Podcasts about debie thomas

Trabajar para el sustento personal y familiar implica hacerlo “duramente”. De hecho, es posible que esa actitud de trabajo arduo y duro distinga la ética laboral de la diáspora Latinoamericana en el mundo. Pero, si lo único que dirán de nosotros en nuestro funeral es que "trabajamos duramente", es posible que hayamos fracasado en otros aspectos muy importantes de nuestra vida. En un reciente artículo de la revista norteamericana The Christian Century, la escritora Debie Thomas nos invita a considerar la dedicación al trabajo y la productividad como valores supremos en nuestra vida. Pudiera ser que ese "trabajar duro" resultara final y tragicamente "trabajar en vano". Después de todo, la fe cristiana nos invita a ver nuestro trabajo como una colaboración a la obra que Dios ya está haciendo en el mundo, para el mundo.Dona a Radio Moody: https://www.moodyradio.org/givingapp/radio-moody?appeal=RMSR&UTM_CONTENT=donatenow&UTM_SOURCE=web&UTM_TERM=rm&UTM_MEDIUM=header&utm_campaign=ANNL&_gl=1%2a138ixmr%2a_ga%2aMjNmYTIxMWYtZWJlYS00OTAyLThjYTYtZTUyYzRmNDkwZDgz%2a_ga_4WH1937046%2aMTcwOTY1ODQyNi4zMSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

“To attempt one language instead of another is to make oneself a learner, a supplicant.  It is an act of exploration and of hospitality.  To speak across barriers of race, ethnicity, gender, religion, culture, or politics is to challenge stereotypes and risk ridicule.  It is a brave and disorienting act.” (Debie Thomas, JourneywithJesus.net) I have Mass on Saturday, May 18, at Holy Name Birmingham @ 4:00 pm I have Mass on Sunday, May 19, at St. Isidore @ 7:30 am livestreamhttps://stisidore.church/worship-online/and 9:30 amSunday Evening, 5 pm @ St. Andrew, Rochester.frjoedailey@gmail.comArt: William Grosvenor Congdon (American, 1912–1998), “Pentecost 2,” ca. 1962. 

Author Debie Thomas discusses her new book "A Faith of Many Rooms" with Pastor Tara. They delves into topics such as the messy journey of faith, the significance of doubt, and the concept of spiritual "nada" or homeland.Wild Goose Festival is a transformational community grounded in faith-inspired social justice. Wherever we come together we learn and grow by co-creating art, music, story, theater, and spectacle, engaging in a wide variety of robust, courageous conversations with each other and with thought leaders and artists from other communities. Listeners of Holy Shenanigans Podcast can use the discount code a-tle24 for a $50 discount off the price of an adult weekend ticket!Support the Show.Pastor Tara Lamont Eastman is an Ordained Minister of Word & Sacrament in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. She was a contributing writer to the Collaborate Lutheran Student Bible and the Connect Sunday School curriculum, published by Sparkhouse.

This episode of A People's Theology is sponsored by United Theological Seminary of the Twin Cities. Receive a $1,000 scholarship when you apply and are admitted: unitedseminary.edu/apeoplestheology Use this link to register for ORTCON 2024 and use the promo code "A People's Theology" to receive $100 off your ticket. Watch full episodes of A People's Theology: https://www.youtube.com/@APeoplesTheology Mason chats with Debie Thomas about her new book A Faith of Many Rooms: Inhabiting a More Spacious Christianity. They chat the diversity of Christianity and why it is good and much more. Guest Bio/Info: Debie Thomas is a speaker, minister, and author of the recently released book, A Faith of Many Rooms: Inhabiting a More Spacious Christianity. Connect with Debie here: debiethomas.com Instagram: debiethomas1 Facebook: facebook.com/dtwonderer Get connected to Mason: masonmennenga.com Buy merch of your favorite tweet of mine: masonmennenga.com/store Patreon: patreon.com/masonmennenga Twitter: @masonmennenga Facebook: facebook.com/mason.mennenga Instagram: masonmennenga Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Are you sometimes afraid to ask questions about faith and spirituality? Does doubt scare you a little bit? Do you have some questions you're skeptical about ever finding the answers to? Debie Thomas’s approach to faith as a storied theology challenges the conventional beliefs. Her insights offer a refreshing perspective on the dynamic nature of […]

Is God a megalomaniac who needs our praise? Or do we praise God because WE need it? And what about those of us who struggle with “praise” given our religious histories? Or those of us who quite simply value being thoughtful, critical, reasonable, and intelligent creatures not prone to the frenetic religious fanaticism we might associate with “praise” of God? Even if we can find our way to a meaningful and reclaimed practice of praising God, how on earth are we meant to do this - or even consider this - in a time of genocide and ethnic-cleansing in Gaza?? Pastor Megan posits that perhaps this is precisely the time we are meant to praise God. “How? Why?? WHAT???” If these are your questions, tune in and see if you get there too. Be in touch with your own thoughts!Sermon begins at minute marker 6:432 Samuel 5.1-5; 6.1-5; Psalm 150ResourcesBibleWorm podcast: Episode 507 – Praising the Lord, Amy Robertson and Robert Williamson, Jr.“What is worship for?” Debie Thomas, The Christian Century, October 11, 2023.To learn more and act for an end to the genocide in Gaza:The Mennonite Palestine Israel Network (MennoPIN): https://mennopin.org/Community Peacemaker Teams (CPT): https://cpt.org/programs/palestineJewish Voice for Peace (JVP): https://www.jewishvoiceforpeace.org/ Image: Portion of the wall built by the State of Israel in Jerusalem. Photo taken by Pastor Megan Ramer on a CPT delegation to Israel and Palestine in 2003.Hymn: VT 95 Praise the Lord, Sing Hallelujah. Based on Psalm 148; The Book of Psalms, 1871; adapt. William J. Kirkpatrick (USA), ca. 1893, alt. Permission to podcast the music in this service obtained from One License with license #A-726929. All rights reserved.

“(MARY’S) YES DIDN’T SIGNAL THE END OF MYSTERY. MYSTERY HAD ONLY BEGUN.” DEBIE THOMAS, FROM HER SERMON “THE PAUSE BEFORE YES”

As we begin the Advent season Dr. Somerville talks about this being the season of expectancy.  What are we expecting?  Listen in as you begin your Advent journey this year.

November 6, 2022. We who grieve on this All Saints' Day, who feel overwhelmed by the beasts and brokenness of this world, can rest in the promise of resurrection.Readings: Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18, Ephesians 1:11-23

The Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32) is one of the most well-known parables. Movies, musicals, plays, and books have been made and we think we have it all figured out. But today, we're going to peel back another layer.For further reading on this parable, we encourage you to check on the following resources:Short Stories by Jesus by Amy-Jill Levine (book)Love and Lostness by Debie Thomas (short essay)Connect with Us:Sign up for our Weekly Devotional emailsFollow us on Instagram or FacebookGive financially to support the Lady Preacher Podcast!

Alistair shares from Luke 4:1-13 on the First Sunday of Lent 2022 as part of KNEC Church Online. www.knec4jesus.org.uk With thanks to Debie Thomas and Journey with Jesus.

February 27, 2022. In today's gospel reading we witness Jesus being transfigured, and hear that Peter suggested trying to capture what had happened, so he could understand it, recreate it, and make sure it wouldn't be lost. We humans like the familiar, the predictable, the understandable. But the truth is that life is always changing, and we are always changing with it. Reading: Luke 9:28-43a *** Transcript *** I was in a workshop on anti-racism this week that was provided by the Synod, and one of the facilitators said something — not once, but several times — that really got me thinking. They said, “In this world that seems to be changing faster and faster, and calling on us to keep up with those changes, we can be comforted by the fact that God never changes. God was, and is, and ever shall be, the same.” God never changes. And then, on this final Sunday before Lent begins, in the gospel, we witness Jesus being transfigured — experiencing a complete change of form or appearance — in front of our eyes. I reflected on all the ways God reveals themselves throughout scriptures — a burning bush, parting waters, a nursing mother, a pillar of cloud, a voice from heaven, a whisper, just to name a few. And I wonder, if it is true that God never changes, what does that mean? And if God does change, how can we trust God, if we don't know how they will show up, if we can't even understand her? We humans like the familiar, the predictable, the understandable, don't we? I certainly do. I learned long ago that my favorite way to control things, to feel safe, to cope with things that felt beyond me, is to understand them, categorize them, put them safely in a box that I can analyze from a distance. I will admit to spending a fair amount of time doing this since we entered into a world of pandemic two years ago. Does anyone else relate to that? The disciples, after witnessing the amazing mountaintop scene, seem to want to do this too. As soon as it is over and Peter has recovered his speech Peter says, “It is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” Let's try to capture what happened, so we can understand it, recreate it, and make sure it won't be lost. Theologian Debie Thomas writes in her blog Journey With Jesus this week: “The problem in the Transfiguration story is that as soon as Peter experiences a spiritual high, he tries to hoard it. What I hear in his plan to 'make dwellings' is an understandable but misguided attempt to contain, domesticate, protect, and process the sublime. To harness the holy. To make the fleeting permanent. To keep Jesus shiny, beautiful, and safe up on a mountain. After all, everything is so good up there. So clear. So bright. So unmistakably spiritual. Why not stay forever?” In our desire for the familiar, predictable, and understandable, we often do the same thing. When we have an experience of God in worship or on retreat that feels powerful or sublime, or hear an exquisite performance, or perform a piece of music perfectly, or create a work of art that somehow, miraculously comes out even better than we could have imagined, or go on a hike and find ourselves in a place that seems to be surely be where God lives... who doesn't want to stay there forever? The sacred truth of life is that it is always changing. The sacred truth is, we are always changing. How we see the world, how we see God, and how we understand ourselves changes over time. A young adult realizes their parents are human, after all. An addict admits after years of struggle that they need help. An LGBTQIA person embraces the beautifully unique person they were created to be, claiming gender or ways of loving and living for perhaps the first time. One comfortable in their understanding of God comes to realize that God is far bigger than they had ever thought. Transfiguration, beloveds, is not just for Jesus, but for all of us. Transfiguration means that the Spirit is never done transforming us, revealing us more fully. Change, beloveds, is not only unavoidable, but is part of God's creative work in our lives. In the end, the voice of God is enough for Peter to set aside capturing Jesus' moment of transformation. Having failed to encapsulate the mountaintop, the disciples tell no one what they have experienced. They come back down from the mountain, after all, to the world that is not always shiny, beautiful, and safe. They return to an occupied land on a road that in a few short weeks will lead from Transfiguration, to Jesus' death on the cross. In our time, we witness the gross injustice and horror of the attack and invasion of Ukraine by a dictator that has already brought death. A war is unfolding, the likes of which has not been seen since World War II. We as people of faith, with leaders around the world, are faced with the question of how we can contribute not just to an empty peace, an absence of war, but God's justice and mercy in this world, and especially for the people of Ukraine, whose autonomy, dignity, and very lives are being treated as pawns in a deadly game of corrupted power. At times like this, it may feel that when we leave the mountain, we leave God behind too. It may help in those times to remember that when the disciples left the mountain, Jesus walked with them, down the road into the broken world below. For us in our day, we can know that God is present in this world, even in the midst of violence and war. Jesus walked with them. Debie Thomas reflects on the return from the mountain: “God is just as present, active, engaged, and glorious down in the valley as God is in the visions of saints, clouds, and shadows that Peter experienced in the high places. In fact, what Peter eventually learns is that the compassionate heart of God is most powerfully revealed amidst the broken, the sinful, the suffering, and the despairing. The kingdom of God shines most brightly against the backdrop of the parent who grieves, the child who cries, the 'demons' who oppress, and the disciples who try but fail to manufacture and capture the holy. God's strength is made perfect in our weakness. God's beauty is best contained in broken vessels.” Today we celebrate, in the midst of all else that is going on, just a few of the leaders in our own community who have ministered among us as council members for the last year, and those who we have chosen to minister among us for the next year. Family of Christ Lutheran, we experience in many ways the moments of clarity, beauty, safety, and joy of the mountaintops, and we and our council walk together in those transfiguration moments. And, as Peter and the disciples discovered, we are called down from the mountaintops, with newly opened hearts and spirits, to follow Jesus, witness God present, active, engaged, and glorious, and embody love and mercy in the ordinary, sometimes broken world of sacred, everyday life in our neighborhoods and communities. We as people of faith are called to stand against evil and injustice wherever it manifests, whether in our own backyard or in Ukraine. We are called to continually seek the peace that can only come when God's justice prevails for all people. We are, council members, staff, every one of us followers of Christ, called to journey through the many transfigurations and transformations of our lives, as we live in a world that continually changes around us. It may not be true that God never changes. The good news of the transfiguration is this: in a world that just won't stop changing, as we ourselves change day by day, we can trust God not in spite of, but because God is moving and changing right along with it. Peter and the disciples witnessed it on the mountaintop, and we can see it in our own lives. In the midst of all the seeming chaos, what will never change is God's unfailing presence and unbounded love. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2022, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Luke 9:28-43a, Debie Thomas, Journey With Jesus

