Reign of Christ Sunday
November 24, 2024
St. Matthew’s Episcopal Church, Worcester, MA

³³ Pilate entered the headquarters again, summoned Jesus, and asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” ³⁴ Jesus answered, “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?” ³⁵ Pilate replied, “I am not a Jew, am I? Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?” ³⁶ Jesus answered, “My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.” ³⁷ Pilate asked him, “So you are a king?” Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” – John 18:33-37

            One thing I absolutely love is travel. It almost doesn’t matter where – I love getting to know a new place. Even coming from Chicopee here to Worcester, a city I have been to many times, but to you all here at St. Matthew’s for the first time – it’s a new place, a new experience. But wherever it is, I love planning for travel, I love the travel itself – especially if it involves airplanes, and more than anything I love experiencing a new place and a new culture. Being in a new place helps me think differently about the world, see things in a new way. If the language of a place is different, that, too, gives a new perspective. The way in which food is prepared. The natural landscape that so often shapes the culture in interesting ways. All of it is the chance to experience something new, and always I take something I’ve learned from being in a new place and carry it with me when I return home. 

            I have a long list of places I want to visit and experience and learn from – probably more than I will get to in my lifetime. And today’s gospel reading has caused me to add one more to my list. I sure would like to travel to Jesus’ kingdom. In fact, I’d be glad to emigrate there permanently. But I have checked Google maps and Google flights and found no such destination. 

            “Of course!” you might say. Jesus tells Pilate – and reminds us – that his kingdom is not of this world. And our confession of faith includes God’s promise that in the end God will resurrect us and all of creation into a new heaven and new earth. But I am anxious to travel. I want go and at least experience this now, even if just for a brief journey. I want to at least visit for a while a place where there is justice and peace among all people and the dignity of every human being and all of creation is honored and respected. 

            Because we live in a world that is not yet God’s reign of justice, peace, and dignity for all. We live in a world where people rise up against one another with violence. We know of places around the world where war rages – in Palestine, Gaza, Israel, and Lebanon; in Ukraine; in Congo and Sudan; in Myanmar – and so many other places. We know the violence that exists in our own backyard – deaths from gun violence and violence in our neighborhoods. We know the deep divisions in our nation that play out among neighbors, sowing seeds of division. I was reminded this week of the fragility of our lives as several colleagues or their family members were diagnosed with serious illness or were mourning the loss of loved ones. Lord Jesus, your kingdom come! Or at least let us come visit for a respite from a world of pain and grief. 

            That’s what fascinates me about this interaction with Pilate and Jesus. Yes, this is a tense political moment. Yes, Jesus’ claim of kingship is a threat to empire. Yes, the stakes here are high and violence will be the result – Jesus knows it will be violence against his own body. Pilate knows there will be violence no matter his decision. All of that is true, but when I read this on this Reign of Christ Sunday I can’t help but think about a genuine longing to understand just how we find Christ’s reign on earth. 

            Jesus makes clear in his conversation with Pilate, that this kingdom is not shaped and won by violence. Earthly kingdoms, large or small, function by some level of military might. If it were a kingdom of the world, Jesus says, his followers would be fighting for him. Instead God’s kingdom emerges in our midst whenever we actively work against violence. When we take whatever strategy is needed as a nation to cause the least harm in order to bring justice and peace. Whenever as individuals we take a pause and honor the person before us instead of speaking harshly or rejecting them. We as a denomination have made efforts to counter a culture of gun violence and to begin working on the long and difficult process of making repair where our church and our nation has caused deep and violent harm. Whenever we choose the way of love over violence, God’s kingdom emerges. 

            Earthly kingdoms operate with clear boundaries – often won by military might and by overpowering others. They have hierarchies and they have lines that determine who is in and who is out. They define who belongs and who doesn’t. But Jesus’ kingdom is permeable – open to all and at the same time holding all safe. All are welcome. And while each person’s uniqueness and gifts are honored and celebrated, no one person is held up over another. It’s hard to do in our world so shaped by wealth, power, and success. But there are glimpses. Glimpses like offering food freely and without barrier to those in need like you do here at St. Matthew’s. Glimpses like making our doors open to all people. God’s kingdom is emerging here. 

            And one of the marks of this place that Jesus reigns is that people come and work together for the common good. In fact, many have begun referring to this place of Jesus’ reign as the kin-dom of God. That is, a place where we recognize one another as kin – as closely connected and interdependent people. This is an ethos that some cultures hold better than others, but one  that is deeply countercultural to the current American culture. We often fail to see ourselves as people dependent on one another and act in ways that fail to honor our deep bonds. And here at St. Matthew’s you are modeling that in the ways you have held one another together in this transition. You have stepped up to lead Morning Prayer, you have have continued coming together for worship and fellowship and all the important work you do together as the church. The kin-dom of God is breaking into the world in this place! 

            And yet we know that as amazing as those things are we cannot fully overcome the world full of deep division, power and exploitation, inequality and injustice, pain and suffering, death and grief. Our own efforts, no matter how well-intentioned, no matter how much energy we put behind them, ultimately are not enough. It is only Jesus who can ultimately transform us and this world into a place of wholeness. And he does that by refusing to play Pilate’s games – the games of power, wealth, and violence – and submitting to the violent consequences of doing so. The way of love takes Jesus to the cross and the power of love rises again to lead us all into that place we long for. 

            I trust in our confession that God will one day resurrect us and all creation into wholeness, but for now we get to be travelers from our world into the kin-dom of Jesus, which is hidden among us at every turn, Jesus breaking into our world and blessing us with the way of love in our midst. We remain citizens of this broken world, but we get to travel all the time to the kin-dom of God where we learn and grow and change from our experiences and bring them back to the world as we know it. So we are invited today to travel to the table, a place where all are welcome and all are fed. And we are sent to carry that gift into our lives and our communities, trusting that Christ goes with us, filling us with love and grace in ways that flow out through us and begin to make the kin-dom of God a reality here and now. 

