What a Prophet's Worst Day Teaches Us About Burnout and Hope

Ahab told Jezebel all that Elijah had done, how he had killed all Baal’s prophets with the sword. Jezebel sent a messenger to Elijah with this message: “May the gods do whatever they want to me if by this time tomorrow I haven’t made your life like the life of one of them.”

Elijah was terrified. He got up and ran for his life. He arrived at Beer-sheba in Judah and left his assistant there. He himself went farther on into the desert a day’s journey. He finally sat down under a solitary broom bush. He longed for his own death: “It’s more than enough, Lord! Take my life because I’m no better than my ancestors.” He lay down and slept under the solitary broom bush.

Then suddenly a messenger tapped him and said to him, “Get up! Eat something!” Elijah opened his eyes and saw flatbread baked on glowing coals and a jar of water right by his head. He ate and drank, and then went back to sleep. The Lord’s messenger returned a second time and tapped him. “Get up!” the messenger said. “Eat something, because you have a difficult road ahead of you.” Elijah got up, ate and drank, and went refreshed by that food for forty days and nights until he arrived at Horeb, God’s mountain. There he went into a cave and spent the night.

The Lord’s word came to him and said, “Why are you here, Elijah?”

Elijah replied, “I’ve been very passionate for the Lord God of heavenly forces because the Israelites have abandoned your covenant. They have torn down your altars, and they have murdered your prophets with the sword. I’m the only one left, and now they want to take my life too!”

The Lord said, “Go out and stand at the mountain before the Lord. The Lord is passing by.” A very strong wind tore through the mountains and broke apart the stones before the Lord. But the Lord wasn’t in the wind. After the wind, there was an earthquake. But the Lord wasn’t in the earthquake. After the earthquake, there was a fire. But the Lord wasn’t in the fire. After the fire, there was a sound. Thin. Quiet. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his coat. He went out and stood at the cave’s entrance. A voice came to him and said, “Why are you here, Elijah?”

He said, “I’ve been very passionate for the Lord God of heavenly forces because the Israelites have abandoned your covenant. They have torn down your altars, and they have murdered your prophets with the sword. I’m the only one left, and now they want to take my life too.”

The Lord said to him, “Go back through the desert to Damascus and anoint Hazael as king of Aram. Also anoint Jehu, Nimshi’s son, as king of Israel; and anoint Elisha from Abel-meholah, Shaphat’s son, to succeed you as prophet. Whoever escapes from the sword of Hazael, Jehu will kill. Whoever escapes from the sword of Jehu, Elisha will kill. But I have preserved those who remain in Israel, totaling seven thousand—all those whose knees haven’t bowed down to Baal and whose mouths haven’t kissed him.” 1 Kings 19:1-18 (CEB)

We’ve all felt it. The whiplash between a monumental success and the hollow crash that follows. The exhaustion that floods in after a period of intense stress and high performance. You give everything you have to a project, a cause, or a confrontation, and you win. But instead of elation, you’re met with a profound sense of emptiness, fear, or burnout. This is not a modern phenomenon. It’s a 3,000-year-old story, and its protagonist is one of the most powerful prophets in the Bible.

In today's reading, the prophet Elijah had just experienced the victory of a lifetime on Mount Carmel, a fiery, dramatic showdown where he single-handedly defeated 450 prophets of the false god Baal. It was a spectacular display of divine power. Yet, immediately following this peak, the bottom falls out of Elijah’s world. He flees into the wilderness, overcome by despair, and asks God to end his life. This ancient story of a prophet's worst day offers profound and timeless lessons for anyone who has ever found themselves at rock bottom after a mountaintop high.

Even the Strongest Among Us Can Hit Rock Bottom

The most jarring part of Elijah’s story is how quickly the ground shifts beneath his feet. One moment he is a triumphant prophet of God; the next he is running for his life. After King Ahab told his wife, Queen Jezebel, what Elijah had done, she sent a messenger with a death threat: "So may the gods do to me and more also, if I do not make your life like the life of one of them by this time tomorrow" (1 Kings 19:2).

In response, the Bible says Elijah "was afraid; he got up and fled for his life" (1 Kings 19:3). He journeyed a full day into the wilderness, sat down under a solitary broom tree, and prayed a prayer of complete despair.

“It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.” (1 Kings 19:4)

This moment humanizes a larger-than-life spiritual figure. It shows us that profound despondency can follow even the greatest victories. His prayer is not just a plea for death, but a yearning to escape a world he no longer recognizes and rejoin his ancestors in the grave. Fear, exhaustion, and a sense of failure are not signs of a lack of faith, but a deeply human part of the spiritual condition, experienced even by those we consider giants.

Sustenance Can Come from Unexpected and Unacknowledged Sources

At his lowest point, Elijah falls asleep under the tree. He is then touched by an angel who tells him, "Get up and eat." He finds "a cake baked on hot stones and a jar of water" waiting for him (1 Kings 19:6). This miraculous provision happens twice, giving him the strength to journey for forty days to Horeb, the mountain of God.

But where did this food come from? Rev. Winnie Varghese offers a powerful insight, noting that the "cake baked on hot stones" is likely a form of "Bedouin bread." This detail reframes the miracle. God’s provision comes through the hands and traditions of the local indigenous people—strangers who are not part of the main narrative but who practice a quiet hospitality. They are the unacknowledged "people of the land" whose simple act of leaving bread for a traveler becomes the very sustenance a prophet needs to survive.

