And Paul, reminding us that we, too, are being transformed into God’s image with unveiled faces. But here’s the thing about these encounters: they are not just moments of glory. They are moments that call these people deeper into the struggle of faith. Moses comes down from the mountain into a people who will resist him. Jesus walks off the mountain straight toward Jerusalem and the cross. Paul, blinded by divine light, is reshaped for a mission that will lead him into suffering and sacrifice.

Friends, we live in a time when the light of truth is shining, and yet many would rather turn away. We see movements for justice, cries for dignity, and the truth of human worth shining brightly in every day moments. And yet, how often do also we see efforts to shut them down? Laws that seek to erase history. Policies that push people back into the shadows. Fearmongering that tells us to silence those who are crying out for justice, bullying that is supposed to convince us that the oppressed are the enemy.

But if we have encountered the living God, if we have truly been transformed by Christ’s love, then we cannot turn away. We cannot veil our faces in fear or retreat into comfort. Instead, we are called to step forward: to shine, to be refined, to stand with those who are being cast aside. Because transformation is not just about us. It is about how God is transforming us for the sake of the world.

Look at Moses! 

Moses comes down from Mount Sinai, carrying the stone tablets, the covenant of God written in his hands. But something else about him is different. His face is shining; radiant with the glory of God. He doesn’t even realize it at first, but the people around him do. And they are afraid.

This is the same Moses who once doubted whether he was the right person for the job. The same Moses who trembled before the burning bush and tried to talk his way out of God’s call. And yet, here he is now, his very body bearing the evidence of God’s presence. He has been changed. Transfigured. And the people don’t know what to do with it.

So Moses veils his face. Not because he is ashamed, not because he wants to hide, but because the people cannot handle the fullness of what they see. The divine glory on his face is too much for them. His transformation makes them uncomfortable.

Centuries later, Jesus ascends another mountain, and this time, it is not just his face but his entire being that shines with divine radiance. Peter, James, and John witness something extraordinary: Jesus transfigured before their eyes, his clothes dazzling white, his glory revealed.

Moses and Elijah, representatives of the law and the prophets, are there talking with Jesus about what is to come. The Gospel of Luke tells us something striking about the Transfiguration: the three are speaking about Jesus’ departure, his exodus, the journey he is about to take through suffering, rejection, and the cross.

The disciples are overwhelmed. They don’t know what to say. Peter, desperate to hold onto the moment, suggests building tents to stay there. But the voice of God interrupts him: “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”

Just as with Moses, the divine encounter brings both glory and burden. Jesus is revealed in brilliant light, but that light points toward the cross. The Transfiguration is not an escape from suffering; it is preparation for it. Transformation in God’s presence does not shield us from struggle; it strengthens us for it.

This is what Peter doesn’t yet understand. He wants the glory without the suffering, the light without the cost. But true transformation; true encounters with God; always leads us back down the mountain, back into the world, back into the hard work of love and justice.

Then there’s Paul. Paul had his own mountaintop moment, though his was not bathed in light but in blinding truth. On the road to Damascus, he was struck down by a vision of Jesus. The light of Christ didn’t just illuminate his path; it exposed his. Paul, once a persecutor of the church, found himself blind, helpless, and completely undone. His transformation was not just about glory; it was about reckoning with the truth. And it changed everything.

Years later, Paul writes to the Corinthians in his second letter about transformation, about unveiled faces, about what it means to be changed by God’s presence. He tells them, “All of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord… are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another.” (2 Cor. 3:18) Paul is saying, No longer do we need to hide behind a veil, as Moses did. No longer do we need to be afraid of the light. We are called to live in it, to reflect it, to embody it.

But – and here’s the part we cannot forget – Paul immediately follows this image of transformation with a reality check later in chapter 4: “We do not proclaim ourselves; we proclaim Jesus Christ as Lord and ourselves as your slaves for Jesus’ sake… We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed.” (2 Cor. 4:5, 8-9)

In other words, to be transformed by God is not just to shine. It is to suffer. It is to pour out one’s life for the sake of others.

Will we embrace the kind of transformation that does not just inspire but convicts? The kind that does not just comfort but disrupts? The kind that does not just illuminate but burns away all that keeps us from loving as God loves?

Because transformation is not just about personal faith. 

It is about how we live in the world. It is about taking our unveiled faces into places where the light is most needed… into the struggles for justice, into the places where suffering is real, into the work of healing and liberation.

Moses came down the mountain shining. Jesus came down the mountain walking toward the cross. Paul, blinded and then restored, spent the rest of his life proclaiming the gospel, no matter the cost.

