Sermons
Luke 20:27-38
22nd Sunday after the Pentecost
November 9, 2025
Williamstown, MA
Scripture: Luke 20:27-38
A footnote to begin. I generally use the revised common lectionary, a three-year cycle of scripture readings for every day, including Sundays. I was struck by this morning’s text which addressed eschatology and an op-ed piece in the NY Times this past week which addressed the end of the neo-liberal economic order. Coincidental or evidence of cosmic forces beyond our understanding?
In a nutshell, eschatology is the study of the end-times, the last things. It comes from the Greek eschatos, meaning “last” and logos, meaning “word.” The eschaton, the end-times, can be understood as both personal and cosmic. It is closely linked to soteriology, also known as salvation.
One common understanding of the eschaton on a personal level is the end of mortal life. For an overwhelming number of Christians, afterlife is life in heaven for all eternity. That belief, however, is not universal. While I believe that all who die will have an afterlife with God, the Christ, and the Holy Spirit for all eternity, others believe that such an afterlife is predicated upon our personal conduct. Recently, President Trump mused, “I don’t think there’s anything that’s going to get me into heaven. I think I’m not maybe heaven-bound.”[1] Depending upon his religious advisor, he doesn’t need to be so pessimistic.
Cosmically, the eschaton affects the world. From a Christian perspective, a simple, common understanding of the eschaton is the reign of God on earth. It would be the time of God’s peace, shalom, the wholeness of life. Life where justice infused with love prevails.
Theologically and philosophically, eschatology has many definitions and understandings. Though this story from Luke was Jesus’ confrontation with the Sadducees over levirate marriage, it offered only a very tiny window into the multiple understandings of the eschaton.
This confrontation took place after Jesus entered Jerusalem on what we now know as Palm Sunday. Tensions were high. The civil and religious authorities sought to execute him, which would silence him and quell any possible unrest, and by asking this question, the Sadducees sought to entrap him. They were fundamentalists who believed the law was only what was written. Jesus dismissed their question to evade the trap.
Though eschatology is a significant theological thread in Christianity, it is not exclusive to Christianity. Judaism has many understandings of eschatology. To give you an idea, my Bible dictionary has 19 pages on Jewish eschatology. It has 13 pages on Christian eschatology. Eschatology also exists in Islam and Buddhism. It exists across multiple religions because afterlife answers the question, “What happens after we die?” Alternatively, we can frame it as “What happens when “whatever it is” is over?”
The end-time implicitly has two questions, “What is now?” and “What is to come?” Typically, the present is a time of turmoil and tribulation. In the gospels, when Jesus said, “When some were speaking about the temple, how it was adorned with beautiful stones and gifts dedicated to God, he said, ‘As for these things that you see, the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.’” (Luke 21:5-6) this was the mini-apocalypse, an end-time for the temple and the life connected to it. Eschatology claims a better time will follow.
Eschatology is not exclusively religious. There are secular examples, too. On a personal level, the eschaton from an unbearably crummy job would be a new job which is more stimulating and fulfilling. It could also be the end of something vastly grimmer such as living in a war zone or fleeing oppression to gain freedom. The eschaton is the end of the awful present for something better, even though we don’t know definitively what that new beginning will be or when it will occur.
In 1989 Francis Fukuyama wrote an essay “End of History” in which he argued that with the Berlin Wall demolished, humanity reached its endpoint of ideological evolution. It was the triumph of liberal democracy and capitalism. He clarified that he did not mean the end of events. Rather, it was the end of the ideological struggle over the ideal form of human governance. The rise of authoritarianism since then has rendered his pronouncement premature.
In the essay I read, its author, Sven Beckert, argued that what we’re experiencing today is another shift in capitalism’s history. The neoliberal order, which began in the 1970s, defined our economic assumptions. This order “emphasized deregulation, freer trade, central bank independence and globalized production chains.”[2] However, (noting that Tesla recently approved Elon Musk’s $1 trillion compensation agreement over the next decade) rising inequality, stalled productivity growth in major economies, a devastated manufacturing economy in many places, and the environmental limits of a civilization built upon fossil fuels have made clear its foundation is broken. As such, we have entered a period of rising authoritarianism and an increased willingness to accept more aggressive economic intervention by the government.
In a way, today we are living in our own mini-apocalypse. While we know we cannot return to the past, we also don’t know what is to come. We live in this turbulent time, a time of uncertainty and instability, a time of trial and tribulation. We live with anxiety and, probably, a good dose of fear.
