Blog

The Redemption of Marjorie Taylor Greene

Posted on by Fr. Peter

Edit: I wrote this before Ms. Greene announced that she was resigning from Congress however, it still holds true that the toxic political language needs to stop.

These days, there isn’t much hope to be found in politics. Not that I need politics to find hope, but it would be nice to find something to grab on to occasionally. It seems everyone is sniping at everyone else, and most politicians are just interested in holding on to their jobs, and the political rhetoric has become toxic. But when all hope seems lost, a bright light begins to emerge, and that light is the Representative from Georgia.

Truth be told, Congresswoman Greene and I probably do not agree on much. She sees the world very differently from how I do, and she wants to take America in a direction I don’t. By her own admission, her speech has been toxic in the past. She has called other people some nasty names, has stood on the floor of the House of Representatives and booed President Biden, and all the rest. But recently, she has had a change of heart.

On Sunday, November 16th, Greene appeared on CNN’s State of the Union with Dana Bash. Ms. Greene said she was worried that her opposition had now turned some people against her and that it could escalate into violence. She was asked why she had not spoken out before, and she said, “I would like to say, humbly, I’m sorry for taking part in the toxic politics; it’s very bad for our country. It’s been something I’ve thought about a lot, especially since Charlie Kirk was assassinated.”

I give her a lot of credit for saying what she said, knowing the backlash that was sure to follow. I am starting to change my mind about her, but I am approaching with cautious optimism and will continue to watch how this all plays out. Words are easy, even words of apology, but actions speak loudly.

As a member of the clergy, I am all about forgiveness and reconciliation. Jesus was all about forgiveness and often spoke about it. “Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?” Jesus answered, “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.” (Matthew 18:21-22 NIV) That’s a lot of forgiveness.

But any confession must be followed by a sincere desire to change one’s life and to start down a new road. These days, apologies seem to come easy; real change of heart and change of life come hard, but that is what counts. I am not referring to policy here but rather to how political rhetoric is used in talking about those policies.

As much as I am a sceptic, I also like to see the good in people. As a person of faith, I believe that everyone has good in them, and sometimes they need a little encouragement to bring that good forward. We all get caught up in drama, and at times we have all done things we wish we hadn’t. All that is needed for a person to move from bad to good is a little encouragement and a show of support.

Earlier this month, Ms. Greene stunned many when she appeared on The View. After watching the segment, I believe the show’s hosts were as stunned as the rest of the world. She came across as a person of contrition, seeking a way out of the abyss and looking for redemption.

We can all be skeptical of politicians and why they do what they do, but I hope that what Ms. Greene wants is a valid path of redemption and reconciliation. She has taken the first step; she has admitted there is a problem. I do not want to second-guess what brought her here; I want to celebrate that she is here.

The words of the hymn Amazing Grace fit best: “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now I’m found, was blind, but now I see.”

I desperately want to believe that her confession is true, that she is now on the road to redemption. I am sure she has calculated the fallout; she is a politician after all and has decided that she would rather be on the right side of this. I give her a lot of credit for taking this step and vow to help her any way I can to stay on this path.

We are quick to cast off those with whom we disagree, and I did that with Ms. Greene. We may never agree on policy, but I will agree with her that the toxic rhetoric must end.

Bravo, Marjorie, for taking the first step. I will be watching and cheering you on from the sidelines as you continue.

Blog

Tips for Navigating the Holidays While Grieving

Posted on by Fr. Peter

The holiday season can be a time of joyous memories, but for many of us, it can also be a time of immense grief and sadness. Here are a few tips to help you navigate the holidays ahead and find joy even in your sad moments.

1. Permit Yourself to Feel What You Feel

You don’t have to be “festive.” It is okay to be sad after all, you have had a loss. Let go of the expectations you have about yourself and, more importantly, the expectations others have of you. Grief comes in waves, and you need to allow yourself the space for it to happen rather than resisting it.

2. Adjust Traditions Instead of Erasing Them

We all have holiday traditions, and traditions can be wonderful. Just because the person is no longer with us does not mean we have to throw out those traditions. If you find comfort in a particular tradition, keep it. If it makes you sad, pause it for a year or tweak it a little. You can always start a new tradition that honors the ones you have lost. Remember, if you do something twice, it is a tradition.

3. Set Boundaries with People and Events

Boundaries are essential in all aspects of life, but they are vital when we are grieving. You do not have to attend every gathering you have been invited to. Give yourself permission to say no and skip that party this year. If you do go, you can leave early if needed.

4. Plan for the Hard Moments

One thing is sure: there will be challenging moments, so plan for them. Identify the days or the gatherings that may be difficult. Have a backup plan, take a quiet walk, and find a supportive friend who can be with you. If prayer and meditation are your thing, find some quiet time and just be. Most of the time, the anticipation of the day is worse than the day itself, so prepare, but do not overprepare.

5. Accept Help — Practical and Emotional

Asking for and accepting help can be very difficult for people, especially if you are the one who is always helping. You do not have to do it all. If you hosted the family gathering in the past, ask someone else to do it this year. Allow others to do some of the heavy lifting for you. You do not have to be strong for everyone! Resist the desire to be alone; isolation is not a good idea, as we tend to get lost in our own thoughts. Staying connected eases the heaviness of grief.

6. Create Space to Remember

Remembering is a good thing. Keeping the memories alive helps to keep our loved ones alive in our thoughts. Share stories, look through old photos, and reminisce. But, if it is too painful, skip it. If it feels right, set a place at the table or place your loved one’s photo on it. Acknowledge the loss, acknowledge the person; they are still with us, just not in physical form.

7. Care for Your Body and Nervous System

Holidays can be difficult under the best of circumstances, and when we add the fact that we are grieving, it can be a recipe for disaster. Take care of your physical needs, stay hydrated, eat right, and get some sleep. Grief is physically exhausting. Stretch, do some yoga, take a short walk, do things that bring you peace, and listen to what your body is telling you.

8. Seek Moments of Comfort, Not Joy

Although we call this the season of joy, that might be too much to ask for, especially if the loss is recent. Rather than looking for joy, find what brings you comfort. Look for those comforting moments, a nice cup of tea, soft music, and time with a pet. Joy does not need to be forced. Finding those moments of peace is enough.