And now it is our turn.

The light of God is not given to us to keep to ourselves. It is not meant to be locked away behind church walls. It is meant to shine in the world: to challenge, to transform, to heal. But let’s not be mistaken: that light will change us first. And that change, that transformation, may come with a cost.

But it is a cost worth bearing. 

This is why Paul speaks of living with unveiled faces, with boldness, with courage. It is why Jesus tells his disciples not to build tents on the mountain but to follow him back down into the valleys of the world’s suffering. It is why Dietrich Bonhoeffer, seeing the horrors of Nazi Germany, could not turn away, but declared, “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.” 

But when we stand in the light, when we refuse to veil our faces, we bear witness to something greater than ourselves. We bear witness to the glory of a God who does not stand far off, but who comes close, who walks with us, who suffers with us, and who leads us into new life.

And here, today, in this moment, we must ask ourselves: what will we do with the light we have seen?

Because the world is still trying to veil the truth. The world is still trying to silence the voices of justice. We see it in the relentless attacks against the most vulnerable: against victims of war, against LGBTQIA+ siblings, against immigrants and refugees, against those living in poverty, against anyone who dares to stand in the light and demand that God’s justice be done. The world does not welcome transformation. It prefers things as they are. It tells us to be quiet, to be cautious, to be careful. It tells us that faith should be private, that love should have limits, that justice should be slow.

But we have seen the glory of God. And we cannot go back.

We stand as a transfigured people: bold in love, courageous in justice, steadfast in hope. We refuse to veil our faces or soften the truth. We are the ones who walk back down the mountain, ready to follow Jesus into the hard and holy work of healing the world.

And when we grow weary, when the cost feels too great, when the suffering feels too heavy; we remember this: the same God who transformed Moses, who transfigured Jesus, who blinded and called Paul, is still at work in us. That same glory, that same light, that same love: it shines in us too.

We rise, unveiled and unafraid, transfigured and called. We go into the world, bearing the light of Christ. Amen. 

--

Theophanes the Greek and workshop. Transfiguration, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=59721 [retrieved March 3, 2025]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Transfiguration_by_Feofan_Grek_from_Spaso-Preobrazhensky_Cathedral_in_Pereslavl-Zalessky_(15th_c,_Tretyakov_gallery).jpeg.

Love That Disrupts

 “Love That Disrupts” was preached at First Presbyterian Church of Allentown, PA on February 23, 2025. You can hear/watch this sermon here, starting at 48:45.

--

Scripture text:
Luke 6:27-36

--

Is there anything you don’t like about Jesus?

When asking this question to our youth or to our eldest of members, when asking Jesus’ most committed of disciples to those who still on the fence, when asking a more traditional style of worshipper or a more contemporary style of worshipper, there seems to be a similar reoccurring answer.

Is there anything you don’t like about Jesus? Yeah, he tells us to love our enemies!

I get it. Because if we’re being honest, this is one of Jesus’ hardest teachings: loving our enemies.

Because Jesus isn’t just talking about the people who frustrate us. He’s not just saying, “Love the person who cut you off in traffic” or “Love the neighbor who doesn’t shovel their sidewalk.” No, Jesus is speaking to people who have been deeply harmed. People who know what it is to suffer under systems of injustice. People who have been insulted, humiliated, and oppressed.

It’s to them, Jesus says: Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who mistreat you.

And if we’re looking at the state of our country and our world right now; we’re feeling exhausted. We are a community that cares deeply about people. We stand with the marginalized. We speak up for the voiceless. And yet, in times like these, it feels like no matter how much we do, the forces of hatred and fear keep pushing back. I know many of us are struggling right now.

And so it’s also to us, Jesus says: Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who mistreat you.

And that’s where this teaching starts to feel impossible. Because when we’ve been wounded, when we see injustice running rampant in the world, when we feel overwhelmed by the hatred and division that seem to define our time, love is not our first instinct. We want justice. We want things to be made right. And sometimes, if we’re honest, we just want to see our enemies fall.

So what do we do with this command? What does it really mean to love our enemies in a world that feels so broken?

And I don’t need to define who your enemies are for you. As a member of the LGTBQIA+ community, I have my people who have harmed me and continue to harm people like me in this country and world. I’m confident you have people who have harmed you. While our “enemies” may differ, the ways in which we are called to love them remains the same. So let’s talk about that.  

The love we’re exploring today isn’t some passive type of love. It sure isn’t weak. In fact, it’s the most powerful force in the world as it’s the same love that God has for humankind.

