No More Dividing Walls

 “No More Dividing Walls” was preached at First Presbyterian Church of Allentown, PA on July 21, 2024. You can hear/watch this sermon here, starting at 34:25.You can hear/watch this sermon here, starting at 34:25.

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Scripture text:
Ephesians 2:11-22

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Good morning, everyone. Before we dive in, let's take a moment to center ourselves. Take a deep breath and remember we are here together, united in Christ's love.

This summer Carter and I along with a few guest preachers decided not to preach a series but rather we are listening to the Spirit at work and letting God guide us to the texts that we will use in worship that Sunday. Mostly, God has been guiding us to use the texts from the Revised Common Lectionary, or the assigned texts for a Sunday as part of a three-year cycle. Specifically, we’ve been using the Gospel text and the Epistle text the last two weeks, so we are continuing that today. And I do believe the Spirit led us to this week’s text. In our Epistle reading from Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, we find a message that resonates deeply with us in the wake of the political unrest and violence we’ve witnessed. 

Paul is addressing the Gentiles, a predominantly Greek community in Ephesus, asking them to remember their roots as a people of faith. The Gentiles were exploring their faith in Christ, but they did so in opposition to their Jewish neighbors, leading to separation and conflict. Paul reminds the Gentiles that they were once "the other," strangers to the covenants of promise, without hope in the world. But God brought them into the kingdom, not to now exclude the Jews, but to unite all of God’s people together. 

Paul’s message is clear: there should be no separation between Jew and Gentile. God intends for all people to be united as one. He emphasizes that in Christ, those who were once far off have been brought near, creating a new humanity out of the two groups. In Ephesians, he’s writing this message to the Gentiles but this message is ultimately for both the Jews and the Gentiles. 

Because in his letter to the Galatians, where Paul is writing to a predominately Jewish community, Paul echoes this same message, saying, “In Christ, there is no longer Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male or female, for all are one in Christ Jesus.” 

Paul continues this “In Christ” message in all of his letters. 

“In Christ, we are made fully alive.”
 “In Christ all things hold together.”
“In Christ,” Paul writes, “You have been built into the household of God, which includes Jews and Greeks.”
“In Christ,” Paul writes, “You have been built into the very dwelling place of God, a place that has no dividing walls that separate us and create strangers.”

But you’ve experienced these dividing walls, haven’t you? We all have. And we’ve all met someone different than us, failed to see the imago dei within them, and created a stranger out of them. History shows that we can easily build these walls inside the church. The church was once perceived as just for the chosen, just for the Israelites and Jews. Before the Reformation, it was for the educated and wealthy, those who could pay for their salvation. At one time, the church supported slavery and resisted integration. We still see churches with closed communion tables, baptism for only the worthy, solely men in leadership roles, and calls for repentance from LGBTQIA+ individuals. The church has plenty of dividing walls. And if we can do it in the church, we can do it oh so easily everywhere else.

These dividing walls separate us and create strangers out of one another. And unfortunately, we find comfort in these walls. We find comfort in what divides us; not in Christ who unites us. 

This comfort is where the damage is done.

What we forgot (or choose to ignore) is when God first set apart the Israelites, they were symbolically marked as set apart by circumcision, as Paul referenced in the opening lines to today’s passage.  But this distinction was never meant to create an exclusive "us versus them" mentality. Instead, Israel was set apart for the sake of the other nations. They were called to be a light. And when the Israelites were at their best, they embodied this calling, creating a vision of unity where everyone was part of an "us" together.

Churches filled with good-hearted Christians don’t intend to create strangers. What they – what we – intend to do is protect holiness, or at least our idea of holiness. Paraphrasing a sermon from The Rev. Dr. Craig Barnes, he wrote, “We all have some cherished idea of the holy. Maybe it comes from a transformative religious experience, years of studying theology, or an inherited tradition that gives us a sense of identity. Whatever it is, we cherish it so much that we build a wall around it to protect it. And as soon as we do that, we create a stranger of our neighbor because that wall keeps them from it. So it has always been.”

The temple of Ephesus had walls the kept the Greeks in and the Jews out, the temple in Jerusalem had walls that kept the Jews in and the Greeks out. All temples had interior walls that separated men from women. And there was even this great, great veil that separated the Holy of Holies, protecting the sacred from the profane But all these walls ever did was create strangers. Greeks were strangers to Jewish worship, Jews were strangers to Greek worship, and all of us were strangers to holiness.

All the liberals over here, all the conservatives over here. We keep the people who are righteous up close, but the sinners off in the margins. We love the people who are like us, and we judge those who are not and we keep them as strangers over there. We refer to them as them and not us. This is not the way Christ built the church.

And God wouldn’t put up with this. At the death of Christ on the cross, the veil in the temple that separated the presence of God from those deemed unworthy was torn from top to bottom, so the holiness we tried to contain could rush out into every broken part of the world. In Christ, it’s all made holy again.

These dividing walls can come down anytime we are ready to repent of our sin of dividing Christ’s body. The church cannot be fully alive in Christ if we have any strangers within it.

The recent assassination attempt on former President Trump at a political rally is a reminder of the dangers of these dividing walls. Political violence is on the rise, fueled by an "us versus them" mentality. 

As the body of Christ, we are called to say a definitive "no" to political violence and be peacemakers in our communities. This involves confessing and confronting the violent tendencies within ourselves and our society, resisting dehumanizing language, building bridges of curiosity and compassion, and cultivating practices of nonviolence in civic life. As disciples of Christ, we are called to a higher standard, one that breaks down these walls and seeks reconciliation.

And it starts by confronting the stranger within our own hearts. The stranger we are often most afraid of is the stranger within ourselves. We build dividing walls in our hearts, showing our neighbors only the parts we are proud of, while hiding our shame and fears. This divide between our best and worst selves causes hurt to others. 

Have you ever found yourself saying something that was so mean and absolutely devastating to someone that you truly love? That comes from the stranger inside your heart. I did that this week to someone I care about; right now I am so mad at someone (and don’t worry it’s none of you) that right now I see them as an “other” and not a person I care about. I am hurting, and I am upset. But I forget that the person is also hurting. And I know where this hurt comes from. It comes from the stranger that we created when we divided our heart between the good and the bad, the sacred and the profane; when we walled off some parts of our heart to keep it protected or contained. You can try to ignore this stranger in your heart if you want to, but it's not going to go away. In fact, by ignoring it, it only strengthens the stranger within us, leading to more broken relationships.

We often fear the parts of us that are broken, lonely, and afraid. We try to compartmentalize our lives, separating the good parts from the bad parts. We compartmentalize the person we know ourselves to be from the person others expect us to be. But we must let our faith in Christ break down dividing walls and to be the Redeemer for every part of us. Not just the parts we love about ourselves, or the parts that make us feel the most worthy and full. But also we must let Christ be a redeemer for the parts of us we want to hide or run from; the parts that make us strangers to ourselves. 

