“And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them. And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”

Let us pray:
May the words of my mouth, and the meditations and thoughts in all our hearts be acceptable to you O Lord our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen.

Jesus tells this parable “to show them that they should always pray and not give up.” That’s how Luke introduces the story, right up front, we’re told the purpose. Persistence in prayer. Faith that endures. A heart that refuses to let go of hope.

It’s a simple story: a widow, powerless and overlooked, keeps coming to a judge who “neither feared God nor respected people.” Day after day, she shows up. She doesn’t have wealth, connections, or status, only determination. And finally, the judge gives in: “Because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice so that she won’t wear me out by her continual coming.”

Then Jesus turns the story back to us:

If even an unjust judge can be moved by persistence, how much more will our loving God respond to the cries of His people?

In the first century, widows were among the most vulnerable people in society. Without a husband or adult sons advocating for them, they had few legal rights and little protection. So, when Jesus tells this story, His listeners immediately understand that this woman has no one on her side.

But she refuses to be silent. She demands to be heard. Her persistence isn’t just stubbornness; it’s faith in action. She believes that justice is possible, even in an unjust world. She believes that her voice matters, even when society tells her it doesn’t.

That’s where faith begins, not in having all the answers, but in trusting that God still hears, still sees, still acts.

Paul writes to Timothy at the end of his life. He is in prison, isolated, and facing execution. The energy of his missionary journeys was behind him, but his faith burned as fiercely as ever.

And so, he writes to his young friend and co-worker in the faith, Timothy, a kind of last letter. A mentor passing the torch to a student. A pastor giving his final charge to the next generation of leaders.

And what does he say?

“Continue in what you have learned and firmly believed.”
“Proclaim the message.”
“Be persistent.”
“Keep your head.”
“Endure hardship.”
“Do the work.”
“Carry out your ministry fully.”

Paul reminds Timothy that his faith didn’t appear out of nowhere. It was passed down from his grandmother Lois, his mother Eunice, and the Scriptures he had known since childhood.

Faith doesn’t begin in isolation; it’s nurtured in community. Someone taught us to pray. Someone opened a Bible and read us stories of hope. Someone showed us by example what love looks like in practice.

Paul is saying: Don’t forget where you came from. Don’t forget who shaped your faith.

In a world that constantly changes, faithfulness often means staying grounded, remembering the roots that keep us anchored when everything else feels uncertain.

One of the most complicated decisions of my life was to leave the Church that had ordained me. I had served for 12 years in one place, and it felt like home. I loved the people and the work we did.

We had started a meal program where we offered a meal three times a month in our parish hall for free. We fed an average of 80 people three times a month. We were meeting a need not only to feed people but to give people a sense of community. A place where they felt welcomed and loved. A simple meal around a table where people could come and find rest.

But there was something more, something pulling me away, a restlessness in my soul.

The Orthodox Christian Church is not very progressive in its theology or practice. I guess you don’t get to call yourself Orthodox if you change, but a little movement would have been nice.

I struggled with my sense of mission. I struggled with the exclusiveness of Orthodoxy with this idea that you had to belong to the club. Sure, you could watch, but you could not fully participate unless you joined up. The more Scripture I read, and the more I prayed, the more I was led away from the comfort that had become my life.

When I joined the United Church of Christ, I promised myself that I would never compromise my beliefs again, I would preach what God placed on my heart, and it was not always easy. I know I have lost out on several positions because of my positions, but something else, something better has always come along. The UCC helped me to find my voice, and I cannot let that go.

There are going to be times when what I say shakes your beliefs to the very core, and there will be times when you find comfort. I think what is lacking in the Church today is the courage to say what needs to be said, regardless of the consequences. Jesus preached a consistent message of love, and that message cost him his life.

There are way too many of my colleagues who play it safe. Stay away from the difficult conversations. Sure, they might be loved by their congregations, but are they preaching God’s Word, or are they watering it down so it is palatable? I am not called to be Chaplain to the empire; I am called to be a holy disruption. God’s Word is meant to soothe, but it is also meant to flip over tables of injustice.