January 22, 2022. When was the last time you set out on a journey with only a single star for your guide? Today's sermon is about the journey of the magi and the truth revealed in Epiphany. Readings: Isaiah 60:1-6, Psalm 72:1-7, 10-14, Matthew 2:1-12 *** Transcript *** When was the last time you set out on a journey with only a single star for your guide? When I'm going somewhere I typically want to know where I'm going, how to get there, and what I should do and expect once I arrive. The idea of following a star sounds a little crazy, even terrifying. If the wise people had invited me to join them, they might have had a hard time getting me out the door. They, however, seem to have taken their mysterious journey in stride. They were likely astrologers, so it was probably not such a strange thing for them to follow the guidance of a star. When the star disappears, they stop to ask directions, and continue onward. The wise ones follow all of this, seemingly without question. Nothing else seemed to matter. From the start, logically, nothing about this journey makes any sense. A mysterious star that shines and disappears. A king with ego issues and ulterior motives. The words of scribes and chief priests who serve the king, not the greater good. The star again. And finally, a dream. No GPS, no map, and truth be told, when they set out the wise ones didn't even know where they were going. The wise ones were seeking the one who would be, as Isaiah describes, a light for all nations, a light that will guide exiles home. The psalmist tells us that this baby who will be king will bring justice for all who are poor. He will deliver those who are oppressed, have pity on the weak, redeem those caught in violence. Given this promise, nothing mattered but following the star, no matter where it led them. January 6, 2021, as I was preparing my Epiphany sermon for last year, I watched as many of you did with a mix of shock and horror as thousands of armed people climbed walls, broke windows, and entered and interrupted congressional session in what was by definition an coup. I was sickened as I heard the pain of colleagues and friends of color who know just how differently this would have turned out had the coup been led by black folks or other people of color. Epiphany tells us a story about three kings, following a star, traveling from far parts of the earth to see the radical truth of what God is up to. And once again, this year, on this first anniversary, I am hearing the story of Epiphany teaching us about truth, empire, and God's persistent and faithful guidance and work in this world. Epiphany literally means, in one definition, a sudden revelation or insight. An awareness of a truth that wasn't apparent before. I think about when I realized that I was not, and never would be, perfect — leaving me at once horrified and giddy with relief. Or when I saw my parents as actual human beings for the first time. (Yes kids, this might happen to you, too!) I think about those major national events of my lifetime that have changed forever how I see the world: the explosion of the Challenger, the attempted assassination of President Reagan, the attack on the World Trade Center, the two full years of pandemic life, and of course, the events of January 6, 2021. In her blog Journey With Jesus, Debie Thomas writes, “During this brief liturgical season between Christmas and Lent, we're invited to leave miraculous births and angel choirs behind, and seek the love, majesty, and power of God in seemingly mundane things. Rivers. Voices. Doves. Clouds. Holy hands covering ours, lowering us into the water of repentance and new life. In the gospel stories we read during this season, God parts the curtain for brief, shimmering moments, allowing us to look beneath the ordinary surfaces of our lives, and catch glimpses of the extraordinary.” Epiphany is about truth revealed, and that's not always comfortable or welcome. Because often God's truth challenges us to see things differently, to change our minds on things we thought we were certain of. And often, God's truth reveals threats to the empire, the powers and privileges that shape our world, and truth be told, make us feel safe. The three kings brought news to Herod of what they saw God doing in the world — bringing a new king — and that threatened everything Herod had. When the wise people, who Herod tried to make allies to his empire, failed to return to tell him where they could find Jesus, Herod sent his soldiers to kill all the babies to prevent this “new king” from taking power. And in our country, we have witnessed empire threatened, willing to use any means to hold onto power — even if it means, figuratively speaking, burning everything. The good news is, Herod, the empire of Jesus' time, didn't succeed in taking power. And neither, Christ Lutheran family, will the empire of today. The journey will not be easy, and we're a long ways from the end of it. But still, God is here, among us. The good news of God in Jesus Christ is that God's work in this world cannot be subverted, or prevented, or even delayed. Empire notwithstanding, God continues to guide us, sometimes in the most surprising of ways. Following the star is no simple task. For one thing, a star is not exactly a neon sign. It's so easy to get distracted from the journey. But if we take a moment to think about what the star means, we know, just as the wise ones did, that nothing else matters. We live in a broken world that is in desperate need of mercy, justice, and redemption. We need the God who came to us in Jesus, who will bring us home, and show us what's really important. We need the God who stands with those who are most impacted by poverty, oppression, and violence, and who calls us to make that a priority, above anything else. We need the God who reminds us that if one person suffers, we all suffer. Nothing else matters. We need to follow the star. God is with us on this journey, and gives us the courage and faith to take it. But God does not follow the star for us. That's our job. There's a time for waiting and watching and wondering, but this is not it. Epiphany is a time to focus, and to follow the star that leads us to Christ. Each time we take an action to bring truth and justice to our world, we're claiming the promise of the one who set that star in the sky to guide us. When we walk the road with someone who is in pain, we open our hearts to the God who promises healing and forgiveness. When we share the abundance of this world with a neighbor, we are following the star to Jesus, whose mercy will bring a day when no one will be without. When we stand against oppression, and are willing to change so that oppressive systems fall even if it's not convenient for us, we are proclaiming that there is room on the road for everyone. The wise people knew, and we know, that the star leads to hope not just for some, but for all. I still don't know for sure if I would have gone with the wise ones, if they had invited me to follow the star with them, but I hope I would have. Because the star, as hard as it may be for us as human beings to keep track of, and as scary as the unknown journey might be, reminds us that God has always been faithful, and always will be faithful, to God's promises. On our own, we would never find the way. We are not in charge of this journey. We're followers, ones who trust in God, who has never failed us. We know the mercy, justice, healing, and love of God, and we respond by taking a step in the direction the star is leading us, not knowing where we will end up. And today, some 2000 years later, the journey of the magi continues. We too follow that star. And at the end of worship today, we will ask God's blessings on the journey as this new year begins. Nothing else matters, as long as we follow the star. Amen. *** Keywords *** 2022, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Isaiah 60:1-6, Psalm 72:1-7, 10-14, Matthew 2:1-12, Journey With Jesus, Debie Thomas

