An open question for Iowans.

What is the nature of God?

Yesterday, House Joint Resolution 8 was introduced to the Iowa legislature offering language that answers precisely that:

“In accordance with the laws of nature and nature’s God, the state of Iowa recognizes the definition of marriage to be the solemnized union between one human biological male and one human biological female.”

If ratified by voters the nature of God, as defined here, would become part of the Iowa Constitution.

We could talk about the 71% of Americans who believe gay marriage should be legal. We could reflect on how this acceptance has skyrocketed over the past three decades. Times have changed. The people have spoken.

We could consider the consequences of a law that limits a person’s right to marry who they love. A recent study shows 44% of LGBTQ youth in Iowa considered suicide in the last year compared to 18% of non-LGBTQ youth. Being treated as less than, by our government, for many of your fellow Iowans is literally a matter of life and death.

We could ponder whether religious language should be part of secular laws to begin with. Only 81% of us believe in God these days, a number that continues to decline. If God’s nature is used in our constitution to define who can and cannot marry, and you don’t happen to believe in God, then what? Perhaps it limits your ability to marry too.

But for now let’s return to the question, what is the nature of God? Because that is what the state of Iowa, with this attempt to amend our constitution, wants to define for you.

House Joint Resolution 8 would have you believe the nature of God is petty, controlling, judgmental, homophobic. HJR8 suggests God is more interested in limiting who you are than freeing you to become who you are called to be. It infers God screwed up with Creation somehow, and needs politicians to fix God’s mistakes. It codifies that basic human rights are for some of God’s children, but not for all.

Is this the God you know?

Because as a pastor I don’t recognize this God one bit.

The God I know created us in their image (Gen 1:26). At each step of creation the God I know saw everything they had made and called it good (Gen 1:4,10,12,18,21,24,28). Seven times God called creation good. Seven is a holy number.  It signifies completion. It signifies perfection.

The God I know is often reflected on and celebrated at weddings. Faith, hope and love remain. And the greatest of these? Love. (1 Cor 13:13)

The God I know gave us just two commandments: to love them, and to love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments hang all the law. (Matthew 22:37-40)

The God I know encourages us to love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. (1 John 4:7-8)

The God I know doesn’t worry about gender, for there is no longer Jew or Greek, slave or free, male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus. (Galatians 3:28)

If this sounds more like the nature of the God you know too it is time to act. As people of faith we are called to give voice to those our society seeks to marginalize. Especially when harming God’s creation is being done in God’s name.

Here are a few ways you can get involved:

Talk to your Pastor or Priest. Ask them how they plan to respond to HJR8, and other anti-LGBTQ+ Iowa legislation currently being considered. Ask them if they have officiated a same-gender wedding. Ask them if they would. Ask them if a same-gender wedding can be performed in your worship space. If not, ask why. Ask them what the common church catchphrase All Are Welcome means to them, and how your congregation lives into it.

Many Christian denominations and faith settings have evolved considerably to better care for, honor, respect and embrace the LGBTQ+ community in recent years, including my congregation, St. John’s Lutheran in Des Moines. If your faith community is already part of this shift towards inclusion celebrate that. If they are not help them change. Not all churches care about equality. Many more should.

Contact your legislators. Tell them you oppose HJR8. Let them know the freedom to marry should not be up for debate. Tell them what you think of this attempt to define the nature of God. Let them know your name, the name of your church, your Pastor’s name. Make sure they know that, as a person of faith, you cannot abide as your government seeks to define God in ways that cause harm. To reach your legislators go here. 

Join Lutheran Day on the Hill. On March 14 join Lutherans from across Iowa, with our partners at Lutheran Services in Iowa. We will gather at the Capitol in Des Moines to amplify, advocate and empower our voices and our state officials. It is a great way to learn about advocacy, meet your legislators and state officials, and get more involved in issues like LGBTQ+ inclusion, supporting Iowa’s mental health system, and empowering refugees and immigrants. Register here. I hope to see you there.