Otherwise, what's going to happen is that the part of you that you fear the most is inevitably going to be projected onto the other around you. This is one of the reasons that the church and the world is so divided, because we each fear the brokenness that remains in our own hearts, and it's so much easier to work on that in somebody else rather than ourselves.

So for the sake of the divided church and the divided world, break down the dividing walls. Whatever it is that makes you a stranger to yourself and that sees a stranger in another, it all has to be surrendered to Christ. All of it. God doesn't just love the part of you that is already holy. Jesus wasn't dying just to save the part of you that's already righteous. The loving salvation of God has to embrace all of you, the good and the bad, the holy and the profane. It's the only way break down the walls we have built. And if we can do it within ourselves, we can do it in another. 

In God’s Church, there are no strangers. So let me be clear: In this community of faith, there are no strangers.  In Christ, you belong here. 

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

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Naked in Shame / Clothed with Grace

 “Naked in Shame / Clothed with Grace” was preached at First Presbyterian Church of Allentown, PA on June 9, 2024. You can hear/watch this sermon here, starting at 30:03.

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Scripture text:
Genesis 3:1-24

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Let’s imagine a scenario together. 

Let’s say one afternoon you get a call from someone dear to you, one of the people you love most in this world, perhaps a spouse or a best friend. They call you, and they are frantic, “I need your help! I need you to come to the garden section of Home Depot right now! Hurry, hurry! Please! It’s an emergency! But don’t tell anyone; don’t even call 911. I just need you! And bring a large jacket!”

So you rush off to Home Depot to find your loved one. As you get to the garden section store, you hear their cries but you can’t seem to locate them. “Where are you?!” you call out to your friend!  

“Psst, over here!” And then you see your loved one, standing behind a fig tree… and then you see it… your loved one seems to be missing some clothes… in fact, all of their clothes… they are naked! 

What might be your very next question to your loved one?

Was it something along the lines of “Why are you naked?!” 

Now let us turn to Genesis 3 to hear a similar story. But before we do, I want us to approach this story as if it were the first time. I think there is a common assumption that this story is about Adam and Eve, God and Satan, the Fall and the first sin. And although we might have been taught this about Genesis 3, theologians and scholar can’t seem to agree how accurate the story really is. Most likely, this story actually never took place, or at least in this way because Genesis was written to help explain and establish God’s relationship with God’s people. So first, let’s understand Genesis, especially Genesis 3, as a story to describes the relationship between God and humankind. This is not just a story about God and Adam & Eve, or really in this case “a man and his wife” as the two are not named until the end of the passage where just Eve is named. Second, there’s a serpent, which we might understand as Satan. But once again, how true is that? Satan or the devil is not named in this passage.  Here, the serpent represents doubt, temptation, shame, and death. And it’s not really against snakes, as snakes were created in creation and called good and snakes will return in our biblical stories. And last, this story is titled as “The Fall” or the first sin, and yet in Hebrew, sin or the fall are not words used in this passage. So  please let go of every preconceived notion about this passage, and instead try to hear it for the first time, through our own eyes, as we are part of humankind that God is establishing a relationship with in the book of Genesis.

We head into the metaphorical Garden of Eden. We can imagine the lush greenery, the vibrant colors of the flowers, the gentle rustling of leaves in the cool evening breeze – but really Eden describes a paradise created by God, perfect in every way. A man – Adam in Hebrew – and his wife - the first humans lived in this Paradise in perfect harmony with God and with each other. There was no shame, no fear, no hiding. They were naked. They were created naked. And they were unashamed.

Our passage begins with a seemingly innocent question posed by the serpent: "Did God really say, 'You must not eat from any tree in the garden'?" (Genesis 3:1). But this question is the first recorded instance of doubt being sown into the human heart. This question sets off a series of events that would lead to a shift in the relationship between humanity and God because doubt is introduced to humankind. Not sin, but doubt. Their doubt would lead them down a path of temptation. But it wasn’t just temptation to eat the fruit from the tree; humankind is tempted to listen to a voice that contradicts God's voice for the first time. Temptation has now been introduced. Doubt and now temptation. 

Humankind then eats from the tree, and their eyes are opened. And they realize they are naked. They were naked all along but now they realize they are naked. In their newfound awareness, they sew fig leaves together to cover themselves because they see their nakedness as bad. And so when they hear sound of God walking in the garden, the man and his wife, now aware of their nakedness, hide among the trees. This is because the two are ashamed of their nakedness; ashamed for what they have done. Shame has now been introduced to humankind. Not sin – but doubt, then temptation, then shame. Sin still hasn’t been named. 

Because the man and his wife are now hiding from God, God asks, "Where are you?" 

The man responds, "I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked, and I hid myself." "I heard," "I was afraid," "I was naked," "I hid." Humankind's fear and shame drive the man and his wife to hide from God.

But the next question to them is unlike any human question. Going back to our scenario, if we saw a friend naked in the garden section of store, we might ask, “Why are you naked?!”

But God asks the two, “Who told you that you were naked?” 

Not why! But “Who told you?”

Because God knew the two were always naked. They were created naked. And God and humankind felt no shame in their nakedness because they were created in the image of God, and God called them good. Think of the youngest of infant and toddlers; they have no shame in being naked because they were born and created naked. But eventually we as a shame-filled society teach them there is shame in being naked. And then unfortunately we teach them shame, not just about nakedness, but shame for their very own very identities. 

This is what creates the divide between God and humankind because doubt and temptation and shame caused the goodness we feel about ourselves and the goodness we were created in to feel tainted.  This divide is death. 

Doubt, then temptation; shame, then death. 

In many ways, this narrative mirrors our own experiences. We too hide our full selves because of shame and brokenness. Society tells us that we are too fat, too skinny, too feminine, too young, too old, too black, too dumb, too weird, too poor, too weak, too different. We are told we are not masculine enough, not successful enough, not normal enough, not straight enough, not strong enough, not worthy enough, not good enough These labels, like the realization of nakedness, are not bad or wrong! They are beautiful! But we have been conditioned to view them as negative because society led us to believe that they are bad. Just as the man and the wife were always naked without shame until they were told it was bad, we too are influenced by the voices that tell us we are not enough.

Consider the various ways in which we experience nakedness and shame in our lives. We might feel exposed in our relationships, fearing rejection or judgment. We might feel vulnerable in our careers, doubting our abilities and fearing failure. We might feel inadequate in our spiritual lives, struggling with doubts and feeling distant from God. In all these situations, the voices that tell us we are not enough can be overwhelming. 

But these moments of feeling exposed or vulnerable or inadequate do not make us less; it makes us human. Because being fat or skinny, straight or gay, man or a woman, white or black, weird or different, or anything in between or outside of those binaries is not a bad thing! It’s who we are. It’s what God created. It’s what God called good when God created, so it is good! It’s who God desires to be in relationship with; us! Our full selves. Every part of our identity. And there is no shame in identity; there is no shame in who God created us to be. 

But yet we still feel shame at times.

