This morning, the smoke from yesterday’s fireworks is clearing, and our neighborhoods are settling down after celebrating a massive milestone: the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. As a nation, we love a milestone. As a Lutheran pastor, I usually love a milestone too, though I’ve learned that my spiritual gifts do not include lighting a charcoal grill. There is a specific kind of public humiliation in standing before a group of hungry people while your lighter fluid fails for the third time and the potato salad begins to reach a questionable temperature. But even as we navigate our neighborhood barbecues, we gather here for a different kind of work. Today, on this July 5th, we are called to hold two heavy things together: gratitude and humility. We are grateful for a vision of equality named so boldly in 1776, yet we are humble enough to admit we are still a long way from the finish line.
In his letter to our church this week, Presiding Bishop Yehiel Curry describes this as the "Already and Not-Yet." This framework changes how we see our country. We love the promise of the "Already"—the revolutionary idea that all are created equal—while we simultaneously lament the "Not-Yet" of our historical failures. To be a person of faith in a democracy is to live in this tension. It’s easier to just eat the potato salad and ignore the struggle, but the Gospel calls us to a deeper honesty. We are a people living under the weight of an empire while holding onto a promise. It is a story as old as the Bible itself, and it brings us back to the heart of the Persian Empire.
Last week, we started the book of Esther, noting that it is the only book in the Bible where God is never mentioned. Not even once. For those of us living in a secular world where it often feels like God is keeping a low profile, this "hiddenness" is a gift. It tells us that God’s providence often moves in the shadows, working through what look like coincidences. In Esther 4, the Jewish people faced a state-sanctioned crisis. A high-ranking official named Haman had secured a legal decree to annihilate them. It was a death sentence written into the law of the land.
When the decree went out, Esther’s cousin Mordecai sat in sackcloth, while Esther sat in the palace, shielded but terrified. Mordecai sent her a message: "Who knows? Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for such a time as this." Esther had to make a choice. She could cling to her own safety, or she could risk her life. She chose the risk. This teaches us that human agency is often the "wing" of God’s protection. We know this at Vista Lutheran. We saw it when this congregation served as an oasis of dignity for our Spanish-speaking neighbors during the recent ICE presence in Minneapolis. You didn't wait for a lightning bolt from heaven; you became the "wing" ourselves.
Now, let us hear how that daring risk turned the tide of history.
I invite you to hear the end of Esther’s story—a narrative where a decree of death is undone by a decree of life.
So the king and Haman went in to feast with Queen Esther. On the second day, as they were drinking wine, the king again said to Esther, “What is your petition, Queen Esther? It shall be granted you. And what is your request? Even to half of my kingdom, it shall be fulfilled.” Then Queen Esther answered, “If I have won your favor, O king, and if it pleases the king, let my life be given me—that is my petition—and the lives of my people—that is my request. For we have been sold, I and my people, to be destroyed, to be killed, and to be annihilated..."
Then King Ahasuerus said to Queen Esther, “Who is he, and where is he, who has presumed to do this?” Esther said, “A foe and an enemy, this wicked Haman!” Then Haman was terrified before the king and the queen... Then Harbona, one of the eunuchs in attendance on the king, said, “Look, the very pole that Haman has prepared for Mordecai... stands at Haman's house, fifty cubits high.” And the king said, “Hang him on that.” So they hung Haman on the pole that he had prepared for Mordecai.
Mordecai recorded these things and sent letters to all the Jews... enjoining them that they should keep the fourteenth day of the month Adar and also the fifteenth day... as the days on which the Jews gained relief from their enemies and as the month that had been turned for them from sorrow into gladness and from mourning into a holiday... Queen Esther... gave full written authority confirming this second letter about Purim... The command of Esther fixed these practices of Purim, and it was recorded in writing. –Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; Esther 9:20-22, 29-32 (NRSVue)
This story moves through the hyperbole of empire—from a ludicrously tall, seventy-five-foot stake intended for execution to a massive celebration of survival—marking a decisive, righteous reversal where mourning was legally transformed into a holiday. This Great Reversal in Persia mirrors the vision of equality cast 250 years ago in America; both represent a moment where the law shifted from a tool of oppression to a promise of defense and joy.
In our tradition, we call this vision Shalom. Shalom is more than just a lack of conflict or a quiet afternoon. It is a "Kingdom Vision" where every neighbor has an equal and celebrated seat at the table. It is the wholeness God intends for all of us.
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Bishop Curry reminds us that as Lutherans, our faith gives us a specific role in a democracy. As Lutheran Christians, we believe that God calls us first to remember our connection to each other through baptism, as Scripture teaches us that we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another. Second, we are called to name sin for what it really is and to repent of it, as the Augsburg Confession and the catechisms remind us. And finally, we are called to serve the common good in society as imperfect reflections of God’s ultimate - and perfect - intention.
Naming sin is not about being "political"; it is a theological necessity if we want to move toward Shalom. We cannot celebrate the "Already" of our freedom without repenting for the "Not-Yet" of our failures. We must name the displacement of Indigenous peoples from this very land. We must remember the Japanese American families - and German American families - interned in camps during World War II. We must acknowledge that even now, the lives of our queer and transgender neighbors are deeply impacted by orders that deny their dignity. We remember the photo of Elizabeth Eckford, one of the Little Rock Nine - a teenager facing a wall of hate just to go to school - and we admit that our stated values have often been left behind.
So, what does it mean to celebrate a promise that is real but not yet finished?
It means we live with a hope that does not ignore the truth. We see this in our own identity here at Vista. We are a merged church, the union of Prince of Peace and Wooddale. That merger was not a sign of scarcity; it was a sacred period of gestation. We allowed our individual pasts to become the "Already," so that a new "Not-Yet" could be born. We are a living example of many different streams flowing into one river, becoming one body for the sake of the world.
Our church is imperfect. Our nation is imperfect. But we are held by a perfect grace. The Jews in Esther’s time faced the very real threat of total annihilation, yet they found themselves preserved by the hidden hand of God. And we, too, in our own context and in this moment, are a people held by that same perfect grace.
Today marks the final Sunday of our series, Hidden Hands, Daring Choices. Over these last weeks across Ruth and Esther, we have watched how God moves in the quiet corners of history, and how ordinary people are called to step out in faith. Next Sunday, we will pivot to Paul’s letters to Timothy as we begin a new series called The Guarded House. But before we turn that page, let us carry the lessons of Esther and Ruth into the week ahead.
We are not a people who only look backward to 1776 or to ancient history. We look to the future God is making possible right now. We are rooted in the resurrection of Christ, which means we already have the promise, even while we work for its completion.
We are never alone in this work. We have the presence of God and the accompaniment of the Holy Spirit. As you head out into the week ahead, I leave you with this call: be grateful for the vision of freedom, be humble about our failures, and be bold in serving our neighbors.
We are people of the resurrection. God's future is making all things new, right here, and right now. And you and I - we - have been called just for such a time as this.
Amen.
Preached Sunday, July 5, 2026, at Vista Lutheran Church, St. Louis Park, MN.
