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.

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

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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. 

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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.

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Scripture text:
Luke 6:27-36

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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.

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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.

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

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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.