-Pastor Steven Wilco

22nd Sunday after Pentecost (Lectionary 29B)
October 20, 2024
St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, East Longmeadow, MA

Recording of worship, including sermon: https://www.youtube.com/live/inK7V35bzyA?si=mQIRI19pKJHuE8w3

³⁵James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came forward to Jesus and said to him, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” ³⁶And Jesus said to them, “What is it you want me to do for you?” ³⁷And they said to him, “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” ³⁸But Jesus said to them, “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?” ³⁹They replied, “We are able.” Then Jesus said to them, “The cup that I drink you will drink; and with the baptism with which I am baptized, you will be baptized; ⁴⁰but to sit at my right hand or at my left is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared.”
 ⁴¹When the ten heard this, they began to be angry with James and John. ⁴²So Jesus called them and said to them, “You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers are domineering, and their great ones are tyrants over them. ⁴³But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, ⁴⁴and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. ⁴⁵For the Son-of-Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.” – Mark 10:35-45

                  This week, a colleague of mine in community organizing work, Marika Stewart, coined a term to describe the world in which we find ourselves living in these days. She was speaking of the challenges of inequality in our communities that have destabilized our relationships and the strength of our communities. She said we are living in a late-stage Jenga game.  

                  Now, in case it’s been a while since you played, Jenga is a game with a tower of small wooden blocks, layered in crisscrossing layers of three blocks each. Players take turns removing a block from somewhere in the stack and placing it on top. In a late-stage Jenga game, the removal of lower blocks and the transfer of their weight to the top of the tower makes it ready to fall at any moment. Each turn becomes more tense than the last until finally someone topples the whole thing and loses the game. 

                  I can’t help but think of so many things that have destabilized our community. Every tenth of a degree of global warming pulls another block out of the tower and weakens the earth’s capacity to support human life. Every missile sent, every gun fired on another human, every act of violence pulls another block out. Every politician focused on power instead of the health of the community. Every death or loss. Every economic shift. A global pandemic. We are living in a late-stage Jenga game that feels it could topple any moment. 

                  We feel it in the church, too. You know churches that have closed around you. You see that overall church attendance is in decline, budgets are harder to meet, societal support for institutional church has eroded – sometimes because of broken trust and sometimes because of things far beyond our control. I am here in part to get to know you here at St. Mark’s as you enter this time of transition, but I already know you’ve had your own financial challenges, your own loss. You’ve just said goodbye to a pastor much sooner than you anticipated. Do you feel a little unsteady? If you do, you aren’t alone.     

                  I’m aware of some particular global-scale things that are different about our current era, but I’m also not one to suggest this is anything new. In Jesus’ day, they were in their own precarious life. Much of the population lived on the edge of survival. The political situation was tense with the Roman empire in charge by force and uneasy alliances with local leaders. Religious tensions existed as Judaism was evolving and changing as any living religion does. There are hints throughout the gospels of all this happening in and around Jesus’ ministry. 

                  So enter the conversation we witness today between Jesus and his disciples. James and John – can you picture them whispering together as they walk, creating this scheme, arguing about who will voice their request? They approach Jesus: “Um…hey… Jesus? Will you give us what we ask?” And I imagine Jesus sighing deeply. He’s promised to give what is asked in prayer, but he knows this request can’t be good. What they want is to sit at Jesus’ right and left in glory. 

                  Now in hindsight, I think we judge these two pretty harshly. But imagine where they are, what they’re experiencing. The background of their community’s own late stage Jenga game makes them anxious. On top of that, Jesus has been trying over and over again to explain to his closest followers that his own journey is headed to the cross and the grave. They obviously do not want this. And all that anxiety gets channeled, as it so often does into trying to climb up to the top. Their response is to try to pull themselves out of where they are and put themselves on top. When the other disciples hear it they, too, react out of a desire if not to be on top themselves, then at least not to have their peers up there either. 

                  There’s some deep human instinct to at least try to get out on top of the pile when everything falls over. Or maybe we think we really can fix it if we put ourselves in charge alongside Jesus. Whatever the reason, we do it all the time. Our systems push politicians to turn around and campaign for the next election as soon as they’re in office, sometimes at the expense of governing. We try to get ahold of more money or more success or more power, thinking those things will alleviate our fear and uncertainty and anxiety. Sometimes we lash out at those closest to us. We end up putting others down to feel better about ourselves. At church we turn to competing for diminishing members or grasping at tactics we think will drive up attendance and budgets. The thing we fail to realize, myself included, is that in doing this it’s like asking God to pull us out of our place and put us up on top. In a late-stage Jenga game that only serves to weaken the whole community. But we do it anyway.      

                  Jesus’ response challenges that instinct. Whoever wants to be great must become a servant. Jesus’ own way is through the cross, through love that will not compromise, through open arms that embrace the world into new life. It’s not as so many then and now desire from Jesus to assert power, fix everything, or impose order. It’s to hold us up and call us into community together, to call us back to the kind of leadership that fills in the gaps in the tower, the kind of leadership that seeks not our own success but that of the whole community. 

                  That’s my hope for you in this time of transition and in every moment of being church. That you might seek the way of Jesus and serve one another. Not worried about how to get more people or more money. Not turning on one another. Not reaching for the top. But turning toward one another to deepen your relationships, to serve one another. And to turn that outward to the community and deepen your relationships there, too. It’s no guarantee of success by the world’s standards. I can’t promise you that. But I do know that opening ourselves to one another and supporting one another lends stability to our lives. That’s one of the great gifts of Christian community. 