The Gospel of Luke, like most other books in the Newer Testament, was written in koine Greek, or Common Greek; Greek that used at the time when Christ came to us as the Word made flesh. While the word “love” in English can describe many different types of relationship, each type of love had a different word in Greek. We know of at least four that were used during Christ’s time on earth.

First, there is Eros: a romantic, passionate love between two spouses.  

Second, we hear of Storge: a familial type of love between parents, siblings, children, etc.

Third, there is Phillia: the type of warm, affectionate love between friends with shared values and mutual respect. Think of Philadelphia, which translates to “the city of brotherly love”. An example of is when Mary and Martha send a message to Jesus letting him know: “Lord, he whom you love, your friend!, is ill.”

And fourth, there is Agape: unconditional, selfless love that extends beyond oneself. Agape is used over 100 times in the Newer Testament, most often used to describe God’s love for us… but also the love we should have for God and neighbor… and enemy.

Here is why this distinction of love is important. When Jesus is telling us to love our enemies, it is not romantic, familial, or even warm and affectionate between two friends. Love is not always friendly! But the love we have for our enemies is selfless.

What do we mean by that? This isn’t a sentimental type of love. It’s not the kind of love that ignores injustice or pretends that harm hasn’t been done. It’s not about keeping the peace at all costs or tolerating abuse. The love Jesus commands is something far more disruptive than that.

This love – this agape love, this selfless love that disrupts – is also the love Paul is describing in 1 Corinthians 13. I’m sure we’ve all heard this passage before, “Love is patient; love is kind…” and so on.

We often hear this passage at weddings, and while it can speak to the love shared between two people, Paul wasn’t writing about eros romantic love. He was writing about agape love to a divided church. A church where people were fighting for power, where some felt superior to others, where resentment and self-interest were tearing the community apart. Those who were already oppressed were the greatest recipients of the further harm being done.

So Paul encourages them to practice a love that is patient in the face of hostility, a love that is kind even when kindness is not returned, a love that does not dishonor others, even when others have dishonored them, a love that does not delight in evil but rejoices in the truth, standing firm against injustice while refusing to return hate for hate, and a love that always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

This is not a love that ignores oppression. It is a love that refuses to let oppression define us.

And that brings us back to Jesus’ command. Because when he tells us to love our enemies, he is not telling us to accept injustice. He is telling us to refuse to let injustice turn us into people of hate.

Jesus is calling his followers to love in a way that refuses to play by the world’s rules. The world teaches us that when someone hurts us, we hurt them back. When someone curses us, we curse them in return. When someone takes from us, we take from them. We see this cycle of retribution everywhere—on the world stage, in our communities, even in our personal relationships.

But Jesus looks at that cycle of hate and says, No more.

Look at the examples Jesus gives:

·       If someone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also. This isn’t about being passive—it’s about reclaiming dignity. In Jesus’ time, a slap wasn’t just an act of violence; it was an act of humiliation. To turn the other cheek is to refuse to be humiliated—it forces the oppressor to see you as an equal.

·       If someone takes your coat, do not withhold your shirt. Again, this isn’t about rolling over—it’s about exposing the injustice. Imagine someone in court suing you for your coat, and instead of fighting back, you hand them your shirt, standing there with nothing left. It makes their greed and cruelty undeniable.

·       Give to everyone who asks of you. Do to others as you would have them do to you. This kind of generosity goes beyond what is fair. It reflects a world that is shaped not by power and control, but by God’s abundance.

Jesus isn’t saying, “Let people walk all over you.” He’s saying, “Do not let their hatred define you. Do not let them dictate the terms of your response.” That’s what makes this love so radical. It is not passive: it is active resistance against the forces of hate and fear. It is a love that refuses to play by the enemy’s rules.

And that’s where it gets personal for us. Because we live in a time where hate is loud. Where fear is being used as a weapon. Where injustice is being justified in the name of power. And we, as disciples of Christ in the world today, have to decide: Will we respond in the way the world expects us to? Or will we disrupt the cycle?

I believe, in my heart of hearts, we will live out a love that disrupts.

It will challenge the world’s way of doing things. It will force people to see the humanity even in those they have dehumanized. It will break the cycles of fear and hate.

This love means speaking truth—but doing so without cruelty. It means standing firm—but doing so without losing our compassion. It means confronting injustice—but doing so in a way that offers an alternative, rather than just another version of the same broken system.

And that’s what makes it so hard. Because loving like this is costly. It requires something of us. It means choosing a different way when the world gives us every reason to lash out. But Jesus never said it would be easy—only that it would be worth it. A better world filled with more agape love will be worth it.

