The Waking Dreamer: 2025

Tuesday, December 23, 2025

Practicing Love in Community

Matthew 1:18-25; 1 Peter 2:21-23[1]

On this fourth Sunday of Advent, we celebrate the love that we have received through Jesus Christ. We just sang it together: “Love is the gift of Christmas.” As our Gospel lesson puts it, Jesus was born to be the one to “save us from our sins,” and to be “God-who-is-with-us” (Mt 1:21, 23). That’s what “Immanuel” means: “God-who-is-with-us.” That shouldn’t come as a surprise to us. We know that the heart of our faith is about sharing God’s love with others. We know that Jesus came to embody that love in a way that would empower us to put that love into practice. The idea isn’t a new one. And it wasn’t even a new one for Jesus. In our faith tradition, Moses taught it three thousand years ago: “you shall love your neighbor as yourselves” (Lev. 19:18). Throughout the centuries there have been many who have taught the practice of compassion. What was new was the way Jesus embodied it, not just as a human being, but as the one who is “God with us.” He put God’s love for us on display in the way he loved all those he encountered, both friends and so-called “enemies.”

Yes, Jesus embodied love even for his so-called “enemies.” Perhaps the most dramatic way he did that was by praying from the cross, “Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing” (Lk 23:34). But he also embodied it by never giving up on anyone, even his “enemies.” And he taught us to do the same. Others have also taught that. They taught their followers to practice compassion for all people and embodied that compassion even for those who could have been considered their “enemies.” However, I believe it’s true that Jesus was the first to say explicitly, “you shall love your enemies” (Mt 5:43-44). It’s probably an understatement to say that’s not an easy path to take. For Jesus, loving even his “enemies” meant giving up his life on the cross. Because showing God’s love even for one’s “enemies” cuts against the grain of everything we do by instinct.

As we continue to make our journey through Advent to the celebration of Christmas with Henri Nouwen as our guide, I think we might find his ideas challenging on this day. He described the kind of love Jesus embodied by saying, “Whenever, contrary to the world’s vindictiveness, we love our enemy, we exhibit something of the perfect love of God, whose will is to bring all human beings together as children of one Father. Whenever we forgive instead of getting angry at one another, bless instead of cursing one another, tend one another’s wounds instead of rubbing salt into them, hearten instead of discouraging one another, give hope instead of driving one another to despair, hug instead of harassing one another, welcome instead of cold-shouldering one another, thank instead of criticizing one another, praise instead of maligning one another… in short, whenever we opt for and not against one another, we make God’s unconditional love visible; we are diminishing violence and giving birth to a new community.”

Nouwen gets uncomfortably specific about what it means to follow Jesus by loving our “enemies.” It means forgiving instead of holding onto anger. It means healing wounds instead of rubbing salt into them. It means hugging instead of harassing. These are all incredibly counterintuitive. When someone hurts us, we instinctively want to protect ourselves. We do that with anger. When we rub salt in the wounds of someone who has wounded us, we’re protecting ourselves. When we criticize and turn a cold shoulder and speak of them in hurtful and harmful ways, we’re protecting ourselves. But, following Jesus, Nouwen invites us to take a different path. He invites us to “opt for and not against one another,” to choose to be on the side of those whom we perceive to be against us. It’s an astounding thing. And he says that when we make that choice, we are doing something that’s nothing short of miraculous. We’re making “God’s unconditional love visible; we are diminishing violence and giving birth to a new community.”

I think we could be forgiven for thinking that this is all far too much to expect from an ordinary human being. But also I think Nouwen is onto something important here. The love that we celebrate at Christmas is a wonderful gift to us, and we enjoy it. But it’s not just about making ourselves feel better. The love we celebrate at Christmas calls us to take the love that we’ve received from God and turn around and put it into practice for all those around us. Both “friends” and so-called “enemies.” That’s what Jesus did. He didn’t do that to prove that he was so much better than us. He did that to leave us “an example, so that you should follow in his steps” (1 Pet 2:21). And the way he did that was “When he was insulted, he did not reply with insults. When he suffered, he did not threaten revenge” (1 Pet 2:23, CEB).

Perhaps we should all take a moment to let that sink in. When Jesus was insulted, he did not reply with insults. When he suffered, he did not threaten revenge. To borrow Nouwen’s words, when Jesus was met with anger and curses, he did not respond in kind. Instead, he forgave: “Father, forgive them, for they don’t know what they’re doing”! And he did that to leave us an example that we should follow in his steps. When Jesus was not only maligned but also falsely accused of the worst they could throw at him, he did not respond with hurtful and harmful accusations in reply. And he did that to leave us an example that we should follow in his steps. When Jesus was subjected to violence, when he was beaten and spat upon and crucified, he did not threaten to get even. He forgave those who were literally stripping his life away. And he did that to leave us an example that we should follow in his steps.

When you think about it that literally, I don’t think we should be surprised if we’re wondering whether Jesus really wanted us to follow his example and practice love like that. It’s understandable. That’s a hard thing to ask, for us to follow that path. But I would say the answer to the question is, “yes.” Yes, indeed. Most definitely. Jesus was “making God’s unconditional love” visible in every way possible, not only by healing the sick and caring for those who were suffering, but also and most particularly by loving his so-called “enemies” enough to forgive them. Enough to give his life for them. That’s a high standard for love. Perhaps the highest the human family has ever seen.

In fact, it’s such a high standard we may want to let ourselves off the hook. After all, can one really expect all this from an ordinary human being? We assume that Jesus loved even his “enemies” because he was much more than an ordinary human being. And we assume that no one would ever expect ordinary human beings like us to live up to such a high standard. But that phrase from Scripture in 1 Peter reminds us that he did all that he did precisely to leave us an example that we should follow in his steps. Yes, I believe Jesus expects us as those who claim to trust in him to literally follow his example and practice love like that toward everyone, even and especially toward those we may consider “enemies.” In fact, I would say that if we truly grasp the extent of God’s unconditional love for us, and the extent to which Jesus calls us to share that same love with everyone, then we really cannot look at anyone as an “enemy.”

When Jesus said, “you shall love your enemies,” he was talking about people who could literally come and take everything away from you by force, including your life. Most of us don’t have to learn to love “enemies” like that. We don’t have to fear that someone will come and invade our home, drag us out, and take our lives away from us. We find it hard enough just to love the people who spread false rumors behind our backs. Or those who rub salt in our wounds or turn a cold shoulder to us instead of standing beside us when we’re struggling. But if that’s where we perceive our “enemies” to be, then that’s where we can begin. We can begin to transform every so-called “enemy” into a friend by extending to them the same unconditional love God has given each one of us in Jesus Christ. When we do that, as Henri Nouwen said, we are not only “making God’s unconditional love visible,” but we’re also “giving birth to a new community.” Think of it: a community where even “enemies” are turned into friends. A community where we don’t even look at anyone as an “enemy,” rather we consider all to be friends. A community where we extend to one another the same unconditional love and acceptance God has given to us. That’s a whole new kind of community. That’s what the love we celebrate at Christmas is about: creating a whole new kind of community where people turn even so-called “enemies” into friends, just like Jesus did.

[1] © Alan Brehm 2025. A sermon delivered by Rev. Alan Brehm, PhD on 12/21/2025 for Hickman Presbyterian Church, Hickman, NE.

[2] Henri Nouwen, Letters to Marc About Jesus, 55.