Eschatology reminds us that what we have now is not permanent. It will pass, and what will come will be a brighter future, a hopeful one. Beckert asked at the end of his essay, “As the compulsive worshiping at the altar of the market ends, we can ask ourselves new questions: How can we organize an economy that lets all Americans flourish? How can we make sure that the spectacular wealth of our society benefits everyone? How can we pass on to our children and grandchildren an environmentally sustainable economy? If A.I. should result in significant productivity growth, how do we make sure that more than a tiny minority of oligarchs will profit?”[3] Sounds vaguely familiar?
Jesus dismissed the Sadducees’ question because it was the wrong question. The eschaton for Jesus was not about levirate marriage. The eschaton was far larger. It was the realm of God, heaven on earth. It was a world in which the blind will see, and the lame will leap for joy. It was a world in which the powerful will come down from their thrones as the lowly will be lifted up. It was a world where the hungry will be filled with good things, and the rich will be sent away empty.
We live in this moment when people cannot buy food or heat their homes because government assistance is not forthcoming. People are stranded at airports because air traffic controllers are not getting paid. Children can’t get the support they rely upon from Head Start. All of this because our federal government is completely and utterly dysfunctional
Though we don’t know when this will end or how it will end. Eschatology reminds us that it will end, and not to lose hope because God, the Holy Spirit, is at work. As the psalmist wrote: (Psalm 17:6-7a)
I call upon you, for you will answer me, O God;
incline your ear to me; hear my words.
Wondrously show your steadfast love,
[1] Peter Baker. Trump’s Search for Eternity: Heaven? Maybe Not, He Says. Monuments? Absolutely. The New York Times. October 30, 2025, updated November 1, 2025. https://www.nytimes.com/2025/10/30/us/politics/trump-heaven-legacy.html
[2] Sven Beckert. “The Old Order is Dead. Do not Resuscitate” New York Times. November 4, 2025 https://www.nytimes.com/2025/11/04/opinion/davos-neoliberalism-trump-tariffs.html
[3] Ibid.
Luke 6:20-31
All Souls Day
November 2, 2025
Williamstown, MA
Scripture: Luke 6:20-31
Last weekend Amy, my wife, Allegra, our daughter, and I saw an art exhibition of Kent Monkman’s paintings at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts.
Monkman is a First Peoples Canadian queer artist whose work upends and subverts the classic western narrative which has done much to erase indigenous culture. His paintings have layers of meaning beginning with anti-colonialism and its multiple dimensions and sexuality, particularly gender identity. His art reclaimed native identity from the traditional colonial western romanticized version. His work also challenged the typical dualistic, binary, framing of the world: white western and indigenous, men and women, straight and gay, body and spirit. His paintings confronted contemporary power, including law enforcement and the church. In essence, Monkman through his paintings told a new and different story.
Many of his paintings were mash ups drawn from classic painting genres and compositions. An example was his painting Sunday in the Park.
Monkman drew upon the work of Albert Bierstadt, a German American painter from the Hudson River School. Bierstadt’s paintings of the American West in the last half of the 19th century romanticized its landscapes which spurred people to settle it. This painting, “Yosemite” is an example.
He also referenced Georges Seurat’s 1884 painting “A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of the Grande Jatte.” Seurat captured an idyllic afternoon among people who appear to be generally well-off and quite proper.
Drawing upon Bierstadt’s backgrounds and Seurat’s afternoon idyll, Monkman reclaimed the land and the indigenous people’s narratives from colonialism. He made his point that the land has always been that of the indigenous people before white people drove them off their ancestral land in response to the painters who romanticized the American West’s wide-open spaces.
Monkman created Miss Chief Eagle Testickle as his alter-ego. She was the lone figure painting the people in their idylls. By having Miss Chief be like the painters who romanticized their depiction of native people, he took control of the narrative.
Emanuel Leutze intended Washington Crossing the Delaware to inspire Germany’s 19th century liberal political reform by grounding it in the American revolution. The painting with Washington standing and a diverse group of soldiers depicted heroism and a united democratic front.
Monkman’s painting “Resurgence of the People” is one of two paintings in a diptych entitled “Wooden Boat People.” The title, “Wooden Boat People,” referred to the name that the native people gave to the Europeans who sailed across the ocean to occupy the New World. This painting reclaimed an old story to create a new one.
