When we focus our hearts on Christ, we serve each other daily and bring forth the reign of Christ—and we do it together.

Vicar Andrea Bonneville
Reign of Christ, Lectionary 34 A 
Texts: Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24; Matthew 25:31-46; Ephesians 1:15-23

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

Have we done enough?

This is the question that many of us might ask after we read this parable from Matthew’s Gospel.

But what if this is the wrong question for us to ask today.

If this parable is meant to warn us of divisive judgment, shame and guilt us for what we did not do, or create an us vs. them mentality about who did enough and who didn’t do enough, I don’t want anything to do with it.

If we turn our focus towards debating what is enough in the eyes of Christ, we begin walking down a very unstable path filled with judgement, fear, and hypocrisy.

Asking the question, “have we done enough?”  is not a question that comes from Christ. It is a question rooted in the oppressive “pull yourself up from your boot straps” language that we know too well.

When Christ gathers the nations together, Christ isn’t asking us to bring our laundry list of good works to prove that we have done enough. Christ is gathering us together to remind us where the Triune God will be found.

This year has been a hard year. There is no way around that. We are tired and weary. We have found ourselves dropping to our knees and asking, “God, are you with us or not?”

This is the question we ask God today and the question we have been asking God for months.

Today and every day, we celebrate the reign of Christ as we proclaim that the Triune God is leading us and working through us. That the reign of Christ is more powerful than any human institution that we have created. That everything that divides us becomes secondary to the fact that we are all God’s beloved children and redeemed by the one who lived and served among us. God, who in the form of Christ died on the cross and was resurrected into eternal life so that we may hope in a future of reconciliation. And hope that the reign of Christ will break into our midst so we can be the community that God calls us to be. 

A community that keeps watch and stays awake for the reign of Christ. A community that uses the gift that we have been given through Christ to serve our neighbor.

There were times in this past year that we saw a deeper need and could only extend our hand so far. Times we wanted to gather as a community, to join our voices in song and protest. Times we questioned if bridging the divide and building a beloved community is even possible. 

Out of our exhaustion, it can feel like we don’t know what our part is or what we should do next. We find ourself wondering with the first followers of Jesus:

Christ, when did we see you hungry? When did we see you thirsty? When did we see you see you as a stranger? Or naked? Or sick? Or in prison? And when did we provide for you?

To our surprise, we hear Christ saying to us, truly I tell you…

…just as you fed people in the parking lot and provided the essentials for a dignified life, you did it to me.

…just as you physically distanced and moved your worship into your homes to protect your neighbors, you did it to me.

…just as you provided financial assistance for rent and utilities and provided one man within one day all that he needed to transition into his home, you did it to me.

…just as you called to check in on a friend, brighten another person’s day with your kindness and compassion, you did it to me.

…just as you began the journey to become anti-racist and acted to learn how to remake a world in which all God’s beloved children can breathe safely and freely, you did it to me.

…just as you lamented and wept because of injustice and illness, oppression and suffering, you did it with me.

…just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.  And you did it with me.

When we remember our Creator has entrusted us to care for the whole creation, everything we do is in service to Christ. When we root our bodies in the love of Jesus, everything we do is in service to Christ. When our hearts are filled with the fire of Spirit, everything we do is in service to Christ. And when we live into the truth that all God’s children are created in the image of the Triune God, everything we do is in service to Christ.

God is telling us that when our hearts break open from seeing the injustice and oppression that surrounds us, that is exactly where God will be. Because God has been with us and guiding us along our entire journey.  

God, through the prophet Ezekiel, tells us that God will take the lead. God says: 

I myself will search for you. I will seek you. I will rescue you, bring you together, feed you, and provide you rest.

I myself will be the shepherd. I will seek the lost, bring back the strayed, heal the injured and strengthen the weak.

I myself will gather you, I will find you again and again, and I will keep you.

The message in today’s parable of Christ showing up at the margins of society is not new for us. We know where to find Christ, we know that Christ is going to show up in unexpected places and at unexpected times.