God's question, "Who told you that you were naked?" invites us to reflect on the sources of these negative perceptions. Why do we listen to voices that contradict God's truth? Why do we allow society to dictate our worth and our identity? This question is about our spiritual and emotional vulnerability. It is about the voices we allow to shape our self-perception and our relationship with God; it’s when we let voices that contradict God’s voice taint that self-perception and our relationship with God. 

And while we might want to focus on the “punishments” of Genesis 3; all were reversed in Scripture. The serpent is considered evil, until God snakes return in scripture, including when God transforms Moses’ staff into a snake to show God’s presence and power. We hear that women will desire their husbands and their husbands will rule over them, until Song of Songs tells us that man will desire his wife, and that humankind is now equal in our desire for each other. Yes, humans will have to work the soil of the earth, but it won’t be our own works that will save us. Because ultimately, this passage also alludes to one more thing: Jesus victory over death, “as the offspring of woman will strike the head a serpent;” the serpent that represents doubt, temptation, shame, and death. Jesus will strike the head of death. And Jesus did. And Jesus was victorious. 

The story of Genesis 3 points us to the grace of God. Because even in the midst of judgment, there is hope. The man and his wife are clothed by God with garments, a symbol of God's provision and care. This act of clothing them is a powerful image of grace because God doesn’t just leave us in a shame; leave us to fend for ourselves in the divide because that divide is death. 

Even when we leave the metaphorical garden, God remains with us. This truth is evident throughout Scripture. After the man and his wife, now named Eve at the end of Genesis 3, are expelled from Eden, God continues to interact with them and their descendants. In Genesis 4, God engages with Cain and Abel, demonstrating that divine presence is not confined to a perfect garden but extends into the messy realities of human life. And the story continues. 

Because this passage is about our God who is with us even when we walk out on God’s story. It is about a God who finds us even when we try to hide in the world God created. It is about a God who asks us what we have done even when God already knows what we have done. This divine pursuit is an expression of God's grace. It means that no matter how far we stray, no matter how deeply we hide, no matter how low we fall to shame, God seeks us out, desiring to restore our relationship and close the divide of death that was established.  

We are called to listen to God's voice above all others, to let go of the shame and brokenness that weigh us down, and to trust in the grace that clothes us. We are called to see who we are as good, because that is what God called us when God created us. This journey is not always easy. We will face moments of doubt and struggle, but we are not alone. God's presence is with us.

Remember, my friends, we are not defined by our mistakes or by the labels society places on us. We are not defined by our shame or brokenness.  We are not defined by the reasons we don’t feel good enough. We are defined by the love God has for us; by the grace God gives to us. Even when we falter, even when we hide in our shame, God seeks us out.

May we have the courage to listen to God's voice above all others. May we embrace our true identity as beloved children of God, clothed in grace and redeemed by Christ. And may we walk in the knowledge that God is with us, even in our moments of nakedness and shame, guiding us toward a future filled with hope and promise.

This is the message of Genesis 3. 

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

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Wandering Heart: Here's My Heart

“Wandering Heart: Here’s My Heart” was preached at First Presbyterian Church of Allentown, PA on April 7, 2024. You can hear/watch this sermon here, starting at 33:04.

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Scripture text:

John 21:1-19

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Our Lenten, now Easter journey, has been a pilgrimage of sorts, following the footsteps of Peter: from the abundant catch that led him to drop everything and follow Jesus to walking on water, professing his faith, being rebuked, receiving foot washing, denying Jesus, and running to the tomb. And now, on this day, we witness Peter’s encounter with the risen Christ, an encounter filled with forgiveness, redemption, and love so relentless it washes over Peter like a healing balm.

But before we journey further, let us revisit where it all began for Peter. As we embarked on our Lenten journey, we turned to the Gospel of Luke, Chapter 5 where we first met Peter. He was Simon then, a fisherman casting his nets in the deep waters of Lake Gennesaret. Jesus, with his divine authority, commanded Simon to let down his nets for a catch. Simon, although reluctantly, obeyed, and to his awe, he witnessed a miraculous catch, so abundant that their nets were about to break. Struck by this miracle, Simon fell at Jesus' knees, confessing his unworthiness. But Jesus, in his infinite grace, gave Simon a new purpose, a new identity. "From now on, you will be catching people," Jesus said, transforming Simon the fisherman into Peter, the fisher of men.

From that moment on, Peter embarked on a transformative journey, walking alongside Jesus, witnessing His miracles, and absorbing His teachings. We journeyed with Peter as he walked on water, as he confessed Jesus as the Messiah, and as he faltered and denied Jesus three times the night of His trial. Each of these moments, these snapshots of Peter's journey, revealed to us our own humanity and the divine grace that is intricately woven into our own journeys of faith.

Now, in today's text, we find Peter once again by the shoreline, casting his nets into the sea. The scene is eerily similar to that day on the lake of Gennesaret. Peter, along with a few other disciples, has spent the night fishing but caught nothing. As dawn breaks, a figure appears on the shore. It is Jesus, although the disciples do not recognize Him at first. He instructs them to cast their nets on the right side of the boat, and when they do, they haul in a catch so abundant that they cannot haul it in.

In this miraculous moment, echoes of the past reverberate, and one of the disciples recognizes Jesus. Upon hearing this, Peter, in his characteristic impulsiveness, jumps into the sea to meet Jesus, just like he did when he walked on water to meet Christ in the midst of a storm. The parallels between this encounter and Peter’s call story are striking and powerful. Once again, Jesus provides an abundant catch, a symbolic affirmation of the abundant life He offers. Once again, Peter, the fisherman, encounters the divine on the shores of his everyday life, and once again, his life is about to be transformed.

But this story is not just about an abundant catch; it is a story of relentless love and redemption. Jesus didn’t just provide an abundant catch; He also provided a healing moment for Peter. In the heart of this story lies a powerful dialogue between Peter and Jesus. Jesus offers Peter a chance to redeem his three denials with three affirmations of love. Jesus asks Peter, not once, not twice, but three times, ‘Do you love me?’

But Jesus is not seeking to remind Peter of his betrayal, or to rub salt into his wounds. We don’t worship a God who kicks us while we are down. Instead, His intent is to offer Peter a chance to affirm his love for Christ, a chance to heal and redeem himself. 

Can you imagine the weight of this moment? The weight of Jesus’ question asked three times? Can you imagine Peter’s heart, heavy with guilt, lightening with each declaration of love? Each time Peter says ‘Yes, Lord; you know that I love you,’ he is being redeemed. His guilt and shame washed away by the relentless love of Jesus.

Jesus’ questions to Peter were not a test of his loyalty but an affirmation of his redemption. With each affirmation of love, Jesus entrusts Peter with a new mission: “Feed my lambs.” “Tend my sheep.” “Feed my sheep.” It’s as if Jesus says to Peter, ‘Here’s my heart,’ washing over Peter’s denials with a healing balm and a call to shepherd the flock he was first entrusted with before his three denials.