Monday, December 22, 2025

Finding Joy in Community

Isaiah 35:1-10; Matthew 11:1-15[1]

As we make our journey through Advent with Henri Nouwen this year, you would think that joy would be the easiest of the four themes to talk about. With the festivities, decorations, music, and parties, we “should” have a lot to be joyful about. But the truth is that for many of us, this is not the “most wonderful time of the year.” Some of us see all the celebrating, all the family gatherings, all the “fun” that everyone else seems to be having, and we feel like we’re on the outside looking in. It can seem like there’s a chain-link fence separating us from everybody who’s having so much fun, and we just can’t find our way in. In fact, for some of us, while we may feel that way most intensely at this time of year, that’s how it seems all year around. We’re aware that there’s joy “out there somewhere,” but we just can’t seem to find it.

I would say that can actually be a failure of community. Yes, it might be the result of that person’s choices. But all too often, in these days, it’s a failure to live together in community in all its different expressions. Families, churches, even towns and cities can be badly divided by everything that’s going on in our world these days. And when we turn on one another, instead of encouraging, affirming, and supporting one another, we can cause great pain. We see it in families that go their separate ways. But what we may not see is that any time we fail to embrace someone enough that they no longer feel like they’re on the outside of that fence looking in, our community has failed. Any time we intentionally shun someone because they’re just “too different” from us, our community has failed. And when that happens, community can become a source of pain instead of a source of joy.

As we look to Henri Nouwen for inspiration this Advent, he says it this way: “In my own community, with many severely handicapped men and women, the greatest source of suffering is not the handicap itself, but the accompanying feelings of being useless, worthless, unappreciated, and unloved. It is much easier to accept the inability to speak, walk, or feed oneself than it is to accept the inability to be of special value to another person. … Instinctively we know that the joy of life comes from the ways in which we live together and that the pain of life comes from the many ways we fail to do that well.”[2] Joy comes from living together in a community where we feel like we belong and we are loved. All too often, the pain in our lives comes from our failure to live together well in community.

As I’ve mentioned before, Henri Nouwen served as the chaplain in a community where cognitively disabled persons and their caregivers lived together. As a Catholic priest, he celebrated the Lord’s Supper every day. As a member of the community he served, he welcomed everyone to take part, regardless of whether they were “worthy.” I would imagine he knew quite well many people who struggled with feeling “useless, worthless, unappreciated, and unloved.” Given my personal experience with communities of mentally handicapped persons, they seem to have an intuitive grasp on the fact that “the joy of life comes from the ways in which we live together and that the pain of life comes from the many ways we fail to do that well.” In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they taught Henri that truth.

Those of us who are more “normal” may try to find our joy in other places. We find our “joy” in the level of success we have achieved. And we may try to demonstrate it by the kinds of homes we buy, the kinds of cars we drive, and the kinds of clothes we wear. Or we find our joy in the knowledge that we’re comfortable financially, or in the “busyness” of our social calendar. We may feel like we’ve really “made” it when we get our picture in the paper on the society page. Those kinds of external sources for joy, however, are notoriously unreliable. We never really know what the stock market is going to do. There’ve been times when people have lost a great deal of money in one single day of trading. The market is vulnerable to all kinds of changes, and given the general instability of the world these days, we have to reckon with the possibility that something like that can happen again. Our most prized possessions can literally go up in smoke or in a storm in a matter of minutes. When we make our joy in life dependent on our circumstances we’re skating on thin ice!

In a sense, our Gospel lesson for today addresses this question. John, who identified Jesus as the Messiah when he baptized him, had begun to question his faith. He was in prison, and Jesus wasn’t acting like he expected the Messiah to act. So he sent his disciples to ask, “Are you the one who is supposed to come? Or should we look for someone else?” (Mt 11:3, NIrV). Jesus answered: “Go back to John. Report to him what you hear and see. Blind people receive sight. Disabled people walk. Those who have skin diseases are made ‘clean.’ Deaf people hear. Those who are dead are raised to life. And the good news is preached to those who are poor” (Mt 11:4-5, NIrV). I would say that’s the closest thing we have in Matthew’s Gospel to Jesus claiming that he was indeed the Messiah.

The way he makes that claim is with a summary of the promises of salvation found especially in the book of the prophet Isaiah. We heard some of those promises in our lesson for today: “Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf shall be opened; then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy” (Isa 35:5-6). And Isaiah says that all those who have been “ransomed” by the Lord, which is a way of talking about salvation, will have “everlasting joy” (Isa 35:10). John was in prison. He wondered if he had picked the wrong “horse.” Jesus called John to rejoice because he was indeed fulfilling the promises of God’s salvation.

One of the things that drew me to ask Henri Nouwen to guide us through the season of Advent this year is his deep and firm commitment to the importance of community in all our lives. He saw it firsthand. I think one of the most significant obstacles to finding joy together in community is when we may harbor grudges or bitterness against one another. We all do it. Someone lets us down, someone hurts our feelings, someone fails to live up to our expectations, and we hold a grudge, sometimes for years. But there’s an old saying about that. Holding a bitterness against someone is like drinking poison ourselves and expecting it to hurt someone else. We’re only hurting ourselves. The way to find joy in the community of people who follow Jesus is through forgiveness. Jesus said it: “forgive as you have been forgiven.” We pray it every Sunday, “forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.” The way to find joy in a real-life community of people who let us down, who hurt our feelings, who fall short of our expectations is through forgiveness. It gives us joy, and it gives them joy.

Most of us have our own reasons for celebrating at this time of the year, whether it’s gathering with family, or the food we enjoy, or the music, or the decorations. But the reason for the joy of the season is because in Jesus Christ God has come to be “with us” in a way that bears our griefs and carries our sorrows, as the prophet Isaiah also says. That’s how we can find our joy together in this community, regardless of our circumstances. We start with the joy we have because God has given us himself in the person of Jesus. But as Henri Nouwen reminds us, we find that joy most fully when we find it together in this community. In this community where we can let one another down, where we can hurt one another’s feelings, where we can fall short of one another’s expectations. In this community we can hold grudges or feel bitter toward one another. In this community where we learn to practice forgiveness.

And it’s here. There’s joy here if we have eyes to see it and ears to hear it. Those of us who can be here on Wednesday evenings experience it every week. Whether it’s around the tables or in a boisterous classroom, whether it’s in the kitchen or in the music room (and we have fun in the music room, make no mistake!). It’s here. We have joy together in this community. We all experience it every Sunday when we gather together. Especially during our greeting time. It’s one of the things I enjoy most about our worship service. If that’s true for you as well, I’m fine with that. The reason is because while Bible teaching is one of the important foundations for Christian community, so is fellowship. It’s through fellowship that we find joy together as a community. We find it around tables enjoying a meal together, or right here in worship, sharing life with one another week after week. There’s joy here. Sometimes we just have to get past the things that are blocking our ability to see that joy, and allow ourselves to experience it.

[1] © Alan Brehm 2025. A sermon delivered by Rev. Alan Brehm PhD on 12/14/2025 for Hickman Presbyterian Church, Hickman, NE.

[2] Henri Nouwen, Life of the Beloved: Spiritual Living in a Secular World, 72-73.