First Presbyterian Church of Allentown is called to embody this love. We are a community that welcomes the outsider, that refuses to demonize, that works for justice not out of bitterness but out of a deep and abiding love for all of God’s children. Because when we live this way—when we love this way—we disrupt the patterns of the world. We refuse to let hate and fear have the final word. And in doing so, we bear witness to a kin-dom that is not built on power or revenge, but on the radical, transformative love of Christ.

Because here’s the truth: people are watching.

In an age of division, people are watching to see how those who are hurt respond. In a time of fear, people are watching to see if we will choose courage. In a culture of retaliation, people are watching to see if we will love differently.

So what will we show them?

Will we mirror the hatred that surrounds us, or will we disrupt it?

Will we let fear dictate our actions, or will we trust that love is still the most powerful force in the world?

Will we be a people who love boldly, courageously, prophetically; people who refuse to let the world’s brokenness dictate our response?

That is the challenge before us. That is the call of Christ.

When we live this way—when we love this way—we don’t just endure the world as it is. We help transform it.

This is the love that heals wounds. This is the love that builds bridges. This is the love that brings the kin-dom of God near.

So may we go from this place ready to love—not with a love that is weak or easy, but with a love that disrupts, that challenges, that refuses to let hate and fear have the final word.

May we love in a way that changes hearts, changes communities, and, by the grace of God, even changes the world.

Amen.

--

Love Your Enemies, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58810 [retrieved February 23, 2025]. Original source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/boojee/2929823056/.

Words for the Beginning: The Road Isn’t Straight

 “Words for the Beginning: The Road Isn’t Straight” was preached at First Presbyterian Church of Allentown, PA on January 5, 2025. You can hear/watch this sermon here, starting at 38:45.

--

Scripture texts:
Isaiah 43:16-21
Matthew 2:1-12

--

Standing at the threshold of a new year and a new chapter, many of us might feel a sense of anticipation. I sure do! We make plans, set resolutions, and chart our paths forward.

But if we’re honest, how often do those plans unfold exactly as we imagine? Life’s road, as we know, is rarely a straight one. It twists and turns, surprises us with detours, and sometimes feels completely uncharted. This truth echoes across time and space, from the journeys of own modern wanderings to those of ancient seekers.

Look to the journey of the Magi. Matthew’s account gives us few details about the Magi’s identities, but we know they were outsiders—likely astrologers, scholars, or priests from Persia. They were people of wisdom, people of questions, and most importantly, people willing to leave the comfort of the known to pursue the divine light breaking into the world.

Nothing about their road was straightforward. They traveled through foreign lands, navigated political tensions, and encountered the deceptive schemes of King Herod. Yet they persevered, guided by the star…

And upon reaching their destination, the Magi’s response was one of awe and joy. When they found the Christ child, they knelt in worship, offering gifts that reflected their reverence: gold for a king, frankincense for a priest, and myrrh, a foretaste of the suffering this child would one day bear. These gifts spoke to the identity of Jesus, but also think of the gifts that came of the Magi’s journey—the courage to seek, the wisdom to listen, and the faith to follow.

And the Magi’s story speaks to us because it mirrors our own.

Too often, we’re told that a successful life is a straight line—a clear trajectory from one milestone to the next. But the Magi remind us of a liberating truth: the road isn’t straight, and it was never meant to be. Life, faith, and God’s purposes unfold through unexpected twists, turns, and detours. What if we embraced this truth? What if, instead of fearing life’s twists and turns, we saw them as invitations to trust God more deeply and follow the light wherever it leads?

This brings us to Isaiah’s prophetic words: “Thus says the Lord, who makes a way in the sea, a path in the mighty waters… I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”

Isaiah spoke to a people in exile—a people whose straight road had been shattered. Their lives had been uprooted, and their future was uncertain. Yet, God promised something extraordinary: not a return to the past but a new way forward.

The wilderness is not an easy place, but Isaiah assures us that even there, God is at work. God makes paths where none seem to exist and brings life to even the most barren of places.

As a congregation, we know this wilderness well. When our previous lead pastor left, we entered a season of uncertainty. We didn’t know what the future would hold, and at times the road felt long and unclear. We’ve faced detours, challenges, and even hurt.  

For nearly five years, we’ve navigated the uncertainty of leadership transitions and the challenges of ministry in a rapidly changing world. Yet, through it all, God made a way for us, guiding us through every twist and turn and step by step, we moved forward. We deepened our faith, strengthened our community, and discerned God’s vision for our church. Like the Magi, we trusted the light we were given—and God has been faithful through it all.