                  And all of it is undergirded by a God who does exactly that. God seeks relationship with people like James and John who keep getting it wrong. God seeks relationship with us despite all that we do and fail to do. God seeks relationship with the whole world even though we seem to be pretty good at toppling each other over when we get the chance. Jesus doesn’t enter the world to fix it, but to build those relationships with us. Jesus enters our late-stage Jenga game and holds us up, reassuring us that whatever happens we have the love of God surrounding us. 

                  So let us seek to continue building on that firm foundation, knowing that God dwells among us and holds us fast forever. 

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Installation of Pr. Susan Williamson
Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church, Fairfield, CT
Sunday, September 29, 2024

Worship Recording: https://www.youtube.com/live/v4u6F8d8Ixc?si=kgQkdP5l6NiCkTN2

¹⁵ After breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?”

“Yes, Master, you know I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my lambs.”

¹⁶ He then asked a second time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?”

“Yes, Master, you know I love you.”

Jesus said, “Shepherd my sheep.”

^17-19 Then he said it a third time: “Simon, son of John, do you love me?”

Peter was upset that he asked for the third time, “Do you love me?” so he answered, “Master, you know everything there is to know. You’ve got to know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my sheep. – John 21:15-19 (The Message)

            I’ve been guiding congregations and pastors through call processes now for four and a half years. And it is always a privilege. Some are longer, and some less long – none are short these days. Some are fraught with worry, and others less so. In some the Holy Spirit seems to glide gracefully through it like a dove, in some the Holy Spirit is more like the Wild Goose in Celtic tradition that squawks and prods and honks until we all finally get it. But it’s holy work, this process of discerning a call together, pastor and congregation. 

            In a call process we prayerfully enter into conversations that eventually lead to the kind of celebration we have today, the celebration of a new relationship between Pr. Susan Williamson and the people of Our Saviour’s. To get here you had to approach one another with questions. Though we work together to craft some thoughtful questions, we often start on the congregation’s side with honest questions: “Will the new pastor grow the church? Will the new pastor speak equally well to young, old, rich, poor, black, white, gay, straight and everyone in between? Will the new pastor bring innovation without changing anything at all? Will the new pastor know all the things but not be too preachy or academic?” And I want to be clear – I’m speaking generally here, you had a wonderful, faithful call committee – one I very much enjoyed working with and they did easily see beyond these. But we know these questions float in the air in our congregations. 

            Maybe less well known, pastors are asking the same questions: “Will my gifts be welcomed and my faults forgiven? Will I be able to live comfortably in this community? Will I be able to support myself and find community? Will the congregation invite me in but not cross boundaries? Will this be the place where somehow I can do all the things and meet all the needs and bring in all the people?” Again, I speak in generalities. I have enjoyed my conversations with Pr. Susan as she went through this process with you. 

            But all of us want to know – will life get better? Will the world find peace? Will I stay healthy and safe? Will my loved ones? Will I find community? Will I thrive? 

            And we sometimes place the weight of those deep and fundamental questions on relationships that cannot bear the weight of the world. We place them on our spouses, our children, our neighbors, our elected leaders, and very often on our pastors and congregations. I will tell you now that you are not a perfect congregation and that your pastor, wonderful though she is, is not perfect either. You will all smile, chuckle, and nod your heads knowingly. And then you will forget. Because that’s what we do. And you will need to seek forgiveness and reconciliation. In small ways and big ones.

            When that happens, maybe you can return to this beautiful moment between Peter and Jesus at the end of the gospel of John. Peter, like most of the disciples, save the few faithful women, fell away when Jesus was crucified. Peter in particular is quoted in his denial of relationship with Jesus. “Who me? A disciple of that guy? Never in a million years!” But now Jesus is resurrected. He has appeared among them. He has commissioned them for mission. He has joined them for breakfast by the sea. He pulls Peter aside. This is a time for a new beginning. Peter has a call in the world to share the good news of Jesus to the ends of the earth. But first both Jesus and Peter need a moment to clear the air, to rebuild trust, to begin the process of forgiveness. 

            This scene, in a way, is the commissioning of a new pastor, a new missionary, a new way of living out his relationship with Jesus. And he does not ask Peter if he’s a hard worker, if he’s studied his theology, if he’s going to get the most disciples, if he’s going to find proper work/life balance, if he’s going to fix everything. He asks one simple question. “Do you love me?”

            This is the fundamental question in the call process. Will this pastor love us? Not in an easy superficial way, but in a way that loves us into being our best selves, loves us into deeper relationship with Jesus. And will this congregation love me? Will they welcome my gifts and support me in my faults? Will they love me into deeper relationship with Jesus? In a few moments Pr. Marjo will ask Pr. Susan to answer some questions. These questions will ask about word and sacraments, means of grace, faithful service, even the constitutions of the ELCA. But at their core is this question: “Will you love your people inside and outside this congregation?” 

And then, dear friends, she will turn and ask you to receive her, pray for her, support her, in essence “Will you love her as your pastor?” 

            None of you will do that perfectly. Love requires trust and forgiveness, honesty and kindness, time and attention. You will need to walk with each other through challenges and conflicts, moments of joy and grief, mystery and wonder. But God is with you. You, all of you, are called to shepherd each other, to love each other, but God is the one who loves you first. 

            But even at this very special celebration today, let’s not stop at the relationship between pastor and congregation. Because I think this question – “Do you love me?” Is one of the core questions of our lives as human beings. Are we loved for who we are in our full selves in every moment, success or failure? People of God gathered here, that’s the fundamental question that people outside the walls of the institutional church are asking, too. They’re asking it to God, to the world, to the church. They’re asking you, today, every day, Do you love me? What will your response together be to those people seeking knowledge of God’s deep love for them? Will it be a response open enough, flexible enough, curious enough to welcome them in their fullness without expecting them to be just like you in order to fit in? Will it be a response that shines forth God’s unconditional love for them exactly as they are? That’s your work together, all of you – to share that with the world around you. 