Don’t let our legislators define God is such small, limiting, hurtful, harmful ways. Do better Iowa. Our Christian faith calls us to more.

In 1969, illustrator and children’s book author Eric Carle had an idea. With hole-punch in hand, he playfully went to work on a stack of papers. Looking at the result he thought of a bookworm. But his editor, Ann Beneduce, suggested a worm may not make for a very likeable character. “Why not make it a caterpillar,” she suggested. Eric replied enthusiastically “Butterfly!” The book soon took shape.

Looking back over 50 years later, the moment inspired a book iconic, memorable, colorful, and full of holes. Punch holes that is. Right there in the book, a brand-new form at the time.

The book wasn’t just creative, it was a commercial success. It’s been translated into over 40 languages, with sales of over 50 million copies worldwide. That equates to almost two copies sold, every minute of the past five decades.

For children, parents, grandparents and beyond there’s a good chance you’ve read this book, or had it read to you at some point.

We’re talking, of course, about The Very Hungry Caterpillar.

Caterpillar
The book begins at birth, a little egg lay on a leaf, in the light of the moon.

One Sunday morning, in the warmth of the sun, out of the egg came a caterpillar. It was tiny. And very, very hungry.

On the first day the caterpillar ate one apple; a holepunch on the page marks the meal. But it was still hungry. The second day it ate through two pears, making two holes. But it was still hungry. Each day, it ate more, and differently, a new fruit on each new page. Every bite creating more and more holes.

And on the sixth day the caterpillar bit into all kinds of other foods; cake and cheese, pie and pickles, oh my.

With all this eating the caterpillar was no longer hungry. And no longer little. All this eating had transformed the tiny caterpillar into a big one. So the caterpillar built a cocoon around themselves, staying inside for two weeks.

Nibbling a hole in their case the creature then reemerged back into the world around. But in that time spent in the cocoon, magically, it had changed.

Sixteen legs became six.
No wings became two.

An insect, once grounded, then took flight.

As the book ends the old creature is no more. In its place stands a new creature. A bright, majestic, beautiful butterfly.

The metamorphosis, from one form, into a completely different one, was complete.

Path
The story of our savior reads similarly.

Jesus, born an infant, ate and drank and grew into adulthood, from tiny to full size, just as you and I. He was fully human after all.

As Jesus’s ministry unfolded people could tell there was something unique about the man. New life radiated from Jesus to all who were drawn to it. And a lot of people were. Enough so, that, 2,000 years later here we are, still talking about events and people long since gone.

A butterfly flapping its wings seems like such a little thing. But one small flap can create new ripples of wind, again, and again, and again. All going out from the original source. One small flap, enough to create a major weather event across the globe.

Most of the time Jesus walked the earth, among us, his light and life and truth, that people were drawn to, was more feeling, instinct, heart. All wrapped up in that still seemingly human form.

Yet change was in the air.

With each disciple gained, temptation faced, miracle performed, table turned the ripple effect, of Christ’s ministry, widened.

With every sermon delivered, tear shed, blessing given, prayer lifted, those caught up in Christ’s ripple effect changed for the better, little by little, day by day. The ripple, of a new movement, continued to spread.

Mountain
All this change, and transformation, already in process, brings Jesus and a few friends to the surprising events of Matthew 17.

Leading disciples Peter and James and John up a high mountain the human form of Jesus, seemingly, out of nowhere, transforms.

His face shone like the sun.
His clothes were brighter than bright.

And in this moment, what radiated from Christ, this light and life and truth, took on a physical nature. Transfiguring Christ into a more beautiful, spiritual state. A butterfly, seemingly, had appeared.

Suggesting, to all who were there,
Christ must be something,
beyond mere mortal.

Moses, and Elijah then enter the scene.

Suggesting God’s faithful,
from all ages,
are also included in the new.