Going back to the magi, their journey home became a testament to their courage. After meeting Jesus, they were warned in a dream not to return to Herod, so in an act of bold defiance, the Magi chose a different path home. Imagine that moment: their journey, already long and winding, suddenly took another turn. They abandoned the clear, expected route and charted a new, unknown course.

Now, as we prepare to meet the candidate for our next lead pastor next week, we stand at another turning point in our journey. It’s a moment filled with excitement, anticipation, and maybe a little fear.

And yet, life often calls us to take leaps of faith. Sometimes the light we follow leads us into unexpected places, and so we are invited to trust that God is with us. As we prepare for this next chapter in our congregation’s journey, we are asked to trust the light God has given us and take that next step forward, even when the path ahead isn’t perfectly clear. But it is hopeful!

God specializes in making a way where there is no way. Just as God guided the Magi to Jesus and then sent them home by another road, God guides us, making paths in our wilderness and bringing life to the desert places of our souls.  God is faithful.

Today, as we gather at the Lord’s Table, we are reminded that this meal is for travelers. The bread and cup sustain us on the journey, no matter how uncertain or winding the road may be. In this sacrament today, we will also receive our star words. The practice of Star Words mirrors the Magi’s journey of following the light. The Magi’s journey wasn’t linear, but it was illuminated. These words are an invitation to listen for God’s voice in the twists and turns of our journeys. It’s another tool we add to our belt to prepare ourselves and reflect on both the journey ahead and the journey we’ve already traveled.

Receiving a star word is an act of trust and an invitation to discern God's presence. Star words are not chosen by us, as much as we would like to, but are received, reminding us that we are not in control of our journeys, as much as we would like them to be.

Like the Magi, who had to trust the star’s light, we are invited to trust that God’s guidance is woven into the word we draw and the lives we live. The word may challenge, comfort, or surprise us. It will also invite us to reflect on how God is at work in our lives.

Last year, my word was “approve.” At first, I didn’t like it. It felt vague and uninspiring. I wondered, “What does this word have to do with me?” But over the year, it became a touchstone. One moment stands out: a sixth grader in our middle school group asked me, “What if God just wants you to know that we approve of you as our pastor?”

Star words can reveal God's intention. I can speak to this! That question stayed with me through the rest of the year, especially in moments of doubt. It reminded me that God’s approval isn’t conditional. It’s not about walking the “straight and narrow” or avoiding mistakes. God’s love and because of my word, approval, God’s love and approval are constants, grounding me – grounding us – even when the road isn’t straight.

This practice is not about perfection or linear growth; it is about attentiveness. Place your star word somewhere you will see it regularly—in your Bible, on your mirror, or at your desk. Just as the Magi had to look up at the sky to see the star’s light, we are called to remain open to the ways God through a Star or a Star Word can illuminate our path and draw us closer to Christ.

As we take communion and receive our star words, we remember that the road isn’t straight, and that’s okay because God is with us, making a way in the wilderness and if needed, guiding us home by another road.

May we, as a community, continue to trust that God who has been faithful to us through every twist and turn is still making a way, bringing streams of hope and life in the desert places. May your star word guide and challenge you, drawing you closer to God and illuminating God’s presence among your journeys. And may you remember that the love of Christ—the love that knows your name—goes before you, beside you, and within you every step of the way.

To conclude, we turn now to a poem—a prayer, really—that speaks to the winding roads we all walk. It echoes the journey of the Magi, the words of Isaiah, and perhaps even our own stories. Hear these words as an invitation to see God’s presence on every path, even the ones you never planned to take:

 

Field Notes by Sarah Speed

With tears in your eyes,
you name all the bumps
and zigzags your life has taken.
With clenched teeth
and a hummingbird pulse,
you wake up
and wonder—how did I get here?
In the last 40 days of
desert wandering, you say
you haven’t heard God’s voice once.
You say you miss when God was close,
when God used to sing the harmony line.
So you yell at the sky,
begging God to drop a pin,
to name the road,
to draw you a map.
You lament the way this life isn’t easy.
You ask me—was the road ever straight and narrow,
or was that all a lie?
But then you crest the mountain,
and I don’t hear from you for a while,
because God was growing
in the lilac field
on the other side of the hill.
God was scattered
among the pebbles
of the road you never planned to take.
Isn’t it amazing, you say,
there are a million roads home
and God walks every single one of them.