Today marks the end of the church calendar, a bookmark of our year together while apart. Tomorrow, we enter into this new year, where we open up scriptures again and we hear the story of the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Christ. We see it with new eyes and hear it with new hears because in the past year we have been transformed.

Transformed to value community in new ways, to live with great resiliency, to confront our world views, and to love without measure.

We have been transformed despite being apart. We are missing each other deeply and we need to encourage each other to keep looking for oil to keep our lamps burning.

We still need to be apart for now, but even in our separation we are together.

Together through our action, our words, and our prayers. Through the way we loved each other, the way we loved God, the way we served.

Together, side by side while still six feet apart, we bring forth Christ’s reign. And we get to do that again tomorrow, and again the next day, and the day after that.

Christ’s reign is happening around us all the time.  It is happening when we vote and advocate, when we collect our resources and see that glimmer of abundance, when we offer our hand to work alongside our neighbor, when we house the unhoused, when our faith is embodied in our lives. We do it together. Again and again.

Before we grow weary again and turn back to the age-old question asking God, “are you with us or not,” we must not forget that our work now becomes to listen. Because in the next few weeks, we are going to hear about how Christ breaks into our world as an infant and promises to turn the world around. 

There is always going to be work to do, but for today I echo Paul’s words to the Ephesians:

I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love toward all the saints, and for this reason I do not cease to give thanks for you as I remember you in my prayers.

Amen.

Remaining rooted in the steadfast Word of God, we can be still and know that God is here.

Vicar Andrea Bonneville
Reformation Sunday
Texts: Psalm 46, Jeremiah 36:31-34, John 8: 31-36

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

Be still, and know that I am God! I am exalted among the nations, I am exalted in the earth. The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. These are the words of Psalm 46, which we heard paraphrased in “A Mighty Fortress is our God.“

Be still and know—
Though the waters pour, the fires burn, the wind rages, and the temperatures rise;

Be still and know—
Though the virus spreads, the community is scattered, and people are ill;

Be still and know—
Though the election is just days away and injustice cries all around us;  

Be still and know—
Though we are filled with anxiety, fear, and despair;

Be still and know—

Two actions that seem practically impossible as the chaos of the world spins around us. How are we supposed to be still when we are filled with so many emotions? How are we supposed to know when so many voices seek our attention?

Telling ourselves to be still is almost as foolish as telling a tree to stop swaying in the wind. When the wind blows, we can’t help but move with it.

We are swayed by social media, the news, even the lies we tell ourselves about our worthiness. In a time that is difficult to trust and in the midst of such powerful winds, where on earth do we find the respite of stillness?

Are we waiting for the eye of the storm? Just a brief respite from the wind gives us a chance to pull the hair back from our eyes, to see what’s around us. Or. Are we searching for our grounding, seeking to grow roots deep within the soil—a tether to hold us?

There are many valid responses to chaos.

Right now, it’s hard to be still and know.

It is hard to remain in the word of God as we usually have. Our rituals of gathering in community, feasting together, and communal song are not available to ground us.

When we’re uprooted from all of these things that teach us how to remain in God’s word, we must root ourselves in the proclamation we hear through John’s Gospel.

Jesus literally says, remain in me, and remain in my Word.

Continue in me, Continue in my Word
Hold onto me, hold onto my Word
Live in me, live in my Word

To be still and know is to remain in God. God with us tells us to remain in me.  That sounds easy, but we know that finding rest in the midst of chaos is never easy.

We hear from the prophet Jeremiah that God writes on our hearts.

When God writes on hearts, our connection to God is no longer simply about belief, understanding, or knowledge. When God writes on our hearts, God makes a promise to forever be in relationship with us.

So, when Christ says to remain in me and remain in my word, God has already promised through the prophet of Jeremiah to do the heavy lifting in this two way relationship.

