Sermon for Palm Sunday

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on March 25, 2018
Preaching text: Mark 11:1-11

The last few weeks, I’ve been enjoying the series Altered Carbon on Netflix. It’s an interesting series to say the least. Fascinating premise. Sometime in the future, humans stumble onto alien technology that allows them to transfer their souls from one body to another. This gives humanity something they’ve always wanted, always hungered for: immortality.

Warning: If sex, blood, violence, and nudity unsettles or offends you, this show is not something you want to watch. The trailer above is safe however.

It is said that sometimes the worst thing you can do to someone is give them everything they’ve ever wanted and that seems to be the undercurrent in this series. A world where humans cannot physically die is not a paradise, but a nightmare. Imagine for a moment all the worst our society has to offer; all the bloated arrogant CEOs and government leaders we all love to complain about. All the mob bosses and members of the criminal underworld. All the tyrants and megalomaniacs. Now imagine all of them living forever. Having forever to accumulate even more power and more money. Imagine what few morals they have degrading even further as the greatest consequence for their vile behavior is now gone. They cannot die. Some of them become so full of themselves that they even deign to pretend to be gods and among the common rabble are those willing and even eager to worship them.

Of all the sci-fi series and worlds I’ve visited in my reading and viewing of film and TV, this is probably the bleakest dystopia I’ve ever seen.

Of course, I don’t have to go to fiction to find examples of how getting everything we’ve ever wanted is not a good thing. Just look to the real world, to those nations where one faction, one party has control of everything. Places where that elite handful get everything they ever wanted. The results usually aren’t pretty.

Back in the 1980s, the British pop band Tears for Fears had a huge hit with “Everybody Wants to Rule the World.” It’s one of my all-time favorite songs in large part because it is a perfect description of the human species. Truly, we all do want to rule the world. We want things our way. However, add into that the theme I’ve been harping on all Lent about how we are our own worst enemies and we find disaster. Because what happens when one of us does rule the world? What happens when one of us does actually get everything we want? It’s not paradise. It’s a nightmare, a calamity, even for us.

As bad as that is, there might be something that’s just a little bit worse and that’s what brings us to Palm Sunday, to Jesus’ Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem and to the events that follow over the course of this coming week. If you were a news reporter with the ability to time travel and you decided to go back to that moment, what do you suppose everyone would tell you about what was going on?

Why is everyone celebrating? What is everyone expecting? What is everyone hoping for? Why this grand jubilee? This over-the-top celebration? Why all the hubbub over this Jesus character? We think we know the answers to those questions, but the truth is however that I suspect we’d find 2000 years of religious upbringing and teaching has confused us.

This is not about salvation from sin and death. This is not about the culmination of God’s covenant with the world that he first made to Abraham. This is not about eternal life or forgiveness of sins. It’s not about any of those things that hindsight has imposed upon that first Palm Sunday. To the people there, in that moment, it was all about what they wanted most: it was about God’s anointed liberator kicking butt and taking names on those Roman monsters who had enslaved the people for almost 100 years. Those Romans who had taken over from the Greeks, who had taken over from the Persians, who had taken over from the Babylonians, reaching back almost 500 years into the past since the last time a true Israelite king had sat upon the throne.

They wanted blood on the streets and King David upon the throne once more. They wanted Jesus to be king. And they felt he could do it. The one who made the blind to see and the lame to walk would have nothing to fear from the swords of the Roman legions. He had the power of God on his side.

But then there’s Jesus himself, fully aware of what he’s come to do, of who he is and his purpose in bringing about God’s kingdom. As tempting as it might be to rule as an Earthly king (one of Satan’s three temptations, you may recall), that’s so small and petty a goal. So he passes by and does not do this thing the people want. He does not give them what they desire.

He understood that this small thing they demand of him, to rule as earthly monarch, would be the worst thing that could happen to them. If gives them what they want, hope will die. Sin and evil will win. And death will indeed have the last word for all time.

