While the culture of the world moves us to crave more, Jesus says “the first shall be last.” This word encourages us to go to the margins of society and live a life of service to others.

Vicar Natalie Wussler
The Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 25 B
Texts: Jeremiah 11:18-20, Psalm 54; James 3:13-4:3, 7-8a; Mark 9:30-37

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

It’s the water we swim in, woven into the fabric of our society. More. This insatiable desire for more. We can see it everywhere we go. More money, more power, more status, more stuff. More. We’re caught by a selfish kind of ambition with never-ending cravings, forcing us into a rat race to the best places in society, not settling until we reach the top, and all the while looking over to see if what we have measures up to what our peers have. We have unlimited access to all the ways we can be more or become enough right at our fingertips! And it’s exhausting. Looking around, it seems like our culture is governed by the philosophy of “more”. James sensed this in his 1st century church. James observed his people ascribing to a self-centered earthly wisdom that fosters selfish ambition and envy. A quote, unquote “conventional” wisdom causing his people to look around at others and covet what they did not have.

And what was the fruit of this selfish ambition and envy? James says, disorder and wickedness of all kinds. Conflicts and disputes between people. Does this sound familiar to anyone else? What James talks about feels eerily similar to the conditions of our current society that run us all ragged in pursuit of more. Now this is not some tirade about ambition in our earthly existence. James makes an important distinction here. Selfish ambition that leads to envy is what we should flee from. An ambition that takes our eyes off of God and those around us and centers squarely on the self. This ambition hoards in pursuit of more, it does not share. This ambition envies the success of others. It’s a systemic, competitive struggle that leads to disputes that break down communities. It makes no space for those who can’t keep up in the race. This race to the top distracts people, leading some to say “pull yourself up by the bootstraps” to those who have no boots. Selfish ambition ultimately lets vulnerable people of all kinds fall through the cracks, leading some to feel like lambs led to the slaughter, like an uprooted tree cut off from the land of living, like someone who has been forgotten completely, Jeremiah says. This is what happens when the pressures of this cutthroat culture move us to crave more.

The disciples seem to get caught up in this same self-centered culture of “more”. While Jesus is trying to explain to women and men following him for the second time that he will be like a lamb to the slaughter, the disciples are confused and in fear, they don’t ask any clarifying questions. Maybe it’s because they don’t want to look stupid in front of each other and potentially lose their imagined superiority among the group. Or maybe it’s because the last time someone made a comment about Jesus’ death prediction, that person (Peter) was called Satan, and that would be super embarrassing, right? We’ll never know what caused their silence. But their fear to ask Jesus for whatever reason was greater than their desire to draw close to him. Their confusion soon turns into competition. 

They fall into selfish ambition and begin to dispute who among them is greatest. And in their squabbling, they once again miss the point and their hearts are hardened toward the reality of Jesus’ prediction. Their useless pursuit of more not only creates interpersonal strife, but it distorts their understanding of God’s mission on earth. This is what can happen to us when we follow the world’s conventional wisdom–we, like the disciples, can miss what is truly important about a life following Jesus. We can become too caught up in our own accolades instead of drawing closer to God and to each other.

And Jesus, knowing all along what the disciples are quarreling about responds: “Anyone who wants to be first must be the very last, and the servant of all.” This is a radical word, both in Jesus’ time and now. It’s hard to imagine a world where the first are last when the world we know is built on the power of a few so-called “firsts.” Jesus flips the world’s hierarchies around and prioritizes those considered “last.” And as an illustration, Jesus embraces a child and calls the disciples to do likewise. Welcoming children wholeheartedly, in this time, gained you nothing, as the Romans believed the only value children carried was that one day they would be adults.  This isn’t just a cute message about embracing children. Jesus is asking the disciples to welcome those who will gain you no earthly notoriety, no medals of honor, no promotions. But will mean everything in heaven. Jesus is directing his disciples to stoop to the lowest places and serve all. That’s our call today. 

It’s a path we do not take alone. Jesus, himself, took this path. We worship a God who was willing to be last of all and servant of all, a God who stoops down to us. Jesus spent his ministry in the low places with the sick, the grieving, the prostitutes, the tax collectors; those relegated to the low places in Roman society. Jesus stooped low to wash the disciples feet, a job typically only for the last, the forgotten people. And his message? “I have given you my example, do as I have done for you.” This is where God’s love is realized, serving in the low places.