Home
Peter, sensing a moment divine, offers to make homes for the three prophets. Imagine him looking around for building materials, right there on the spot. Ready to get the construction project started, ancient hammer in hand.

Peter desires to build a safe space, apart from the world, so they all can celebrate, and be content in the moment. His plans were not to be.

First, butterflies don’t have homes in this way. They’re travelers. The grand monarch travels distances of up to 3,000 miles, using air currents and thermals to go long distances.

Jesus said as much, saying; “Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.”

Second, a movement is just that. It requires motion, not a fixed space. Because this particular moment, of shining faces, and clothes brighter than bright was merely a small reveal of what was to come.

The moment would pass. It needed to. It had to.

For there was more learning, more growing, more transforming, in the life and ministry of Christ yet to come.

Growth
As a parent, at times my wife and I find ourselves watching Hannah and Graham grow up, wishing we could slow it down. Maybe we could bottle up all that life and energy in them we love so, lock it away, and hold onto it forever.

A few years ago, as our family of four read bedtime stories, I remember Graham, practicing the sound for words ending in ING. Ing, ing, ing, Graham and I would say, over and over and over. We put the syllable on repeat until I was sure he had this tiny reading lesson learned.

Story time now over, Graham went upstairs to brush his teeth. I then hear him parading up and down the hallway playfully shouting ing, ing, ing! He had learned, and applied, and was now having some fun with that word ending too.

I wanted to hold on to the moment forever, never letting go.
Because the moment, in all its simplicity and silliness, was beautiful.

But we can’t hold on too tightly. Our kids and grandkids and great-grandkids have more growth left to do.

Because soon enough for Graham ing, ing, ing, became sing, and ring, and playing and laughing and reading and writing, and learning and all sorts of other somethings. Somethings like loving and helping and volunteering and making a difference in this world God loves so.

At some point, our children will move from our home into their own – that’s really a thing, right? – with the chance to create and mold and help transform their own creatures into something bold, beautiful. With that the metamorphosis begins anew.

Metamorphosis
One sacred evening, in the warmth of a manger, Mary birthed a baby boy. She named him Jesus. The infant ate and drank and grew into adulthood, from tiny to full size, just as you and I. He was fully human after all.

But this baby turned boy turned adult was different. As the child grew he took in all sorts of things from his surroundings. For man does not live by bread, or drink, alone. Jesus ate and drank-in the world around him, listening to, praying with, speaking to and serving, saints and sinners alike.

Each person he encountered left transformed, never to be the same again.

All this eating and drinking in the world around led Jesus to the ultimate transformation. He endured a cross, a grave and a tomb, staying inside it for three days. With stone rolled away a new creature reemerged, back to walk the earth some more.

Christ has died,
Christ is risen,
Christ will come again.

This we believe.

The old creature had been transformed, once and for all. In its place stood a bright, majestic, beautiful savior.

And the world would never be the same.

Close
The season of Lent brings with it language of journey, challenge, change. And with all that change comes a temptation, like Peter faced, watching Jesus’ face shine so brightly. A temptation to stop all that growth and transformation. A temptation to lock it all down, once and for all. Tying it merely to only one time. Only one place.

But when that happens we limit our faith to just –

A Christmas eve service,
An Easter day sunrise,
Or only our beliefs, as we understood them, as a child.

We see change occurring all around us at St. John’s.
We wonder, collectively, where it might lead.

As we look upon this upcoming season of change, we too, are called to lives of transformation. We too are asked to consider, what it means –

To love our neighbor, as much as we love ourselves.
To be open to those transforming, from one gender to another.
To better care for the unhoused, underfed, those chronically without.

For in Christ all things are being made new.

For in Christ we leave the old, broken creature within us behind. And instead begin to embrace our new creaturely forms. Forms majestic. Forms beautiful. Forms that radiate life. Living in perfect harmony with ourselves, our neighbors, the world.  Amen.