This reminds us that God’s provision often comes through marginalized communities whose traditions of hospitality and resilience can offer nourishment we didn't even know to ask for. It is the quiet, overlooked people and communities who often provide the very substance—physical or spiritual—that we need for our journey forward.

God Often Speaks in the Quiet, Not the Chaos

When Elijah arrives at Mount Horeb, he takes shelter in a cave, and God tells him to "Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by." What follows is a series of dramatic, earth-shattering events, yet the text is clear about where God is not.

• There was a great wind, so strong it split mountains and broke rocks, "but the Lord was not in the wind."
• After the wind came an earthquake, "but the Lord was not in the earthquake."
• After the earthquake came a fire, "but the Lord was not in the fire."

After all the noise and spectacle, God’s presence is finally revealed in "a sound of sheer silence" (1 Kings 19:12). This is a stunning, counter-intuitive revelation. For a prophet whose ministry just culminated in calling down fire from heaven, the revelation that God was not in the fire was a radical reorientation. In a world that prizes grand gestures and loud pronouncements, this story teaches that divine connection is often found in stillness, silence, and quiet attention.

You Are Never as Alone as You Feel

Twice in his conversation with God, Elijah voices the core of his despair: a profound sense of isolation. He feels he is the last faithful person left, and his life is in danger.

“I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts, for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.” (1 Kings 19:10, 14)

His feeling of being utterly alone is palpable. Yet, God’s response directly counters this perception. After hearing Elijah's lament, God reveals a truth the prophet could not see: "Yet I will leave seven thousand in Israel, all the knees that have not bowed to Baal, and every mouth that has not kissed him" (1 Kings 19:18).

Elijah's despairing math was wrong. He felt like one, but the reality was 7,000. This is a profound promise: our feelings of absolute isolation, no matter how real they seem, do not have the final say on reality. There is often a wider community and a deeper truth we cannot see from our own limited vantage point.

The Antidote to Despair Is Often a New Mission

After the quiet revelation and the reassurance that he is not alone, God doesn't just offer Elijah comforting words. Instead, God gives him a concrete, forward-looking mission. He is told to get up and get back to work.

God instructs Elijah to:

• Return on his way to the wilderness of Damascus.
• Anoint Hazael as king over Aram.
• Anoint Jehu as king over Israel.
• Anoint Elisha as his successor.

As biblical commentator Simon J. DeVries observes, "Doubts will cease and misgivings vanish when God puts him to work." God's answer to Elijah's psychological crisis wasn't an emotional pep talk; it was a renewed sense of purpose. The text suggests that for Elijah, the very act of being put back to work—of focusing outward instead of inward—is what would heal his despair. This reveals a profound wisdom: often, the best way to overcome our own despondency is to be given a new purpose that calls us out of ourselves and back into the world.

Listening for the Silence

Elijah’s journey from the mountaintop of victory to the cave of despair and back again is a powerful story for our own times of burnout. It teaches us that despair is a human, and even holy, experience; that help often comes from the hands of the unacknowledged; that God’s voice is most clearly heard in the quiet; that we are never as alone as we feel; and that a new mission can be the very antidote to our anguish.

In our own moments of noise, chaos, and exhaustion, the story of Elijah leaves us with a vital question: Where might we find a "sound of sheer silence," and what new mission might be waiting for us there?

Posted on All Saints Sunday, November 2, 2025, at Monticello, MN.

Sources: Simon J. DeVries, 1 Kings, 2nd ed, vol. 12, Word Biblical Commentary (Dallas: Word, Inc, 2003), 235–237;  Rev. Winnie Varghese, A Walk in Beauty, https://churchanew.org/blog/posts/winnie-varghese-walk-in-beauty.

 

Old & New: Revelation - God's Persistent Promise (Week 2 - Apocalypse as Gift)

 When my son was younger, I remember a time when he wanted a new video game really bad. I couldn’t afford to buy it for him. So, I told him “No.” That he couldn’t have it. He was really mad. So mad that he said to me, “I hate you.”

Maybe that’s happened to you. I knew that he didn’t hate me. And I knew that was simply his way of striking back at me for something that didn’t feel fair to him. Where he felt like he had no say in the matter. That he had no power.

I lived through the Los Angeles riots in 1992. In their aftermath, there was much soul searching, trying to understand how this happened. Over time, our community, including myself, began to understand that this was, in a way, similar to the sense of powerlessness that my own son experienced. A way to strike back, particularly by those who were being oppressed. And who felt they had no power. 

The book of Revelation is a book about power. Perhaps, this is why it is often so misunderstood. It’s not an easy book. It confronts us with stark visions and challenging truths. It was written to a community facing severe pressure and oppression - a time when power was being abused. And people were suffering under systems that exploited them.

Revelation unveils the true nature of power in two ways. First, by revealing to us the supreme authority of God in our world. And secondly by unveiling the destructive, often hidden, forces of human oppression that exploit others, especially uncovering those forces that always seem to “get away with it.” 

Just as we might shy away from reading such an intense book, we also often avoid confronting these harsh realities of exploitation and injustice in our own world. Particularly, if we are not directly affected.

Our reading this morning is twofold. The first part is from chapter 1. The second is from near the end of the book, in chapter 21. We begin in chapter 1.

