A message on the active nature of prayer.

On February 14, 2018, 19-year-old Nikolas Cruz walked into Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland Florida and opened fire.

Though he had a well-documented history of violent behavior, aggressive language and a psychiatric diagnosis, a year prior Nikolas purchased an AR-15 semi-automatic rifle at a local gun shop. He did so legally, without incident.

It was this AR-15, along with multiple magazines of ammo for it, that he brought into school that day. Within four minutes he had killed 17 students, teachers and staff, wounding another 17. It remains the deadliest high school shooting in our nation’s history.

This mass shooting, personally speaking, hit close to home. Parkland is a 10-minute drive from where I worked in South Florida. I couldn’t help but wonder if the kids of my former coworkers were ok.

Happening on Valentine’s Day, where many celebrate the love two people share, the irony is difficult to miss. This particular February 14 was also Ash Wednesday, a day marked by prayer, fasting, repentance.

While preparing for worship that night I reflected on the news. My clergy colleague and I, sensing a moment, opted to talk openly about it in a Pastor Chat during service. Perhaps, we thought, others needed space to reflect and grieve too.

As we put the sign of the cross on people’s foreheads in ash that night, liturgy took on additional meaning.

Remember that you are dust.
And to dust you shall return.

Given the societal gridlock that surrounds gun violence in our land, a unique problem for us compared to other countries, I’m not always hopeful. Is change even possible?

That night I prayed in earnest for the challenges our country faces. Sometimes they seem insurmountable.

I closed my eyes and went to sleep.  Perhaps tomorrow would bring a brighter day.

Parable
Luke 18 finds Jesus teaching the disciples about the nature of prayer. Sensing they needed reassurance about the challenges they would soon face, Christ offers encouragement. Pray always, and do not lose heart, the passage begins.

The parable tells the tale of two characters, a widow and a judge. Widows were marginalized characters in this era, with little agency of their own. Cast aside from the mainstream patriarchal society that surrounded them, widows were likely seen as charity cases. Often in need of –

money,
food,
clothing,
shelter.

As happens today many choose to look away instead of lending a hand. But widows have something going for them. Or rather someone going for them: God.

The teachings of Judaism are crystal clear about treating widows, orphans and strangers with compassion. Treating them with justice. Hebrew scripture is chock full of passages about it. Here’s one from Exodus 22:22-23:

You shall not abuse any widow or orphan. If you do abuse them, when they cry out to me, I will surely heed their cry.

If you’re a widow, and you’ve been wronged, knowing God is on your side is a pretty big win. It’s a good thing to keep in your back pocket. It is your ace in the hole.

Armed with this knowledge the widow goes to the judge. Grant me justice against me opponent she pleads. For she had been wronged.

Unfortunately, this was an unjust judge.
Which is an oxymoron.
Judges should seek justice, always.
It is the nature of what they do.

This judge neither feared God nor respected people.

Initially the unjust judge didn’t help. He’d already checked out of his job. He had no interest in doing it. Much less in doing it well.

It’s worth spending time with the power differential between the two characters. Here we have –

Widowed female vs. man of means.
Unemployed vs. elected official.
Powerless vs. powerful.

Even with this massive imbalance the woman kept pressing. She kept pleading her case to the unjust judge.

She did it –
again, and
again, and
again.

And why not? For she knew God was on her side.

Tiring from being bothered so much the unjust judge relents.

This widow keeps bothering me.
She won’t stop.
She just keeps showing up.
She is wearing me out.

I will grant her justice, the unjust judge reasons. Just so she leaves me alone.

And with that the widow had finally won.

This is how prayer works, Jesus concludes. When faced with injustice keep on crying out, in word and in deed. For if God can use a judge with questionable ethics like this, despite their baggage, anything is possible.

Pivot
Our nation has a significant gun issue, there’s just no way around it. The rate of firearm homicides in the US is almost 10 times higher than the third highest country in the world, Canada.

And yet there are more Christians in America than anywhere else on the globe.

Extremely violent country in one hand.
Lots of Christians in the country in the other.

This, too, is an oxymoron.
Or at least it should be.

Violence is not of God.
It’s not up for debate.
For we serve the Prince of Peace.

What to do?