This is the essence of Christ's love for us – relentless, unyielding, redemptive. It's a love that does not focus on our failures but sees our potential; a love that does not hold our past against us but offers us a future filled with hope. We worship a God who constantly seeks those who are down to lift them back up; our Savior who does even if the reason we are down is our own doing.

This story teaches us that no matter how many times we fail or deny Jesus, His love for us remains the same. His grace is sufficient. His mercy is abundant. He asks us the same question He asked Peter, ‘Do you love me?’ And like Peter, we are given the opportunity to affirm our love for him and receive his redemption.

Christ’s love is a love that does not waver, even when we falter. It is a love that pursues us, even when we have strayed. It is a love that forgives, even when we have fallen short.

Consider the child who disobeys their parents, causing disappointment or frustration. Yet, the parents' love for the child does not diminish. Instead, they lovingly guide the child back to the path of righteousness, forgiving their mistakes, and reaffirming their love.

Think of the friend who, in a moment of weakness, betrays a trust. The relationship is strained, and trust is broken. But true friendship is a manifestation of relentless love, and so the wronged friend forgives, offering another chance, a fresh start.

Or the person battling addiction, who after months of sobriety, relapses. It's a heartbreaking setback, but it doesn't change the fact that they are still worthy of love and support. Their loved ones, and indeed, Christ Himself, do not abandon them in their time of need. Instead, they are offered grace, forgiveness, and the promise of a new day.

These examples remind us that we are all human. We will make mistakes. We will have moments where we choose selfishness over service, comfort over compassion. But in those moments, Christ calls us back, reminding us that we are loved, claimed, and called. Jesus is not asking for our perfection; He is asking for our hearts.

And so, we find ourselves here today, on this first Sunday of the month, celebrating the sacrament of holy communion. Just as God’s relentless, redemptive love is always offered to us, so too is God‘s invitation to return to the Table. Here, we are reminded of the grace offered through Christ. Nothing we can do will remove our seat from this Table because nothing we did earned us a place at the Table. It was a gift always freely given, and it will be a gift in the present and future.

This is the relentless love that Christ offers each of us. A love that says, "Here is my heart." A love that forgives our denials, our betrayals, our shortcomings, and invites us to start anew. A love that meets us where we are and invites us into a deeper, more meaningful relationship with our Savior.

As we move forward in our faith journeys, let us remember this love. No matter how far we wander, Jesus' grace finds us. No matter how many times we falter, His love redeems us. And no matter how unworthy we feel, He entrusts us with His work. Let Christ’s guide us in our actions, in our relationships, and in our service to others. For just as we are recipients of Christ's relentless love, so too are we called to extend that love to others.

We are called to love the unlovable, to forgive the unforgivable, and to extend grace where it is least expected. For in doing so, we are mirroring the love of Christ. We are saying, ‘Here’s my heart,’ and offering it to the world.

Peter's story did not end with the conclusion of the gospels. His journey continued, fueled by the relentless love of his Savior. He went on to become a pillar of the early church, spreading the Gospel far and wide. His story serves as a powerful reminder of redemption, of second, third, fourth, fifth chances, and the transformative power of Christ's love.

In the same way, our stories do not end here. Each day offers us a new beginning, a chance to experience and extend the relentless love of Christ. So, my friends, as we depart from this sacred gathering, let us carry with us the lessons of Peter, the redemption offered by Christ, and the promise of relentless love that is ours to claim and to share.

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

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Wandering Heart: Songs of Loudest Praise

 “Wandering Heart: Songs of Loudest Praise” was preached at First Presbyterian Church of Allentown, PA on March 24, 2024. You can hear/watch this sermon here, starting at 42:15.

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Scripture text:
John 12:12-16

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As we gather here on this Palm Sunday, we are reminded of the joyous cries that filled the air on that remarkable day when Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a colt. “Hosanna, Hosanna – blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna!” 

Our scripture text invites us to imagine ourselves in the crowd, witnessing this extraordinary event. During this Season of Lent, most of our imagining and witnessing has come through the eyes of Peter. But as Holy Week begins with the Triumphant Entry as found in the Gospel of John, Peter is no longer front and center, and so we imagine he is with the rest of the disciples when Jesus enters Jerusalem.

The disciples, including Peter, stood there in awe, surrounded by a sea of people shouting hosannas. Can you imagine the excitement? The confusion? They were witnessing something incredible, something that would be etched in their memories forever. The singing, the shouts of praise, the palm branches waving in the air, all of it was subversive, courageous, and contagious.

In that moment, the disciples might have wondered why the crowd was praising Jesus instead of Caesar. This was truly an act of great defiance. And we all know where it will lead: Jesus’ crucifixion. They also might have questioned their own role in this unfolding story. Remember all of the things Jesus has revealed to them up to this point! Things that have often left them with more questions than answers. 

But one thing was clear: they couldn't help but be caught up in the joyous celebration. The disciples, including Peter, were part of something bigger than themselves. They were witnessing a divine moment, a moment that would change the course of history.

As we head into Holy Week, we are invited to imagine where Peter might be in the parade. Look back at all the events that have led up to this point, specifically for Peter. 

Peter has experienced incredible moments of faith and trial. He has witnessed miracles and walked on water. He has professed his faith and stumbled along the way. 

Peter's journey began with an abundant catch, and a charge to drop everything and follow. He left his nets behind and embarked on a life-changing adventure with Jesus. Along the way, he witnessed the power and authority of his teacher. He saw the sick healed, the blind regain their sight, and the dead brought back to life. Peter clung to Jesus for rescue when he himself walked on water. He proclaimed his faith confidently, declaring Jesus to be the Messiah, the Son of the living God.

But Peter also faced moments of doubt and uncertainty. He questioned Jesus, wondering about the implications of his teachings. He even rebuked Jesus when he spoke of his impending suffering and death. Peter's journey was not without its challenges and moments of weakness.

And now, as Peter along with the other disciples stands among the crowds on this Palm Sunday, they are faced with a choice. Will they fully embrace the joy and celebration of this moment, or will theirs doubts and fears creep in once again? How will they respond to the singing and the courageous shouts of praise? 

And if we still are wandering with Peter this Lent, how about us? How will we respond to these shouts of praise?

Seven years ago, on a Palm Sunday, I was ordained as a Minister of Word and Sacrament. Yes, I will tell you about my ordi-versary every single year on Palm Sunday… because it was the most joyous Sunday of my life. Just like the disciples, I was in a crowd that day, amidst a sea of smiling faces and encouraging nods. I vividly remember the warmth I felt from the congregation, their hands raised in blessing, their voices echoing in the space as they said 'Amen' to the promises we made together. I remember looking into their eyes and seeing the joy and hope that mirrored my own. The songs of loudest praise filled my heart as I embarked on this sacred calling.

The same joy and excitement that flooded the city of Jerusalem on that first Palm Sunday also filled my church the day of my ordination.