And that’s our invitation. Jesus invites us to follow his example: get off of the earthly ladder to success and serve. To make ourselves low so that all be served and experience God’s love made manifest for them, whether they be poor, sick, houseless, grieving, abandoned, or forgotten. We can take our focus off of our endless pursuit of “more” and onto the needs of those who society puts down. In setting aside our earthly honors, we can dwell in a community where the lasts are firsts and the vulnerable are embraced. When you welcome these people wholeheartedly, Jesus says, you are welcoming the very presence of the Triune God. And as we bring ourselves low, God reminds us that we are beloved without anything we’ve gained in this life. That our value is not in our accomplishments, but instead in our identity as children of the Living God. As we are made last we gain everything. More community with less strife. More confidence in our enoughness in the face of God. More. This is the good fruit of the heavenly wisdom that James talks about. 

When we stoop to the places where our earthly titles and possessions carry little value, we can look at each other not as competitors, but as siblings in Christ, the greatest servant of all. We can set our selfish ambition and envy aside, quit the rat race, rest, and sit at a table where all are welcome, served, and loved.

In the name of the ☩ Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

Jesus Christ on the cross tells us that the present pain, death, and shame is powerless. But when the pain of this world feels too heavy, His scars tell us that’s okay.

Vicar Natalie Wussler
Holy Cross Day
Texts: Numbers 21:4b-9; Psalm 98:1-4; 1 Corinthians 1:18-24; John 3:13-17

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

Hungry, tired, longing for rest, the Israelites did what many of us might do, they complained. They said their chains back in Egypt sounded like refuge compared to this wilderness. And instead of getting a solution to their problems, they received snakes. Snakes that bit and killed many Israelites. These people felt scared. Their lives were in danger. Some felt hopeless and believed that these snakes would be their end. But others turned to God, declaring their trust that they could be delivered. 

And God, in love and mercy, did. A bronze serpent lifted high offered healing to all those who had been bitten by just looking at it. God didn’t take away these snakes, their venom or even the pain from the bite. What God did do was take away the snakes’ capacity to kill. These snakes still bit and it still hurt, venom did still enter the people’s bodies, but with the bronze serpent lifted high, the Israelites had found a saving grace. Perhaps now, in the presence of these snakes, the Israleites felt less fear. Maybe when the serpents bit, the Israelites didn’t panic and fear imminent death as they once did. God gave them the promise that these snakes would not be their demise. Through God, the Israelites no longer had to fear their death by snakes, and were assured that God would sustain their life another day.

Cut several thousand years in the future, and Jesus is doing a similar thing. With God’s love for you and for me fully realized, Jesus Christ, the word of God incarnate, was lifted high on a cross, and died a criminal’s death. He rose from the grave, and all at once defeated death. Our gospel reading today says that all people who believe in Jesus will not perish, will not be lost, will not truly die, but will live eternally. Like the sting of snake bites having no hold over the Israelites, because of Christ crucified and risen, the sting of death has no hold over you. Yes, your body will die and you will feel pain in this life, but, if you look to Jesus and believe in Him, you too will be healed, from death, from sin, and all that separates you from God and from your neighbors.

You get to enjoy the resurrection, and once this life passes onto the next, you will have a seat at the feast that has no ending. AND, while you live this temporary life, you get to live in relationship with the Triune God. God’s spirit dwells within you, giving you a new nature. Daily you can lean on the Holy Spirit to direct your path, rather than relying on your own self-serving inclinations. Your new nature directs you to an abundant life of love for God and for all people.

This isn’t just some blessed assurance for after you die. It’s an invitation to daily die to the inclinations of this world and rise in Christ until you finally return to your heavenly home with the Triune God and all the saints that have gone before. 

Though death, sin, and the pain of this world might sting now, they truly have no power, against the backdrop of Christ crucified and risen. 

And, that sounds great, right? 

Until we feel pain. 
Until someone we love dies. 
Until we feel the shame of our sin. 
Until we feel betrayed by a friend, or receive life-shattering news. 
Until life hurts.

Yes, God’s promises through the cross of Christ are true, but in the face of a tragedy or any kind of trial this world throws at you, a victorious Christ might not feel like the balm for your wounds. If in the midst of a personal crisis, someone said to you, “Oh, the present pain doesn’t matter, because it has no power. Rejoice! Christ is victorious over everything. You’re going to live forever,” this kind of statement might feel they’re minimizing your pain, because even though we do have those promises, and they can sustain us, life still stings. Sometimes, we can feel like the Israelites in the wilderness being bitten by the snakes prior to the bronze serpent–alone, scared, hopeless, hurting, and in the midst of a whole lot of suffering. And, church, that’s okay. 