Parkland
The response to the Parkland shooting began as most do. Politicians, pastors and pundits offered various versions of their thoughts and prayers. If prayer is just this passive thing, where you lift it up and ignore it later we needn’t expect much. Because with gun violence, in recent history, nothing ever seems to change.

But this time?
Something seemed different.

A day after the Parkland shooting student survivors formed a group, Never Again, to advocate for gun control.

Initially no one took them seriously.
They’re just high schoolers after all.
Who would listen to them?

That perception did not last long.

Three days after the shooting the Never Again group held a rally. Hundreds showed up. Three days after that they went to the state capital, begging legislators to do more.

The #neveragain hashtag soon went viral, keeping the gun control conversation going strong. The youth then hit the media, and were active in tv, radio, online.

And then, on March 24, less than six weeks after the shooting, they planned something big: March for Our Lives, a demonstration supporting gun control legislation. The march took place in Washington D.C., with over 880 sibling events throughout the US and the world.

With turnout estimated between 1.2 and 2 million people in the US, it was one of the largest protests in American history.

The students kept speaking out –
again, and
again, and
again.

And why not? As a people of faith serving the Prince of Peace we know something. When it comes to addressing systemic issues of a culture steeped in violence God is on our side.

The students kept rocking the boat.
They would not stop.
They just kept showing up.
They started to wear people out.

That Spring a series of wins for gun control advocates took place.

• President Trump directed the Department of Justice to ban bump stocks.
• The STOP School Violence Act increased funding for security training and metal detectors.
• The Florida Legislature raised the minimum age for buying rifles to 21, implementing waiting periods and background checks prior to purchase.
• Major gun sellers like Dick’s and Walmart raised the age requirement to 21.

And then, on June 25th of this year, President Biden signed the first major gun safety legislation passed by Congress in nearly three decades. Coming days after the Uvalde TX school shooting that killed 19, it gives incentives for states to remove weapons from people deemed a threat.

All that, because a group of high schoolers decided they were done falling victim to a culture that values guns more than human life.

All that because they never gave up.
(There’s still more work to do).

Today
Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, reflecting on his participation in the 1965 civil rights march from Selma to Montgomery said this: I felt my legs were praying.

As this parable illustrates prayer can literally embody action.

Perhaps that is the way it works best.

God always sides with of the oppressed, the marginalized, the people treated as less than. Once you know that keep it in your back pocket. It is your ace in the hole.

It is your permission to sin boldly. It is your mandate to challenge unjust systems. For as small and insignificant as you may feel please know this: you have already won. For God is on your side.

Eventually God’s will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. We need only take part.

Yet to arrive at that we’ve got to treat prayer as more than merely –

closing our eyes,
bowing our heads,
saying some words.

Because standing up for God’s children requires action. And that action is prayer. The Parkland students show us what prayer looks like, in the flesh.  For —

Advocating is prayer.
Serving is prayer.
Organizing is prayer.
Funding is prayer.
Marching is prayer.
Picketing is prayer.
Voting is prayer.

Sound daunting? Here Christ reminds: Pray always. Do not lose heart.

Is addressing gun control not your jam? That’s cool. There’s a bevy of social justice issues the tenants of your faith call you to pursue. Be it –

Gender inequality,
Affordable housing,
Racial equity,
Food insecurity,
Homelessness,
LGBTQ+ inclusion,
Care of creation –

Pick your passion and then dive in.

Be the fly in the ointment.
Stare unjust systems down.
No need to blink.

Do it –
again, and
again, and
again.

Keep rocking the boat.
Do not stop.
Keep showing up.

Pray without ceasing.
Eyes wide open.
Until God’s will be done.  Amen.

On the way to Jerusalem. So begins the narrative of Luke 17:11-19. Neither in Samaria nor Galilee, Christ journeys through a space that is both, but neither. Not quite Jewish territory, nor Samaritan, the place exists somewhere betwixt and between. For Christ had left one land. But hadn’t quite arrived in the other.

It is a borderland of sorts.
It is difficult to define.
It is traveling through another dimension.

A dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination. There’s a signpost up ahead. Your next stop, the Twilight Zone.

In this Zone?
Anything is possible.

It is here, in this nebulous, shifting space where Jesus encounters need.

Ten lepers approach him. Not quite in the village, the lepers exist outside the town gates. Outside of a functioning society. Here they lived, cast away from others, isolated from everyone but their own unwell kind.