Wednesday, December 10, 2025

Finding Peace in Community

Isaiah 11:1-10[1]

As I mentioned last week, I’m following the lead of one of my favorite authors as we make our journey through Advent this year. I’m asking Henri Nouwen to be our guide as we reflect together on what the themes of Advent—hope, peace, joy, and love—mean for us in our daily living. And as I discussed last week, one of Nouwen’s convictions is that we hold onto those aspects of our faith together in community. This week we are looking at how we find peace in community with one another. That might seem like a strange way to find peace. So much of what we hear about peace these days emphasizes finding peace with and within ourselves. And that’s no small task. It seems that our personal peace can be so easily disturbed. We let a hurtful remark that someone makes disrupt our peace, whether they meant it to be hurtful or not. We let the outcome of sporting events upset us, especially when we think the referees called the game unfairly! Our personal peace is easily disturbed!

Most of you know that I’ve participated in Twelve Step programs for years. I’m not an alcoholic or an addict, but I have been affected by people whose lives were impacted by alcohol or drugs. I recently had someone ask me why I continue to participate in those programs year after year. She asked me, “Do you have to do this in order not to drink?” Obviously, she misunderstood the purpose of the meeting. My answer to her is still the reason why I “keep coming back,” as we say at the conclusion of every meeting. I’m there because I’m learning healthy ways to live my life, and I want to stay on that path. More than that I want to share that path with other people. Every so often we have new people who come into our fellowship who are hurting deeply. One of the things we say in our meetings is that we gather together to share our experience, strength, and hope, especially with people who are in the midst of crisis.

As many of you know, one of the central features of the twelve-step program is the “Serenity Prayer”: most of us know it in this form, “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” And in the twelve-step program, what we continually remind each other is that we cannot change or control what anyone else thinks or feels or says or does. That’s true at the level of our personal lives. It’s also true at the level of our families, our communities, our nation, and our world. We cannot change or control what anyone else thinks or feels or says or does. Even and especially when it affects us directly. What we can change is how we respond, how we choose to live our lives, and whether or not we stay true to our values. And I keep going back to my meetings because I’m still learning to live that way in that community of people.

The quote I want to share with you this week from Henri Nouwen is this: “Friendship, marriage, family, religious life, and every other form of community … can become ways to reveal to each other the real presence of God in our midst. Community has little to do with mutual compatibility. Similarities in educational background, psychological makeup, or social status can bring us together, but they can never be the basis for community. Community is grounded in God, who calls us together, and not in the attractiveness of people to each other…. The mystery of community is precisely that it embraces all people, whatever their individual differences may be, and allows them to live together as brothers and sisters of Christ and sons and daughters of his heavenly Father.”[2]

Again, my reading of Henri Nouwen’s books has made it abundantly clear to me that we learn how to live the Christian life only as we come together with a community of people who are also learning how to live the Christian life. It’s not something we can do on our own. Not fully. Nouwen reminds us that every form of community we experience can be the place to reveal “the real presence of God” among us. He insists that community, at least the community that makes a real difference in our lives, is “grounded in God.” That’s especially true in the community of those who claim to follow Jesus. As Nouwen points out, the community we share with each other in the body of Christ is not based on whether or not we’re “compatible” in any particular way, whether it’s ethnic background, or personality, or social and political viewpoint, or lifestyle, or family structure. Our community together in this congregation is based on God’s presence in our lives. That’s what brings us together, and that’s what holds us together. And when that is the case, then our community “embraces all people, whatever their individual differences may be, and allows them to live together as brothers and sisters of Christ and sons and daughters of his heavenly Father.”

That’s what brings us together as a community. And it’s the presence of God in our lives that creates peace between us that will last through all the ups and downs of our lives together. We live in a world where peace may seem like just a “dream.” Especially the kind of peace that the Prophet Isaiah envisioned when he foresaw a time when real justice would be extended to all people, especially those who have been exploited by the rich and powerful. It seems like those who are exceedingly rich and powerful always have a way of getting out of having to face the consequences of their actions, and those whom they have exploited never really have things made right for them. That peace that Isaiah foresaw can seem like a dream. So can the peace that he envisioned extending from the human family to embrace all of nature, so that the “the wolf and the lamb will live together; the leopard will lie down with the baby goat. The calf and the yearling will be safe with the lion, and a little child will lead them all” (Isa 11:6, NLT). But that kind of peace that can seem too good to be true is precisely what God is creating in and through us in this community, right here and right now.

It seems to me that is the basis for our peace in this world—at least any peace that is lasting. It starts with the peace that we have with God through Jesus Christ. Our experience of being loved and accepted by God—unconditionally, irrevocably, and without any qualifications or exceptions—enables us to find peace with ourselves. As we learn to accept ourselves as those who are beloved by God—always and forever—we find peace that endures all the circumstances we may have to live with. When we have peace with God and come to be at peace with ourselves, then we can extend that peace to those around us. We can accept the people in our community, regardless of any differences that may threaten to undermine our community.

We can live in peace with one another when we learn to do as the Apostle Paul said in the lesson from Romans for today: “accept each other just as Christ has accepted you” (Rom 15:7, NLT). Again, in these days when there is so much division and strife among us, that might seem like a “dream.” Some of you may be able to remember a time when the larger community in this place was divided based on whether your ancestors were German or Dutch. They went to different grocery stores, and they went to different churches. We’ve moved past that now. These days, the dividing lines are drawn based on social and political views. But as we gather in this place, however, the presence and the work of God in our lives overrules all the lines that may appear to divide us. The peace that lasts is the peace that is based on God’s presence among us. It’s based on the fact that we recognize God’s presence in each other. That’s the peace that keeps us together.

I believe with Henri Nouwen that we learn that peace best as we practice it in a community of people who come from all kinds of different backgrounds and perspectives. When we learn to live in peace in this community, with those who hold opinions that we may find offensive, we’re developing peace like a muscle. The peace we find in a real community like this one despite the differences between us is a peace that can sustain us in our divided world. Perhaps more than that, it can begin to make that dream of peace from Scripture a little more real in our lives.

[2] Henri Nouwen, Making All Things New, 82-83.

Wednesday, December 03, 2025

Embodying the Light in Community

Isaiah 2:1-5[1]

Most of you know that I am primarily a Bible teacher and preacher. I’m not much of a storyteller. I’m also not much for telling jokes in the pulpit. There are others who have those gifts. Mine is that I’ve spent a lifetime studying the Bible. And I try to share as clearly as I can the insights I’ve gained over the years. I know that when I’m in my “Bible preacher” mode I can come across as intimidating. When I was a seminary professor, I was always amazed when students told me that some of their peers were intimidated by me. I know what I know, and I’m not shy about speaking out about it. But I also care more deeply about people than about being “right” about anything. I think that’s why I am always surprised to learn that some people may find my preaching intimidating.

I think one of the most important things I would want to share about the insights I’ve gained over the years is that much of it did not originate with me. Yes, I have read through the New Testament in the original Greek text. And that gave me access to some insights that I gained on my own. But so much of what I “know” I learned from those who have served the body of Christ before me. Bible scholars, theologians, professors, pastors, and friends have shared their insights with me, and they’ve left deep impressions. Over the years, their contributions have become so much a part of who I am that I can no longer sort out what came from where. Not precisely. But there are some people who have influenced me deeply. If you haven’t heard me say it before, while I’ve studied and studied with world-class scholars, it was my younger brother, Douglas, with his various disabilities, who shaped me perhaps most deeply.