“Resurgence” drew upon Leutze’s painting. Miss Chief Eagle Testickle’s pose was reminiscent of Washington and modeled after the Statue of Liberty. “Monkman described the painting as a conversation between ‘arrivals and migrations and displacements of people around the world’ and Indigenous generosity.”[1] The people in the boat were indigenous people saving the white westerners. By subverting the traditional narrative that the indigenous people were savages, he told a different story.
Monkman packed a lot into Miss Chief, both in the name and the image. Miss Chief was gender-fluid not androgynous. Miss Chief appeared in many paintings in this show. Monkman depicted their actions in ways that could conform to traditional male roles and traditional female roles.
Maybe the Holy Spirit was lurking in the gallery. At one point, the cumulative effect of Monkman’s works got me thinking about life and death and this service.
Though he did not portray the church with a high regard, I’m not sure if he was aware that his persistent subversion of dualism was consistent with queer theology.
Queer theology erases dualism. Gender identity for example is far broader than man and woman. Queer theology goes far beyond accepting gay interpersonal loving relationships. Queer theology also erases the dualism of life and death.
It rejects the body-spirit dualism to favor of an embodied spirituality in which the physical body is holy and that death is the end of a unique, embodied life. Though it acknowledges life’s finitude, it emphasizes a livable and just life in the here and now, rather than a future life of eternal peace.
Furthermore, death is not one event. Queer theology acknowledges that oppression and persecutions have caused premature deaths through physical abuse and erasure and that resurrection is the triumph of the body over oppression. Thus, a queer theologian would believe people experience death and resurrection throughout their entire mortal lives.
A queer theologian would emphasize the here and now aspect of sermon on the plain. These beatitudes were not promises for people after their mortal lives end. They were promises for now,
“Blessed are you who are poor,
for yours is the kingdom of God.
“Blessed are you who are hungry now,
for you will be filled.
“Blessed are you who weep now,
for you will laugh.
Jesus told them that the kingdom of God is here on earth. He described how in the actions at the end: “Love your enemies; do good to those who hate you; bless those who curse you; pray for those who mistreat you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also, and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who asks of you, and if anyone takes away what is yours, do not ask for it back again. Do to others as you would have them do to you.” Furthermore, the woes would come in this world, too, for those who oppress and persecute.
Living, then, is not simply sentient life. It is living by the spirit. Living with resilience against oppressive societal definitions. Living is subverting harmful and oppressive narratives and stories to claim our power to write and tell our own stories.
We invoked that spirit this morning when we told of our loved ones who died. Though their mortal life ended, their spirit lives in our memories and the stories which formed us to be who we are today. Furthermore, we can take the oppressive stories of the past and write them anew as our own stories of peace and justice born of love.
2 Kings 5:1-15c
18th Sunday after the Pentecost
October 12, 2025
Williamstown, MA
Scripture: 2 Kings 5:1-15c
When we peel away this story’s basic narrative, we expose Naaman’s personality. His success as a warrior received plaudits from the Aramean king. Presumably, the Aramean people similarly praised him.
Though probably well deserved, it also led to his self-inflated ego. He was arrogant, filled with hubris. He dismissed people and their suggestions, which he deemed beneath him. Seeking a cure for his skin disease, he did not follow the explicit instructions of his wife’s Israelite serving girl and instead went directly to the king of Israel. Elisha, the Samaritan prophet, offended him by sending a messenger to convey the cure. He rejected that cure believing Elisha should have magically waved his hand to make the disease disappear and that he was too good to bathe in Isreal’s river. He finally relented when his aide bluntly ordered, using today’s language, “Really? You won’t do this simple thing because it’s too easy? Just do it.”
If we graded his hubris on a scale of one to ten with one being almost self-effacing and ten being so hubristic that no one could stand him, I’d give him a strong 8.75. At least he had a wife and a serving girl who had enough compassion for him to recommend that he see Elisha. Those factors spare him a ten in my book. Nevertheless, his expectations that people should fall all over themselves to honor him made his hubris abundantly evident.
Hubris has its downsides. Hubristic people can lose sight of reality because they don’t see their limitations and shortcomings, reject criticism and unfavorable outcomes, stand above accountability, and act impulsively. Their decision-making can be compromised because they are less apt to accept outside counsel. They also damage trust between them and other people, which damages working relationships.