Called Hanson’s disease, left untreated leprosy can cripple hands, feet, paralyze, cause one to go blind.

Considered contagious in antiquity – we now know better – they might as well have the plague.

Stay away! Because no one wants to be close to that.

It is in this undefined space, beyond borders, separated from the typical trappings of civilization where the lepers make their request.

Jesus have mercy on us!

They need help.
They know it.
They have the audacity to ask.

Perhaps they were looking for food, drink, coin. Cast aside like trash, subsiding on the generosity of others is often the only way to survive.

Hearing their request Jesus went deeper than a quick handout. Go, show yourselves to the priests, he told them. The lepers needed multiple kinds of healing.

First physical.
Their skin ailment had to go.

Then societal.
Rejoining the community that cast them out.

The ten lepers went.
The ten lepers were physically healed.

Nine went ahead, readying themselves to reconnect with family and friends.

Only one turned back.
He bowed down and worshipped Christ.
And he was a Samaritan.

With this latest Twilight Zone entry Jesus crossed the border between one religion and another. For Jews and Samaritans, put plainly, do not get along. Crossing one more cultural chasm Christ proclaimed –

get up!
be on your way!
your faith has made your well.

With that the Samaritan had been healed –

Physically,
Relationally,
Spiritually.

In that moment the foreigner leper – that’s how scripture describes him – was made fully, completely, 100% whole.

It was a fresh start for them in –
Body,
Community,
Soul.

Study
This week our Tuesday morning Bible study group couldn’t help but focus on all the border crossings Christ made on this journey.

He crossed the borders of –

Country and village,
Race and ethnicity,
Health and isolation,
Religion.

All those border crossings of Christ happen in this one brief text.
All so God’s people, no matter who they are, can be whole.

Reflecting on this, someone in the study, asked this question:

Is there any border Christ wouldn’t cross to heal us?

The room was still.
No one said a word.

The silence in that moment provided the only response we need.

Reflecting on this story, and that question, consider these modern day stories. How might you respond?

Intersection
On the way home you’re driving on the highway. No longer in the office, not yet home, you are in a place somewhere between.

It’s summertime. Temps are mild, skies are blue. You put the window down to soak in some sun. You’re in the best of moods. You take the exit ramp, getting into the left-hand lane. The light turns from green to yellow to red. You slow down to stop. You are the first car at the light.

It’s a busy intersection. You’ll be here at least a minute. Perhaps more.

You then notice a man standing 15 feet away. He wears a red MAGA hat, and a shirt that says, Let’s Go Brandon. The man also holds a sign that reads, Homeless. Need money for food. The worn-out shoes he wears, with holes throughout, tell their own story. The two of you couldn’t be more different.

The man walks toward your car. Your driver’s side window is still down.

Hey, can you spare any money? I’m really hungry.

He has the audacity to ask for help.

In this borderland of a stop light, an intersection, a request, somewhere between the defined spaces of work and home anything is possible.

What to do?

Do you put your window up and awkwardly ignore him until the light turns green? Do you rummage around your car for some cash? Do you tell him where in town he can find shelter and a meal? Do you wonder if he deserves your aid at all?

The man clearly needs healing of some sort. You wonder how Jesus might respond. Your say a quick prayer, asking for guidance from above.

Parking Lot
On the way to church you pull in the parking lot, find a spot, get out, lock the doors. You’ve left the car, but you’re not yet inside either. It is a Twilight Zone of sorts, between space and time. You begin walking to the church entrance, dressed in your Sunday best. You are excited for worship, coffee, catching up with friends. In this moment, there is no place on earth you would rather be.

You then notice a sleeping bag on the floor, near the church door. Next to the bag is a backpack, with multiple patches sewn on. Some say Veteran, Blue Lives Matter, Semper Fi. The man in the sleeping bag begins to stir. It seems he’s been there all night, braving the first frost of the season.

The two of you make eye contact.  He doesn’t speak a word.

In this borderland of a parking lot, a church, a visitor, betwixt the knowns of home and sanctuary anything is possible.

What to do?

Do you advert your gaze and enter church? Do you introduce yourself, hoping to learn more? Do you practice hospitality, inviting the man into worship, communion, coffee, cookie, conversation? Or do you just call the police?