            And it may be Jesus asking the question in today’s reading, but it’s ultimately Jesus who answers our deep question about being loved. In response to our asking again and again and again, “God, do you love us?” Jesus goes literally to hell and back to give us an unequivocal “YES!” in response. That’s the whole arc of Scripture, the whole arc of our lives – God returning again and again to our deep and persistent question with a resounding “YES! I love you.” We fall and fail. Like Peter we deny and run away. And like Peter in so many moments we stumble along doing ministry and making mistakes along the way. And over and over again, God’s resounding response, “YES! I love you!”

            Carry that love with you in the years ahead as you do ministry together. I hope you do love one another. It’s God’s command that we do. But it’s also God’s unrelenting love for us that makes it possible – makes this relationship between pastor and people possible, makes our communal life together possible, makes hope possible, makes our very lives possible, this side of heaven and forever after. 

-Pastor Steven Wilco

19th Sunday after Pentecost (Lectionary 26B)
September 29, 2024
Christ the King – Epiphany Church, Wilbraham, MA

Worship recording: https://www.youtube.com/live/hfWw_7Xgxtc?si=VSgYFcY2dMwxeiUf

 ⁴The rabble among them had a strong craving; and the Israelites also wept again, and said, “If only we had meat to eat! ⁵We remember the fish we used to eat in Egypt for nothing, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic; ⁶but now our strength is dried up, and there is nothing at all but this manna to look at.”
 ¹⁰Moses heard the people weeping throughout their families, all at the entrances of their tents. Then the Lord became very angry, and Moses was displeased. ¹¹So Moses said to the Lord, “Why have you treated your servant so badly? Why have I not found favor in your sight, that you lay the burden of all this people on me? ¹²Did I conceive all this people? Did I give birth to them, that you should say to me, ‘Carry them in your bosom, as a nursing woman carries a sucking child,’ to the land that you promised on oath to their ancestors? ¹³Where am I to get meat to give to all this people? For they come weeping to me and say, ‘Give us meat to eat!’ ¹⁴I am not able to carry all this people alone, for they are too heavy for me. ¹⁵If this is the way you are going to treat me, put me to death at once—if I have found favor in your sight—and do not let me see my misery.”
 ¹⁶So the Lord said to Moses, “Gather for me seventy of the elders of Israel, whom you know to be the elders of the people and officers over them; bring them to the tent of meeting, and have them take their place there with you.”
 ²⁴So Moses went out and told the people the words of the Lord; and he gathered seventy elders of the people, and placed them all around the tent. ²⁵Then the Lord came down in the cloud and spoke to Moses, and took some of the spirit that was on him and put it on the seventy elders; and when the spirit rested upon them, they prophesied. But they did not do so again.
 ²⁶Two men remained in the camp, one named Eldad, and the other named Medad, and the spirit rested on them; they were among those registered, but they had not gone out to the tent, and so they prophesied in the camp. ²⁷And a youth ran and told Moses, “Eldad and Medad are prophesying in the camp.” ²⁸And Joshua son of Nun, the assistant of Moses, one of his chosen ones, said, “My lord Moses, stop them!” ²⁹But Moses said to him, “Are you jealous for my sake? Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets, and that the Lord’s spirit be given to them all!” – Numbers 11

¹³Are any among you suffering? They should pray. Are any cheerful? They should sing songs of praise. ¹⁴Are any among you sick? They should call for the elders of the church and have them pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord. ¹⁵The prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise them up; and anyone who has committed sins will be forgiven. ¹⁶Therefore confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, so that you may be healed. The prayer of the righteous is powerful and effective. ¹⁷Elijah was a human being like us, and he prayed fervently that it might not rain, and for three years and six months it did not rain on the earth. ¹⁸Then he prayed again, and the heaven gave rain and the earth yielded its harvest.
 ¹⁹My brothers and sisters, if anyone among you wanders from the truth and is brought back by another, ²⁰you should know that whoever brings back a sinner from wandering will save the sinner’s soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins. – James 5:13-20

 ³⁸John said to Jesus, “Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.” ³⁹But Jesus said, “Do not stop him; for no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterward to speak evil of me. ⁴⁰Whoever is not against us is for us. ⁴¹For truly I tell you, whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ will by no means lose the reward.
 ⁴²“If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea. ⁴³If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life maimed than to have two hands and to go to hell, to the unquenchable fire. ⁴⁵And if your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life lame than to have two feet and to be thrown into hell. ⁴⁷And if your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out; it is better for you to enter the dominion of God with one eye than to have two eyes and to be thrown into hell, ⁴⁸where their worm never dies, and the fire is never quenched.
 ⁴⁹“For everyone will be salted with fire. ⁵⁰Salt is good; but if salt has lost its saltiness, how can you season it? Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another.” – Mark 9:38-50

        I have a confession. I want to have power. I want to be powerful. 

            I don’t want to run the world (though I have some ideas about things I’d do differently). I don’t necessarily want a position of authority. I want power in the most basic sense – the ability to take action for a purpose. 

            Because, I’ll be honest, a lot of days I feel pretty powerless. Maybe you do, too. I watched images of catastrophic flooding across the Southeast in the last two days, knowing that of course I can donate some money and maybe sometime in the future even take a work trip to support long-term rebuilding, but that ultimately I have no real power against the forces of creation that destroyed lives and livelihoods, houses and homes. I have very little power over the global forces driving climate change which makes these devastating storms overall more frequent and more destructive. 

            I look at the election ahead – the big national election, the local and state elections, too – and I’ll be voting. I hope you will also exercise your baptismal calling to engage in public life in that way this election season – both Lutheran and Episcopalian bishops have urged that. And voting does matter. But I know that the system will still be broken after the election. There is no savior on the ballot anywhere. If your preferred candidate gets elected it will not create heaven on earth. We can keep acting and advocating, organizing and voting, and the world will still be broken. 