Yet, hubris is not all bad. Hubris can lead people to innovate because they underestimate their probability of failure. The drive and motivation from hubris can increase ambition and morale. Naaman might have been a success because his hubris led to his overconfidence, a self-fulfilling prophecy.
In our present political climate, it’s easy to identify the Naamans. It’s also easy to state that to be a leader in government, whether as an executive or a legislator, takes a degree of hubris. We can probably rate the leaders we know on that one to ten scale.
Today, though, I’m stepping away from our present political climate to think about hubris and the church.
The universal church’s history with hubris warrants a self-examination of our mistakes. The three papal bulls issued in the late 15th and early 16th centuries became the basis for the Doctrine of Discovery. This doctrine proclaimed Christianity’s superiority as well as Western European culture. This worldview led to colonialism, which impacted people in Asia, Africa, South America, Australia, and North America. Western European nations claimed territories irrespective of the local indigenous people and then, by extracting natural resources from those territories impoverished them. Even after this nation won its liberty from England, it perpetuated this doctrine most notably in the Trail of Tears, the forced migration of indigenous people who lived in the southeastern United States to territories west of the Mississippi River. It was the basis for Manifest Destiny, the vision to claim the land between the Atlantic and the Pacific Oceans as the United States. It was also the perspective of early missionary movements, its birthplace only hundreds of yards from here.
Though the world is still recovering from this doctrine’s damage, we have become more attuned to its negative impact, and in the last half of the 20th century reforms have taken place from which a different Jesus emerged. Reforms shifted Jesus from being a king to being a servant.
This might be good wisdom for local churches to acknowledge, too.
I came across an article entitled, Humility in Leadership: Kenotic Ecclesiology for a Post-pandemic Age[1]. The article was written in 2020 during the pandemic. Some definitions, though. Ecclesiology is the theology of church. It is the theology which guides the way the church works. In our case, as a congregational church, our ecclesiology comes from the congregation whose theology comes from its understanding of God, Christ, and the Holy Spirit. Kenotic is self-emptying. Christ being the example (Philippians 2:6-8):
who, though he existed in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God
as something to be grasped,
but emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave,
assuming human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a human,
he humbled himself
and became obedient to the point of death—
even death on a cross.
Its author, Martyn Perry, stated that the pre-pandemic church will be no more. His words were prophetic because the pandemic changed everything, including the church.
Self-emptying is to accept humility and to reject hubris. Kenotic churches don’t cling to their status, to their traditions, to the belief that they must grow. The pandemic called into question all of that. Rather, kenotic churches empty themselves to become servants, serving people in their communities through food pantries, congregant meal sites, affordable housing, or community economic incubators.
Perry addressed leadership within churches:
“Spiritual leadership requires a combination of care, attentiveness, wisdom, discernment, will, direction and faithfulness. What makes and forms leaders in ecclesial contexts will be their reservoirs of compassion and empathy; a capacity to operate paternally and maternally; suppleness and firmness; forgiveness and discipline. Leaders see God at work through their own weaknesses and deficiencies, and not just the apparent strengths and attributes that they and others may cherish.”[2]
I summarize this in a bumper sticker type phrase, “Be the best church you can be.”
We are all probably aware to some degree that the church we knew from two generations ago is largely fading, if not gone. This is not to say that all churches are on a short horizon until the end of their worship lives. As local churches reach the end of their worship lives, other local churches arise because the universal church is God’s church, not our church. God is ever creating.
Though we are part of God’s church, we are also a human manifestation of that church. As the local church we connect people’s lives with God. We are the linkage which enables us to feel God’s presence, to be God’s instruments of peace, and to proclaim God’s message of love. We’re here as the connectors to people beyond these walls. People for whom God’s grace seems remote, who do not have an inkling that the power to transform the world is a self-emptying love, which we know from Jesus’ crucifixion.
Our power, our potential, our future rests upon being a kenotic, self-emptying, church, working as a congregation to serve this community. Our glory is not what we hold. It is what we have left when we empty ourselves.
[1] Martyn Percy. Humility in Leadership: Kenotic Ecclesiology for a Post-pandemic Age. Modern Believing. 2020 Vol. 61, No. 4. Pages 344-354.