November 14, 2021. Christ reminds his disciples in their day and us in ours that whatever news may come, important truths about ourselves and the faithfulness of God are being unveiled, and there is always a better source. Readings: Hebrews 10:11-25, Mark 13:1-8 *** Transcript *** The news can be overwhelming sometimes, can't it? In our communities, and around the world, there is so much that is painful, violent, and destructive. All you have to do is look at the news each day to see it: political upheaval, hunger, challenges in employment (both for employers and workers), illness and death from COVID, the impact of climate change, the list goes on and on. Sometimes it feels like there's no reason for hope. And more than ever before, it seems, what we hear about the events of our world depends greatly on the source. Just think about the difference in how the Minnesota and Missouri news presented the results of the 1987 World Series when the Twins beat the Cardinals! And in the last few years, with so much misinformation and even intentional disinformation flooding our media, it has gotten more and more difficult to see things clearly, hasn't it? I would almost not be surprised to see stories, with pictures included, describing the beauty of the grass coming back in the spring in glorious shades of pink, with comments back and forth arguing “all sides of the issue.” And yet there is so much happening that is far more serious, and profound, than colored grass, clamoring for our attention, and as many perspectives on them as there are people in this world. This is a very human thing, and in our gospel today the disciples and Jesus are seeing the same thing with very different eyes, as theologian and author Debie Thomas points out in her 2018 reflection on this text in her blog Journey with Jesus. She writes: "Dazzled by the architectural majesty surrounding them, one of the disciples asks Jesus to notice something in return: 'Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!' . . . . But Jesus isn't dazzled. Instead, he responds to the disciple's remark with a question: 'Do you see these great buildings?' Why does Jesus ask the disciple if he can see what the disciple has just asked Jesus to see? Aren't the two of them seeing the same thing? Well, no. They're not. They are not seeing the same thing at all. "What the disciple sees is a large architectural marvel, yes, but it's also the biggest, boldest, and most unshakeable symbol of God's presence that he can imagine. . . . But what does Jesus see? He sees ruins. Rubble. Destruction. Fragility, not permanence. Loss, not glory. Change, not stasis. 'Not one stone will be left upon another,' Jesus tells the stunned disciple. 'All will be thrown down.' ” — Debie Thomas This gospel today, and our other readings as well, contain a lot of apocalyptic imagery. It feels depressing, full of destruction, hopelessness, even despair. And the same can be said of the events of our world sometimes, as what has been falls away, and we can't yet see what is coming. It's hard to find our way to hope when things that seemed as solid as stone walls are bound to come down. There are moments these days, sometimes more than moments if we're honest about it, when we feel we are living through an apocalypse of sorts. Thomas goes on to reflect on apocalypse, bringing a different perspective to this conversation, and our scripture. Debie Thomas writes: "But in fact, 'apocalypse' means something quite different. An apocalypse is an unveiling. [Or, to use American author and social activist Adrienne Maree Brown's words, an uncovering.] In 2016, in the midst of racial unrest, she wrote, 'Things are not getting worse, they are getting uncovered. We must hold each other tight and continue to pull back the veil.'   "In this sense, what Jesus offers his disciples is an apocalyptic vision. He invites them to look beyond the grandeur of the temple, and recognize that God will not suffer domestication. The temple is not the epicenter of his salvific work; God is not bound by mortar and stone. God exceeds every edifice, every institution, every mission statement, every strategic plan, and every symbol human beings create in God's name. Moreover, God is not enslaved to superlatives; we're the ones easily seduced by the newest, the biggest, the shiniest. 'Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!' " — Debie Thomas So how are we called to think and live, about the times we are in right now? The “fallings apart” and the “lettings go” that are part of this and every age are endings, and the grief is real. And, the life and the new thing that is being uncovered, the movement of the Spirit in our world right here and right now, is also very real. Hebrews was written in about 63 AD, just a few years before the temple in Jerusalem literally came down, stone off of stone, at the hands of the Roman occupiers who sought to quell the movement of the Spirit among the people. Perhaps even more interestingly, the Gospel of Mark in which Jesus tells his disciples that the buildings they are admiring will come down was written in about 70 AD, as the dust of that unthinkable destruction was settling. So Jesus' words today in the gospel about stone coming down from stone is not theoretical. The author of Hebrews and their readers were living in the days leading up to the greatest apocalypse they could imagine. Mark's audience was surrounded by the rubble. The good news is that nothing happening in our day comes as a surprise to God, and we have the inspired words of people of faith who came before us to guide us in our time. The author of Hebrews counsels the people to not neglect meeting with one another, encouraging one another. It has been hard to do this for the last two years, hasn't it? In many ways we have failed in the midst of the challenges of COVID, and in many ways we have done that fabulously. In these times that can still feel somewhat apocalyptic as we journey between what has been and what will be, we are invited to recommit ourselves to being the church to one another and the community in which we live in new ways. The news may tell us something of what is happening, but if we are looking for a Spirit-led perspective on our world and our call in it, our source for truth and hope of the events of our day, Jesus is always the better source. It is Christ who raises Lazarus from the tomb to show us that death is not the final word. It is the one who proclaims that no stone will be left on another who points us to the work of the Spirit that won't be contained by walls and buildings. If we take to heart the words of Christ and Hebrews, and seek the better source, we remember that Jesus promised that truth would set us free, not bind us. We will notice, amidst the illness and death and selfishness and fear of COVID, the Spirit alive in how we have cared for one another, witnessed people investing all that they have to develop treatments and preventions that didn't seem possible. The reality of climate change shows some of the worst that humans can do, and reveals humanity at its best choosing to live well in God's creation. The visibility of racism and other oppression demonstrates the ugliness of our human condition, and unveils the movement of the Spirit toward honesty, healing, and justice for all people. Apocalypse, we learn from our scriptures today, is about destruction and endings, but is much more so about the Spirit of God all around us that cannot be destroyed. Christ reminds his disciples in their day and us in ours that whatever news may come, important truths about ourselves and the faithfulness of God are being unveiled, and there is always a better source. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Daniel 12:1-3, Psalm 16, Hebrews 10:11-25, Mark 13:1-8, COVID-19, pandemic, coronavirus, Debie Thomas, Journey with Jesus

“God's Spirit hovers over the dark water preparing to create worlds. The child we wait for grows in the deep darkness of the womb.”What is giving you hope right now?//Psalm 146:5-10Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob,whose hope is in the Lord their God,who made heaven and earth,the sea, and all that is in them;who keeps faith forever;who executes justice for the oppressed;who gives food to the hungry.The Lord sets the prisoners free;the Lord opens the eyes of the blind.The Lord lifts up those who are bowed down;the Lord loves the righteous.The Lord watches over the strangers;he upholds the orphan and the widow,but the way of the wicked he brings to ruin.The Lord will reign forever,your God, O Zion, for all generations.Praise the Lord!//This episode was written and recorded by Debie Thomas. It was produced by Rev. Jim Keat. Background tracks include Relenquish by Podington Bear, Secret Place by Alex Fitch, and Overcoming Stage Fright by Dexter Britain.• Visit www.trcnyc.org/BeStillAndGo to listen to more episodes from all eight seasons of Be Still and Go. • Visit www.trcnyc.org/Donate to support this podcast and other digital ministry resources from The Riverside Church that integrate spirituality and social justice. • Visit www.trcnyc.org/BeStillAndGo/#sign-up to receive new episodes by email. • Visit www.trcnyc.org/app to download the Riverside app.

Debie Thomas is a writer and a spiritual director in her church in Palo Alto, CA. She is a regular essayist on the website Journey With Jesus and contributes for the blog Christian Century. I became familiar with her from her weekly essays that she shares on Journey With Jesus. Her essays are thoughtful and inspiring. I find them each week to be very helpful as I work to craft the liturgy at my church and as I prepare to lead our congregation in worship on Sunday. If you are interested in following the lectionary readings, and even if you are not, Debie's study and writing is well prepared food for the soul. Debie has a compilation of essays on the life of Christ coming out later this spring which I will be reposting and sharing with you, and Lord willing a memoir of sorts in the following year. I do hope you will take the time to check out Debie's work. I can't recommend it enough. The music for this podcast is written and produced by Mike and Allie Murphy. 

Alistair shares from Mark 13:1-8 on Remembrance Sunday 2021 www.knec4jesus.org.uk “In (any) troubling context, it's easy to despair. Or to grow numb. Or to let exhaustion win. But it's precisely now, now when the world around us feels the most apocalyptic, that we have to respond with resilient, healing love. It's precisely now, when systemic evil and age old brokenness threaten to bring us to ruin that we have to “hold each other tight” and allow the veil to part, the walls to fall. What's happening, Jesus promises at the end of this week's Gospel reading, is not death, but birth. Something is struggling to be born. Yes, the birth pangs hurt. They hurt so appallingly much. But God is our midwife, and what God births will never lead to desolation. Yes, we are called to bear witness in the ruins, but rest assured: these birth pangs will end in joy.” Debie Thomas - https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/2010-not-one-stone

September 19, 2021. How can we use our imagination, caring curiosity, abundant generosity, and vulnerability to welcome more intentionally? Readings: James 3: 13-4:3, 7-8a, Mark 9: 30-37 *** Transcript *** The hard conversations continue again this week. Jesus reminds his disciples that there are difficult times ahead — rejection and even death, and not glory, are in store for the one who they hope will free them from oppressive Roman rule. And the disciples still don't get it. Perhaps they don't really want to understand. And who can blame them? This time, rather than arguing with Jesus about this as we heard last week, the disciples get into a conversation of their own, trying to work out among them who will have the biggest share of the glory that they are sure still is going to come, when Jesus seizes power. They are embarrassed to tell Jesus that this is what they'd been talking about. But Jesus knows anyway, and he calls them to focus on what is more important: welcoming those who are commonly overlooked and rejected to the table. Making sure that those usually left behind get the seats closest to Jesus. He shifts the conversation to radical welcome. And this got me thinking about welcome, what it means and how we live it out, and one of the places where I have experienced profound welcome. When we arrived in Tanzania, on one hand everything felt different. Mostly dirt roads, food that was unfamiliar to me, unknown language, and most of all, the monkeys that were playing in the trees where we were used to seeing squirrels. It didn't take long, however, before we knew that we were thoroughly welcomed there. Our hosts met us, with face-splitting smiles and bear hugs, even though, we found out later, one of them had malaria when we arrived. They walked us to the hotel, where our rooms were ready for us. Everywhere we went, there was food and drink offered. Even those who seemed to have nothing had what they could give to us, and they gave it freely — whether that be peanuts, or little cakes or tea. And there was always the opportunity to wash our hands… echoing the tradition in Jesus's time of washing the dust and dirt of long travel off the feet of every visitor who entered your house. We went to worship, and every word of Swahili was translated for us by one of our hosts, who intently wrote a couple of sentences at a time on small sheets of paper that she sent down our row so we could all read what was being said. And behind, around, and through it all, our first and most frequent Swahili words, as I mentioned earlier: Karibu sana! Not simply welcome, but close. And not just close, but very close. “All are welcome” is something that we say a lot, isn't it? And yet, it's so easy to get caught in our own “stuff” and fail to welcome well. Sometimes we're stuck in the feeling that there isn't enough to share with someone else. Like the disciples, we may find ourselves arguing over where we sit, rather than looking to make sure everyone has a place. We may be stuck in “old ways” of doing things, thinking that the way we have always done things is the only way. As James points out today, the desires or cravings in our hearts can distract us, and get us lost in what's in it for us. Soon we are arguing, as the disciples did, over who gets recognition, the best seat, the most power, and we have completely forgotten the God of abundance who has made sure there is enough for everyone. Jesus understands where the disciples have gotten lost, and shifts the conversation to radical welcome. And as so often happens, Jesus lifts up those who are overlooked as he describes how to live out the call of God in our lives. This time, it's not a Samaritan, or a woman, but a child. “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” Whoever welcomes the forgotten one, the last one, welcomes God. Debie Thomas, in her blog “Journey With Jesus,” turns this around a little bit, and reflects not on how children are welcomed, but on how children can show us how to welcome. Children use their imaginations, Thomas points out. The disciples struggled to break out of their hierarchical thinking, but children have a great capacity to see things from different angles. Anyone who has spent time with children knows that unlike the disciples who were afraid to ask Jesus about what they didn't understand, children are not afraid to ask the hard questions, sometimes to our great embarrassment, as when my younger brother chose the quietest moment of worship to loudly ask, “Why that man ain't got no hair?!” The disciples, and many of us adults, don't easily trust in abundance, but children often tend by nature to trust that there is enough, that they are enough, and that they will have what they need. Children often have to be taught to fear not having enough. And from children we can learn that, contrary to what we might expect, God shows up best in vulnerability. Jesus shows us this truth over and over throughout his ministry, all the way to the cross. Thomas writes, “Do we want to see God? Do we really want to see God? Then look to the child abandoned in the alleyway. Look to the child detained at our border. Look to the child who has been abused. Look to the child who is fleeing from war. Look to the least of these, and see the face of God.” Imagination, honest curiosity, abundant generosity, vulnerability. This is the welcome we are called to. Last Sunday, you all gave approval for the Council to receive a bid on the Mead Center, and to move forward with conversation about renovation plans for our church building. Welcome and accessibility are clear, core values that have been named in the process of renovation, and this came up again in our conversations over the last couple of months. When Sunday School space was discussed recently, Superintendent Mr. Jesse said that if we wait until someone comes who needs an elevator, it is already too late to make that person welcome. It's already too late. We are invited, in reflecting on this, to welcome not just those who are already here, but to use our imaginations so that we can be prepared to welcome those who will come in the future. And in the not too far future, we know that Afghani people fleeing their homes as refugees will be coming to St. Louis, and with the coordination and guidance of the International Institute of St. Louis, St Louis is already preparing to welcome them. The Afghani people will come bringing their culture, bringing their faith, their families, their losses and their griefs, their hopes and their dreams. It will take all of us St. Louisans to open the door and make way for them to have their homes among us. And we, as Christ Lutheran Church, have already been involved in helping to prepare for those who will be coming to join our communities. So I ask all of us, myself included… how do people know that they are welcome here, in our community of faith? How do people know that they are welcome in our schools and our workplaces, in our homes, and in our lives? How can we use our imagination, caring curiosity, abundant generosity, and vulnerability to welcome more intentionally? And how can we open our hearts to the Spirit and unleash our capacity to welcome and serve, not just today, but for many years to come? Come, Holy Spirit, and guide us into the future. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, James 3: 13-4:3, 7-8a, Mark 9: 30-37, Debie Thomas