A mashup of the Beatitudes and the enduring legacy of one man.

On February 21, 1940, on the outskirts of Troy Alabama, a baby Black boy was born. The third of ten children, his parents were sharecroppers, picking cotton, trying to make a living wage. Given how little money cotton picking brings, it was a family affair: each of the ten children had to do this backbreaking work.

The boy recalls he didn’t like doing it one bit. He was determined to get out of that field. Determined to get out of that hot sun.

Dreaming of better days, the boy wanted to be a minister when he grew up. To practice his future craft often he preached to the largest audience he could find. It was a crowd of 300… chickens. He recalled some chickens bowed their heads. Others would shake at his words. But he never could quite get them to say Amen 😊.

Growing up in the deeply segregated rural South, by the time he was six, the boy had only seen two white people in his life. This is, perhaps, the opposite of parts of rural Iowa that are nearby.

And when he did go into town, and encountered people with pigment lighter than his own, the experiences were, to put it mildly, less than ideal.

The boy had a great schoolteacher, who often told him, “read, my child, read!” And he did, devouring every book he could. Yet as a teenager, when he and his siblings went to the public library and asked for library cards they were told the library was for whites and not coloreds. They walked home empty handed that day.

As a teenager going into town he noticed signs that told him where he could and could not eat, drink, or sit, with labels like –

– White men only
– White women only
– No coloreds allowed

…he asked his parents what do those signs mean? They told him, “Boy, that’s the way it is. Don’t get in the way. Don’t get in trouble.”

At 17 the now young man met Rosa Parks, who helped organize the Montgomery Alabama bus boycott. A year later he met the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr., who encouraged him to get more involved in a movement growing by the day.

Not wanting to pick cotton, a voracious reader, wanting to become a preacher, and possessing the audacity to desire the same civil rights other Americans had one thing was clear: something must give.

The young man was going to get in trouble. Of this there was no doubt. But what kind of trouble would it be?

Scripture
Matthew’s beatitudes that begin the Sermon on the Mount is one of the most well-known passages in all of scripture.  Data from BibleGateway.com suggests that, based on their search history, it is the 7th most popular scripture searched on their site.

A benefit of passages this well known is they often end up being referenced in pop culture. Consider these famous lines from the 1979 Monty Python movie Life of Brian:

Person 1: What did he say?
Person 2: I think it was Blessed are the cheesemakers.
Person 1: What’s so special about the cheesemakers?
Person 2: Well, obviously, this is not meant to be taken literally. It refers to any manufactures of dairy products.

The version of the Beatitudes you heard earlier is from The Message. More paraphrase than translation, it was written to make the biblical text relevant to our times.

Most Beatitudes translations begin with blessed are the, and share what groups are blessed and with what.  Blessed are –
– the poor,
– the meek,
– the hungry,
– the thirsty,
– the merciful,
– the persecuted,
– the peacemakers.

The Message takes a slightly different angle, beginning with you’re blessed when, then outlining real-life situations that apply.

You’re blessed when –
– You’re at the end of your rope,
– You feel you’ve lost what is most dear,
– You show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight,
– You care.

We could do a 10-week sermon series on each of the beatitudes. One per week. There is plenty that could be said about them. Or we could do a really long sermon that covers each in depth right now – anyone want to hear me preach for 2 hours? No? 😊.

Instead I’d like to share more about that Black boy born in Troy Alabama in 1940. As his story unfolds – and this is a mashup of history and scripture – listen for the phrases blessed are the and you’re blessed when. The blessings shared throughout are pulled straight from Matthew 5, and suggests what living a life based on the Beatitudes just might be about.

Story
The path for the young Black man with no interest in picking cotton began to unfold. He graduated from seminary, was ordained a Baptist minister, started in on a bachelor’s in religion and philosophy. It is then, as a student, when his troubles truly began.