I’ve mentioned before that one of my favorite authors who shaped me is Henri Nouwen. He was a professor at some of the most prestigious theological schools in this country. He pioneered in the study and teaching of pastoral care. And after spending a year’s sabbatical at a community in France where mentally disabled people and their caregivers lived together, he walked away from the academic world to serve as the chaplain at a similar community in Toronto. I’ve learned a great deal over the years from reading Nouwen’s books. I’m still learning some of the lessons his insights have to teach me. I think I might be learning some of those lessons all my life, truth be told.

I bring him up because I’m going to do something different this year for Advent. I’m going to ask Henri Nouwen to be our guide through Advent. Each week I’m going to share my reflections on the four themes of Advent—hope, peace, joy, and love—based on a quote from Nouwen. And not surprising to me, one of the themes that these quotes will continually emphasize is community. Nouwen was keenly aware that we practice our faith, we continually learn what it means to follow Jesus, we keep discovering new ways for our faith to make us more like Christ in our daily lives precisely as we live together in community with one another.

This week, the focus of our Advent expectation is hope. Hope can be the essential cord that holds everything together. Yet it’s like silk, which can at times be strong, and at times can be fragile. I don’t know about you, but lately my hope has been feeling somewhat weak, as if the very fabric has come unraveled to some extent. That’s a scary feeling, for anybody. As I mentioned in my sermon a couple of weeks ago, St. Paul teaches us that when we endure hardship, it reinforces hope. But as I shared, in my experience many times it is our hope that helps us to endure. When our hope seems to give way, however, we may be left feeling like we’re falling into an abyss of fear.

The quote I want to share with you from Henri Nouwen is this: “Christian community is the place where we keep the flame of hope alive among us and take it seriously so that it can grow and become stronger in us. In this way we can live with courage, trusting that there is a spiritual power in us when we are together that allows us to live in this world without surrendering to the powerful forces constantly seducing us toward despair. That is how we dare to say that God is a God of love even when we see hatred all around us. That is why we can claim that God is a God of life even when we see death and destruction and agony all around us. We say it together. We affirm it in each other. Waiting together, nurturing what has already begun, expecting its fulfillment—that is the meaning of marriage, friendship, community, and the Christian life.”[2]

Nouwen reminds us that we keep “the flame of hope alive” in community in all its forms, and especially in this community. We keep the flame of hope alive in our hearts and in each others’ hearts as we make the journey together in community with one another, committed to walking this path together as the body of Christ, committed to helping each other complete the journey, especially when we may grow weak or stumble and fall. It is only as we encourage each other along the way that we can keep trusting the promises of our faith. Think about the ones we heard from the Scripture lesson from Isaiah for today. When in the history of this world has any nation beaten “their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks” (Isa 2:4, NIV)? When in the story of the human family has any nation given up warfare and stopped treating those who are “other” or “different” as enemies? It hasn’t happened! Instead, as Nouwen says, what we see are “death and destruction,” and we see that “all around us.” It can at times take the very life out of our faith and our hope. It can leave us despairing of the world that we are leaving to our children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren!

But that is precisely why our life together in this community of faith is so very important. Because, as Nouwen wisely observes, we keep our faith and our hope alive by “saying it together.” We keep our faith and our hope alive by “affirming it in each other.” We do that by worshipping together right here. That’s why worshipping together is so important. That’s where we keep our faith and our hope alive together. We do that in this community. Yes, in this community where some of us hold long-standing hurts over offenses we’ve inflicted on each other. In this community where some of us have let others down. In this community where we may be afraid to speak our deepest truth out loud, for fear of having others gossip about us. We keep “the flame of hope alive” as we nurture it and affirm it together in a real, live, flawed community of real, live, flawed people.

I think what Nouwen might be calling our attention to is that Christian hope, real hope that has the strength to face the real world with everything in it that we want look away from, takes root and grows in our hearts as we share it together with real people in a real community. Even and especially when that community might include people we may not particularly like. If our hope is to remain alive in the real world, it has to be nurtured in a real, live community, flaws and all. In fact, as Nouwen reminds us, that is the very meaning of Christian community: it’s the place where we affirm our faith and our hope together. We nurture hope in one another precisely as we affirm it in one another, even and especially in those we may not care to have in our community! And as we do so more and more, we embody in ourselves and in this community the light of life that Jesus has given to us. That’s what keeps “the flame of hope,” real hope, hope that can stand up to the challenges of real life, alive in each other.

[2] Henri Nouwen, Finding My Way Home, 105-107; cited in Henri Nouwen, You Are the Beloved: 365 Daily Readings and Meditations for Spiritual Living, 361.

Tuesday, November 25, 2025

Backward Victory

Luke 23:33-43[1]

We live in a world where somebody has to lose for anybody to win. As I mentioned earlier this year in connection with the NCAA basketball tournament, in some cases, a lot of people have to lose for somebody to win. There are all kinds of examples of this win-lose scenario in life. Mathematicians and economists call it a “zero-sum game.” Although I wouldn’t say that I fully understand all the details, the idea is that if someone has to lose in order for someone else to win, then there is no real net benefit for the whole “system.” The alternative is a “win-win game,” where a win for one can be a win for many. In my mind, the many “collaborative” games out there, where everyone works to “win” together, are a good example. They point out the option that I wish the human family would learn: we gain more when we all win together than when we try to “beat” everyone else!

I realize that there are so many aspects of our lives that reinforce the “win-lose” scenario that a “win-win” scenario may seem positively alien. It’s almost as if we believe it’s the “American way” for there to be at least one loser (if not many) in order for there truly to be a “winner.” But there are so many examples in daily life that disprove that. Like when one farmer is injured and can’t harvest crops and the rest of the community pitches in to help out. I know that I’m an idealist, but I believe that everyone wins in that situation. I may also be a fool, but I think the world would be a better place if we all adopted that approach toward more than just the people we know. When you think about all the resources in this world—food and other commodities, money and the ability to generate it, talented and hard-working people—it really makes no sense for us in a global economy to think of anyone as an “enemy.” I may be a foolish dreamer, but I believe that if all the peoples of all nations worked together, we could make this a much better world.

Some of you may consider that to be “backward” thinking. I’m okay with that. There’s a lot about our faith that can seem “backward.” For example, today is the day in the Christian calendar when we remind ourselves that we believe that Christ reigns over all things and all people. I can think of no more “backward” way of doing that than with a Gospel lesson that describes his death on the cross! Kings don’t get dragged before their subjects and mocked by them. Kings don’t allow themselves to be spat upon and beaten. They’re the ones who are usually doling out those punishments. And on the rare occasion when a King or any other powerful person is publicly humiliated, that’s pretty much the end of their “reign.” But here we are, on this Sunday when we celebrate our faith that Christ is reigning over us all, reading the “good news” of his death on the cross.

The irony in this has raised questions since the day Jesus faced that ultimate test—especially for people who look at Jesus’ life and ask whether he actually accomplished anything. He gathered some disciples. He stirred up the Jewish leadership. And he got himself killed in the end. And while he was hanging there on that cross, vulnerable, showing all the weakness of his humanity, some in the crowd asked the question that many have repeated through the centuries: “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!” (Lk 23:35). In the light of Jesus’ humiliating death, many have asked what a Jewish preacher from the First Century can do to make my life any better in the Twenty-First Century. And many have concluded that Jesus may have had some fine ideals, but he really can’t do anything to help us in this day and time.

