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.

Hidden Hands, Daring Choices: The Tapestry of Grace (Ruth 4)

No sooner had Boaz gone up to the gate and sat down there than the next-of-kin of whom Boaz had spoken came passing by. So Boaz said, “Come over; sit down here.” And he went over and sat down. Then Boaz took ten men of the elders of the town and said, “Sit down here,” so they sat down. He then said to the next-of-kin, “Naomi, who has come back from the country of Moab, is selling the parcel of land that belonged to our kinsman Elimelech. So I thought I would tell you of it and say: Buy it in the presence of those sitting here and in the presence of the elders of my people. If you will redeem it, redeem it; but if you will not, tell me, so that I may know; for there is no one prior to you to redeem it, and I come after you.” So he said, “I will redeem it.” Then Boaz said, “The day you acquire the field from the hand of Naomi, you are also acquiring Ruth the Moabite, the widow of the dead man, to maintain the dead man’s name on his inheritance.” At this, the next-of-kin said, “I cannot redeem it for myself without damaging my own inheritance. Take my right of redemption yourself, for I cannot redeem it.”

Now this was the custom in former times in Israel concerning redeeming and exchanging to confirm a transaction: the one took off a sandal and gave it to the other; this was the manner of attesting in Israel. So when the next-of-kin said to Boaz, “Acquire it for yourself,” he took off his sandal. Then Boaz said to the elders and all the people, “You are witnesses today that I have acquired from the hand of Naomi all that belonged to Elimelech and all that belonged to Chilion and Mahlon. I have also acquired Ruth the Moabite, the wife of Mahlon, to be my wife, to maintain the dead man’s name on his inheritance, in order that the name of the dead may not be cut off from his kindred and from the gate of his native place; today you are witnesses.” Then all the people who were at the gate, along with the elders, said, “We are witnesses. May the Lord make the woman who is coming into your house like Rachel and Leah, who together built up the house of Israel. May you produce children in Ephrathah and bestow a name in Bethlehem; and, through the children that the Lord will give you by this young woman, may your house be like the house of Perez, whom Tamar bore to Judah.”

So Boaz took Ruth, and she became his wife. When they came together, the Lord made her conceive, and she bore a son. Then the women said to Naomi, “Blessed be the Lord, who has not left you this day without next-of-kin, and may his name be renowned in Israel! He shall be to you a restorer of life and a nourisher of your old age, for your daughter-in-law who loves you, who is more to you than seven sons, has borne him.” Then Naomi took the child and laid him in her bosom and became his nurse. The women of the neighborhood gave him a name, saying, “A son has been born to Naomi.” They named him Obed; he became the father of Jesse, the father of David.

Now these are the descendants of Perez: Perez became the father of Hezron, Hezron of Ram, Ram of Amminadab, Amminadab of Nahshon, Nahshon of Salmon, Salmon of Boaz, Boaz of Obed, Obed of Jesse, and Jesse of David. --Ruth 4 (NRSVue)

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One of my favorite things about early summer in Minnesota is the explosion of life all around us. The trees are heavy with new green leaves, and the gardens are beginning to sprout, even if it’s been a little cool lately. In nature, summer feels like a steady state of plenty. It is a "green muchness" that feeds our souls deeper than we often realize.

To see how this connects to our faith—and to the end of the Book of Ruth—I want you to picture another landscape. Early in my ministry, I served a church in Goshen, Kentucky, just on the outskirts of Louisville. It is a place of wide-open, rolling green hills that look like waves of deep bluegrass. You can drive for miles past the black and white fences of famous horse farms, where the rich soil makes the grass look painted.

This is the home of farmer and poet Wendell Berry. He has spent his life teaching us that nature moves in reliable cycles. Even the deepest winter deprivation eventually returns to abundant fields and orchards. This is a perfect frame for the end of Ruth. As theologian Parker Palmer writes, summer is when the promises of a difficult season finally come due, repaid with compounded interest.

The climax of Ruth and Naomi’s story takes place at the city gate. In the ancient world, this was the local hub for law and business. Boaz goes there to settle the matter of Naomi’s family land, left behind years ago during the famine. While there, Boaz meets a closer relative to Naomi. The Hebrew text calls him paloni almoni—the ancient version of "Joe Schmo."

Boaz offers Joe the deal. At first, Joe is enthusiastic because he sees a material gain. But then Boaz shares the fine print. By law, buying the land means marrying Ruth—the Moabite foreigner. He must do this to maintain the deceased heir's name on the inheritance.

Suddenly, Joe gets cold feet. He refuses, claiming it will damage his own estate. Joe is living a calculated life of self-preservation. He sees his legacy as a secure stockpile that would be diminished by helping an outsider.

In contrast, Boaz refuses to live with a scarcity mentality. He accepts the legal and social risk. In doing so, he shows us the true meaning of hesed—a word that means far more than steadfast love. It means extraordinary, self-sacrificing faithfulness. Boaz weaves his life into the histories of two destitute widows, trusting that by passing grace around, he creates more of it. 

Choosing this kind of faithful risk requires a deep peace. Wendell Berry wrote about this in his famous 1968 poem, "The Peace of Wild Things." Written during a time of national despair—amid assassinations, racial injustice, and the death of our illusions—his words remind us that we can choose joy and courage. We can lean into a grace that doesn’t depend on our own anxious schemes. He writes:

When despair for the world grows in me

I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief...

For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

When we rest in that grace - when we rest in God’s grace, we can act with courage.

We see this courage ripple out into the community of Bethlehem. When Ruth gives birth to a son, the neighborhood women don’t just watch; they share the joy. They name the child Obed themselves and proclaim, “A son has been born to Naomi!”