May 16, 2021. Today's sermon is on the prayer Jesus offers in John 17 for his disciples before his arrest, and how it is remarkably vulnerable and intimate.Readings: John 17:6-19 *** Transcript *** As we are coming to the end of the Easter Season this year, I've been thinking back to February of last year, when we were hearing only whispers of what was to come. March 22nd, we held our first Zoom worship, thinking it would be a few weeks, a couple of months at most. We had no idea at that time the losses this year would bring, the trauma we might experience, and we certainly had no idea how long it would last. Easter, Pentecost, Advent, Christmas, and Lent and Easter again have passed since we last worshipped in person. And here we are on the 7th Sunday of Easter, and our gospel for today comes from John 17, before Jesus died. In fact, the prayer we hear Jesus pray today are the last words Jesus had for his disciples in the Gospel of John prior to his arrest. Although they don't realize it, as Jesus is praying this prayer, the disciples are about to have their whole world turned upside down. They don't know that Jesus, who they have been following for three years, who they believed would free them all from Roman occupation, is going to be arrested and die a horrific death. They don't know that the next 24 hours will bring an abrupt change to everything they thought they understood about how things were going to be and what they thought Jesus was going to do. The disciples, not knowing that this would be the last meal they would eat with their friend and mentor, had no context for Jesus's words, and I can imagine them listening, turning to one another, and whispering to each other, “What on earth is Jesus talking about? What does he mean, he's no longer in the world? He's sitting right here. Of course he belongs here. We have work to do. We have plans.” We listen to these words some 2,000 years later, and knowing what was going to happen, we can see what Jesus is trying to do here — offer comfort, reassurance, and hope for the days to come, turning his beloveds over to God for the journey ahead. As Mr. Jesse pointed out, that is something that never changes. John's gospel doesn't often reveal Jesus' human vulnerability the way the other gospels do. John passes over the agony in the garden, and does everything he can to describe Jesus as fully in control, subject to no one, even choosing for himself the moment of his death. The prayer Jesus offers for his disciples before his arrest, however, is remarkably vulnerable, and intimate. Jesus tells God as he prays that he can't be with his disciples anymore. And as often as we see God's expansiveness, in this moment Jesus is praying not for everyone, but for his beloveds. His apostles. Jesus knows the horror, grief, and danger that his death will bring for those closest to him. And Jesus asks God to be with them, to protect them, knowing that he is called to move on, and trusting that ultimately, God is our source. Debie Thomas writes in her blog this week, “ 'I am asking,' Jesus says. How surprising is it that God incarnate spends his final moments with his friends in humble supplication on their behalf? Knowing full well the trials and terrors that lie ahead, he prays into uncertainty. He hopes into doubt. He trusts into danger.” When we think of Jesus teaching us to pray, we of course think first of the Lord's Prayer, that clear, beautiful, profession of praise, confession, thanksgiving, and request that we and Christians around the world pray every week. In these final moments of Jesus's life on earth, Jesus is once more teaching us to pray — all of his beloveds, but in this moment, especially us. You. You and I are invited to receive Jesus' prayer for us. To know that God is with us. And as Mr. Jesse pointed out, that that's one thing that never changes. To claim the promise of joy and unity and trust in the midst of things we can't begin to control or even understand. As hard as this last year has been, as unprepared as we were for all that has happened, God has been with us. What would have been unimaginable last February has become in many ways comfortable and familiar to us, as we have settled into rhythms of life in a pandemic. And now, things are changing again, as happens in life. We feel excitement, curiosity, and anxiety and fear as we make decisions for ourselves and our families about how and when to return to in-person activities. We are learning that even something we long deeply for, gathering together with people we love dearly and have missed this last year, is not easy, and can be stressful in ways we find surprising. New life is coming as families anticipate the birth of babies in the coming months. Grief circles back, as we who have grieved the deaths of loved ones on our own now have opportunities to gather together with others who share our losses. And today we celebrate and bless our graduates, who have navigated their final years of high school and college in the pandemic, and are prepared in unique ways for the joys and challenges to come. Graduates, Jesus' prayer is for you especially today. As we step into the uncertainties, the new life, the grief, the joy, the anxiety, today we take time to let Jesus's prayer settle on us like a blanket. Rest in the promise that God will be present even in the face of the challenges that come. Settle in the joy of knowing that God's love cannot be erased, as Mr. Jese pointed out. Embrace the unity that comes from knowing that God has given us into a community that embodies this love, through all the challenges of life, even in the face of a pandemic. As Mr. Jesse pointed out, we are here for each other. We have been, and we continue to be. Let go in the face of uncertainty. Ask that God be with us. Trust that God will take care of us and those we love, no matter what happens. Today, we sit with Jesus, and say once again, “Teach us to pray.” Amen. *** Keywords *** 2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, John 17:6-19, Debie Thomas, Jesse Helton, COVID-19, pandemic, coronavirus

May 9, 2021. Today's sermon is on how we humans are formed, shaped, and breathed into being by the hands and breath of God, and how we abide in God and God abides in us. Readings: Acts 10:44-48, Psalm 98, John 15:9-17 *** Transcript *** So many things from today's readings jump out at me. Abiding in love, like Mr. Jesse just talked about. Giving of one's life. The Spirit anointing Gentiles. But today, I have to start with the psalm: “Sing to the Lord a new song!” This simple phrase has me almost in tears even this morning, knowing that our choir gathered together on Wednesday evening, wearing masks and keeping a safe distance, to do just that — sing to the Lord a new song, or perhaps old songs, for the first time since March 15, 2020, over a year ago! And for just a moment, before we go any further, it is worth celebrating the truth and promise that even 14 months of pandemic life have not, and cannot, erase the connections between us, and that the Spirit will not be contained. Sing to the Lord, indeed! The circumcised believers who were with Peter at Cornelius' household were astounded that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on the Gentiles. They were astounded that people who differed from them in religious practice and ethnicity could be chosen by God. Have you ever been astounded by who God chose? Surprised by who showed up at just the right time, with just the right gifts for the situation at hand? Shocked by who spoke the words you needed to hear, to the point where you knew God had led you right to them? It has happened to me on more than one occasion, I will admit. This sense of astounded-ness in the case of the “circumcised believers” was compounded by the fact that those clearly beloved and chosen by God were absolutely, undeniably, other. There were people meant to be part of the promise, worthy of the love that was talked so much about in the Gospel of John, and there were those who just weren't. And the Gentiles? They weren't. It doesn't help that Hollywood has conditioned us to believe that love is simply an emotion. Either someone is attractive, or they aren't. Either someone is lovable, or they aren't. Either we have an emotional response to them, or we don't. And I am quite sure that all of us can think of people, ones we know and ones we know of, that are difficult for us to love. People that even seem to be unworthy of love. We all know this challenge. We all know just how hard it is sometimes to make the choice to love, to put love into action as Jesus does. We all know that love, contrary to Hollywood's illusion, requires intention, sacrifice, and commitment that perseveres even through the hardest of times. Jesus even tells us that love means laying your life down for others, and Jesus certainly did that for us, all the way to death on the cross. And we all know that truthfully, we humans simple aren't capable of loving this way. And that brings me to the phrase John uses several times at the beginning of today's gospel: abiding in love. Abide is not a word we use often, and when we do, it usually means “obey,” as in “abide by my rules” or “abide by the guidelines we've agreed on.” The Greek word used in this passage, however, has a very different connotation: to remain, to be present, to be held, continually. Different, right? Jesus is not inviting us to strive, to exhaust ourselves, only to ultimately fail at loving our neighbors. Jesus is inviting us to abide in God's love. Debie Thomas writes this week in her blog, “Journey with Jesus,” ”My problem is that I often treat Jesus as a role model, and then despair when I can't live up to his high standards. But abiding in something is not the same as emulating it. In the vine-and-branches metaphor, Jesus' love is not our example; it's our  source. It's where our love originates and deepens. Where it replenishes itself. In other words, if we don't abide, we can't love. Jesus' commandment to us is not that we wear ourselves out, trying to conjure love from our own easily depleted resources. Rather, it's that we abide in the holy place where divine love becomes possible. That we make our home in Jesus's love — the most abundant and inexhaustible love in existence.” When I have struggled to love, one of the most powerful ways I have learned to invite God in is to pray the Prayer of St. Francis. You may be familiar with it — Make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me bring love. Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is doubt, faith. At a time when I had to frequently encounter people by whom I felt wounded, I would take time to pray this prayer, for them, and for myself, by name. Asking God to love me and love through me, because I felt empty. Asking God to bring healing for my woundedness, and in the process, seeing their woundedness as well. Claiming the faith of God, for them and for myself. I had long drives at that time, and sometimes I would find that it had taken me the entire drive — nearly two hours — just to get through the prayer. We humans, formed and shaped and breathed into being by the hands and breath of God, abide in God, and God abides in us. Because of that, there is nothing that can erase the Spirit's presence in and among us, nothing that can contain the creative, expansive, extravagant love of God. It is this truth that makes it possible for us to embody the love of God in this beautiful, crazy, dynamic, sometimes broken world that God has made. So, sing to God, in whom we abide, a new song! Celebrate the Spirit that blows away all barriers, and connects us to one another, creation, and God who created it all. No matter the struggles, let us remind one another always to abide in God, who loves in us and through us when we just can't. Sing to the Lord, indeed. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Acts 10:44-48, Psalm 98, John 15:9-17, Jesse Helton

Josh steps out of Ephesians to continue the discussion of "equipping the saints" by looking at the Palm Sunday narrative from Mark 11. The context of Jesus' entry into Jerusalem illustrates some of the misperceptions we hold about Jesus and what He wants to do in and through us. When Jesus is entering Jerusalem on a donkey from one end, the Roman governor is entering another side of the city with his legions -- displaying Rome's military might and engendering fear in the people. Often, we cry out to Jesus to save us, expecting a display of might and force to make things right or to deal with our enemy. Maybe Jesus isn't interested in saving us from our enemy, but rather, saving us from ourselves. Mark 11:1-11; Philippians 2:5-11.  Josh shared a quote from Debie Thomas today: "These paradoxes are what give Jesus’s story its shape, weight, and texture, calling us at every moment to hold together truths that seem bizarre, counter-intuitive, and irreconcilable.  On good days, I understand that these paradoxes are precisely what grant my religion its credibility.  If I live in a world that's full of pain, mystery, and contradiction, then I need a religion robust enough to bear the weight of that messy world. But the question is: will I choose the humble and the real?  Or will I insist on the delusions of empire?  Will I accompany Jesus on his ridiculous donkey, honoring the precarious path he has chosen?  Or will my impatience and pessimism undermine my journey?"