            I look at the people in my life longing for healing from grief, addiction, illness. I look at the church as a whole and long for a stronger witness to Jesus. I look at the inequity around and confront the ways in which I do hold power and fail to exercise in cooperation with the marginalized, and yet I also know that no matter what I do, I cannot fix it all. 

            So, yeah, I want to be powerful. Maybe you do, too.

            I think that desire is at the heart of our readings today. Our gospel reading starts mid conversation – Jesus has already been responding in last week’s gospel to the disciples’ argument about who is the greatest among them – spoiler alert, the first shall be last and the last shall be first. But here again they are all twisted up in a knot because someone is doing a deed of power in God’s name, even though – gasp! – he’s not part of the identified in-group. I get it – they think they’re finally connected to someone who really can actually change things, and they’re going make sure they hold onto that power. Not because they don’t want healing, but because they want to make sure it happens on their watch, with their Jesus, in their way. And they do what people afraid they might be losing their power do – they blame, argue, and set limits. Sound familiar? 

            The Hebrew people, too. They want to be done with their wilderness wandering, the drudgery of quail and manna day in and day out for years on end. So they do what people who feel powerless do, they complain. Whining: “Moses! Remember the leeks and onion and garlic? We want that again. Fix it! Do something!” They feel powerless so they blame, they grasp at small things they think maybe they can actually control, they forget the reality of their incredible liberation at God’s mighty hand. Sound familiar? 

            The disciples want power. The Hebrew people want power. We, we want power. Not because we’re bad or evil or ill-intentioned. In fact, it’s often out of a deep desire to care for the world and the people that God has made. 

            But Jesus, well, Jesus has a different idea. This whole passage falls in the midst of Jesus repeatedly trying to explain to his followers that the future holds not a victory party, but a cross. Jesus has said twice already with one more to come that he will suffer and die and rise again. The ultimate feeling of powerlessness – facing death. They do not want it. They want to keep going as they are, keep healing and teaching and making life better. Death is not part of their plan, at least not anytime soon, at least not the way Jesus is talking about it. 

            Here’s the thing though, the cross is at the center of our story as God’s people. It is, in fact, God’s most powerful moment. Power in letting go. Power committed to love rather than violence. Power in meeting the suffering where they are in a fully embodied way. Like the disciples, like the Hebrews, I’m not sure that’s what I actually want.          

            We have a God who has the power to create worlds from the formless void. We have a God who commands heaven and earth. And that God wields power not by force or domination, not by exerting power over. But God wields power by sharing it. Sharing it with the angels – I had to get that in there somewhere since today is the commemoration of Michael and All Angels. And, most importantly, sharing it with us. Sharing it, apparently, not just with the in group but in ways that we can’t even imagine or contain. God’s power multiplies not by making more things happen but by welcoming more people into the sharing of that power. 

            But that leaves us, welcomed into God’s upside down kind of power, but still living in a broken and hurting world. It leaves me, at least, still feeling powerless. And that’s what keeps me in Christian community. For all the challenges of the church as an institution, it’s a place where we gather week after week to experience the power of God at work among us and remember that we are not alone. 

            The strange thing about this power that God shares is that we see it better in community. Moses didn’t have all it took to lead the people – it took 70 elders, plus a few more doing deeds of power in the camp on their own. Jesus didn’t do it alone but with a band of followers – not just the 12 disciples, but crowds, and always the faithful women who remain to very end when others fall away. We are reminded today in our scriptures, too, to pray. And I do believe prayer is powerful. It doesn’t always give us what we want, but it does connect us again to the source of power, to God, and to one another. 

            And that’s what gets me through the days when I feel powerless – knowing I am not alone. That the god of life has come to meet me, to meet all of us, in the depths of our hardest moments, and in our joys, too. And that God shares that healing power of life in us and through us. Thank you, church, for being part of the way God shows up in this world – for me, for each other, for the community, and for all the world in need. 

-Pastor Steven Wilco

18th Sunday after Pentecost/Lectionary 25B
September 22, 2024
Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, Monroe, CT

³⁰[Jesus and the disciples went on] and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; ³¹for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, “The Son-of-Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” ³²But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him.
 ³³Then they came to Capernaum; and when Jesus was in the house he asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way?” ³⁴But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. ³⁵He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” ³⁶Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, ³⁷“Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” – Mark 9:30-37

            Everywhere I go – every congregation – at least one person in the course of my work with them and usually many people ask, “how do we get more children to our church?” I could give some best practices around developmentally appropriate faith formation, hospitality for young people in worship, the importance of prioritizing inter-generational relationships – all of which is great, but not likely in and of themselves to bring hordes of young people to your doors. 

            I could describe the changing age demographics of our country, the challenges that families with young children face today that drain time, money, and energy, and the ways in which the communities many of our churches sit in have priced out many young families. – All of which might be true but ultimately unhelpful. 

            Instead, I ask why? Usually the answer is about the adults’ anxiety. They want the church to continue, to pass on their legacy of faith to a new generation in order for their way of life to be preserved for the future. There is a remembering of a time when things seemed easier for many of our predominantly white and middle class Lutheran churches and that time was also marked by large Sunday schools. We think we will save the church if we figure out the kid problem. I don’t mean to suggest that there isn’t a deep concern for the value of faith and the desire to share that with everyone including young people. But, ultimately, none of those are reasons that resonate with young people themselves or with most of their parents. 

            So when Jesus brings a little child into the center of his conversation with the disciples as kind of an object lesson, I wonder if all of those things rattle around in the background of our minds. Just what does Jesus mean by this. Just how are we supposed to welcome such children and in doing so welcome Christ himself? 

            He does this in the midst of some pretty heavy adult-level stuff. The prediction of betrayal, suffering, and death. It’s stuff the disciples themselves clearly can’t handle. Mark tells us: “They did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him.” In lieu of asking questions, exploring this rich and powerful message that ultimately will live at the core of their and our lives of faith, they do what people do when they are trying to ignore the proverbial element in the room – they argue about who is the greatest. 