These women make a radical statement. They tell Naomi that Ruth is “more to you than seven sons.” In that culture, seven sons represented complete security. Yet, these women declare that Ruth’s faithful love is Naomi’s greatest blessing. Naomi, who returned home entirely empty, now experiences the fullness of generations.

This brings us to the most profound part of this summer harvest. The genealogy at the end of the book reveals that Obed would become the grandfather of King David. Think about what this means. A widow, an immigrant, and a foreigner was the person God chose to join the lineage of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

God took a foreign widow from Moab and made her the foundation of a royal lineage of hope. By choosing community over secure stockpiles of wealth, Boaz, Ruth, and Naomi allowed God to weave their lives into a tapestry of grace. It was a legacy that outlasted them and that changed the history of the world. 

When we hold tight to what we have, we create a world of lack. But when we trust the flow of God’s abundant supply and pass it along, abundance flourishes. Community is the very definition of that abundance. In choosing it, we open ourselves to God, letting God re-shape our empty spaces into a royal inheritance of hope.

And this is the ultimate promise of the harvest: in God's kingdom, no one is an outsider to grace. The borders we build, the secure stockpiles we guard, and the lines we draw between "us" and "them" melt away at the city gate of God's love. Naomi’s once-empty lap was transformed into a space of generational fullness because an outsider was welcomed in.

So as we go forth into this bright summer season, let us open our hearts, open our hands, and expand our circles. Let us trust that when we choose community, we allow God to turn our personal emptiness into a royal legacy of hope. Amen.

Preached Sunday, June 21, 2026, at Vista Lutheran Church, St. Louis Park, MN.

 

Promises Made, Promises Broken: Fear and Idols

Before today’s reading, we have both some catching up to do from last week’s story. Plus, a little remembering.

When we left off last week, the Pharaoh had finally agreed after the tenth plague and the Hebrew Passover to let God’s people go. In the intervening chapters, we read the story of Israel’s journey to freedom. Their passage through the Red Sea and God saving them from the Egyptian army.

Israel is led by Moses into the wilderness and eventually to the foot of Mount Sinai. Mount Sinai is also known as Mount Horeb, which, coincidence or not, is where Moses was first called by God to lead Israel out of slavery. It is on Mount Sinai where God comes down to be with God’s new people, Israel.

Now before we move on, we need to remember back to Genesis and to the Garden of Eden. It was in Eden that humanity was in the presence of God -  in a close and good relationship with God. Access to God’s presence, though, was eventually lost because of the rebellion of humanity. It was then that God came to Abraham and made him a promise - that through him God would bring blessing to all of the nations. But, there was a second promise to Abraham. That through him the relationship with God would be restored along with access to God’s presence. 

Which brings us back to Sinai. God come down to the top of Mount Sinai. But God’s presence is anything but comforting. So, the people send Moses up the mountain to meet with God. 

Up until now, God hasn’t asked anything of Israel. But now, God invites them back into relationship - into covenant. And with this, God is going to ask them now to do something, giving them a whole set of laws, beginning with the ten commandments. The idea is that if Israel obeys the terms of the covenant, they will be so shaped and formed by God’s laws, teaching and justice that they will become a kingdom of priests to show all the nations what God is truly like. The people accept this invitation eagerly. 

So, Moses goes up a second time to meet God and to receive all of these laws, along with lengthy and detailed instructions on the building of a tent. It is this tent that will be the tabernacle, where access to God will be restored and Israel and God can live together in peace.

But, then, something goes seriously wrong, which is where our story today picks up.

The people saw that Moses was taking a long time to come down from the mountain. They gathered around Aaron and said to him, “Come on! Make us gods who can lead us. As for this man Moses who brought us up out of the land of Egypt, we don’t have a clue what has happened to him.”

Aaron said to them, “All right, take out the gold rings from the ears of your wives, your sons, and your daughters, and bring them to me.” So all the people took out the gold rings from their ears and brought them to Aaron. He collected them and tied them up in a cloth. Then he made a metal image of a bull calf, and the people declared, “These are your gods, Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!”

When Aaron saw this, he built an altar in front of the calf. Then Aaron announced, “Tomorrow will be a festival to the Lord!” They got up early the next day and offered up entirely burned offerings and brought well-being sacrifices. The people sat down to eat and drink and then got up to celebrate.

The Lord spoke to Moses: “Hurry up and go down! Your people, whom you brought up out of the land of Egypt, are ruining everything! They’ve already abandoned the path that I commanded. They have made a metal bull calf for themselves. They’ve bowed down to it and offered sacrifices to it and declared, ‘These are your gods, Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!’” The Lord said to Moses, “I’ve been watching these people, and I’ve seen how stubborn they are. Now leave me alone! Let my fury burn and devour them. Then I’ll make a great nation out of you.”

But Moses pleaded with the Lord his God, “Lord, why does your fury burn against your own people, whom you brought out of the land of Egypt with great power and amazing force? Why should the Egyptians say, ‘He had an evil plan to take the people out and kill them in the mountains and so wipe them off the earth’? Calm down your fierce anger. Change your mind about doing terrible things to your own people. Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, your servants, whom you yourself promised, ‘I’ll make your descendants as many as the stars in the sky. And I’ve promised to give your descendants this whole land to possess for all time.’” Then the Lord changed his mind about the terrible things he said he would do to his people.  Exodus 32:1-14 (CEB)

It’s interesting, isn’t it, what happens when fear kicks in. Up to this point, Moses has for the people been the representation of God. But, as he is delayed in coming back down from the mountain, the people begin to be afraid. As they wait at the bottom of the mountain, their anxiety builds. These people who have been traumatized by lives lived under slavery, who have been liberated in an amazing, yet terrifying, way by God, begin to be afraid. Then, when Moses doesn’t return, day after day, one can only wonder what they are thinking. That this God had brought them out of slavery, that Moses has abandoned them, and that they will simply perish in the wilderness. 