The feelings of Palm Sunday – the joy, the hope, the unity, and the love, serves to remind us of our collective journey as believers. We are all on this journey together, called to carry our crosses, to share in the joy and sorrow, the victory and defeat, the certainty and doubt, much like Peter, our flawed yet faithful disciple.  

Think about the journey our congregation has been on. We have faced difficult times, internal conflicts, and an identity crisis as a community of faith. We too are flawed yet faithful. But this year, we have found clarity and purpose. We are listening to who God is calling us to be, and we are living into that identity. You can feel the joy, optimism, and hope that radiates off our people and our community. You walk through the doors, and you feel like you have come home. This is a joyous place to be; a joyous community to be a part of!  Do you agree?!

As we wave our palms today, let us remember that it is good to celebrate. Like the crowds on that first Palm Sunday, we may face challenges and uncertainties in the days ahead. We sure have the last couple of years, and the truth is, our future will hold more. But in this moment, we can bask in the joy of praising our Lord, who rides into our lives with love, grace, and transformation. 

My friends, today we stand in the joyous shouts of Palm Sunday. We join the crowd in waving our palm branches and lifting our voices in praise. We celebrate the coming of our Lord, just as the crowds did on that day. We embrace the joy and excitement of this moment, knowing that we are part of something extraordinary.

As I said, we will face moments of uncertainty and struggle. We may find ourselves questioning our faith, wondering if we can truly continue on this journey. We might even question whether we feel like we belong to this community or whether we still feel God’s presence in our lives. 

The truth is; on my most difficult and challenging moments of ministry, I try to remember the joy I felt the day of my ordination and find gratitude for this odd yet wondrous calling.

In those moments of hardship and struggle, we must remember the joyous cries of Palm Sunday. We must remember the Hosannas and the songs of loudest praise! We must remember that we are part of something bigger than ourselves. We are part of a divine story – God’s story – a story of redemption and love.

In this story, we are called to be participants, not spectators. Because when Jesus rode into the city of Jerusalem, knowing it would lead to his suffering and death, he did it for us! For us! 

So as we journey through this Holy Week, we can hold on to the joy and celebration of Palm Sunday. We can carry it with us, knowing that even in the face of trials and hardships, there is hope. There is a Savior who walks with us, who understands our doubts and fears, and who offers us grace and forgiveness. This Savior was willing to die for us… and he did. He died for us. And to show just how much he truly loves us, he did the one thing no one else could. He defeated death, rose to new life, and promised the same for us. And that is why we shout with joy, not just on Easter Sunday, but every Sunday. Including this Palm Sunday. 

So, my friends, wave your palms high, sing your hosannas loud, and let your praise be contagious. Let us walk this journey of Holy Week with open hearts and minds, fully embracing the joy, the pain, and the hope it brings. 

And whatever hardships we face beyond Holy Week, as individuals or as a community of faith, we remember our most joyous of moments together and find gratitude for how God is still working through us. 

May our shouts of praise and the waving of palms on this Palm Sunday be a reminder to all of us the joy and hope we have in Jesus Christ. And may we carry that hope with us throughout this Holy Week and beyond.

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

“Hosanna! Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna!”

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Wandering Heart: Praise the Mount

 “Wandering Heart: Praise the Mount” was preached at First Presbyterian Church of Allentown, PA on March 3, 2024. You can hear/watch this sermon here, starting at 40:00.

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Scripture texts:
Psalm 19
Matthew 16:13-20

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Today I invite you to join me on a journey. A journey that requires not your feet, but your heart, your mind, and your spirit. I invite you to close your eyes and step back in time, back into the pages of the Gospel of Matthew.

Picture this. You are walking along the dusty roads of Caesarea Philippi, surrounded by the rustic beauty of the ancient town. The air is warm and dry, filled with the scent of fig trees and the distant murmur of conversation. You are not alone. You are walking with a group of people, but there is one who stands out from the rest. A man of humble grace yet commanding presence. His name is Jesus.

You have left everything behind to follow this man. You've seen miracles happen before your eyes and heard wisdom from his lips that has stirred your soul. And now, as you walk along these roads, Jesus turns to you, his eyes meeting yours with a depth of love and sincerity.

The world around you seems to fade away, as if you two are the only ones standing there. He wants to hear from you, just you. And so he asks, "But who do you say that I am?"

This is not a question for the masses, nor even a smaller group. It is a question for you. Jesus is asking you for your answer. Who do you say that Jesus is?

Let that question echo in your mind, let it resonate in your heart. Who do you say that he is? Not what others say, not what you've heard or read. But your own answer, your own revelation.

As we open our eyes and come back to the present, carry the thought with us throughout the sermon today. Remember, Jesus is asking you, right here, right now, "But who do you say that I am?"

When Jesus asks Peter this same question, we encounter a moment of profound revelation. When Jesus asks Peter, "But who do you say that I am?" Peter responds with a conviction born not of human wisdom, but of divine revelation. Peter boldly declares, "You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God." (Matthew 16:16)

This response, my friends, is not just an answer. It is a declaration of faith, a testament of belief, a rock-solid conviction that is unshakeable and unbreakable. It is the very essence of the faith that we uphold as followers of Christ. Peter boldly declares to Jesus, "You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God."

In our hymn we’ve been exploring this Lenten Season, “Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing” the lyrics at the end of verse 1 into the beginning of verse 2 sing, “Praise the Mount, I’m fixed upon it / Mount of God redeeming love / Here I raise my Ebenezer / Here by thy great help I’m come” 

Today we are praising the mount! We are bolding declaring our more inner truths that God have revealed to us! We raise our Ebenezer for the great things that God has done! 

In the Old Testament, the prophet Samuel sets up a stone to commemorate the Israelites' victory over the Philistines. He names it Ebenezer, saying "Thus far the LORD has helped us." The term Ebenezer, in Hebrew, translates to "Stone of Help". For Samuel, this stone served as a tangible reminder of God's divine intervention and faithfulness.

And here we see, Peter, echoing a similar sentiment. His declaration is his Ebenezer. It is the bedrock of his faith, his personal acknowledgment of the divine identity of Jesus. Despite his future doubts, despite his resistance to change, despite his imminent denials, this moment stands out as a beacon of his faith.

Peter is praising the mount, declaring his faith in who Jesus is. The two establish a symbolic Ebenezer, with Jesus in turn renaming Simon Peter to Peter. Peter’s name now means “rock”, perhaps because of his unshakable and unbreakable declaration. And whether Jesus meant Peter is now the rock on which the church is built or whether Jesus just meant that time and place in the rock, this moment is laid out as a foundation to the Way and the Church that Jesus and his followers will build. 

We know Peter was not perfect. His faith wavered in the face of the storm, he resisted the path that Jesus had to take, he even denied knowing Jesus three times during his crucifixion and death. But, this moment of confession, this moment of revelation, stands as a testament to his faith.

Peter's faith – his conviction in that moment – was so profound, so unshakeable and unbreakable, that Jesus named him to be the rock. This was not because Peter was without fault, but because at his core, he knew who Jesus was.  