[2] Page 353
Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-5
17th Sunday after the Pentecost
October 5, 2025
Williamstown, MA
Scripture: Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-5
Almost every morning I read the news among three newspapers. I’ve been a news junkie since junior high. These decades of news consumption have given me a long view of this world’s goings on. I’ve always had concerns about various issues, some of them more pronounced than others. Some concerns stick with me, and others fade over time.
I’m not sure if what I’m feeling now is the culmination of almost 60 years of daily news consumption or a perfect storm of events and issues which leave me struggling to make sense of this world.
It’s not just Congress’s incapability to fund our government, especially when they are arguing over $0.20 of a dollar because $0.80 of a dollar covers mandatory spending and defense. It’s not just armed troops in our cities doing civilian law enforcement as many political issues, bother me.
Economically, income and wealth disparity are growing, leaving broad swaths of our population struggling for their basic needs such as food and shelter. Furthermore, wealth has also concentrated power such that companies have decoupled themselves from the lives of people in their communities to pursue greater profits abroad or de-fanged news operations as their media corporations seek even more global influence, power, and profits.
I can’t keep up with technology. Frankly, I’m clueless to understand how to use social media effectively to reach a much younger demographic with our message. I also cannot express the depth of my worry over AI’s capabilities. Tilly Norwood is a young, beautiful woman who some entertainment companies want to put under contract. She is AI generated, meaning she physically doesn’t exist. Lately, I’ve begun to question our wisdom to put our services on YouTube when the preacher’s image and audio can be scraped and through AI be made a virtual person to say things the preacher never intended. Furthermore, Thursday’s New York Times reported on Sora, a smartphone app, which can use a person’s image and voice to generate a virtual person.[1]
Furthermore, my confusion, disorientation, or whatever is not just what’s happening in this country. The New York Times had two pieces this past week noting institutional destabilization abroad. Courts in Brazil, France, and South Korea[2]. The government of Brussels.[3] Then, there’s war and its accompanying suffering now and in the future as war’s children will carry its scars into their adulthood, whether they be in Gaza, South Sudan, or Ukraine.
As I said, I feel unstable, uncertain, uneasy… maybe they’re interchangeable. While I’m not sure which, I am confident that I am not alone with these feelings.
Habakkuk offered a lesson to get us through.
Though this prophet’s biography is scant, scraps gleaned from other parts of the Bible indicated that he lived towards the end of the 7th century BCE. A very brief history for context. At the end of Solomon’s reign in 931 BCE Israel split to become two kingdoms, Israel in the north and Judah in the south. Israel’s first capital was Schechem and later moved to Samaria. Judah’s capital was Jerusalem. Israel, the northern kingdom, fell in 722 BCE to the Assyrians. Judah, however, remained until it fell to the Babylonians in 586 BCE, which was the beginning of its exile. It ended in 536 BCE when King Cyrus released them enabling them to return to Jerusalem.
The years leading up to Judah’s downfall were marked by a highly unstable political climate. Squeezed between Egypt and Babylon, Judah’s kings tried to appease them both. This policy created instability and, ultimately, didn’t work.
Habakkuk’s described the circumstances in his oracle:
“Destruction and violence are before me;
strife and contention arise.
So the law becomes slack,
and justice never prevails.
God responded to his complaint and following that, Habakkuk registered another complaint. This one was about the Chaldeans’ oppression. Then, God responded to the second complaint:
Write the vision;
make it plain on tablets,
so that a runner may read it.
For there is still a vision for the appointed time;
it speaks of the end and does not lie.
If it seems to tarry, wait for it;
it will surely come; it will not delay.
Amid strife and contention, where the law is slack, and justice seems never to prevail, the world is unsettling without any discernable path to resolution. Habakkuk might ask, “How is it that God can’t take control?” For us, we might ask, “What do we do?”
The answer? Wait. That’s what God replied to Habakkuk. How long? God didn’t say. That seems like worthless advice because we like to have some modicum of certainty. Then, we can make plans and have a feeling of control.
However, we delude ourselves when we think we have control. As proof, consider the world in which we live. At best, we can control how we respond to our present situation. We, however, cannot control the responses of the people around us or how the situation will change in response to our actions.
During times of uncertainty, waiting is counter-intuitive because we want resolution. However, uncertainty is precisely when God shows up, providing we open ourselves to God.
When we have certainty, we don’t wait for God because we already know. When we know we don’t look for God’s wisdom. It’s only when we don’t know that we pray, “Help me, help me.” Waiting, then, is not inaction. Waiting is not passive.