So, they turn to the one remaining representative of God in their midst. Aaron. Our English translation doesn’t give it justice. In fact the language in the original Hebrew suggests that they confront Aaron angrily and demand that he do something. Israel had just agreed to the rules and they immediately mess them up. Even as Aaron tries to bring them back in, it is impossible. Because the fear has taken hold of them.

I wonder how often this happens to us. How often fear takes hold of us and we allow it pull us away from God and from who God wants us to be. And if you say that this never happens to you, perhaps you are the one most living in fear.

Up on the mountain, we see a God who is angry and who wants to destroy the people. “Your people,” God says to Moses. “Your people whom you brought up out of the land of Egypt - they are ruining everything.”

God then proposes a backup plan - that God will destroy the people and make a new nation from Moses. It’s not clear whether God is completely fed up with Israel or whether this is just some kind of test for Moses. But, then, God tells Moses to leave - to give God some space so that God’s anger can burn hot.

It’s an uncomfortable image of God for us, isn’t it? It messes with our concept of a God who is tender and compassionate and reframes it to remember that there is this ferocious side to God who doesn’t abide people doing things in violation of God’s covenant. It makes us a little uncomfortable, doesn’t it? But, isn’t it true that, if we have tamed God then we, too, have begun to worship a false god like Israel? And, perhaps, need to be reminded that God is a power that is not to be trifled with?

Moses responds. His approach is interesting here - perhaps a little bit of reverse psychology. He figures out what will matter to God and then helps God remember. First, he appeals to God’s reputation. “This will look bad for you. You brought Israel out with such power. How will this look to all the nations?” Then, Moses appeals to God’s character and reminds God of God’s obligation under the covenant. “Remember the patriarchs and your promise to them? Do you want to break that promise?” 

Then, our story tells us, “the LORD changed his mind.”

This entire mountaintop scene may make us a little uneasy.  It may make us struggle between a biblical understanding and a philosophical understanding of God. Isn’t God, after all, unchangeable? Steadfast? Faithful? 

Yet, the twist to this story is that, by its end, Moses has helped God to remain unchanged - by keeping God’s covenant with Israel. By sticking with the original plan. God was about to change, but Moses has talked God into keeping God’s original promise. Unchanged. Steadfast. Faithful to God’s own promises. 

This is the God we know, the God we trust. The God described just a couple of chapters later: The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in covenant faithfulness. Forgiving sin, but not leaving the wicked unpunished. (Ex. 34:6-7)

Perhaps that’s the most important message for us in this text today. We, who are followers of Jesus, God’s Son sent to us to redeem us. To restore us back into relationship and into the presence of God. No matter how many times we mess up. No matter how often our fear drives us away to other gods. God continues to seek us out. Relentlessly. Steadfastly. With covenantal faithfulness. 

May this give us comfort in times of fear. In times of anxiety. And at every time in our lives.  Amen.

Preached October 11, 2020, online with Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY

19th Sunday after Pentecost

Readings: Exodus 32:1-14; Luke 22:33-34

Responding to God's Love: Ruth - God's Hesed

Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father, and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

This fall we’ve been reading stories of people who lived out God’s calling for their lives through the relationships they had with God and with other people. Today is our sixth story of covenant and relationship. Before we begin looking at today’s story, we’re going to see how well we remember the previous five stories.

To do this, I need five volunteers. Each one of these people represents one of our stories. Your job, first, is to figure out which story they symbolize. Your second job is to, then, identify the order that these stories appear in the Bible. If you need it, you can use the pew Bible to help jog your memory. 

• Gen. 2:16-17 - Plant, symbolizing creation
• Genesis 18:14a - Bread, symbolizing Abraham and Sarah’s hospitality
• Genesis 32:28 - Wrestler, symbolizing Jacob wrestling with God
• Exodus 3:5 - Barefoot, symbolizing "holy ground"
• Deuteronomy 6:5 - Ten Commandments or tablet, symbolizing God giving Moses the Ten Commandments

Now that we’ve reviewed these stories of God and God’s relationship to people, let’s hear today's story. It’s also about relationship, although God doesn’t play a direct role in this story. So, perhaps, for us, it’s an important story. Because in these times after Christ, we don’t see a visible God present in our world, but more of a hidden God, working behind the scenes, just as in today’s story.

During the days when the judges ruled, there was a famine in the land. A man with his wife and two sons went from Bethlehem of Judah to dwell in the territory of Moab. The name of that man was Elimelech, the name of his wife was Naomi, and the names of his two sons were Mahlon and Chilion. They were Ephrathites from Bethlehem in Judah. They entered the territory of Moab and settled there.

But Elimelech, Naomi’s husband, died. Then only she was left, along with her two sons. They took wives for themselves, Moabite women; the name of the first was Orpah and the name of the second was Ruth. And they lived there for about ten years.

But both of the sons, Mahlon and Chilion, also died. Only the woman was left, without her two children and without her husband.

Then she arose along with her daughters-in-law to return from the field of Moab, because while in the territory of Moab she had heard that the Lord had paid attention to his people by providing food for them. She left the place where she had been, and her two daughters-in-law went with her. They went along the road to return to the land of Judah.

Naomi said to her daughters-in-law, “Go, turn back, each of you to the household of your mother. May the Lord deal faithfully with you, just as you have done with the dead and with me. May the Lord provide for you so that you may find security, each woman in the household of her husband.” Then she kissed them, and they lifted up their voices and wept.

But they replied to her, “No, instead we will return with you, to your people.”