Our faith is not defined by our perfections, but by our divine revealed truths. Despite our doubts, despite our shortcomings, it is our faith and our convictions, our personal Ebenezers, that define our relationship with Christ. 

But what exactly is a conviction within the context of faith?

A conviction is a firmly held belief or opinion that we hold in our hearts. It is a divine truth that has been revealed to us by God. It transcends human reasoning and understanding, anchoring us in our faith even amid waves of doubt and uncertainty. You can think of conviction as a rock, unshakeable and unbreakable beliefs because God has made them known to us.  

I would like to share a personal story that beautifully illustrates this concept. This story involves a deeply held conviction of a woman of faith, someone very close to my heart - my mom.

Growing up, my family and I were part of the Lutheran church in North Dakota. However, when we moved to Colorado, the landscape of our community changed. The only Lutheran Church in our new town, a thriving community with a vibrant youth program, belonged to a branch of Lutheranism that did not endorse women as leaders within the church.

Upon moving, we received multiple invitations to join this local Lutheran Church. To many on the outside, it seemed logical for us to join this community because we were, after all, Lutherans. Yet, my mother held a conviction, a divine truth that had been revealed to her through her relationship with Jesus. She firmly believed, with every fiber of her being, that women were also called to be leaders within the church. This conviction was so profound, so unshakeable and unbreakable, that we never stepped foot inside that Lutheran Church.

Instead, we joined the Presbyterian Church in our town. This church, belonging to the Presbyterian Church (USA) branch, mirrored my mother's conviction. And the rest is history, including my ordination as a PC(USA) pastor. I believe, with every fiber of my being, my mom’s rock-solid belief that women were also called to be leaders within the church became the foundation that people like me are also called to be leaders in the church.

Much like Peter, who stood firm in his belief of Jesus as the Messiah, my mother stood firm in her belief that God had revealed to her and my family and many others.

We are all called to reflect on and share the divine truths revealed to us by God. They may not always align with the world's expectations or follow the easiest path, but they are the pillars of our faith, the rocks upon which our spiritual journeys are built.

However, it is crucial to understand that our faith journey is not about having convictions about every single aspect in our faith. Faith is not a puzzle to be solved, where every piece perfectly fits together without any gaps. Rather, faith is more like a tapestry, woven with threads of convictions, questions, doubts, and revelations. It's perfectly normal, and indeed, healthy to have questions and uncertainties.

As we journey together in faith, it is essential to recognize that our rock-solid beliefs, our answers to Jesus's profound question, "But who do you say that I am?", will not always align. Do you think everyone whispered in their hearts the same answer when we imagined together earlier? Of course not! Our tapestries of faith are woven together different.  Each of us, through our unique experiences and relationships with God, will have different responses. That is the beauty of our faith community - our diversity in faith and revealed truths. It is this diversity that enriches our understanding of God, of faith, and of each other.

Yet, amidst this diversity, there are moments when our convictions converge, creating pillars of shared belief that ground us as a community. We might call these core values. In our congregation, we have identified rock-solid convictions that we collectively uphold, revealed to us through our communal journey with God.

The first of these is that we strive to see Christ in each person, practicing expansive welcome and steadfast love. This conviction challenges us to look beyond our differences, to see the image of God in each other, and to extend love and welcome to all.

Our second core value is our commitment to center our life around joyful and grateful worship of God. This revealed truth reminds us that our faith is not a burden but a joy, a reason for celebration and gratitude.

The third is our aspiration to continually grow in our faith. This Ebenezer pushes us to never become complacent in our faith journey, but to always seek to deepen our understanding of God and the living word.

The fourth conviction is our determination to use our gifts to fulfill God's call. We know with certainty that God has blessed each of us with unique talents and abilities, and we must use these gifts in service of God's plan.

Our fifth and final core value is our commitment to serve God by serving our neighbors near and far. This rock-solid belief calls us to look beyond our own needs and to see the needs of others, to extend the hand of service in love and humility.

In our congregation, we have five core values that bind us together. These are our collective convictions, our shared Ebenezers. They are the rocks upon which we build our community of faith, our church.

Life is a winding road filled with doubt and uncertainty, hardships and challenges. We know this as individuals, and we as members and friends of First Presbyterian know this as a community. We must cling to what rock-solid convictions, what has been revealed to us by God. For it is in these beliefs that we find our strength, our courage, and our faith. It is in these revelations that we find our answer to Jesus' question, “But who do you say that I am?”

When life overwhelms us with its choices and possibilities, we must return to the core of our faith. We hold fast to our what God has revealed to us, to the love and grace of God that binds us together as a community.

“Praise the Mount, I’m fixed upon it / Mount of thy redeeming love.” 

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

Amen. 

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When God Speaks Directly to Us

“When God Speaks Directly to Us” was preached at First Presbyterian Church of Allentown, PA on February 11, 2024. You can hear/watch this sermon here, starting at 30:07.

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Scripture texts:
2 Corinthians 4:3-6
Mark 9:2-9

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Let us pray. Loving God, we stand in awe of your glory and your grace. As we dive into your Word today, may our hearts be open and our minds receptive to your message. Amen.

As we gather here today, on the Sunday before we move into the Season of Lent, we are reminded of a significant event in the life of Jesus: the Transfiguration.

The Transfiguration, as described in Mark's Gospel, is a profound and transformative moment in the ministry of Jesus. It occurs shortly after Peter's confession that Jesus is the Messiah, or the holy prophet that was promised to God’s people. Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up a high mountain, where he is transfigured before them. His clothes become dazzling white, and Elijah and Moses appear, speaking with Jesus. The dazzling white clothes symbolize his divine glory, and the presence of Elijah and Moses represents the fulfillment of the Law and the Prophets in Jesus.

But this transfiguration is not merely a physical change in Jesus' appearance; it is a revelation of his divine glory. The disciples see Jesus in his true nature, radiating with the brilliance of God's presence. It is a glimpse of the kingdom of God breaking into the present reality, a moment when the earthly veil is lifted, and the disciples catch a glimpse of the heavenly realm. It is a pivotal moment in Jesus' ministry, and it serves as a bridge between his earthly ministry and his impending journey to the cross.

Can you imagine what Peter, James, and John were doing – let alone thinking?! – as Jesus was transformed before them? No really, think about it! The man you call teacher is now shining with a blinding white light, two notable figures who you thought were long dead appear, and while you are asking about whether you should be setting up tents for your dazzling teacher and his two dead companions, a voice breaks forth from the heavens. What would you be thinking? What would it have been like for you to be a witness to the transfiguration?

And while that thought may be too strange for us imagine, what the disciples must have been thinking, this was not just a spectacle for the disciples to witness!

When the voice break forth from the heavens, it is God speaking directly to the disciples. God says, "This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!" (Mark 9:7). This direct communication from God to the disciples is a significant departure from a previous miraculous event in which God spoke only to Jesus during his baptism (Mark 1:11). God is publicly affirming Jesus' identity as the beloved Son and commanding the disciples to listen to Him. There is no way the disciples left that moment unchanged! God spoke directly to them!!

