God’s way is the right-side-up way, and Mary follows it, inviting us to join her.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The feast of St. Mary, the Mother of Our Lord
Texts: Magnificat, Luke 1:46-55

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

Mary doesn’t sing of the world turned upside down in the Magnificat.

She sings of the world turned right-side up.

When the Triune God asked Mary to bear the Incarnate Word into the world, it was to begin restoring the creation to God’s way. Mary sings of the hungry being fed, the rich emptied, the mighty set down, the lowly lifted up. That’s the way God meant the world to be from the beginning.

We turned it upside down.

We’re created in the image of God, Genesis says.

When God takes on human flesh in Jesus, we see humanity the way it was meant to be, God’s true Image. In Jesus’ teachings, compassion, and most vividly in his vulnerable love, willing to die at our hands to love us back into life, Jesus reveals a way of life that seems upside down. But it’s right-side-up to God.

God created this universe to live in peace and harmony, with all creatures loving each other and God, even human creatures. In God’s design, power isn’t used to harm others, and in fact, “power” itself is vulnerable love.

Look at how the Triune God created humanity. We were given the freedom to choose our path, the freedom to love or hate, the freedom to obey or disobey. God’s vulnerable love exists from the moment we took breath. God risked everything hoping we’d become the loving, caring creatures God envisioned.

But, created in God’s image, we also have the temptation God must have felt.

Surely God was tempted to control humanity, tempted to use power to make us good creatures. Instead, the Triune God chose vulnerability and openness, risking all, even death on the cross.

Humanity chose differently. We’re the only creature that manipulates our environment to the degree we do, that has an impact on all creatures that share this planet with us, and often that manipulation and impact harm our fellow creatures. We use power to control others, we hide our fear of vulnerability behind aggression and greed. We build systems and cultures and structures that consistently benefit those in power while equally consistently crushing those who don’t have power.

What we see in our world today has been repeated throughout history. People go hungry because others hoard resources. People are killed because others violently maintain power. People live in poverty because others create systems to generate wealth for those controlling the systems.

But Mary sings that in this child, God is starting to turn the world right-side up again.

And God achieves this the same way as at creation: through vulnerable love.

Scattering the proud, removing the powerful from power, filling the hungry, sending the rich away emptied of their wealth is not done by divine power and might. God still will not force the creation to follow God’s right-side-up way.

Instead, God comes as a vulnerable baby, born to a vulnerable woman willing to sacrifice her hopes and dreams to be a part of God’s healing.

This is why we honor Mary: not to put her on a pedestal, but to see her as our forebear, our leader, our mother.

She lived into the image of God she was, dreamed of God’s right-side-up world, and bore a child to bring that world into being.

Jesus, of course, taught us God’s “right-side-up” way very clearly, the way to justice and peace through vulnerable love and sacrifice for each other, even letting us destroy his life, in order to break open our hearts to God’s way.

But Mary is our sister, who walks ahead of us, first to follow in Christ’s way. She is our mother in this life of Christ, whose giving birth makes it possible for all of us to walk Christ’s path, whose willing “let it be as you will” is our model for our own response to God.

In God’s way, no one is hungry.

No one is oppressed. No one is trampled upon. No one holds power over another. No one is rich, but all have what they need.

Mary shows us we can live this way, we can say, “let it be so with us.” And when we, and eventually all creatures, follow this way, the world will turn right-side up as God dreamed all along.

And then our spirits, like Mary’s, will truly rejoice in God’s healing of all.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Do not be afraid: God is with you, so take heart. God is also in you, for the world, so the world can take heart.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Tenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 19 A
Texts: Matthew 14:22-33; Romans 10:5-15

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

They weren’t frightened by the storm this time.

Another time in a Galilean storm, the disciples feared the boat would sink, and woke the sleeping Jesus.

This time they were trying to sail against the strong wind, probably rowing, and that’s hard work. When I used to sail, having the wind with you is like flying. Against the wind, it’s real labor to go where you want.

On a church canoe trip in eighth grade, we overshot the landing about a mile downstream. All we could do was turn into the current and paddle hard. It took forever.

That’s the disciples. Tired, far from shore. And they had to find the strength, after an exhausting few days, to cross the sea against the wind.

That feels like us now.

As Christ we are called to face so many challenges in our world today. Systemic racism, and the world-wide explosion of outrage at this persistent and brutal problem, centered just blocks from us. A chronic lack of affordable housing that’s created, among other things, an encampment in Powderhorn Park next door. A failed economic system that exposes millions to eviction on top of losing their jobs, with much of our federal government indifferent to this crisis. To be Christ today is a tremendous challenge to our creativity, our will, our listening skills, our discipleship. It feels like rowing against the wind.

On top of all that, we’re in a global pandemic that’s shut down nearly everything. We can’t gather together to talk to each other and listen on any of these challenges. We can’t gather to worship and be fed and strengthened by God together, as we’re used to.

It feels like we’re trying to deal with some of the greatest challenges of discipleship most of us have ever faced, with our hands tied behind our backs. We’re in a boat on the sea, the wind raging against us, and many days the boat feels as if it’s going backwards.