But that conclusion misses some important signs that point out just how powerful the reign of Christ is, even in this passage that apparently presents Jesus at his weakest. One thing we need to notice is that in Luke’s Gospel, while hanging on the cross, enduring unimaginable agony, Jesus has the presence of mind to respond to his hecklers by saying, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing” (Lk. 23:34). And when Jesus dies, he simply says, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit” (Lk. 23:46). In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus gives up his life calmly and intentionally, full of trust in God.

But there’s another detail that we’re familiar with, but I think it’s easy to miss point. While Jesus is hanging on the cross, seemingly undergoing the ultimate humiliation, one of the criminals with him saw something that most all of those who witnessed this event firsthand missed. He saw that there truly was something about Jesus that set him apart. And so he took an amazing step of faith: hanging there on a cross, he looked at Jesus and asked, “remember me when you come into your kingdom” (Lk 23:42). How or why he had the faith to see Jesus hanging on the cross and believe that one day he would come into a “kingdom,” we may never know. But he did, and he asked Jesus to remember him.

I think what we need to pay attention to is Jesus’ response. It really was astonishing, if you think about it. There he was, having been beaten, having been humiliated by some of the Jewish leaders, having been strung up to die by the Roman empire. And he said to this man, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise” (Lk. 23:43)! If you think about it, there was nothing about the situation that would have made anybody believe such an incredible claim under normal circumstances. And yet Jesus made the claim: “Today you will be with me in Paradise.” The unnamed criminal left his request open-ended: “when you come into your kingdom, remember me.” He expresses faith, but he doesn’t pin Jesus down to anything specific. Jesus makes that astonishing claim any way: “Today,” not at some indistinct point in the future, “whenever.” “Today you will be with me in Paradise.” By doing so Jesus demonstrated not only that he was more than just an “exceptional man,” but also that what he was doing was not weak in any way. It was the ultimate display of the power of the one is the truest example there has ever been of a “king.”[2]

Despite the fact that it all seems “backward,” I think it is ultimately fitting to remind ourselves that Christ reigns over us with this story, because his death on the cross defines the way in which he exercises that reign even now. As one of our confessions puts it, “With no power but the power of love, Christ defeated sin, evil and death by reigning from the cross.”[3] The reality is that the only way for Christ’s reign of justice, peace, and freedom to be truly established in this world was through the path of the cross, where he exercised no power but the power of love. But his cross also led to his resurrection and ascension, where he was exalted, as St. Paul puts it, “far above … every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the age to come” (Eph. 1:21). And that means that “The kingdom of this world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ, and he shall reign for ever and ever.” We associate those words with Georg Friedrich Handel, but he was quoting from Revelation: “The kingdom of this world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ, and he shall reign for ever and ever” (Rev 11:15, RSV). When you take the cross by itself, it can seem like the early Church got it all backward. But in light of the resurrection and ascension, I would say that they were able to see the true victory that came from giving up his life for us all.

[2] Cf. Jürgen Moltmann, The Church in the Power of the Spirit, 102, where he says that when we celebrate Christ as “king” it represents “the most radical reversal of the ideal of rule that can be conceived.”

[3] The Study Catechism, question 41.

Thursday, November 20, 2025

Endurance

Isaiah 65:17-25 Luke 21:5-19[1]

Some of you know that I’m a fan of cycling. I’ve been riding a bike since I was six years old! I’ve been riding seriously for about thirty years. When I started, I was riding with the Fort Worth Bicycling Association. We did a 35-to-45-mile ride every week, and a 60-to-70-mile ride about once a month. Of course, I didn’t start out riding that far. And these days I don’t ride as much or as fast as I did then, but I still enjoy getting out on the bike in the beauty of the world along with the health benefits that putting in miles on the bike provides me. You may know I’m also a fan of watching cycling. I particularly enjoy watching the three “Grand Tours” every Summer. They’re the Tour of Italy in May, the Tour of France in July, and the Tour of Spain in August. Each of them covers about 2000 miles over 21 days, including flat stages for the sprinters and some of the steepest mountains in Europe for the climbers. What blows my mind is that they ride a stage per day, usually over 100 miles, at average speeds that are typically (at least) twice as fast as I could ride, and then they turn around the next day and do it all over again. It’s like running 21 marathons in 3 weeks!

That kind of endurance is impressive on so many levels. I would say, however, that it not only applies to the world of sports. There are some among us who complete the equivalent of a Tour de France every month. Not by how many miles we ride on a bicycle, but by how we handle the circumstances of our lives that are well beyond our control. For example, most of you know that farming is something that takes a long perspective to be able to do year in and year out. But that can be true for any of us in our personal lives. There are challenges that some of us face that are out in public, for all to see. And then there are challenges that some of us face that are inside, and perhaps nobody else knows just how hard it can be just to make it through a day. Endurance is a part of life for many of us.

Our Scripture lessons for today present us with two different perspectives on the hope that St. Paul reminds us results from endurance. He says it this way: our problems and trials “help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation (Rom 5:4-5, NLT). Both of our lessons today present a perspective on the ultimate outcome of our faith. As I’ve mentioned before, there seems to be a lot of confusion about our what our hope is. There are those who speak of the “end of the world” in terms of the majority of humanity “left behind” to face whatever painful tribulations an angry God is going to unleash upon them for their unbelief. Then there are those who speak of the final victory of God’s saving love in a world where all people have the joy of sharing a life, peace, and freedom together. These two views can be found not only in books and sermons, but also in Scripture.

Just a quick reading of our lessons for today sounds like they’re contradicting each other. The one from the prophet Isaiah holds out a beautiful hope for a new heaven and a new earth. Isaiah’s vision is filled with the language of freedom, new life, and hope. In a setting where conquerors continually displaced people, taking their children away from them, throwing them out of their homes and off their own lands, Isaiah envisions a people returned from exile to live in their own land free from fear. But Isaiah’s vision doesn’t just concern Israel; their restoration leads to the restoration of the whole world. Beyond that, this vision of restoration and renewal extends to all creation—even the animal kingdom is to be transformed when God fulfills his promises and liberates the people. Isaiah’s vision is that what God will do at the end of all things will be consistent with what God did at the beginning: create a world full of beauty and love.

On the other hand, in the lesson from Luke’s Gospel Jesus seems to warn his disciples that the end of all things will be gloom and doom. Rather than being spared from the “tribulations” of the end time, it seems that Jesus was saying his followers would be right in the middle of it all. He said they would be arrested and persecuted (Lk. 21:12), that they would be betrayed even by members of their own family (Lk. 21:16), and that they would be “hated by all because of my name” (Lk. 21:17). It’s pretty clear that Jesus envisioned Christians enduring whatever painful hardships and trials the future holds along with everyone else.

Unfortunately, his warnings are easy to misread. For one thing, some of what he says refers to events that would happen in their lifetimes: the Jewish people falling by the sword and Jerusalem being trampled by the Gentiles (Lk. 21:23-24). In fact, about 40 years later the Jewish people fought and lost a war to free themselves from their Roman conquerors. And many people got caught up in the violence—Jewish people and Christian alike. So some of what Jesus has to say talks about what would happen in their lifetimes. But some of what Jesus has to say points to a time in the distant future when all the nations would see “‘the Son of Man coming in a cloud’ with power and great glory” (Lk. 21:27).