He seems to need so much. You’re not quite sure how to begin. You take a breath, say a prayer, and choose how you’ll respond.

Gas Station
While vacationing in San Diego you decide to take a day trip to Tijuana. You’re looking forward to good food, good drink, perusing street booths for trinkets. On the way you get lost. An abandoned gas station appears. You pull over and get out, hoping for help.

No longer at the hotel, not yet arrived at your destination where are you? Wilderness is all around. Is this the US? Is it Mexico? The border could be close. You’re just not sure.

A woman and child appear, seemingly from nowhere. With skin darker than your own they run toward you quickly. The pair reaches you, looking tired and distressed. Trembling with fright the woman explains what is going on.

My husband has been imprisoned, my son kidnapped. They have done nothing wrong. We came to the US, hoping for safety. Extended family lives here. If border agents find us they’ll force us back, she continues. Back home I fear for our lives.

Our family lives ten miles up the road. Will you drive us? They will take us in.

The woman needs help.
She knows it.
She has the audacity to ask.

In this borderland of a gas station, a wilderness, a chance encounter, anything is possible.

Oh you know the law. You’re being asked to break it.
And you know the gospel. And Christ’s call to care.

What to do? You are torn. You find yourself wondering: what would Jesus do?

Close
Every day we journey, encountering each other in random, unpredictable ways. Having departed one place, not quite arrived in another, we find ourselves in spaces betwixt and between. Intersections, parking lots and gas stations are transitional spaces. These are the borderlands of our day.

These are the kind of places Christ journeyed.

They are where he –
met people,
heard their pleas,
healed them in body, mind, soul.

We too are asked to cross borders between us and others defined by –

Race,
Gender,
Orientation,
Politics,
Wealth, or
Where we call home.

Christ healed people across all sorts of differences. He didn’t worry much about it.

May we be like Christ, crossing cultural chasms with reckless abandon.
May we be like Christ, healing and helping, as we go.  Amen.

Three stories with a common theme.

Kingdom
Once upon a time there was a kingdom. This was not a perfect kingdom to be sure. Slavery was common; warring with other nation-states the norm. But it was a godly kingdom. The people aspired to follow the Lord their God with all their –

heart,
soul,
mind.

Every seven years this kingdom practiced a year of Sabbath. It was a year in which all agricultural activity ceased. Plowing, planting, pruning and harvesting were forbidden. Only preventative measures like watering, fertilizing, weeding were done. Considered respite for both land and people; the year was a chance to –

heal,
be reenergized,
grow.

And any fruits or vegetables that grew on their own that year? They could be picked and consumed by anyone. For in this kingdom God’s bounty was available for all.

After seven cycles of these seven Sabbath years, during year 50, the kingdom people would do even more. Called the Jubilee, or Year of Release, Jewish law dictated that all –

Debt be forgiven.
Slaves be liberated.
Prisoners be set free.

Even more, all property was to be returned to whom it originally belonged.
It was a –

grand resetting of wealth.
flattening of who is who.

As a result –
The rich found themselves less so.
The poor now had means.

Experiencing Jubilee couldn’t help but be celebrated as so many people found themselves newly free.

Hope began to emerge.

Perhaps farmers can now buy seed.
Perhaps they can purchase a herd.
Perhaps they can become more financially secure.

Perhaps.
Perhaps.
Perhaps.

For so much more was now possible than before.

Manager
Once upon a time there was a manager. The manager had what was, to him at least, a very important job. His boss owned a vast farmland. The manager oversaw it. The manager’s task was clear: maximize the profit that comes from the land. Wealth accumulation, for the owner, was the goal. All else mattered less. The manager was quite good at his job. At least initially. Over time the landowner became rich. The manager benefitted from it too.

It was an arrangement that worked well for them both.
It was an arrangement that soon would end.

For the manager’s performance began to slip. At least that’s what people said. Charged with not accumulating wealth as well as he could, the landowner, wanting better returns, took action.

You’re fired.
Hand over your files.
Be gone.

Newly unemployed, the manager naturally worried. What next? He was –

too weak to dig.
too proud to beg.

What would he do?

The manager realized it was time –

to change.
to make new friends.

New friends that might help him when times were tough.

But who would he turn to?
What did he have to offer?