Jesus may have understood that, but the crowd does not. And when he refuses to do as they wish, they turn on him. Those who cry Hosanna today will cry Crucify on Friday. Same people. As bad as it is to give us what we want, it can sometimes be worse to not give it to us. In this case, not granting our petty little desire led us to murdering God himself.

The brilliance of God’s plan is that is precisely what he knew would happen. Everybody wants to rule the world. All the way back in the garden that was our sin. To be like God. To REPLACE God with ourselves. Okay, fine, we can’t be God, but as long as he does what WE WANT, we’re okay with it. And then, when he doesn’t....CRUCIFY HIM!!!!

The cross gives silent testimony against the whole human race. It is our indictment. It is where we murdered God because he would not bend to our petty and insignificant desires. Where we killed him because he dared to ignore our bloodlust, our ambition, our arrogance. That moment, perhaps more than any other, is proof of our damnation. We should be, rightly, beyond redemption. Guilty of the greatest sin of all time: killing God himself.

God knew that all along and still let it happen. Because despite all our depravity, he still loves us beyond words. It’s as if God saying to us, do what you wish. Break this body. Spit in my face. It will not stop me from granting what you NEED to have true life. It will not stop me from forgiving you. It will not stop me from loving you.

Some of the most powerful words from Scripture, if not THE most powerful, are “Father, forgive them. They know not what they do.” No, indeed we did not. We still don’t. Our folly can be seen all over this world. We march in line behind all sorts of would-be messiahs all because we think they’ll give us our every desire. And when they fail, as they always do, we metaphorically crucify them too. And then we chase after the next one and on and on it goes throughout history.

But all that we truly need has already been given us. All the true hungers of our inner self have been satisfied. If only we trusted in what God has done for us. Taking our greatest and most terrible sin and transforming it into what we’ve needed most. Forgiveness, salvation, eternal life. That’s the Christian story at its heart.

Every week, we return to this place to hear that story anew. Because we don’t trust in it. Our faith falters in the face of a unrelentingly evil world and in the face of our own inescapable flaws and vices. Every week, we begin with confession, with our admission that life has twisted us in many and various ways into what we do not wish to be. But every week we also conclude with that equally inescapable truth: “I have given my body and my blood for you. That’s how much I love you.”

Even though we’re the ones who broke that body. Even though we’re the ones who bled it. God loves us still. God forgives us still. God gives us all that we need for true life. Not what we want, but what we need. Trust in it again. Amen.

Sermon for the Fifth Sunday of Lent

Preached at Canadochly and Grace on March 18, 2018
Preaching text: Jeremiah 31:31-34, John 12:20-33

Last Sunday, once I was done with worship at both congregations, with the time change and all, the last thing I wanted to do when I got home was...well...pretty much anything. So I plopped down in front of the TV and let my brain rot. I flipped through Netflix and settled on the comic book movie 300. 300’s an interesting film. Based on a Frank Miller comic, it’s a stylized retelling of a real event in history: the battle of Thermopylae, where 300 Greek Spartan soldiers stood their ground against a Persian invasion force that probably numbered over 100,000 men.

That story has been told and retold many many times and the Spartans themselves are held up as paragons of bravery and valor. In many ways, it’s a story that’s come to mean whatever you want it to mean. The gun rights people often emblazon their vehicles with a bumper sticker containing a curious phrase: μολὼν λαβέ (Molon Labe). That’s from Thermopylae; it’s the answer the Spartans gave to the Persians when they demanded they lay down their weapons and surrender. Molon Labe, “Come and take them.” (That scene is in the film, by the way.)

Likewise, there’s a moment in the movie that’s stuck with me this week. Leonidas, the Spartan king, gives a speech about how they’re all there to fight and die for peace, freedom, and a new world. It’s a good speech, but utterly inaccurate. Historians will tell you that yes, courage was certainly a virtue among the Spartans, but freedom? Peace? Reason? Hardly. They were just as tyrannical and brutal, if not more so, as the Persians they opposed. They were a savage people, arguably the least civilized of the Greek city-states. But again, the battle, that moment in history, all that has come to mean whatever we want it to mean.

