On Reign of Christ Sunday, the church considers what it means to follow a crucified king. Jesus rules from the cross, extending his mercy and compassion to all. As followers of Christ, we reject all forms of violence and instead go out to serve.

Vicar Erik Nelson
The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 23 C
Texts: Jeremiah 23:1-6; Psalm 46; Colossians 1:11-20; Luke 23:33-43

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

Every Sunday, there’s something I notice that I don’t think many other people do.

In all the dozens of hours I’ve spent sitting right there, (point to my seat in the chancel) I’ve always looked up in the south chancel window, and looked for the ear.

Out of context, that ear in the stained glass seems totally random. But in context, it serves as a powerful object lesson.

This ear comes from Luke 22, the chapter directly preceding today’s Gospel reading. As the temple guards came to arrest Jesus, one of Jesus’ followers did something totally expected, totally natural. He wanted to defend Jesus. So he took out his sword and struck one of the attackers, a slave of the high priest, cutting off his ear.

Jesus’s response to this episode, though, tells us a lot about his identity as our ruler. He said, “no more of this!” picked up the ear, and healed the slave.

This episode is an example of what happens when we misunderstand what kind of king Jesus is, and what his reign looks like.

We often think Jesus needs us to take up swords to defend him. Sometimes these are literal swords, like the episode in the garden. But often we also see Christians tempted to take up the sword of the state or the sword of scripture to cast down their enemies.

But this is not the kind of leader Jesus is.

Jesus is a ruler whose reign is marked by tenderness and mercy. He loves his enemies and makes room at the table for everyone.

In Jeremiah, God is the one who gathers us up, mending our damage. In the Psalm, God breaks the bow and shatters the spear. In Luke 22, Jesus heals the slave’s ear.

And in Luke 23, Jesus gives us an even deeper insight into the reign of Christ, that is marked by forgiveness, compassion, and promise.

In the beginning of the reading, they take Jesus up to the place where criminals were taken to be killed. Of course, Jesus was not a criminal. He did nothing wrong.

But his life was a threat to his rulers. They saw the way he welcomed outsiders in, and went to the margins, and they heard him say that this was the way of God, his Father.

And this combination — claiming his identity as the Son of God, the long-awaited Savior-King, and challenging these old orthodoxies and strict binaries — led to the arrest and sham trial that got him killed.

As they took him to the hill and nailed him to the cross, they mocked him and jeered at him. All four Gospels tell us about the sign they made that said, “King of the Jews.” This was a funny joke to the Romans. They wanted to send the message that this is what happens when you challenge the empire.

And his response to that was only, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.”

Jesus knew that the world protects power at any cost. Jesus knew that his ministry that challenged unjust systems and structures would be met with deadly force by the ones with the most committed to maintaining those structures. 

We sometimes put the blame only on the religious leaders who handed him over to be executed. Or we point only at the Roman politicians and soldiers, as they were ones who actually carried out the killing.

But we don’t see the ways that our own systems today continue to crucify Jesus. The image of God is seen in every unhoused neighbor who shivers in the cold tonight. Christ is crucified again and again whenever we act with callousness and cruelty against other children of God.

And yet we hear Jesus say, in the face of such violence and cruelty, “Father forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.”

Jesus offers his killers — and us — forgiveness.

And in response to those grace-filled words, Jesus faces more cruelty. “He saved others; let him save himself. If he is the Messiah of God, God’s chosen one!” and, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!”

In the face of this mockery, Jesus was silent. Ironically, the things these soldiers said were true. Jesus could have saved himself. He could have called down armies of angels to defend him from death.

And yet he chose to stay there, refusing to inflict more violence, in a violent world, showing us a surprising, paradoxical image of God’s power. God’s love and power is shown to us most clearly in Christ dying for his friends.

The thing a bully wants most is a response. In his silence, Jesus didn’t give these soldiers what they wanted. In his silence, I hope these soldiers heard the shameful cruelty of their words.

In the face of our mockery, in response to our hard hearts, Jesus here gives us an opportunity to recommit ourselves to his way.

And in this last interaction, with the two other crucified people, Jesus shows us an image of his way… he shows us what his reign is like.

This first criminal continues the mockery, and in response to it, Jesus continues to be silent. 

The second criminal rebukes the first, confessing both his own sin, and Jesus’ innocence. His next line to Jesus, I think, reveals his guilty conscience, the deep shame he carried inside him.