All the manager knew was connected to this land.

Perhaps he could do something for the people that farmed it.
People that, until recently, he had happily extracted money from.

Because that was, after all, what the manager had been compensated to do.

The tenant farmers, as was the norm in this era, paid an exorbitant rent to the rich man. All for the right to work the land. The tenant farmers also bought what they needed from the company store. The harvest was rarely enough to pay both rent and the store.

Over time the farmers fell deeper and deeper in debt.

It was an unjust system.
It was a never-ending cycle,

That continued, from –

One season,
to the next,
to the next,
to the next.

Unless something changed,
within the system itself,
this cycle of poverty,
for the farmers would not end.

Then an idea! The manager knew what he could do.

Gathering the indebted farmers – not telling them his employment status had changed – the manager spoke with them one by one.

How much do you owe?
100 jugs of olive oil.
Make it 50.
We’ll call it good.

And how much for you?
100 containers of wheat.
Make it 80.
We’ll write off the rest.

Down the line the manager went, forgiving a portion of debt for anyone he could find.

It was a resetting of wealth.
A flattening of who is who.

The rich landowner found himself less so.
The tenant farmers now had some means.

And the manager?

He who had only served wealth,
Now served the people.

The manager,
by their actions,
had changed.

Because of their actions the newly freed farmers couldn’t help but feel relief.

Hope began to emerge.

Perhaps they could now repay other debts.
Perhaps they could buy seed.
Perhaps they could purchase a herd.

Perhaps, the farmers could now imagine, they could one day even purchase land of their own.

Perhaps.
Perhaps.
Perhaps.

For so much more was now possible than before.

Country
Once upon a time there was a country. This was not a perfect country. Inequalities based on race, gender, sometimes even who you love were still the norm. But it was a country with Christians. Lots of them. Taken together these Christians were a people of faith aspiring to follow the Lord their God with all their –

heart,
soul,
mind.

The country valued education. But they didn’t always value educators. And at times the country struggled to make college education more affordable for all. Soon costs began to spiral upward. Which required students take more and more loans out by the day.

Students paid significant sums to lenders – both in principal and interest – for the right to a degree. So much so there was not always enough to pay for housing and food too.

Over time the students-turned-workers fell deeper and deeper in debt. The possibility of digging themselves out of this mess by themselves grew dim.

But then an idea! The country knew what they could do.

We can forgive students their debts! For some all. For others at least some.

The students-turned workers were thrilled. Many others cheered for their fellow citizens, happy for their newfound freedom. But not all cheered.

The students-turned-workers couldn’t help but feel relief.

Hope began to emerge.

Perhaps they could now repay other debts.
Perhaps they could better care for their kids.
Perhaps they could purchase a home of their own.

Perhaps.
Perhaps.
Perhaps.

For so much more was now possible than before.

Close
Today’s text is the Parable of the Shrewd Manager. In it Jesus praises a newly unemployed man who both –

rips off his boss (the rich landowner), while
freeing people from the shackles of their debt.

What a way to exit your old job.

To say clergy often struggle on how to preach this is an understatement. No less than St. Augustine is said to have remarked, “I can’t believe this story came from the lips of our Lord!”

Yet here it sits. In our –

scripture,
lectionary,
churches today.

What to do.

This passage from Luke shares elements with the story of Jewish Jubilee. And it provides the underpinnings of how we might respond to current headlines too.

It is human nature to –

worship our riches.
focus on always gaining more.
prioritize money above all else.

When we do it causes others very real harm.

As our Fall stewardship season heats up it’s worth considering how we might respond.

To serve God is to serve God’s people.
To serve God is to forgive debts.
To serve God is to give back to those with less.

Whether or not we believe they deserve it.

You cannot serve both God and wealth.
You need to pick just one.
On this Christ is crystal clear.

Every day we must choose. Amen.

 

When Kathi and I visited St. John’s on a sunny Spring weekend earlier this year part of our itinerary was the search for a potential new home. To prepare we first outlined our needs: # of bedrooms, square feet, commute time, public schools we hoped Graham and Hannah could attend.

There was, of course, the question of cost: How much can you spend? We reviewed assets, crunched numbers, estimated payments, giving our realtor, Carol Lunde, a price range we could live with.