The revelation of Jesus Christ, which God gave him to show his servants what must soon take place, and he made it known by sending his angel to his servant John, who testified to the word of God and to the testimony of Jesus Christ, even to all that he saw.

Blessed is the one who reads the words of the prophecy, and blessed are those who hear and who keep what is written in it, for the time is near.

John to the seven churches that are in Asia:

Grace to you and peace from him who is and who was and who is to come and from the seven spirits who are before his throne.

Continuing in Chapter 21: Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,

“See, the home of God is among mortals.

He will dwell with them;

they will be his peoples,

and God himself will be with them and be their God;

he will wipe every tear from their eyes.

Death will be no more;

mourning and crying and pain will be no more,

for the first things have passed away.”

And the one who was seated on the throne said, “See, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true.” --Revelation 1:1-4; 21:1-5 (NRSVue)

Let’s begin with a group discussion.

• What do these passages unveil about God's power and authority?

• God is presented as the supreme and eternal sovereign: "him who is, and who was, and who is to come," and the "Alpha and the Omega," the "Almighty" (Revelation 1:4, 8).

• Jesus Christ is revealed as the "ruler of the kings of the earth" (Revelation 1:5), indicating God's authority transcends all earthly powers.

• God possesses the ultimate power to enact complete transformation, creating "a new heaven and a new earth" and declaring, "See, I am making everything new!" (Revelation 21:1, 5). This demonstrates God's ability to renew and redefine existence.

• How does the promise of God 'making everything new' relate to the challenges of power and exploitation we see in the world?

• The promise offers a vision of radical transformation and justice, asserting that the destructive consequences of power abuse and exploitation are not God's final will.

• The "new heaven and new earth" signifies the eradication of conditions that enable exploitation and suffering, including the systems of power that perpetuate them ("no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away" - Revelation 21:4).

• Notice that God is not making “new things” but making existing things new. This is about renewal. 

• God's dwelling "among the people" (Revelation 21:3) implies the establishment of a just and renewed world where God's presence directly addresses and overcomes all forms of oppression and the pain caused by injustice.

This book insists that God’s ultimate authority means that all forms of oppression and abuse of power will ultimately be confronted and overcome by God's justice. Which leads to a third question that I invite you to sit with for just a moment.

What uncomfortable truths might this passage unveil for us about our responsibility concerning power dynamics in our own world?"

The message of Revelation, while confronting, is ultimately one of profound hope: God is making all things new, and God invites us to be part of that work. 

For those of us who live in comfort or privilege, this invitation often means a significant 'shift.' It requires us to change how we perceive the world, how we utilize our resources, and how we engage with systems that might perpetuate injustice. This includes acknowledging the cost to the whole community when power is abused and when exploitation is allowed to continue, even if we are not the direct perpetrators of it. We are called to look beyond our individual comfort.

The challenging, yet profoundly hopeful, Book of Revelation calls us to truly see. To recognize the pain of oppression. And to make a profound shift. It culminates - not in an escape from this world to some distant heaven, but in a radical promise for this very Earth.

Remember this powerful vision we heard from John, near the end of this book? “Then I saw 'a new heaven and a new earth'... I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God... And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 'Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God.' 

And then from God’s throne, this declaration: 'See, I am making everything new!' 

This is a vision of the renewal of the world, where God's just and loving presence descends to be fully among us, to transform our realities. 

May we be brave enough to unveil the hidden injustices, to confront the abuse of power, and to join God in the magnificent work of making all things truly new – for every person, for the entire community, locally and globally, right here on Earth. Amen.

Old & New: Revelation - God's Persistent Promise (Week 1 - Revealing God's Faithfulness)

Siblings in Christ and fellow travelers on this journey of faith, today we are embarking on an exploration of one of the most misunderstood and often feared books of the Bible - the book of Revelation. I must confess that I have never read this book in its entirety. I’ve read bits and pieces of it, especially around All Saints Sunday. But, never the entire book. Are any of you like me?

When we hear “Revelation,” many of us conjure up images of fire and brimstone, cataclysmic events, or even that it’s some complex code to be deciphered. But, what if I told you that Revelation, according to its author, John of Patmos, is not really about unlocking secrets? Or predicting a terrifying future? What if it is, in fact, a letter of hope? A prophecy of faithfulness? An apocalypse (We’ll learn about that word in just a moment.) - an apocalypse that reveals God’s persistent love in the midst of challenging circumstances?

To accompany us in this exploration, it’s important that we read scripture. But, it’s also important that we carry with us a few guidebooks. I don’t know about you, but when I embark on a new travel adventure, I have a guidebook in hand. Usually one from Rick Steves. So, as we dig into Revelation, we’ll be using three commentaries, because it is important to understand how Revelation has historically been understood in the church. 

Two are specific to Revelation - one by Matthew Ian Fleming, a young theologian and graduate of Luther Seminary. A second is by Craig Koester, a long-time New Testament professor, also at Luther.  The third is a book on apocalyptic texts, jointly written by a former colleague of mine in Kentucky, Leah Schade, and her colleague at Lexington Theological Seminary, Jerry Sumney. Scripture and these three guides will accompany our journey through Revelation.

We begin our reading at the beginning, in chapter 1. 

The revelation of Jesus Christ, which God gave him to show his servants what must soon take place; he made it known by sending his angel to his servant John, who testified to the word of God and to the testimony of Jesus Christ, even to all that he saw. Blessed is the one who reads aloud the words of the prophecy, and blessed are those who hear, and who keep what is written in it; for the time is near. John to the seven churches that are in Asia: Grace to you and peace from him who is and who was and who is to come, and from the seven spirits who are before his throne. --Rev. 1:1-4 (NRSVue)

The very first word, revelation, comes from the Greek word apokalupsis. It’s where we get the English word, apocalypse. When you think of apocalypse, what comes to mind? What are a few words or images that come to mind? What informs your understanding? In the Greek, apokalupsis means to unveil. Or to uncover. It’s about revealing what has always been around us, but perhaps gone unnoticed. Not about some hidden knowledge for an elite few. But a message intended for “his servants” - the text tells us. For all of us.

Many of our ideas about Revelation come to us from non-Biblical sources. Like John Milton’s Paradise Lost, Dante’s Inferno. Or in our own day, The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown or the entire Left Behind series. These sources often treat Revelation as a code to be cracked. To unlock secrets, wealth, or some kind of historical meaning. 

But, at the beginning of the letter, it’s author John of Patmos tells us it is a letter. A prophecy. An apocalypse.

For many of us, our early experiences with theological concepts like “hell” were shaped by vivid images - images intended to instill in us a sense of fear. “Don’t do that, or you’re going to hell!” I can’t tell you how many times I said that to my brother growing up. Any of you have a similar experience? Were you taught about hell and the devil? Or maybe you grew up with a preacher - what we call a “hell and damnation” preacher? Did it intrigue you, scare you, keep you up at night, or motivate you to do right? 

These first impressions, innocent as they may be, often highlight an underlying assumption - a fear - about eternal punishment. It’s no wonder then that we often associate the book of Revelation with fear, terror, and a desire to scare people into good behavior. 

But a deeper reading of Revelation reveals something far different. It reveals God’s persistent promise through terror, and a revelation of the world’s beauty, awe, wonder, terror, oppression, and fear. God’s voice in Revelation is one of open doors. Of welcome for all. And of a promise to sustain creation. To truly unlock this vision of John, perhaps we can turn to the Psalms. Specifically, Psalm 139: 

7 Where can I go from your spirit?

Or where can I flee from your presence?

8 If I ascend to heaven, you are there;

if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.

9 If I take the wings of the morning

and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,

10 even there your hand shall lead me,

and your right hand shall hold me fast.

This psalm helps us understand the promise of Revelation - that God is present even in the midst of frightening and terrifying visions. It reminds us that God is always with us, even when we don’t see or hear it. Even when we don’t feel it.

Revelation is also a prophecy. We’ve talked about what prophecy means - not a prediction of the future, but a call to God’s people to return to faithfulness. In the Hebrew scriptures, prophets confront existing powers. They paint a vision of a new and different future. They call people back to God’s love and relationship. Think about apocalypic literature in our modern world - The Hunger Games or Mad Max: Fury Road, if you’ve seen them. These stories, while they are fiction, reveal truths about our present moment - about politics, about communities, or about a lack of care for creation. In the same Revelation reveals our priorities, the brokenness in our systems, the world, and in ourselves. It begins with our own self-reflection. Our own awareness of the things that distract us. Our own blind spots.

Think back to the killing of George Floyd. Think back to it before it became so deeply politicized. As, during the pandemic, we watched the recording over and over. Hearing him cry out for his mother. I’ve had many friends who are people of color. They often mentioned “driving while black” or “driving while brown.” I heard them talk about it. But, it wasn’t until I saw that movie and heard him cry out for his mother, that I began to understand my own blind spots on this issue. And, for the first time, really heard what my friends had been saying. 

Our own context - our own experiences - influence what we hear from stories, from scripture, from this book. As we read it, it will be important for us to consider our own backgrounds and perspectives. Learning about the context in which it was written - the Roman Empire and the persecution of the early church - this will help us understand how the text speaks to our moment. It will help to reveal the challenges of our world, but, ultimately, the promise of God’s sustaining love, healing, and preservation of all creation.

Jesus says, I am the Alpha and the Omega - the beginning and the end. This tells us that all is held in God’s arms - not as some predetermined plan - but as God preserving us with love and lifting up all of creation. It is a love that preserves us through difficulties, that brings us together, and that sustains all that God has created. Revelation will reveal ways that we’ve participated in brokenness, too. Yet, it will also unveil how we can be formed into a people who love all of God’s creation. 

Think back to a time when you felt lost or scared. A time you felt far from home. When you look back now in hindsight, can you sense God’s presence and promise? Revelation is not mean to scare us into submission, but to awaken us to the profound and persistent presence of God’s love. It’s a call to faithfulness. Ultimately, it is a revealing of God’s unwavering commitment to us and to all of creation. And a reminder that even in the depths of Sheol, God is there. Guiding us. Holding us fast. Forever. Amen.

 

Grounded in Creation: Water (Part 1)

 The text for this Sunday is the story of Jesus and the Woman of Samaria at the well. It's found in John, chapter 4. Here are a few preliminary thoughts...

This story begins with an interesting sentence. It tells us that Jesus had to go through Samaria. Now, I'm pretty certain Jesus didn't have to do anything he didn't want to do. And, if you look at a map, there were other routes from Galilee south to Judea. Easier routes, honestly. Rather than to traverse through a countryside populated with people considered enemies to the Jews. All, as is so often the case, because of one doctrinal conflict. But, why did he have to go through Samaria? 

Jesus makes his way through Samaria. And stops, not coincidentally, at a well connected to Jacob. And that is actually called Jacob's well. It's in an area called Shechem, which is the first piece of land Jacob bought upon returning to what would become "the Promised Land." It's a physical link from the patriarchs to Jesus - a place of connection. That's what wells were in ancient times - a place where people would come to gather their water in the morning, when it was cool. So it was a meeting-place, too.

But, the woman in this story comes at noon - the hottest part of the day. There's not a good explanation for this in the actual text. There's been a lot of conjecture that because, at least how this story has been told for centuries, she was a woman of "questionable" character. So, in her shame and to avoid others, she would come to the well at midday, an time when she would be unlikely to meet anyone else. There's more about this interpretation further down. 

So, Jesus stops there on his way through Samaria. He's hot. And tired. And she arrives and begins to draw water. Notice that Jesus asks her to draw water for him. That's the way Jesus is - always trying to move into relationship. Particularly with those who, at least in Jesus' day, would be considered on the edge of society. In her case, likely because she was female. But also, because - we learn - that she has had multiple husbands and is now living with someone who we learn is not her husband.

Karoline Lewis, in her commentary on the gospel of John, talks alot about this, pushing back on the many centuries of patriarchal interpretation that always seem to shame her. To diminish her. Lewis argues that there are many different explanations possible for this. One of these could be that of levirate marriage. Levirate marriage was a Levitical requirement to ensure that women who were widowed would be protected, both physically and financially, as well as, to continue the patrilineal line. It is very possible that this woman could have been widowed more than once and legitimately living with a brother-in-law as she would be essentially "passed down" the family line. It's hard for us, with a 21st century framework, to understand how this might have been a good thing.

All of this is to say that there are other potential explanations for her situation that are not shame-inducing. Or that seek to diminish her. Notice that nowhere in the story does Jesus condemn her. So, how do you build "connection" (see paragraph 2 above)? Or rather what don't you do, in order to build connection? I would you don't condemn someone. Just as Jesus didn't condemn her.

My focus, though, this week is on water. That, too, is a focus of this story. But, I'm not quite there yet. So...to be continued...

Peace,

Karleen

Grounded in Creation: Earth (Part 2)

NOTE: It has been many months since I have posted sermons on this site, and for many reasons. I moved to Minnesota from Kentucky. I completed my Doctor of Ministry degree. And, mostly, my style of preaching has moved away from "preaching at" to more of "speaking with" - a much more conversational style of faith formation. Don't get me wrong - I love me a good preacher and a good sermon. For me, though, in a time when biblical literacy seems nearly non-existent in our culture, I find this to be a more effective and less-hierarchical way of leading my community of faith in conversation. Together. From now on, my posts will more fully reflect my thinking and movement through the weekly texts, rather than a sermon. There are occasions, however, when I feel the need to "preach at." This past week was one of those moments. 

This week's readings were from the first and second chapter of Genesis...

"When God began to create the heavens and the earth, the earth was complete chaos, and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. Then God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. And God saw that the light was good, and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.

And God said, “Let there be a dome in the midst of the waters, and let it separate the waters from the waters.” So God made the dome and separated the waters that were under the dome from the waters that were above the dome. And it was so. God called the dome Sky. And there was evening and there was morning, the second day. 

And God said, “Let the waters under the sky be gathered together into one place, and let the dry land appear.” And it was so. God called the dry land Earth, and the waters that were gathered together he called Seas. And God saw that it was good. Then God said, “Let the earth put forth vegetation: plants yielding seed and fruit trees of every kind on earth that bear fruit with the seed in it.” And it was so. The earth brought forth vegetation: plants yielding seed of every kind and trees of every kind bearing fruit with the seed in it. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening and there was morning, the third day.

And God said, “Let there be lights in the dome of the sky to separate the day from the night, and let them be for signs and for seasons and for days and years, and let them be lights in the dome of the sky to give light upon the earth.” And it was so. God made the two great lights—the greater light to rule the day and the lesser light to rule the night—and the stars. God set them in the dome of the sky to give light upon the earth, to rule over the day and over the night, and to separate the light from the darkness. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening and there was morning, the fourth day.

And God said, “Let the waters bring forth swarms of living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth across the dome of the sky.” So God created the great sea monsters and every living creature that moves, of every kind, with which the waters swarm and every winged bird of every kind. And God saw that it was good. God blessed them, saying, “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the waters in the seas, and let birds multiply on the earth.” And there was evening and there was morning, the fifth day.

And God said, “Let the earth bring forth living creatures of every kind: cattle and creeping things and wild animals of the earth of every kind.” And it was so. God made the wild animals of the earth of every kind and the cattle of every kind and everything that creeps upon the ground of every kind. And God saw that it was good.

Then God said, “Let us make humans in our image, according to our likeness, and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over the cattle and over all the wild animals of the earth and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth.”

So God created humans in his image,    

    in the image of God he created them;

    male and female he created them.

God blessed them, and God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.” God said, “See, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is upon the face of all the earth and every tree with seed in its fruit; you shall have them for food. And to every beast of the earth and to every bird of the air and to everything that creeps on the earth, everything that has the breath of life, I have given every green plant for food.” And it was so. God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good. And there was evening and there was morning, the sixth day.

Thus the heavens and the earth were finished and all their multitude. On the sixth day God finished the work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all the work that he had done. So God blessed the seventh day and hallowed it, because on it God rested from all the work that he had done in creation." (Genesis 1:1-2:3 NRSVue)

...and from Matthew...

That same day Jesus went out of the house and sat beside the sea. Such great crowds gathered around him that he got into a boat and sat there, while the whole crowd stood on the beach. And he told them many things in parables, saying: “Listen! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell on a path, and the birds came and ate them up. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. But when the sun rose, they were scorched, and since they had no root, they withered away. Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. If you have ears, hear!” (Matthew 13:1-9 NRSVue)

---

It’s been a week, hasn’t it? I intended to do something very different this morning, to engage more in conversation together rather than one-directional preaching. But the events of this past week and, particularly, yesterday led me to completely rethink my message to you this morning. I recognize that, in doing so, I am also speaking from a position of power. Yet, I hope that, in my words, you hear my own deep lament and sadness over what is happening in our world. 

You know that I have lived in many different places. And, yet, I grew up here, in the upper Midwest. Specifically in South Dakota, which, we here in Minnesota like to think we are very different from. Yet, there are times when we are very much alike. My hometown was not particularly diverse. Like much of Minnesota, most people living there were of Northern European ancestry, mostly German. The only people of color were Native Americans. But, to be truthful, they were very much on the fringe of the small town where I grew up.

Moving to southern California changed my experience. At first, not that drastically. Because I landed in Orange County, which at that time was mostly white. And conservative. But then, mostly because of work, I began to move closer into Los Angeles. Eventually landing in an area just a couple of miles west of downtown. Exactly seven minutes on streets to the heart of Los Angeles.

My neighborhood was wildly diverse. White, Filipino, Korean, Mexican, Central American, queer - all of us living together. There was no dominant race or ethnic group in my neighborhood, where I lived for almost 15 years. We didn’t always agree. Sometimes our cultures clashed. But, it was there, in that urban neighborhood where I really began to understand what the phrase “shared humanity” meant.

You and I, we are created out of the dust of the ground. In the original Hebrew, there is a play on words in that first chapter of Genesis. God takes dirt or earth - in the Hebrew, adamah, to form a human - in the Hebrew adam. Not, in this chapter, a man named Adam, but a being. A non-gendered being - male and female our text tells us - from the dust of the ground. One translation I love translates this adam to read “Earth Creature.” This is the story of all humanity - in this one being. A being God calls “good.” 

We are connected. We are connected to all creation through the dust of our beings. And we are also connected to all humanity. We share our humanity with all people. People of different races and ethnicities. People of different sexualities and gender identities. We are part of a shared humanity created by God. A humanity for which God desires shalom. And not just for us as humans, but for all creation. This is the narrative of all of scripture. That we might have peace and wholeness within ourselves, with one another, and with the entire created world. Because, in God’s eyes, all creation - human and otherwise - is called good. Very good. No one or no thing is outside that label.

But, we also know that there is deep brokenness within us, in our shared humanity, and in creation right now. It is impossible for me to believe that God condones the violence and ugly displays of power and dominance of this past week. The small number of protestors who resorted to violence and vandalism, diminishing the peaceful protests of the millions. The few law enforcement officers who, rather than seeking to de-escalate tense situations, instead shoot projectiles with little justification. Those elected leaders who, rather than working toward peace through cooperation and dialogue, demand power and control through authoritarian tactics. Masked immigration officers showing up at graduations, in courthouses, in workplaces, in churches, tearing apart families and leaving children abandoned - all to fill some ridiculous quota with no regard for their humanity. A humanity that, again, we all share with one another by virtue of our created source, who is God. And dirt. 

And then there are the events of yesterday still unfolding. An assassination of a political leader and her husband and the serious wounding of another leader and his wife. An act that Jesus understands. That Jesus experienced. Who, too, was assassinated out of fear - fear for who he was and what he taught. Namely, that God’s kingdom is about love. And peace. And joy.

If you are here thinking that you and I do not fall into any of these human categories seeking power and dominance, I would remind you again of the source of our creation. Earth. And I would suggest to you that we all have the different kinds of soil within us as those mentioned in the Matthew reading. The rocky soil - that part of us that may first hear the message of God’s kingdom with joy, but that never allows it to take deep root in us, especially when we are challenged for our belief or experience trouble because of it. Then, there’s the thorny soil within us. That hears the message of love, but because we are so consumed with our own pocketbooks and our own selfish worries, that it quickly gets choked out. And, yes, there is that good soil within us. That hears the nature of God’s kingdom of love. That takes it to heart. And that lives it. 

What’s the proportion of these different soils within you? My guess is that we are all a messy and imperfect mix of the three. 

Yet, as we know from the story of creation, things can grow - life can take root - in any kind of soil - any kind of chaos - through the grace of God, who, as we heard in that Genesis story and as we know through the cross, can bring life out of death, beauty out of chaos - even in the most challenging of conditions. There is surprising fruit that can be borne out of the dirt of our hearts. Fruit that recognizes our shared creation with the earth. Fruit that honors the humanity of all people, that recognizes that in God’s kingdom there are no national borders and no one is illegal. Fruit that loves the wild and extravagant diversity of all of God’s good creation - human and otherwise. 