But I find that speech curious, because it’s a speech that could be given in any number of historical contexts. George Washington could have given it. Robespierre. Lenin. Ho Chi Minh. Pretty much any revolutionary or pseudo-revolutionary could inspire us with such words. You could argue Obama swept into office 9 years ago on similar sentiments. Or Trump just 1 year ago coming after him. All lauding their vision of a new world, one where our people will no longer be on the bottom, but we will have our fair share at last.

It’s one of the deepest desires of our heart: a new world, a better world. One where we are free. One where there is justice. One where there is peace. All too often though, for all the lofty rhetoric, that ideal runs headlong into the reality of the human condition. All too often it gets caught up in the inertia of bureaucracy and institutional systems. All too often it leads to an object lesson in the old truism about how power corrupts. All too often it becomes a world where freedom, justice, and peace are only available to one group in society, leaving all the others to dream of their own new world where they’ll gain such things and the cycle begins anew. A popular anime that I like once called this the “endless waltz,” the three beats of war, peace and revolution that continue on forever.

We are our own worst enemies and here again is a rather potent way it manifests.  If you take an honest look at America today, you’ll find all those things. Bureaucratic inertia has strangled the American dream. Corruption is at all levels of our government and leadership. And it is very true that “All for me and none for thee” operates on numerous levels of our society. Why is that? Because it’s a human experiment. We cannot escape what we are.

If this is starting to sound familiar, it should. I’ve lead right back to where we were last Sunday when I spoke of inescapability of human sin, of our own sin, and of God’s solution thereof. At this point, I should probably point out that that speech about our coming new world that has inspired generation after generation of revolutionaries and visionaries, that speech can be found in the Bible. In fact, we two such examples this Sunday.

“I will make a new covenant with my people,” says the Lord in Jeremiah. “Now is the judgment of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out. And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.” Jesus echoes in our Gospel. These are revolutionary words. As is the Magnificat. As is the whole book of Revelation. As is the teaching Jesus gave Nicodemus in John 3 that we had last Sunday. But there is one key difference between these examples and the fictitious speech of Leonidas that has echoed pointlessly and futilely throughout history. This will be a revolution that God leads, not us. He will change the world, not us.

And that, of course, is precisely why Jesus comes. That’s why he was born. It’s why he lived. It’s why he died and why he rose again. It’s all about the new world; it’s all about the kingdom of God. It’s all about the victory Christ wins over sin and death. Oh, yeah, and in case it’s escaped you, that victory occurred in history around 2000 years ago and it echoes through all of eternity. It’s done. We’ve won.

The world may not look like it, but it’s true. And there’s the rub for us. People aren’t going to believe in the Kingdom unless we give them some glimpse of it. Many in the church, recognizing the failure of human revolution, have given up entirely on doing anything that makes the world better. We’ll always fail, and, yes, we will. But with God having won the war, there is still a benefit to winning a battle or two along the way. People need hope. People need to see what God has done. People need to have the kingdom made real for them.

And that’s our job, our calling. Can we change the big picture? No, only God can do that. But we can change a portion of it for the people we encounter every day. We can show them God’s new world by giving food to one who is hungry, shelter to one without a home, comfort to one whose heart is breaking, a voice for those without one, and justice for those oppressed. We can’t make a new world, but we can show this old one what God’s new world will look like, at least in part. We can make it real for people who are starving for something to hope for, something to believe in.

Hope and faith; is that not why we are here? To receive these things ourselves. And having received them through Scripture and song, preaching and sacrament, in fellowship and friendship, we are called to go forth and give them in turn to those we encounter. So go forth from this place and show the world what’s coming. Show them what God done and share what you have been given. Let them see the new world. Let them see the kingdom of God in what you do. Amen.