God writes that we are loved; beloved, claimed by God sealed with the Spirit forever. This is our baptismal promise. A promise that our entire identity is rooted in the steadfast love of the Triune God.

The promise of God’s steadfast love is engraved on our hearts; a promise that flows through our veins, a promise that reaches the tops of our heads and the tips of our toes; a promise that continues to flow throughout our entire body with each beat of our heart.

Beloved, God has made a permanent mark on your heart. And God is here and God is always with you. Each of us is an embodiment of God’s love in this world.

So when you can’t seem to calm yourself down, place a hand on your heart. Feels God’s presence within you.

Be still and know—
a centering, a deep breath that fills our lungs

Be still and know—
Letting ourselves be held by the community of Christ that surrounds us.

Be still and know—
Digging in our feet and rooting ourselves in God in the midst of chaos.

Be still and know—

It isn’t necessarily this far off thing that we have to achieve through physical stillness, meditation, or emptying our minds.

In these times, whenever you feel a sense of calm, identify it as God.

Be still and know that I am God.
Be still and remain in God.

Remain in the presence of God. Remain in the people of God. When we remain in the Word of God, we grow deep roots of rest.

Theses roots entangle with the roots of our neighbor and with all of creation. Tethering us to the rich soil and to each other. The deeper and more enmeshed our roots grow, the further we can stretch ourselves out to witness to the injustices of our world and the needs of our neighbor.

Be still and know does not mean being complacent, but it allows us to let go of some of the burden of today because of our connectedness God and all of creation. It’s the kind of rest that comes from the confidence and certainty that God is here. We are not called to reform the world by ourselves

Be still and know is to continue in the work of Christ. To continue speaking truth to power. Showing empathy to all of God’s beloved. And holding each other as the wind blows.

We may rest in the life, the death, and the resurrection of Christ Jesus. Because the good news for today is that in the midst of the chaos, God lives in us and the Holy Spirit moves through our veins. For we know that we are no longer captive to sin but we are freed by what Christ has done for us. Free to Grow, free to Proclaim, and free to rest.

Thanks be to God who engraves steadfast love on our hearts; God who in the midst of chaos whispers, be still, my beloved, be still and know that I am your God and you are my mine.

Amen.

God provides what we need for this day to quench our thirst and sustain us on our journey.

Vicar Andrea Bonneville
The Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 26 A
Texts: Exodus 17: 1-7

Beloved in Christ, grace to you and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

The people of God are thirsty.

Days and nights on this wilderness journey. Days blending together. Losing track of time. Forgetting the past. Wanting to turn back time. Frustrated. Uncertain. Powerless. Angry. Anxious. Afraid. And thirsty.

Thirst so consuming that the Israelites suggest turning back to Egypt, saying to Moses, “why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?”

Thirst so consuming that they forget about the oppressive system they were living under. Can you blame them? At least in Egypt there was water… even if it was toxic water.

Thirst so consuming that they quarrel with God saying, “is God really among us or not?”

Thirst so consuming they are questioning if they are going to be able to survive to sustain their community during this journey. Wondering if the next generations will have a future where they can thrive.

I don’t know about you. But I am thirsty. And really, it wasn’t until reading and meditating on this story of the people of Israel that I realized I am thirsty all of the time.

Are you thirsty?

Thirsty from all that is happening around the world that is dehydrating our souls?

Creation is crying out as we witness to the effects of climate change. The U.S. has now reached over 200,000 deaths caused by COVID-19 and this virus continues to threaten our lives and our communities. The election is just weeks away. And there is still no justice for Breonna Taylor and George Floyd among countless others.

This is just to name a few major things on a societal level. Recognizing that there is still so much happening in our personal lives and in this community.

Author and Professor Kate Bowler wrote this week, “Lord, we are moving through time no longer believing it is taking us to somewhere good. Mark our Paths. Lead us now.”

Let me say that again. Bowler quarrels with God, “we are moving through time no longer believing it is taking us to somewhere good. Mark our Paths. Lead us now.”

