The Storm and The Road: Beyond the Flood

Friends, welcome to a new year in the Narrative Lectionary! Over the next few months, we are doing something vital: immersing ourselves in the Hebrew Scriptures, the very Bible Jesus read and prayed. Too often, people think the God of the Old Testament is harsh and angry, while Jesus comes later to soften God up. But this story shows us one continuous arc of divine love—a God who longs for relationship and never gives up on a messy world.

Today, we jump right into a storm—not with the bright morning of creation, but with the world falling apart. We read this morning in Genesis.

6:5 The Lord saw that the wickedness of humans was great in the earth and that every inclination of the thoughts of their hearts was only evil continually. 6 And the Lord was sorry that he had made humans on the earth, and it grieved him to his heart. 7 So the Lord said, “I will blot out from the earth the humans I have created—people together with animals and creeping things and birds of the air—for I am sorry that I have made them.” 8 But Noah found favor in the sight of the Lord.   9 These are the descendants of Noah. Noah was a righteous man, blameless in his generation; Noah walked with God. 10 And Noah had three sons: Shem, Ham, and Japheth.   11 Now the earth was corrupt in God’s sight, and the earth was filled with violence. 12 And God saw that the earth was corrupt, for all flesh had corrupted its ways upon the earth. 13 And God said to Noah, “I have determined to make an end of all flesh, for the earth is filled with violence because of them; now I am going to destroy them along with the earth. 14 Make yourself an ark of cypress wood; make rooms in the ark, and cover it inside and out with pitch. 15 This is how you are to make it: the length of the ark three hundred cubits, its width fifty cubits, and its height thirty cubits. 16 Make a roof for the ark, and finish it to a cubit above, and put the door of the ark in its side; make it with lower, second, and third decks. 17 For my part, I am going to bring a flood of waters on the earth, to destroy from under heaven all flesh in which is the breath of life; everything that is on the earth shall die. 18 But I will establish my covenant with you, and you shall come into the ark, you, your sons, your wife, and your sons’ wives with you. 19 And of every living thing, of all flesh, you shall bring two of every kind into the ark, to keep them alive with you; they shall be male and female. 20 Of the birds according to their kinds and of the animals according to their kinds, of every creeping thing of the ground according to its kind, two of every kind shall come in to you, to keep them alive. 21 Also take with you every kind of food that is eaten, and store it up, and it shall serve as food for you and for them.” 22 Noah did this; he did all that God commanded him.   8:1 But God remembered Noah and all the wild animals and all the domestic animals that were with him in the ark. And God made a wind blow over the earth, and the waters subsided. 6 At the end of forty days Noah opened the window of the ark that he had made 7 and sent out the raven, and it went to and fro until the waters were dried up from the earth. 8 Then he sent out the dove from him to see if the waters had subsided from the face of the ground, 9 but the dove found no place to set its foot, and it returned to him to the ark, for the waters were still on the face of the whole earth. So he put out his hand and took it and brought it into the ark with him. 10 He waited another seven days, and again he sent out the dove from the ark, 11 and the dove came back to him in the evening, and there in its beak was a freshly plucked olive leaf; so Noah knew that the waters had subsided from the earth. 12 Then he waited another seven days and sent out the dove, and it did not return to him any more.   9:8 Then God said to Noah and to his sons with him, 9 “As for me, I am establishing my covenant with you and your descendants after you 10 and with every living creature that is with you, the birds, the domestic animals, and every animal of the earth with you, as many as came out of the ark. 11 I establish my covenant with you, that never again shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of a flood, and never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth.” 12 God said, “This is the sign of the covenant that I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all future generations: 13 I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth. 14 When I bring clouds over the earth and the bow is seen in the clouds, 15 I will remember my covenant that is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh, and the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh. 16 When the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth.” 17 God said to Noah, “This is the sign of the covenant that I have established between me and all flesh that is on the earth.”

                                                                                                  --Genesis 6:5-22; 8:1, 6-12; 9:8-17 (NRSVue)

Earlier, you talked in small groups about what it means to make a promise. As we move into our text, I invite a quick thought from your conversations: How does making a real covenant promise change the way two people relate to each other?

When we make a covenant promise, a relationship shifts from tenuousness to commitment. That same shift from uncertainty into trust is the exact shift we see in God’s heart today.

When Genesis tells us the world was filled with violence, God didn't look down with cold anger. The text says God was grieved to the heart. The Hebrew word used here ('asav) describes the agonizing pain of labor. God’s reaction isn't the fury of a judge, but the heartbreak of a parent who loves us too much to watch us destroy each other.

Then comes the turning point: God remembered Noah. In Scripture, when God remembers (zkr), it means taking compassionate action to rescue the vulnerable. God sends the ruakh—the same breath of life used in creation—to bring dry land out of the chaos.

I know many of us understand what it feels like to live in the ark. It’s that deep fatigue of surviving year after year of adaptation. When we are in survival mode, it's easy to think that just guarding the boat is the whole point. But stewardship isn't about hoarding our love or our resources out of fear; it’s trusting that God sustains the vessel so we can step onto dry land and plant fresh vineyards on a new mountain. Just like Noah.

When the storm ends, God makes a covenant. A promise. To mark this promise, God puts a rainbow in the sky. In ancient times, people saw a rainbow as a war bow—a weapon used to shoot arrows. But in this story, God takes the bow and hangs it up in the clouds, pointing it away from the earth. God disarms. God chooses mercy over punishment, promising to always treat creation with love and peace.

