An encounter with Jesus changes our lives and sends us out to serve others and tell everyone about him.

Vicar Erik C. Nelson
March 15, 2026
Texts: Jeremiah 2:4-13; Ephesians 5:8-14; John 8:46-51

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

If I had the ability to add one person to our church’s calendar, that would be Eric Norelius. And his day would be today, March 15th, the anniversary of his death.

If you aren’t familiar with Eric Norelius, he was known for being one of the founders of the Augustana Synod, which is one of the predecessor bodies of the ELCA. He was a Swedish pastor who came over to the U.S. and worked hard to help connect Scandinavian immigrants together into a network of congregations.

His work still continues to this day, through the congregations he helped start. He helped start First Lutheran in Saint Paul and Augustana in Minneapolis, both of which themselves planted several other churches, including Messiah, San Pablo, and Calvary in our neighborhood.

He also helped start Gustavus Adolphus College in Saint Peter, a school still committed to training students for leadership and service.

But one of the biggest pieces of his legacy was the children’s home he started in Vasa, Minnesota, that then grew into what we now know as Lutheran Social Services, one of the largest social service networks in the United States.

Eric Norelius’s life was marked by first knowing Jesus as a friend, as a brother, knowing the love of Jesus deeply. And then he turned to go share that love with others in a way that makes a difference in people’s lives.

In our readings today, we hear this story that we’ve heard many, many times, about the man born blind who experiences healing. In this story, we hear a similar pattern.

The man encounters Jesus, who sends him to the pool of Siloam, and after his healing, he goes out to tell people about Jesus and about the real, tangible difference that Jesus made in his life.

One thing that sticks out to me in this story is that Jesus had just left the temple grounds at the end of the previous chapter, the highest point in the city. And then he encounters this blind man and sends him to the Pool of Siloam, the lowest place in the city and back. I imagine it wouldn’t be an easy journey for anyone, especially someone who can’t see the way.

So I imagine that on that journey through the city and down the steep valley, the man probably had people helping him, maybe looking at him weird for the mud on his eyes, but letting him know which way to go. This healing, like many of Jesus’s healings, wasn’t just by one person for one person. It was with the help of many people, in order to bring this one person into the community in a new way.

He went to the pool, washed, and then came back able to see. But instead of celebrating with him, the people he encountered on his return challenged him and said that his healing was the work of demons. But I love his response.

Instead of engaging too much with the theological and philosophical debates, he simply shares his experience. “He put mud on my eyes. Then I washed, and now I see.” His life was changed by an encounter with Jesus, and he just wants to share it with others.

And I love the line that, after managing their theologizing and debating, he sees they’re obsessed with Jesus, and he just asks if they want to follow him too.

I see this as an example of a person living with a soft heart and open hands. Someone who refuses to harden his heart, someone who does not engage in the cynicism of the world, and instead knows the love of God, and that love of God flows out through him.

He’s someone who would just be discarded, according to the ways of the world. But in the reign of Christ, the people on the outside become the insiders.

We see this again in our Old Testament reading, with this very well-known line, “For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”

Of all these brothers who could have been chosen to be the king, God chose the youngest brother, David, who was out with the sheep. He probably was stinky. He was small and young. There was nothing about him that would say that he would be a great king for the nation.

But instead, he was, as we know, from his writing in the psalms and other places, he was sensitive. Psalm 51, which we’ll sing later, “Create in me a clean heart, O God,” is attributed to David. He had a soft heart. And this is the way that God works in the world, among God’s people. With soft hearts and open hands.

God calls us to be sensitive with one another and caring. And God wants us to serve together for the good of others.

This is something we see in the life of Eric Norelius and his legacy. He and his fellow immigrants were kept at a distance and not trusted. These Swedes with their strange language and unfamiliar liturgies were the outsiders in this land.

And yet they built these congregations and institutions for the good of their neighbors, for their city, for the state and the whole country. LSS isn’t only for Swedes. It’s for everyone. And think about how many millions of dollars of grocery and rental assistance have flowed through San Pablo, Augustana, Calvary, and Messiah in the last several months. Think about how many immigrants and marginalized Americans that LSS has helped in the last 150 years.

Today’s reading is a reminder that God does care about our lives. God cares about the ways we physically encounter the world and one another. And God’s hand of healing is always extended to us.

Thanks be to God.