As you go from this place, may you trust that truth: God walks every road, even the ones you’d rather avoid, the ones you never planned for, and the ones that feel like wilderness. God is with you, in every zigzag, every climb, and every unexpected turn. And no matter where the journey leads, there is always a way home in Christ. The road isn’t straight, but it is sacred. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Words for the Beginning: You Are a Blessing

 “Words for the Beginning: You Are a Blessing” was preached at First Presbyterian Church of Allentown, PA on December 1, 2024. You can hear/watch this sermon here, starting at 31:40.

--

Scripture text:
Luke 1:26-38

--

Today marks the beginning of Advent, a season of endings and beginnings. As the calendar year draws to a close, a new church year begins, inviting us to reorient our lives around the birth of Christ—a birth that ushers in new ways of living, loving, and hoping.

Yet, as we know, even as we prepare for this sacred new chapter, the world around us continues to spin madly on. And for so many of us here in our country and across the world, some days it is a dark, sad, terrifying world.

But the Advent season is filled with paradoxes: light in the midst of darkness, hope in the midst of despair, beginnings in the midst of endings.

Mary, pregnant with Christ, embodies this tension. She lived in a world marked by oppression and uncertainty, yet her response to God’s calling was a proclamation of hope—a song of trust in a God making all things new.

Can you imagine what Mary would have thought to herself that night following the Angel’s visit?

An angel appeared and said that Mary a young unwed girl would bear the Son of God. A girl from Nazareth; a girl from Galilee! How? Why?  Why would God choose someone like her? Her heart must have been racing. Her fear probably felt like it might take over. But deep within, she heard the angel’s words: “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you… Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus” She probably still didn’t understand how or why, but I’m sure she felt the truth of those words. God saw her, God called her, and God named her favored.

Mary’s story reminds us of the radical nature of God’s love. The Gospel of Luke tells us that God’s angel Gabriel goes to a girl in Galilee. In her book, The First Advent in Palestine, Kelley Nikondeha writes: “Jewish ears must have burned when they heard Luke’s Gospel mention a girl from Galilee.”[1]  She explains that the northern region was known for uprisings and protests, and they were considered “lesser Jews” because many were uncircumcised, they did not worship in the temple, and some married non-Jewish people.[2] 

Nikondeha continues, “. . . the God who goes to unexpected places—to the north, when all expect south; to lowly priests with no sons—this God can go to an unlikely girl in an unlikely place shaped by resistance and maybe even trauma. God shows favor, demonstrating again and again in infinite reversals that human taboo and stigma don’t limit the Spirit.”[3]

God’s Spirit is not constrained by what society makes us feel about ourselves. God’s angel bypassed the powerful and wealthy, traveling instead to a humble girl in an overlooked village. And Gabriel’s words to Mary—“Greetings, favored one!”—cut through centuries of shame and exclusion.

God has a history of working in unexpected ways through unexpected people.

Think of Abraham and Sarah—an elderly couple without children—called to be the ancestors of a great nation. Or Rahab, a Canaanite prostitute who had faith in the God of Israel and became part of the lineage of Christ. Then there’s David, the youngest of Jesse’s sons, a shepherd overlooked by everyone but God, yet God chose him to defeat Goliath and later become Israel’s leader.

At Jesus’ birth, the first witnesses were the lowly shepherds in the fields. The Samaritan woman at the well—an outcast—became one of the first to proclaim Jesus as Messiah. The apostle Peter, impulsive and flawed, was chosen to be the rock of the church. And let’s not forget the young unnamed boy with five loaves and two fish—an offering that Jesus used to feed thousands.

Each of these people may have seemed unqualified, ordinary, or unworthy in the world’s eyes, but God saw something different. God called them beloved, chosen, and capable of transforming the world.

So what makes you any different?! What makes you unqualified or unworthy?! Nothing! You are a blessing!

It’s easy to hear words like these and dismiss them as sentimental or naïve. The world often tells us otherwise. We are bombarded by messages that equate our worth with our productivity, our achievements, or our social status. For some, life’s struggles—poverty, injustice, rejection, fear, mental health—whisper the lie that we are burdens rather than blessings.

But God’s declarations to ordinary people—people throughout scripture, people like you and me—cut through those lies. God’s love does not depend on what we do but on who we are—creations of the divine and children of the holy. This love is not earned or transactional; it is freely given.