This promise isn't just words in the sky; it is a call for us to move past survival and start planting for the future. Today is "God's Work, Our Hands" Sunday, which fits this story perfectly. Right after service, we are jumping into three hands-on service projects. This isn't just about preserving what we have—it is us rolling up our sleeves, stepping off the ark, and planting new seeds of hope as the caring hands of a faithful God.

May we all serve today with open hands, bringing fresh life and hope to a world God loves so deeply.

Let us pray. God of promise, you sustained Noah through the storm and you sustain us today. As we use our hands to serve, move us from fear to trust, so we can plant seeds of new life in our community. Amen.

Preached Sunday, September 13, 2026, on God's Work, Our Hands Sunday, at Vista Lutheran Church, St. Louis Park, MN.

Built for Generosity: Clearing the Slate - Freedom to Love Our Neighbors

It’s a funny thing about how our minds work: we can easily forget a simple shopping list on the walk from our car to the store, yet we can remember a tiny offense or a rude comment from a church potluck decades ago with total clarity. By nature, we tend to hold onto grudges. Left to ourselves, we end up constantly keeping score with the people around us. We carry around heavy, invisible mental checklists, tallying up small hurts, silent frustrations, and past mistakes, and then we hold onto those bad feelings as time goes on.

When we hold onto these mental lists, we stop seeing people for who they really are and start judging them entirely by their worst moments. These hidden grudges act like poison in a community, slowly draining our life and making it hard for us to live and worship together. To really thrive, we have to stop looking at people through the lens of our own frustration. Instead, we need to view our relationships through God’s rules, which aren't given to trap us, but to set us free to love each other.

The Rules for Loving Each Other: Exodus 20:12–16

To understand how God calls us to treat one another, we look at the Ten Commandments, which divide into two distinct dimensions.

The First Table of the Law functions on a vertical axis, looking upward to God to establish how we love, worship, and trust our Creator. But the Second Table of the Law shifts our focus to a horizontal axis. Rather than directing our eyes upward, these verses provide the essential blueprint for how we look across at one another. Commandments five through ten give us practical, horizontal guardrails for a life lived in common. Today, we consider the fourth through eighth commandments. We'll finish next week with nine and ten. 

We read in Exodus 20.

“Honor your father and your mother, so that your days may be long in the land that the Lord your God is giving you.

You shall not murder.

You shall not commit adultery.

You shall not steal.

You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.” (Exodus 20:12–16 NRSVUE)

These commandments form the backbone of a healthy community. They aren't random rules; they are God’s way of protecting everyone, especially the elderly, the poor, and anyone whose reputation is being torn down. Seeing these guardrails helps us understand what real freedom actually looks like.

Redefining Freedom Through Grace and Commitment

In our faith tradition, we talk a lot about freedom, but there is a big difference between freedom from and freedom for. Modern culture often tells us that freedom just means doing whatever we want, avoiding long-term commitment, and viewing any rule as a cage. In that view, boundaries look like the enemy.

However, we live in a world broken by sin. Theologian Rolf Jacobson uses a wonderful picture for this, saying we are waiting for the day God unpicks all the broken threads of creation and knits them back together into something brand new. Until that day comes, God gives us divine guidance so we know how to care for each other in the middle of our everyday mess. Real freedom isn't found in endless choices, but in committing to protect our neighbors.

First, we must shift the focus off ourselves. The point of God's rules isn't to make your life a private self-improvement project, and God isn't asking you to chase your own success at the expense of others. The focus is entirely on helping your neighbor thrive.

Second, protecting others is true liberty. We find real freedom when we protect the safety, property, and good names of the people around us, using our strength best when we make sure no one gets walked on or taken advantage of.

Finally, this law is a shared gift. God loves your neighbor so much that God gives you these rules to protect them, and in the very same way, God loves you so much that God gives your neighbor the exact same rules to protect you. These commandments are God’s gift to people who have been set free by Christ, giving us a way to live so we build each other up instead of tearing each other down.

Throwing Away the Scorecard: Practicing Complete Forgiveness

As we look at our life together, we have a clear, vital task: we need to throw away our mental scorecards. This isn't just a nice idea; it is the real heart-work of a church that wants to move forward. In the Bible, God commanded a regular reset year where financial debts were completely wiped clean. Today, we are challenged to practice that same complete forgiveness with our personal relationships.

Psalm 133 reminds us how very good and pleasant it is when kindred live together in unity. The Psalmist describes that unity like fresh morning dew falling on the mountains—refreshing, peaceful, and full of life. But we can't experience that fresh unity if we are still holding onto old grudges and past hurts. We must throw away the old mental spreadsheets and start fresh today with a clean slate for everyone.

To live closely with God, as Psalm 15 describes, we need to speak truth from the heart and refuse to gossip or make others feel ashamed. When we gossip to make ourselves look good, we steal the good reputation God commanded us to protect. Keeping our promises and standing up for others creates a safe place where everyone feels supported, protected, and cared for.

What God Truly Asks of Us

We often imagine that God demands big religious performances or grand gestures, which the prophet Micah called thousands of rams or ten thousands of rivers of oil. But God explicitly rejects those empty displays in favor of quiet, simple kindness.