Sermon for Ecumenical Lenten Worship

Preached at Christ United Methodist, Yorkana, PA on March 11, 2018
Preaching text: John 20:19-29

There is an old joke told in workplaces everywhere. It’s said you can do your job perfectly for day after day, week after week, year after year, and no one will notice it. But make one mistake and EVERYONE notices.

I often feel that joke applies to St. Thomas, the Apostle of Jesus forever cursed to be known as “Doubting Thomas.” And that is so unfair, because it completely ignores everything else the man has done and accomplished. There’s more, you may ask? Oh, yeah. Lots more.

Thomas is called the “Twin” and some scholars have speculate that is because he’s actually Jesus’ biological twin. Now, of course, that runs counter to a whole slew of Christian doctrine and orthodoxy, but I do like the idea of Thomas being Jesus’ metaphorical twin; that he, like Peter and John, is so close to Jesus that they may as well be brothers.

John’s Gospel bears that out. He has two other appearances in John’s Gospel. The first occurs in John chapter 11. Word has just come to Jesus that Lazarus has died. Now Jesus is basically outlawed from Jerusalem at this point and if he returns then the religious authorities are going to do him in. Bethany, where Lazarus lived, is right next to Jerusalem, so if Jesus goes down there to his friend and his friend’s sisters, Mary and Martha, he’s tempting fate. Thomas speaks up, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.” He knows the risks. He recognizes how dangerous this journey will be, yet Thomas says to Jesus and to the other 11, “We’re not letting him go alone.”

The second place Thomas shows up is a few chapters later (chapter 14) when Jesus is explaining one of his most important teachings. Jesus says, “In my Father’s house are many dwelling places....And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. And you know the way to the place where I am going.” Thomas doesn’t get it, so he asks a question. “We don’t know where you’re going. How can we know the way?” To which Jesus responds with one of the most profound verses in all of Scripture. Come on, you know it. “I am the way...”

Thomas’s third appearance is, of course, the story for which he is most famous (or infamous). There are a couple of things in this story that we often overlook. First, yes, Thomas just a few chapters earlier was all gung-ho about dying with Jesus but when the time came, he fled like the others. No doubt, like them (except John), he watched from afar as Jesus was tortured and nailed to that cross. He watched from afar as Jesus slowly suffocated. He watched from afar as the spear pierced his side. He saw it all but from far away.

But here’s the thing. When the women show up on Sunday with word that Jesus has risen, ain’t none of them believe it. Luke, I believe, said the disciples responded to the women’s story as it was an “idle tale.” And even in John’s version of the story, the disciples respond to this wondrous news by locking themselves in a room and hiding in fear. All except for one of them and who was that?

Jesus shows up and the very first thing he does is show them his wounds. Why? Because he knows none of them are going to believe it’s really him if he doesn’t. They all doubt. When Thomas shows up later, what does he ask for? The very thing the other disciples received. Let me see the wounds. A week later, Jesus does precisely that.

To me, this story from John 20 is not a story about Thomas’ doubt, it’s a story about the wondrous grace of God whereby Jesus comes back to give Thomas what he needs to believe. Jesus comes back for Thomas and that can’t be overstated. He did that for a doubting disciple so that he could believe. Hold that thought, because I’m going to come back to it.

Thomas’s story doesn’t end there. The Church’s tradition says he became the Apostle to India. Now, I know there’s a lot of legendry and folklore in those old traditions, but in the 17th ad 18th centuries, when British explorers were first entering the Indian subcontinent to make it a part of their empire, they found (of course) Muslims and Hindus, the majority religions of the Indian subcontinent, but they also found Christians. Christians that belonged to a church called the Mar Thoma, a church that traced its ancestry back to St. Thomas. A church that exists today (There’s a worshipping community of Mar Thoma Christians in Philadelphia).

Not bad for the doubter.