In times like these we thirst with the Israelites asking God, “are you with us or not?”

When the Israelites begin to set up camp at Rephidim, they know that it is not the place where God is leading them. In order to settle in a new place, there needs to be a good source of water. If there isn’t flowing water, they know they have not reached the promised land.

No water = no life.

Their feet are blistered. Their backs aching from carrying their whole lives on their shoulders. Watching as members of the community, especially their children, their elders, and their livestock, suffer.

They stop to rest for the evening and set up camp. But they know they won’t be staying there long. What’s the point of getting comfortable if there is no water?

Even the journey can be deceiving. They possibly can hear the running water as they lay awake at night, but the water is nowhere in sight. They know it has to exist, but they don’t know what it will taste like.

Last week, we listened as we heard that these people were provided with an abundance of manna and quail. Maybe once they had food, they thought they were one step closer. An appetizer to what will be a full course meal of milk and honey.

A promised land so wonderful that the whole community could thrive.

But they are not there yet.

And the people of God are afraid.

They fear that they may not live to see another day let alone make it to the promised land.

We hear this fear in Moses as he cries to God, “what shall I do with these people? They are almost ready to stone me.” Moses is representing his fear and the fear of the people.

God in return tells Moses, “Go on ahead of the people, and take some of the elders of Israel with you; take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile, and go. I will be standing there in front of you on the rock at Horeb. Strike the rock, and water will come out of it, so that the people may drink.” So Moses struck the rock in sight of the Elders of Israel.

Water comes out of the rock so that the people may drink. The source of water isn’t enough for the people to build their community around it. But it is enough to quench their thirst.

When God’s people drink of this water, their thirst is no longer all consuming. The flowing water is all that they need for today.

Because…

Water for today = Life for tomorrow
Water for today = Hope for tomorrow
Water for today = Nourishment for the Journey

Like the people of Israel, we don’t know what the promised land here on earth will look like. But we know God is leading us there. Not because we see it, or hear it, or taste it. But because we know that God is with because God is marking our journey.

When Moses strikes the rock, he does so in the sight of the Elders. This is a sign of hope. A sign that the people of God are going to be transformed from generation to generation. God is showing the Elders how to find hope. This hope is going to live through the generations.

God shows us…

How to find life in ordinary objects
How to find hope in ordinary places
How to find nourishment in unexpected ways

People of God, We are Thirsty.

But we have been on this wilderness journey far too long to turn back now.

So for today, for the next week, maybe for the next month. However long. Let’s seek out our rock of life-giving water that God is leading us to and camp out for a while. Long enough to quench the thirst of today and give us nourishment for the journey ahead.

Water = Life

And we have water for today.

Amen.
And thanks be to God.

This Canaanite woman shows us the power of persistent faith in God’s abundant mercy that is for all people. Despite Jesus’ reaction to her, she courageously trusts that he shows the face of that divine compassion.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 20 A
Text: Matthew 15:21-28

Beloved friends in Christ, grace and peace to you, in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sometimes when we read stories in the Bible, we wonder: Did it really happen like that? Did Jesus really say those exact words? When we hear this story from Matthew, about Jesus dismissing a woman begging for his help, comparing her to a dog, we might be tempted to say, “No way. Someone misheard him or wrote it down wrong. Jesus certainly didn’t say that.”

Interestingly, some Bible scholars think that unflattering stories about Jesus are actually more likely to be historically accurate. Why would Jesus’ own followers invent stories that make him look bad? And, let’s be honest: this story makes Jesus look bad. It makes him look indifferent at best, and downright cruel at worst.

But Matthew isn’t the only Gospel writer who tells this story; Mark does, too. Jesus did and said a lot of things during his thirty-some years on earth that didn’t get written down, didn’t get passed down to us in scripture. But this did. So we are invited to ask: what do we learn about God through this passage? If Jesus shows us the face of God, what face do we see here?