God has already shown us what matters most, asking us to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with our God. In our daily lives, this is our simple guide for loving the people around us. Every time you refuse to spread rumors, you protect your neighbor's peace of mind. Every time you honor someone, you protect their dignity in the community. Every time you choose grace over keeping score, you treat the person next to you as a precious gift trusted to your care by God.

God’s commandments aren't about showing off how holy we are; they are simply God saying, "While you are here on earth, love your neighbor."

Go out today free from the grudges you’ve been carrying and free from the expectations of others. Live honestly, speak kindness from your heart, and protect the people around you. May your life be so deeply rooted in the love of God and the care of your neighbor that nothing can shake you. Amen.

Preached Sunday, August 30, 2026, at Vista Lutheran Church, St. Louis Park, MN.

Built for Generosity: The Radical Audacity of Doing Absolutely Nothing

The Foundation: Reading of the Law

Let's open our hearts this morning to the "First Table" of the Decalogue. These are the words that define our vertical orientation—the structural blueprints for how we stand in relation to the One who created us. Let us hear the Word of the Lord from Exodus 20:

Exodus 20:3–11 (NRSVUE)

“You shall have no other gods before me. You shall not make for yourself an idol, whether in the form of anything that is in heaven above or that is on the earth beneath or that is in the water under the earth. You shall not bow down to them or serve them, for I the Lord your God am a jealous God, punishing children for the iniquity of parents to the third and the fourth generation of those who reject me but showing steadfast love to the thousandth generation of those who love me and keep my commandments. You shall not make wrongful use of the name of the Lord your God, for the Lord will not acquit anyone who misuses his name. Remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work. But the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord your God; you shall not do any work—you, your son or your daughter, your male or female slave, your livestock, or the alien resident in your towns. For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but rested the seventh day; therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and consecrated it."

We often view these verses as a restrictive fence or a heavy set of "thou shalt nots," but they are actually the blueprints for a relationship. They are designed to tune us into God’s frequency, showing us that the goal of faith is to be attuned to the Creator rather than being scattered by the demands of a world that never stops shouting. By setting aside time and honoring the Name, we learn to turn away from the distractions that seek to occupy the space only God should inhabit.

Of course, as I say that, I can already feel the "Lutheran Twitch" rippling through the pews. Mentioning the Law to a room full of Lutherans tends to make us a little twitchy, doesn't it?

The Lutheran Twitch: Navigating Law, Grace, and the "To-Do" List

We Lutherans have a complicated relationship with the Law. We are people of Grace—beautiful, unmerited, "free gift" Grace. Mention a commandment, and we start to sweat. We worry the Law is a threat to our freedom, or worse, we treat it as a "to-do" list that we’ve already failed. We’d honestly rather spend three hours in a committee meeting debating the "Third Use of the Law" or the finer points of Melanchthon than actually look at our Sunday calendars and say "no" to a commitment.

But the First Commandment—You shall have no other gods before me—is the ultimate diagnostic tool for our modern heart-sickness. Martin Luther, in his Large Catechism, gets straight to the point: a "god" is simply whatever we "set our heart upon and put our trust in." It is where we look for all good and where we take refuge in distress.

If we are honest, our hearts are often set on our own frantic output. We try to believe God is our source, while living as though our own exhaustion is what actually keeps the world spinning. But here is the gift: when we fail that First Commandment—and we do, daily—God gives us the Third. God gives us the Divine Name. Not as a curse, but as a tool for "forgiveness, thanksgiving, and praise." When we fail to love God alone, we use the Name (Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer) to cry out for the very grace we’re so afraid of losing.

We need that Name now more than ever, because we have moved from the theory of "other gods" to the very real, very demanding god of Endless Productivity.

From Pharaoh to Phones: The Trap of the Grind

We live in a culture that treats human beings like machines and rest like a transaction. We view rest as a "reboot" just to make ourselves productive for the next round of labor. This is "grind culture," and it serves as a defense mechanism against a deep-seated fear of scarcity. We overwork because we are terrified that there isn't enough—enough money, enough time, enough of us—to survive.

The Bible has a name for this mindset: Egypt. The Exodus generation lived under a lord named Pharaoh who demanded "more bricks with less straw" and never, ever gave a day off. Modern grind culture is simply that same ancient taskmaster with a smartphone and a better data plan.

To understand our place in this story, we have to choose between two ways of existing. In the Machine Mindset, rest is a transaction, you are only as valuable as your last output, and if you stop, you are "broken." Conversely, as the People of the Sabbath, rest is a radical interruption; you are a child of God whose worth is inherent, and to stop is to declare that the world belongs to God, not to your labor.

Sabbath is a strategic interruption of the Pharaoh-like demand for constant output. When we treat ourselves as machines, we treat our volunteer work and our leadership as things to be optimized rather than shared. Eventually, our best intentions curdle into burnout because we treat humans like cogs in a wheel rather than children of God.

And here is the hard truth: this individual exhaustion is actually a communal crisis of justice.

The "Same Breath": Sabbath as Collective Justice

We often mistake Sabbath for "self-care"—a private luxury for those who can afford it. But Isaiah 58 tells us that justice and Sabbath are the "same breath." Isaiah cuts through the pious busyness of people who are fasting and praying while simultaneously "exploiting all their workers."