Jesus definitely has something to say about this. Jesus, God made flesh, lived a human life and experienced the world as we do. He felt weariness, anger, despair, and anxiety. Jesus was denied and betrayed by his closest friends. He died a human death, an excruciating one. The life and death he led left their marks on him, even after the resurrection. Fully redeemed and resurrected, Jesus’ body still bears the scars of the crucifixion. If Jesus’ very life was restored to his body, don’t you think the holes in His hands and feet and the wound in his side could have also been healed, too? Maybe, just maybe these wounds were meant to show us that life’s pain is not outside of the eternal, abundant life God has for us on earth. We can be risen with Christ, and attentive to the ways we and others hurt. 

God does not need you to check your pain at the door. God wants all of you. Yes, Jesus defeated sin and death, but death still scarred his body. It’s by touching these scars, and bearing witness to the trauma Jesus endured that the disciple Thomas comes to believe in the resurrection and good news, and it’s by believing in these same scars on the resurrected Christ that we can come to know God’s love for us. Jesus’ scars show us that he has been through the most difficult parts of life. Jesus knows pain. The word of God made flesh knows what a human life feels like. Through Jesus, the Triune God understands and empathizes with the way the world hurts. The Triune God understands and empathizes with the way that you hurt. Your pain matters to God. The Triune God cares so deeply about you and is with you through your hardest moments. There is nothing that you could ever experience that God won’t understand.

And in the midst of your hardest moments, God assures you that though pain may wound you, it is not the end of your story. Because to every Good Friday moment, we have a resurrection on Easter Morning. We still have hope that sustains us through this life. We have hope to live a life centered on Christ, hope that we can learn to walk in Christ’s ways better everyday, hope that we will live after our bodies die, hope that our present suffering doesn’t have the final say. It’s a hope that does not deny suffering. In fact, it looks suffering straight in the face, and assures us that this is not the end for us. As people of Christ, we can affirm our pain and Christ’s promises at the time, discounting neither. We can be bearers of this same hope to others. Sitting with people on their Good Friday’s, so that Easter morning’s hope might come.

Some days, you may need the image of a victorious Christ, who lives now and forever, who went to the grave and came out the other side, who redeems all your pain and declares it powerless, who sustains you until you’re on the other side of eternity. Yet other days, you might need the image of a suffering Jesus, the one who was lifted high on the cross, with his blood and agony visible for all to see; whose body, though resurrected, is still scarred, and sits with you in your pain. Yet other days, you may need a Jesus that lives in the liminal spaces between resurrection and suffering. Our resurrected yet scarred savior abides in all these places, declaring that there is hope for wherever you are. Look to Jesus Christ lifted high on the cross.

 

In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g3G3xMgPX2I

In this weary world, we often struggle against powers and cosmic evils that wish to take us away from eternal, abundant life. The full armor of God helps us remember we are not alone in our struggles.

Vicar Natalie Wussler
The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 21 B
Texts: Joshua 24:1-2a, 14-18; Psalm 34:15-22; Ephesians 6:10-20; John 6:56-69

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

The beginning of my senior year of college felt a lot like the flaming arrows that Paul talks about today. Riddle with anxiety, I was constantly barraged by the questions of where my life was going the next year, and while I had a perfectly canned answer, I truly had no idea where I was going and found it hard to believe I would attain the same level of success my peers would. My self esteem was at an all-time low. Compounded on that, my junior year left me with some pretty traumatic scars that I had not yet healed from. Some days I barely wanted to get out of bed. I was confused, broken, and often I felt utterly alone.

I don’t remember exactly why I started doing this, but I began reading our Ephesians passage before I got out of bed in the morning and before I went to sleep at night. I made a point to not even let my feet touch the floor until I had read Ephesians 6, because I wanted to clothe myself in the armor of God before I did anything else that day. It wasn’t overnight, but gradually the pain and the anxiety subsided. I connected with dear friends that reminded whose I am. My path started to become clearer. Getting out of bed didn’t feel like a battle between the world and me. I started feeling like myself again and was more confident to face the day knowing that I wore the armor of God.