Unable to accept the status quo of the South at the time he organized sit-ins at segregated lunch counters in Nashville. He also attended workshops that taught him the discipline and philosophy of nonviolence. He then incorporated these non-violence tools into pretty much all he did.

During the turbulent times of the 1960s the young man said it was important to engage in good trouble, necessary trouble in order to achieve change. He held to this credo for the rest of his life.

Anyone know who we’re talking about here? John Lewis. Yes, of course. In 1961 Lewis became one of the original 13 Freedom Riders, a group of seven blacks and six whites who rode on interstate buses from Washington DC to New Orleans, challenging the unconstitutional, segregated seating of the south.

While the Freedom Riders practiced peaceful resistance, the angry mobs they often encountered did not.

Lewis was beaten and arrested multiple times on these rides. Reflecting back on the experience, he recalls that “we were determined not to let any act of violence keep us from our goal. Our lives could be threatened, but we had made up our minds not to turn back.”

Blessed are those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness. For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

One of the “Big Six” leaders who organized the March on Washington in 1963, Lewis spoke right before Martin Luther King Jr. gave his I Have a Dream speech. In his speech Lewis expressed frustration that the 1963 Civil Rights Bill didn’t do enough to protect African Americans from police brutality.

Yesterday I watched video released late Friday of Tyre Nichols, the 29-year-old Black man who was beaten, clubbed, pepper sprayed and tasered by five Memphis police officers. It all happened during what, by all accounts, looked to be a routine traffic stop. Tyre died from the wounds these officers inflicted three days later; the officers were charged with murder earlier this week. The problem Lewis named in 1963 still haunts us today.

In this we confess, when it comes to protections from police brutality there is more work to be done.

Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.

On March 7, 1965 Lewis led over 600 marchers across the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma Alabama, in support of voter registration efforts for Blacks. At the end of the bridge they were met by Alabama State Troopers, who ordered them to disperse. They did not disperse. Instead they stopped to pray. And why not? Lewis was a pastor after all.

State troopers then discharged tear gas and charged at the demonstrators, beating them with nightsticks. On a day that would become known as Bloody Sunday Lewis’s skull was fractured. He bore scars on his head from the incident for the rest of his life.

Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven.

In his 33 years serving in the US House of Representative for Georgia’s 5th district Lewis led through the lens of the Beatitudes constantly, blessing so many along the way.

He co-sponsored bills to help put poor people to work, provide job training and daycare, fair housing, and a fair minimum wage.

Blessed are the poor, in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

He co-sponsored the 1993 Brady Handgun Violence Prevention Act, asking at the time, “how long do we have to wait before we decide to ban assault weapons? He also co-sponsored the 2013 Violence Against Women Act, voted against the death penalty as a matter of conscience, and voted against the use of military force in Iraq too.

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

And in 2010 he voted to repeal the Don’t Ask Don’t Tell act, with the repeal granting protections for the LGBTQ+ community in the military. “We should have put an end to Don’t Ask Don’t Tell long ago,” he said at the time.

You’re blessed when you care. At that moment you find yourselves cared for.

John Lewis died in 2020, after spending eight decades advocating for countless millions of marginalized children of God. By then he had been arrested 40 times in the 1960s, and another 5 times as a member of Congress. He had been punched, kicked, teargassed, and clubbed with nightsticks frequently. His life had been threatened hundreds, if not thousands of times. And yet he’d continued to serve and suffer harm, all with the love of Christ.

The last two verses of the Beatitudes from the Message conclude with this:

Count yourselves blessed every time people put you down or throw you out or speak lies about you to discredit me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and they are uncomfortable. You can be glad when that happens—give a cheer, even!—for though they don’t like it, I do! And all heaven applauds. And know that you are in good company. My prophets and witnesses have always gotten into this kind of trouble.

This kind of trouble.
This kind of good trouble.
This kind of necessary trouble.

This, my friends, embodies what it is to follow Christ. The Way of Christ asks us to join in God’s mission for the world, remaking life here to better mirror heaven.