He has faith that Jesus will enter into his kingdom, but he thinks he can’t come along. It’s not a kingdom for people like him. He says, “Jesus remember me,” because he thinks there’s no way he could deserve to be in that place. He could only be a memory.

But the way that Jesus responds overturns his expectations. He overturns our expectations. He shows us that the way of God, the reign of Christ, is marked by abundance and mercy. He tells him that today, you will be with him in Paradise.

Thank God that second criminal got to hear those words of life.

But my mind also goes to that first criminal. The one who, in the depths of his pain and anguish and grief, mocked Jesus.

I believe that those words of life were for both criminals hanging there. Those words of life were for the Roman soldiers who nailed him to the cross, and the religious leaders who ordered it. Those words of life are for us.

In his death, rising, and ascension, Christ broke the power of sin, death, and the devil.

In the midst of the crucifixion, Jesus remained the image of the invisible God. Our reading from Colossians tells us, “through Christ, God was pleased to reconcile to God’s own self all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of Christ’s cross.”

Thank God that we hear those words of life. We are reconciled to God. I tell you that today you will be with Christ in Paradise.

And it’s not because of any of our good works, and can’t be prevented by any of our wrongdoing. Before and beyond anything we do or don’t do, Jesus has told us that, “today you will be with me in Paradise.”

But thankfully, we don’t have to die today, in order to get there. In a few minutes, as we come forward to the table, to receive Christ’s body and blood, we will experience a moment with him in Paradise. 

But as we come to the table, we’re not meant to just stay here. We receive the body of Christ so that we might be the body of Christ in the world.

We come and receive Christ’s abundance that we might go and give from our abundance.

When we leave today, we bring Paradise with us. Every time we follow Christ’s example of forgiveness, compassion, and promise, eternity breaks into the everyday.

The reign of Christ is a now and not-yet thing. He reigns among us now. And he will come again to reign among us forever. All the wars will end. All the systems of oppression will be broken. All will be fed and warm and safe.

But we don’t have to wait until then to do the work. We can end conflict in our lives. We can work to overturn systems of oppression. And we can feed the hungry and clothe the naked and shelter the homeless now.

And in doing so, today, we will be with Christ in Paradise.

Thanks be to God.

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

You and I may never make a measurable impact, be a visible success by the world’s standards, in serving Christ. But all we are called to be is faithful, and God gives us the strength we need.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Twenty-third Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 33 C
Texts: Luke 21:5-19; 2 Thessalonians 3:6-13

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

Jesus was right. We saw it.

Your group visiting our mission partners in Palestine stood last Monday morning on the Temple Mount in Jerusalem. There was no Temple to be seen. A beautiful seventh-century shrine, the Dome of the Rock, and a mosque, stood there. Scholars can’t even agree exactly where on that huge platform this Temple that caused the disciples to gape in awe actually stood. So the chief rabbi of Jerusalem forbids Jews from walking on the Temple Mount because they might inadvertently commit sacrilege by straying onto what was once the Holy of Holies. No one knows for sure where it was. Nothing is left.

Not a stone will be left on stone? Jesus was absolutely right.

We saw that everywhere we went. At nearly every church erected on a holy place where Jesus and the women and men following him went, the story was the same. Again and again we heard that the first structures were built in the first centuries or often by the Byzantines, destroyed by the Persians, rebuilt by the Crusaders, torn down again by some caliph or sultan, and eventually rebuilt. Many we visited are only 20th or 21st century structures. As faithfully and lovingly as Christian believers built their impressive edifices, they didn’t last.

These are important words for us to hear.

For example, what about our building, this house of faith? Beautifully designed, carefully planned, lovingly cared for these 90 years. It would be easy to admire this place and all we do, and, like the disciples, say “we’ve got it all taken care of. Look how beautiful this is!”

Our tendency to trust in ourselves to secure our future, to look to build a legacy, to leave behind something permanent and lasting is folly. But this building and all we have could be gone in a moment, as people around the world constantly learn. That magnificent Temple was utterly destroyed only 40 years later. Palestinians regularly lose their homes in a single day to bulldozers. Churches are demolished by the next conquering force. Our democratic institutions prove fragile and vulnerable and susceptible to deep damage. Nothing will last.

Jesus isn’t trying to frighten. He’s almost calm as he speaks of end times, because his main goal is to invite you not to fear, not to worry about whether you’ll make a difference, or whether you’ll fail or be rejected. Instead, he says, focus on something else.

We need to unpack that a bit.