Hear the words of Isaiah 43:1-7, from The Message Translation. Hear it as a love letter from God to you, God’s chosen and beloved:

“Don’t be afraid, I’ve redeemed you.
I’ve called your name. You’re mine.
When you’re in over your head, I’ll be there with you.
When you’re in rough waters, you will not go down.
When you’re between a rock and a hard place,
it won’t be a dead end—
Because I am God, your personal God,
The Holy of Israel, your Savior.
I paid a huge price for you:
all of Egypt, with rich Cush and Seba thrown in!
That’s how much you mean to me!
That’s how much I love you!
I’d sell off the whole world to get you back,
trade the creation just for you.
“So don’t be afraid: I’m with you.
I’ll round up all your scattered children,
pull them in from east and west.
I’ll send orders north and south:
‘Send them back.
Return my sons from distant lands,
my daughters from faraway places.
I want them back, every last one who bears my name,
every man, woman, and child
Whom I created for my glory,
yes, personally formed and made each one.’”

God’s love is not passive. It is a love that accompanies us through fire and flood, through seasons of uncertainty and trial, as the world spins on. God does not promise any of us an easy path, but God does promise to be with us through every path. And God really does want the very best for us. Every day with every breath, God wants us to know what a blessing we are.

And so, today, I want you to hear these truths with your whole heart:

• You may feel small and unseen, but God sees you and calls you by name. 

• You may think your past defines you, but God is making all things new.

• You may feel weak, but God’s power is made perfect in weakness.

• You may think you have no voice, but God speaks through even the silence.

• You may feel you’re walking in darkness, but God’s light is guiding your way.

• You may feel like you’ve failed, but God’s mercy is new every morning.

• You may think your contribution is too small, but God can multiply it beyond measure.

• You may feel broken, but God is the potter who reshapes and restores.

• You may feel like you’re not enough, but God has called you “good”.

Take these words to heart. Let them be a balm for your spirit and a reminder of your worth. You are a blessing—not because of what you do, but because you are God’s.

Today, as we gather at the Communion table, we encounter one of the clearest signs of God’s love. This table is an open, constant, and repetitive invitation back to grace. Here, we remember that Christ came into the world not to condemn but to redeem; not to burden us but to bless us. This bread and cup remind us that we are called by name, nourished by God’s love, and sent into this world as blessings.

Advent reminds us as we begin again, we must start by first seeing ourselves as beloved.

The Angel’s words to Mary are the words God speaks to each of us time and time again: “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you… Do not be afraid for you have found favor with God. And now, you carry within you my love for you and you will bring that love into this world.”

You are enough. Not because you are perfect, not because you are powerful, but because God’s favor rests on you. You are a part of God’s unfolding story of love and redemption. Hold onto this truth when the road is hard, when others doubt you, and when you doubt yourself. You are a blessing. And through you, God’s love will bless the world.

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

--

Graphic design by Rev. Lauren Wright Pittman | A Sanctified Art LLC | sanctifiedart.org

---

[1] The First Advent in Palestine: Reversals, Resistance, and The Ongoing Complexity of Hope, by   (Minneapolis: Broadleaf Books, 2022). 39.

[2] Ibid, 40-41.

[3] Ibid, 48.

Fruits of the Spirit: Hospitality

 “Fruits of the Spirit: Hospitality” was preached at First Presbyterian Church of Allentown, PA on October 27, 2024. You can hear/watch this sermon here, starting at 42:25.

--

Scripture texts:
Genesis 18:1-10
Hebrews 13:2

--

Friends, today we gather to explore another fruit of the spirit—hospitality. And before you challenge me on whether hospitality is a fruit of the spirit because indeed it is NOT listed as one of the seven fruits in Paul’s letter to the Galatians, let me tell you! First, I was assigned this fruit and this Sunday… and second, hospitality is a foundational discipline given to the people of God by God. Throughout scripture, in the Older and Newer Testaments, we see this practice lived out… and the consequences of when it is not. Hospitality, at the root of our faith, is expected of us. 

Hospitality is a radical welcome rooted in God’s love. Our mission here at First Presbyterian is clear: We are imperfect people striving to live God’s love in the way of Jesus Christ. In other words, we’re a people who, despite our imperfections, seek to reflect God’s love and welcome. This kind of love, this welcome, is what we mean when we talk about hospitality. And as we see from today’s texts, hospitality is a radical, faith-filled way of seeing Christ in each person and making room for one another. And, as we also see from today’s texts, it’s a practice that opens us to unexpected blessings. 

Today also marks Reformation Sunday, a day to remember the reformers who reshaped our tradition, moving it to be more Christ-centered, open, and accessible. The reformers embodied hospitality by creating a space for all, especially the common people, to connect with God. We continue to embody hospitality as we seek to create spaces of welcome in our lives, our church, and our communities.