Here’s the thing. We have been taught that doubt is bad, that doubt is evil, that doubt is to be avoided at all costs. And I think that’s stupid. Let’s be frank for a moment. We come here each Sunday to worship a man who was god, who was born of a virgin, who walked on water, who made water into wine, who was crucified and then rose again from the dead. Ain’t none of that makes a lick of sense from a logical or scientific perspective. It really doesn’t. There are going to be times in our own faith journey where we’re going to be like “Hey, wait a minute...I don’t get it.” We are going to doubt. It’s human nature. Yet we hide it away. Number one, like that’s going to fool God in anyway, he who knows our innermost hearts. Number two, as if hiding is going to solve the problem. Hiding it just makes it fester within us. That’s when it becomes bad. Better to embrace it and let it drive us forward to find the answers we need.

I believe Thomas became among the greatest of disciples not in spite of his doubt, but because of it. He let his doubt drive him forward; It compelled him to find the answers he needed. Because doubt is the fertilizer in which faith grows. Doubt leads to seeking, and seeking leads to Christ, and Christ leads to faith. I seem to recall Jesus said something about that somewhere, something about what happens when we “seek” him. And if you need evidence of that, look at what Jesus did for Thomas. He came back to show him what he needed. Do you think Jesus will do any less for you if you use your doubt to compel you to seek him and the answers you need?

Doubt is a tool and a good one. It turns baby Christians into adult Christians, shaky believers into fervent followers, if you use it. Far too many of us are stuck. Our faith hasn’t grown since our 3rd grade Sunday School class and it shows. We live in a society and a nation that claims to be Christian and yet is anything but, consumed with selfishness, greed, violence, and cruelty. We’ve lost our way.

We need more Thomases. We need his courage, his boldness, and his willingness to admit there are some things he doesn’t know or understand. We need Christians unafraid to grow and become apostles like him. Want to become one of them? Then let your doubt drive you to seek the Lord. Because he will be found. Amen.

Sermon for the 4th Sunday of Lent

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on March 11, 2018
Preaching texts: Numbers 21:4-9, John 3:14-21

We are our own worst enemy. That’s been my theme this Lent. Outlining all the ways in which sin sneaks out of us. All the ugly parts of ourselves that come out for breather every now and then and how we find ways to justify and excuse them. I’ve spent much of the last few weeks stripping away those excuses and giving us a very ugly look at who we truly are. It’s not a pretty picture. It’s not meant to be.

So what do we do about it?

Here, we come again to that central question of our Christian life. We all come here for two reasons. One is to hear God tell us through Scripture, music, preaching, and whatever way he chooses how much he loves us and I hope all of you have received that, because it’s true. In spite of everything we are, God has no regrets about saving us. About saving you. He’d do it all over again if he had to. He does love you.

The second thing we come here for is to answer the question, in light of that love, what do we do with ourselves? We all want to do better. We all want to be better. We come to seek the good, as I said last week. We want to become closer to this God who has done so much for us. We want to become more like him. But our sins, our vices, our prejudices, our hate, our fear gets in the way. Time and again, as much as we struggle with it, it keeps getting in the way. So much so, that some Christians, some of us perhaps, have simply given up the struggle. This is the way I am, this vice, this flaw is too much a part of me to be overcome. I don’t even want to try anymore.

I relate, I truly do. I’ve confessed before that there was a time in my life when I was a lot more racist, a lot more sexist, a lot more homophobic, a lot more hateful in general. You could probably guess that by the way I preach that I struggle with that still. And you’ve seen that there are times when I let my anger at the ways of the world turn to something ugly. When I snarl at the President or anyone else with whom I disagree. I try to not let it get the better of me, but it still does from time to time. And I get tired of fighting it constantly. It would be so easy to give in. Anger feels good. Hate is insidious that way. It’s a sweet poison that seems so good at first.

What am I to do? What are we all to do with those parts of ourselves that we cannot seem to overcome?

The simple fact of the matter is that we can’t overcome that part of ourselves. Sin infects us so completely that we cannot overcome it ourselves. We can improve. We can win battles, but never the war. It’s beyond us.