We might not be as focused on our building as I just made out. But we do hope to make a difference in this world. Whether it’s feeling like we’ve accomplished something to end racism or sexism or oppression or systemic violence or homelessness or poverty, we hope and wish we could make a lasting impact. To look back in five, ten, thirty years and see we made a difference.

Jesus says that’s just not guaranteed. In fact, he says you should expect to fail more than succeed. There will be setbacks, frustrations. Our efforts will be opposed, our spirits flagged, our hopes diminished. Our group came back from this trip pretty overwhelmed by the enormous, complex nature of the problems our partners face, and few answers as to how that could be transformed.

But that’s true of our work here, too. It’s never going to be easy to be a faithful follower, Jesus says. And we’re not likely to have huge, measurable accomplishments, either as individuals or as a community.

Which gives us a couple options.

We could circle the wagons, push away outsiders that don’t like us or that we don’t like, not worry about the planet because it’s all going away anyway, not worry about the suffering of others because we can’t stop it anyway, and just make sure we who are inside our circle of concern are OK. Given that goes against everything Jesus taught and lived, we’re safe to abandon this option.

But another way is found in Jesus’ parables of the end times. Jesus repeatedly tells stories where the master returns at a surprising time and honors the ones who simply tried to be faithful at their work. In other words, Jesus says again and again, just be about what you are called to be and do. Don’t worry about your impact. Just be faithful to your calling. Then, no matter how it all ends, you’ll be doing what needs doing.

And we know what that means for us. We can act on this.

There are needs, and we have God-given resources, and we can do something. There are children and adults in Palestine and India and Chile and Guatemala and Nigeria who need God’s care and love, and we can do something about that through our global work. There are partners in this city and through the work of our ELCA siblings around the country doing vital work for those in need of God’s grace that struggle for funds, and we can do something about that through our tithes and offerings.

There is ministry here in this place and in our neighborhood that needs doing the rest of this year and next year, and beyond, vital work of being God’s presence amongst our neighbors and seeing God’s presence in our neighbors, that in our serving and working and caring we can do something about.

So don’t grow weary in doing what is right, my dear family, Paul says.

Because nothing you do in Christ is ever in vain. Not your smile to the person on the corner with the cardboard sign and your greeting of peace. Not your helping of your neighbor, or your making a call to your elected leaders, or the time and passion and wealth you spend with your family in this faith community serving in any number of different ways. None of that is wasted. None is ineffective.

And: you’re in God’s hands and can’t ultimately be harmed, Jesus says, even if all this falls down. You’re in God’s grace and forgiveness, covering all you’ve done and haven’t done that’s hindered God’s work in the world. The grace of God fills you, the Spirit of God transforms you, and God removes your weariness.

In the end, nothing will last. But for now, you are needed, and Christ promises today you are blessed with Christ’s strength and courage, and wisdom to be able to serve.

So, my dear family, do not grow weary in doing what is right.

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

See as Christ sees as blessed, not the world, and you will be. Act as Christ acts as holy, as you are set apart, and you will live as a saint.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
All Saints Sunday, year C
Text: Luke 6:20-31

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

Jesus just sees things differently. That’s his point.

Many of us would say that “saint” means a nearly perfect person, always kind, loving, good to all. “She’s a real saint,” we say, and know what we mean.

Most also hear “blessed” in a particular way. People are blessed if they’re doing well financially, their families are in health, they have good jobs. If things are going well for them.

But that’s not how Jesus sees it. So, being a blessed saint starts with being given new eyes to see as Christ sees. And corrected vision will lead to new ways of being and acting.

Jesus today is only talking to followers, disciples.

All the blessings and woes and challenging actions are directed at insiders, those women and men who have chosen to follow Jesus. They’re the ones he’s trying to help see.

That means Jesus isn’t making blanket statements. He’s looking at real poor people among his followers and saying, “you are blessed.” And he says “woe, alas, to you,” to his followers who are full, or wealthy.

And when Jesus describes the challenging way of walking God’s reign, he’s saying it to these couple dozen women and men following him at this point, and to you and me and all who are followers, saying that if we want to follow the path of Christ, this is how we will live and act and pray.

Jesus is trying to help us learn his way of seeing, his values.

The world says “blessed” people always have enough, and more, of what they want. Wealth, possessions, security. “Blessed” people are always liked by others, have a good reputation. But Jesus says, “that’s not how I see it.”

So he says to his poorer followers, “you lack wealth, but you have God’s reign in your life. You’re physically hungry, but I fill you up inside with strength and hope in all things. You’ve been hurt or abused, but you are always my beloved.” He’s not promoting poverty or hunger or abuse. But he also doesn’t see it as a sign you’re not loved or cared for by God. Instead, it helps you see what’s truly life-giving in life.