9. Name Your Needs to Someone You Trust

Let people know what you need. Ask for help when you need it. Find a trusted friend or family member and let them know if you need them to check in on you. Be honest and let people know if you are struggling. People often want to help, but they don’t know what you need. If we are sincere and share our needs, people will help.

10. Consider Ritual or Spiritual Practices

We are people of ritual, prayer, lighting candles, journaling, reading Scripture, or attending a simple service can provide grounding. It does not have to be formal or involve many people. Take some time and find a ritual that works for you. Spiritual connection can offer a sense of companionship in grief.

11. Seek Support if You Feel Overwhelmed

The critical thing to remember in all of this is you don’t have to carry this alone. Find a counselor, chaplain, or grief group that can offer tools and presence. Don’t wait until it is too much; start now, find a group, or start a group. Sharing with others going through loss can be very therapeutic.

Blog

By your endurance you will save your souls

Posted on by Fr. Peter

“Beware that you are not led astray; for many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and ‘The time is near!’ Do not go after them.”

An emergency-room nurse was working in the hospital during the worst months of the pandemic. Every day she walked into a place filled with uncertainty, short-staffed shifts, overwhelmed patients, grieving families, and a constant sense that the normal world had fallen apart.

One night, after a grueling 14-hour shift, she stood in the parking lot with a coworker who said, “I don’t know how you keep doing this. Aren’t you terrified?”

The other nurse paused for a long moment before answering:

“I am scared. Every shift. But fear isn’t the only voice. There’s another voice that says: You’re here for a reason. Someone needs you today. Show up one more time.”

This nurse wasn’t heroic in a Hollywood sense. She didn’t feel brave. But she showed up, one day at a time, one patient at a time, steady, faithful, enduring.

Later, she said something deeply spiritual without ever intending to preach:

“Not every day was a miracle. Most days were just… endurance. But I learned that if you keep showing up, grace keeps showing up too.”

Today’s gospel passage from Luke is about endurance. This story is about the long haul and that our spiritual journey is not a sprint but rather a marathon. Each day, we must pick up our cross, whatever that may be, and keep moving forward.

As the disciples walk with Jesus near the Temple, they cannot help but be impressed. The building glowed with white marble, gilded with gold, surrounded by enormous stones, some weighing more than 100 tons. It was the center of religious life, national identity, and spiritual pride. It was, in the eyes of the people, one thing that could not fall. It defined their stability.

A modern equivalent would be the Washington National Cathedral in Washington, DC. DC is filled with significant, large buildings made of marble and stone, but towering above them is the Washington National Cathedral. It is the second-largest church building in the United States; the largest is St. John the Divine in New York City, and it is the third-tallest building in DC. The sanctuary of the Church is so large that you could lay the Washington Monument on its side in the center aisle and still not touch the ends.

A few years ago, I had the privilege of participating in a service at the cathedral. I was awestruck by the size of the place. President Theodore Roosevelt was present at the laying of the cornerstone in 1907, and George H.W. Bush was present, 83 years later, when the final stone was laid in 1990. And I thought our 10-month home renovation took forever!

When I hear descriptions of the Temple in Jerusalem, this is the Church I think about.

Standing there with his disciples, looking at the Temple, the place they believe God lives, Jesus says, “Not one stone will be left upon another,” He is not just talking about architecture. He is talking about everything we assume will last forever. Everything that seems immovable. Everything we use to keep fear at bay.

The disciples ask, “When will this be?” They want certainty. A timeline. A sense of control. And Jesus does not give it; instead, Jesus teaches them how to live when the world feels like it is coming apart.

His words are sobering wars and insurrections. Nation rising against nation. Earthquakes, famines, plagues. Even betrayal and persecution. Fear, uncertainty, chaos

Jesus names the truth: this world is not as stable as we imagine. The stones fall. The institutions collapse. The norm we cling to does not stay normal forever.

But Jesus does not leave His disciples, nor us, in fear. In fact, He does something remarkable. He reframes these crises not as signs of God’s absence, but as opportunities for God’s faithful witness.

Jesus is not telling His people to deny reality. He is not saying “don’t worry, nothing bad will happen.” In fact, He promises that hard things will come. But He also promises this: God’s presence is not dependent on worldly stability.

When the disciples feel fear rising, Jesus says, “Do not be terrified.” Not because we are strong, but because God is.

Fear shrinks our vision. Fear makes us cling to old stones. Fear turns us against one another. Fear causes us to act irrationally. Fear causes retreat into our own little world. Fear tries to convince us that the world’s chaos is more potent than God’s promise. But Jesus says, ‘Lift your eyes.’ The world may tremble, but God does not.

Then Jesus says, “This will give you an opportunity to testify.”

What an extraordinary thing for Jesus to say. When the world falters, the Church is not called to panic. The Church is not called to retreat into our sanctuaries. The Church is not called to hate others. When chaos surrounds us, the Church is called to bear a bold witness.

And not witness through strength, through legislation and nationalism, but through hope. Not through certainty, but through trust. Not through easy answers, but through steadfast love.

Christians across history have found that moments of instability often reveal the most profound truths: When everything else is stripped away, what remains? When the familiar foundations crack, what truly holds us up? When fear rises, what voice do we follow?

Jesus promises His disciples that when they face trials, He Himself will give them “words and wisdom.” The presence of Christ is not a doctrine; it is a lived reality. At the moment they feel most alone, Christ will speak through them.

A few years ago, I fell and broke my ankle and needed surgery. I had never had surgery, and I had only broken one bone before this. In fact, up to that time, I had only had stitches once in my life. Needless to say, I was a bit nervous about what was going to happen.

I trusted the surgical team that they knew what they were doing, but when the nurse came and wheeled me in, I panicked. I was short of breath and could not control myself. I was in unfamiliar territory and was no longer in control.

As I lay there in the bed, I was trying to calm myself when one of the nurses noticed I was a bit agitated. He came over and asked if I was okay, then he put his hand on my foot, looked me in the eye, and told me to close my eyes and take some deep breaths.

