A Pastoral Message on Recent Events in Minneapolis

 The past few days have brought a lot of movement and sobering news to our region. From the tragic shooting in Minneapolis to the reports of increased ICE activity in our area, plus the arrival yesterday of approximately 200 agents in St. Cloud with helicopter support, our communities are feeling the weight of these events. Whether we feel anxiety, concern, or simply a heavy heart for those involved, there is a palpable sense of tension in our neighborhoods.

In seasons of uncertainty, we are grounded by the words of 1 John 4: "Dear friends, let us love one  another, for love comes from God... Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love."

This scripture reminds us that our primary identity is found in how we love. To know God is to reflect God's heart—a heart that moves toward those who are hurting. Regardless of our individual perspectives on policy, we are united in the call to see the "neighbor" in every person we encounter. When our community is on edge, we are called to be the ones who bring a sense of calm, dignity, and grace to the conversation.

Prayer is our first and most vital response. We pray for peace, for the safety of all involved, and for wisdom for those in positions of authority. But we also remember the call to "pray with our feet." This means allowing our faith to take active form in our daily lives. It means being a neighbor who listens, a friend who supports, and a presence that reflects the "perfect love" of Christ that casts out fear.

As we move through these coming days, let us each ask: How can I embody the peace of God in my specific circle today?

A Closing Prayer: Gracious God, we lift up our community to You. In the midst of transition and tension, grant us the clarity to see one another through Your eyes. We pray for protection for the vulnerable, wisdom for those who lead, and a spirit of peace for our neighborhoods. Help us to be the hands and feet of Your love, moving toward those in need with kindness and courage. Soften our hearts where they have hardened, and lead us in the way of Your peace. Amen.

Yours, in Christ,

Pastor Karleen

More Than Three Kings: The Radical, Political Truth Behind the Christmas Story

Beyond the Familiar Scene

The Christmas nativity scene is one of the most enduring images in our culture: three royal kings, dressed in velvet and jewels, bringing the baby Jesus finely-wrapped birthday gifts. It's a peaceful, almost cozy picture of adoration.

But the original biblical account in the Gospel of Matthew is far from this sweet tale. When we look closely at the text, we find a raw political and theological narrative, one that is defined by state-sanctioned fear, brutal violence, and a radical, world-altering hope. By removing centuries of tradition from this story, we can uncover surprising takeaways from the story of the magi that seem more relevant today than ever. Here are four possibilities:

1. It’s a Political Thriller, Not a Fairytale

The story of the magi unfolds within a specific context of political oppression. Matthew’s Gospel sets the scene “In the time of King Herod,” who is a puppet ruler of the Roman Empire, particularly known for his violent paranoia.

When Herod, the installed king, hears news from foreign astrologers about the birth of a new “King of the Jews,” his reaction is not joy, but terror. It drives him to coercion and control, culminating in what Matthew’s account describes as the horrific slaughter of Bethlehem’s children (Matthew 2:16-18). His fear escalates into genocide, echoing Pharaoh’s slaughter of Hebrew infants in the first chapter of Exodus.

In this volatile landscape, the magi’s journey and their homage to Jesus are not merely devotional acts—they are deeply political. By kneeling before a vulnerable child in an occupied territory, they make a bold and embodied declaration that their ultimate loyalty lies with this new king, not with the violent empire represented by Herod. 

Matthew presents Jesus’ birth not in opposition to politics, but within it. The empire’s reaction to Jesus reveals the threat he poses to systems of oppression. (Rev. Dr. Boyung Lee, from her feminist commentary on Matthew 2.) 

This framing matters because it mirrors the reality of oppression in our world today. Palestinian theologian Mitri Raheb, preaching from Bethlehem, calls the Christmas story a “Palestinian story par excellence,” rooted in the painful realities of occupation and state-sanctioned violence. The good news, he explains, is found in God's deliberate choice:

When the fullness of time came... God did not choose Rome or Athens for Christ to be born at; He chose occupied Bethlehem.