Naomi replied, “Turn back, my daughters. Why would you go with me? Will there again be sons in my womb, that they would be husbands for you? Turn back, my daughters. Go. I am too old for a husband. If I were to say that I have hope, even if I had a husband tonight, and even more, if I were to bear sons— would you wait until they grew up? Would you refrain from having a husband? No, my daughters. This is more bitter for me than for you, since the Lord’s will has come out against me.”

Then they lifted up their voices and wept again. Orpah kissed her mother-in-law, but Ruth stayed with her. Naomi said, “Look, your sister-in-law is returning to her people and to her gods. Turn back after your sister-in-law.”

But Ruth replied, “Don’t urge me to abandon you, to turn back from following after you. Wherever you go, I will go; and wherever you stay, I will stay. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God. Wherever you die, I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord do this to me and more so if even death separates me from you.”  --Ruth 1:1-17 (CEB)

Today, we read only a portion of the story of Ruth. Ruth is only one of two women with an entire book in scripture that is dedicated to telling her story. Who knows the other book? Yes, it’s the book of Esther. Esther is a Jewish queen. Ruth is neither Jewish. And, she is definitely not royalty. Yet, she is one of only four women who are named in Jesus’ genealogy, or history. Our key verses today are from chapter one. The book of Ruth is only four chapters long and it’s a great story. So, when you get home today, I encourage you to read the rest of Ruth.

There are many different approaches that we might make to today’s story. As it opens, we hear that there is a famine in Bethlehem. The irony here is that Bethlehem means “House of Bread.” The “House of Bread” is now empty. And Elimelech, our opening character, and his wife, Naomi,  Naomi, and their two sons, Mahlon and Chilion, must leave Judah, their home country and travel to Moab, another country, for food. So, one approach to today’s story might be that of food insecurity. Something that we, here, at Grace & Glory seek to address every week. 

Another approach might be related to the relationship between nations. Because the history between Moab and Judah is complex. Isn’t that something we see and understand, especially, as we grow older. That relationships between nations, as between people, are not simple. Or black and white. But, that they are filled with complexity. Moab and Judah are cousins. The Moabites are descendents of Lot, Abraham’s nephew. They are family. And, yet, there is a long history between them. Warning made to Israel that the women of Moab are seductive and will seduce Israelite men away from God. It’s this belief that eventually results in a law that forbids Moabites from entering Israel’s religious assemblies to the tenth generation. Yet, they are family, albeit, the black sheep of the family. 

To approach from this angle would also work, especially given the news stories this week of the situation at the Turkish and Syrian borders and the long, historic relationship between the Kurds and the Turks - a relationship fraught with complexity.

A third angle, or approach, might be that of immigration. Elimelech and Naomi and their sons are refugees from famine. Traveling to another country for food - a country that might not welcome them wholeheartedly and, in fact, a country that might reject them. That might shame them. Simply for seeking security for their family.

How appropriate this approach might be for us today, when the number of refugees in our world has surpassed the numbers from the time of the second world war and as our own country has continued to reduce the number of refugees it is accepting annually. To be an immigrant in our world today means to be without a country. Rejected. Isolated. Insecure.

A fourth approach (Who knew there could be so many ways to approach this story??) - a fourth approach, might be that of women. And, particularly, the role of women in a patriarchal society. Where one is considered property. Devalued. Not only for one’s ideas or opinions, but even for one’s body. Which doesn’t even belong to oneself. In our #MeToo era, this, too, would be a valid approach.

There are even more approaches. There is loss. The loss Naomi experienced with not only the death of her husband, but of both her sons. And the insecurity that resulted for her. And her daughters-in-law. Related to this is the issue of infertility - that after ten years of marriage, neither of her sons and their wives have had children. And so, there is also loss her. The loss of hope. And as a congregation that has had members experience much loss this year, this, too, would be an appropriate approach.

But, there is one approach that I will call an “umbrella approach.” You know when you open an umbrella and it covers everyone under it, this approach is like that. Because it is an overriding theme that we hear and experience throughout this complex story with so many different themes and approaches running through it.

That umbrella approach is connected to the Hebrew word hesed. We’ve heard that word before. It’s hard to define for us in English. It means “steadfast love” or “loving kindness.” In the Septuagint, which is the original Greek Bible translated from the Hebrew, the Greek word used for the Hebrew word hesed is the word we translate into English as grace. Normally, hesed is attributed to God. It’s a word used hundreds of times in the psalms to describe a God who is faithful. And loving. A God who shows a kind of covenantal love. The same kind of love that we see in the marriage covenant. A love that hangs in. Through the thick and the thin. The until “death do us part” kind of love. That kind of love. It is true that hesed describes the love and faithfulness of our God. The hesed that God continually shows to God’s people. To us.

Yet, in this small story in scripture, the hesed shown is that by Ruth toward Naomi. Ruth, who makes a choice to remain with her mother-in-law, instead of returning to her own mother. Who, then, returns with her mother-in-law back to Naomi’s home village, to her home country. Ruth, who is now the foreigner. Who is willing to risk everything - her family, her country, perhaps even her life - to show love and faithfulness - hesed - to Naomi, her mother-in-law.  

Because, you see, hesed is not just an adjective. Hesed is not just about an emotion. Like the Hebrew word shema last week, hesed is also a verb. It’s about action. About putting love into action. Whether it is to feed the hungry, to make peace between nations, to care for the immigrant, to lift up women and others who for way too long have been treated as “other,” or to simply be with and accompany those who have experienced deep loss, to show hesed is to show love in action. 

This is who we are to be. Because this is whose we are. 

We love because God first loved us. Amen.

Preached October 12, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY
Pentecost 18
Readings: Mark 3:33-35, Psalm 126, Ruth 1:1-17

Cultivating Calm and Stillness (Letting Go of Anxiety as a Lifestyle)

Living in the Most High’s shelter,
    camping in the Almighty’s shade,
I say to the Lord, “You are my refuge, my stronghold!
    You are my God—the one I trust!”