So it’s hard to know if Jesus was warning his disciples about hardships of the near future or those of the end times. I think the answer is that he was talking about both. He knew that the Jewish war would be just as devastating for Christians as it was for the Jewish people, and he used that catastrophic event to warn them about the hardships that they would face until the final turmoil when he would return. Jesus urged his disciples to “be alert,” praying for strength, so that they wouldn’t be caught off guard when the day of his return actually came (Lk. 21:34-36). And he urged them to hold on until the end, promising that the final outcome of the trials and hardships they might go through would not be their destruction but their salvation! In our lesson for today he says it this way: “By your endurance you will gain your souls” (Lk 21:8).

I think the best answer to the question of our final destiny is that it includes both hardships and final victory. I started studying the Bible seriously over 40 years ago when I was a Freshman in college. As a seminary Professor I taught the class on the book of Revelation. So I’ve given the matter a fair amount of thought. The result of all that is that I believe God isn’t some cruel bully just waiting for the chance to torment the vast majority of humankind. When it comes to God’s final purpose for us, I think we have to remember that God showed us who he is by creating a beautiful world for us all to enjoy. And the Scripture promises that one day he will renew that world. We also have to remember that God showed us who he is by coming as one of us to heal our brokenness and our suffering by taking it on himself. And the Scripture promises that one day he will complete that work of restoring all things and all people.

Endurance is something that we all need. You know, I didn’t start out riding all those miles the first time I joined the Fort Worth Bicycling Association. My first ride was pretty much a disaster. I “blew up,” to use one phrase that cyclists use. I ran out of energy halfway into the ride. Fortunately, one of the members of the club was there to shepherd me back home, because I didn’t know the way. But I didn’t go home that day and hang up my bicycle and say, “I’m not doing this ever again.” I kept training on my own. I kept riding with the club. Sometimes I would get dropped, but eventually I was able to finish with a group of riders who were at my level.

I think that’s how it is for us in life. The old saying, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step” is true. I know it may be so commonly repeated that we don’t hear it anymore. But it’s still true. And I think we might add that “You finish a journey of a thousand miles by continuing to take one step after another.” Even and especially on the days when you don’t feel like it. That’s what we call “endurance.” Many of us have won the equivalent of “gold medals” for endurance over the course of our lives. Maybe many times.

Our faith is based on the promises in Scripture. And as we continue holding onto our faith, no matter what we may have to go through in this life, we develop endurance. And as St. Paul reminds us, our endurance gives us hope. But I think you can turn it around and say our hope also helps us endure whatever we may have to go through in this life. Endurance gives us hope, but our hope also helps us to continue to endure. Our hope helps us keep trusting that God’s good and loving plans for the human family will ultimately win out over all the evil that may be present among us now. Our hope gives us the endurance to keep trusting God, to keep following Jesus, and to keep serving others. And we do that by continuing to take the next step. That’s how we complete the journey.

More Than We Have Seen

Luke 20:27-38[1]

I was reminded recently that our “vision” is always limited. I can wholeheartedly echo the sentiment that I’ve heard many times: we typically don’t do well when we try to predict the future. I would say my ability to predict the future is virtually non-existent! Maybe that’s something we could all say. Just when we think we know what’s around the bend, life has a way of proving us wrong. If we averaged our success at predicting the future as a “batting average,” I would say that most of us wouldn’t make it very far in a baseball or softball league! Our vision is always limited.

At least part of the problem for me is that I try to use the past to predict the future. I think I’m not alone in that. When we try to envision the future based on the past, we are necessarily limiting our perspective. Some of the best things that have come into my life have come as a total surprise. Nothing in my past could have made it possible for me to foresee them. You might say the same. Sometimes, using the past to determine our view of the future leads to a pessimistic outlook. It’s the viewpoint that says with Benjamin Franklin that “in this world, nothing is certain except death and taxes.” That kind of attitude is common, but it’s a pretty hopeless view of life. Since everyone dies, that way of looking at things gives death has the final word on everything. And if death has the final word, then we’re all trapped in the vicious circles of selfishness, hatred, poverty, violence, injustice, and despair that we can see all around us. That’s not an approach to life that gives us much enthusiasm for living today, let alone looking forward to tomorrow.

In our Gospel lesson for today, Jesus was responding in part to this kind of pessimism about life. He had been answering questions from various groups of Jewish leaders, each one intent on embarrassing him in front of the people. One question came from the Sadducees. They were the ruling priests who controlled the Temple. They were also the ones who held most of the wealth and power in their society. And as Luke tells us, the Sadducees didn’t believe in any “resurrection.” They lived in a closed system, and they weren’t open to the idea that there could be any more to life than what they had already seen. The Sadducees came to Jesus and asked him about the practice of a man marrying his brother’s widow. Moses had told them to do this so that the first child would be the descendant of the dead brother, to ensure that his name would continue to live on among the people. Their question to Jesus was about seven brothers who in turn married the same woman. They asked him, “In the resurrection … whose wife will the woman be?” (Lk. 20:33). I don’t think they were seriously looking for an answer. They didn’t believe in any “resurrection.” They were just trying to make the idea of a “resurrection” look ridiculous. And Jesus with it.

But Jesus “corrected” them. In another Gospel, he tells them “You understand neither the Scriptures nor the power of God” (Mt 22:29, NASB)! He said this to the people who were in charge of the Temple! Jesus corrected them by recalling the time when Moses met God at the burning bush. This was foundational for the Jewish faith. It was the episode when God revealed his “name” as “I am who I am.” There, God spoke of himself as “the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob” (Exod. 3:6). When Moses had this encounter, the patriarchs had been dead for centuries. Jesus drew the inference that this proves that the dead are raised, for he said that God is “God not of the dead, but of the living” (Lk. 20:38). More than that, throughout the Bible, God is known as the “living God.” The prophets described God as the one who “lives” in contrast to the idols who were “dead” statues of wood and stone. But if God is the “living God,” and if God’s very being is defined by life, then it makes no sense to view the patriarchs, or anyone else, as truly dead. As Jesus put it, “to him all of them are alive.” In other words, God’s very nature as the “living” God challenged their pessimism.

I think one of the most important points Jesus was trying to make here is that you cannot limit God’s work in the future by what we have seen in the past. If God is the God of life, that means that our future is not one that’s defined by death, but rather by life. God’s work in the world is based on promises that point toward a future that is full of hope precisely because it’s based on God’s life. Promises like “I will wipe away every tear,” and “they will beat their swords into ploughshares,” and “He upholds the cause of the oppressed and gives food to the hungry,” and “I am making everything new.” Our Psalm lesson for today reminds us that God always keeps his promises. The Christian faith is at heart the hope that God has begun to do just that through Jesus Christ. Our faith insists that from God’s perspective, the final word that defines everything and everyone is not death, but life.

I think that how we choose to look at all of this makes a great difference in our the work we do together as a congregation. For example, in the Reformed tradition we believe that stewardship is not just about money. It’s essentially a stance of faith in the “God of the living.” Because we believe in the life that God is bringing into this world through Jesus Christ, we practice stewardship by committing all we know ourselves to be to all we know Jesus Christ to be. I had a professor once define “conversion” that way. I think the whole Christian life is like that: committing all we know ourselves to be to all we know Jesus Christ to be. And as we grow in our understanding of who we are and who Jesus is, we’re able to see our lives more and more as a gift from God to be invested for the sake of the Kingdom.