True Sabbath is the first fair-labor law. It isn't a private escape if it relies on someone else staying in overdrive. If your Sunday rest requires an Amazon driver to pull a 12-hour shift to deliver your "restoration" kit, you haven't kept the Sabbath; you've just outsourced the labor. Isaiah 58 connects our "delight in the Lord" directly to "loosing the chains of injustice" and "sharing food with the hungry."

Sabbath is really about keeping our whole community healthy together. Faith means very little if we pray, but ignore how unfairly people around us are treated. Real, lasting justice can't be powered by caffeine, panic, and nonstop hustle—it requires a community that actually knows how to stop. Sabbath makes sure that everyone gets a break, including the working poor, immigrants, and laborers, so no one has to burn out just to survive. We only find true joy in God when rest becomes a shared right for all, not a luxury for a lucky few.

A Gentle Mandate: Entering the Holy Fallow Season

As we look toward this coming season, I want to invite you into a "Holy Fallow Season." In biology, fallow ground isn't dead; it is in a state of active recovery. It looks empty to the untrained eye, but under the surface, it is restoring its "spiritual nitrogen." Without these seasons of being "unproductive," the soil of our souls eventually turns to dust.

While the Machine Mindset dictates that rest must be earned through exhaustion, overproduction is faithfulness, the work falls apart if you stop, and output equals value, the Fallow Mindset offers a transformative reality: rest is a gift given before the work begins, overproduction is a symptom of fear, God's grace holds the work when we pause, and presence equals connection.

The "radical audacity of stillness" is a declaration of trust. It is a way of stating that God—not our volunteer hours, not our frantic planning, not our overfull calendar—is the One who preserves the world.

Therefore, I offer these permissions. To the burnt-out volunteer: You do not need to save the world this season; you are allowed to simply sit in the pew. To the mission team leader: Measure your health not by how many programs you launch, but by how deeply your team is nourished and rested. To the weary soul: Lay down the guilt of being "unproductive," for God is not an overseer demanding more bricks.

Conclusion: The Gift of Still Hands

Keeping the Sabbath is more than a Sunday habit; it is an entire way of life in keeping with the One who keeps faith with us. It is a strategic shift from "striving" to "stewardship."

We can stop because God does not. We can let our hands be still because the world is held by a Grace that never tires. It is completely safe to stop.

May you go forth knowing that you are more than your output. May you find the audacity to be still. And may you trust that the world is held in the palm of God’s hand, even—and especially—when your own hands are open and still.

May it be so. Amen.

Preached Sunday, August 23, 2026, at Vista Lutheran Church, St. Louis Park, MN.

Build for Generosity: Carried by Grace First

Has anyone ever heard of James Arne Nestingen? He was a retired professor from Luther Seminary who passed away in 2022. He was known for many ideas. One of those was a suggestion for preachers - that every preacher should preach through the Ten Commandments once every three years. You might not actually like that suggestion. But it is, actually, a good tradition. One that keeps us grounded.

Today, we begin a four-week journey into what we call the Decalogue—or, translated literally, the Ten Words. We find these words twice in our Bibles, first in Exodus and later repeated in Deuteronomy. Over this next month, we aren't just going to look at ancient rules. We’re going to look at how these words shape our daily lives. We will move from God’s big heart to the simple, practical ways we treat our neighbors.

But let’s be honest: when we hear the word "law," we usually think of the fine print. We think of the long terms and conditions we scroll past on our phones just to get a phone app working. Or that detailed office handbook that sets the exact temperature of the breakroom coffee. In our modern "hustle culture," we feel like we are only as good as the last checked box on our “to do” list. We carry a heavy anxiety - an "Egyptian anxiety," which is that constant fear that if we don't work hard enough, or aren’t good enough, or we don’t follow the rules perfectly, we might lose our seat at the table. It can make God's law feel like just one more heavy weight to carry.

But before we look at a single "thou shalt not," we have to look at the relationship. Because before God gives us the rules, God gives us a rescue.

Why Nineteen Comes Before Twenty

There is a smart design in how our Bibles are put together. Theologian David Lose, reminds us that in the book of Exodus, chapter nineteen comes before chapter twenty. Of course, right? But, this isn't just a basic math lesson; it’s the engine of our faith. Chapter 19 is where God offers grace and relationship. Chapter 20 is where the Commandments show up.

This order matters! God builds the relationship first. That comes first. The law, with its demands on how we act, comes second. Sometimes we try to flip this. We try to build a stairway to heaven out of our own good behavior. But trying to earn salvation through the law is like trying to build a spaceship out of cardboard. It’s just not going to work. God doesn't give the law to start a relationship with us. God starts the relationship through grace, and then gives the law as a roadmap to help us understand how free people stay free.

When we look at the opening lines in Exodus 20—what our Jewish neighbors call the "First Word"—God introduces God's self as the one who "brought you out of the land of Egypt." These aren't the orders of a boss; they are the directions of a Savior.

The Promise of the Eagles' Wings

Before the mountain shook and the thunder rolled, there was a promise. God wanted the people to know who they were to God before asking them to do a single thing. We read this morning the first part of our text in Exodus, chapter 19.