As Black History month begins let us celebrate the advances in equality that have been made. Let us confess that, when it comes to issues of systemic injustice and systemic racism, there is more to be done to live that out well. And let us commit to getting into good trouble, necessary trouble, in Christ’s name, blessing others who desperately need it, as we go.  Amen.

A Christmas Eve message based on Luke 2:1-14.

The commute Mary and Joseph made that first Christmas would not be fun. Ninety miles from home, even on donkey, the trip by land would take five days, four at best.

Mary’s pregnancy was already far along. These days she might have been put on bedrest. Instead the pair traveled, by government decree, to a land not their own.

Away from their homeland, away from friends, family, the tribe of people they knew and loved the couple had a problem.

Labor pangs had begun. The unwed, soon-to-be mother of God was about to give birth. Now what? With so many out-of-towners around to be counted their options were limited. There was –

No room at the inn.
No guest room from a friend.
No AirBnB room for rent.

Here, stay with the animals, a local resident offered. Make yourself at home.

It’s the best we can do.

The space offered limited shelter from the elements. At least there was that. But it wasn’t intended for humans to sleep. And it certainly wasn’t ideal for a mother giving birth.

Weary from travel, needing to make the most of the situation, the pair settled in, arranging the few belongings they had on the floor. The accommodations would not be comfortable.

It’s the best they could do.

And it was there, amid humble beginnings, where –

Mary gave birth,
wrapped the baby in cloth,
and laid him in a manger.

Shepherds
Nearby there were shepherds. They too slept on the ground, under the stars, making the best of a difficult situation. They too were away from home, keeping watch over flocks by night. Part of the marginalized peasant class, oppression and exploitation for the shepherds was never too far away. The Roman government targeted their kind. Perhaps one day they would be next.

And then, before their very eyes, what was that? An angel! What on earth could this mean? They couldn’t help but feel anxious.

Fear not, I bring you good news of great joy, the angel explained. Great joy for all the people! The angel told them of the birth of a Savior, not too far away.

Look for –

the child,
wrapped in cloth,
lying in a manger.

The heavens then opened up, and amidst the stars that shown bright came a heavenly host proclaiming –

Glory to God in the highest!
Peace on earth for those God favors!

The shepherds were dumbfounded. Great joy for all? Could that include them? Peace on earth? Could that be for them too? They, they lowest of the low, the homeless, the poor, the despised? They had a Savior?

And they got to hear this good news first?

Before the kings and queens and soldiers and merchants?

Could it be true?

Excitedly they went in search of salvation. They found it, in the form of a baby, wrapped in cloth, lying in a manger. Overcome with joy they then went and shared this good news with everyone. It is good news for all the people. Including people that come from lowly, humble beginnings. People just like them.

Nativity
Five days ago, after a long day here preparing for this very moment, I left the church office and headed to my car. As I opened the outside door a familiar voice belted out “Good evening!” With darkness already descended my eyes slowly adjusted. I looked to find from where the greeting had come.

There, in the corner of our patio I spotted a homeless man, settling down for the night. He sat mere feet from our large nativity.

Walking over to return the greeting I now recognized him. The two of us had chatted a few times in the past couple weeks as I left the office at night.

Previously I’d initiated conversation.
This time he spoke first.

“I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me,” he said.

What? I mentally scrambled to remember our prior conversations. In each I’d –

Said hello,
Asked how he was doing,
Hoped he could stay warm,
And told him he was welcome to stay.

Up to then we’d spoken for perhaps a minute, maybe two. That was it.

Thank you for everything you’ve done?!? What?

His words echoed in my head.
In any real sense I had done nothing.

Of course, I responded. It’s the least we can do.

We then got to talking of how he was doing. He proudly showed me a recently acquired sleeping bag that helps him stay warm. He shared that he likes being partially out of the elements like this. Our patio provides protection, at least partially, from wind, rain and snow.