March 14, 2021. Challenges are part of human experience, and our life is meant to be lived in their midst. God doesn't always remove our challenges, but God does show us mercy. God promises he will always be with us no matter what happens, that suffering and death will not be the final word. And as Pastor Meagan preaches today, the cross is evidence for that. Readings: Numbers 21:4-9 *** Transcript *** On March 7, 1965 black people and allies, led by 25-year-old John Lewis, marched toward the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama as part of a long, hard journey for freedom — and in particular the right for black people to vote. They planned to cross the bridge that day and continue on to Montgomery, but instead they were met by one of the more brutal assaults in the history of civil rights. So much blood was shed, and so many people died as the result of dogs, chains, hoses, and clubs, that it became known as Bloody Sunday. After that attack, many wondered if they should just give up. Martin Luther King himself, it is said, wondered about the wisdom of trying again after what had happened. And in spite of the progress that has been made since then, the struggle against racism continues. And this week the Minneapolis community is praying its way through the beginning of the trial for the person who murdered George Floyd last May 25th. The same pain, wondering, exhaustion, and woundedness the freedom fighters felt after Bloody Sunday is very real among those still working for justice today in George Floyd Square. The Israelites journey from Egypt to the Promised Land had been really long, and like the march to Montgomery and the struggle for justice today, it was not exactly easy. They had been walking in the desert for literally years, nearly starved before God provided manna for them. And when some of them were taken captive by the Canaanites, they had to fight to defeat them. And they still weren’t there yet. And as our journey in COVID continues — one year ago tomorrow we made the decision to close our buildings for a while — we may be feeling this too. We are so tired, but we still haven’t arrived yet. The Israelites’ walk continued, and after all that time they were getting really sick of eating only manna. And, we are told, they complained not once, but continually. They whined, as Mr. Jesse talked about. “Are we there yet?!” So often, we move along in our routines until we find ourselves expecting that this is how life should be. Work gets done, bills paid, vacations taken, decisions made, perhaps with some bumps along the way, but more or less predictable. And when things happen to make life difficult, our first response is typically to complain, as the Israelites did. The food is not good or hot or fast enough. The internet keeps cutting out on us, right in the middle of that email we’re sending — or worse yet, in the middle of a Zoom meeting with our boss or our teacher. We have to wait too long in traffic, or the doctor’s office, or the grocery store. The Israelites were sick of manna, and they complained. It's so human, isn't it? And they soon found themselves facing something much bigger than boring food. Poisonous snakes, perhaps symbolic of the toxic atmosphere they had created in their community, came into the camp, and many of them died. Suddenly the food didn’t matter, and they realized how foolish they had been, having forgotten that God freed them, fed them, and given them water to drink when they were thirsty — having forgotten that they still had each other, that God was still with them. They realized their sin and told Moses to ask God to have mercy on them. And in the mind of the Israelites, mercy meant removing the snakes that were biting them. God didn’t remove the snakes, but God did show mercy. Interestingly enough, the proof of God’s mercy looked just like the thing the Israelites feared the most: the snakes. God told Moses to raise a bronze serpent in the middle of the camp, a reminder of both the sin of the people, and the faithfulness of God. Like Mr. Jesse said, God is big enough for all this, isn't he? By looking at the bronze serpent raised in their camp, the Israelites saw that their God was bigger than a few poisonous reptiles, and even their own sin and brokenness. God assured them that God was with them, even in the midst of this. The snakes remained, but the people lived. A source of pain and fear and death was transformed into a symbol of God’s faithfulness and triumph over death. And I am struck that as we read these passages this year, in the middle of George Floyd Square in Minneapolis another bronze statue has been raised — an image of a black hand, a reminder of both the pain and damage of the sin of racism that still exists, and the resilience and hope of redemption to come for all of us. Often, the big challenges in our lives — unemployment, illness, death — are not removed either. These things are not interruptions to the life we are supposed to live, although they can certainly feel that way. Nor are they, as the Israelites believed, punishment from God for sin — although at times, if we're honest, it can feel like that too. The truth is, the challenges of life are all a part of human experience, and our life is meant to be lived in their midst. Sometimes these challenges are of our own making, or someone else’s, and they truly are the result of choices made, natural consequences of our sin. And sometimes, difficult things just happen. Life is not always easy, and it is certainly not what we might think of as fair. But either way, the struggles and pain we experience does not mean that God has abandoned us. God never promised that life would be easy, or go according to our plans, but God did promise that God would be faithful to the covenant and always be with us, no matter what happens. God did promise that suffering and death will not be the final word. And the proof of that for us as Christians is revealed in another symbol of pain and humiliation and death — the suffering and death of Jesus on the cross. As we make our way through Lent, we look to the cross, and remember not only the reality of Jesus’ death, but the truth that because of the resurrection, the cross, like the bronze snake, is transformed into evidence that God has power over everything, even death. Our encounter with the cross of Jesus does not take away the challenges of our lives, but it transforms them — it transforms us. When we are finished with our complaining, our questioning, our blaming, God is still right there with us, and the cross of Jesus is proof of that promise. The cross reminds us that the little things in life — long lines, spotty internet service, cold food — are not really that important. And the big things, the real sin and pain and struggles of life, are not too much for God to handle. God created us to bring good and beauty into this world, and we can trust God to make it possible for us to do that, even when we don’t see how we can possibly make a difference. The Israelites, and centuries later the marchers in Selma, and today those who continue to seek healing and justice in Minneapolis and across the country, lived out that truth in every step they took. We too are called to march on, carrying the truth of faith in that struggle. When we in our humanity fail, as we are bound to, the cross reminds us that God is still there, giving us the courage and the strength to face the ways we have caused or contributed to the struggles of this world. We have seen in the last year how economic injustice and inequities in access to health care and other resources that continue to exist have resulted in a stark disparity in how the pandemic has impacted marginalized communities, and how reluctance to change allows these and other wounds in the world to continue. Debie Thomas says in her blog this week, “In other words, he unveiled the poison, he showed us the snake, he revealed what our human kingdoms, left to themselves, will always become unless God in God’s mercy delivers us.  In the cross, we are forced to see what our refusal to love . . . , our hatred of difference, our addiction to judgment, and our fear of the Other must wreak. When the Son of Man is lifted up, we see with chilling and desperate clarity our need for a God who will take our most horrific instruments of death, and transform them, at great cost, for the purposes of resurrection.” We look to the cross, acknowledge our sin, and ask God for forgiveness and help. And we're renewed for the journey. When we're in pain, the cross is a symbol of the promise that even death is not the final word. We have a God who answers prayer, if not in the ways we might expect. God has promised to be with us, to lead us to truth and redemption when we can’t see the way. God will not break the covenant, no matter how we stumble. From the Israelites in the desert, to the marchers in Selma in 1965, to each of us today, God loves, forgives, and strengthens us. Nothing is too much for God to handle — even our whining. And every time we see the cross, we are reminded of the lengths God will go to keep that promise. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Numbers 21:4-9, Jesse Helton, pandemic, COVID-19, coronavirus, Debie Thomas

February 28, 2021. As Lutheran theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, there is a cost to discipleship of Jesus of Nazareth. What does this mean for us? Today's sermon is on truths that are not easy. Readings: Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16, Mark 8:31-38 *** Transcript *** When I was in third grade at Our Lady of Grace Catholic school in Edina, Minnesota, I remember a specific time when I was introduced to the concept of doing hard things, of sacrificing myself for God perhaps. We were lining up in the hallway to go to the gym, and I asked to get a drink of water from the nearby water fountain. My teacher, who was eager to keep us in line and not start a flood of “I’m thirsty toos!” from the kids surrounding me, said, “No, give up your thirst for the holy souls in purgatory.” It was, in all my Catholic years, just about the only time anyone ever suggested anything like this, and my third grade self was taken a bit aback. In my mind I can still hear my very faithful Catholic grandmothers chuckling at the idea that giving up a drink of water might allow someone who had died to get into heaven. But another part of my mind truly took a step back in that moment from my own desire for a drink of water, and thought about the importance of setting aside my own needs and wants — at least for a moment — to consider something bigger than myself. It seems that my teacher’s statement, in a way perhaps both a little silly and profound, aligns with what Jesus is telling his disciples today. Jesus’s language is daunting and strong. But he, like my teacher, is trying to let us know that there are things much more important than our own desires and comfort — things worth actually sacrificing ourselves for. On this Sunday, the second Sunday in Lent, as we continue to explore our call to truth, I think this may be a truth our scriptures have for us in this season. We are followers of Jesus of Nazareth, and Jesus lets us know in no uncertain terms that there is a cost to that. Like Miss Katie said, sometimes stepping out of the boxes that the world has for us can be really hard. As Lutheran theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer says, there is a cost to discipleship. Jesus’s statement that following him means “taking up the cross” was no off-the-cuff remark. In that time and place, everyone listening would immediately have envisioned Calvary, where not just once on Good Friday but many times people who stood against empire and challenged the status quo stepped outside of those boxes, were brutally punished by the Roman Empire for not falling in line. The cross was not a punishment for simple law-breaking. It was not the fate of those who stole, or attacked, or even murdered a fellow citizen. Death on the cross was reserved for those who rioted, or protested unfair Roman taxes, or in other ways challenged the authority of Roman rule. In other words, taking up the cross was the dramatic and brutal warning intentionally designed to silence those who had the courage to stand against the empire. Jesus knew that the empire would not take kindly to his radical proclamation of love, justice, and mercy. He knew that Pilate would be eager to quash beliefs that all people had value, and that those who were marginalized and cast out might actually be considered before those who held power. Jesus knew well how violent the response would be, eventually. And he refused to back away from that. Jesus of Nazareth, rather than softening his message to avoid the cross, rather than trying to stay inside the boxes they wanted him in, began with his message to his disciples to embrace the cross and invite them to do the same. We can imagine how the disciples must have felt about this. They expected the Messiah to come with military power, prepared to overthrow Roman rule in the end. And then Jesus tells them that not only would he suffer and die, if they were to follow him they also must be ready to accept the most painful and shameful death imaginable at that time. It must have been quite a shock to hear the one they expected to free Israel from occupation suggest that the way of liberation led not to glorious military victory, but shameful death. In fact, more than one of Jesus’s disciples eventually were crucified as well. If we too are Jesus’s disciples, we too are called to take up the cross as we follow him. We too are called to embrace the truth that there is a cost to discipleship of Jesus of Nazareth. So what does this mean for us today? Because although I got a glimpse of the call of our faith to sacrifice ourselves in that moment in the hallway, there is much more to understand than that. Denying ourselves a drink of water, or finding other ways to fast, can become a token action, something we can feel good about that doesn’t go below the surface. It can become something that is so rigid and restrictive that the joy of the good news, the message of God’s love and our identity as God’s kids, is lost. Or, at its best, fasting in the spirit of the gospel can be a spiritual practice that leads us into deeper relationship with the God who formed us, and prepares us to follow Christ all the way to the cross. Debie Thomas, theologian and blogger, wrote this week, “To take up a cross as Jesus did is to stand in the center of the world’s pain. Taking up the cross means recognizing Christ crucified in every suffering soul and body that surrounds us, and pouring our energies and our lives into alleviating that pain — no matter what it costs.” You may remember from last week that Jesus began his ministry by leaving the desert and walking straight into the grief and horror of John the Baptist’s death. And we hear today that Christ was willing to challenge the empire and face the cross to stay true to the gospel he was called to preach. The cross we are invited to take up as followers of Jesus is to stand with all who suffer, to step outside of our comfortable boxes and lean into the pain of the world with the promise of God’s faithfulness, and to commit ourselves to challenging the systems that bring death even if it means that we ourselves suffer. This is, I think, one of the hardest truths of the gospel. We, like the disciples, would much rather Jesus just move and in and destroy in victorious battle all of the ills of this world — illness, violence, oppression, and death. The way of the cross, as Luther explains it, means that we do not avoid the suffering and pain of life, but call it what it is. We face head on the evils of this world and call it evil, and we proclaim the gospel, no matter what the cost. Along with this hard truth today, we have the knowledge and promise of the covenant between God and Abraham and Sarah. The covenant they make today is profoundly important to us who follow Jesus of Nazareth on the way to the cross. The covenant is only one of many in just a few chapters of Genesis. God seemed to know that as Abraham and Sarah traveled along the road to the unknown, facing countless threats and challenges along the way, they would need to be reminded of God’s faithfulness. And in the first of those covenants, as they began this long journey, God promised that God would bless them so that they would be a blessing. Because it was not all about them after all, any more that it is all about us. That’s the thing about the way of the cross — it draws us out of our selfishness and greed and into our true selves, in profound relationship with God and all that God created, so that we can participate in the creation, recreation, healing, and redemption of the world around us. We too are blessed to be a blessing, and we too are named and claimed by the God who made us, as Abraham and Sarah received their new names in today’s story. We continue our Lenten journey on the way of the cross, guided by the truth Jesus shares that this road will not be easy. We follow Jesus of Nazareth, who calls us to take up our cross: to step out of our boxes, to walk into the world’s pain, and stand against the empire, naming and challenging the evils of racism and all forms of oppression, and claiming the promise of the gospel. No matter the consequences, we know we are not alone, because Christ has gone before us. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16, Mark 8:31-38, Katie Ciorba, Debie Thomas