2. The “Three Kings” Are a Myth

The popular image of three kings named Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar is a product of later Christian tradition, not the biblical text itself. 

King Tingz (by Nicolette Faison)

The original Gospel account is much more mysterious. Matthew calls the visitors magoi apo anatolōn—magi from the East—without specifying number, gender, or religion. The idea of three visitors was most likely drawn from the three gifts they offered: gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

The term magoi comes from Old Persian and refers to a “priestly class in Zoroastrianism.” This detail directly challenges the myth of royal kings. They were foreign, Gentile astrologers—figures who would have been considered outsiders by the religious establishment. Their inclusion is significant because it places God's activity firmly on the margins, subverting imperial logic where a new king is hailed not by the religious elite in the center of power, but by Gentile astrologers on the fringes.

3. The Magi Might Have Been Women

In her fresh, feminist interpretation, theologian Rev. Dr. Boyung Lee proposes that the magi could have been women.

The basis for this theory lies in the original term. In Zoroastrian tradition, the title magoi could refer to both men and women. Reimagining the magi this way radically shifts the story’s meaning. Instead of “strange men” arriving at the door, we can picture “wise women crossing boundaries of religion, ethnicity, and culture to stand in solidarity with a marginalized mother and child.”

In this interpretation, their journey is not just reverence and worship but an act of “radical accompaniment.” Their visit becomes a “feminine embodiment of God’s epiphany.” This reading is particularly powerful when considering the scene from Mary’s perspective. During her postpartum recovery, a time when cultural law might have kept her isolated, she may have welcomed the solidarity of other women into her room far more readily than that of foreign men. 

4. It’s a Story About Responding to Fear

At its core, the Epiphany story is a clash between two starkly different responses to fear.

First, there is Herod’s response. Terrified of losing his grip on power, his fear mutates into “deception, surveillance, and mass violence.” He deploys “state-sanctioned terror to preserve power,” revealing how untransformed fear can lead to the most destructive outcomes.

The magi provide a powerful “counterpoint.” They, too, face fear and uncertainty, traveling through foreign lands and confronting a paranoid tyrant. But they “don’t let Herod’s fear-driven demands stop them.” They model what it looks like “to be led by hope, moving through fear without letting it paralyze us.”

Their final act—being warned in a dream and returning home “by another road”—is deeply symbolic. It signifies not just a different geographical route, but a “transformed life.” They leave changed by their encounter with Christ, choosing a new path forward. In her commentary on the passage, Rev. Dr. Boyung Lee frames this choice by asking a question that echoes the poet Rumi:

Will we move the way fear makes us move? Or will we move the way love calls us to?

A Different Road Home

When we look past the sanitized and saccharin nativity narratives we're so accustomed to, we find that the story of the magi is far more political, complex, and challenging than the domesticated version we often see. It’s a narrative about political resistance, radical inclusion, and the courageous choice to pursue hope in a world defined by fear.

The journey of the magi is an invitation to us all. It asks us to consider which path we will choose—the one dictated by fear, control, and violence, or the other road of courageous hope. In a world that still brims with violence and uncertainty, the magi's journey insists that fear doesn't have to stop us - that love is the antidote to fear and that, ultimately, it is Love that leads us forward. 

God Hates Your Worship: 4 Shocking Truths from the Prophet Amos

From the Prophet Amos...

The words of Amos, who was among the shepherds of Tekoa, which he saw concerning Israel in the days of King Uzziah of Judah and in the days of King Jeroboam son of Joash of Israel, two years before the earthquake.

And he said:

The Lord roars from Zion
    and utters his voice from Jerusalem;
the pastures of the shepherds wither,
    and the top of Carmel dries up.

Seek good and not evil,

    that you may live,

and so the Lord, the God of hosts, will be with you,

    just as you have said.

Hate evil and love good,

    and establish justice in the gate;

it may be that the Lord, the God of hosts,

    will be gracious to the remnant of Joseph.

I hate, I despise your festivals,

    and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies.

Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings,

    I will not accept them,

and the offerings of well-being of your fatted animals

    I will not look upon.