And then, over the course of a Friday afternoon and Saturday morning we found it. The house we desired more than any other. Right at the top of our range. Hoping to get a bit of a deal we offered under asking price. But this was a hot market, other offers were coming in.

What is your best and final offer? The current owners wanted to know.

We sharpened our pencils, had a heart-to-heart talk, and prepared to let go of more.

Then came the phone call. Congratulations! The house was ours. Yes!

We were ecstatic. To prepare for this big upcoming change we soon began to –

toss,
donate,
pack,
box

– readying ourselves to move.

The kitchen in our new home is smaller, so we downsized there the most. Kids clothes and old toys they’d outgrown were easy discards too. But there was an awful lot of things from the old home we just weren’t sure about.

We should probably hold on to things, at least for now, we figured. Just in case.

Deciding to save many decisions for another day in the moving truck most of our earthly possessions went.

Tradeoffs
Before long all that stuff arrived in Des Moines. When unpacking kitchen wares – admittedly this was mostly Kathi – we were pleasantly surprised. Most everything fit and functioned in our new space well. Our efforts to downsize, prior to moving, at least in this one space, had paid off.

While our old and new homes are similarly sized unplanned challenges soon became clear.

We were moving from –

a split-level floorplan to a colonial style,
fewer, larger rooms to more, and smaller spaces,
lots of wall space to lots (and lots) of windows.

The homes were radically different.

It was time to –

toss,
donate,
let go of more.

The 7-foot bean bag I simply adore? Now it’s too big. A 5-foot version would do.

And that 8-foot-high ginormous Ikea library shelf? Here it makes no sense at all. At least for books. Instead, we found a long 2-foot-high shelf for the reading collection situated below windows that lets plenty of light in. For that to work even more books had to be let go.

The last house came with two 1990s floral print Thomasville armchairs. Here we only need one. If you’re interested in the other – it’s super comfy – let me know. Free to a good home.

Our theme of late when getting settled is a simple one.

Let it go.
Let it go.
Let it go.

Journey
The Jesus we encounter in today’s text finds himself center stage, with people gathered all around. Up until this moment he’d been busy –

Casting out demons,
Healing lepers,
Giving sight to the blind.

By then thousands had heard him preach.
Some had even seen him raise the dead to life.

What could this mean? The crowd was energized, excited, exuberant as they pondered who this man was. Sensing a teachable moment Christ offers those gathered some advice.

If you want to move from –

The sidelines to the playing field,
Watching a performance to acting in it,
Humming the tune to singing the song –

Don’t go into it lightly.
Know what you’re getting into.

Count the cost, Jesus tells them.
Do the math before starting the job.
Make sure you can finish it well.

Your family may not appreciate this new you.
For it is a grand reordering in all you –

think,
believe,
do.

Because being a Christ-follower requires something. For to become my disciple, Jesus reminds, you must give up everything you’ve got. To do it well you’re going to have to start letting go.

The crowd, all about Jesus and what he represents had suddenly been thrown a curve.

It’d be like going to a concert, seeing your favorite band, loving every second. And then, afterwards, some news: there is space for you to join the road crew. Sweet! Anyone who wants to can take part.

A job description is shared.
A life of sacrifice is required.
Packing light a must.

You want to do it.
You *love* this band.

But you realize something. You’ll have to let some things go. For it’s the only way to do this journey well.

Today
Claimed in the waters of our baptism, each day we are offered the chance to join Jesus on the road. More than a concert, or weekend worship, we are –

called out of the crowd,
called to carry the cross,
called to serve.

To do that well we’re asked to consider all that we have, including what’s in our –

head,
wallet,
heart.

We’re asked to give it all up in service to God, in service to neighbor. And to start in on that path we’ve got to get comfortable with letting more go.

For that which we possess often ends up possessing us.

Being a Christ-follower represents a grand reordering in how we go about our days, placing love of God and neighbor above our –

Physical possessions,
Need to acquire,
Jealousy of others,
Need to control,
Partisan politics,
Everything.

We are asked to place –

Love of God over love of country,
Love of neighbor over love of money,
Love of serving over love of self.

We’re asked to evaluate all that we have, both externally and within, and then –

toss,
donate,
pack up,
set aside –

that which holds us back.

Because not all our stuff fits well in God’s house.