We act in three ways. First, we ground ourselves with devotions such as prayer, meditation, worship, journaling, or other spiritual practices. Their common denominator is opening space in us for God to enter. We stand on firmer ground when our devotional life is a regular discipline because discipline strengthens our faith. Personally, I devote every morning to reading a psalm. I read them sequentially beginning with Psalm 1 and ending 150 days later with Psalm 150. I, then, close with prayer, a conversation with God. Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, “Prayer does not mean simply to pour out one's heart. It means rather to find the way to God and to speak with him, whether the heart is full or empty.”[4]
Second praxis, putting our faith into practice. Basically, being like Jesus. Here, we have two general possibilities, each has its own multiple possibilities.
One is advocacy. We can protest, making clear that what we are enduring is unacceptable. Like Jesus we can speak truth to power and challenge the ethics and morals of actions and decisions, such as writing letters to editors or to legislators. We can protest whether we hold up signs at the roadside or take up non-violent actions, like the civil rights demonstrations in the 1950s and 1960s. We can register people to vote. We can choose how we use our money, as demonstrated by the recent uprising against Disney, which returned Jimmy Kimmel to late night.
Second is openly living out the ways of Jesus by attending and supporting our neighbors in their daily struggles. We can listen to their lamentations as Jesus did with the woman at the well. We can pray with them as Peter did with the women who surrounded Dorcas. We can serve the widows as Stephen and the Hellenists did. Essentially, by living out the ways of Jesus we are purveyors of hope and a healing balm for people who are wounded, alone, and afraid. We reassure them that they are not forgotten, they matter, and they are loved.
For us, praxis does two things. First, we remind ourselves that amid today’s struggles and challenges, we have agency. We are not powerless. Second, we proclaim to all who can see that the situation in which we live does not have to be. Our proclamation is a counterpoint to cruelty, oppression, hubris, greed, and nihilism, which are the deathlike ways of this world’s unchecked passions. Openly living out the ways of Jesus proclaims that kindness, generosity, empathy, humility, and patience are lifegiving because they are the building blocks to a world where true justice and peace abide because they are born of love.
Lastly, live with mindful gratitude. Be thankful for moments of awesome beauty, such as a stunning sunset or beautiful art. Be thankful for kindness extended by family, friends, and even strangers. Be thankful for humor, which can leaven a difficult circumstance. Be thankful for moments of surprising grace because they will be a glimpse of what will come.
All of this is the vision we hold out in our waiting. This is the vision we write plainly on tablets so the runner can see it. This is the vision that another world is possible. This vision is lifegiving hope. Hope’s fulfillment comes when we actively wait because it will surely come, it will not delay.
Scripture: 1Peter 2:4-9
16th Sunday after the Pentecost
September 28, 2025
Williamstown, MA
Scripture: 1Peter 2:4-9
In Matthew’s account of Jesus feeding the 4000 (there are two feeding stories in Matthew), he and the disciples got into a boat to cross the Sea of Galilee. Upon reaching the other side and after verbally parrying with some Pharisees and Sadducees, the disciples realized they didn’t bring any bread with them despite having several baskets left over. They grumbled.
There’s a back story to this, which you won’t find in the gospel. Jesus and the disciples started on their day’s journey. Jesus asked them to pick up a stone. Peter picked up a small stone. After walking all morning, Jesus asked them to sit down and show him their stones. He then proceeded to touch each stone and transformed them into bread. Peter, having picked up the smallest stone, was still hungry after he finished his loaf. The next day, Jesus asked each of them to pick up a stone. Peter, again, picked up the smallest stone. Like the day before, when they sat for lunch and held out their stones, Jesus touched each stone and transformed them into bread. Again, Peter was famished after he finished his loaf because he was still hungry from the day before. Third day. Jesus asked them to pick up a stone. Peter, now wiser, found a large rock. He carried it all morning. Though he was always at the rear and struggling to keep up, he was able to keep going because he knew he would finally get the bread he wanted. When they sat for lunch at midday, Peter, who finally caught up with the others, presented his rock. Jesus like the days before touched each of the stones and transformed them into bread. When he got to Peter, Peter was bursting with anticipation as he would have the biggest loaf of bread. Jesus touched his rock and said, “Upon your rock, I will build my church.” (Mat. 16:18)
The rock upon which the church is built is the values underlying the law and applied by Jesus’ life lessons and strengthened and solidified by the Holy Spirit. The church cannot stand without the sure foundation of the rock.