On the other hand, if we choose to live within a closed system and assume that there’s only so much to go around, we’re probably not going to be willing to risk much when it comes to investing our lives for the sake of the kingdom of God. But if we can look at things from the perspective of God’s future, a future in which the final word is life, then perhaps maybe we can step out in faith. If we can see the future as essentially open to all that God is doing in and through us, we have a whole different motivation for practicing our faith, including practicing our stewardship. In that kind of future, our “labor in the Lord” is “not in vain” but rather makes an important contribution toward advancing God’s purposes in our community and our world. I think that puts our stewardship, our faith commitment, and everything we do, in a whole different light.

We all have the choice: we can live as if the past overrules any hope for the future, and death ultimately makes life “useless.” There have always been people who have taken this point of view, living without hope, clinging desperately to their lives out of fear. If we choose to assume that our best is back there in the past somewhere—which means it’s gone—I doubt that we’re going to invest much of anything for God’s Kingdom. But if we choose to live based on the faith that the “God of life” is at work among us and through us to make everything new, then maybe we can have the courage to stake our lives on God’s promises. It’s a risk, because there’s a lot about life that seems to contradict those promises. But when we embrace God’s vision for the future, perhaps we’ll begin to realize that God’s vision very likely includes much more than we have seen. In fact, I would say that God’s vision is such that we really have no idea what God can or cannot do in our lives, in this congregation, and in this community!

The next step is to put our faith into practice every day by praying without ceasing, by giving back what we’ve been given, by helping those in need, by inviting others to join us, by promoting a sense of community among us, by studying the Bible together, and by joining together for worship on the Lord’s Day. When we invest our lives for the sake of the kingdom of God, it’s a big vision we’re taking on. When we open ourselves to God’s vision, we can begin to grasp the full weight of the hope that God has things in store for us that we wouldn’t believe if we knew them in advance! When we base our lives on this vision for the future, we humbly recognize that we can’t do it alone. We need the living God who is the source of everything we have to send us what we need to do the work. More than that, we need God himself working in and through us, remembering that God’s last word is not death but life!

Wednesday, November 19, 2025

Pleased With Ourselves?

Luke 18:9-14[1]

As you may recall, I’ve spoken occasionally this year about some of the criticisms of religion. Especially those people who avoid church use to justify that choice. And you may recall that I’ve mentioned that Luke’s Gospel, which is the foundation for the Lectionary readings this year, lends itself to this topic. Like the other Gospel writers, Luke recounts the conflicts Jesus had with the Jewish religious leaders. Because of this, many have concluded that the Jewish leaders of that day were just bad people. Beyond that, some throughout history have used these passages to conclude that all Jewish people are corrupt. But those who do so read into the Gospels something that’s not there. To be sure, Jesus exposed the flaws in the Jewish religious leaders’ traditions and the way they selectively observed them. And they attacked him for it. Some of them even engineered his death. But that was more about a grasping for power that is a human trait than anything inherent to Jewish people.

In fact, if you read the Gospels thoughtfully, you have to recall that they were not only written to record Jesus’ life and teachings, but also to instruct early Christian churches about the practice of their faith. What most Gospel scholars like myself conclude from this is that the attention paid to the flaws of the Jewish religious leaders was, at least in part, meant to serve as a warning and even a rebuke to Christian leaders. It’s likely that Luke, like the other Gospel writers, already saw the same behaviors emerging in early Christian churches. They called attention to Jesus’ conflicts with the Jewish religious leaders of his day in order to correct the missteps of the Christian religious leaders of their day.

I think what we have to acknowledge is that all the criticisms and shortfalls of religion that we’ve been discussing don’t just apply to certain groups of (other) people. That would be much too convenient for all of us. No, the truth of the matter is that all of the flaws in religion we’ve addressed are pitfalls we all can fall into. “Religion,” as some theologians like Karl Barth have often pointed out, is a human endeavor. Faith, on the other hand, can be a spiritual matter, something that God brings about in and through us. But the ways we express our faith are all inherently human. And because we are all flawed people, the pitfalls of religion apply to us all.

I wanted to say all of this as part of my sermon today because it deals with a topic that can potentially be offensive. And I think it’s important from the outset to recognize that all the pitfalls of religion can apply to all of us. None of us are immune. I would say that one of the reasons why some people avoid church is because they have encountered Christians who are really quite pleased with themselves. Often you see it in a kind of “humble bragging” about one’s faith and how thankful a person is for the “perfect” life that God has “blessed” them with. It can come across as a kind of smugly condescending look, a pity-filled smirk that basically communicates to those “outside” the church that it’s just too bad they haven’t made all the right choices (like we have). At times, it can come across as outright arrogance. Like when someone asks you, “if you died tonight, do you know for sure you would go to heaven?” The very question assumes that they do! And it comes across as if they’re assuming the person to whom they ask the question doesn’t!

Our Gospel lesson for today presents us with two men. One man, a Pharisee, would have been a respected member of the community. He was respected because of his devotion to studying and obeying God’s word in all aspects of their lives. Now, in and of itself, that’s what we’re all called to do. But the problem was that this particular man was very satisfied with himself. I like the way Gene Peterson puts it in The Message: Jesus told this parable about some who were “pleased with themselves over their moral performance” (Lk. 18:9). Judging from his prayer, this fellow was very pleased with himself. It’s hard not to think that he was bragging about himself to God![2] But perhaps more importantly, his spiritual arrogance translated into looking down on the other man who had come to pray as inferior. I would say that’s a clue that there’s something wrong with his religion. Again, we’re not talking about a uniquely Jewish problem. It’s a problem we all can have with our religion.

The other man in the Gospel lesson is the exact opposite. In fact, as a tax collector, he would have been despised by more than just the Pharisee. He would have been viewed as a traitor to his people and a thief. That’s because of the way taxes were collected in that day and time. It was an inherently corrupt system. Whoever was in control gave the right to collect taxes to the highest bidder. As long as the tax collector paid off his “bid,” he could keep anything else he could extract from people. And so he would hire a whole team of people who would work under him, each collecting a portion of the taxes. And as long as they paid their quota, each of them could keep whatever they could get. and it’s not hard to imagine why people despised tax collectors in that day.

Two very different men came to the temple to pray. The one had become a respected leader of his community by following the letter of the law. The other had thrown virtue and decency to the wind, and was basically robbing his own people, taking the fast-track toward getting rich. But the point of the parable was that the first man was quite convinced that his life was right and righteous and even pleasing to God. The other man came to the temple not satisfied, or pleased, but broken.

And while the people to whom Jesus told this story would have expected him to say what a good man the Pharisee was and what a rotten scoundrel the tax collector was, he surprised them. In fact, he shocked the living daylights out of them. Speaking about the tax collector, he said, “I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other” (Lk 18:14). That was the exact opposite of what they expected. But he was pointing them to something important: when we are “pleased” with ourselves and our religion, it raises a huge red flag regarding the genuineness of our faith. Biblical faith, the kind of faith that actually makes a difference in our lives, comes from experiencing the healing power of God’s mercy in response to our brokenness. And when we experience God’s mercy that way, our faith will look more like the humility of the tax collector than the smugness of the Pharisee.

Again, it’s too easy for us to walk away from a parable like this and think that those silly Pharisees really missed the point of it all. But the truth is that one man’s self-satisfied arrogance in this story is there to remind us all that we can fall into the same temptation. There was a time when I fell into this temptation. Everything in my life was going just the way I hoped it would. My life was going “according to plan.” A few years later, it all came crashing down, and it was probably the best thing that ever happened to me.