But in the midst of their fruitless rowing, Jesus comes and says, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

Jesus is exhausted himself. After the emotional trauma of John’s execution, and days of endless healing and preaching, ending with a wondrous meal for thousands, he finally gets time apart on the mountain by sending the disciples across the sea ahead of him and dismissing the crowds.

But in the dark, early hours before dawn, he leaves his retreat and comes to the disciples. He could have skirted the sea and met them at their destination. But he sees them struggling against the wind and decides to help.

They didn’t have to look for Jesus; he came to them. It’s as Paul says to the Romans today: no one needs to go up to heaven or down to the abyss to find God in Christ. Christ is near to you, on your lips and in your hearts, in the midst of your life, your struggles, Paul says.

But the disciples don’t recognize Jesus.

They think he’s a ghost. They’re terrified. And this is where you and I come in.

God comes to us in our struggle against the wind and says, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid!” And yet we also fail to recognize God’s presence sometimes.

After George Floyd’s death, a couple nights we went to bed not knowing if Mount Olive’s building would be standing in the morning. Seeing it intact was, of course, a blessing. But it also gave me a sense of guilt: why should we be standing when our neighbors are burned down?

Someone said, “God was with us.” Yes, God is and was. But what about our neighbors who lost everything? Is it right to say “God is near you, in your heart and on your lips,” to someone who lives in a tent in Powderhorn? Should we say “Take heart, God is with you, do not be afraid” to someone who lives in abject poverty?

We might feel we’re rowing against the wind trying to be of Christly service to others. Imagine the strength of the wind against you if you’ve lost your job and are losing your home. If you are daily aware that the color of your skin makes you a target, even of government officials.

Peter said, “If it is you, Lord, give us a sign.” That’s what we need, too. To see if God is here. With us. With our neighbors.

And here’s the sign: there are two hands in this story.

The first is Peter’s hand, reaching up as he sinks, saying, “Lord, save me!”

As we row against the wind, as we feel the struggle of daily discipleship, trust this: Peter reaches out his hand and Jesus grabs it. So, ask yourself: when in these months of quarantine, these past years of a seeming collapse of government and society, these days of fear and challenge, when have you reached out and felt God take your hand?

In my spiritual direction group last week our director opened the time of silence with a reflection on Jesus’ words: ask, and you will receive; seek, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened. (Matt. 7) In the time of silence, rather than focusing on the exhausting struggle against the wind I feel most days, I felt drawn to reflect on where God had come to me in these days. What I had received, and found, and had opened. And I saw many ways God came to me in these hard months saying, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

This is the grace center of the Gospel today, and Paul’s proclamation, and it is yours: God is near to you, in your heart, on your lips; God is with you, so be of good courage. Even as you row against the wind.

Take time to reflect on these months and see if you can note places God came to you. It will be a blessing. Because when you see that when your hand reached up, you found yourself in the presence of God, you will be able to let go of some of your fear.

The other hand is Jesus’ hand.

He reaches out and grabs Peter. This is how you lovingly witness to God’s presence amidst the chaos of this world, to your neighbors who are rowing against the wind. Be Jesus’ hand.

You were anointed for this in baptism. This is God’s gift for the world, the many ways and times you can be the hand that reaches out and says, “Don’t be afraid; God is here.”

So also reflect on this: When your neighbor asks, seeks, knocks, when are you the gift given? The needed thing that is found? The opened door? When you can be the hand that reaches out to the one sinking, with God’s strength in your hand, you are the presence of God to your neighbor.

In this story, as soon as Jesus gets in the boat, the wind stops.

We’ve lived in this world long enough to know that’s not how God usually works.

Recognizing God’s presence in your life doesn’t mean you aren’t still rowing against the wind. Being God’s presence to others doesn’t mean they have no more wind, either.

But now you know Jesus is in the boat with you, pulling an oar. Now you know you are rowing with your neighbor, too, easing their load.

We all will get to shore one day. But in the meantime, we also don’t need to be afraid.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

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

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

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

Jesus just wants a little time away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have that, too.

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

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

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

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

Amen.

These images are Good News of God’s persistent grace in bringing life and healing to all through you and through me.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 17 A
Texts: Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52; Romans 8:26-39; Genesis 29:15-28

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 is telling good news here.

That’s the truth in these parables of the reign of heaven. “Jesus went through Galilee,” Matthew says, “proclaiming the Good News of the reign of heaven, saying it has come near.” (4:17, 23)

These images are all Good News. And that means there’s hope.

There’s hope in a tiny seed, Jesus says.

Walking alongside a field, seeing a mustard plant, Jesus says, “That’s what I’m talking about! God’s reign, the reign of heaven, is like that.”

A tiny seed, carrying the whole life and future of the larger plant inside it, doesn’t reveal that potential. But it will germinate and grow and become a shelter for birds, a giver of shade.

Good news, Jesus says. That’s what you are! You might feel insignificant, small, unable to do much for this world’s pain, but you have the glory of God’s love and grace already within you. Living in God’s reign of love, you will grow and thrive and give shade and shelter in ways you can’t imagine, a blessing to others.

Have hope in that, Jesus says.