When I saw that this text was in the lectionary this week, I got excited to preach on the armor of God because of how personally meaningful it is to me. But I do understand that talking about armor and battle in church is a tenuous topic. It’s passages like Ephesians 6 that people used to write songs like “Onward Christian Soldier” which likens the church to an aggressive army instead of a community attempting to love God, each other, and the neighbor well. This kind of text has been used by Christians to justify doing horrific things, some of which we talked about last week. We see Christian nationalists today using this passage as permission to arm up and create violent chaos in our country. But, beloved, even though Paul’s address to the Ephesians sounds a lot more like something out of the Lord of the Rings or Henry V, if you dig a little deeper, it has truth and good news. I invite you to stick around with me and find out.

But, we’ve got to talk about the bad news first. There are powers and evils in this world that want to keep you and I away from eternal, abundant life. Paul says this is what we struggle against. It’s larger and loftier than one person or even a group of people. Our struggle is not with flesh, but with powers. Powers that seek to divide and oppress. They’re things that we encounter everyday. Greed, misogyny, homophobia, selfishness, racism, and sinfulness of all kinds. The prospect of resisting these cosmic evils might feel hopeless. But Paul responds “stand in God’s strength.” You are not helpless against these powers, no. You have a full set of armor to protect you.

You have the belt of God’s truth, which holds you together.

The breastplate of righteousness to protect your heart from all the cosmic evil in the world.

You can lace your sandals to ready yourself to proclaim the gospel–the present evils have already lost, Christ is victorious.

The helmet of salvation, reminding you of your baptism and your unconditional welcome into God’s family.

And finally the sword of the spirit, which is the word of God delivering both law and gospel. A word that can both cut and heal.

This is the full armor of God. They are the tools that equip you to do God’s work in an overwhelmed world. It unites people of faith, it does not divide. It responds in God’s love, not with the world’s hate and fear. It’s a protective agent so that you and I have the ability to withstand our world’s proclivity for violence and oppression, and do it with the Holy Spirit’s guidance. The full armor of God gives us fortitude against sinfulness that keeps us separated from the Triune God and from our neighbor. It helps us with one voice denounce the systemic evils that keep God’s beloved children in oppression and we do all this knowing that it is not with our own strength, but by the strength of God.

Once dressed in this armor, Paul has this directive: Pray. Do it unceasingly. This is a deep kind of prayer, an abiding kind of prayer. A God in you and you in God kind of prayer that Jesus talks about in our gospel reading today. It is a total dependence on the One who has saved us and continues to save us, every moment of every day.

Beloved, you are not alone, you have never been alone, you will never be alone.

Yes, the weight and the pain of this wild world might feel like they are on your shoulders, but you do not have to face it by yourself. The same is true of our neighbors.

Paul asks us to pray for all the saints, including him, a prisoner of the Roman empire, fully dependent on God. This armor was never meant just for our own protection. Our neighbors far and near are experiencing the same cosmic evil as us. They need to know that the armor of God is for them too. We can go out and be God’s armor for people. Whether it’s being a helpful hand to a stranger, a random act of kindness, or advocating for the liberation of all people, we can take our armor to enter into this hurting world speaking love and justice to all. Paul’s directive to pray shifts our focus from our own protection to the empowerment of all God’s beloved children in a weary world that desperately needs to hear good news.

Friends, hear the words of the ambassador in chains: speak truth, guard your heart with righteousness, have faith in the Triune God, renew your mind and remember your baptismal promises, ground yourself in the gospel, for yourself and for your neighbor. But most of all pray, and do it abiding deeply in the God who abides in you so that all may experience the protection and empowerment of the armor of God.

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

We often can’t help but worry “Will there be enough?” but Jesus is enough, and all we need to do is trust that enough is enough. 

Vicar Lauren Mildahl 
The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 18 B 
Texts: Exodus 16:2-4, 9-15; Psalm 78:23-29; Ephesians 4:1-16; John 6:16-35 

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

Now what? 

We’re standing in the wilderness.  Just weeks ago, God did something amazing!  God freed us from slavery in Egypt! God sent the plagues and parted the water and made the bitter water sweet and just days ago we were singing and laughing.  

And now it’s today.  And we’re hungry and tired and still have a long way to go.  Maybe it would be better if we had just died. 

Now what?

We’re standing on the shore of Galilee. Just yesterday, God did something amazing!  God fed us! Five thousand people, out of just five small loaves and two fish. Jesus turned the smallest of gifts into the greatest of blessings.  And then, miraculously, crossed the sea without a boat. 