            Kids and adults alike can relate to that – who is the most powerful, the smartest, the richest, the most athletic. Which kid gets to be line leader today? Who gets to be prom king and queen? Which country has the biggest military? Which politician has the most power? Which company has the best bottom line? Which church has the most attendance? 

            That’s familiar to us. And in times of anxiety, it gets worse. When, like the disciples, we hear or experience something that threatens us and our way of life, we are likely to try to avoid it and live out that anxiety in other ways. Instead of diving into the hard stuff, we turn to what we know, trying to define ourselves as part of the grand order of things, trying to determine whether we are in fact more powerful than someone else. 

            I think that’s where we find ourselves as a country these days. We’ve been through a lot of rapid changes. The economy is up, down, and sideways with more rapid than ever cycles of boom and bust. We came through a global pandemic, which I am convinced we haven’t fully unpacked emotionally. And we are in a time when institutions we have relied on, like the church but not only the church, are transforming into something very different. Too often, I don’t understand. And I’m too afraid to ask. 

            And here we are, as we avoid the deep questions and the deep anxiety, in a world fighting about greatness. Fighting with bullets and missiles, fighting with angry words and lies meant to harm, fighting with neighbors and co workers and fellow church members and family members and strangers online. We fight it out in this national election we are experiencing right now. 

            Into the midst of this argument, Jesus welcomes the child and invites us to do the same. Now I’m a parent. I’m not Pollyanna about kids – I love kids – my own and kids at large, but like adults they are complex, they have their own feelings, their own will, their own faults. Jesus doesn’t bring the child into their midst to cancel out the hard stuff and make everything sunshine and rainbows. I think he does it for a least one of a few possible reasons. 

            One is that children have an incredible capacity for imagination. At least at younger ages they float easily between reality and fantasy with no worry about the boundary between them. They are open to imagining delightful, strange, and sometimes rather clever ideas that adults too easily dismiss based on so-called reason. Perhaps Jesus is telling the disciples, telling us, that it’s time to see beyond the realities we think are set. They are reactive because they do not want Jesus to suffer and die. They know suffering and they know death. It is awful. And final. Jesus isn’t Pollyanna about any of that, but he does have a bigger vision. He is inviting them to imagine something that in their adult brains makes no sense and cannot be. Imagine resurrection. 

            Two is that children are often not afraid to ask hard questions. They do not accept that things just are – they want to know why?! And how?! They dive in and explore without the need to write up findings or come to a firm conclusion. And while sometimes those questions are about interesting little corners of the world, sometimes they are also about profound realities of life and death. Perhaps Jesus is inviting the disciples to stop squashing their questions and dive into possibilities. Admit what they don’t know and ask for guidance and help. Ponder mystery rather than easy answers. Wonder why we argue about position and who is first vs. last. 

            And children are mostly pretty good at trying new things. It doesn’t mean they always dive right in. Maybe it’s that they have to. Learning to walk, learning to talk, learning to share, learning to ride a bike, learning to care for others, learning, learning, learning – all the time something new is coming at them. Have you ever watched a child learn to walk? They have no fear or shame around falling down, not getting it right. They simply try again, try something different, see what happens next. The disciples, like many of us adults, are sometimes so stuck in our patterns, so used to the ways of the world, that we begin to fear change, fear new things, fear what sounds like it could be bad. No one wants to hear Jesus talk about the cross, but it’s also the only way we get to resurrection. 

            There are a lot more lessons we can learn from kids. I actually think we would all benefit from having more kids in our congregations – not because we have something we need to teach them or pass on to them or because we want them to be the future for us, but because they have something to teach us about who God is. That’s what Jesus means when he says that whoever welcomes one of the children welcomes him, welcomes God. Not perfection, not nice easy answers, but teachers about the way of God. People who help lead us to the cross and ultimately to resurrection. 

            As this congregation looks to the future, you have some important decisions to make. You have ministry to do. And there are a lot of ways to do that ministry. As you do that important work ahead, may you welcome the child-like spirit of curiosity, imagination, and willingness to try something new without worrying about failure. Because God is here in our midst. But God’s call may not always be what we think it is at first, and often isn’t exactly the call we want. But it is a call to accompany the God of life through every challenge ahead in order to discover new life more abundant than we can imagine. 

-Pastor Steven Wilco

17th Sunday after Pentecost (Lectionary 24B)
September 15, 2024
Shepherd of the Hills, Montpelier, VT

²⁷Jesus went on with his disciples to the villages of Caesarea Philippi; and on the way he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” ²⁸And they answered him, “John the Baptist; and others, Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets.” ²⁹Jesus asked them, “But who do you say that I am?” Peter answered him, “You are the Messiah.” ³⁰And he sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him.
 ³¹Then he began to teach them that the Son-of-Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. ³²He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. ³³But turning and looking at his disciples, Jesus rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”
 ³⁴Jesus called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. ³⁵For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. ³⁶For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? ³⁷Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? ³⁸Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son-of-Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.” – Mark 8:27-38

           I don’t know about you, but I have found much of the last several years particularly ungrounding. All of us had lives upended by a global pandemic. We are in the midst of a contentious political season in which much, as always, is at stake, but polarization gets worse instead of better. We are seeing more frequent devastating storms, which have affected you all here in Vermont more than most. I know it is just over a year since this building where we are worshipping today was partly inaccessible due to catastrophic flooding. And, we are in a time in which we are experiencing a radical shift in what it means to be church together – I think a shift which is certainly not all bad, but is definitely ungrounding for those of us who have loved the church into its present day form. It is a difficult time to stay grounded in the world. 