And he says to some of his other followers, “the risk with your wealth is that you’ll think it’s your savior. You’ll depend on it, seek it, worry about it, and you’ll ignore your neighbors in need. If you’re always full, always get what you want, it’s easy to forget how many are not full or cared for. If you’re full, what do you care if millions lose their SNAP assistance?

Wealth easily becomes an idol, Jesus warns. Fullness easily shapes priorities. Wanting others to like you easily drives bad decisions. This way of seeing misses what’s truly life-giving in life.

But to all his followers, rich or poor, Jesus says “if you’re willing to listen, I have a way of life that will bless you and the world.”

This is the way of life that can only be seen as life-giving with new eyes. Because it goes completely against the values of this world.

So, Jesus says, be the person who ends the existence of enemies by loving yours. Who ends the cycle of hatred by doing good to everyone who hates you. Be the person who blesses and prays for even those who curse and abuse you. Who ends the cycle of violence by not retaliating when others harm you. Be the person who ends the cycle of greed and wealth by giving to everyone who asks from you, everyone who needs. Who ends the cycle of “they did it to me first” by doing to everyone exactly as you would have them do to you.

All that destroys in our world can be traced back to these patterns. Take revenge and payback, and hatred returned for hatred, take the inability to share abundance, the blindness wealth and fullness and popular opinion can bring, and multiply it all by seven billion people and you get the world we live in.

But living Jesus’ challenging ways brings true blessing to the world, breaks the cycles of evil and pain that are destroying this world and the lives of all of God’s children.

That’s what you and I were baptized to be and do. To take these holy eyes the Spirit gives us, and learn to live in a whole, healing, blessed way for our lives and for the life of the world.

And all the blessed saints knew we can’t be perfect at this.

Once someone we love dies and is named among the saints, we tend to forget their flawed moments and only remember the good things. That’s a gift for our memory. But it’s not the truth. In fact, you know this already about every saint you remembered today who is in the life to come, even every official saint on our list.

You know these beloved ones failed sometimes, acted badly. They sometimes looked at the world with the world’s eyes, not Christ’s, and didn’t become a blessing. And like them, you’re not going to be perfect. Your Christly vision will have blind spots. Times you forget and look at the world in the old way. Times you don’t turn the other cheek, or don’t give to those who ask of you, times you cling to hatred or anger.

Don’t fret, these saints say to you. We all had days like that. Trust God’s love for you, and God’s forgiveness. Let God’s Spirit clear up your vision.

See as Christ sees. Live as Christ lives. And you, and eventually everyone, will know the blessedness of God’s reign.

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

Our readings for Reformation Sunday invite us to reconsider what Christian freedom is. When a Christian understands that they are freed from sin, lies, and other burdens, they become free to love and serve their neighbors with open hands.

Vicar Erik Nelson
Reformation Sunday
Texts: John 8:31-36

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

“You will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.”

“So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.”

As people in the United States, we hear a lot about freedom. It’s one of those loaded words that carries a lot of meaning, depending on your own experiences in this country. And as our country’s 250th anniversary approaches, I think we’ll hear more and more of that word being thrown around.

So I think this is as good a time as any to get ahead of the curve and start thinking about freedom, and how it relates to our Christian identities. In the months I’ve been here, we’ve talked about how our allegiance is first to God’s family. What does freedom mean in that context?

I’ll take a risk and say that Christian freedom, what Jesus calls us to, couldn’t be further from what our culture tells us freedom is.

American freedom, as it’s been defined for most of my life, has been primarily used to describe freedom from things. Freedom from taxation, freedom from being told what to do, freedom from obligation, generally.

But the Christian message of freedom is bad news for that American idea of freedom.

Christian freedom is simultaneously the freedom that Christ describes here, a freedom from lies and sin, (pause) and also a freedom to serve our neighbors. Because we have been freed by Christ and welcomed permanently into his family, we are freed to love and serve God and our neighbors … to live a life of freedom, and obligation.

American freedom is often just self-centeredness … Christian freedom leads us to serve our neighbors.

This calling to service with open hands starts with rightly understanding today’s scripture readings, and our place in them.

As I read these passages, I see how God is the actor in all of them.

In Jeremiah, God is the one who writes the law on our hearts. In the Psalm, God is our refuge; God is the one who melts the earth and breaks the bow and shatters the spear. In Romans, God is the one who justifies, taking away any of our arrogant boasting or self-righteousness. And in John, God in Christ is the one who sets us free, welcoming us into the household of faith forever.