Exodus 19:1-6

On the third new moon after the Israelites had gone out of the land of Egypt, on that very day, they came into the wilderness of Sinai. They journeyed from Rephidim, entered the wilderness of Sinai, and camped in the wilderness; Israel camped there in front of the mountain. Then Moses went up to God; the Lord called to him from the mountain, “Thus you shall say to the house of Jacob and tell the Israelites: ‘You have seen what I did to the Egyptians and how I bore you on eagles’ wings and brought you to myself. Now, therefore, if you obey my voice and keep my covenant, you shall be my treasured possession out of all the peoples. Indeed, the whole earth is mine, but you shall be for me a priestly kingdom and a holy nation.’ These are the words that you shall speak to the Israelites.”

Moses stands on that mountain, holding onto these words like a lifeline. God says something that sounded impossible to former slaves: You are a treasured possession.

Think about that. For generations in Egypt, the Israelites were valued only for how many bricks they could make. Being called "treasured" changed their identity completely. They were no longer defined by what they produced, but by where and to whom they belonged. This was the ultimate cure for their anxiety. They weren't being asked to perform to become holy. They were told they were already loved, and the law was simply the framework for their new life together.

The Generosity of Fences

When we think about these Commandments, I want you to change how you look at them. They aren’t a mean checklist or a set of impossible rules; they are protective boundaries. Think of a parent putting a fence around a backyard. That fence isn't there to make the child feel like a prisoner. It’s there so the child can run and play without worrying about the traffic in the street. That is the beauty of fences. In a world full of stress and worry, these rules give us safety.

First, these boundaries give us space to catch our breath. Look at the Sabbath. In Deuteronomy's version of the Commandments, the reason for the Sabbath isn't just about God resting at creation—it’s about fairness. It says, "Remember that you were a slave." The Sabbath is the world’s first fair-labor law! It is a safety net that protects us from burnout and endless work, making sure everyone gets a chance to breathe.

Second, these boundaries create a space for trust. By banning stealing, killing, and lying, the law creates a safe place to live. It protects your neighbor from you, and it protects you from your neighbor. It allows us to stop looking over our shoulders and start looking each other in the eye. It is God’s plan for how free people live together in peace.

The Ground Truth of the First Word

Everything in this plan is held together by a single sentence. It’s the anchor that keeps the rules from turning into cold legalism. We find it in the second part of our reading, from Exodus, chapter 20. 

Exodus 20:1-2

Then God spoke all these words, “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery.”

This "First Word" is the anchor. It reminds the Israelites—and it reminds us—that they are already saved. They aren't standing at the foot of the mountain trying to rescue themselves. They are standing there because they have already been carried on eagles' wings.

Caring for Our Shared Life

So, what's the main point? Paul tells us in Galatians 5 that "For freedom Christ has set us free." But he adds that this freedom isn't an excuse to do whatever we want. Instead, we use our freedom to serve one another in love. Paul boils the whole law down to one simple point: "Love your neighbor as yourself."

When we see the law this way, we start caring about our shared life. We stop obsessing over our own perfection—trying to be the "holiest" person in the room—and we start caring about what's best for our neighbor. This allows us to drop the mental scorecards we all carry. You know the ones—the list where we keep track of who owes us what, which grudges we’re holding, and how many "good deeds" we’ve earned today. Grace lets us throw away that scorecard. We realize that God doesn't want a business transaction; God wants a loving relationship.

Now, let’s be real: loving our neighbors is messy work. In ancient times, it meant not wanting your neighbor’s ox. Today, it might mean not obsessing over their perfectly green lawn or their new promotion. It might mean staying calm when their leaf blower starts blasting at 7:00 AM on a Saturday! But the law reminds us that God loves our neighbor so much that God put up guardrails to protect them from us.

Living as the Treasured

As we go out into the world this week, may we remember that we are carried by grace first. The Ten Commandments are not a ladder you climb to reach God. They are simply what love looks like in a world that needs to learn how to be free.

I invite you this week to live like someone carried on "eagles' wings." You do not have to hustle for your worth. You do not have to produce to be loved. You are already a "treasured possession." May you walk within the guardrails of God’s grace—not because you have to, but because you are finally free to love your neighbor as yourself. And may we all find rest in God’s promise and strength in God’s love. Amen.

Preached Sunday, August 16, 2026, at Vista Lutheran Church, St Louis Park, MN.

The Guarded House: The Sacred Handoff

 If you’ve ever watched the 4x100 meter relay at the Olympic Games, you know it is forty seconds of pure adrenaline. You have eight lanes of the fastest human beings on the planet, but raw speed alone almost never wins the race. The entire thing hinges on three tiny, high-stakes exchange zones.

In just twenty meters, about 66 feet, two sprinters running at top speed have to pass a single baton. One runner is reaching backward blind, accelerating into the open track. The other is coming up behind, completely exhausted, having poured out every last drop of energy. We’ve all seen what happens when it goes wrong. One slight fumble, one second of hesitation, one runner holding on a fraction too long out of fear or miscommunication, and the baton clatters onto the track. In an instant, world-record pace turns into total heartbreak.

Transitions make us nervous because handoffs force us to let go. They require absolute trust.

Over this past month, as we’ve walked through 1 and 2 Timothy together, we’ve talked about how easy it can be for a church to watch the exchange zone with anxious eyes. Coming off a long period of transition, it would be completely natural if there’s been a little quiet fatigue in the air, or even anxious moments of wondering what comes next. When any community goes through a long season of waiting, it’s human nature to hold our collective breath, to clutch our resources out of fear, or to wonder if the baton might drop.