God will save you from the hunter’s trap
    and from deadly sickness.
God will protect you with his pinions;
    you’ll find refuge under his wings.
    His faithfulness is a protective shield.
Don’t be afraid of terrors at night,
    arrows that fly in daylight,
    or sickness that prowls in the dark,
    destruction that ravages at noontime.
Even if one thousand people fall dead next to you,
    ten thousand right beside you—
    it won’t happen to you.
Just look with your eyes,
    and you will see the wicked punished.
Because you’ve made the Lord my refuge,
    the Most High, your place of residence—
        no evil will happen to you;
        no disease will come close to your tent.
Because he will order his messengers to help you,
    to protect you wherever you go.
They will carry you with their own hands
    so you don’t bruise your foot on a stone.
You’ll march on top of lions and vipers;
    you’ll trample young lions and serpents underfoot.

God says, “Because you are devoted to me,
    I’ll rescue you.
    I’ll protect you because you know my name.
Whenever you cry out to me, I’ll answer.
    I’ll be with you in troubling times.
    I’ll save you and glorify you.
    I’ll fill you full with old age.
    I’ll show you my salvation.” Psalm 91 (CEB)

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

Last Wednesday, I introduced to you the theme of our conversations on this midweek Lenten evenings - that of “Cultivating and Letting Go.” We’re using a different psalm each week, corresponding to the psalm used each week in the Lenten devotionals we’re using this year. We’re also using elements of Brene Brown’s book, The Gifts of Imperfection.

Tonight, our focus is on letting go of anxiety and cultivating calm and stillness in our lives.

In my late 20’s, I separated from the man who is now my former husband. What we did not understand at the time and fully appreciate was how expensive it was to go through a separation or a divorce. Instead of having two incomes to cover the costs of one household, this change resulted in having to cover the costs of two households.  As a result, it seemed that there was never enough money. For me, this led to many sleepless nights. And, then, to nights when I would wake up sweating, unable to breathe and feeling pain in my chest. I was experiencing what I now know to be anxiety attacks.

Because of my own shame related to our separation and lack of money, I never reached out to anyone for any kind of help or assistance. Instead I kept it all inside and simply lived with it.

I mentioned last week that the focus of Dr. Brene Brown’s research is shame. I also mentioned the theological connection between shame and original sin. That shame is at the heart of our sin. It is deep-seated. It is at the root of many of our individual and societal challenges. It is an ugly part of us. In Jungian psychology, shame is referred to as the “swampland of the soul.”

Now, anxiety is a normal thing for us. We can reasonably be anxious over things in our lives. Yet, when anxiety grows to the point that it begins to take over our life - well, this is a problem. It becomes a psychological disorder. The technical name for this is Generalized Anxiety Disorder, or GAD. The definition of this disorder is “feelings that extend beyond logical worry in a way that is unreasonable, unwarranted, or uncontrollable.”

In the United States, we are head and shoulders above the rest of the world with diagnosed cases of Generalized Anxiety Disorder.

This disorder often arises from a sense that we fail to meet expectations, from feelings that we aren’t good enough. From shame.

And, so, like my response, the typical reaction is to isolate ourselves. To keep our anxiety to ourselves. To not talk about it. If we are fortunate, we have someone who notices. And asks.

Tonight, our reading is from Psalm 91. Notice, beginning with the first verse, that this is the tale of someone who is on a journey. Someone who is “living in God’s shelter.” Someone who is “camping in God’s shade.” It is a picture of a God who is a refuge.

In Hebrew culture, this word “refuge” was understood to be the temple. That space set apart from the world with special protective rights, which included asylum and an obligation to keep peace within its very walls. The temple was a place of sanctuary. And, yet, even though it was a place of asylum, peace, and sanctuary, it was also a place of life. A place central to the community for its festivals. Festivals that included meals, music, and dance. But, mostly, the temple was the place where God promised to be present.

In Psalm 91, this refuge, this temple, this place of sanctuary is not a physical place. But, this refuge is God. Our very God is this place of sanctuary and asylum.

Notice, also, in the psalm, the protective imagery that is used to describe God. 

A walled fortress. Walled cities and forts on the heights provided “secure” refuge for people who lived in surrounding and unprotected villages and farmsteads.

Then, there is the image of God’s wings and the refuge that is found there. Reminding us of the feminine imagery of a mother hen protecting her young chicks. This same imagery is intended to remind us of the protective area in the temple - in the secure area underneath the outstretched wings of the cherubim that protected the holy of holies in that most sacred part of the temple.

Then, notice, God image as protective shield. Particularly, God’s faithful protection. That arrows shot by our enemies will simply bounce off and not strike us.

Then, finally, there is this image of God’s protection that exists day and night, 24/7. All the time.

Given all of these images, how might we respond when we begin to feel anxiety, whether it is normal and reasonable, or abnormal and unreasonable?

According to Brene Brown, the first step is to notice it. To first become aware of when we are feeling it.

And, then, to breathe. At creation, God breathed God’s very breath into us. God’s ruach. God’s very Spirit.

The next step is to practice. To practice seeking out calm and stillness. We’re reminded of the passage from Psalm 46: “Be still and know that I am God.” And from Romans 8: “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Then, lastly, to reach out. Whether it is to a trusted family member, a friend, a counselor, a pastor. We should not be ashamed to reach out and ask for help and support.

Finally, if you noticed the closing of tonight's psalm, it ends with finding “salvation.” The same word that we heard last week in Psalm 51. A word that means healing, wholeness, shalom. Or, according to Brene Brown, wholeheartedness.