And now it’s today.  And we’re hungry again and Jesus is nowhere to be seen. 

Now what?

We’re sitting in our pews. Just last Sunday, God did something amazing! And we ate our fill and we sang. I mean, we usually sing, but last week, we sang. As if we really wanted to make sure that Bach and Schutz and Handel heard us.  As if we really wanted to make sure that David heard us. And the Spirit showed up and last week we were fed and filled.

And now it’s today. And we’re hungry again.  And maybe, just a tiny bit, worried.

Now what? 

And sure the Holy Spirit showed up last week, and sure Jesus promised that if we trust we’ll never be hungry, and sure God is able to accomplish more, far more, abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine… 

But will that be enough?

It’s amazing how quickly that question comes to us. Amazing how quickly that full, fed feeling begins to slip away. Emptiness starts to creep in. And the hunger returns. It doesn’t matter how amazingly God has shown up or how recently–weeks ago, last Sunday, yesterday–it doesn’t take long and we’re looking around thinking “Now what?” Sure there was enough yesterday. There might even be enough today. But what about tomorrow?  Will there be enough?

Enough food? Enough money? Enough time? Enough talent?

Will there be enough health? Enough work? Enough rain? Enough votes?

Will there be enough leaders? Enough friends? Enough music? Enough church? 

Will we be enough? Will I be enough?  The fear sets in.  And the hunger. 

That feeling of lack – of craving…something.  That feeling that prompted the crowd to jump in the boats and go looking for Jesus across the Sea.  To ask with desperation when they had found him:  “What must we do to perform the works of God?”

There must be something we can do – something we maybe should have already done.  Because we are afraid and hungry, but maybe, maybe if we just try harder, be better, do more? Maybe if we work a little bit harder, stockpile a little bit more,  then there would be enough.  Maybe then, we wouldn’t be hungry.  

“What must we do?” the crowd asked, “to perform the works of God?”

And Jesus’s answer?  Trust.

That’s it. “This is the work of God, that you trust in the one whom God has sent.”

You don’t have to do anything. It’s not about what you do, it never was. 

“I am enough,” Jesus is saying. And enough is enough. 

So, trust. Trust that I know what you need, and I’ll give it. 

Trust that my grace is sufficient for you. 

Trust that there really is enough. 

And that enough is enough. For today. Enough really is enough.

This is the lesson that God has been trying to teach us since the manna in the wilderness.  “I am going to rain bread from heaven for you, and each day the people shall go out and gather enough for that day.” “So,” the Psalmist picks up the story, “mortals ate the bread of angels; God provided for them food enough.” God, who is above all and through all and in all, who came as Christ to fill all things, gave them enough to fill them. And enough is enough. “So the people ate,” the Psalmist sings, “and were well filled, for God gave them what they craved.”

So why is it so hard to trust?  And why does that hunger keep coming back when Jesus said we’d never be hungry?

And as I was thinking about that this week, I kept thinking about this scene from an episode of Seinfeld.  Kramer and George are sitting in the diner and Kramer asks, “Do you ever yearn?” and George replies, confused “Yearn? Do I yearn?” and he takes a second to think about it and says,  “Well, not recently…I’ve craved.  I crave all the time – constant craving. But I haven’t yearned.” 

And Kramer gives him this look of pity and says “Look at you – You’re wasting your life.”  

And I keep thinking about that scene because it encapsulates so well what Jesus is getting at here.  Jesus is talking about two different types of hunger: physical and spiritual, and two different kinds of longing: craving and yearning. 

Craving is fleeting. It’s a longing for something physical and it can be satiated, but never for very long. You can crave a snack or a cigarette or a touch.  We often crave things that are comforting in the moment, but that we suspect in the long run might not be good for us.  But craving is also part of being human. And God cares about our cravings – sending the literal bread – giving us “what we crave.”

But yearning is something else entirely. It’s prolonged. It’s a longing that is earnest and sincere, often for something that can’t be touched or tasted. You yearn for love or for purpose, or for closure, for acceptance,…or for God.  And when yearning meets its object, it isn’t just filled, it’s fulfilled. It’s transcendent and holy in a way that satisfying a craving never is. 

And when Jesus meets the crowd that went looking for him in Capernaum, he’s asking the same question that Kramer asked George.  “You are craving the food that perishes,” he tells them. “But what are you yearning for?”  Are you listening to your deepest longings, are you searching for what you really need? The craving will come back, but your yearning, that can be fulfilled. If you trust. 