1 Peter was written in the final third of the first century. Peter was dead by then. Nevertheless, the attribution to Peter indicated its importance as a general letter to the churches suffering under the oppression wielded by the wider society. It reassured Christian communities throughout Asia Minor that their suffering was in the name of the Christ and thus, was not in vain.
Despite today’s claims from the Christian right that Christians are an oppressed people, that’s not true. Among people who self-identify as religious in this country, Christians have the largest share.
However, undeniably a sizeable percentage of the wider population does not see the church as relevant to their lives. We might be able to attribute some of that irrelevancy to the Christian far right whose theology strikes the general population as queerphobic, misogynistic, racist, anti-Semitic, and overly judgmental. Unfortunately, that theology stains us.
Though we are not oppressed and suffering like the first century church, we are surrounded by a culture which finds our paradoxical faith nonsensical, aka weird. While people endorse feeding people who are food insecure, extending the belief that true peace relies upon feeding people not weapons of violence or destruction, which is communion’s fundamental theology, seems preposterous. While people embrace supporting and caring for people on the bottom of the economic ladder, defining wealth by how much we give away rather than how much we have defies traditional measurements. While people get behind love as a good thing, embracing it as the antidote for fear is farfetched.
Imagine if the church didn’t exist. Everyone, bar none, would be poorer for that. Though people have a hard time embracing the paradoxical faith we proclaim, that same faith has a pervasive moderating influence to keep people from completely succumbing to their primal desires: greed, arrogance, jealousy, and fear, to name a few.
We are the church, built upon the living stone, who is Christ. A living stone, which is paradoxical itself. A stone, an inert object, that is alive. This stone, a rejected cornerstone, was now the corner upon which the church was built. Though crucified, Christ remains alive in the Holy Spirit. Because of that, we, today’s disciples of Jesus, are living stones, too because the Holy Spirit was sealed in us at our baptisms. In this time of despair and anxiety, our spiritual house is a beacon of hope holding out the promise that another world is possible. When queer people feel emotionally assaulted, demonized, and erased, our spiritual house is their refuge Emanating from our spiritual house is love as action towards those who struggle to find hope in this world and where grace is in short supply. Furthermore, this spiritual house offers anyone the opportunity to put their faith and love into action as well. Our spiritual house stands as a rejection of Christian nationalism whose theology distorts the gospel into a limited and cramped vision for this nation rather than God’s universal and spaciously expansive vision for all humankind.
We stand in full belief that there is enough for everyone because we have faith that God’s creation was one of abundance so no one would suffer from scarcity or deprivation. We firmly believe that there is a place at the table for everyone, regardless of age, ability, gender, race, sexual expression, or ethnicity, and that if we run out of space, we extend the table. We are a place of calm and serenity in a world racked with turmoil and turbulence. We bear witness to the possibility of God’s realm of peace infused with justice and built upon love. Love that is not eros. Love that is agape, God’s steadfast love. Love that is action. Love that is the antidote to fear.
Your pledge is your faith that this church has a vital place and role in this community and world. Our service extends beyond Williamstown and beyond the northern Berkshires. We offer grants to a wide range of agencies from the arts to youth to education and housing throughout the Berkshires. Our generosity through the United Church of Christ serves communities throughout the world. Though we don’t know these people by name, we know them as victims of natural disasters, as people who need clean water, as parents who yearn for their children to have better lives than they. Your pledge is your declaration that our ministries matter because they make a positive difference in people’s lives. Your pledge is your belief that life built upon a foundation of love and justice is a life of true peace. You pledge is your affirmation that God’s generosity makes heaven on earth possible.
We remind the world that the paradox, which is our faith, is the rock upon which true community rests. It is the rock which saves community from itself. It is the rock that is the foundation of the church. This paradox makes our world livable. This paradox proclaims that another world is possible.
Pledging today is your affirmation of faith that this church is more than an iconic landmark on Main Street. Your pledge is a proclamation that the ministries emanating from here matter to give Williamstown, the northern Berkshires, and the world beyond a glimpse of true peace, where people, especially those people who feel overlooked, erased, abused, and oppressed will find a touch of grace and have, even a brush with shalom, God’s peace, a peace built upon justice and rooted in love. Your pledge is your belief in hope for tomorrow.