Before I knew it, I was calm. When I opened my eyes, he was gone, and I never saw him again. I was able to pray, not that God would heal my ankle so I could avoid surgery, although that would have been nice, I prayed for the surgical team and for me.

That nurse, that prayer, and the wonderful dose of Haldol I received helped me get through my ordeal. But I felt God’s presence with me at that moment, when I was most fearful; God was there.

Then Jesus says, “By your endurance you will gain your souls.”

Endurance, in Scripture, is not passive. It is not gritting our teeth or waiting for the storm to pass. Faith is not passive. Faith requires us to do something.

Endurance means faithfulness over time. It means holding onto Christ, even when the world around us is shifting. It means refusing to let fear rewrite the story of our lives.

The endurance Jesus speaks of is the slow, steady trust that God is still God, even now. That love is still stronger than hate. That mercy still has power. That hope still matters.

This is not the endurance of heroes; it is the endurance of people who know they are held and loved by God.

Like the disciples, the ER nurse I spoke about lived in a time when the “stones” of normal life had fallen. She didn’t get certainty, control, or a clear timeline.

But she discovered the very thing Jesus promises: Fear is real, but we don’t have to be ruled by it. Difficult times are opportunities to bear witness through compassion. Endurance, faithful showing up, often reveals God’s presence most clearly.

Her story reminds us that endurance isn’t glamorous; it’s faithful presence. And as Jesus says, “By your endurance you will gain your souls.”

I know I don’t have to tell you this, but we live in a world that feels unstable. I cannot remember a time when I daily felt the sands under my feet shifting.

The news can feel like an echo of Luke 21. Conflict. Division. Uncertainty. Anxiety. Cultural shifts that shake our assumptions. Personal losses that feel like the falling of stones we thought would always stand.

Jesus’ message is not, “These things will never happen,” but rather: “You are not alone when they do.”

When our world shakes, Christ remains the solid ground. When fear rises, Christ speaks peace. When persecution, betrayal, or hardship come, Christ gives us wisdom. When the future is uncertain, Christ anchors our souls.

The Gospel is not that God prevents all trials. The Gospel is that God transforms them. The Gospel is not that the stones will always stand. The Gospel is that even when they fall, Christ remains. The Gospel is not that our lives will be free from struggle. The Gospel is that nothing, not even struggle, can separate us from the love of God.

Paul, writing to the Church in Rome, says, “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Can separate us from God’s love!

Jesus does not promise an easy path. But He promises a faithful one. He does not promise the world will stand firm. He promises He will. He does not promise we will avoid difficulty. He promises we will not face it alone.

One of my favorite church songs is “Be not afraid.”

If you pass through raging waters in the sea, you shall not drown.

If you walk amid the burning flames, you shall not be harmed.

If you stand before the pow’r of hell and death is at your side, know that I am with you through it all.

Be not afraid. I go before you always. Come, follow me, and I will give you rest. Amen.

Blog

The Blessing of Being God’s People

Posted on by Fr. Peter

“But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep. Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets.”

Today, we gather to remember the saints, not only the great and shining examples whose names like Peter and Paul, but also those whose names are carved into our hearts. We remember parents and grandparents, teachers and mentors, friends and fellow church members, ordinary people through whom we caught a glimpse of God’s love.

All Saints’ Day is not just a day for remembering those who have gone before us; it’s a day to remember who we are, the saints of God, here and now.

When Jesus speaks in Luke 6, he’s not describing some far-off heavenly ideal. He’s describing the life of the kingdom, the life of the saints, living right here on earth. This passage also appears in Matthew’s Gospel and is called the Sermon on the Mount or the Beatitudes.

Jesus begins, “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.”

That’s not how most of us would define “blessed.” We usually associate blessings with comfort, security, and success. But Jesus turns the world upside down, or maybe right side up. He blesses those the world overlooks: the poor, the hungry, the weeping, the hated.

Why? Because these are the people who are open to God’s grace. They have learned to depend on something beyond themselves. They know that true blessing isn’t about wealth or power, but about being known and loved by God.

The saints we remember today lived in that kind of trust. Some faced suffering, poverty, or loss. Some gave themselves away in service. Some simply lived quiet, faithful lives of love and compassion. In their weakness, God’s strength was made visible.

To be a saint is not to be perfect; it is to be blessed in dependence on God and to be of service to others.

Then Jesus gives a warning: “Woe to you who are rich… full… laughing… when all speak well of you.”

Jesus isn’t condemning joy or prosperity; he’s warning us against the illusion that those things can satisfy the deepest hunger of the soul.

The saints teach us that the values of God’s kingdom often stand in sharp contrast to the values of the world. While the world says, “Look out for yourself,” Jesus says, “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you.” While the world says, “Get even,” Jesus says, “Turn the other cheek.”

In the kingdom of God, greatness is found in service, wealth is measured in generosity, and joy comes through compassion.

As you may be aware, SNAP benefits ended yesterday. Unless something changes, 41 million Americans will be left without food assistance. Forty-one million of our neighbors will go hungry. I am not pointing a finger of blame, but rather, I am asking: how did we let this happen?

Before we rise to judgment about one side or the other, those 41 million are the least of these: elderly, veterans, active-duty military, single parents, and children. Most of the 41 million work or receive other income, but not enough to make ends meet.

Wal-Mart is the largest employer of people who receive SNAP benefits. It has been estimated that 25% of Walmart’s workforce receives SNAP benefits. By the way, Wal-Mart is also the top retailer that benefits from those very same SNAP benefits.

Let’s take a quick look at some numbers. The average Walmart employee in Massachusetts makes between $15 and $17 an hour, which works out to $31,200 on the low end and $ 35,360 on the high end, before taxes and any other deductions. According to Data from the MIT Living Wage Calculator, a household in Massachusetts with one working adult and two children needs an hourly rate of $51.04 just to cover basic needs, food, clothing, housing, and medical expenses.

There is a lot wrong with the system, but the 41 million Americans worrying about how they will feed their families is not one of them.

For more perspective, the Walton family, which owns Walmart, is the wealthiest family in the world. Combined, their wealth equals $432.4 billion, that’s billion with a “B,” and they amassed that fortune in part because they pay their workers below the poverty level, while at the same time reaping benefits from tax breaks and 25% of SNAP shoppers.