“This place makes me feel safe,” the man said. “It’s why I keep coming back.”

“Tho I’m not sleeping well lately,” he continued. “I might try the shelter tomorrow night.”

I nodded. “Do you know about the lunch program we host five day a week here, The Connection Café?” This was news to him, good news, and he was excited about it. “I get hungry during the day a lot. I’ll definitely check it out.”

The man then shared about a surgery he had over the summer, and his struggles with anxiety. I lamented Iowa does so poorly providing mental health resources.

Our Iowa has one of the lowest rates of psychiatrists available in the nation; we rank 47th out of 50.

“Oh, it isn’t as bad as Maryland,” he replied. By chance I grew up in Maryland; more connection had been made. The two of us then compared notes on where we’d lived in the Old Line State, where the best crab cakes could be found.

Considering we were talking outdoors, in freezing temperatures, still a few feet from a church nativity set complete with wooden shepherds, animals, Mary, Joseph, Jesus and a manger the moment felt surprisingly light.

And yet soon this man would unroll a sleeping bag and place it on a cold, hard surface. Then, once the bag was arranged just so he would climb into it and lay down his head. All in the hopes of getting some sleep. To be sure the space isn’t designed for how it is being used.

But for this man,
in this moment,
it is the best he could do.

Our conversation winding down I –

wished him well,
headed to my car,
put the key in the ignition,
turned the heater on high,
and headed home.

Crux
It’s the least we can do.

As I drove away the words turned over in my head –

again, and
again, and
again.

It’s the least we can do.

The man seemed so grateful. Yet he had so little. And I had done practically nothing. Our conversation created a cognitive dissonance within that I can’t quite shake.

It’s the least we can do.

And then hit me. I actually could have done less. I could have shooed the man away. I could have told him he wasn’t welcome here. I could have called the police, ensuring our sacred spaces stayed sanitized.

Because sometimes, in polite society, let’s be honest: it can be hard to look human need directly in the eye.

Reflecting on the man graciously sleeping, feet from our nativity here at St. John’s, I couldn’t help but wonder: how many other –

public places,
private properties,
church doorsteps –

had he already been swept away from?

It’s the least we can do.

Is it? Has our shared commitment to one another really sunk so low?

Arriving home that night my wife could tell something was up. She always can. Before going to bed she finally cajoled me into talking. When sharing the story with her, a few hours after the experience, I broke down and wept.

Impact
Most every night between two and six people spend the night here with us outdoors. Some prefer to sleep along the 6th Avenue side; the heating vents there offer warmth. Others, like the man I spoke with, prefer our patio as it protects from wind, rain, snow.

They are welcome guests. They are a reminder that, when it comes to bringing the kingdom of God here on earth there is more to be done.

In honor of our outdoor friends this year a gift box has been attached to the patio nativity set. The box has a small opening for donations. As the magi brought gifts to honor the newborn king so can you.

Between Christmas Eve and Epiphany on January 6, you are invited to drop off your coins, cash, checks, or gold. Frankincense and myrrh would be a-ok too 😊

100% of donations placed in the nativity set box will be given to Central Iowa Shelter & Services. CISS is a partner organization who offers shelter, meals, and resourcing for those who far too often go without. The box is locked, and will be emptied daily, ensuring your gifts get to those who need it most.

Close
Many of us have very good reason to celebrate the birth of our Lord. We do it with prayers, songs, gifts, shared meals. I am excited to celebrate with family. Our stockings have been hung with care. I pray you have people to celebrate this sacred day with too.

As we do let us remember that, most of all, the promise of Christmas is a message of –

good news,
of great joy, and
peace on earth.

It is a message first delivered to the shepherds. Aka they who slept outdoors under the stars.  Aka they who were poor, lowly, despised.

This is good news for –
them,
us,
all.

Oh holy night, the stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of our dear Savior’s birth.

Merry Christmas, beloved. Amen.