To believe Jesus was the only one who experienced a transformation during the Transfiguration ignores another one of God’s holy miracles. In fact, the real transformation does not occur during the Transfiguration, after all Jesus as the Word was in the beginning “and the Word was with God, and the Word was God […] And the Word became flesh and lived among us.” Jesus is already God and the Son of God before and after the Transfiguration, like Jesus was in the beginning of creation and like Jesus continues to be as Christ reigns over us with God and the Spirit as our Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer. The real transformation happens to the disciples, when they finally see that Jesus is not merely a teacher or a prophet, but the very embodiment of God’s love and grace.

The Transfiguration was a unique and transformative moment in the disciples' journey with Jesus. As they witnessed Jesus' divine radiance, they were given a glimpse of his true nature and the magnitude of his mission. This experience was not only meant to strengthen their faith but also to prepare them for the challenges that lay ahead, including Jesus' crucifixion and resurrection. By witnessing the transfiguration and hearing God's command, the disciples are being equipped to carry on Jesus' ministry, even in the face of opposition and uncertainty. The disciples are given the same strength echoed in Romans 8:31: “If God is for us, who is against us?”

God's direct address to the disciples lifts up the significance of their role as followers of Christ. They were being entrusted with a sacred task, to listen to Jesus and carry his message to the world. This command was not given lightly. It was an invitation to be transformed by the words and teachings of Jesus, to follow him as his disciples, and to become his ambassadors of love and reconciliation.

This is not the only story in Scripture where a person, after communing directly with God, leaves transformed.

The transfiguration story also echoes the Old Testament account of Moses' encounter with God.  In the Exodus narrative, God appeared to Moses in the burning bush and commanded him to deliver the Israelites from slavery in Egypt (Exodus 3:7-10). God's direct communication with Moses left him transformed and empowered him to lead the people out of bondage and into the promised land.

Or think of the prophet Isaiah, who heard God's call to speak up for justice and liberation (Isaiah 61:1-4). Isaiah listened to God's voice and became a voice for the voiceless, proclaiming good news to the oppressed and binding up the brokenhearted.

Another example is found in the story of Saul, who encountered the risen Christ on the road to Damascus. Saul, a persecutor of Christians, was blinded by a divine light and heard the voice of Jesus saying, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” (Acts 9:4). Through this encounter, Saul's life was radically transformed. He became the apostle Paul, a faithful follower of Christ, spreading the message of grace and salvation to the Gentiles.

Furthermore, when asked about the greatest commandment, Jesus replied, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself’” (Matthew 22:37-39). These commandments encapsulate the essence of Jesus' teachings. They call us to a radical transformation of our hearts and our relationships, to love unconditionally and seek justice for all.

Throughout scripture, we see that when followers of God listen and respond to God’s divine voice, transformation occurs. They understood that God speaking to them was not meant for them alone, but for the sake of God’s kingdom. Their willingness to listen and respond to God's call brought about profound transformation, not just unto themselves but transformation for the world.

In the context of the transfiguration, we can draw a parallel between the disciples' experience and our own journey as followers of Christ. Just as God spoke to the disciples, affirming Jesus' identity and calling them to listen to him, God continues to speak to us today. Through the power of the Holy Spirit, God invites us to listen attentively to Christ and to discern how we are called to respond to the needs of the world around us.

When God speaks to us, it is not merely for our own spiritual growth or personal satisfaction. God's voice is a call to action, a summons to participate in the work of justice, liberation, and reconciliation.

Listening to God's voice requires openness, humility, and a willingness to be transformed. It demands that we set aside our own agendas and desires, and instead align ourselves with God's purposes. It may lead us to uncomfortable places, to confront our own biases and prejudices, and to step out of our comfort zones. But when we respond faithfully to God's call, we become ambassadors of love and reconciliation in the world. We are embodying the love of Christ in our words and actions, revealing the light of God’s glory in the darkness of our world.

In 2 Corinthians, Paul reminds us that God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. God’s voice, God’s command, is a light that shines in the darkness, illuminating our path and guiding our steps. This light is not meant to be hidden but to shine forth in our lives, transforming us and our world.

When God speaks to us, it is not simply an invitation to hear; it is a call to transformation. It is a call to participate in the unfolding of God's Kingdom on earth. It is a call that invites us to listen, to obey, and to act. Like the disciples, Moses, Isaiah, Paul, and countless others throughout history, we are called to be transformed by the words and teachings of Jesus, to be his ambassadors of love and reconciliation.

As we head into the season of Lent, we remember the words spoken by God on the mountaintop: "This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!" May these words echo in our hearts as we seek to follow Jesus, allowing his transformative love and grace to shine through us. May we be vessels of his light in a world longing for hope, peace, and redemption. Amen.

Now, let us close with prayer:

Gracious God, thank you for speaking directly to us through your Son, Jesus Christ. Open our ears to hear your voice and our hearts to obey your commands. Transform us by your grace and empower us to be faithful witnesses of your love and truth. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

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Anonymous. 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=58833 [retrieved March 4, 2024]. Original source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/anthonylibrarian/2665222854/in/photolist-54vXUb-Gast7i-pibA31-nMPLFp-DiYbvY-7GRRnF-9F94G-7WzSMB-3Hbtvf-Gvcg2B-b5E7Ep-eMMjqD-7ytjdu-5X6jJ5-e826Cp-2dQDQh4-2aq5JCn-7Ujm4n-2b87HTG-yTMDCi-9MbhF4-c1DP6q-21pybAu-pz6yLj-84jv2e-26vvkjL-q6Ln1-21rFuTa-56DMRo-Nq7YYE-DGKvLC-ZEcpHw-E263Bm-EU52A7-ZkJBWf-96X1i3-cZHVJm-dLkAPY-8mgMdp-ZEcoWS-AwdWn3-eAWtec-fxmadC-6RGkTR-8n7MFZ-dzpGg-e76zfu-uR52G-5fHgNe-ZkJBMC.

How Does a Weary World Rejoice? We Root Ourselves in Ritual

“How Does a Weary World Rejoice? We Root Ourselves in Ritual” was preached at First Presbyterian Church of Allentown, PA on December 31, 2023. You can hear/watch this sermon here, starting at 37:10.

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Scripture texts:
Luke 1:21-38

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Merry Christmas! And Happy New Year! It has been just 7 days from when we gathered by candlelight to celebrate the birth of Christ, God’s Son, our Savior. Throughout December, we’ve been making room to welcome Christ into our hearts but honoring all that are hearts are already carrying. Weariness or joy, amazement or hope – there is a space for all of it this Christmas. How does a weary world rejoice? We sing and we pray; we witness and watch in awe; we rejoice together, we cry together; we hope with intensity.  

But we don’t just do this only for Advent and Christmas, right? Or at least, we shouldn’t. 