This is precisely what Jesus was talking about! The problem is not the single mother or the elderly lady down the street who receives SNAP; the problem is the inequity of the system that created the gulf that now requires 41 million of its citizens to rely on benefits just to buy food. Why is there not more outrage about that?

Someone recently asked me why I take all this so personally. I take it personally because it is a personal matter. I know many, many hard-working people who are just trying to survive, and they are vilified by some politicians and used as props by others. I take it personally because my Lord and Savior fed people; he did not vilify them and use them as props. He did not check their papers to see if they were worthy; he just rolled up his sleeves and fed people because they were hungry.

A few weeks ago, I used the illustration of pulling people out of the water. We pull people out of the water because that is the easy part. Asking why they are falling in the first place is hard.

Archbishop Hélder Câmara served as an Archbishop in Brazil during the brutal Military Dictatorship from 1964 to 1985. He was called the Archbishop of the Slums. One of his most famous quotes is, “When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a communist.” Archbishop Câmara has been declared a “Servant of God” by the Roman Catholic Church, a significant step in the formal process of his canonization as a saint.

That’s what holiness looks like, not otherworldly perfection, but everyday acts of mercy and love that reveal God’s presence in the world.

The problem is we are so divided that we cannot even agree that feeding hungry people is the right thing to do.

A pastor shared an experience that occurred in her congregation shortly after a particularly tense election season.

Like many churches, some members had voted very differently, and people weren’t just disagreeing; they were avoiding one another. Families who used to sit side by side in the pews were seated on opposite sides of the sanctuary.

So, one Sunday, during the passing of the peace, the pastor paused and said:

“Today, I invite you to do something brave. When you share the peace of Christ, cross the aisle. Go to someone you know you disagree with, politically, socially, whatever it may be, and remind them that Christ’s peace is bigger than your differences.”

At first, there was silence. Then, slowly, people began to move. One man, wearing a veteran’s hat, walked toward a young activist who had marched in protests he didn’t support. They hesitated, then hugged. Across the sanctuary, two women who hadn’t spoken in months smiled through tears.

That day, something holy happened, not because anyone changed their opinion, but because they remembered who they were.

They remembered that before they were Republican or Democrat, conservative or progressive, they were children of God.

That’s what Jesus is talking about in Luke 6. “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you.” He’s not telling us to agree on everything; he’s calling us to a higher loyalty, the loyalty of love.

The saints we remember today weren’t people who escaped the divisions of their time; they were people who lived differently within them. They loved across boundaries. They built peace amidst conflict. They refused to let fear or anger define their faith.

In a world that rewards outrage, the saints practice compassion.

In a culture of revenge, the saints practice mercy.

In a political climate where winning seems more important than loving, the saints remember that Christ’s kingdom doesn’t fly any flag but the cross.

So maybe being a saint today means crossing the aisle of the heart, to see the image of God in someone we’ve been told to despise. And maybe, just maybe, it means giving a sandwich to someone who is hungry.

That’s the kind of holiness that changes the world.

In a few moments, we will read the names of those who have died. As we do, remember that the line between the living and the dead is thinner than we think. The ancients believed that the veil separating our world from theirs was very thin this time of year.

We are surrounded by “a great cloud of witnesses.” Their faith strengthens ours. Their prayers mingle with ours. And together, they and we, form one communion of saints, one body in Christ.

When we live as Jesus calls us to live in Luke 6, we join that communion not only in memory, but in mission. We become part of God’s living blessing in the world.

All Saints’ Day is not a museum of spiritual heroes. It’s a roll call; it is a reminder that our names belong on that list, too.

You may never have a feast day or a statue dedicated to you. But when you forgive someone who’s wronged you, when you feed someone who’s hungry, when you speak kindness into a cruel world, you are living as a saint.

The saints of old changed the world not by wielding power, but by embodying love.

The saints of today, maybe the ones sitting right here, will do the same when we take Jesus’ words seriously: “Do to others as you would have them do to you.”

That’s the true power of the saints: turning blessings into justice and faith into love.

So, as we remember those who have gone before, may we also hear Jesus’ words to us:

“Blessed are you…”
“Love your enemies…”
“Do to others as you would have them do to you.”

These are not commands for the few; they are the path for us all.

May we walk it together, surrounded by the saints who cheer us on, until we join them in that great company of love that never ends.

Amen.

Blog

Becoming a Holy Disruption

Posted on by Fr. Peter

“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.

Blog

The one who returned

Posted on by Fr. Peter

Luke 17:11–19

“Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?” Then he said to him, “Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.”

A few years ago, a community center in a small town began welcoming refugees who had fled war and persecution.

At first, many of the newcomers were invisible to the town. People passed them in the grocery store or on the street, but few spoke. Some assumed they didn’t understand, others were afraid, and a few simply didn’t know what to say.

Then a volunteer, a retired teacher named Maria, started taking a different approach. She remembered their names — not just “the family from Syria” or “the boys from Afghanistan,” but their names: Amir, Leila, Hassan. She asked about their favorite foods, their hopes for school, and their hobbies. She listened, and she remembered.

One afternoon, Amir, a quiet 12-year-old, approached her. His eyes were bright, and he whispered, “Thank you… no one has ever asked me who I am before.”

For the first time, he felt seen, not as a refugee, not as a statistic, not as someone to pity, but as a person. And in that simple act of recognition, trust and belonging began to grow. Families who had been invisible in their new community began to participate, to laugh, and to share their gifts with others.

On His way to Jerusalem, on the road that would eventually lead to the cross, Jesus passes through a borderland, a place “between Samaria and Galilee.”

That small detail tells us a lot. Jesus is walking the in-between places, not fully in one region or another, but on the edges where boundaries blur.

It’s there, in that borderland, that ten lepers cry out, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!”

They keep their distance, as the law requires. Their disease has pushed them to the margins of society. But even from afar, they recognize something in Him, maybe hope, maybe power, maybe compassion.

And Jesus sees them. That’s where the miracle begins, not when they’re healed, but when they’re seen.

We live in a world full of invisible people: the overlooked, the forgotten, the ones the world would rather not notice.