"The wilderness is a dangerous place. You only go there if you have to. As we begin our journey into lent may we enter with courage into the deserts we can't choose or avoid. May our long stints in the wilderness teach us who we really are – the precious and beautiful children of God. And when the angels and all their sweet and secret guises whisper the name "beloved" into our ears may we listen and believe them."What "wilderness" have you experienced that has taught you who you really are? Where did you find God in that place?//Mark 1:9-15In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.”//This episode was written and recorded by Debie Thomas. It was produced by Rev. Jim Keat. Background tracks include Button Mushrooms by Podington Bear, Not All Who Wander Are Lost by Greater Still, Fading Light by josh Lim, and The Soft Glow of Christmas Lights by Will Bangs.Visit www.trcnyc.org/BeStillAndGo to listen to more episodes from all five seasons of Be Still and Go.Visit www.trcnyc.org/Donate to support this podcast and other digital resources from The Riverside Church that integrate spirituality and social justice.Debie Thomas is the director of children's and family ministries at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church in Palo Alto, California. She also writes weekly lectionary reflections on her website, Journey With Jesus. Visit www.JourneyWithJesus.net to find out more.

Alistair shares from Genesis 9:8-17 and Mark 1:9-15 on the First Sunday of Lent 2021 as part of KNEC Church Online www.knec4jesus.org.uk “Jesus didn’t want to go, and it is very possible he resisted. But the Spirit drove him, anyway. Maybe it’s strange that I find this detail comforting, but I do. Why? Because it rings true to life. Most of the time, we don’t choose to enter the wilderness. We don’t volunteer for pain, loss, danger, or terror. But the wilderness happens, anyway. Whether it comes to us in the guise of a devastating pandemic, a frightening hospital stay, a broken relationship, a hurting child, or a loss of faith, the wilderness appears, unbidden and unwelcome, at our doorsteps. And sometimes it is God’s own Spirit who drives us there.” (Blog - “Journey with Jesus”, Debie Thomas)

This morning, we have the privilege of two messages in one Sunday. First, Shannon shared about her heart for hospitality and how that plays out in her role as the Table Director, inviting us to join her in the mission she has for The Table (Make Room; Make Do; Make Time; Make Space). Then, Josh shared from Psalm 139 and John 1 about what it means to be a "come and see" people who live out the reality that everyone -- friends, friends who vote for the other person, enemies, and ourselves -- are fearfully and wonderfully made. Romans 12:3-8, 13; Psalm 139:1-6, 13-18; John 1:43-51. If you'd like to help Shannon at The Table, please email her at shannon@rivercitysmyrna.com. Josh asked us to consider 4 questions this week:  1) What are the needs of the body right now? 2) What are the specific anointings over RCC? 3) What specific supernatural graces does RCC have to accomplish the calling RCC has? 4) Are we following the favor God has already given us with Smyrna well? Josh shared a quote from Debie Thomas:  "Is it possible for us to see our present moment as Jesus sees it? Instead of deciding that we know everything there is to know about the political “others” in our lives, can we ask God for fresh vision? Instead of assuming that “nothing good” can come of the cultural mess we find ourselves in, can we accept Philip’s invitation to “come and see?” What would happen if we left our comfortable vantage points, and dared to believe that just maybe, we have been limited and hasty in our original certainties about each other, about God, and about the world?  To 'come and see' is to approach all of life with a grace-filled curiosity, to believe that we are holy mysteries to each other, worthy of further exploration. To come and see is to enter into the joy of being deeply seen and deeply known, and to have the very best that lies hidden within us called out and called forth. I write these words in hope. In fragile hope, but hope nonetheless. Not because we’re capable of clear vision on our own, but because we are held by the eternal promise of Jesus who said: 'You will see greater things than these.' We will. We will see heaven open. We will see angels. We will see the love and justice of God. So don’t be afraid. Don’t hide. Don’t despair. Live boldly into the calling of Epiphany. See. Name. Speak. Bless. God is near and God is speaking. Many good things can come out of Nazareth."

December 20, 2020. Have you ever had a moment when you realized that your whole life was changing, that something was emerging that you couldn’t quite see yet? This year, of all years, we really need to know that there is something much bigger than us going on, that there is order in this chaos that we are living. Readings: 2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16, Psalm 89:1-4, 19-26, Luke 1:26-56 *** Transcript *** Have you ever had a moment when you realized that your whole life was changing, that something was emerging that you couldn’t quite see yet? I can think of several times when I knew that transformation and mystery was happening — and fear, even terror. When I first said out loud that I was gay. When I moved into my first apartment, living on my own for the first time. When I made the decision to leave my job of nine years and go back to school full time. And when I got the phone call from the Call Committee here at Christ Lutheran, one Sunday morning just about a year ago. My pastor at my home congregation describes me as having a look of shock and wonder and disbelief as I shared the news with her a year ago. I'm not much of an astronomer, but my wife knows enough to be able to point out Mars and Venus and Jupiter in the sky at night, and I can usually spot them when she does. And I do enjoy looking at the stars, even if I can’t find any constellation besides the Big Dipper. There is something about the stars that, like the ocean, takes me out of the minutiae of my daily life, and reminds me just how big this world is, and just how small I am. The wise people knew far more about the night sky than I do. And although Jesus hadn’t been born yet, and they had no idea what it meant, they knew because of what they saw that something was up. The wise people probably didn’t suddenly see the star after Jesus’ birth, and begin their journey after he had been born. They had been watching the sky for years, and the unique star that they saw probably caught their eyes months prior to that sacred night in the stable in Bethlehem. And when they saw it, they knew that the world was about to change. They knew that something was about to happen that was worth traveling for days or weeks or months, worth lying to King Herod, worth giving up their treasure for. And soon, the wise people will be greeting a child whose birth was revealed to them by the stars they watched at night — the child whose birth, as insignificant as it might have seemed, would change everything. Jesus hasn’t been born yet, but the wise people already see it coming. They are living, as we Lutherans do, in a world that is, and is not yet. Mary sang of it in our gospel today, and in our opening hymn from Holden. After hearing from the angel what was going to happen and traveling to see Elizabeth. Mary’s song is really quite remarkable, as Debie Thomas points out in her blog this week. The angel brought Mary news that would shake any unmarried teenager — she is pregnant, with no good way to explain how that happened, and by tradition and law could be easily punished, beaten, ostracized, even killed. And yet, when she greets Elizabeth, her first words are ones of deep joy: “My spirit rejoices in God.” I can only imagine that her journey to Elizabeth must have been quite a wrestling — with herself, with God, reconciling and trying to understand what has just happened to her. Mary goes on to say that God has seen her in her humanness — poor; female in a world that didn’t value women; living in a brutal, occupied land; young, not yet married. God saw her just as she was, and was mindful of her. Somehow, out of all the people in the world, out of all the people in Nazareth, God saw and knew Mary intimately. And he was mindful of her. Then Mary the prophet, who was living in a broken world, full of injustice and hunger and poverty, saw and claimed the vision of God’s promise already at work. God has not only seen Mary, but all who are on the edge, as the hungry are filled and the marginalized and forgotten and abused ones are lifted up. The strong and the powerful, it seems, are already taken care of in this world, so God is especially mindful of those who have been pushed aside. And in the middle of the world still bound with injustice and pain, Mary sang of the world she knew God was bringing into being. “He has performed mighty deeds with his arm; he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts. He has brought down rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the humble. He has filled the hungry with good things but has sent the rich away empty.” As Mary sings, she echoes the faith and the hope of many who came before her — Hannah, and Hagar, and the psalmist, and all the prophets, who proclaimed the hope and promise that is now, but not quite yet. Jesus hasn’t been born yet, but the wise people are on their way, following signs in the world our God created that pointed to things much bigger than themselves. And this year of all years, a year of pandemics and fires and elections and racial tensions, so much chaos, we really need to know that there is something much bigger than us going on, that there is order in this chaos that we are living. And in our time, that transformation that Mary speaks of, that the wise people saw coming, continues. Christmas isn’t here yet, but we know Christ is coming. And our world is in just as much need of transformation, healing, and re-creation, as the world the wise people traveled 2000 years ago. The prophets of today are claiming the promise anew, like Kelly Brown Douglas claiming that God is freedom, William Barber II declaring that people on the margins are seeking transformation and justice and healing and not a return to a disparate normal, Valarie Kauer’s revelation that the chaos we are living in is the darkness of the womb, not the darkness of the tomb, and that it will bring new life and not death. Jupiter and Saturn are close to aligning, and tomorrow they will come together to show us a sign. Astronomers today think that what we will be seeing in the sky if we venture out tomorrow evening after sunset is perhaps the same sign the wise ones saw so many years ago, the star that gave a glimpse of the promises of God to come that led the wise people to Bethlehem. The very same star that showed them that something new, something world-changing, was about to happen. In this time of COVID-19, as we have stayed away from our church building for a time, we have learned what Nathan tried to tell David so long ago — God is building a house, has been building it for millennia, a house not of brick and mortar but of people, of us. And Christ Lutheran family, God is still building us up, inspiring us, breathing new life, healing, and transformation into this broken world. We can look to the skies as the wise people did, and know that Christ is coming. We have just a few days left — I bet some of the kids could tell us even how many hours we have left — and in this moment we join all the people who for millennia have been claiming and proclaiming the promise. This was not a one-time event that happened 2000 years ago and was complete, but a movement of the Spirit of God that began with creation and continues on today. We are not alone. We can see the star, hear the words of the angel Gabriel, and know that something new is happening. With the prophets of yesterday and today, we can embrace all the change and fear and grief and wonder that that brings. And then, we can join Mary in joy, promise, and hope, and sing with her as our spirits rejoice in the promise coming to us in Christ. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2020, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, 2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16, Psalm 89:1-4, 19-26, Luke 1:26-56, COVID-19, coronavirus

Weekly JourneywithJesus.net postings, read by Debie Thomas. Essay by Debie Thomas: *Mary's Song* for Sunday, 20 December 2020; book review by Dan Clendenin: *The Age of Illusions: How America Squandered Its Cold War Victory* by Andrew Bacevich (2020); film review by Dan Clendenin: *Q Ball* (2019); poem selected by Dan Clendenin: *Annunciation* by Denise Levertov.