Every Sunday we come to this place with our hearts full of joys and hurts to rejoice in a weary world. Every Sunday we come to make meaning of our lives and find strength for the journey. Every Sunday we come to worship with our siblings in Christ knowing we are not alone. Every Sunday we raise our voices in glory by singing familiar and beloved songs. Every Sunday we recite liturgy and prayers to give words to our hopes and fears. Every Sunday we come to hear God speak to us through Scripture and Word. Every Sunday we are making room for Christ to be known in our lives so that we can make Christ known in the lives of others. Every Sunday we are rooting ourselves in rituals because rituals can provide order and meaning in a weary world that often feels beyond our control. 

In our scripture reading today, we find a young family at the heart of a weary world narrative. Here, Mary and Joseph are new parents to the Christ child, journeying into the unknown of parenthood.

Eight days after the birth of Jesus, Mary and Joseph circumcise their child and give him the name Jesus, as was commanded to them. They return to the temple in Jerusalem to enact the sacred birth rituals of their culture and tradition. In the midst of their observance, the unexpected occurs. A man named Simeon, guided by the Spirit, enters the temple to proclaim Jesus as the “light of revelation.” Following him, a prophet named Anna approaches, praising God and speaking about Jesus to everyone longing for redemption.

In this story, we see the power of ritual in marking a sacred turning point. Even though Mary and Joseph might have been weary of what lay ahead, these sacred rituals and those who bore witness to them offered encouragement and strength for their journey.

But what do these ancient rituals mean for a 21st-century congregation? Well, rituals are not confined to the pages of scripture or the walls of ancient temples. They live with us in our daily routines, in our shared celebrations, and in the ways we grieve. Rituals provide structure to celebrations, losses, and transitions. Rituals bring meaning to our lives, especially when our futures seem deeply uncertain. They can help us make sense of confusing, ambiguous, daunting, or difficult chapters in our lives. While we might not always associate rituals with joy, perhaps we can find joy in the meaningful ways we choose to mark and celebrate our lives.

In 2014, The Reverend Cecelia D. Armstrong delivered the eulogy at her father’s funeral. She spoke of her father as a great giant. Rev. Armstrong described him as one of those guys who just helped wherever he was needed. However, he did not just come and do things for you. He would show you how to do it yourself because he did not want to return and do the same task again. He was the epitome of the saying, “Give a person a fish and they will eat for a day. Teach a person to fish and they will never go hungry.” Rev. Armstrong said her dad believed in planting seeds that would grow in the very people who would be here long after he passed away.

Rituals are one of the ways we plant seeds in our lives and in the lives of the generations to come. 

Think about it.  Even the experience of burying a seed in dirt, a seemingly weary task, can produce something beautiful in time. Even in the most challenging times, rituals can comfort us, guiding us through the dirt so to speak, and help us bloom. Our rituals have the power to bring joy even in times of great weariness. They provide comfort, solace, and a sense of belonging. 

Right before Christmas, I asked on my Facebook page for church goers, both FPCA members and beyond, to share stories of attending church (or rooting themselves in ritual) following a significant life event. Consider the rituals in these stories. 

A friend of mine from North Dakota shared a story about the strength and resilience of her congregation when we returned to their church after a devastating fire. The ‘new’ building stood as a powerful testament to their faith and their resolve, a symbol of their commitment to their rituals, and a beacon of hope in a weary time.

A member of this church shared a story of worshipping on All Saints Day after his father’s death. While remember ‘I Sing a Song of the Saints of God’ with tears streaming down his face he was given powerful reminder of father’s place in the great cloud of witnesses who have gone before us.” Despite his grief, he found solace in the rituals of our faith, in the hymns that reminded him of his father's place among the saints.

Or consider the experience of a woman who returned to church after her father's death. Growing up, she always sat between her parents at the church… and on that day following her father’s death, she said she could feel my dad sitting to her left, teasingly nudging me, which was our special way to say ’I’m glad you’re here with me’ To this day, she shared she still feels his presence to her left, and her Mom to her right. She felt the presence of her parents beside her, their rituals of sitting together in church bringing a sense of comfort and closeness. The rituals she shared with her parents continued to provide solace, even in their absence.

A couple from my previous congregation shared a story of returning to church after finding out they were expecting a child after years of battling infertility. The rituals of their faith gave them hope and patience during their struggles, and their return to church after receiving the good news was a joyful celebration of God's faithfulness.

Friends of mine who I used to serve with in a church in New Jersey shared a story that following their wedding, they returned to their church. Despite the challenges they faced as a LGBTQ+ couple in other churches, they found acceptance and love in a worshipping community. The rituals of their church not only recognized their union but celebrated it with joy and love.

Another member shared, on 9/11 all she wanted was to be with her girls and be at church. The service brought hope and comfort as we all grieved together knowing that God grieved with us. She also shared another story about the joy of bringing each of her girls to church for the first time after they arrived. The wait for each was long and filled with pain and disappointment which made the joy of their arrival that much stronger. It was a holy experience to share her joy with the people and the God who had seen me through it all. Here, the ritual of community, brought comfort in following 9/11 and joy following the arrival of her daughters. 

Finally, another member and friend shared her first time back in after her first child, a son, was born still. She remembers it coincided with Lent, and it felt comforting to find herself in a pew. She described that she never experienced a greater understanding or connection to the experience of sacrifice and loss together with the hope resurrection. She identified with Mary, Jesus’ mother, knowing she too lost her Son. It made it okay for her to just show up and weep.

These stories remind us of the power of rituals. Whether we are celebrating a new union, grieving a loss, or sharing the joy of a long-awaited blessing, our rituals ground us in our faith, connect us with our community, and give us a reason to rejoice.

The rituals we partake in, whether they are joyous or challenging, allow us to rejoice in the knowledge that we are a part of something greater, and that there is always hope for a weary world. In every seed we plant, in every ritual we partake in, there is an opportunity for the weary world to rejoice. 

Tonight, we will bid farewell to this year and step into the unknown of a new year. As we reflect on the power of rooting ourselves in ritual, we must consider the significance of this moment. It is not a mere coincidence that we gather here on the first Sunday after Christmas, on the eve of a new year.

The rituals we embrace in our faith, the songs we sing, the prayers we offer, the community we find solace in, all serve as anchors in our lives. They ground us, providing stability and meaning amidst the uncertainties of the world. And as we stand on the threshold of a new year, these rituals become even more vital.

In this weary world, where chaos and change often reign, our rituals offer us a sense of continuity and purpose. They remind us of the values we hold dear, the love we have for one another, and the faith that sustains us. They guide us in setting our priorities for the year ahead.

As we embark on this new year, we must prioritize the rituals that ground us in our faith. Let us commit to regular participation in worship, to engaging in prayer and meditation, to nurturing the connections we have with our church community. These rituals will be the foundation upon which we build our lives in the coming year.

In the weariness of the world, we can rejoice by rooting ourselves in the rituals that unite us, that connect us to God and to one another. We embrace this truth as we step into the new year, knowing that with each ritual, we bring light into the darkness and hope into the weariness. 

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

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