This week, as I was reading in our Lenten devotional, I came across these words:

“As we read this psalm during the season of Lent, it serves as a reminder that with God at our side, our trials and tribulations won’t overcome us. More than that, as we look to Jesus and his journey to the cross, we are reminded again of how seriously God took his word to be with us in our suffering. Taking on our sin, our sorrows, and our suffering, Jesus bore them on the cross and laid the foundation for their ultimate defeat. In Christ, God truly has rescued us and shown us his salvation.”

May we continue to cultivate and let go. Amen.

Preached March 13, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Midweek Lenten Worship 1.
Reading: Psalm 91.

God's Plan for Peace: Practicing Peace

Grace and peace to you from God, our Father, and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Today, with our reading from the prophet Micah, we make a shift. It’s actually our third shift this fall. We began in September in the Torah - those first five books of the Hebrew scripture that are the instruction manual for Israel - instructions that teach them about who God is and who they are to be in relationship with God. 

In October, we shifted into the historical books of the Old Testament. The books that tell us about the history of God’s chosen people, Israel. About their nation and their leadership. And, especially about Kings David and Solomon. Then, last week, in our story of the Prophet Elisha and Naaman, we began to make a shift - a transition that becomes complete today - from the historical books of the Hebrew scriptures to the prophets. Books like Isaiah. And Jeremiah. And Habakkuk (that’s one we don’t read often!). And, today, from the Prophet Micah.

So, what do we know about Micah? Anyone? He is in the list of those we call the “minor prophets.” Now that’s not intended to be a derogatory term. It just refers to the length of the prophets’ writing. The smaller books are called the minor prophets. Books like Hosea, and Joel, and Amos, and, of course, Micah. These are in contrast to the larger books, what we call the “major prophets” - like Isaiah and Jeremiah and a few others.

Micah is what we call a pre-exilic prophet. This means that he lived and wrote in the times before the fall of Jerusalem and the exile of the Jewish people. 

Last week, we talked about how, after Solomon’s reign, the conflict between the northern and southern tribes of Israel had grown to the point that the kingdom split in two. Permanently. In the north was the kingdom of Israel. The capital of the northern nation of Israel was Samaria. 

The southern kingdom was known as Judah, named after one of the twelve tribes. Its capital was Jerusalem. Elisha, whom we learned about last week, was a prophet in the northern kingdom of Israel. He had been sent to the northern tribes to warn them about the coming threat at their northern border by the Assyrians.  

By the time we get to Micah, about 100 years has passed. Israel and its capital city, Samaria, have fallen to the Assyrians in the north. In a series of power-building moves, Assyria had proceeded to move south and annex more territory. This included lands near Jerusalem - tribes who had refused to pay tribute to Assyria. The Assyrians are edging closer and closer to Jerusalem. The only thing, so far, that has helped Jerusalem avoid the fate of its neighbors to the north is that its king - Hezekiah - has agreed to pay tribute to Assyria, so that Jerusalem can remain independent.

But, there is a another threat, a growing threat, to Jerusalem coming from the south. The Babylonians are approaching. It is at this point in time where we first hear from Micah. He was a contemporary of Isaiah. The difference between the two of them was that Isaiah was a city boy - born in Jerusalem. And Micah, well, we might call him that “country bumpkin.” He was from a small, rural village in the south, called Moresheth. So, you can imagine the response to him by those in the city - in sophisticated Jerusalem - as he warned them of impending doom. A warning in the opening verses of Micah. 

Look! The Lord is coming out from his place;
        he will go down and tread on the shrines of the earth.
Then the mountains will melt under him;
        the valleys will split apart,
            like wax yielding to the fire,
            like waters poured down a slope.
All this is for the crime of Jacob
        and the sins of the house of Israel.
        Who is responsible for the crime of Jacob?
                Isn’t it Samaria?
            Who is responsible for the shrines of Judah?
                Isn’t it Jerusalem? Micah 1:3-5 (CEB)

Micah was trying to warn Jerusalem that it would soon suffer the same fate as Samaria in the north. That it would fall, like the north, because of its sin - because of its idolatry and, particularly, of its injustice. This was the primary focus of Micah’s challenge to them. The injustice that its leaders engaged in. Political. And religious leaders. Micah claims its rulers abhor justice. And pervert equity. They are susceptible to bribes. Its priests, he says, teach for a price. They offer visions for a price. They prophesy “peace” to those who pay them well. But declare war against those who do not pay. 

Both the political and the religious leaders have an inherent desire for power. They can all be bought for a price. Their priorities are to gain power and wealth for themselves and not to practice justice for the community they serve. They destroy the people who depend upon them. They devour them. They use them. They abuse them.

Power can be a very seductive thing. Abusing it even more so. When, I worked in the courts in the 1990’s, we saw it. Frequently. We jokingly called it “black robe disease.” When a judge became seduced by his or her own power and began to abuse and misuse it.  Often completely unaware that they had caught the disease. Because power is not only seductive, it is deceptive.

This is what Micah was confronting the leaders about. Because he knew that corrupt leaders are sometimes responsible for the fall of nations. And churches. And so Micah speaks the prophetic word. Word that is intended to enrich the life of the whole community. Word that is, particularly, about justice and equity for those who are powerless.

But, Micah’s word is not only gloom and doom. It is also one of hope. Micah goes to Jerusalem, not to destroy their hope, but to re-center it. To give the people a vision of the future, a vision of hope. We read in chapter 5.