These verses have been used to make a case for giving up all your earthly possessions. The passage concludes with those exact words.

So if you feel led to give up all you physically own, and give the proceeds to the church, well we won’t turn you down. Tho perhaps speak with your spouse or financial adviser first 😊.

That said, the textual takeaway today is much broader than even that. For Christ asks us to also evaluate the contents of our head, the contents of our heart. In that personal inventory review you can’t help but find unhealthy hurts, habits, hang-ups that have been holding you back from faithfully following Christ.

I guarantee it. We all have them. It is part of our fallen human nature.

When you do find that stuff, take the words from a beloved Disney movie to heart:

Let it go.
Let it go.
Let it go.

Amen.

A reflection on the parable of The Invited Guests.

One of the best parts of starting a new pastoral call is all the new people you get to meet. You might have already picked up on something about your new Senior Pastor: I’m an extrovert. Spending time in community alongside others is my jam. I love being around people.

And one of the best ways to get to know others?
Simply sit down and break bread with them.
Do it as often as you can.

Earlier this summer our newsletter offered members the chance for the two of us to do just that. Be it coffee, breakfast, lunch, dinner or beer, you need only ask. We’ll calendar, find time, and sit down for a sip, a bite, a chat.

Many of you have already reached out and made time for me, or Kathi and I, or our entire family. The gatherings have been wonderful. Conversation always good. The bread we break, the drinks we share spot on too.

Every-so-often these gatherings produce a really amazing surprise. A couple weeks back, Kathi and I were invited to partake in a 20-year-old bottle of Port. Right alongside dessert. You better believe we said yes. That Port was *amazing* 😊.

Making connections like these comes with benefits. To get much of anything done in this world it helps to have some relational ground game.

Each of us do it to varying degrees. We have our own rolodexes – perhaps digital at this point, filled with –

Who we know,
what they do,
how we can reach them,
and how they can help us –

navigate through life as we go.

Networking with friends, family, and our communities is a big part of what this earthly kingdom is all about. And that, my friend, is not going away any time soon.

Invitations
Our text is the parable of Invited Guests from Luke 7. The first part of the parable often gets the most attention. Imagine walking into a wedding banquet, Jesus begins. How do you choose where to sit? Sit in the cheap seats Christ advises. If the host invites you to a better spot, well, good for you. If not that’s ok too. The takeaway is clear. Be humble. Be happy. For you can –

Eat,
Drink,
Talk,
Laugh,
Dance the night away.

Because invited guests are welcome to celebrate alongside everyone else.

But it’s the second half of the parable I find myself drawn to today.

This part isn’t about a seating chart. It’s about who gets to attend. When hosting a gathering, Christ asks us not to invite our –

Friends,
Siblings,
Rich neighbors.

Because they might in turn invite you to a gathering themselves.
And in that way we would be repaid.

Instead, invite the –

poor,
crippled,
lame,
blind.

From that you will be blessed.
For they cannot repay you.

Your reward for those invitations, instead, comes from above.

At face value what Jesus says here flies in the face of deeply established cultural norms. Let’s be honest…how often do we have gatherings like that? In this invite list someone else gets the 20-year-old Port that isn’t me or mine. And that can be a tough pill to swallow.

Following Christ’s imperative to widen our welcome to people outside our comfort zone is difficult. Perhaps that is why so many Jesus stories involve him mixing it up with people on the other side of the proverbial tracks.

This passage from Luke can’t help but remind me of a story from when our family lived in the Sunshine state.

Celebration
It was a gorgeous South Florida Sunday, about fifteen years ago. Kathi and I did then what we do now, we got up, showered, put clean clothes on, went to worship. The church had advertised a pancake brunch that morning. They had gotten the word out for weeks. People were exited. The big day had finally come. After service the congregation was invited to head outside for brunch.

Temperatures were in the mid-70s; a light ocean breeze blew through.

The menu was impressive; pancakes, eggs, sausage patties, hot coffee, fresh-squeezed Florida orange juice.

When you live mere miles from where the oranges are grown, the juice those oranges make is, well, perfection.

We got in line, eager for the prospects of a grand feast. Food now in hand we set our sights on finding a seat. I spotted a picnic bench underneath a large, covered patio protected from the sun. Bon chance. We sat down.