Jesus cared about their cravings, of course he did, he just fed all five thousand of them, but he wants to dig deeper, to their yearning.  Because he knew that they were craving the bread– but that they were yearning for life. 

“I am the Bread of Life” he says. And I am what you’re yearning for. You’ve found me. I’m here to give you life and give it abundantly. I am here to fill all things because I am enough and here’s the best news of all– you are enough too. 

Even with your hunger – all your cravings and yearnings. You are enough. Enough for God to live a human life for.  Enough for God to die a painful and humiliating death for.  Enough for God to go to every length to save you and gather you in and give you life. 

You are enough. Which isn’t to say you are finished. You’re still growing and becoming and being built up, as Paul says to the Ephesians, to the full stature of Christ.  You are learning everyday how to live that life in Jesus, to live a life worthy of your calling.  You are being equipped everyday for the work of ministry, for the work of caring for one another.  So that you can be God’s hands and you can rain down blessings, providing for each other, meeting everyone’s needs–satisfying every kind of hunger. 

Not because you have to perform the works of God. But because you trust.  You trust that in God there is enough.  You are enough. 

And I’ll say it again until you feel it in your bones. You are enough. And enough is enough. 

In the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

 Like Herod, the good news might perplex us, but it also attracts us–and we are called to live into the fullness of God’s shalom by speaking peace and justice. 

Vicar Lauren Mildahl 
The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 15 B 
Texts: Mark 6:14-29; Amos 7:7-15; Psalm 85:8-13; Ephesians 1:3-14 

God’s beloved, grace to you and peace in the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

There’s not much good news in our gospel for today, is there?  

I mean, it’s a good story. It has all the elements: scandal, power, seduction, revenge, tragedy, death. The kind of story that gets told and retold, for sure. Painted and repainted. Adapted and re-adapted. It’s a good story – but is there any good news here for us today?

Because it sure seems like bad news. It sure seems like the power of the world wins. John the Baptizer was sent to prepare the way for the reign of God, but when the reign of God comes head-to-head against the reign of Herod, all it takes is one pleasing dance, and one foolish promise, and then there’s one head on a platter. 

What’s good about that? 

For me, there’s only a glimmer of good news and it’s in this one line that Mark includes: “When Herod heard John the Baptizer, he was greatly perplexed, and yet he liked to listen to him.”

He liked to listen, even though he was “greatly perplexed.” 

The Greek word for perplexed is ἀπορέω, which means to be at a loss – literally “to be wayless” – and translators go lots of different ways with it: “thoroughly baffled,” one version says, “miserable with guilt,” “greatly confused,” “much troubled.”  

And I don’t want to defend or acquit Herod, but I have to confess that I sympathize with him a little bit.  How often have I felt wayless, baffled, miserable with guilt, confused and troubled when I’ve heard the word of God? The Psalmist says, “Let me hear what the Lord God is saying, for you speak peace to your faithful people…” but it doesn’t always feel like peace to me. Especially when that word exposes the ways I’ve chosen the reign of Lauren, rather than the reign of God. 

But maybe that’s the point. 

Because, after all, Herod was supposed to feel troubled by the word from God that John was bringing to him: “For John had been telling Herod, ‘It is not lawful for you to have your brother’s wife.’”  Commentators often say that the problem with this relationship was that it was considered incestuous and that’s why it was not lawful. But if you know the full story, you can see that the problem is bigger than that.  

The law exists to promote life, and this unlawful act brought a lot of death.

Not only John’s, as we heard, but countless others died later because of this marriage. It started a war! Herod and Herodias divorced their spouses in order to marry and this so angered Herod’s ex-father-in-law that he joined up with Herodias’ ex-husband, and they declared war and marched on Galilee. An untold number of soldiers and bystanders died in this conflict. And it didn’t turn out great for Herod and Herodias either, who both died in exile when they had lost the favor of the Roman Emperor. Death, violence, separation, all born from breaches of the law: from coveting, adultery, and lust.  

And John tried to warn them. God sent John to speak the words that Herod needed to hear, to offer Herod and Herodias an alternative path, to “speak the peace” that might have been. 

That’s what prophets always do, really. 