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

Worthless Things

Vicar Erik C. Nelson
Texts: Jeremiah 2:4-13; John 8:46-51

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

Last week I encouraged this congregation to refuse to harden your hearts. I talked about the importance of living with a soft heart and open hands. I talked about all the forces in the world that conspire to harden our hearts, cutting us off from the love God pours out upon us and from being able to share that love with others.

I talked about how having a soft heart makes you vulnerable. Cynicism and apathy can be a powerful armor, and if you want to stay safe, maybe that’s the way to go. But refusing to harden your heart means that in spite of the risk of loss and pain, your earnestness matters.

An essential part of having a full life with a soft heart is a commitment to honesty and integrity.

So I have to be honest with you today, in this pulpit, about how I’ve wrestled with today’s readings. In our gospel reading, Jesus has one of his most intense clashes with the Pharisees, which ends with them picking up rocks to stone him. In our first reading, we have Jeremiah speaking for God, calling the nation to repentance in a truly brutal way. I can’t stop thinking about the line that says that the nation “went after worthless things and became worthless themselves.”

I can’t shake this line, as it shakes the foundations of my vision of God. I know God to be merciful and compassionate, looking at us with total delight, seeing us as having infinite value, such great worth that God himself took on human flesh and lived among us.

So I hear this, and the prophetic hyperbole stops me in my tracks. These incisive words from Jeremiah are meant to catch us off guard, to get us thinking about our own lives. What are we doing with our lives? What worthless things are we pursuing? What are we putting before God in our life?

How are we undermining our own worth in that pursuit?

I can’t stop thinking about the fact that for the last eleven days, our own country has been pulled into yet another illegal war for oil. This war shows us again, the gods of this nation. The idols that we lift up that threaten our relationships with God and with one another.

These idols are money and oil and weapons. And these idols are different from the idols Jeremiah is speaking against. But what our idols have in common is that they all demand blood. Especially the blood of children.

A challenge to our soft hearts is the fact that in the opening volley of this war, 175 students and staff at a girls’ school were killed by American weapons. Since then, seven American soldiers have been killed, leaving families without their mom, their brother, their dad, their uncle. 1200 Iranians so far have been killed.

And in the continued attacks, the destruction of refineries has resulted in hellish conditions in the cities of Iran, with the gutters full of burning fuel and the air full of smoke and ash. Children’s lungs are full of these toxic fumes and they will have to live with the consequences for the rest of their lives.

What’s happening there is catastrophic now and will be for decades. So when I hear today’s scripture lesson, these extreme words from God’s prophet, it strikes at my heart.

It hits me where I’m most burdened. Our country is pursuing worthless things. I hope we’re not becoming worthless in the process.

It would be easy to preach a lighter sermon, one that only briefly touches on these things, but these are heavy texts, and they call for a serious wrestling.

And we live in the context of our faith being contorted to justify this war.

From the beginning of the war, religious liberty watchdogs have received hundreds of reports from our soldiers of commanders and leaders telling them that this is a holy war. Leaders of our military and defense structure have been using their interpretation of scripture to say that by bombing a girls’ school, they are bringing about the return of Jesus.

But the Bible is very clear about idolatry. The Bible consistently rails against any attempt or effort to put something else in God’s place in our lives.

And this condemnation of idolatry comes up in our gospel reading today. This dispute between Jesus and the Jewish leaders ends with Jesus making a claim to be God, and so the leaders pick up rocks to stone him.

Even if these leaders were wrong, not recognizing Jesus as the Son of God, their intentions were right, resisting what they saw as idolatry and the wrongful use of God’s name.

Violence was the wrong response to that, but we must respond in some way. We don’t have the right to remain silent when we see or hear our scriptures and beliefs being twisted to justify violence and Christian nationalism. We must resist it.

These holy days, when Lent and Ramadan coincide, we have an opportunity to slow down and see our neighbors as truly our siblings. We have an opportunity to live in solidarity.

We saw in our city’s resistance to federal occupation that when God’s people come together to resist tyranny, even the darkest of days can be overcome.

In the gospel reading today, Jesus promises that whoever keeps his word will never see death. Whoever listens to him will see eternal life.

We have an opportunity to listen to him when he says, “Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.”

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.”

“If anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also.”

“Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”

When we live with soft hearts and open hands, these things that Jesus says, they start to make sense. The violence and idolatry of the world is laid bare. We see the emptiness of the messages we receive that make us see one another as enemies to be conquered or a means to an end.

When we live with soft hearts and open hands, we become conduits for God’s love, the living water that Jesus pours out for us.