Take away from me the noise of your songs;

    I will not listen to the melody of your harps.

But let justice roll down like water

    and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. (Amos 1:1-2, 5:14-15, 21-24.) 

 Introduction: The Ancient Prophet Who Still Speaks Truth to Power

In our modern world, we often see a chasm between performative piety—the public display of faith—and the urgent, real-world work of doing God's justice. It’s a tension that feels distinctly contemporary, yet it was at the heart of the message of a fiery, counter-cultural voice from the 8th century BCE. That voice belonged to Amos, a prophet whose accusations sting with the force of a modern-day headline.

Amos ministered to the northern kingdom of Israel during a time of great prosperity and religious activity. But instead of offering comfort, his book delivers a series of powerful, counter-intuitive truths that challenge our deepest assumptions about faith, wealth, and what God truly desires. Here are four of his most disruptive insights.

1. God Doesn't Just Dislike Empty Rituals—God Hates Them

During Amos's time, the northern kingdom of Israel was highly religious. The people faithfully participated in festivals, held solemn assemblies, and brought their offerings to the sanctuary. From the outside, it was a picture of orthodox devotion.

Amos, however, delivered a shocking message directly from God: all of this religious activity was repulsive. God rejected their worship. Why? Because it was hypocritical, performed by a wealthy class that oppressed the poor and ignored the demands of justice. They were, in essence, "orthodox in worship style but disobedient in personal and social behavior." Their hearts were not oriented toward righteousness, making their rituals a hollow mockery.

In one of the most blistering passages in the prophetic literature, God declares:

"I hate, I despise your festivals, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies. Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them, and the offerings of well-being of your fatted animals I will not look upon. Take away from me the noise of your songs; I will not listen to the melody of your harps." (Amos 5:21-23)

The impact of this statement is profound. God’s rejection isn't passive; it's an active, sensory revulsion. Their worship isn't just not accepted; it's experienced as irritating "noise." This shows us that true worship isn't about the style or performance of rituals. It's about where the heart is. Specifically, the heart's orientation toward justice and obedience to God's desires for God's kingdom. Without that, even the most beautiful ceremonies are just noise.

2. A Booming Economy Was a Sign of Sickness, Not a Blessing

Amos prophesied during the reign of King Jeroboam II, a period of significant national prosperity, stability, and wealth. The elite built "ivory houses" and "mansions," enjoying grand leisure. The common interpretation at the time was that this material abundance was a clear sign of divine favor. Think prosperity gospel.

Amos presented a radical re-framing of their reality. He declared that this apparent prosperity was actually a symptom of "a growing rot of social decay and corruption." The wealth enjoyed by the powerful was funded by systemic injustice. Amos’s indictment was specific, targeting the exploitative economic practices that violated God's covenant and funded the elites' luxury:

• Debt slavery
• Charging interest to the poor
• Misappropriating collateral
• Corrupting legal processes
• Using fraudulent weights and measures

Amos teaches a timeless lesson: a society's health cannot be measured by its wealth alone. The true measure is how it treats its most vulnerable members. A booming economy built on exploitation is not a blessing from God, but a sign of deep spiritual sickness.

3. The Famous "Justice Like a River" Metaphor Is More Violent Than You Think

One of the most famous lines from the book of Amos is often imagined as a gentle, peaceful stream—a tranquil image of social harmony. But the original language and landscape paint a much more powerful and intense picture.

The justice God demands through Amos is not a trickle; it is a force of nature. The Hebrew and the local geography reveal a far more violent image:

• The Hebrew word for "roll down" (w’yigal) describes water that "swells with waves like the sea."
• The "stream" is not a placid brook but a wadi—a dry riverbed that, after a storm, becomes a "gushing and flooding" torrent that reshapes the landscape.

This context gives its full, dramatic force to the prophet's call: "But let justice roll down like water and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream." (Amos 5:24)

The takeaway is that the justice God demands is not a small act of charity or a minor course correction. It is an overwhelming, forceful, and continuous outpouring meant to tear down corrupt systems and reshape the entire social order.