But that’s where God comes in. The war isn’t meant to be won by us. That’s God’s job. And that’s what our lessons today are here to remind us.

The OT lesson has the people of God in trouble. The story claims they get into this mess because they complained about God’s care for them in the wilderness, but that’s probably an editorial flourish. What really happened was they stumbled upon a den of venomous snakes (Look up “snake den” on Google for some nightmare fuel and a good sense of what they ran into.) And a ton of people got bit.

Poisoned by snake venom is a horrible horrible way to die. Cobra venom, for instance, will paralyze you and you eventually suffocate because the muscles that control your lungs won’t work anymore. Rattlesnake venom causes your red blood cells to rupture and that means your blood stops carrying vital oxygen and other nutrients to your body. No matter how many breaths you take, your body can’t sustain itself and you die of oxygen starvation. Others cause your blood to clot and you have a stroke or heart attack that finishes you off. Take your pick. Each one more fun than the last.

God’s solution to this is a symbol, perhaps the origin of the caduceus that is still used as an emblem of healing: a bronze serpent wrapped around a pole. Look upon the serpent. Look upon the thing that’s killing you and you will live. That irony is intentional.

Fast forward to Jesus. He makes direct reference to this OT story when he’s explaining to Nicodemus why he’s here. “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness...” If a snake is killing you, then it will be a snake that saves you. If sin and death is killing you, then it will be by sin and death that we will be saved. That’s his point. And that’s precisely what happens. Jesus is lifted up on a pole, nailed to a cross. The ultimate sin, murdering God, becomes our salvation.

That’s when the war was won.

So what about us. In a sense, we all already knew this. I’ve not said anything here that we haven’t heard and believed from time long past. But I think the point is to be reminded of it. When sin gets the better of us and we feel our heart filling with regret and despair over that, remember that the war is won. Remember what God has done, that he used human sin to demonstrate his dedication to us, his love for us. Remember the cross and look to it. Find in it the courage and strength to fight anew. Sin hasn’t gotten the better of you forever. It never will, because of the cross.

In a few minutes, we will come forward to the altar to (receive the sacrament/receive anointing). That’s our moment to let go and let God, as the bumper sticker encourages us. There are always things that will be out of our control, sometimes even ourselves. But in the end, God has the victory we need. The war is won. If guilt and despair weigh you down, leave them here. Walk away instead with hope. Sin cannot get the better of you forever. God has seen to that. Receive his forgiveness, receive his strength, and go and try again to become the one he’s called you to be. Look to the cross and find the means to keep going. Amen.

Sermon for the Third Sunday of Lent

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on March 4, 2018
Preaching text: John 2: 13-22

I’ve been harping on the idea that we are our own worst enemy these last few weeks. It’s a good Lenten theme, because one of the major foci of this season is to take that long hard look at ourselves, our behavior, our attitudes, and ask ourselves if those things are in alignment with Christ’s wishes or not. Each one of us is a sinner. Each one of us has evil within us that wants out, that wants to run the show, and the struggle with that is a part of our daily lives.

But one of the most insidious ways evil can manifest within ourselves is when it disguises itself as good. It does that a lot. There is a certain irony that the greatest evils in history were perpetrated by individuals who were utterly convinced of the rightness and goodness of their cause. Adolf Hitler slaughtered millions of Jews because he genuinely believed that killing them all would make the world better. From the outside, we can see how twisted that is, but from within, it’s not always so easy.

It should come as no surprise then that some of those great evils have been committed by some of the most religious people in the world. We who gather here and in worshiping communities each week, for the most part, seek the good. We seek to do better. We seek to be better. But sometimes, that desire can get twisted and following that twisted path, knowingly or unknowingly, can lead us to “Deus Vult”, the Crusades, the Salem Witch Trials, swordpoint conversions, conversion therapy for LGBT, and a whole slew of other evils, all done in the name of a good God who would condone none of it.