There is room in our faith for genuine satisfaction that comes from looking back over our lives and recognizing how far we’ve come. But for it to be truly genuine, it will always be mixed with generous helpings of humility and gratitude. That’s why religious smugness is so offensive. We might as well be wearing a neon sign that says, “you need God, but I’m doing just fine!” But the truth is that we all need God as much as anybody else. The truth is that at the end of the day none of us are really “pulling ourselves up by our own bootstraps.” We all are who we are only by the grace and mercy of God. And anyone who truly knows that will never be “pleased” with themselves, in the smug way that first man in the parable was. Rather, like the other man we will humbly and gratefully acknowledge that God’s mercy is a gift beyond what we could ever deserve.

[2] In fact, although many English Bibles translate the passage to say that he prayed “standing by himself,” and many others say that he prayed “with himself,” there are several that render it with a significant difference: he “stood and prayed about himself” (Lk 18:11, CEB, NET, NASB).There is actually a textual variant in the Greek New Testament that alters the word order to emphasize the latter interpretation. Cf. Bruce Metzger, A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament, 143. J. A. Fitzmyer, Luke X-XXIV, 1186, differs from the majority view and supports the variant because it has some of the most important early witnesses to the text of the New Testament in support.

Is Anyone There?

Psalm 121; Luke 18:1-8[1]

There is a question that has haunted the human family since the beginning. If you look at the religious beliefs and practices through the ages, and if you “read between the lines,” I think you’ll find that question. From ancient times we have wondered whether there is a God, and whether that God cares about us at all. I think this question was even at the heart of the earliest religions, when people worshipped many “gods.” The stories they told themselves about their “gods” betray a fundamental anxiety about our place in the world. The “gods” of ancient mythologies aren’t even good people, let alone “gods”! And underneath it all lies the question whether whatever “higher power” there may “out there” be is able to help us at all, and whether that power cares enough about us to do so.

When science and the church taught that the earth was at the very center of the universe, I think it may have been easier to believe in a God who cares for us. Our relative importance in the whole scheme of things was huge, and we felt more confident about our faith in God. But even in those times, there were catastrophes and tragedies that made people ask that question whether God can really do anything to help us, and whether God cares enough to do so. In more recent days, with our scientific perspective on how small the earth is compared to the rest of universe, I think that question has become even more pressing. At least for some people. Given the incomprehensible vastness of the universe, we can easily question whether there is a God, and whether any God there might be could or would pay much attention to us.

Even in a Christian context, this anxiety has been expressed through a centuries-old question: If God is both loving and all-powerful, how can there be evil in the world? The presence of tragedy in our lives suggests that God loves us but he’s not powerful enough to stop these things from happening. Or it suggests that God is powerful enough to stop them, but since he doesn’t he must not be loving. Although many have tried to address this question, I don’t think any of the “answers” really help. Most of them offer some sort of rational explanation. But that doesn’t really do much for the feeling of anxiety that the traumas and tragedies that life can bring. The only answer to the heartbreaks of life is to find a way to trust that God does indeed have the power to help us and does indeed care enough about us to do so.

Our Psalm for today addresses this question. The Psalmsinger looks to the mountains to try to figure out whether there is anyone there to help. The reason for looking to the mountains is because in ancient times people believed that the “gods” lived in the high places of the world. So when the Psalmsinger looks to the mountains and asks himself where he can find help, he’s looking for God. In this case, looking to the mountains reminds the Psalmsinger that “My help comes from the LORD, who made heaven and earth!” (Ps 121:2, NLT). I think at least a part of the meaning here is that God is bigger than any mountain, because God created all the heavens and the earth. The Psalmsinger’s hopes aren’t confined to a so-called a “deity” that lives on a particular mountain. His hope and his help come from the God who made all the heavens and the earth, the whole cosmos and everything in it!

I think there are a couple of linked ideas here that can help us. As powerful as a mountain can appear, God’s power is far greater. I think many of us experience mountains as a display not only of grandeur but also of power. But God’s power is far greater, because God is the creator of all the heavens and the earth. That’s one of the most basic ideas of the Bible. It’s where Genesis begins: God created all the heavens and the earth. And that means whatever you can find in creation or in the whole cosmos that impresses you with its beauty, its grandeur, or its display of power, God’s power is greater. The Psalmsinger reminds himself and us that our faith that the God who created all the heavens and the earth is the God who is our help and our hope means that he most certainly does have the power to help us!

But the other part of the question concerns whether God cares enough to use that power to help us. That’s at least part of the lesson from our Gospel reading for today. In it, Jesus tells a parable about a woman who was a widow, very likely in danger of losing her home because she was at the mercy of a corrupt judge, who had no interest in protecting her. Jesus’s parable tells us that this man doesn’t care about God, and he doesn’t care about people. It seems clear that the only reason he held his position was to enrich himself. But this is no ordinary widow. She persisted relentlessly in demanding that this judge grant her what was rightfully hers, and she kept doing so until she annoyed him! That’s why the traditional title for this passage is “The parable of the importunate widow.” That’s what “importunate” means: demanding what’s rightfully yours and doing until you annoy somebody. That’s what she did. And this corrupt judge confessed, “Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming” (Lk. 18:4-5)!

One point of this parable is the contrast between the unjust judge and the God whom Jesus demonstrates as gracious, loving, and caring. If a godless, inhumane judge will finally give in to a powerless widow’s unceasing requests for justice, how much more will our merciful and loving God “grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night” (Lk 18:7). And I think the answer is that he will most certainly do so! The promise of God’s justice throughout the Bible is that God will make things right, ultimately if not immediately. But perhaps that’s precisely where the problem lies. We have lots of affirmations in the Bible that God cares about us and will take care of us. We have promises that God will set things right. But life doesn’t always confirm those promises. Sometimes, bad things happen to good people. Sometimes bad people do bad things to good people. And when that happens and we cry out to God for help, there are times when when all we can hear is silence. And that experience can leave us wondering whether there’s anyone there. That’s when we come back to the age-old question whether there is a God, and whether that God cares at all about us.

Unfortunately, I’m afraid that at times like those, our perspective can get quite narrow. All we can see is the hardship or tragedy or the loss we’re dealing with. And all we can ask is, “Why?” or “How long?”, stuck in our pain and our fears. But in this parable, I think Jesus wants to help us focus our attention elsewhere. He wants to remind us that we believe in a God who is a loving Father who knows what we need, who wants what is best for us, and who is working constantly for our good. And he does all of this despite our inability to understand how our lives are unfolding. There are simply some questions we may never be able to answer. That’s one of the lessons faith teaches us. It’s okay to ask those questions. We just have understand we may never get an answer.

Sometimes people asked Jesus those kinds of questions. In response, Jesus pointed them to the God whose care we can trust in all the circumstances of our lives. Regardless of what we may have to go through here and now, the promise remains: God has all the power he needs to help us, and because he cares for us he will most definitely do so, if not immediately, then ultimately. We see that promise confirmed most clearly in Jesus. Through his life and his example, through his death and resurrection, we learn that God’s love is stronger than anything. The mountains do indeed remind us that God has the power to help us, but the cross and resurrection show us that he cares enough to use that power to help us. When we wonder whether there’s anyone there, we can remember God’s love never gives up, and never will until God accomplishes all the good he has planned for us all, for the whole human family, and for all creation.

The Waking Dreamer