The Church of the 21st century does not need warriors armed for battle. The Church of the 21st century needs Prophets, Mystics, and people who will speak the truth regardless of the consequences. Church history is lined with people who were martyred by empire because they preached the love of Jesus and would not be silenced.

Backing down when opposition comes is cowardly and not Christian.

And where does this strength come from? From Paul writing to Timothy with one of his most powerful charges:

“Proclaim the message; be persistent whether the time is favorable or unfavorable.”

In other words: Don’t wait for the perfect moment. Don’t wait until people are ready to listen. Preach the truth, with grace, with humility, but with courage.

Because there will be seasons when the message is welcomed, and seasons when it’s not.

There will be times when people crave the gospel, and times when they turn to “itching ears,” preferring comfort over conviction.

But the call doesn’t change. We are to proclaim the Word in hospitals, classrooms, barracks, pulpits, nursing homes, living rooms, and anywhere hope needs to be spoken.

Faithfulness means speaking truth in love, even when it’s hard, even when it’s inconvenient, even when no one applauds, even when it costs you a position.

Paul goes on to say, “All Scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness.”

For Paul, Scripture isn’t a relic; it’s living, breathing, active. It shapes character, forms conscience, and guides decisions. Scripture needs to be looked at, re-examined, and used in our modern context; these are ancient stories with a contemporary, practical application, but we must look for it.

Paul does not see Scripture as a weapon or a rulebook. Paul sees Scripture as a source of transformation. The purpose isn’t to win arguments, it’s to become “equipped for every good work.”

It’s not about mastering the Bible; it’s about letting the Bible master us.

In a noisy world filled with slogans, soundbites, and endless opinions, the Word of God gives us something more profound, a steady truth that shapes how we live, how we love, and how we lead.

We do not bring about the Kingdom of God by force; we bring about the Kingdom of God by love. Jesus came into the world not to create an empire. If God wanted a Christian Nation, God would simply have created one.

When Jesus sent the disciples out to preach and teach, he was clear in his message. If they do not accept you or the Word, walk away. When the disciples asked if they should rain down fire on that town, Jesus was, once again, evident. He told them no. Just walk away.

We preach and teach and let the Word fall where it may. We do not force conversions; our ancestors in faith, the early missionaries, tried that, and they destroyed cultures. The desire to have a society rooted in God’s love where we care for each other and treat each other equally, regardless of belief, is fine. But, when our desire turns to a Christian Nation where we use the force of legislation and goons wearing masks, that is when the love of Jesus disappears and is replaced by something altogether different.

One of the lessons I learned, and one of the reasons I walked away from my first Church, was the discovery that one does not have to be a Christian, or even a believer, to be a good person. It is not the man Jesus that saves us or makes us good people; it is the Word, following the teachings, loving our neighbor, and wanting our neighbor to flourish as much as we do.

Empire tried to nail that truth to the cross, but the message of love transcends empire, and love won the day and continues to win the day.

At the end of the parable, Jesus asks a haunting question:

“When the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on earth?” Notice he said faith and not practice.

Not faith as belief in an idea, but faith as persistence, a lived, practiced, enduring trust.

Will he find people still praying for peace, even when war rages on?
Will he find people still working for justice, even when systems resist change?
Will he find people still believing in goodness, mercy, and love, even when the world grows cynical?

That’s the kind of faith Jesus is talking about, not flashy faith, not instant faith, but long faith. The faith that keeps coming back, day after day, to say, “God, I’m still here. I still believe.”

Paul’s words to Timothy are God’s words to us today:

Continue in what you’ve learned.
Stay rooted in Scripture.
Proclaim the message.
Be persistent.
Endure.
Finish the race.

The world needs people who won’t give up on truth, hope, and love, who will keep the faith, even when it’s hard.

So, brothers and sisters, whatever your calling, whether you preach, teach, serve, visit, or simply live as a witness, keep the faith.

And when your race is done, may you be able to say with Paul:

“I have fought the good fight,
I have finished the race,
I have kept the faith.”

Amen.

Luke 15:1-10

“I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.”