This living water that Jesus gives us is not a tame, quiet puddle. But it is active and rushing and moves us into action, for the sake of the world.

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

Invite the Triune God who is with you, who knows everything about you, to stay with you and you will find life and hope – for you and for the world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Third Sunday in Lent, year A
Text: John 4:(3-4) 5-42

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

“He told me everything I have ever done.”

That’s what convinced this brilliant woman, whom tradition has named Photine, “luminous one,” to trust Jesus, to dare to hope that this strange Jewish man at the well might be the Messiah. It wasn’t his confusing talk about living water. It wasn’t his theological engagement on the differences between Jews and Samaritans. It wasn’t even his promise that in future, true worshippers will worship God in spirit and truth, not tied to nation or place.

What convinced her was Jesus saying, “you’ve had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband.” That’s her witness to her neighbors: “Come and see someone who told me everything I’ve ever done! Can this be the Messiah?”

It’s hard to imagine that inspired her trust.

We don’t have to make Photine into a fallen woman, either, rebuked by Jesus’ knowledge. John says nothing of the sort. No information is given about her husbands, and any speculation about that, or about her coming alone in the heat of the day without other women, ultimately remains speculation that John doesn’t feel the need to answer.

What is remarkable is that Jesus looks at Photine, knows her fully, and she receives that as welcome not judgment, as love not rebuke. Surely she was stunned at what he knew. But she heard it as hope for her and for her people. So much so she ran back to town in the heat to let the others know.

Would you want to meet someone who could look at you and know everything?

Someone who could see into your heart and know who you can’t stand and how hard it can be for you to love? Who could immediately know where you are sad inside, or lonely? Where you feel inadequate or a failure? Who could see every mistake, every horrible thing you’ve said, every unkind thought or action?

Yet not only did Photine embrace that as gift, so did her neighbors. They were so taken by Jesus they invited him to stay with them. For two days!

Inviting someone into your house is always a potential anxiety. You can’t hide in your own home like you can in public. They’ll see your messes and mistakes, even if you try to sweep them aside quickly before they get there. They’ll see a truth about you in how you live that you can easily mask when you’re not there.

But like so many others in the Gospels, knowing that Jesus already looked into their hearts and knew everything about them, they said, “could you stay with us, please?”

That’s because being known by the God of the universe was a gift of life to them.

Jesus said to Photine, “if you knew who I am, you’d ask me and I’d fill you with living water, with abundant, real life, that will forever change you.” And now Jesus says that to you.

Jesus says, “I give what you really need, not what you think you need. I give you living water. Life itself. Look, I know everything about you,” Jesus says. “Let’s be honest. Everything you wish you could hide, I know. Everything that if your neighbors knew you’d be ashamed of, I know. Everything you’ve ever done, ever thought, ever thought about doing, I know. And still, I offer you life.

“And the food and drink I give you at my Table, the words I speak to you, the hands of my many friends that hold you, these are my gifts to you that never end,” Jesus says. “I fill you up where no other food and drink can, where no financial security, no possessions, no chemicals ever will: inside. Where you hurt, and I know it, because I love you. Inside, where you doubt, and I know it, because you are my beloved child. Inside, where you are sad and lonely and think you aren’t good enough, or where you cling to grudges and hate, and I know it because I know your heart. Inside, where you struggle to live by God’s will, and I know it, because I shared your struggle.”

And Jesus comes to you with this offer because no one is to be left out of God’s life.

John says Jesus “had” to go through Samaria. Geographically, that’s not true. There were ways for Jews to go from Judea to Galilee and avoid hated Samaria.

Jesus “had” to go for another reason. So he could meet Photine and be God’s love to her, which he knew would then spread to the people of Sychar. And who knows how far beyond that city this good news spread to the Samaritans.

And so, encounter by encounter, visit by visit, this world can be healed. This world of fear and violence and oppression, this world where people of faith hate each other because they see their differences as vital, this world where love seems scarce so many days, all this can be brought into the love and abundance and grace of God. Where all are welcome and all are loved and all have their hunger and thirst filled.

And so Jesus can’t let you miss this encounter, this offer of life, either.

It’s scary to invite God-with-us who knows everything about you to stay with you in your home, in your life. But if you follow Photine you will, like her, like the people of Sychar, like millions after them, find abundant life. And full welcome. And healing hope.

Jesus said to Photine, “if you knew who I am, you’d ask me and I’d fill you with living water, with abundant, real life, that will forever change you.”