            So it is tempting to look for solid places to grab onto, to cement ourselves to, to stand firm on. We look, then, sometimes, to passages like today’s gospel reading to be those solid rocks on which to place ourselves. It is not in Mark’s gospel account, but rather Matthew’s re-telling of this same scene in which Jesus says you are Peter, the rock, and on this rock I build my church. Solid ground in the midst of big questions about life and identity and purpose. 

            That is, after all, what they are trying to answer. Who is this Jesus? Who is the one standing in their midst? Who is the one that feeds them at the table of life? Who is the one who calls them? Who is the one who heals, and guides, and loves? Is this, in fact, truly the one we can once and for all trust without fail in the midst of a world full of questions, doubts, fears, changes, and uncertainties? 

            And for centuries, many iterations of the church have taken this as the final word, the unchanging end-all-be-all of Christian faith. In a theological sense, yes. The confession of Jesus as God-made-flesh to be our savior is absolutely true. But I fear we Christians have too often treated it as the end goal, the last stop on a weary journey through the world to arrive finally at this solid place. We often long for church and faith to be the thing that at last we can fling ourselves onto and forget the worries that have plagued us. 

            Instead, I think, it is the beginning. The confession “you are the Messiah” is one that launches us into a whole new way of being in the world. Instead of a landing point it is a jumping off point. It’s one of the reasons I love the Lutheran practice of baptizing infants as well as those who come to the waters at older ages. But with infants we have no idea what lies ahead. We have no idea what gifts they will bring to the world, what challenges they will face, what mistakes they will make, or how the world will change around them. But we gather as a community and confess our faith and from there send the child forward to meet what is ahead, rooted and grounded in the promises God makes in those waters. 

            This confession is at the center for us. The center of life and faith. In fact, it falls right at the center of Mark’s gospel narrative, dividing in many ways what is before and what is after. But let me tell you the thing that makes Mark my favorite of the gospels (I know, we’re not supposed to have favorites, but most pastors have one.) In Mark when the results of this confession reach their inevitable conclusion on the cross. When Jesus has been buried and then the women discover not the risen Christ but only the empty tomb. The angel who greets them sends them back to Galilee to find him. Which is exactly where the story starts – not with the birth in Bethlehem as we get in Luke or Matthew, but in the middle of things up in Galilee. It’s as if the resurrection sends us back into the world to do it all over again. Every time we experience death, we are greeted with a message of hope to seek God anew in the midst of the living. The ending is the beginning. And in the center Christ, the Messiah. 

            This, beloved children of God, is what being church is all about. Not about trying to get the world to finally land here in this confession of faith. Not about trying to pull and force all of the wild and stormy world into a neat and tidy confession of faith. Not even trying, necessarily, to get more people to sit in church on Sunday morning. It’s about staying grounded in the one who is all-in-all, as we experience the cycles of death and new life, over and over again. It’s about a touch point in the center that allows us to go back out and face that world of uncertainty and questions and grief and change with the knowledge that we are not alone, but rather tethered to the one who loves us. It’s about the capacity to go forth in the messiness and be God’s hands and feet in the world. 

            Like Peter I sometimes want to call Jesus aside and explain just how hard all this is sometimes. Enough with the hard stuff, Jesus. Just save us already. Scoop us up and land us on that final solid ground where we don’t have to sort through the messy muck within us and around us. But Jesus rebukes Peter. With words that sound harsh, but I think of them as said with compassion. “I know, Peter. I get it. I love you. And this is the way, so get behind me. And follow. Because we are indeed going to go through hell. But that’s the only way to resurrection.” This is Jesus calling heaven and hell alike to get in line because this journey is going to upend the grip that suffering and pain have on the world and rip to shreds the finality of death once and for all. Hang on, it will be a wild ride, but we’re starting off from a place that won’t allow us to fail – the confession of Christ as Messiah.

            So, dear ones – what does that mean? I invite us to go from here as you do every Sunday, back into the fray – to whatever joys and challenges await you in your life this week and the weeks ahead. Into the contentious election season, into the world broken by violence and divided by barriers between groups of people, into lives marked by illness, grief, and pain. But go from this solid foundation that Christ is in it all, Christ is with you in it all. 

            And for the church – the church at large and your small and faithful congregation here in Montpelier – it means trusting the solid foundation at the center and being willing to boldly step forward from there into whatever challenges lie ahead. It means that the life of the church goes through cycles of death and resurrection, where challenges come, some ministries end and new ones begin, some ways of being church end and new ways of being church together emerge, all of it grounded because the center is sure. I don’t know what the future holds for you here. You have ministry to do. God is at work here. That is no guarantee that everything will be easy, that people will flock to Sunday morning worship, that you will have financial stability forever. It is a guarantee that God walks with you in it. 

            Remember, because of this confession at the center, death is never the last thing or the worst thing because Christ is the Messiah and resurrection is coming. Amen. 

-Pastor Steven Wilco

12th Sunday after Pentecost (Lectionary 19B)
Sunday, August 11, 2024
St. Paul Lutheran, Terryville, CT & Our Savior Lutheran, Thomaston, CT

⁴Elijah went a day’s journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a solitary broom tree. He asked that he might die: “It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.” ⁵Then he lay down under the broom tree and fell asleep. Suddenly an angel touched him and said to him, “Get up and eat.” ⁶Elijah looked, and there at his head was a cake baked on hot stones, and a jar of water. He ate and drank, and lay down again. ⁷The angel of the Lord came a second time, touched him, and said, “Get up and eat, otherwise the journey will be too much for you.” ⁸Elijah got up, and ate and drank; then he went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb the mount of God. – 1 Kings 19:4-8

³⁵Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”
 ⁴¹Then the Judeans began to complain about him because he said, “I am the bread that came down from heaven.” ⁴²They were saying, “Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, ‘I have come down from heaven’?” ⁴³Jesus answered them, “Do not complain among yourselves. ⁴⁴No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me; and I will raise that person up on the last day. ⁴⁵It is written in the prophets, ‘And they shall all be taught by God.’ Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me. ⁴⁶Not that anyone has seen the Father except the one who is from God; this one has seen the Father. ⁴⁷Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life. ⁴⁸I am the bread of life. ⁴⁹Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. ⁵⁰This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. ⁵¹I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.” – John 6:35, 41-51

I am so grateful for the lectionary reflections by Debie Thomas, whose commentary on these texts inspired this sermon.