It seems I am in a bit of a quandary this morning. I believe the Church pastor has an obligation to respond to events that shape the dialogue in the public square, but at the same time, we are still getting to know each other, so I am not sure how far to go.

I cannot just ignore what has happened this past week, as that would be malpractice and a disservice to all of you. I have stood before congregations after far too many shootings, trying to make sense of it all, and I just cannot. The senseless taking of a life, any life, does not make any sense to me, and it will never make any sense to me.

So let me start with something I think we might all agree with: violence and the killing of another human being is wrong. Sure, stand up for what you believe, take to the streets in protest, shout down the opposition, write letters, make signs, do all of that, but the moment your protest turns to violence, you are a criminal and should be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Yes, there are mitigating circumstances, but those are few and far between.

I was not a fan of Charlie Kirk’s message, but I believe in the right for him to be able to say the things he said because that right is the same right that I have to stand here today and to say the things that I am saying. As far as I can tell, Mr. Kirk was a strong advocate for freedom of speech, and he was passionate about what he believed. I wish his message were different, but it was his message. He certainly did not deserve to be killed for it.

Now, a word to some of the others. It sickened me to see how some people were celebrating the death of Mr. Kirk. No one should be celebrating the death of another human being, no one. I do not care how heinous the person was; celebrating the death, especially a violent death of another human being, is antithetical to what it means to be a Christian.

Wednesday evening, I officiated a funeral for a gentleman who did not have a great relationship with his family. I do not know all the details, but sitting in the front row in the funeral home was his sister, and it reminded me that each of us has someone who loves us, maybe more than one, but each of us has someone who loves us and will miss us when we are gone.

Mr. Kirk was 31 years old with a wife and a family who loved him deeply. His children will now grow up without their father because someone disagreed with what he said. Senseless.

I am praying for Mr. Kirk’s family, but I am also praying for the family of the person who did this. Another family has been shattered by gun violence. Another person has been lost, not by death but by hate.

I am praying for all of us, for our country and our world, that we can find common ground and come together. Thursday, I participated in my town’s annual observance of 9/11. 2001 was my first year in seminary, so the events of that tragic day have been a part of my ministry. I remarked to someone after the ceremony that I wished we could come together like we did on 9/12, but I am afraid those days are gone. We can find common ground, not with those on the extreme, for there is no common ground with those on the extreme, but common ground does exist, and we need to find it again.

And my prayer is for the 37 other people who were killed by gun violence on Wednesday, the names of whom are only known to those who loved them. They will not have the flag lowered, they will not have a televised address from the president, they will not have the full resources of law enforcement to find their killers, but they are dead, and their families mourn them as they do all those killed before and all those killed since from gun violence. When will it be enough?

It has always amazed me how those who put the lectionary of readings together give us just what we need when we need it. When I looked at the readings for this week, I thanked God for teeing up my message so nicely. Paul’s letter to Timothy and the passage from Luke dovetail so well because it is about forgiveness and the love of God.

The passage from Luke begins by saying that Tax Collectors and sinners are gathered around. It amuses me that Tax Collectors are separated from other sinners as if they have their own status in the world of sinners. But I digress, a crowd gathered around Jesus, and some thought these were the wrong people for Jesus to be hanging with.

The Pharisees were grumbling. The Pharisees were always grumbling. We have Pharisees in the Church today, although not here, of course, but in general. Pharisees are the holy then thou people, the ones who believe they are better than most because of how much money they give to the Church, how long their families have belonged to the Church, where they sit, what committees they serve on, etc.

Actually, Pharisees do not serve on committees because if they did, they would have to be part of the solution rather than sitting on the sidelines grumbling about things. Anyway, we all know some Pharisees in our lives.

The Church folk were grumbling over who the pastor was spending time with, so Jesus tells a couple of stories. One is about going off after a sheep, and the other is about a woman who has lost a coin, and both are important.

One of my favorite sayings is, “You cannot understand leaving the 99 sheep behind while going off to find the one until you are the one.” Until something affects you, it does not bother you. Why should I be concerned about immigrants being rounded up and sent out of the country without a hearing? It does not affect me. Why should I be worried about the military patrolling the streets of LA or Washington, DC? I don’t live there. Why should I be concerned if this one or that one wants to silence their opponents? I am not being silenced, not yet.