For one thing, we learn that Jesus was human. In this story, as in others throughout the Gospel, we see some of the emotional experience of Jesus, who was a real person. A person who got tired, angry, sad. A person who ate, wept, bled. It can be easy to forget that. In light of the “fully divine,” it can be easy to forget the “fully human”

In the context of this story, Jesus is worn down. He’s been clashing with authorities, and recently, his relative John the Baptist was publicly executed. Jesus has been trying to get some time away to process his grief, but he’s in high demand, so he’s been caring for people constantly, healing and feeding and teaching. Maybe he’s just tapped out, and he doesn’t feel he has the capacity to help this woman.

This woman who is also a very real person. That can be easy to forget, too. We learn so little about her; we don’t even get her name. We learn only where she’s from and that she’s a mother to a daughter, who is also real, and is suffering acutely.

If you’ve seen the news this past week, you’ve seen faces that look just like the face of this nameless woman. In the text she’s called a ‘Canaanite,’ or a ‘Syro-Phonecian,’ names of ancient empires that sound foreign and far away. But the region where she lives, near the cities of Tyre and Sidon, is about 40 miles south of Beirut, in present-day Lebanon.

This week, as Lebanese faces have flashed across my screen – faces in shock from a massive explosion that should have been prevented, faces enraged by the corruption and neglect of their government, faces desperate for help as they navigate an economic collapse, faces covered by masks in an attempt to survive a global pandemic – as I’ve seen these faces, I’ve wondered: Are any of these very real people the descendants of that woman who knelt before Jesus, descendants of her daughter who survived thanks to her tenacious faith?

Because, you know, in some ways, it is as easy to forget the realness of those people as it is to forget the realness of this nameless woman who lived 2000 years ago. It is easy to turn off the news, to turn away from those Lebanese faces, to think to myself, “We have plenty of our own problems here, plenty of our own shock, and rage, and need. We have our own economic collapse and rampant pandemic to deal with. I do not enough compassion or charity left to offer to those foreign faces, when I am already struggling to meet the need in my own neighborhood.”

And then I know something of how Jesus might have felt when he said, “It isn’t fair to give to the Gentiles what belongs to the Israelites.” Except he didn’t say it quite so diplomatically.

He’s been clear that his mission is to the Israelites. When he sent out his disciples as missionaries, he told them: “Don’t even bother to go to Gentile cities; we’re focused on the ‘lost sheep of the house of Israel.’” And they repeat that now. This woman is not a sheep of Israel. She’s a Gentile. It’s as though Jesus and his disciples tell her: “It’s not that we don’t care, but there isn’t enough to go around. We have our own problems, and you’re not our people.”

In some ways, it isn’t Jesus’ statement that’s shocking. Jesus might have expected ‘Canaanites’ like this woman to think just as dismissively of him, a Jew. The antagonism and suspicion between these groups was mutual and longstanding.

And don’t we know what that’s like. 2000 years and a world away isn’t enough to make the reality of prejudice seem surprising. Don’t we know how cultural, racial, geographic, economic, political barriers can seem obvious and intractable. Don’t we know how easy it is to treat someone who looks different than us, who speaks a different language, who practices a different religion, to treat them like they are not our people so they are not our problem. Or, even worse, to treat them like “dogs,” not just with our name calling, but with our actions. In many ways, Jesus’ statement to this woman is not the surprising part of the story. That’s the part we already know, in our own context, our own lives.

The surprising part of this story is her. This woman, who knows when shout and when to kneel. This woman, who knows that, despite her social status, she matters. Her daughter matters. Their lives matter. This woman, who knows that the pull she feels in her heart, to go toward Jesus, to reach for him, is good and right and true. She knows a savior when she sees him. And even when he ignores her, denies her, derides her, this woman knows that God’s mercy is abundant. When Jesus says, “There’s not enough for you,” she says, “Oh yes there is! There is always enough.”

