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.
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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.
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