But today, as we wrap up this series, Paul points all of our eyes away from our own anxious hands and toward the One who actually owns the race.

Listen to these final words written from a cold Roman prison, as Paul prepares to hand off his ministry to Timothy.

3:14 But as for you, continue in what you have learned and firmly believed, knowing from whom you learned it 15 and how from childhood you have known sacred writings that are able to instruct you for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus. 16 All scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, 17 so that the person of God may be proficient, equipped for every good work.

4:1 In the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who is to judge the living and the dead, and in view of his appearing and his kingdom, I solemnly urge you: 2 proclaim the message; be persistent whether the time is favorable or unfavorable; convince, rebuke, and encourage with the utmost patience in teaching. 3 For the time is coming when people will not put up with sound teaching, but, having their ears tickled, they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own desires 4 and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander away to myths. 5 As for you, be sober in everything, endure suffering, do the work of an evangelist, carry out your ministry fully.

6 As for me, I am already being poured out as a libation, and the time of my departure has come. 7 I have fought the good fight; I have finished the race; I have kept the faith. 8 From now on there is reserved for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have longed for his appearing.

16 At my first defense no one came to my support, but all deserted me. May it not be counted against them! 17 But the Lord stood by me and gave me strength, so that through me the message might be fully proclaimed and all the gentiles might hear it. So I was rescued from the lion’s mouth. 18 The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and save me for his heavenly kingdom. To him be the glory forever and ever. Amen. 

–2 Timothy 3:14–4:8; 4:16–18 (NRSVUE)

It’s easy to read Paul’s famous words about finishing the race and assume this is a story about human grit. We picture Paul as a heroic figure sitting back, like a retired athlete - proud of his own stamina. But the historical reality was cold, dark, and complete desperate.

Scholars debate the exact origin and timing of this letter, but if we take Paul’s authorship as authentic, it puts us around 66 CE. The Roman emperor Nero was blaming Christians for the Great Fire of Rome, and Paul was sitting chained in the Mamertine Dungeon—a damp, foul underground cistern in Rome. His friends had abandoned him, and he was legally branded a criminal. From a human perspective, everything was collapsing around him.

So why isn't Paul panicking? Because Paul knew who was actually running the show.

In that dark dungeon, Paul reminds Timothy that Scripture is, in the Greek, theopneustos—breathed out by God. The Holy Spirit is the active breath inside the Word, breathing life into dead places, teaching us, grounding us, and equipping us when human strength runs out. Paul calls the Scriptures "sacred writings"—the exact Greek term used for imperial Roman decrees. He was declaring that neither Nero, nor any other emperor, had the final say over history. God’s divine decree rules the universe, and as we heard in an earlier chapter, physical chains cannot bind the Word of God.

Paul also knew that Timothy might feel overwhelmed stepping into the future. But Timothy wasn't being asked to rely on his own power. Think of our reading from Exodus and, specifically, Joshua standing on the banks of the Jordan River after Moses died. Imagine the fear of stepping into those shoes. God didn't hand Joshua a checklist or tell him to try harder. God gave a divine promise: "As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will not fail you or forsake you".

The anchor of every biblical transition isn't the talent of the person receiving the baton; it is the unchanging presence of God.

Collectively, as Vista, scripture shows us that long seasons of waiting or structural endings are never signs that God has left the building. They are holy thresholds where God carries us into something new. Our legacy churches finished their race so God could plant this merged community. Interim seasons ended so Christ could lead us into our next chapter together. Jesus Christ has been standing right beside Vista through every single day of these past seven years, and the Holy Spirit never put this church on pause.

But this passage isn't just a collective word for a church building or an institution. It is an intensely personal word for our lives right now.

We are living in times that feel incredibly fraught. The world outside these doors can feel hostile, unstable, unpredictable, and exhausting. You might be carrying your own private transitions, your own losses, or quiet anxieties about your family, your health, or where our culture is heading. You might be looking at the world around us and wondering if things are falling apart.

Paul wrote these words to Timothy in a world that was actively falling apart. And the message to Timothy—and Christ’s message to us today—is this: we do not have to carry the weight of the world on our shoulders. When the ground beneath our feet feels shaky, when human support systems wobble, and when the times feel dark, the promise remains personal: The Lord stands by us and gives us strength.

Whether we look at Vista as a whole community or look into our own individual lives tomorrow morning, we are not holding everything together by our own fragile, anxious power. God is holding us. The same Lord who stood by Paul in a Roman dungeon, the same God who accompanied Joshua across the Jordan, is the exact same Lord standing at our thresholds today. God will not fail you, God will not forsake you, and God is holding both our church’s future and your personal life securely in divine hands.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

Preached Sunday, August 9, 2026, at Vista Lutheran Church, St. Louis Park, MN.

The Guarded House: The Power of the Unchained Word and the KISS Rule

Decades ago, before I ever stepped into a seminary library, I served as a court clerk. To be clear—I was a court clerk, not a law clerk. I wasn't the one writing the legal briefs, but I was the expert on courtroom procedure, keeping the whole operation running smoothly, and working side-by-side with the judge every single day.

The judge I worked for lived by a very blunt rule: "Keep It Simple, Stupid"—the KISS rule. He wasn't being mean; he was being merciful. From my seat right next to the bench, I saw how he operated. He knew that whenever lawyers started hiding behind complex legal jargon and endless "word-smithing," they were usually trying to cover up a weak case. Complexity was almost always a mask for a lack of truth.