She may not have heard Jesus tell the parable about how the kingdom of God is like yeast that catalyzes rising dough. She may not have seen Jesus’ feed thousands with only a few loaves of bread. But still she knows that even crumbs at God’s table are more than enough. The bread of life does not run out.

That is the shocking part of this story, and boy is it good news. Despite all the challenges of this passage – the questions it raises, the discomfort it causes – the good news sings out anyway, in the voice of an nameless woman: God’s abundant grace is for everyone, and there is always enough to go around!

As soon as he hears it, Jesus knows she’s right. Of course, of course he has healing for her daughter. He says her faith is “great,” and it is great: admirable, heroic, steadfast, resolute. One might even say dogged. Her dogged faith, her persistence before Jesus, tears down any barrier that might have stood between him and her. There is no ‘his people’ and ‘her people,’ Just people, real people. Like the faces we see in need in our own neighborhood, like the faces we see in need across the world.

May we, too, have faith dogged enough to tear barriers between people. That doesn’t mean that we have to respond to every disaster you see on the news. Even when we’re not navigating a pandemic, compassion fatigue is real, and right now, everything feels exhausting. That also doesn’t mean that we have to love this story about Jesus. You can always keep wrestling with scripture. God is big enough for all your questions.

What it does mean to have dogged faith is that you never give up on living as though God’s grace is abundant for every single person, because it is. When you hear the message that “There’s not enough to go around. There’s not enough h for her, or for her, or for her” you say, “Oh yes there is! Through God there is.”

Jesus leaves this conversation with the woman revived and recommitted. He immediately heals and feeds so many people that there are mass conversions. The woman’s great faith was well-placed after all. Jesus was who she thought he was: the savior of the world, the bread of life that never runs out, the incarnate one who shows us the face of God. And God is not prejudice or rejecting. God’s mercy abounds and overflows into the whole world. God loves the whole creation, no exceptions.

This nameless woman knew that truth. She saw that love shining in the face of Jesus, and, despite the pain in her life, despite the reality of her circumstances, and she trusted that love. We can trust that love, too.

Amen.

God meets us in the wilderness places, providing what we need and equipping us for the journey.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 18 A
Texts: Genesis 32:22-31; Matthew 14:13-21

Grace and peace to you all, in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Jesus just wants a little time away.

He’s just received some devastating news about the death of his relative John the Baptist, a man whom Jesus admired greatly. It isn’t necessarily unexpected news: John’s popularity and outspokenness had long irritated the local ruler, Herod, who’d had John imprisoned.

Still, even if John’s death had been a long time coming, this had to have been tough news for Jesus and his disciples – not only because they’d lost an influential teacher of the Gospel, but also because John’s execution served as a reminder. It’s dangerous to be on the wrong side of those in power. It can cost you your life. That’s a lesson Jesus certainly won’t be able to forget.

Although he just wants a little time away to process this news, crowds of people end up following him way out into the wilderness, to “a deserted place,” as the text says. The crowds are hungry to hear Jesus’ healing words, to feel his healing touch. And then, as the day wears on, they’re just plain hungry.

All these people have walked a long way, and now everyone realizes there is no good plan for supper.

No one packed picnics. There are no food trucks. They can’t drop by the nearest falafel joint. Thousands of tired and hungry people gathered way out in the middle of nowhere. How will the mood shift when they realize they’re in for a long night without a meal?

The disciples get nervous and tell Jesus it’s time to send the people away. Let them travel back to their villages and buy their own dinner there. But Jesus feels differently. Sometimes the wilderness is exactly where you’re meant to be. “They don’t need to leave,” he says, “We’ll just feed them here.” “Here? We have nothing here,” the disciples respond, holding up a few loaves of bread and prepared fish. Too meager a meal for even a few, let alone a crowd. That may be so… but not in the hands of Jesus.

Have the disciples already forgotten all those parables that Jesus told about the abundance of life in God?