It’s certainly what the prophet Amos was doing. Over seven hundred years before John was sent to Herod, God took Amos from following his flock, and said to him, ‘Go, prophesy to my people Israel.’  And so Amos begged them: “Seek God and live! [Amos 5:4]”  He begged them to choose another path so they could experience the thriving, abundant life in God’s peace! 

Because if they didn’t, Amos had harsh truths to share about where that path would lead: that God would “spare them no longer;” that ”the high places of Isaac would be made desolate, and the sanctuaries of Israel laid waste,” and that God would “rise against the house of Jeroboam with the sword.”  And when the priest Amaziah heard these harsh words, he felt perplexed, baffled, confused and troubled; protesting: “The land is not able to bear” these words.  

These words didn’t feel like God “speaking peace” to God’s people.

But what was hard for Herod and for Amaziah to understand, what is hard for us to remember, is that speaking peace doesn’t just mean saying nice, comforting, calming things. Speaking peace isn’t just the absence of conflict.  Speaking peace is speaking shalom, speaking deep wellness and wholeness within and without and between. 

And shalom doesn’t just appear. 

Which means that speaking peace means speaking the conditions that are necessary for peace. It means speaking justice.  Amos sees the people “selling the righteous for silver and the needy for a pair of sandals…trampling the head of the poor into the dust of the earth and pushing the afflicted out of the way.”  There can’t be peace in these conditions, not when injustice is perpetuated, not when the poor are suffering, not when the powerless are exploited. 

No justice, no peace, Amos warns.  

This is what speaking peace looks like, it looks like Amos trying desperately to draw the people back to true peace that is available in the reign of God, but to get there, they have to live justly. To live in such a way that everyone has what they need. That everyone is loved just the way they are. That everyone’s tender wounds are transformed into sacred scars. That’s what it’s like in the reign of God. And if they seek the reign of God, they will find it. 

And I think that’s why Herod, even though he was troubled, baffled, confused, and perplexed, he still liked to listen to John.  

Because shalom is wonderful. Even Herod could recognize that. He liked the idea of it.  He recognized the goodness of the world that John the Baptizer was proclaiming. 

And we all like to listen when God speaks peace. 

Because there is something deeply appealing about the shalom of the reign of God. It’s what draws us to this room week in and week out. We long to listen to words like the ones Paul offers to the Ephesians: “With all wisdom and insight God has made known to us the mystery of God’s will…to gather up all things in Christ, things in heaven and things on earth.” We like to listen to words like that.  

But it isn’t enough just to listen. 

“Repent!” John said.  “Repent! for the reign of God is near!” That’s the next step after listening, and it’s the step Herod never gets to. He is too afraid for his own status, clinging too tightly to his sense of power and control, and he’s too reluctant to challenge the injustices that benefit him.  He wants peace, but won’t help create it.  And, in the end, that’s why John died. 

Herod chose violence, but that still didn’t bring him peace. 

Because when he hears about Jesus – he thinks it’s John the Baptizer, the man he knew for sure was dead, come back to haunt him. Herod can’t experience the love of God-With-Us or the joy of God’s shalom in the flesh. And he can’t have peace because he is hounded by the memory of his own cruelty and cowardice, haunted by injustice:  No justice. No peace. Given the chance to seek God and live, Herod chose death instead.

We are all still processing the aftermath of the shooting at the Trump rally last night. 

Many of us are perplexed and baffled and confused and troubled. We mourn those who died and pray for healing for those who were injured.  And we fear for the fallout, because we can be sure that this act of violence won’t bring peace, even if the shooter, whoever they were, even if they liked to listen, liked the idea of peace, but chose death instead.   

Let us choose life. 

We are all called to speak God’s peace. There is no ordination, no roster for prophets – we are all prophets, plucked from our flocks. We are called to speak peace in Christ and to speak the justice that is its prerequisite. Not only to speak it, but to bring it into existence by loving God and loving our neighbors, and making sure that everyone, no matter who they vote for,  that everyone is gathered into the fullness of the Holy Spirit.  

It won’t be comfortable. We will have to repent again and again.  And it might even be dangerous, speaking truth to power often is.  But it’s worth it. For the good news.  The good news might perplex us but it also attracts us, like gravity pulling us to our God who loves us so much and wants to gather us into the fullness of shalom. 

Earlier in the book of Amos, the prophet says: “The lion has roared; who will not fear? The Lord God has spoken; who can but prophesy?”

Speak peace this week, beloveds. Speak justice. 

We need it today more than ever. Who can but prophesy? The good news is just so good. 

In the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.