If you've ever been in a long-term relationship or a marriage, you already know how this works. Think about what happens when you and your partner come home exhausted, anxious, or completely overwhelmed. We don't usually sit down and say, "I am feeling vulnerable, tired, and afraid." Instead, we nitpick. We pick a fight over who left a cup on the counter, how the dishwasher was loaded, or why someone forgot to buy milk. We aren't actually furious about the dishwasher; we’re just running on empty, and it’s easier to argue about something small than to face the deeper stress we’re carrying.

We do the exact same thing in our faith. Talking about God can feel intimidating. So many of us are afraid of saying the wrong thing or getting the theology wrong, so we try to sound smart, or we hide behind churchy jargon. We use big words like sanctification—be honest, if I stopped right now and asked, would most of us even be able to define what sanctification actually means?—or we use internal shorthand like fellowship and stewardship. But really, it’s just a shield to protect ourselves. We get so caught up in worrying about saying the right words that we lose sight of what actually matters.

And why do we do this? Because many of us are exhausted. We’re carrying the heavy weight of a long, hard season, dealing with loss, empty seats, and open positions in our community. Beyond our own walls, we're constantly bombarded by the instability, conflict, and division in the world around us—and that daily weight takes a heavy, quiet toll on our spirit. When we are bone-tired, we pick small fights. We argue over the color of a carpet, the font in the bulletin, or a minor policy detail. We aren't really mad about the font; we're just tired and grieving, using small arguments to hide it. It feels safer to manage a simple administrative task than it does to stand honestly before the living God.

Today, we are invited to step out of that noisy clutter and hear the clear, simple truth of the Gospel.

Let’s anchor ourselves in scripture, from Paul’s second letter to Timothy:

Remember Jesus Christ, raised from the dead, a descendant of David—that is my gospel, for which I suffer hardship, even to the point of being chained like a criminal. But the word of God is not chained. Therefore I endure everything for the sake of the elect, so that they may also obtain the salvation that is in Christ Jesus, with eternal glory. The saying is sure:

If we have died with him, we will also live with him; if we endure, we will also reign with him; if we deny him, he will also deny us; if we are faithless, he remains faithful—for he cannot deny himself.

Remind them of this, and warn them before God that they are to avoid wrangling over words, which does no good but only ruins those who are listening. Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved by him, a worker who has no need to be ashamed, rightly explaining the word of truth. –2 Timothy 2:8-15 (NRSVUE)

Paul gives us a powerful contrast: the messenger may be in chains, but the Word of God cannot be chained. 

My old judge’s KISS rule was really just a secular version of Paul’s advice to Timothy. To "rightly explain the word of truth" doesn't mean making faith more complicated. It means stripping away the clutter that confuses people. Keeping it simple isn't about being stupid; it’s about getting out of the way so the truth can do its work.

We are always tempted to put God in a neat administrative box we can manage and control. But God’s Word refuses to stay boxed in. The prophet Jeremiah tried to stay quiet and keep God’s message to himself because it was too hard, but he said it felt like a fire burning in his bones that he couldn't hold in.

Paul writes from a prison cell with that same burning fire. He is in chains, but the message is free. The Gospel isn't a collection of clever theories; it is God actively changing and renewing the world. When we are too tired to hold everything together, God’s unchained Word steps in. It breaks open our neat little boxes and makes things new. It gives us a simple, confident promise: Even when we are faithless, God remains faithful.

We see the ultimate "KISS" rule in action today at the baptismal font. Baptism isn't a complex ritual; it’s the simplest thing in the world. A little water, a few clear words, and a profound promise. We might perform the outward act and pour the water, but it is God who welcomes people in through grace, and it is the Holy Spirit who does the real work—cleansing, renewing, and claiming us as God's own.

In this water, God shows us that divine love doesn't depend on our energy levels, our perfect words, or our ability to control everything. This simple gift gives us what we need to move forward. It tells us that we don't have to pretend to have it all together. We just have to let the Holy Spirit do what we cannot do for ourselves.

So as we leave today, I invite you to drop the defenses. The Psalmist tells us that seeking God’s simple truth is the key to real freedom. We are called to be workers approved by God—not people who never get tired, but people who aren't ashamed to admit when they are weary and need help.

Everything changes the moment we stop relying on our own limited strength. In this place, there is grace enough for us to drop the act, set down the small arguments, and be honest about our weary hearts.

You are held by a God who does not tire, washed by a Spirit that continuously renews, and saved by a Word that can never be chained. So leave the clutter behind. Step out into this week knowing that you are loved, you are forgiven, and you can simply let God be God.

Amen.

Preached Sunday, August 2, 2026, at Vista Lutheran Church, St. Louis Park, MN.

The Guarded House: Ancestral Ash and Living Flame

You know, as your new pastor—and as someone still trying to figure out which light switch controls which hallway in this building—I have to tell you: there’s something wonderfully, maddeningly quirky about church people. We are a unique group. We have our "assigned" pews that we’ve claimed through some ancient unwritten rule, and Heaven help the visitor who accidentally sits in the spot where the pew squeaks. We have our long, passionate debates over the exact brand of decaf coffee served in the fellowship hall—because apparently, the wrong coffee bean is the first step toward heresy.