And now Jesus looks at you, knows everything you’ve ever done, and offers you the same life.

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

Soft Hearts, Open Hands

Vicar Erik C. Nelson
Texts: Hebrews 3:12-14; John 3:17-21

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

One of the phrases I live by, that I often repeat to myself, is “refuse to harden your heart.” I have it printed out on a card, hanging on my bulletin board at home. I have it in my Facebook bio. I don’t remember exactly when I picked it up but it has served me through the last decade.

My whole adult life, since I graduated high school in 2015, has been full of violence and cruelty and pandemic and insurrection and federal occupation and all sorts of things that could easily sweep us into despair and cynicism.

These things, among others, are some of the things our readings today might call the “deceitfulness of sin.”

If sin is whatever separates us from God, our neighbors, and ourselves, and the love of God, love of our neighbors, and love of ourselves, all these events of the last decade seem designed to harden our hearts and wrap us up in sin.

When we see violence and cruelty, we can be tempted to respond with our own violence and cruelty. Or we can turn inward, trying to protect ourselves but ultimately cutting ourselves off from one another.

When we stumbled into the pandemic, we saw a rise of a radical form of individualism, that didn’t care if people lived or died, but only cared that our individual rights and freedoms were protected, at any cost.

When the imperial boot has come down and military forces have been deployed into our streets, we can find it hard to see the humanity and dignity of the person on the other end of the rifle.

And yet, when we refuse to harden our hearts, we remain open to God’s way.

We forgive those who do violence against us. We pray for our persecutors. We open ourselves up to each other in self-giving love. We can see the humanity of even an ICE agent and invite them to open up their heart to love.

The deceitfulness of sin hardens us and turns us away from God and one another. It makes us cynical and jaded. It makes us ashamed and makes us want to hide.

Refusing to harden our hearts keeps us away from the cynicism of the world and keeps us in God’s light.

The Message Translation of our John reading conveys the urgency of this problem when it says, “This is the crisis we’re in: God-light streamed into the world, but men and women everywhere ran for the darkness. They went for the darkness because they were not really interested in pleasing God. Everyone who makes a practice of doing evil, addicted to denial and illusion, hates God-light and won’t come near it, fearing a painful exposure”

The thing about refusing to harden your heart is that it makes you vulnerable. When others see the God-light shining on you and through you, people will call you naive and or too earnest, or say you’re unrealistic. If you’re young, you’ll hear people say you just need some more real-world experiences, that’ll rough you up.

I hope that I stay soft, even as life experiences rough me up. I hope that I continue to love the God-light, seeking it out, staying away from denial and illusion.

I think the real acts of denial and illusion are whenever we accept what God says is unacceptable. Whenever we say that violence is justifiable. Whenever we say that a life is expendable, or a person is illegal, or an enemy can be discarded, we run from the God-light, and buy into that practice of doing evil, becoming addicted to denial and illusion.

When we get wrapped up in those lies about others, about ourselves, when we forget that every person is a precious child of God, made in God’s own image, we start to get lost in that darkness.

It’s been said that the most dangerous person is the one who thinks that they are beyond saving, that they are utterly hopeless and helpless. If someone thinks there’s no going back after what they’ve done, they can then justify to themselves doing even worse things.

But the message of the Gospel reminds us that it’s never too late. Jesus didn’t come to the world to condemn the world, but to save the world.

The way to live in the world without hardening your heart is to have confidence in this truth.

The good that we do and the bad that we do can’t undo Jesus’s saving work in the world.

When we know that before and beyond anything we do or don’t do, we are loved, we are forgiven, and we are claimed by Christ forever, then we can live with soft hearts and open hands.

This is the kind of new life that Jesus invited Nicodemus into when he told him he must be born again. Again and again, Jesus tells anyone who listens that they must become like children if they are to inherit the Kingdom of God.

And this isn’t about becoming an actual child, but it’s about keeping a soft heart and an active spirit, trusting God’s promises to us. Trusting in God’s presence among us. Trusting that God’s truth, God’s compassion, God’s mercy, will always triumph over judgment, cruelty, and violence.

Refusing to harden your heart is a radical act that resists empires, pushes back the devil and the forces of hell, and helps each of us to live more fully into the people who God has made us to be.

God help us.