Because God has acted in this way, setting us free, we are freed from our obligations to ourselves, to our self-interest, to our own stubborn independence … and we gain obligations to the family of God.

Martin Luther spoke rightly about freedom when he said, “A Christian is a perfectly free lord of all, subject to none. A Christian is a perfectly dutiful servant of all, subject to all.”

This paradoxical statement tells us the truth that because Christ has set us free, we are no longer subject to the burdens that others place on us. People tell us that you have to look or act or love a certain way in order to be welcomed into the family of God, and in this gospel reading, we are reminded that we have already been freed from other’s expectations and welcomed into the family of God forever. We have been welcomed into this family not because of our own earning or righteousness, but because of the love of God.

Because we have received everything from God — life, love, a home, a family, wholeness — we go forth to share that with the world.

Luther, knowing he was freed in Christ, was able to make his stand when he went before the rulers of the church and empire, and say, “here I stand, I can do no other. God help me.”

Luther was able to know that he had received the abundance of God’s grace, and had no fear of what the rulers could do to him. He knew what it meant to be freed from the limitations others put on God’s love. And because we’ve been freed, we live lives surrendered to Christ, committed to service.

Lutherans at our best have understood this, creating things like Lutheran World Relief, Global Refuge, and Lutheran Social Services. Serving with open hands, knowing we’ve been freed, going out to free others.

But when we forget that God is the one who frees us first, through God’s own action, we lose sight of the abundance that God gives to all. At our worst, Lutherans have waged war against Catholics. Lutherans have thrown Anabaptists into rivers. Lutherans have put Native Americans and Sami people into boarding schools.

I think these examples are times when Lutherans have lost sight of the abundance that comes with our freedom. They gave into a mindset of scarcity, that says that my freedom, my identity, my security is threatened by your presence, your difference.

When we give into this scarcity mindset, we cling too tightly to the things that should make us free, and in the process, let go of our Christian freedom.

At our best, we live in abundance, knowing our place in the family is not dependent on our own work … God has given us a permanent home … we can live without fear and so we go out to serve with joy.

When we lose sight of that, when we think God is so small that God needs us to fight … when we see others as enemies to be conquered rather than as neighbors to love and serve, we destroy others and lose ourselves in the process.

But thankfully, we aren’t defined by our worst days. And also, we aren’t defined by our best days. We are defined by Jesus’ words for us here in John 8.

“You will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.”

“If the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed.”

Because the Son has made us free, we refute Luther’s writings against the Jews. We apologize to Sami and Native communities, and seek to make reparations. We work for reconciliation with Catholics and Anabaptists.

Because our first, primary, only identity is beloved children of God.

The Son has made us free, and we are free indeed. We are freed from the baggage of the past, good and bad, and we are freed to enter into new life with our neighbors

As we commemorate Reformation Day this week, let’s also consider the ways that it can be Reconciliation Day, to come together with our Christian siblings.

or Repentance Day, as we refute the harms done in our name.

or Revival Day, as we pray for the Holy Spirit to come down and renew us.

Or we could just remember it as Reformation Day, as this church of the Reformation is always reforming. Let’s reform our church to follow the Holy Spirit’s leading into freedom and service, wherever She goes.

Because what matters most is not our Lutheran identity, as much as I might love being Lutheran, or our favorite hymns or the Small Catechism, but instead the fact that Christ has made us free.

We have the freedom that comes from a permanent place in God’s family, a place that no one and nothing can take away.

Thanks be to God.

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

  

God’s the one who needs to wrestle with you and me in prayer, to call us to do God’s justice in this world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 29 C
Texts: Genesis 32:22-31; Luke 18:1-8

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

God initiated this fight.

Jacob wrestles on a riverbank with someone the writer calls “a man,” who by the end is revealed as God. But Jacob didn’t start it. God showed up on the riverbank looking for a quarrel.

We sometimes say prayer is a wrestling with God. We struggle to be heard, to say what needs saying. We struggle with God’s apparent silence, we wrestle with God over the world’s problems and God’s apparent inactivity. Like Jesus’ widow, we’re invited to persistently bring our concerns to God, even if it means wrestling all night.

But what if God initiates the wrestling? What if God says “I’ve got an issue with you”? What if we’re the ones with the problem ears, the lack of action, and God has to wrestle with us to change us?

Jacob certainly needed a shake-up if he was to be God’s chosen successor as leader.