One of the policies of slavery is to remove humanity from the enslaved. They are reduced to beings and not humans. Jews in the concentration camps were given numbers, tattooed on their arms rather than their names. Prisoners are given numbers on their uniforms rather than their names. The economically oppressed are referred to as “the poor” and not as humans. The unhoused, addicts, the mentally ill, minorities, and refugees are all given classifications rather than names.

My daughter is a fan of the movie Wicked. On the way to school, we often listen to the soundtrack, and I have become quite familiar with the songs. What I have learned is that very frequently, buried inside the song is a lesson.

The Wicked Witch is different from everyone else; she is green. She is taunted, made fun of, and excluded. In the original Wizard of Oz, we do not even know her name; she is simply the Wicked Witch. We have no sympathy for her; she was bad, and she deserved that house falling on her.

But in Wicked, she has a name, Elphaba. She has hopes and dreams, but the others taunt her.

In one song, “No one Mourns the Wicked,” Glinda, the good witch, asks if people are born wicked or if they have wickedness thrust upon them. She says after all, she had a mother and a father…”

No one is born wicked. No one is born hating others. No one is born wanting to kill people just because they are different or we disagree. No, hatred, wickedness, supremacy, exclusion, these are all learned traits; we are all victims of our environment.

If we remove humanity, and what is more basic than someone’s name, we start to believe they are not human, allowing us to do what we wish with them and to them. We can deny them the rights we have because, well, those are human rights, and “these” are not human.

Often, they are called animals and treated as such. We strip away their dignity. Provide only what is needed to keep them alive. House them in warehouses and keep their families away. We put them in cages just like we do with animals at the zoo.

And then we look away. We all do it. None of us wants to face the reality of how ur fellow human beings, created in the image and likeness of God, are treated.

But Jesus always sees the lepers, the blind, the beggars, the child.

And when He sees, He restores dignity. He gives them back a face, a name, a place.

Healing begins not just when the body is restored, but when someone feels seen, valued, and loved.

That’s why ministry, your ministry, our ministry, always begins with attention. To truly see another person is to honor the image of God in them.

Jesus tells the ten, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.”

I want you to notice something: Jesus doesn’t heal them first. He sends them on their way, and as they went, they were made clean.

Their healing happens on the journey.

Sometimes faith looks exactly like that, walking forward even before we see the outcome. Trusting that God is already at work while we’re still in motion.

Many of us want assurance before we take the first step. But often, the assurance comes after we’ve obeyed. Faith isn’t standing still waiting for proof; it’s taking the next step because we believe in the One who sends us.

Yesterday, I had the honor of ordaining one of my fellow fire chaplains to the ministry. In the sermon I preached, I told him, “But remember this: the same Spirit who called you today will walk beside you every step of the way. I also told him, “The One who calls you is faithful and will not leave you alone.”

Again, I want you to notice something. Of the ten healed, only one turns back to give thanks, and he’s a Samaritan.

The Jews despise Samaritans; they are different, they are enemies, they are foreigners, religious outsiders, and the least expected to come back.

He falls at Jesus’ feet, praising God in a loud voice.

And Jesus says, “Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they?”

Let’s be clear about something: Jesus doesn’t revoke the healing of the nine. Jesus does not berate them and require them to come and show gratitude. Their bodies are still restored. But this one, the grateful one, receives something more. Jesus says to him,

“Your faith has made you well.”

Or more literally, “Your faith has saved you.”

The nine received physical healing.

The one who returned found wholeness. And in this one action, this healing of the cast-off Jesus is saying that we are to love everyone without exception. We love and honor their humanity because when we do, we honor our own humanity, and we do not let wickedness overcome us.

Gratitude doesn’t just say “thank you,” it deepens our relationship with the giver.

The Samaritan’s healing becomes complete because he returns to the source, to the heart of grace, and gives glory to God.

Gratitude transforms healing into wholeness and blessing into relationship.

In a culture that often prizes self-sufficiency, this story reminds us that gratitude keeps us grounded in grace. Everything we have, our breath, our health, our relationships, our calling, is a gift.

And when we live in gratitude, we become more aware of the presence of God that surrounds us in every ordinary moment.

So, what does this mean for us?

It means that our worship, our service, our giving, all of it, is a returning.

When we come to church, we’re turning back, like that Samaritan, to say, “Thank you, Lord.”

When we care for the hurting, we’re turning back to say, “Thank you for your mercy.”

When we sing, when we pray, when we serve, we are responding in gratitude for what Christ has already done.

We are the ones who have been seen, cleansed, restored, and loved beyond measure.

The story ends with Jesus and the grateful leper face-to-face, one Samaritan, one Savior, two hearts joined by gratitude and grace.

So today, may we be like that one.

May we never take for granted what God has done for us.

May we walk in faith even before the healing is complete.

May we always see the other as a human, loved by God, and treat them that way.

And when mercy finds us, as it surely will, may we turn back, fall at the feet of Jesus, and live lives that say, “Thank you.”

For gratitude is not only the response to grace, it is the way we stay close to the One who gave it.

Amen

Blog

Do This

Posted on by Fr. Peter

1 Corinthians 12:12–27
John 17:21–23

“Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it.”

On July 4, 2004, I knelt at the altar in Sts Constantine and Helen Cathedral in Chicago and was ordained to the Priesthood in God’s Church. As the youngest priest, I took my place on the right side of the bishop who had just ordained me and participated in the consecration of the bread and wine that would be used for Communion for the first time.

At one point in the service, the bishop turned to me and asked me to hold out my hands. As I did, he placed a portion of the consecrated bread in my hands, saying, “Take this and guard it until it is needed.” I was then led around to the backside of the altar, bread in hand, where I waited until the bishop came to retrieve me.

Standing there in the silence, looking down at what was in my hands, I had a sense of warmth surrounding me. I was concentrating on the words of Jesus at the Last Supper, the first Communion, when he said, “Do this.” That was more than twenty years ago, and I am still pondering those words, “do this.”

Today is World Communion Sunday, so I thought this would be a good opportunity to discuss the Sacrament of Communion.

Our most basic understanding of Communion comes from the Last Supper. There they were all gathered for one last time. Jesus had called them together from all walks of life. They were fishermen, tax collectors, beggars, young, old, short, fat; you name it, they were there. They had been together for three years. They had walked thousands of miles, healed the sick, fed the hungry, clothed the naked, enabled the blind to see, the lame to walk, and even raised a man from the dead. No one was ever excluded from what they were doing. They showed love and compassion to all, equally, and without condition.

But here they are, those closest to him, gathered in a rented room on the second floor of a house, having one last meal together. Seated with Jesus at this table is the one who would deny him three times. Also, sitting at this table with him is the one who will betray him and turn Jesus over to the authorities, who will eventually kill him. Jesus knows all this, yet there they are, all seated together.

He takes ordinary bread in his hands, holds it up, and asks God to bless it. Jesus then breaks this bread into pieces and passes it around so that everyone might have some. As he gives this bread, made from the elements of the earth, around the table, he tells them that this bread is his body that will be broken and shared for all.

Then he takes a cup, a simple cup, perhaps one that he had been drinking from during the meal. Jesus fills it with wine and again holds it up in the air towards the heavens, asking God to bless it. As Jesus passes this cup around the table, he tells those present that what is in this cup is his blood that will be poured out for all, why, for the forgiveness of sins.

From St. Paul’s Letter to the Corinthians, we understand that Jesus said, “Do this in remembrance of me.” But what is this that we are supposed to do?

There are many theories about what takes place during the Lord’s Supper. Hundreds of thousands of hours have been spent discussing what happens. Does it become the actual body and blood of Christ? Is Jesus really present in these elements? Is this just a memorial of what was done during that Last Supper? I am not sure if there is an answer or if one is needed. I just know that something special happens during that sacred moment.

So important was this time that the Reformers singled out Communion, along with baptism, as one of two sacraments. Just as a reminder, a sacrament is defined as “the outward sign of an inward grace and the means by which we receive it.” There is a grace given to us by God when we take this bread and this cup into our bodies. We are literally welcoming Jesus into our very existence.

There is a saying in Celtic theology and spirituality that heaven and earth are only three feet apart, but there are thin places where that distance is even closer. There are those places or times in life when we close that gap between our existences here on earth and heaven. I believe when we celebrate Communion, we are in one of those thin places. Spiritually, it is as if heaven itself comes down and meets us, and we are transported to another plane of existence for the briefest of moments. This celebration of Communion becomes a sacred space where something spiritually extraordinary happens.

But we still have not answered the question of what the “this” is in the command to “do this in remembrance of me.” Again, theologians have been trying to answer this question, and there are many theories about the bread and cup, but I think it transcends a simple meal and is again related to the concept of the thin places.

Let’s go back and look at who was at that table: those closest to Jesus, those He had called to “follow him” and work alongside Him in His ministry. Those gathered with Jesus were simple people, with little to no formal education, but with a desire to seek and find. Again, sitting around that table was the one who would deny him and the one who would betray him. There were those on both ends of the political spectrum and those in the middle. Young and old represented at this table, I also believe, the Da Vinci painting notwithstanding, that there were some women there as well. Surely his mother would have been there, and some of the others who followed him. The bottom line is that no one was excluded from that table. So, perhaps “do this” means not excluding anyone.

But what about the action of breaking and sharing of the bread and cup? Jesus says that the bread represents His body, and the contents of the cup represent His blood. Does this mean we are to perform human sacrifice? I do not believe so. Or does it mean that we are to sacrifice everything for others, for those in need, for those on the margins, and those in horrible places? Does it mean that we should share all that we have with everyone, including our very lives? I think we’re getting closer here.

I am often asked about my theology of the Communion. The questions usually focus on what I thought happened during Communion.  My answer is usually something along the lines of ‘it does not matter what happens at the table, what matters is what happens after the table.’ In other words, I am not concerned about whether a change takes place here, among the bread and the juice we have laid out for the celebration today; I am concerned about the change that takes place in you and me. The miracle, if you will, is not in some magic words prayed over bread and wine; the magic, the transformative power of the Holy Spirit, is the miracle when it changes us.

Our focus should not be on what happens here but instead on what it was that Jesus was asking us to do.  I believe he was asking us to repeat what he did in that upper room on his last night with his Apostles, but I also think he was asking us to “Do” more.

In what we call the “Words of Institution” that you will hear later in this service, Jesus speaks about a covenant, a new covenant, a covenant in his blood.

Jesus is saying something like: “This cup is the new covenant, and it cost my blood.”

A covenant relationship is one entered into by two or more people. The old relationship between God and the people was based on the law; there was a condition that the law had to be kept. With Jesus, the new covenant is based on love and is not dependent on keeping the law; it is founded on the free grace of God’s love, offered to all.

However, this new covenant goes much deeper than that, as it is accompanied by the “Do This…” directive.  So, what then is this “Do this?”

As followers of Jesus, we believe that we are to imitate his life as best we can in our daily lives. We believe that the bible has been given to us not as a science or history book, but as a guide for how we should live. My personal belief is that this should not be taken literally, but rather left to us as an example of what we should strive to do.

Jesus comes as the fulfillment of the law; no longer are we bound to obey the letter of the law. Now, we have the Spirit of the Law that guides us. We are to do what Jesus did, and that is our imitation.

Jesus cared for the least among them and frequently spoke about it. He does not seek power; in fact, the only time he “hangs out” with the powerful is when he is standing before Pilate before his crucifixion.  He was born humbly in a small town in the Roman Empire and had to flee to another country to save his life. He ministered to the marginalized, not to the powerful.

Jesus was found with the less desirable of the population: prostitutes, tax collectors, beggars, lepers, women, Samaritans, and all the rest. He was reaching out to and ministering to people who had no place in the temple, they had no seat at the table, and no one was listening to them. He healed the sick, pardoned those that humanity had cast out, and, in the end, it cost him his life. Make no mistake about it, Jesus was killed by the powerful because he threatened their way of life. Sure, he went willingly to the Cross, but it was those in power who murdered him.

The power of the image of the Last Supper is that they were all together—all of them, not just the “right” ones but all of them. Communion, or the act of sharing in this Sacrament, is supposed to bring people together. We are not supposed to set up artificial barriers and say who is and who is not worthy; that is not our job.

Paul, in the reading we heard this morning, wrote about unity despite our differences. One of the reasons I am no longer part of this Church that ordained me is because of closed Communion. This idea that you had to belong to the club, say the right words, be the right sort of person, etc., to be worthy of approaching and sharing this meal. I argue that it is the meal itself that makes us deserving of these simple elements on this table and provides what is necessary for us to “do this.” “Do this” is not what we do in here. “Do this” is what we do out there!

But for me, the “do this” is summed up best in the Gospel of Matthew:

“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’.'” (Matthew 25:37-40)

Who are we to minister to?  The least of these. Who do we care for? The least of these. Who are we to consider our neighbors? The least of these.

Francis of Assisi is often quoted as saying, “Preach the gospel every day, sometimes use words.” A person’s faith is not contained in a book; a person’s faith is held in dogma; a person’s faith is not even contained in bread and wine. A person’s faith is contained in how they treat the least of these.

Do have concern for the least of these. Do have concern for the poor and needy. Do have concern for the stranger among us. Do have concern for those who look different than us. Do have concern for the widows and orphans. Do have concern for those affected by storms, physical, mental, and natural. Do have concern for those affected by war. Do have concern for those yearning to have the same rights that you and I have. Do be concerned that we are not holding people to the letter of the law when we should be showing the spirit of the law. Do be concerned with and love your neighbor;

Your homeless neighbor

Your Muslim neighbor

Your black neighbor

Your gay neighbor

Your white neighbor

Your Jewish neighbor

Your Christian neighbor

Your Atheist neighbor

Your racist neighbor

Your addicted neighbor

Why? Because Jesus said, “Do This” in remembrance of me!

Blog

God’s Joy Over the Lost

Posted on by Fr. Peter

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

Blog

Counting the Cost

Posted on by Fr. Peter

Luke 14:25–33

“Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even life itself—cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.”

It is so good to finally be here with you as your new Pastor and Teacher. This has been a long road for all of you, and what seems like a long road for me, but we are finally here, together. I say that together because it is not just me in this boat; we are all in it together, and whether we sink or float depends on each one of us.

I make this promise to you that I will strive to lead you with the guidance of the Holy Spirit. I will push you, when necessary, out of your comfort zone because I see it as my job to comfort the afflicted and to afflict the comfortable. There will be times when we disagree, and that is fine if we disagree with love and mutual respect.

I ask one simple thing: if we do disagree or if you have questions, come to me first. If I say something you disagree with, if I do something you don’t think I should be doing, come and talk to me, don’t let it fester, and please, don’t let it keep you away. I am somewhat reasonable, and I am sure we can come to an understanding.

My theology is quite simple, and you will often hear me say this: just love everyone. Our job as Church is not to build walls or barriers. Our job as the Church is to break down those things and challenge systems, whether they be in the Church or outside of the Church, that separate people. And whatever we do, we must do it out of love. Every action Jesus took, he did with love. And when Jesus commanded us to love everyone, he meant everyone, without exception.

There is an old saying in the United Church of Christ, “Whoever you are, wherever you are on life’s journey, you are welcome here.” We have to mean that and practice it.

Printed at the top of the bulletin is the vision statement of the Church. Please pick up your bulletin and hear these words:

“Our vision is to be a beacon of light in our community.  One that welcomes both the stranger and friend, creating a safe harbor for all; while we work and grow together to offer our love and service to God through our love and service to others.”

This is who we have chosen to be. Now, we have to live it.

The other promise I make is not to shy away from the difficult passages of Scripture. I believe we must face these passages head-on with an open and clear mind. As a teacher, I will take you past the surface of what we read. We will look at the passage from tradition and what the Church has to say about this. Reason, how do we understand it, and what does it mean to us today? And, experience, how do we experience this passage in our lives as individuals and as the Church?

Scripture is a living and breathing thing. Another one of the sayings in the United Church of Christ is “God is still speaking.” For a while, the symbol of the Church was the semicolon. The semicolon is used when the thought is not finished, when there is still more to come. God is not finished revealing themselves. There is still more to come. God’s revelation is fresh and new with each generation.

God did not stop revealing oneself after the resurrection and assumption; that was just the beginning of the story, and the end is not written yet. We must allow Scripture to permeate our lives. We need to sit with it, struggle with it, wrestle with it. We need to push past the surface and allow God to challenge some of the things we hold dear, because that is where growth happens and, dare I say, where change takes place.

So today, Jesus comes out swinging. Jesus challenges us right from the start. “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.”

Yikes

Hold on, Jesus, hate, what is that all about? Can we go back to the touchy-feely Jesus, the love everyone Jesus? These are some harsh words, and I am sure many turned and walked away. Why would Jesus demand such an extreme commitment?

Sometimes, Jesus uses provocative language to get your attention. How many times have you seen a headline that grabs your attention, and after reading the story, you wonder what it had to do with what you just read? The headline grabs your attention and draws you in to read what comes next.

Movie previews are another great example. Sometimes the best part of the movie is the preview. All the best parts are right there, and after watching the film, you are less than satisfied, but you watched.

Jesus is not literally commanding us to despise our families. He’s using this language to make a point: following him must come before everything else. Even the most sacred bonds—family, security, possessions—must take second place to the call of Christ.

Jesus provides a couple of examples.

How many of you have either built a new house or renovated an old one? My wife, Nicky, and I bought an older home, which was built in 1635, and it needed a little work. Before we started ripping down walls and whatnot, we sat with the contractor and came up with a plan. The contractor needed to know what the end goal was and how far we were taking this renovation. Sure, there will be uncalculated things along the way, but we need a plan.

In the same way, Jesus says, discipleship requires sober reckoning. We can’t follow him casually. We must know the cost.

Jesus says plainly: “Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.”

We often think of the cross as jewelry or decoration. I wear a cross around my neck, but in Jesus’ day, it meant death. To carry a cross was to walk toward execution.