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

You are called as Christ to go out your door and serve as Christ, and you will be changed, but you also go out with the grace and strength of Christ.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Second Sunday in Lent, year A
Texts: Genesis 12:1-4a; Psalm 121; John 3:1-17

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

Bilbo Baggins once said to his nephew, Frodo,

“It’s a dangerous business . . . going out your door. You step onto the road, and . . . there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.”[1]

Nicodemus would agree. So would Sarah and Abraham. Once you step out of your door onto a journey there’s no knowing what might happen. What might change. What will challenge you, what dangers you might face.

But what they learned was that who you are journeying with matters most.

Nicodemus went out his door into the streets one evening.

He’d heard of Jesus, this rabbi who was doing astounding things that only could come from God. And yet Jesus hadn’t sought the permission or support of the religious leadership, and reportedly said things that seemed counter to God’s law. Nicodemus was a respected teacher, rabbi, leader of his people. He felt he had to investigate.

And Nicodemus, this respected teacher, rabbi, leader of his people, who knew the Scriptures better than most, found something in Jesus that radically shifted the ground on which he stood, the certainty with which he taught. It was a dangerous business for him to go out the door that night. And he was forever changed.

Sarah and Abraham also stepped out of their door into uncertainty.

This unknown God called to them, claimed to be the one, true God, and said, “I need you to go to another place that I will show you.” No destination named, just stop when I say stop.

Imagine those first days and nights, living in tents instead of a comfortable house, temporary corrals for the animals, missing the beloved extended family. This journey became the founding story of a people of God who were intended to bless the earth, and who did. But on the road surely Abraham had moments of wondering, “Did I really hear God’s voice?” It was a dangerous business for them to go out the door. And they were forever changed.

But Nicodemus wasn’t alone; he met with Jesus, God-with-us.

Abraham and Sarah started and continued and ended their journey with the God of the universe leading them.

There’s a prayer Lutherans in this country love, having had it in our worship books since 1958. Written by Eric Milner-White, dean of King’s College, Cambridge, for his 1941 compilation book “Daily Prayer,” it’s meant to reflect Sarah and Abraham’s days and nights on that road. It’s carved beautifully in wood in our north stairwell. You know it well. He prayed,

“O God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us.”

It’s a dangerous business to go out your door. Unless you are accompanied by the God who loves, guides, and holds you.

This prayer so often seems to speak precisely to where we are.

It closes most annual meetings of this congregation and many of our Vestry meetings

In these challenging, frightening, troubling days, it remains the prayer we need. We know we’re called to go out our door and be Christ in the world. You know your faith isn’t just for your benefit, it’s your calling to bear God’s love however you can. Even if our whole society collapses, which some days seems more likely than not, you and I are called to be Christ’s light in that mess. When our neighbors are executed or torn from their homes, you and I are called to stand with them, to do what Jesus would do if he were here. When crises happen, you and I know we can’t sit back, but must be love and grace for those struggling.

It is a dangerous business to go out your door as Christ. But like Dean White, like Abraham and Sarah, like Nicodemus, you know this: the God who loves you beyond death is guiding you, walking with you, holding your hand in this journey. And that’s enough.

But you certainly will learn things on the road as these faithful ones did.

You will learn, like Sarah and Abraham, that while it’s often confusing and frightening to follow God’s call, if you take one step at a time, praying for understanding and courage, you can move forward.

You will learn, like Nicodemus, to let go of some cherished opinions and ways of thinking which don’t stand up to the wind of the Holy Spirit, who blows where she wills and invites you to an entirely new way of thinking and loving and being.

So much so, Jesus says it’s like she’s giving birth to you into a new life. A life where you see God’s love for the whole world as so powerful God came in person, not to judge but to save, and not just the chosen few but all who trust in that love. A birth into a life where following faithfully isn’t about having all the answers but about trusting the One who guides you and holds you by the hand.

All who follow God’s call are radically changed by it. But these three witness to the joy of that new life, that new birth, that journey in the heart and love of God.

God has called you, God’s own servant, to ventures of which you cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown.

But God hasn’t left you alone to these perils, those paths, these ventures. You go out your door, knowing it’s a dangerous business, but also knowing each step of the way you are accompanied by the Triune God whose love made the universe and fills it, who unsleepingly watches over your going out and your coming in, as Psalm 121 reminds today, whose love knows you by name, who guides you and gives you the courage to be what God needs you to be in this world of pain and grief.

So always remember this lesser-known name for God: “Faithful Companion on the Journey.” And with God at your side, open your door. Go out. And rejoice where you and God will go, step by step.

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

[1] J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring