The Weeping Christian: BOLD Proclamation

When Paul writes his second letter to Timothy, he’s nearing the end of his journey. He’s tired, imprisoned, and uncertain how much time he has left. This work has cost him everything, but his faith is still alive and his ministry is still not over, even if it is coming to an end.

So he writes one last message to his young protégé named Timothy, who is trying to lead a weary and divided church in Ephesus. Some have walked away from the gospel. Others are twisting it to fit their own desires. Timothy is doing his best to promote togetherness and unity, but it’s hard.

In his letter, Paul offers Timothy some encouragement: “Continue in what you have learned and firmly believed, knowing from whom you learned it.”

Remember, Paul says. Remember the people who taught you. Remember your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice. Remember their voices, their love, and their faith. Remember that “all Scripture is God-breathed.” Remember.

Paul is reminding Timothy that the Word of God is still alive and is still speaking. The same Spirit that breathed creation into being still moves through these words, shaping and guiding the Church. It’s a living voice that equips us to keep proclaiming the good news: past, present, and future.

That’s stewardship too. Not just of resources but of memory. Of faith. Of this living Word that has been entrusted to us.

We are stewards of a story that began long before us… and, by God’s grace, will continue long after us.

And that’s what our stewardship theme, BOLD Generosity, is really about. Each week we’ve been exploring: how do we live boldly with the gifts God has given us? This week’s focus is BOLD Proclamation: letting our lives speak the good news of the Gospel through what we do, what we say, and who we are.

Every act of generosity, every word of truth, every note of a hymn, every moment of prayer: it all becomes proclamation. The living Word of God breathing through us, proclaiming grace to a world that still needs to hear it.

This is how the story continues. It’s how God’s breath keeps moving through this community: teaching, blessing, shaping, and calling. It’s a remembrance of the past and it’s also a call to move forward.

Because after reminding Timothy of where he came from, Paul points him forward.

“I solemnly urge you,” Paul writes, “proclaim the message; be persistent whether the time is favorable or unfavorable.”

Ironic enough, Paul is writing these words in a Roman cell, facing execution. And he knows that proclamation – the faithful, persistent telling of God’s truth – will meet resistance.

Proclamation, in Paul’s sense, isn’t just preaching. It’s living as if the gospel is true. It’s letting our words, priorities, and love tell the story of Christ.

That’s bold proclamation: the decision to live and speak love even when it’s not popular, even when it’s costly.

And yes, sometimes proclamation upsets us. Sometimes it challenges what we’ve grown comfortable with. A pastor preaches a sermon that pushes us a little too far. Or the session makes a decision we don’t agree with. Or we try to live out our faith publicly and speak for justice; and some of the people we love pull away. Sometimes, even in the church, we wound one another. Sometimes, we get it wrong.

And yet, still with great urgency, we are called to proclaim the message. We proclaim compassion when the world feels divided. We proclaim hope when others give up. We proclaim grace when the last thing we want to do is forgive.

And when in doubt, we proclaim God’s love. Because that’s what it means to be the Church: to hold on, even when it’s hard, and to trust that love will still have the last word; that the story we are stewards of still continues. When we boldly proclaim this message, we do so because we believe this story and our faith is changing lives and this world for the better.

I think we can all name a time where the church and its message changed our life for the better.

Fifteen years ago, I was a senior in college studying finance. I didn’t know much about what I wanted in life, but I did know one thing for sure; that wasn’t it. I was on a path that didn’t feel right, and I couldn’t shake the sense that something inside me was searching for something else.

So feeling discouraged about the present and anxious about the future, I went home for the weekend to visit my parents. And like any parents of a college student, they were thrilled when I said I’d go to church with them on Sunday morning. (For any youth or young adults in the room: if you ever want to make your parents really happy, go to church with them when you’re visiting. It works every time.)

That Sunday, the sermon was about the wounds we carry as disciples. It began by naming the struggles we all face and the ways we wrestle with ourselves, with others, and sometimes with God. And then it turned to the struggles that come from faith itself: the moments when being a Christian doesn’t protect us from pain but sometimes opens us up to it.

The preacher said that following Jesus doesn’t mean we won’t be wounded. Sometimes it means we’ll carry those wounds as reminders of where grace has met us. And maybe, she said, those wounds can still become blessings; maybe they can teach us something or even become the way God brings healing into someone else’s life.

That sermon has stayed with me for years: not because it answered all my questions but because it gave me permission to wrestle.

That’s the story of Jacob. And that’s where we find Jacob today.

By the time we reach this moment in Genesis, Jacob has been running for most of his life.

He was born grasping his brother’s heel, already trying to get ahead before he even took his first breath. His name, Jacob, means “the one who grabs.” And that’s how he’s lived: always scheming to secure what he wants, no matter who gets hurt.

He tricked his brother Esau out of his birthright, deceived his father into giving him a blessing meant for someone else, and then fled to escape the consequences.

Now years later Jacob has built a new life with wives, children, wealth, and reputation; but he knows he’s standing on borrowed peace. Word comes that Esau is approaching with four hundred men. So Jacob does what he’s always done: he plans. He divides his camp, sends gifts ahead, prays a little prayer, and then finally sends his family and possessions across the river. And suddenly, for the first time in his life, he’s alone.

And that’s when it happens: a mysterious figure wrestles with him all night long.

We never find out who this opponent is. Jacob believes it is God, but the point isn’t who Jacob wrestles; it’s that he doesn’t let go.

All night long, he struggles. Exhausted. Hurting. Clinging with everything he has. “I will not let you go,” he says, “unless you bless me.”

Oh what a stubborn, holy persistence that refuses to let go of the God who refuses to let go of us.

But because of it, Jacob walks away limping, wounded from the struggle. Bold proclamation is holding on through the night, through the shadows and the valleys, trusting that God’s blessing will come. Through our living and our giving, we are proclaiming the good news is still worth holding onto.

And that’s what bold generosity looks like too.

We give and serve and love because we trust that God is still at work. That God is still blessing whatever we offer, even if it’s small or when the night is long.

Yesterday I attended the ordination and installation of the Rev. Ruth Amadio, who is now serving as pastor of the Presbyterian Church of Catasauqua. During the sermon, the preacher reminded us that the call of every disciple is to practice love in everything we say and everything we do.

She continued by saying despite all our flaws and imperfections, the Church actually does this quite well. Only in the Church do you have more people promising to love a child than in baptism. Only in the Church are more hands held in seasons of grief.

That, she said, is what proclamation looks like. From the beginning to the end, from birth to death, the Church proclaims love. We proclaim love to a child in baptism, and in time, that child grows and proclaims love to our children and our children’s children. We proclaim love to a person in death, and in time, when God calls us home to the Church Triumphant, that same love will be proclaimed to us.

Those words felt especially true this week. We celebrate the sacrament of baptism today, and earlier in the week, I held the hand of a church member as she said goodbye to this life and joined the saints in glory.

In both moments, at the font and at the bedside, I felt the same thing: the bold, unbroken proclamation of love. Love that begins in the promises of baptism and continues through every joy and sorrow of this life until God finally welcomes us home.

Friends, this is what your giving, your presence, your service, and your prayers make possible: the proclamation of love from one generation to the next.

In the name of the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer. Amen.

Moyers, Mike. Israel, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=57141 [retrieved October 20, 2025]. Original source: Mike Moyers, https://www.mikemoyersfineart.com/

The Weeping Christian

Tuesday, November 4, 2025

BOLD Proclamation

No comments:

Post a Comment