So, what does it mean for us? It means that discipleship is not about comfort, but about surrender. It means laying down our pride, our self-centeredness, our security, and following Christ, even when it costs us.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer was a German theologian and pastor who lived during the rise of the Nazis in Germany. Bonhoeffer lived and studied in the US for a while, and when things started to get bad in Germany, some urged him to come and live in the US. But Bonhoeffer chose to stay and minister as best he could to the people God had given him.

Among other things, Bonhoeffer believed that ministry was a sacred responsibility and not just a job. And ultimately, that responsibility cost him his life.

Bonhoeffer wrote about the difference between cheap and costly grace.

“Cheap grace,” says Bonhoeffer, is the “preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline, Communion without confession, absolution without personal confession. Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ, living and incarnate.”

On the other hand, Bonhoeffer says that costly grace “is the treasure hidden in the field; for the sake of it a man will go and sell all that he has. It is the pearl of great price to buy, for which the merchant will sell all his goods. It is the kingly rule of Christ, for whose sake a man will pluck out the eye which causes him to stumble; it is the call of Jesus Christ at which the disciple leaves his nets and follows him.

Costly grace is the gospel which must be sought again and again, the gift which must be asked for, the door at which a man must knock.”

Bonhoeffer knew what Jesus meant: discipleship is costly. But he also knew it is life-giving. For when we lose ourselves for Christ’s sake, we find true life.

So, what does this mean for us?

It may mean choosing integrity over advancement at work.

It may mean generosity when the world says, “Hold on tight.”

It may mean forgiving when revenge feels easier.

It may mean standing with the marginalized, even when it costs us reputation.

I may mean not supporting a policy or a politician who does not love everyone.

Every day, the cross shows up in small, ordinary choices. And every day, Jesus asks: Will you follow me here, too?

I believe I mentioned this during our first time together. I no longer consider myself a Christian. I say that because the term “Christian” has been co-opted by the wrong people, and it has come to mean something completely different from what it should. I call myself a follower of Jesus Christ.

But that has to mean something. Jesus came to show us a new way, a new way of life, and a new way of being in relationship with each other and creation. Jesus came to break down the barriers that separate people, be they religious, class, or economic barriers. Jesus came with a preferential option for the poor, and although he did not look upon rich people as bad, he did call on all of us to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and welcome the stranger.

But for me, being a follower of Jesus Christ means that I have no other option but to love others. I do not have to like them or what they stand for; I can work for justice and oppose everything they believe in, but I have to love them. Every human has been created in the image and likeness of God. You will never look into the eyes of another human being that God does not love.

Being a follower of Jesus Christ is not easy. Being a follower of Jesus Christ means we have to turn our backs on what the world wants and how the world defines success. Being a flower of Jesus Christ means we have to love those the world wants us to hate. Being a follower of Jesus Christ requires us to be the voice of the voiceless and to be of support to those on the margins. Being a follower of Jesus Christ requires us to stand up when everyone else is sitting down.

Following Jesus requires sacrifice, surrender, and courage.

In other words, it has to cost something.

So may we hear Christ’s call with open hearts. May we shoulder the cross with trust. And may we discover, in giving our all, that God gives us more than we could ever imagine.

Amen.

Blog

Thoughts and Prayers

Posted on by Fr. Peter

On Wednesday, August 27th, a lone gunman shot at the Annunciation Catholic Church in Minneapolis, Minnesota, killing two children and injuring many more. Fletcher Merkel, who was 8, and Harper Moyski, who was 10, were killed inside the Church. I think it is important to say their names because it puts a face to what has happened.

As usual, immediately after the shooting, politicians grabbed the nearest microphone and started making statements. Most of these statements we have heard before and, in the end, will amount to nothing. We listened to the very familiar “thoughts and prayers,” which I guess is supposed to bring some comfort to those whose children were just murdered.

Some, including myself, took aim at those using “thoughts and prayers” and were immediately chastised for it. The Vice President of the United States, a practicing Roman Catholic, took offense that people would question their “thoughts and prayers.” Gun violence and gun control are political issues; there is no way around it, but thoughts and prayers are a theological issue, and so I will address that.

I am a firm believer in the power of prayer. I literally wrote a book about the necessity of prayer in the life of a Christian. We need to start and end each day with prayer. We need to pray for those in need, including friends, family, and others. The Church prays whenever it gathers. Prayer is important.

There are countless examples of Jesus praying in scripture, and a Chapter in the Gospel of Luke has been set aside where the Disciples ask Jesus to teach them to pray. The prayer we say each time we gather, the Lord’s Prayer, is the result of that question. But prayer is not enough.

Prayer without action is just empty words. If we pray to God to end gun violence but refuse to do anything about it, we are just speaking into the air. Pope Francis said it best when he said, “We pray for hungry people and then we feed them.” We pray and then we do, that’s how it works.

All those politicians have the power to change things in an instant; what they lack is the desire to do so. Legislation could be filed tomorrow to change the gun laws in this country, but politicians are unwilling to do so. Sure, they make speeches, thump their chests, offer up thoughts and prayers, and then move on while the families of dead children are left behind. They will gather in Washington and file special legislation to name a post office after someone or spend money on a bridge to nowhere, but when it comes to protecting kids, well, they are suddenly struck dumb.

Rather than condemning the murder of children in Church, rather than calling for sensible, bipartisan solutions to gun violence, the Vice President of the United States chose to take aim at those calling for more than just empty thoughts and prayers.

In a news conference shortly after the shooting, Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey said, “These were American families, and the amount of pain that they are suffering right now is extraordinary. Don’t just say this is about thoughts and prayers right now. These kids were literally praying.”

Yes, pray for the families of those who were murdered. Yes, pray for those injured. Yes, pray for the community that will now have to deal with this. Pray, pray, pray. But then get up off your knees and DO!

Jesus prayed, and then he fed people. Jesus prayed, and then he healed people. Prayer is good. Prayer is necessary, but if it is not followed by action, it is just empty words.

I’ll conclude with a quote from the Letter of James. James is a great little book that is often overlooked but contains a treasure trove of practical theology. James believed, as I do, that we must combine our faith with works; our faith should drive us to action. Here is what he says, “For as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without works is dead also.”

Faith without works is dead. Prayers without action are empty words. By all means, pray, but then get up and do.

error: Content is protected !!