Weekly JourneywithJesus.net postings, read by Debie Thomas. Essay by Debie Thomas: *Who Are You?* for Sunday, 13 December 2020; book review by Dan Clendenin: *Permanent Record* by Edward Snowden (2019); film review by Dan Clendenin: *For Sama* (2019); poem selected by Dan Clendenin: *BC:AD* by U.A. Fanthorpe.

Weekly JourneywithJesus.net postings, read by Debie Thomas. Essay by Debie Thomas: *Comfort My People* for Sunday, 6 December 2020; book review by Dan Clendenin: *The Undying: Pain, Vulnerability, Mortality, Medicine, Art, Time, Dreams, Data, Exhaustion, Cancer, and Care* by Anne Boyer (2020); film review by Dan Clendenin: *Into the Inferno* (2016); poem selected by Dan Clendenin: *Advent Calendar* by Rowan Williams.

Weekly JourneywithJesus.net postings, read by Debie Thomas. Essay by Debie Thomas: *Because You Hid Yourself* for Sunday, 29 November 2020; book review by Brad Keister: *The Great Influenza: The Story of the Deadliest Pandemic in History* by John M. Barry (2004); film review by Dan Clendenin: *The Edge of Democracy* (2019); poem selected by Dan Clendenin: *On the Mystery of the Incarnation* by Denise Levertov.

We discuss the parable of talents and the implications a new reading of this parable has for stewardship. We borrow heavily from the work of Debie Thomas.Support the show (http://paypal.me/textualintercourse)

Weekly JourneywithJesus.net postings, read by Debie Thomas. Essay by Debie Thomas: *You Did It To Me* for Sunday, 22 November 2020; book review by Dan Clendenin: *Hell and Other Destinations: A 21st-Century Memoir* by Madeleine Albright (2020); film review by Dan Clendenin: *The Cave* (2019, Syria); poem selected by Dan Clendenin: *A Poem for the Feast of Christ the King* by Pamela Cranston.

Alistair shares from Matthew 25:1-13 on the parable of the ten virgins as part of KNEC Online on Remembrance Sunday 2020. www.knec4jesus.org.uk “Saints are those who wake up while in this world, instead of waiting for the next one”. (Richard Rohr, For the Good of the World, 6/11/20) “I totally get the “foolish” bridesmaids in this narrative moment. I get how hard it is to stick around when my “light” is fading and my reserves are low. I get what it’s like to scramble for perfection, to insist on having my ducks in a row before I show up in front of God, or the church, or the world. After all, it’s scary and vulnerable-making to linger in the dark when my pitiful little lamp is flickering, my once-robust faith is evaporating, and my measly, leaky flask is filled with nothing but doubt and pain and grief and weariness. Only a bridesmaid who trusts in the groom’s deep and unconditional compassion, only a bridesmaid who knows that the groom has light and oil to spare, only a bridesmaid who understands that her presence — messy and imperfect though it might be — is of intrinsic value to the groom, will find the honesty and the courage to stay.” (Debie Thomas) (https://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay?id=2503)

Weekly JourneywithJesus.net postings, read by Debie Thomas. Essay by Debie Thomas: *The Good Kind of Worthless* for Sunday, 15 November 2020; book review by Dan Clendenin: *The Words of My Father; Love and Pain in Palestine* by Yousef Bashir (2019); film review by Dan Clendenin: *Honeyland* (2019); poem selected by Dan Clendenin: *Prayer for Overcoming Indifference* by Chaim Stern, ed.

Weekly JourneywithJesus.net postings, read by Debie Thomas. Essay by Debie Thomas: *The Story of the Bridesmaids* for Sunday, 8 November 2020; book review by Debie Thomas: *He Held Radical Light: The Art of Faith, The Faith of Art* by Christian Wiman (2018); film review by Dan Clendenin: *1917* (2019); poem selected by Dan Clendenin: *The Noise of Politics* by Walter Brueggemann.

Weekly JourneywithJesus.net postings, read by Debie Thomas. Essay by Debie Thomas: *The Great Reversal* for Sunday, 1 November 2020; book review by Dan Clendenin: *Alta California: From San Diego to San Francisco, A Journey on Foot to Rediscover the Golden State* by Nick Neely (2019); film review by Dan Clendenin: *American Factory* (2019); poem selected by Dan Clendenin: *Blessing That Becomes Empty As It Goes* by Jan Richardson.

Weekly JourneywithJesus.net postings, read by Debie Thomas. Essay by Debie Thomas: *The Greatest Commandments* for Sunday, 25 October 2020; book review by Dan Clendenin: *This Land is Our Land; An Immigrant's Manifesto* by Suketu Mehta (2019); film review by Dan Clendenin: *Unorthodox* (2020); poem selected by Dan Clendenin: *Christ Has No Body* by Teresa of Avila.

October 11, 2020. Pastor Meagan's sermon today is on Jesus' parable of the petulant king and the raggedy guest, and how they can wake us up to envision our own communities and conflicts differently. Readings: Philippians 4:1-9, Matthew 22:1-14 *** Transcript *** Is anyone else feeling weary this week? The pandemic is ongoing with no break. We struggle with how to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas this year, knowing that the weather is fast-changing and soon being outside isn't going to be an easy option. And that all seems to be weighing in on these last days. And the tension and anxiety around the upcoming election, and the stark divisions over issues that carry so much importance, certainly don’t help. My family and I have always seen things differently from one another. So many times over the years I've had to remind myself that it is not my job to make sure my family members agree with me, especially when it comes to issues at all related to politics. And in our world today, with so much hard division between one party and the other, so much chaos happening in so many ways, and so much at stake, that's become particularly difficult. And I have to admit, I have not been very good at remembering this of late. Maybe I need to practice Red Light, Green Light when I'm getting into that mindset. It doesn’t help that my youngest brother happens to be a committee chairman for the opposite political party from the one that aligns best with my views, and that my dad and I have diametrically opposed sources of news. It is so easy to get focused on particular personalities, specific issues, and get to arguing about statistics or perspectives on things, isn’t it? I’m sure I’m not alone in this. Red light! Once again, thankfully, we find that there really is nothing new under the sun, no problems that God hasn’t taught us about, nothing that God hasn’t seen before. In our passage from the letter of Paul to the Philippians today, we find that Paul is addressing what we might call political divisions that are happening among the leaders and people of Philippi, 2,000 years ago. There was a lot at stake for the young church, as they navigated their way through so many challenges and decisions. People argued over a lot of things — who should lead, who could belong, how to practice their faith with integrity with an increasingly diverse community. So we aren’t the first to get lost in personalities and fights over particulars, and struggle with how to live out our faith when so much is changing. Paul is definitely speaking to worry, anxiety, and stress, which I think we can all relate to these days. Thankfully, Paul has some wisdom to offer us, and not surprisingly, his solution brings us right back to what is really important. Paul starts out by counseling Euodia and Syntyche to be of the same mind in Jesus. I've always read this as meaning that we need to agree with one another in everything — be of the same mind — but what jumps out at me today, in this divided world that we're living in, is the phrase “in Jesus.” As this resonates, it dives deeper than surface agreement on a personality or decision, going from sharing opinions to sharing values. Paul calls the Philippians, and us, back to the God-given values that Jesus embodied for us. And he gets specific. Joy, gentleness, gratitude, truth, honor, justice, purity. Being of the same mind in Jesus doesn't take away our differences, but Paul suggests that it does unite us as we find our common values. And it starts with rejoicing, and being grateful. Perhaps this is something we can do with our stoplight: rejoice and be grateful. And then we have the gospel. The religious leaders and Jesus’ disciples, like us, are also trying to figure out how to live their lives in faith, to make sense out of what it means to embody the kin-dom of God in this world. Jesus offers a very different and perhaps complementary answer from Paul, and as he does so often, Jesus talks in parables. And this week’s parable, I have to say, is quite a challenge! What on earth are we to take from this petulant and violent king, the rude people who ignore the king’s invitation, and the raggedy guest who gets bound and cast out into proverbial weeping and gnashing of teeth? Jesus is on a mission, these few weeks, to help us see not only the invitation to the joy and abundance of God’s kin-dom, but our own resistance to the invitation that God offers us so freely. Starting with the king. He’s throwing a party, and no one wants to come. How could they be so rude as to blow off the king?! It’s so easy to make things about us isn’t it, even when it’s about our faith. The king, it seems, has gotten caught up in what others think of them, and is badly offended when they don’t get the recognition they think they deserve. When you look at how the king acted though, it’s no wonder people blew off his invitation. And it’s easy for us too to get off track quickly, when we get caught up in our own agenda, and forget to delight in the community around us and let our gentleness be known to those around us. And the first round of guests, the ones who don’t come? They all have reasons — maybe really good ones, although Jesus suggests otherwise in this case — and the truth is, so do we sometimes. We take for granted the invitation we've been given to community, and ignoring the call to share gratefully in the abundance of God. And then, there is the second round of guests. These guests are not the first choice of the king, but still they're invited. They accept the invitation and all is well, until one of these last-minute guests has the audacity to show up in the wrong clothes. Often, we judge the guest, taking this as a cautionary tale about the need to dress properly (figuratively speaking) for the heavenly banquet. But theologian Debie Thomas in her blog proposes an alternative reading, and a question: what if this “ragged” guest is actually Jesus? What if the invitation to us today is to realize that it is not God who is judging and critiquing our worthiness, or other people’s worthiness, to enter the kin-dom, but us? Maybe today, we can let the absurdity of this image of a king, God, who sets a town on fire because the “worthy” people don’t show up at his party, invites the “regular people” only because the important people wouldn’t come, and then throws out the guest who doesn’t observe protocol — we can let all that wake us up to envision the kin-dom, and our own communities and conflicts, differently. To realize that when we demand compliance with arbitrary protocols, we cast out Jesus, the one we most want to welcome. We can dream of an abundant table, in the presence of our enemies, that needs no barriers or requirements because it has enough for everyone. And all who show up are transformed by the grace of that invitation. This brings us back to Paul, and the conflict among the Philippians. Rejoice, he tells us, first and always. When worry sets in, ask God for what we need with gratitude. Rather than seeking agreement on non-essentials, keep our focus on the values that bring us together as people of God. Truth. Justice. Honor. Jesus, the ragged guest at the feast, may not say anything, but he models for us an unwillingness to give in to the petty arguments and rules, he highlights the injustice of the arbitrary boundaries and barriers, and stands firm in his opposition to a king who clearly cares more about himself than he does about the community around him. Paul tells us to focus on the values of our faith, to ask God for what we need, and practice gratitude — all pillars of living out our faith, and rest for our weary souls. As you heard from Jesse today, and will hear from Carolyn and others in our Adult Forum later, taking care of ourselves and nurturing our community is the foundation of well-being as people of God. The stress of trying to agree may not disappear, but it lessens. Our worry fades. We have the courage and strength to stand firmly for truth, honor, and justice, in our families, our neighborhoods, workplaces and schools, and the ballot box, led by Jesus the ragged guest. And the promise is that the peace of God that surpasses all understanding will guard our hearts and minds in Christ. Thanks be to God! *** Keywords *** 2020, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, COVID-19, coronavirus, Philippians 4:1-9, Matthew 22:1-14