This week - as we continue to try to find our way through the chaos and tumult of our world - I encourage you to return to your dusty beginnings. To use your God-given senses to experience creation. To remind yourself of your origin story and of your connection to our created world and our shared humanity. So, that, through the power of God’s spirit, you might be the good soil in a world that is desperate for nourishing, for growth and new life. Amen.

Altered by the Spirit: Altered through God's creativity

When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.

Now there were devout Jews from every people under heaven living in Jerusalem. And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. Amazed and astonished, they asked, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.” All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?” But others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.” --Acts 2:1-13 (NRSVUE)

Grace, mercy, and peace to you from our God our Creator, from Jesus, our Savior, and Lord, and from the Holy Spirit - our Advocate and Spirit of Truth. Amen.

I want to share a story with you that happened this week with my male, alpha cat, Romeo. He’s a bugger. For the past few months, every time I open the door to my apartment, he is there, waiting to escape. I’m not sure what he thinks is on the other side of that door. Because - and if you’ve been to my apartment you know this - it’s one long hallway where every door looks the same. And that’s it. 

But, for some reason, he thinks something is exciting and magical on the other side of that door. So, earlier this week, I decided to give him his freedom. To let him out the door as I took a bag of trash to the garbage chute, down the hallway from my apartment. And to see how he would respond.

At first, his tail flicked and I could tell he was excited! And, perhaps, even a little stunned. Freedom. I could see it in his eyes as I walked down the hall, trying to convince him to come. And that was where his sense of adventure died. Quickly. By the time I got back to my apartment, he had moved away from me to my neighbor’s apartment - they all look the same so, perhaps, he thought it was mine. And he sat in front of it, crying to be let back in. It was the loudest cry from him I have heard.

So, I fetched him. And he was shaking. His body was tense. His claws dug into me. I brought him back inside, holding and petting him for a while until it seemed he was ready to be released, which I did. Yet, for the rest of the evening, he would startle at any noise from outside in the hallway or anything else unexpected. Poor little alpha Romeo.

Our story today is, actually, the exact opposite of Romeo’s experience. We’ve shifted backward in time from the stories of the past few weeks. Back to the time just after Jesus’ ascension. When the disciples were all gathered in the room together. Unlike Romeo, trying to get out of my apartment, the disciples are cowering in the room together. Small and afraid. Hiding inside a locked room. Fearful of what might happen to them in his absence. Knowing his promise to send his Spirit to be with them. Yet, also understanding their reality, and how they are perceived as rebels in their religious community. 

So, when they hear the sound of the wind and Jesus’ Spirit manifesting itself on them in the form of fire - one can only imagine how astounded they are by this. Who could possibly have expected that this is what it would be like - this promise of Jesus’ Spirit - poured out on them amid their fearful hiding? Leading them to open up the locked doors into the wideness and freedom of their community and to witness the miraculous. To be given the gift of language - that which connects us with other people. 

This part of the Pentecost story may remind us of the story of Babel in the Hebrew scriptures. They’re often connected to one another. Perhaps you remember the Old Testament story - where the people who at the time all spoke the same language wanted to build a tower to reach heaven for their own personal gain. Not such a good idea. It’s why the Lord scattered them and confused their language. Sometimes the story of Babel is taught as a curse. But, what if it isn’t? What if, when connected to our story today from Acts - it’s a correction? That God is correcting our human tendency to see the world through a single lens instead of through the blessing of diverse eyes? The God of Pentecost opts for difference. So, the miracle of Pentecost, then, is that the Holy Spirit provides understanding to this diverse group of people - each one hearing them speak in their native language. Because God is and always has been about the expansion of difference. It is finally, in this story of Pentecost, that God’s people are catching up!

---

We’ve spent a lot of time over these past few weeks, leaning into some difficult topics. Thinking about disruption. About who is on the edge of belonging in our world. About our enemies. About those whose stories we don’t trust. 

Do we really understand, as the Pentecost community began to understand, that God loves God’s diverse creation? That we are called to lean into it, to love it - not to change everyone else to be like us, but to thrive in its messiness, to be drunk - not on new wine - but on the unbounded imagination of God’s creativity, manifested in the Spirit. Always on the loose. This free and widely-shared gift, that rushes ahead to alter the reality of our world with possibilities too often restricted by our imaginations. 

In some ways, we are exactly like my cat Romeo. Who deeply longs for freedom, but is terrified of it. What if we simply let go? And began to just love everyone? To celebrate difference? To wonder in the diversity of God's good creation? 

Perhaps, then, we - like the disciples on that Pentecost day so long ago - might also begin to catch up to the wild and wonderful work of the Spirit. So be it. Amen.

Preached Sunday, May 19, 2024, at Grace & Glory, Goshen, KY, and Third/MOSAIC, Louisville, KY.

Altered by the Spirit: Altered through stories we don't trust

The very night before Herod was going to bring him out, Peter, bound with two chains, was sleeping between two soldiers, while guards in front of the door were keeping watch over the prison. Suddenly an angel of the Lord appeared, and a light shone in the cell. He tapped Peter on the side and woke him, saying, “Get up quickly.” And the chains fell off his wrists. The angel said to him, “Fasten your belt and put on your sandals.” He did so. Then he said to him, “Wrap your cloak around you and follow me.” Peter went out and followed him; he did not realize that what was happening with the angel’s help was real; he thought he was seeing a vision. After they had passed the first and the second guard, they came before the iron gate leading into the city. It opened for them of its own accord, and they went outside and walked along a lane, when suddenly the angel left him. Then Peter came to himself and said, “Now I am sure that the Lord has sent his angel and rescued me from the hands of Herod and from all that the Jewish people were expecting.”