As for you, Bethlehem of Ephrathah,
    though you are the least significant of Judah’s forces,
        one who is to be a ruler in Israel on my behalf will come out from you.
    His origin is from remote times, from ancient days.
Therefore, he will give them up
        until the time when she who is in labor gives birth.
        The rest of his kin will return to the people of Israel.
He will stand and shepherd his flock in the strength of the Lord,
        in the majesty of the name of the Lord his God.
        They will dwell secure,
        because he will surely become great throughout the earth;
        he will become one of peace.  Micah 5:2-5a (CEB)

We hear these words - these words often from Advent - we hear them with 20/20 hindsight. Yet, for Israel, they were a reminder of God’s faithfulness. Of how God had previously kept God’s promises to them, delivering them out of slavery, and raising up a lowly shepherd from Bethlehem, Jesse’s son. King David. Micah’s words were a reminder for them of God’s steadfast love and faithfulness. And, yet, they were also a new promise - a promise of a new king, one who would rule the earth. And One who would bring peace.  

It is to these words of hope, then, that the people respond. From Micah, chapter 6. 

With what should I approach the Lord
        and bow down before God on high?
Should I come before him with entirely burned offerings,
        with year-old calves?
Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams,
        with many torrents of oil?
Should I give my oldest child for my crime;
        the fruit of my body for the sin of my spirit?
He has told you, human one, what is good and
        what the Lord requires from you:
            to do justice, to love mercy, and walk humbly with your God.  Micah 6:6-8 (CEB)


“What do you want from us?” This is really the question they are asking. Perhaps they are bargaining, sensing that they are in the midst of a massive national upheaval. They feel the threat and understand the need to be saved. “What do you want from us?" they ask. And then they begin their offers. Offers that begin with a year-old calf, which would be a normal offering, like a tithe. But, then, offers that become extraordinary. From thousands of rams and many streams of oil - massive offerings - to the very personal. Pieces of themselves. Their first-born children. 

“What do you want from us?” the leaders ask. 

It’s simple, Micah tells them. What the Lord requires is very simple. Three things. To do justice. To love kindness. And to walk humbly with God. Three things that are so simple. But, three things that are not easy.

You and I - we have that gift of hindsight. We know that God’s plan for peace would not rely on Judah’s leaders, or on us, to do these three things. We know that God’s plan for peace would be a one-sided plan. One in which God would come down to us, as God always does, in the most humble way - as a child. A child who would grow up to bear our sin and the sins of the whole world. Who would die on the cross for us. And, through whom, we would understand the true nature of God. Grace. Forgiveness. Love. And peace.

Because that is God’s dream. A dream of peace. It is also our best response in a world that for us, too, seems to be in great upheaval. But, how do we do these three simple things, especially when we know they are not easy. Sometimes, we find deep truth in places other than scripture. In simple places. In children’s books, such as in one written by Desmond Tutu, entitled, “God’s Dream.” 

May we, who have been freed through God’s grace, continue to do God’s work. Of justice. Of kindness. Of walking humbly with our God. So that God might smile and we might see more rainbows. Amen.

Preached November 11, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Pentecost 25
Readings: Micah 1:3-5, 5:2-5a, 6:6-8; Matt. 9:13

Living Faithfully in the Promise: Finding Healing

Naaman, a general for the king of Aram, was a great man and highly regarded by his master, because through him the Lord had given victory to Aram. This man was a mighty warrior, but he had a skin disease. Now Aramean raiding parties had gone out and captured a young girl from the land of Israel. She served Naaman’s wife.

She said to her mistress, “I wish that my master could come before the prophet who lives in Samaria. He would cure him of his skin disease.” So Naaman went and told his master what the young girl from the land of Israel had said.

Then Aram’s king said, “Go ahead. I will send a letter to Israel’s king.”

So Naaman left. He took along ten kikkars of silver, six thousand shekels of gold, and ten changes of clothing. He brought the letter to Israel’s king. It read, “Along with this letter I’m sending you my servant Naaman so you can cure him of his skin disease.”

When the king of Israel read the letter, he ripped his clothes. He said, “What? Am I God to hand out death and life? But this king writes me, asking me to cure someone of his skin disease! You must realize that he wants to start a fight with me.”

When Elisha the man of God heard that Israel’s king had ripped his clothes, he sent word to the king: “Why did you rip your clothes? Let the man come to me. Then he’ll know that there’s a prophet in Israel.”

Naaman arrived with his horses and chariots. He stopped at the door of Elisha’s house. Elisha sent out a messenger who said, “Go and wash seven times in the Jordan River. Then your skin will be restored and become clean.”

But Naaman went away in anger. He said, “I thought for sure that he’d come out, stand and call on the name of the Lord his God, wave his hand over the bad spot, and cure the skin disease. Aren’t the rivers in Damascus, the Abana and the Pharpar, better than all Israel’s waters? Couldn’t I wash in them and get clean?” So he turned away and proceeded to leave in anger.

Naaman’s servants came up to him and spoke to him: “Our father, if the prophet had told you to do something difficult, wouldn’t you have done it? All he said to you was, ‘Wash and become clean.’” So Naaman went down and bathed in the Jordan seven times, just as the man of God had said. His skin was restored like that of a young boy, and he became clean.

He returned to the man of God with all his attendants. He came and stood before Elisha, saying, “Now I know for certain that there’s no God anywhere on earth except in Israel.  2 Kings 5:1-15a (CEB)

Grace and peace to you from God, our Father, and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

This week, as in previous weeks, we have once again jumped many years in our narrative. By the time of today’s text, the period of monarchy in Israel has ended. This was a period in which we saw a unified Israel under the kingdoms of David and, last week, Solomon.

At this point in the overarching story of Israel, the kingdom has split in two. A split that, this time, will be permanent. The southern kingdom is now known as Judah. The northern kingdom is Israel. It’s a period of a lot of conflict. Not only is there conflict between Judah and Israel, but, there’s also conflict between Israel and its neighbor to the northeast - Aram. Which we know as present-day Syria.

A few weeks ago, in our story about David, we were introduced to the prophet Naaman. Naaman was the one who confronted David with his sin. Today, we are introduced to a new prophet, Elisha. Don’t confuse Elisha with Elijah. Although, they were contemporaries and colleagues, Elijah was older than Elisha.