He’s been a complete jerk up to this point. Cheating his brother and uncle, treating his wife Leah as second class. Now, on his way back home with a wealth of flocks, eleven children, two wives, and a couple maids, he hears his brother is coming to meet him with 400 armed men. The last they saw each other, Esau wanted to kill Jacob.

So Jacob acts the ultimate coward. He sends his wives, maids, children, and flocks across the river to be the front line of his entourage, and he hides in the back. Knowing nothing of Esau’s current state of mind, fearing his brother’s army, Jacob says, “women and children first. I’m not facing that threat.”

Not who God needs to head this family that is meant to bless the world with knowledge of the one God who loves and cares for all. So God finds him cowering in the back, on the other side of the river, and has it out. They wrestle all night.

In the morning God blesses Jacob and gives him a new name, Israel, “the one who strives with God.” God needed to challenge Jacob, struggle with him, to make him into who God needed him to be. And what if that’s what Jesus is saying, too?

This parable seems clear in meaning.

Describing someone cold and unjust who ultimately does the right thing, Jesus says, as he has before, “how much more will God” – who, we’re meant to understand, isn’t cold or unjust – “how much more will God answer you when you persist in your prayer?”

But Jacob’s night by the river raises a different thought: what if God is the widow?

This is a parable, after all. Jesus taught directly sometimes, statements of truth, command, wisdom. But sometimes he told stories that invited the imagination to ponder, dwell, consider. If he wanted to tell us to pray persistently, he could have. And did. But he also told this story.

And Jesus’ parables are like jewels that, when you pick them up and turn them in the light, cast all kinds of different rays. There’s no reason not to take this story and consider it from Jacob’s perspective.

What if God is the widow here?

That makes you and me the ones who don’t fear God or respect people.

The ones God comes to again and again and again and again, asking, “grant me justice.”

God sees the pain and suffering of this world with eyes older than yours and mine and with a heart breaking for this beloved creation, for these beloved creatures. God sees the oppression, the racism, the hatred of strangers, the threatening of the most vulnerable, the destruction of fair government, the breaking down of protections for those in need, and wonders, “who is going to do my justice?”

It’s so easy to blame God, to be dismayed that God lets bad things happen. But maybe it’s God who is dismayed at us. God who is frustrated with us. God who comes to you and me again and again and again and again and asks, “when will you do my justice? When will you save my children?”

It’s hard to argue we don’t need a little shake-up, too.

We get stuck, fail to act. We go about our ways doing what we want, without facing that even the smallest decisions we make every day affect this world and its problems.

What if prayer is God needing to get your attention? God needing to wrestle with you and say, “what will it take for you to get going, to work with others, to realize that the justice that needs to happen is my dream, my vision, my desire, but it won’t happen without you?”

In our Prayer of the Day we prayed for a softer version of this wrestling, “inspire us to seek your enduring justice for all this suffering world.” Inspire us. Not “wrestle with us.” Maybe we fear a wrestling match, but are open to inspiration from God. Either way, the path forward is pretty clear.

There’s no mystery what God desires to happen in this world.

Scripture is full of it. And lots of wise, caring, godly people have lots of good ideas to bring God’s justice, mercy, and peace to this world. Even the threat of a U.S. government that will be authoritarian and not democratic is stoppable if enough people stand up and are counted, if enough people say, “no more,” at the ballot box, at protests, with letters and statements and action. And if enough people said “no more” to hunger and oppression and racist systems in this country, they’d collapse very quickly.

That’s what God wants to wrestle out with you and me: you are needed, as you are, with what you can bring. And all that’s left is for you and me to decide if we’re finally going to answer God’s persistence or, like the judge, keep ignoring it, hoping God will go away.

The beautiful thing is that the result of God’s wrestling is blessing, and a new you.

God and Jacob have it out, and God blesses Jacob, names him, and sends him off to be the leader God needs. The widow finally breaks the judge’s indifference and receives the justice she needs.

And so God wants your attention, needs to wrestle with your objections, your resistance, your fear, your reluctance, your confusion, your lack of self-confidence, to convince you that you are the answer to God’s prayer. And somehow in that wrestling, you are made new. Your ears are opened to God’s needs, your whole being embraces God’s sending you out as the one God needs for justice to happen in this world.

Obviously, it will take more than you, more than me. But that’s God’s to deal with. When it comes to Jacob, or the judge, or you and me, God needs individual attention, an individual wrestle.

And, blessed by God, you and I will be God’s blessing for the justice God so deeply desires to see in this world.

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