Let’s begin with Genesis 18. In this passage, we find Abraham sitting at the entrance to his tent in the heat of the day. Three strangers appear before him, and without hesitation, he hurries to greet them, bowing low to show them honor. He doesn’t merely offer a quick hello; he invites them to rest, refresh themselves, and enjoy a meal. 

Abraham didn’t know who these visitors were, and he had every reason to ignore them. It was hot, and he was elderly. But he felt a holy nudge, a call to welcome these strangers with open arms. And through his hospitality, Abraham and Sarah received a blessing beyond their wildest dreams: the promise of a child.

This story is a reminder that when we practice hospitality—when we make space for the stranger—we often receive blessings we could never anticipate. Abraham’s encounter encourages us to welcome others not because we expect something in return, but because God calls us to this act of love and openness. And in that process, we often find ourselves blessed and transformed.

We see a similar call in Hebrews 13:2, where we’re reminded to “not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.”

Every encounter – whether it’s a conversation with a friend, neighbor, or stranger – holds sacred potential. Every stranger we meet may be carrying a blessing from God. We may not recognize it at first, but our call is to treat them with the same welcome we would extend to Christ himself.

This isn’t always easy. To see Christ in each person requires us to stretch our comfort zones and to look beyond labels and divisions. It means practicing a kind of love that doesn’t ask for credentials or preconditions but simply says, “You are beloved. You belong.”

Our modern lives often move at a fast pace; we don’t always make room for others in our routines, let alone in our hearts. Yet, God invites us to pause, to open our lives, and to embrace radical hospitality. But what does this hospitality look like in our church?

Here’s one example. In our children’s and youth programs, we’re working through a series called “Hospitality in God’s Home,” connected to our FaithFULL Housing mission project. This series helps our young people explore how God calls us to welcome and care for others, especially those who are vulnerable. Through the FaithFULL Housing project, we’re not only learning about hospitality, but we’re putting it into action as we work to provide shelter and support for those without homes. This is the heart of biblical hospitality: opening our hearts and our resources to those in need.

And I have to share a moment that brought this all home just a couple of weeks ago. My brother and sister-in-law were visiting, and I was eager to introduce them to our church family. As we went from room to room, we found ourselves with the high school youth, who were studying hospitality in scripture as part of the series I mentioned earlier. They’d been discussing Luke 7:36-48, where a woman anoints Jesus’ feet as a gesture of extravagant hospitality. As I introduced my family, one of our adult leaders asked the youth, “How would we show hospitality to Pastor Taylor’s family?” And one of our freshmen, quietly but with a humorous confidence, replied, “Wash their feet?” 

I’m grateful my family wasn’t subjected to any spontaneous foot-washing that day! But isn’t it remarkable how our youth understand that true hospitality sometimes does indeed call for acts of humility and service? 

This brings us back to our FaithFULL Housing mission project. As we study biblical hospitality, we’re not only remembering stories from Scripture, we’re also connecting them to real action. The FaithFULL Housing project is an embodiment of our call to welcome the stranger and ensure that all have a place to call home. Through education, advocacy, and hands-on service, we work together to address the need for affordable housing—reflecting God’s desire for justice and welcome for all people.

Today’s ‘Noisy Houses’ collection is a joyous, noisy reminder of this. Just moments ago, our children collected our offerings to support our mission to build homes locally and globally. These offerings are more than coins in a bucket or house; they’re symbols of our commitment to a world where everyone has shelter, where everyone has a place in God’s home. Our children, learning to give and serve, remind us that hospitality isn’t limited to those who can give “big” but is rooted in the simple, faithful acts of each person, each child, each family.

Hospitality, like the other fruits of the Spirit, grows in us as we practice it. And it’s a practice that begins in small ways. Whether through a friendly smile, a kind gesture, or a contribution to the FaithFULL Housing mission, each act of welcome continues to preach the important message we all need to hear, “You are beloved. You belong.”

True hospitality can be risky. When we make room for others, we open ourselves up to discomfort, to encountering differences that stretch us. We might even experience resistance within ourselves, and that’s okay. The journey of faith doesn’t call us to be perfect but to be faithful. We’re invited to bring our whole selves to God’s table, to welcome others with all the love, grace, and kindness that we have been shown.

So, as we leave today, I pray that God’s Spirit would guide us in offering that welcome, that hospitality, to all whom we meet. We will create a world where every person feels at home in God’s home; where justice, kindness, and radical welcome abound.

May we each become a living invitation to God’s grace, opening wide the doors of our hearts and our lives, for we never know when we might be welcoming angels unaware.

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

--