            It is summer. The time of road trips. And no good road trip is complete without snacks! There’s an internet meme that I see periodically that says “It doesn’t matter how old you get, buying snacks for a road trip should look like an unsupervised 9-year-old was given $100.” 

            On family vacations growing up we did a fair amount of eating out, but we always had food in the car – bagel, ham, and cheese sandwiches for lunch. There were always grapes at least if not other fruit and vegetables. Usually Cheez-its, a personal favorite of mine to this day, and chips and cookies. My dad, who did most of the actual driving, always had a bag of Jolly Ranchers, which he would request by flavor from whomever was in the passenger seat. 

            For my job, I do a lot of driving, which I mostly love, but I don’t go anywhere first thing in the morning without a mug of coffee and a mug of tea. I carry gum in the car at all times – which keeps me from too much mindless snacking. There is usually a small stash of protein bars for when I need something more substantive. And I can tell you a good Dunkin, Starbucks, Panera, or local cafe in most parts of western New England including which have good wi-fi and quiet background noise for zoom meetings. 

            In a less literal sense of journey we bring food to nourish people who are ill. We pack freezers with ready-made dishes for those who are grieving. We send young ones off to school with a good breakfast. We cook meals to celebrate family and holidays or to welcome friends. We often mark anniversaries and birthdays with special meals.  

            Point is, we need food to keep us going on a journey. Food that we enjoy, food that nourishes our body, even, though I wouldn’t recommend this as a general nutritional strategy, food to help us stay entertained on long, open stretches.

            Problem is, Elijah, prophet of God, fresh off a victory over hundreds of priests of the idol Baal, has forgotten to pack road trip food for his journey. And he’s gotten a little cranky. “It is enough!” he says. He is done with this journey, done with this job, done, in fact, with life itself. He has lived an exhausting calling, one with brilliant moments of glory to be sure, but one mostly made up of a lonely daily push against the tide. He just doesn’t have it in him to take another step. So he lies down to go to sleep. 

            God sends a messenger, not with a pep-talk about how great he is, not with a “look on the bright side” Pollyanna kind of speech, not with a guilt-trip about how important the ministry of God is for a broken and hurting world. Instead the messenger brings bread. And then tells him to take a nap. And brings another cake of bread. Eat, rest, repeat. You aren’t ready yet. 

            It is only after rest and nourishment that God invites him to the next bit of the journey. And this is a miracle story of sorts – the bread of God in this moment is enough for 40 days journey. But God doesn’t rush him back into the fray, doesn’t demand more productivity. God sends him to yet another encounter, this time with God’s very self, where there is a promise that he is not alone and that there is value in his work. But even that waits until after Elijah is well-fed and well-rested. 

            It is the bread of life offered to Elijah. Not bread to end all hunger, nor bread to fix all problems, nor bread to elevate him to some kind of better place. But bread of life for the journey. Bread enough for the next step. 

            Sometimes we feel like Elijah. We have not nourished ourselves in body, mind, or spirit and we are ready just to collapse. I think many of our churches feel this way today. They feel alone. They feel like they are speaking into a world which at best cares little and which at worst is openly hostile. They see emptier pews, smaller budgets, closing congregations, and they get scared. I do think exciting things are happening in churches. In your church. But perhaps they aren’t the same things we’ve always known. Maybe it’s joy in finding partners who aren’t exactly like us. Maybe it’s discovering a community need we can meet in a way we never thought of before. Maybe it’s in discovering gifts within ourselves that feed one another in ways we once delegated only to the pastors. Maybe it’s in finding the joy of just being where we are in this moment with what God has given us here. But sometimes we can’t see it. We are tired. Like Elijah we are ready to give up or at least lie down for a good long while. 

            God is here, not to fix everything, not to tell you how to do magic ministry to restore institutional religion to something it once was. God is here to give you bread for the journey. 

            I don’t know how you were feeling as you arrived here this morning. I hope that things are going well in your life. But most of us have something going on in our lives that wears us thin. Overworked, anxious for the future, dealing with health concerns, burdened by the weight of world weary with division and violence. I would like God to fix it all. 

            But instead God offers the same thing Jesus offered to the hungry crowd – a bit of bread. Not enough to transform everything. In fact, in today’s continuation of the story in John’s gospel it starts to get some people pretty upset with Jesus. It is not a magic answer. But miraculously it is just enough to keep going. Just enough to take the next step. 

            Come again today to the table. Follow the invitation of the psalmist to taste and see the goodness of God. Eat the bread of life. Know that God is here. Know that you are not alone. Be fed for the next step of the journey. 

            Then go. Go be food for a hungry world. You are not called to go from here to fix everything, do everything, be everything. You are called to go from here and be you, the person God created you to be. And to feed the little corner of the world you touch. 

            So when you face challenges this week – a difficult conversation, a troubling news story, a loss or sadness, anxiety about what is next – remember the bread this morning. Feel it within you. Know it is not the solution to everything, but it is God with you until you can meet at this table again for another morsel. It is enough, this little bit of bread, for what you need. You are enough, dear people of God, for what this world needs. That is no promise of earthly success or easy living, but a promise that God is feeding the world through you. 

I cannot answer questions about your future. Not your individual ones certainly, not even our collective questions about the future of our individual congregations. But I do know that today there is bread enough for the journey. Come and eat.            

-Pastor Steven Wilco