Weekly JourneywithJesus.net postings, read by Debie Thomas. Essay by Debie Thomas: *What Belongs to God* for Sunday, 18 October 2020; book review by Dan Clendenin: *The Last Ocean; A Journey Through Memory and Forgetting* by Nicci Gerrard (2019); film review by Dan Clendenin: *Miles Davis: The Birth of Cool* (2019); poem selected by Dan Clendenin: *I Am Bending My Knee* by anonymous.

Weekly JourneywithJesus.net postings, read by Debie Thomas. Essay by Debie Thomas: *The God Who Isn't* for Sunday, 11 October 2020; book review by Dan Clendenin: *On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous* by Ocean Vuong (2019); film review by Dan Clendenin: *Crip Camp: A Disability Revolution* (2020); poem selected by Dan Clendenin: *Further Possible Answers to Prayer* by Scott Cairns; music review by David Werther: *Who is the Sender?* by Bill Fay.

September 27, 2020. We are all being transformed, called to humbly embody God’s justice for all of creation, one action at a time. And actions speak louder than words. Readings: Exodus 17:1-7, Psalm 25:1-9, Philippians 2:1-13, Matthew 21:23-32 *** Transcript *** As I reflected on our readings this week, and the story that Alena shared of the Archangel Michael, the phrase “actions speak louder than words” kept echoing through my head. The parable Jesus tells his listeners describes one son saying he won't do something his father wants him to do, and then thinking better of it and doing it anyway, and the other son saying of course he would help, and then choosing not to. It’s pretty clear in the end who did what their father asked of them. What each of them said in this parable is not nearly so important as what they did. Michael too, in Alena’s story, went beyond words and took action, and stood against the evil of Lucifer. Actions speak louder than words. I thought of the classic 1988 movie “Working Girl” — starring Sigourney Weaver as Katharine, a high-powered executive woman, and Melanie Griffith as Tess, her new and naïve employee. Tess finds out how true it is that actions speak louder than words. Katharine sounds so supportive, promising to present Tess’s innovative ideas for consideration. And then she comes back to tell Tess that her ideas had been rejected. But Tess finds out later that Katharine lied — Tess’s ideas were approved, but Katharine took credit for them. Katharine said one thing, and did another thing entirely, and her actions definitely revealed far more of who she was than her words had. I’m sure we can all think of times in our own lives when someone said something, perhaps believing deeply they were speaking the truth and that they would keep their promise, but like the situation with Katharine and Tess, what actually happened didn’t match their words at all. As an LGBTQIA person, I have learned that the words “all are welcome,” far from being the end of a conversation, are not enough on their own, and that hearing stories about commitments kept and actions taken that show how a community lives into that promise is far more revealing. Actions speak louder than words. Perhaps like me, you yourself may have said you would do something, and not done it. It’s easy, isn’t it, to blame the religious leaders in today’s tale, laying responsibility solely at the feet of the Sadducees? But the truth is we’ve all been there — perhaps truly wanting to make the commitment we are giving voice to, perhaps wanting to say the thing we know we should say, maybe if we’re honest wanting to look better than our sibling who has just told our parent, “No!” It’s one thing, isn’t it, to say that we’ll do something, or that we believe something, and quite another to put those words and beliefs into action. Debie Thomas, in her entry for this week on her blog “Journey with Jesus,” says this: "We are meant to be uncomfortable, to be confronted, to ask ourselves: which son am I? Am I the child who makes promises I fail to keep? Am I the daughter who talks the talk, and sincerely believes that my sacred-sounding words are enough? Am I the son who doesn’t see repentance as a lifelong business, a business that didn’t end at the altar call, or the confirmation service, or the baptism, or the newcomer's class at church, that first drew me to Jesus?" Actions speak louder than words! And action, people of Christ, especially action that meets criticism and judgment by the world around us, is not easy. It is slow, hard work that results in change. Ruth Bader Ginsberg said, “Real change, enduring change, happens one step at a time.” And lack of action, we know, can do immeasurable harm. It's how Nazism rose in Germany. Inaction contributed to slavery lasting for 400 years on this continent. And inaction allows for the wounds of racism, violence, poverty, and homelessness to continue in our country today. It is why someone could shoot Breonna Taylor, in her own apartment and — as we found out this week — not be charged. Edmund Burke said, “All that is required for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.“ Action — and sometimes inaction — speak louder than words. At times, we say the “right thing” and do the “wrong thing,” and at other times we say the “wrong thing” and do the “right thing.” Debie Thomas continues: "Or am I the son who says the wrong thing, but finally repents and obeys, anyway? The child who might not sound all spiritual and sanctified, but still does the work of love and mercy when the rubber meets the road? The daughter who recognizes that God is still at work, here and now, doing new things, transformative things, salvific things? The son who changes his mind when new truth, new life, new possibility, and new hope, reveal themselves?" Our reading from the letter of Philippians today is all about transformation. Jesus, out of radical, reckless, love, offers himself completely to God, and to us. And the promise Paul shares with us is that Jesus’ supporting act of surrender changes us, too. We are empowered to not only speak justice and mercy and truth, but live it out, the way Jesus did, in actions as well as words, as Alena suggested. With Jesus, we can face the evils of this world like the Archangel Michael did, and not turn away. For us as humans, on our own, this is not possible. In our reading from Exodus, we hear that one more time, the Israelites are struggling to trust that they will be OK, and one more time, God shows them that God will provide what they need to take the next step — this time, by bringing water from a stone. God provides for us, too. Putting our faith into action is not about our own strength, or earning our place with God, but about being transformed by God, turning outward to think of God, others, and creation, before ourselves, trusting as Paul says, that God is at work in us. Actions speak much louder than words. More in these days than ever it seems, it is so important to remember how much damage inaction can do. We are all being transformed, called to humbly embody God’s justice for all of creation, one action at a time. Each day we can ask, “What am I being called to do? How can I embody God’s love and justice, for my neighbor, for my community?” And when we're unsure of what to do, or afraid, God has shown that they will guide us and provide what that need — perhaps even sending angels to walk with us on the way. With the psalmist, we can pray: “To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul. O God, in you I trust; do not let me be put to shame. Lead me in your truth, and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation.” Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2020, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Exodus 17:1-7, Psalm 25:1-9, Philippians 2:1-13, Matthew 21:23-32, lesbian, gay, bisexual, transexual, queer, questioning, Alena Horn

Weekly JourneywithJesus.net postings, read by Debie Thomas. Essay by Debie Thomas: *A Lament for the Vineyard* for Sunday, 4 October 2020; book review by Dan Clendenin: *A New World Begins; the History of the French Revolution* by Jeremy D. Popkin (2019); film review by Dan Clendenin: *Sacred Journeys* (2014); poem selected by Dan Clendenin: *Fall Song* by Mary Oliver.

Weekly JourneywithJesus.net postings, read by Debie Thomas. Essay by Debie Thomas: *Words Are Not Enough* for Sunday, 27 September 2020; book review by Dan Clendenin: *His Truth is Marching On: John Lewis and the Power of Hope* by Jon Meacham (2020); film review by Dan Clendenin: *Growing Up Poor In America* (2020); poem selected by Dan Clendenin: *What Are Years?* by Marianne Moore.

Weekly JourneywithJesus.net postings, read by Debie Thomas. Essay by Debie Thomas: *On Fairness* for Sunday, 20 September 2020; book review by Brad Keister: *A Gentleman in Moscow* by (2016); film review by Dan Clendenin: *COVID's Hidden Toll* (2020); poem selected by Dan Clendenin: *Comfort Animal* by Joy Ladin.

Weekly JourneywithJesus.net postings, read by Debie Thomas. Essay by Debie Thomas: *Unpacking Forgiveness* for Sunday, 13 September 2020; book review by Brad Keister: *Grant* by Ron Chernow (2017); film review by Dan Clendenin: *Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?* (1967); poem selected by Dan Clendenin: *Dark Testament Verse 8* by Pauli Murray.

Weekly JourneywithJesus.net postings, read by Debie Thomas. Essay by Debie Thomas: *The Beloved Community* for Sunday, 6 September 2020; book review by Dan Clendenin: *The Happiness Curve; Why Life Gets Better After 50* by Jonathan Rauch (2018); film review by Dan Clendenin: *Saint John the Baptist: From Birth to Beheading* (2014, 10 episodes, Britain); poem selected by Dan Clendenin: *Shaking Hands* by Pádraig Ó Tuama.

Weekly JourneywithJesus.net postings, read by Debie Thomas. Essay by Debie Thomas: *Losing and Saving* for Sunday, 30 August 2020; book review by Dan Clendenin: *Educated: A Memoir* by Tara Westover (2018); film review by Dan Clendenin: *John Lewis: Good Trouble* (2020); poem selected by Dan Clendenin: *Having Confessed* by Patrick Kavanaugh.

Weekly JourneywithJesus.net postings, read by Debie Thomas. Essay by Debie Thomas: *But What Do You Think?* for Sunday, 23 August 2020; book review by Dan Clendenin: *Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents* by Isabel Wilkerson (2020); film review by Dan Clendenin: *Franz Jägerstätter: A Man of Conscience* (2009); poem selected by Dan Clendenin: *The Opening of Eyes* by David Whyte.

Weekly JourneywithJesus.net postings, read by Debie Thomas. Essay by Debie Thomas: *Is It Good News Yet?* for Sunday, 16 August 2020; book review by Dan Clendenin: *Learning From Henri Nouwen and Vincent Van Gogh: A Portrait of the Compassionate Life* by Carol A. Berry (2019); film review by Dan Clendenin: *The Gilded Age* (2019); poem selected by Dan Clendenin: *The Place Where We Are Right* by Yehuda Amichai.