Until we are the ones, it does not make sense.

In 1946, German Lutheran Pastor Martin Niemoller wrote a poem called “First they Came.”

First, they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—Because I was not a socialist.

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—Because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

Until you are the one, it does not make sense.

After Church last week, I was asked a question about love, especially as it relates to Jesus’ command to love everyone. Keep in mind that the Scriptures we read were not initially written in English. I know that may be a shock for some that Jesus did not speak English, but he didn’t.

Anyway, the Scriptures were written in Ancient Greek, and so we must rely on translations. In English, we have one word for love. So, we love our spouse with the same word as when we say, I love hamburgers. In Greek, there are no fewer than four words for love. At times, all these words are used, but the most common form, and the one used for loving your neighbor, is agape, or unconditional love. We love others because God loves others. And this love is what compels the shepherd to go after the one.

But the key phrase in the line is “as yourself.” We love others as we want to be loved. We treat others as we want to be treated. We go after the one because if we were the one, we would like others to go after us.

I said earlier that I supported the right for people to be able to say what they wanted because if I advocate for the limiting of speech because I don’t like the message, it is a short journey to someone wanting to silence me for my message they may not like. The one is as important as the 99.

Then comes the end of the story. “Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.’ Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.”

We are never lost to God. There is nothing we can do to separate us from the love of God. Paul writes in his letter to the Church in Rome:

“And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Nothing. Nothing can separate us. NOTHING!

The shepherd did not force the one sheep to leave; the one sheep wandered off. God does not cast us out. God does not smite. God does not send hurricanes and tornadoes to wipe out people. God goes after the one, you and me, and brings us back. We wander off, we separate ourselves, but God is always in hot pursuit trying to get us back.

Although I think we need to talk about sin, we cannot do that right now. Sin can be a dangerous word that has many definitions, so let’s just say, for argument’s sake, that we are all sinners and we all need repentance. At the end of the day, we can all do better, we can all be better. We may not be murderers, but we are all sinners, and we all need to repent and ask for forgiveness.

God forgives us whether we ask for it or not. Asking for forgiveness is an admission that we can and will do better. We ask forgiveness as an acknowledgement of what we have done and a promise that we will try to do better and be better.

But the giving of forgiveness is also essential. Just as we must love others, we must also forgive them. Forgiveness is not for the other person; forgiveness is for us. If we withhold forgiveness, we give power over a portion of our lives to another person. Withholding forgiveness can lead us to harbor hatred for the other person, which can ultimately damage us even more. Forgiveness frees us from all of that and gives us power back.

But, just like loving everyone does not mean we have to like them, forgiveness does not mean we have to forget what they did to us or how it made us feel. Again, forgiveness is for us, and maybe that forgiveness includes keeping them out of our lives forever.

Now, I know there may be some people in your life that you will never be able to forgive, and that is okay. The idea is that we are open to the possibility, no matter how slim that possibility may be.

Since the tragic killing of Mr. Kirk on Wednesday, some people have been asking how we can make things better, how we can stop this senseless nonsense. Some advocate listening, and I would agree; however, I cannot and will not listen to anyone who thinks some people are less than because of where they are from, the color of their skin, their political affiliation, their religious beliefs, their economic situation, their legal status, or who they happen to love. Not all opinions are valid, nor do I have to listen to them.

There is no common ground for me with white supremacists or nationalists.

So, we find the ones we can have common ground with, and we listen, we really listen. Sure, it may make our blood boil, but remember, their blood may be boiling because of us. I believe the Church can be the middle ground, a place of coming together, a place for conversation. We should be a place where discussion can happen and where we do not shy away from difficult subjects because they make us feel uncomfortable.

Collectively, we are the 99, and our job is to go and find the one and bring them home, and we do that by loving them, not calling them sinners, not telling them they are wrong, but by love. We love them because we were once the ones who were lost, and thankfully, someone loved us enough to come and find us.

Amen