People can come to see the church as the means to wealth, power, and glory. They can manipulate others into supporting them and we end up with Rodrigo Borgia, L. Ron. Hubbard, Jim Jones, or most any TV preacher who’s in it for the money rather than God. The outside world will see these swindlers and charlatans for what they are, but from within, it’s not so easy.

But again, this should not surprise us. After all. who were Jesus’ worst enemies? The good upstanding religious folk of his day. Sad to say, it’s not changed that much. For many in the church think they follow Jesus by opposing everything he stands for.

But all this brings us to our Gospel lesson today. Here, the conflict between Jesus and religious establishment of his day reaches a climax and erupts into uncharacteristic violence. Jesus blows his stack when he sees the money-changers and merchants in the temple and he starts flipping tables and running them out on a rail. To understand precisely why he does this requires a bit of context.

You see as part of Jewish piety one would make pilgrimage to the Temple to offer an animal sacrifice of some sort. The OT has criteria for what a proper sacrifice would be but that criteria is interpreted by the temple priests. And as time went on, that interpretation grew narrower and narrower. Pilgrims would find that no animal they brought qualified, but the priest would oh-so-kindly recommend one from one of the many merchants out in the temple square to sell you one that does qualify. (Nevermind that the priest got a kickback from the merchant). And we’ll take your unworthy animal off your hands for a small fee (and promptly sell it to the next sucker who comes along). Oh, and you’re from a foreign land, well there’s a money-changer over there who won’t charge you too high a processing fee to convert your funds. Just 30% or so.

The whole thing was a racket, a scam, exploiting these honest pilgrims so the priests and their cronies can get rich. And it was all sanctioned by the highest authorities in the priesthood, because, of course, they were getting a cut too.

This is the temple. This is the center of Jewish worship and life and it’s been turned into a racketeering operation. Jesus is furious to see his Father’s name used to exploit and hurt people and he blows his stack. Scholars have argued that this event, more than any other, sealed his fate. It’s one thing to debate theory and theology; it’s another thing entirely to mess with the gravy train. Regardless, we get some insight from this event into the mid of God. For what truly makes God angry? People hurting other people for their own gain.

That’s really what sin is. We can have all these fancy definitions in the church about the nature of sin, but it boils down to one thing: the things that I do or don’t do that hurt others. That covers most everything. Our unwillingness to step out to help other people hurts them. Our hunger for vengeance and hate hurts them. Our greed hurts them. The things we do or don’t do that hurt other people.

God, as I have emphasized countless times, loves everyone. He is our Father and we are his children, even those who don’t believe in him for he created all of us. And every parent wants their children to love one another the way he or she does. Can’t you see them the way I do? God seems to plea with us constantly.

The human race is truly a single family. That doesn’t mean we always have to agree or always get along, but it does mean that we love one another. And even when we disagree we are not hurtful of one another. I know that’s not always easy. I know I’m estranged from some of my family. I know some of my blood relatives are downright painful to love.

I heard a story just this week about family. Two sisters who don’t always get along very well. One is in hospice and struggling with her final time. The other hungers to see her. Yes, they squabble. They even fight (I’d imagine), but it’s also obvious they love one another. That is what we should strive for.

It is hard and it’s all the more harder when we’re trying to do it with people that we lack any blood ties to. But Christianity is not meant to be easy. Striving within against the sin we all bear is not easy. Being truly good in an evil world is not easy. Having some preacher like me outline our most loathed vices in detail is not easy for us to hear and it is harder still to confront within ourselves.. But that’s who we’re called to be. That’s what we’re called to do. That’s why we come back to this place each week. Here we seek the good. Here we seek to do better.

God has seen us as worth saving. He sent Jesus to reveal the true depths of his love, going all the way to the cross for your sake and mine. That’s what God thinks you’re worth. That’s what God thinks your worst enemy is worth. That’s what God thinks the total stranger you’ve never met and gave no thought to is worth. Can you see them the way he does? Not a threat to be feared. Not someone who’s plight can be ignored. But rather a brother or sister to be loved. Amen.