I may be new to the Vista community, but I am already falling in love with this church family.

And if we’re being honest, most of us didn’t show up here today because we have life all figured out. I certainly don't. The writer and theologian Frederick Buechner is famous for his quotes. He’s the one who so beautifully wrote that “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” But he also wrote that when a person looks in the mirror in the morning, what they see is "at least eight parts chicken, phony, slob." It’s an honest, funny reminder of our human weaknesses.

We come here to Vista with our messy parts and our timid hearts. We often carry a faith that feels less like a shiny trophy and more like an old hand-me-down sweater—inherited, a bit itchy, and maybe a few sizes too big, but somehow exactly what we need to stay warm.

We represent a faith passed down from person to person, often through the very people who knew our flaws best. When we turn to Scripture today, we find that even the Apostle Paul didn't start his letter with heavy theological arguments. Instead, he started with family history, reminding his friend Timothy that his faith didn't just drop out of the sky—it had a home, a mother, and a grandmother.

We read from 2nd Timothy...

Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God, for the sake of the promise of life that is in Christ Jesus,

To Timothy, my beloved child: Grace, mercy, and peace from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Lord.

I am grateful to God—whom I worship with a clear conscience, as my ancestors did—when I remember you constantly in my prayers night and day. Recalling your tears, I long to see you so that I may be filled with joy. I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that lived first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice and now, I am sure, lives in you. For this reason I remind you to rekindle the gift of God that is within you through the laying on of my hands, for God did not give us a spirit of cowardice but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.

Do not be ashamed, then, of the testimony about our Lord or of me his prisoner, but join with me in suffering for the gospel, in the power of God, who saved us and called us with a holy calling, not according to our works but according to his own purpose and grace, and this grace was given to us in Christ Jesus before the ages began, but it has now been revealed through the appearing of our Savior Jesus Christ, who abolished death and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel. For this gospel I was appointed a herald and an apostle and a teacher, and for this reason I suffer as I do. But I am not ashamed, for I know the one in whom I have put my trust, and I am sure that he is able to guard until that day the deposit I have entrusted to him. Hold to the standard of sound teaching that you have heard from me, in the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus. Guard the good deposit entrusted to you, with the help of the Holy Spirit living in us. --2 Timothy 1:1–14 (NRSVue)

I grew up in a more conservative Lutheran tradition, and it taught me a lot about routine and respect. The liturgy was as solid as the oak pews, and "reverence" was measured by how still you could sit without your shoes making noise on the floor. There was beauty in that structure, even if it felt a little stiff at times.

But the reason that tradition stayed alive for me was because of the real faith I saw in my family, particularly, my mother and my grandmother and grandfather. They had what Paul calls anupokritos—a "genuine faith." Literally, it means a faith without a mask, without faking it. My mother didn't just memorize what she was supposed to believe; she lived it. When life got hard, her faith wasn't a list of rules to follow—it was the ground she stood on.

She lived out a spirit of power, love, and a clear mind. She showed me that real faith isn't about doing every religious ritual perfectly. It’s about having a heart that trusts the God who defeated death.

That upbringing gave me my foundation. And just like Timothy, and just like me, our community here at Vista has its own history and soil.

Paul tells us that God hasn't given us a spirit of fear. When we feel like our faith is fading, he offers us three distinct gifts to lean on. First is the Spirit of Power. This isn't about human strength or winning arguments in a church meeting; it is God's strength that helps us keep going when things get tough. Second is the Spirit of Love, which pushes us to care for others and keeps our focus on helping a hurting world, even when it costs us something. Finally, he gives us a Clear Mind, or Sophronismos. In the original Greek, this means clear thinking and self-control. For us at Vista, it lets us look back at the two and a half years without a pastor not as the end of the church, but as just one chapter in a much longer story of God's faithfulness. It’s seeing that pause as a comma, not a period.

Here is the best part: Paul is confident that God guards what is placed in God’s hands. Paul tells Timothy to guard the faith, but he also reminds him that God is the one ultimately holding onto it.

Vista, I know you’ve felt the weight of keeping this church going on your own shoulders for a long time. But our faith is safe because God never lets go of it. The Lord has been watching over you, even while you were working hard to keep things going.

As your new pastor, I want to talk honestly about where we are. Vista has been through a lot. You made it through a long time without a pastor, and you brought different church traditions together. Each of those traditions had its own "Lois and Eunice" figures—faithful people who planted seeds years ago. Some people might look at the past and think the fire has gone out.

They are wrong.

Ash isn't useless trash; it’s proof that a fire was actually burning. As I step into this role with you, we will take time to grieve what we've lost over the years. But remember: we don't honor the people who came before us by turning the church into a museum. We honor them by taking the spark they left us and fanning it into a real flame today.

The faith of our ancestors isn't a heavy load we have to drag around. It’s fuel for our future.

So, Vista, here is our goal: rekindle the gift.

Don’t look at the future with fear. We aren’t doing this alone, and I’m not doing it without you. We are doing it together, with the help of the Holy Spirit inside us. We are taking that old, inherited faith and realizing it’s exactly what we need for the work God has ahead of us.

Let’s be a people who admit our weaknesses, but rely completely on the power of God. And, with God’s help, let’s take the ashes of the past and turn them into a living flame today.

Amen.

Preached Sunday, July 26, 2026, at Vista Lutheran Church, St. Louis Park, MN.