By the time we reach our story today, Elijah has been taken up into heaven. And the younger prophet - Elisha - is becoming known in the northern kingdom. In the chapters preceding today’s lesson, Elisha has performed several miracles - acts that have led to an growing recognition of his powers as one of God’s prophets. This is where our story begins. 

There are several characters in our story today. As we work through it, we will take a close look at each of them.

The first person we hear of is Naaman. Now this Naaman is not the same as the prophet Naaman. This Naaman is an important man in Aram - that enemy of Israel to the northeast. He is a general for the king of Aram. Our story says Naaman was a “great man and highly regarded by his master.” It was through his conquests that the Lord had given victory to the Arameans. Naaman was a mighty warrior. But, he had one problem. Our translation tells us that he had a skin disease. In other translations, it is called leprosy. We know that, in ancient times, leprosy was a very dreaded disease. It often resulted in its victims being shunned by society.

The next character in our story is a girl. She is an Israelite who has been captured by the Aramites in one of their raids into Israel. She is a slave in Naaman’s household. She is young. She is female. And she is unnamed. Now, this girl would seemingly be of no consequence. She might be easily ignored by us. And, yet, in a bold and courageous act - an act that might have resulted in her punishment or even death - this young unnamed slave girl goes to Naaman’s wife, her mistress, and makes a suggestion. “I wish that my master could come before the prophet who lives in Samaria. He would cure him of his skin disease.”

We can safely assume that this suggestion made its way quickly from Naaman’s wife to Naaman. Because in the very next sentence, we hear that Naaman has gone to the king. To ask for his permission. For permission to go into Israel - enemy territory - to find this prophet mentioned by the slave girl so that he can be healed. 

Do you notice that Naaman doesn’t follow the slave girl’s suggestion? She tells him to go to the prophet. But, Naaman, well, he knows better. After all, he is a general and he’s used to calling the shots. So, he has his own idea of how this should be handled. Instead of going directly to the prophet Elisha, he goes to his king to get permission and a letter from the king of Aram to the king of Israel. Naaman takes the letter, then gets money - you know that with enough money you can buy whatever it is you need - and then, with ten changes of clothing, he goes into enemy territory to Israel’s king. 

And this is where the trouble begins. Because Naaman, arrogant and self-important, thinks he knows how best to accomplish his own healing. As though he knows how this God of Israel operates. Yet, it is his egotistical act that nearly creates a crisis. When he takes the letter to the king of Israel, the king recognizes that he is not able to cure Naaman. And so, he rips his clothing, thinking that Naaman is deliberately provoking a fight, which in this case would be an international incident that could even lead to war between the two nations.

Word of this situation reaches Elisha, the young prophet - our next character. When Elisha hears that the king has torn his clothing, Elisha sends word to him. “Send him to me. Then he will know that there is a prophet in Israel.”

The king does. And soon, Naaman arrives in grand style. With his horses. With his chariots. With all of his cash and changes of clothing. He stops at Elisha’s front door, expecting to be received for the important man that he is. (Or that he thinks himself to be.) And what happens? Well, Elisha doesn’t even come to the door. Instead, he sends a messenger out to tell Naaman to go and to wash in the Jordan River seven times. And that, if he does this, he will be healed.

Now, it’s important that you understand something about the Jordan River. It is not a river like the Mississippi. Or the Ohio. Or likely not even the size of Harrods Creek. It is a muddy, small stream that might, after a rain, grow a bit in size. But, it is no great river. So, when Elisha directs Naaman to the Jordan, he is insulted. And he is even more upset that Elisha has not even greeted him, as important a man that he is. Naaman gets angry. And just as he is about to turn back in anger to return to his country, we see more characters enter the story.

They, like the young slave girl at the beginning of our story, are also unnamed. And slaves. They come to Naaman and boldly challenge him. “Master, if he had told you to do something difficult, wouldn’t you have done it? And, yet, all he said was ‘Wash and become clean.’” 

Finally, Naaman listens. And, then, swallows his pride and goes to wash in the muddy Jordan River, just as Elisha has first instructed him. And he is healed. Not only physically healed. But spiritually healed. It is at the Jordan River where he comes to a different understanding - a true understanding - about how God works.  “Now I know for certain,” he says to Elisha on his return, “Now I know for certain that there is no God anywhere on earth except in Israel.”

On this day, on this All Saints Sunday, what so often comes to mind are those “hosts arrayed in white.” The glorious saints who have preceded us in faith. Yet, sometimes, it takes a story like the one we have today to remind us about the surprising saints. The ones who haven’t held any status or important position in life. Like the unnamed slave girl in our story, who loves her enemy by pointing her own captor toward healing. Or the other unnamed slaves who bravely convince Naaman to go to the Jordan and wash. Or the saints who were worshipping last Saturday morning at Tree of Life Synagogue or grocery shopping one day at Kroger - who were all killed simply because of who they were. Jewish. African-American. All surprising saints. The ones who quietly loved God and their neighbors. 

Who are the surprising saints in your life? You know them. The ones through whom the Spirit of God worked to make them unexpected instruments of healing for the other. Or for you. The saints, not known by their status or position, but by their work in the world and the nature of God that they showed in their acts of love. To us. And to others. The ones who are imitators of Christ in the best way. The ones who have lived faithfully in God’s promise and who have touched and healed us along the way.

We give thanks for them today. For these surprising saints. And we remember them. May we continue to carry on their legacy - Christ’s legacy. A legacy of humility. And faithfulness. And healing. And love. Amen.

Preached November 4, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
All Saints Sunday
Readings: Matthew 8:2-3, 2 Kings 5:1-15a