4. The Prophet Calling Out the Rich Wasn't a Poor Laborer

Given his critique of the wealthy elite, it’s natural to assume that Amos came from the oppressed class he defended. The biographical details in his book, however, present a surprising picture.

Amos is identified as a "shepherd of Tekoa," but the specific Hebrew word used, noked, suggests he was a "sheep breeder" and a "sycamore-fig cultivator." This likely means he was a business owner of some status, not a common field hand living in poverty. Further, he was an outsider—a man from Tekoa in the southern kingdom of Judah, sent to preach at the royal sanctuary of Bethel in the northern kingdom of Israel.

This unique combination makes his message even more powerful. As an economic insider, he understood the systems of wealth. As a geographic outsider, he was not blinded by patriotism or local custom, making it easier for him to "see or name [the system's] problems." This vantage point gave him the clarity to condemn the "wasteful and cold-hearted ways of the wealthy" not from a place of personal grievance or envy, but from a position of objective, devastating truth.

Conclusion: A Timeless Call for a World Remade

The message of Amos is a timeless and uncomfortable one. He reminds us that authentic faith demands justice, that surface-level prosperity can mask deep corruption, and that the call for righteousness is not a gentle suggestion but a powerful, world-altering force. His words cut through centuries of religious performance and economic self-deception to ask a fundamental question about the nature of our belief.

Amos's ancient roar from Zion still echoes. In our world of performative belief, are our lives contributing a trickle of charity, or are we carving a channel for the overwhelming flood of justice?

Written with assistance from Google Notebook LLM and the following source materials: Anderson, Francis I., and David Noel Freedman: Amos; Bartlett, David L. (Editor): Westminster Bible Companion series, Amos; Barry, John D., et al. (Editors): The Lexham Bible Dictionary; Birch, Bruce C. and Patrick D. Miller (co-editor): "Hosea, Joel, and Amos," in the Westminster Bible Companion. (Cited regarding Amos’s ministry location, time period, and challenge to Israel’s religious hypocrisy); Butler, John G.: "Elisha: The Miracle Prophet," Bible Biography Series; Dempsey, Carol J. and Daniel Durken (ed).: "Amos, Hosea, Micah, Nahum, Zephaniah, Habakkuk", in The New Collegeville Bible Commentary; Drinkard Jr., Joel F. and Mark Allen Powell (ed): “Bethel,” in The HarperCollins Bible Dictionary (Revised and Updated); Freedman, David Noel (Editor): The Anchor Yale Bible Dictionary. (Editor of Bruce E. Willoughby's article on the Book of Amos); Harrison, R. K.: "Bethel, Bethelite (City),” in Baker Encyclopedia of the Bible; Lioy, Dan (Editor): David C. Cook Bible Lesson Commentary 2014–2015: KJV; McComiskey, Thomas E.: “Amos, Book Of,” in Baker Encyclopedia of the Bible; Motyer, J. A. and D.A. Carson, et all (editors): "Amos" in the New Bible Commentary: 21st Century Edition; Myers, Allen C.: “BETHEL,” in The Eerdmans Bible Dictionary; Nash, Peter T.: “Amos book introduction and study notes,” in Lutheran Study Bible; Perlman, Susan (Editor): Tyndale, Chronological Life Application Study Bible; Phillips, Elaine A.: “Amos, Book Of, Critical Issues,” in The Lexham Bible Dictionary; Robertson, Dr. Amy: Scholar and speaker on Bible Worm Podcast, Episode 710; Smith, Gary V.: The Prophets as Preachers: An Introduction to the Hebrew Prophets; Amos: A Mentor Commentary; Stuart, Douglas: Hosea–Jonah, Word Biblical Commentary; Willoughby, Bruce E.: “Amos, Book of,” in The Anchor Yale Bible Dictionary; Williamson, Dr. Robert: Scholar and speaker on Bible Worm Podcast, Episode 710. Aspects of this post preached in worship on Sunday, November 9, 2025.

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