As soon as he realized this, he went to the house of Mary, the mother of John whose other name was Mark, where many had gathered and were praying. When he knocked at the outer gate, a maid named Rhoda came to answer. On recognizing Peter’s voice, she was so overjoyed that, instead of opening the gate, she ran in and announced that Peter was standing at the gate. They said to her, “You are out of your mind!” But she insisted that it was so. They said, “It is his angel.” Meanwhile Peter continued knocking, and when they opened the gate they saw him and were amazed. He motioned to them with his hand to be silent and described for them how the Lord had brought him out of the prison. And he added, “Tell this to James and to the brothers and sisters.” Then he left and went to another place. --Acts 12:6-17 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from God our Creator, and from our risen Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

Who do we trust? Or rather, whose stories do we trust?

I pretty much grew up a redneck in a state that, at that time, was probably 98% white and very religiously and ideologically conservative. So, many things were declared sinful, untrustworthy, or even evil. People of color. Queer people. Immigrants. Native Americans. People of other religious beliefs. If you didn’t fit into the nice, neat box I had been taught to create, well, then there was something wrong with you. 

I also grew up very naive. I believed that the leaders in our community were trustworthy. That they did the right things for our community, never acting in their own self-interest. I believed that they treated everyone the same, treating all people equally. I believed that, if there was income disparity or any other kind of inequality - in my hometown, especially with Native Americans - then that was because of what someone did or didn’t do, or the choices they made - but, not because they had been treated inequitably. 

There were stories of people I trusted. And stories of people I didn’t trust. 

When I moved to Los Angeles, you can imagine the mind-blowing experience I had. All of a sudden, I was surrounded by people who were gay, people of color, people of other ethnicities and nationalities, people of other religions, and on and on. The diversity there was all new to me, fascinating, and yet, at times, overwhelming. It was not long after I moved there that Los Angeles County became a place where there was no majority ethnic group. No longer did white people have majority status. No group had majority status. 

Over the years, I built a diverse group of friends. One of those included a fellow organizer - a Mexican-American from Wisconsin. He shared stories with me about being stopped numerous times driving while brown. I argued with him. I challenged his perception, that perhaps he had a chip on his shoulder. I didn’t believe him. For years. Until videos started popping up on social media sharing the real-life experiences of people of color, how often they are stopped by the police for bogus or very minor issues - things for which you and I would probably never be stopped. And I was ashamed. Ashamed that I had not believed him. My good friend. 

I felt similarly about a friend who was queer. I’d moved from believing that being gay was a sin. But, I had not yet moved to a place of understanding that being gay for him was his identity. It was who he was. It wasn’t a lifestyle choice. But I didn’t fully trust his story. Until one day we had a deep conversation about this and he said to me, “Who would choose this as a lifestyle? Who would choose a lifestyle in which one would be despised, humiliated, shamed or shunned? Who in their right mind would choose to be gay?” Finally, I got it - and began to trust his story.

Our story today, while it may be a little outlandish and a little humorous, has underneath it this question of whose stories we trust. It starts with Peter in prison and the empire pushing back - these empirical institutions in place in our world that we trust to use power that isn't abusive. That’s clearly not what we see in this text. Here, the government and religious leaders are cracking down on these renegade Jewish Christ-followers. Arresting them. Persecuting them. And even, if we move a few verses earlier in the chapter, murdering them. Under the guise of keeping order, of maintaining the status quo, when the truth is that it is about keeping power. At any cost.

Then, there is Rhoda. Not a maid or an attendant, but a slave. She shares the news of Peter’s arrival and no. one. listens to her. No one believes her story. Not until they experience it or witness Peter at the door themselves. Why don’t they believe her? Why does this community - this Christian community - dismiss her witness? Is it because she’s a slave - not viewed as a living being, but as chattel, as property to be owned? Is it because she’s a woman, viewed similarly - again, as property? Or is it because her story, too, is about empire? About power and control. About who is on top. Or not. And about whose stories we trust in our communities. And whose we don’t.

Whose stories do you trust? Whose stories don’t you trust?

We may not be able to do much about empire - just as the early Christian community could do little about Herod. But, what is most threatening to empire is the power of the resurrection - something we know vividly from the story of Jesus, his crucifixion and his resurrection, which is the ultimate resistance story. Our job isn’t to topple the empires - that work lies in the hands of our Creator. But our job - as followers of Christ - is to live lives that bear witness to the power of the resurrection. To lean towards those, as Jesus did, who are without power and control. To listen to their stories. To trust their truths.

Years later, I went back to my Mexican-American friend and apologized for dismissing his story, for not believing him. He graciously accepted it. I thank God for that and, especially, that we are still friends. And as the days pass, I’m grateful that I still get to hear and learn more about his truth and to continue learning to trust his story as much as I trust my own. He and so many of my other friends have taught me the beauty in trusting each other’s stories and in trusting each other in all our God-given diversity.

May God give us the courage to listen and to believe. Amen.

Preached May 12, 2024, at Grace & Glory, Goshen, KY, and Third/MOSAIC, Louisville, KY.