The kingdom of God is like a tiny seed, Jesus had said, that grows into an untamable shrub. It is like a pinch of yeast that transforms flour into rising dough. It is like a fishing net that is unable to contain the weight of its copious catch. Life in God expands and overflows. In God’s realm, there is enough for everyone!

When Jesus had told the disciples those stories and asked them, “Do you understand what I’m telling you?” they’d said, “Yes, sure, we understand.” So why don’t they know that in the kingdom of God, a few loaves and fishes can become a meal for thousands, with leftovers besides? Why do they see scarcity where God can create plenty?

Perhaps it’s the gnawing hunger in their own bellies. Perhaps it’s the growing anxiety in their own hearts. It can be easy to trust in God’s provision when it’s a story about someone else, when it’s just a metaphor about a farmer or a fisherman. It’s harder to trust in God’s abundance when you’re tired and hungry. It’s harder to trust when you’re far from home and night is falling. It’s harder to trust when you’re coping with news of death and violence and your own future feels uncertain.

Despite the disciples’ fear and doubt, God-in-Christ is right there with them, present with them and providing for them.

Providing for everyone, actually. Jesus makes a way where there seemed to be no way. Somehow, out in that deserted place, with so few provisions, there is healing and food to go around. The text says “all were filled.” Everyone gets what they need.

It’s an encouraging reminder that God can provide even when there seems to be so little, even when the wilderness surrounding you seems so barren.

Actually, today we heard two stories of God’s unexpected provision in the wilderness, because this is also Jacob’s situation in the Genesis reading.

Jacob, too, has traveled a long way and finds himself out in the wilderness as night draws near. He has sent his household caravan ahead of him, so he is empty-handed, without supplies. Jacob is journeying to meet his brother, Esau, the same brother he deceived and stole from, the same brother he’s been avoiding for years. Jacob must have been nervous, wondering how that reunion would go. Facing an uncertain future, Jacob is left alone in the dark, alone with his fear and doubt.

Except, of course, he isn’t really alone; God is there with him in the wilderness.

And, again, God provides. Certainly not in the way Jacob expects, though. God shows up like a force to be reckoned with. Sometimes when God meets you in the wilderness, you will be healed and fed, and sometimes, you will be wrestled to the ground and irreversibly changed – but both can be gifts.

Jacob leaves that mysterious encounter with a limp. But he also leaves with a blessing and a new name. Like the crowds who followed Jesus into the wilderness, Jacob gets what he needs. His future is still uncertain, to be sure; he still has to face the consequences of his past and the realities of his future. But he can be confident that God goes with him into the unknown. He can know that, even in the darkest wilderness, God is present and God provides.

I know for many of you, these last few months have felt like a journey into a barren wilderness.

Perhaps you have faced nights when all you are left with is your exhaustion and longing. The news is so scary, the future is so uncertain, and you’re so unprepared. So much has been taken away that it’s hard not to focus on what’s missing, not to be aware of what you don’t have.

Out in that deserted place, the disciples looked at their situation and told Jesus: “We have nothing here.” But of course, they didn’t have nothing. They had five loaves of bread, two fish, and one savior whose love for them could conquer anything– scarcity, fear, even death.

You have that, too.

No matter what has been taken away from you, no matter what you’ve lost, no matter what you’re hungering for, no matter how uncertain a future you face, your savior is present with you, right now, right where you are. There is no wilderness place, literal or spiritual, that is so remote that God won’t meet you there.

And however little it feels like you have to contribute, it is enough for God to work with.

Like Jesus did with the disciples, putting that food in their hands that they might share it with others, God can work miraculous generosity through your hands, your actions. Like God did with Jacob, transforming him and guiding him that he might become an ancestor of the faithful, God can use your life, your story to tell of God’s goodness and mercy.

So, when you’re out there in the wilderness feeling like you have nothing left, feeling like you have no idea what comes next, trust in God’s abundance. Know that even in the wilderness, it is enough for you, enough for everyone, enough forever.

Amen.