Admittedly we chose some of the better seats there. Most attendees did. We are merely human, all still learning lessons about the divine seating chart we are called to use.

Kathi and I then settled in to enjoy a good meal, good conversation. We were with people we knew, people we loved. There was joy, celebration, smiles all around.

To quote an Old Milwaukee beer jingle: it doesn’t get any better than this.

Challenge
And then, in the middle of a personal churchy utopia, a member of the congregation came up and whispered something in my ear.

“A homeless man is here, and in line for food. Should we do something about that?” The question implied an answer. I looked over at the serving line, easily spotting the man. Sporting a disheveled beard, dingy clothes, standing amongst the people of our church, all in their Sunday best, he was impossible to miss.

In my early 30s at the time, years before the pastoral call grew strong I was a bit –

More shy,
More cautious,
Less likely to disrupt the status quo.

Part of me just wanted to fit in with my nice, affluent, see and be seen church.

Yet I was the church council Vice President, and was being asked to take action. Asked to address this would-be issue.

“Thanks for the heads up,” I replied, taking another bite of pancake. The person sharing their concern noticed I wasn’t terribly bothered by it. They walked away.

Hopefully that would be the end of that.

In the moment I remember thinking –

What’s the big deal?
Let the guy sit down.
Let him eat.

But that was an internal conversation.

I said nothing.
I did nothing.
I settled for inaction instead.

A few minutes later, the President of the congregation approached me with an update. “There was a homeless person here that made a few people uncomfortable. So I went over, spoke with him, gave him some food, and escorted him off the property. I thought you should know.”

This homeless man had literally just been cast out from our church. He hadn’t been invited to the gathering. And he certainly hadn’t been asked to stay.

There would be no seat at the table for him that day. At least he had gotten some food.

This South Floridian Garden of Eden suddenly felt tainted.

Because it was very clear to me, in that moment who the church –
welcomed to the table, and
who they did not.

Years later this still bugs me. I hadn’t –

put down my fork,
stood up,
went over, and
made sure this man was treated well.

I could have done more.

Us
One of the things I love most about St. John’s is our commitment to being In The City For Good. Not merely a marketing tagline, the phrase centers us on who, as Christ-followers, we are called to serve here downtown.

The daily free lunch program, the Connection Café, run by St. John’s and three other downtown churches, is a great example. Five days a week we provide upwards of 100 meals each day to the food insecure.

Right here at 600 6th Ave.
Where all are welcome.
Where none are turned away.

Then there is the Beloved Community. That is an initiative began a decade and a half ago by my predecessor, Pastor Rachel. Pre-pandemic the Beloved Community gathered weekly Wednesday evenings for a meal, worship, intergenerational programming for all ages and stages of life.

The heart of the Beloved Community is the shared meal that invites –
Members and non-members,
The homeless and the homed,
Those with clean clothes,
And those without –

To sit down, side-by-side, elbow-to-elbow, to eat and drink, together. Not as disparate groups. But as one.

It is a banquet where –
none are left out.
all are welcomed in.

It is a banquet where the –
poor,
crippled,
lame,
and blind are invited to join in the fun.

And it is a glimpse, right here, right now, into what the kingdom of heaven is all about.

Today
In a week and half, on Wednesday September 7, we’re doing something exciting: rebooting our Beloved Community meal. We’ll start slowly, just offering it the first Wednesday of the month for now.

We hope to get our –
fridges cleaned out,
volunteers retrained,
hearts for hospitality reinvigorated once again.

Two and a half years of not doing something is a long time.

We want to get it right.
We want to do it well.

And then, once some rust is shaken off, we can reconsider how often to do this most beautiful of shared meals.

So if you would, please mark Wednesday, September 7, 5:30pm on your calendar.

Pray for a successful reboot.

Join in the meal,
consider volunteering,
consider giving to it if you can.

And definitely help us get the word out too.

For one of the best ways to get to know others?
Simply sit down and break bread with them.
Do it as often as you can.

We’re an active, social group, people of St. John’s. I love that about us. Keep it up! I’ll certainly be joining in on the fun.

Today’s text asks us to build on that, by inviting more people to the table.

For networking with all of God’s children is what the heavenly kingdom is all about.

It is in our recent memory.
It is in our DNA.
Let’s get back to it, with renewed vigor, once again. Amen.