There’s hope in yeast, Jesus says.

Glimpsing a woman through a doorway who’s making bread, Jesus says, “That’s what I’m talking about! God’s reign, the reign of heaven, is like that.”

Just a few little organisms placed in a big pile of flour start to grow, eat sugars, and a miracle happens: a loaf rises out of that sticky lump, and once baked, it’s a delight to the eyes, the nose, the mouth, the stomach.

Good news, Jesus says. That’s what you are! You might feel insufficient, and the problems of the suffering world immense: what can so few do? But when you join with others and love as Christ in your little space in this suffering world, you change the chemistry of your world. From what seems unsightly and inedible comes nourishment for all, like beautiful bread.

Have hope in that, Jesus says.

There’s also hope if you can learn to see real treasure, Jesus says.

If you found a treasure only you knew about, you’d do all you could to have it be yours. If you spent your life searching for the most beautiful pearl and found it, you’d sell everything to have it.

But what if you don’t see the reign of heaven as such a treasure, such a pearl? Try this: In God’s reign, love of God and love of neighbor transform and heal all things. Imagine this world, this city, if all loved God, all loved their neighbor. That’s the treasure of God’s reign, Jesus says, that’s the pearl.

Good news, Jesus says. This way of vulnerable love which I’m calling you to walk is one that will bring joy and life to you and to those around you, transform your world. It is the most precious thing you could know.

Have hope in that, Jesus says.

There’s even hope in a big, wide net, Jesus says.

Watching people pulling in nets on the lake, Jesus says, “That’s what I’m talking about! God’s reign, the reign of heaven, is like that.”

A net pulls in more than fish, though. Driftwood, old boots, even what some would call trash. Only the Netminder gets to decide what’s worth keeping and what isn’t. Now, the added interpretation here says in the end times the good will be kept and the evil thrown on the fire.

But that’s not Jesus’ verdict. At the cross, drawing all things to himself, Jesus said, “every single thing in this net, in this world, in this creation, is mine and loved and redeemed by this.” Nothing will be thrown and burned.

This net opens up the joy of Paul’s strange words today about predestination that sometimes cause anxiety. Look carefully at Paul’s logic. He starts with “those God whom foreknew.” Well, the Triune God created all things, so is there anyone God doesn’t foreknow, any thing?

And all God foreknew, Paul says, God predestined to be conformed to the image of Christ. Since God obviously foreknew the whole creation, then God also predestined all things to be shaped into Christ’s love. And those God predestined, God called, Paul says. Who wants to argue that God doesn’t call everyone, everything? And those whom God called, God justified, and those whom God justified God glorified. Follow the logic: all are foreknown, so all are predestined to conform to Christ, therefore all are called, all are justified, all are glorified. God’s net is as wide and inclusive as the universe.

Good news, Jesus says. You might be an old boot, but God treasures you. Have hope in that, Jesus says.

One thing here might give you concern: time is needed for all these.

The seed doesn’t grow instantly; the bread needs hours to rise. The treasure finder needs time to re-bury, get money, get the title. The merchant spends a lifetime looking for the great pearl. And only when the net gets pulled up on shore is God’s treasure seen for what it is.

Good news is here, and hope is here. But be ready for things to take time. God’s reign – a way of working healing through each of us, through you, incarnate in you as love and grace – is not an instant fix.

Just look at Leah today, discarded, unloved by her husband, seen as a nuisance to be gotten rid of by her father, outshone by her sister. It’s a wretched story for Leah.

But remember this: Leah is the mother of Judah, the ancestor of David. Leah, not Rachel, is the multiple great-grandmother of Israel’s greatest king. And about 1,600 years after she was so shamefully treated, God’s Messiah, the Incarnate One, Jesus himself, is born from Leah’s line, not Rachel’s. Leah is the one in whom God’s glory shines, God’s favor spreads to the world. It just took some time.

Now can you see why Paul says, “Nothing can separate us from God’s love in Christ Jesus?”

Even if it takes centuries, God will accomplish the healing and restoration of all things through this vulnerable love. If these stories tell you anything about God it is that God is persistent and steady and will finally get what God desires. Even if God has to die and rise to get it all started. Even if God has to work with tiny little seeds like you and me, people who struggle to see the treasure when it’s right in front of us, people who want to kick others out of the net.

At the cross, Christ drew all things into God’s embrace in order to send out all things for the healing of the creation. So God’s reign will come, is already near.

Seeds are growing into trees, yeast is creating bread, treasures are found, nets are gathering in all things, and Leah has become Messiah’s grandma.

Have hope in this. This is good news. For you. For all.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Patience is suffering, and while we wait for God’s healing of all things, there is suffering, but there is also hope. And in that hope we wait with patience.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Seventh Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 16 A
Texts: Matthew 13:24-30; Romans 8:12-25; Psalm 139:1-12, 23-24

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

Saying “be patient” can be destructive.

In the mouths of those in power “be patient” is a way to maintain the status quo, to keep quiet those who are powerless or oppressed. “Be patient” has been used for centuries to thwart progress, end reformation, divert attention from what harms or oppresses or destroys.

So be careful with Paul today, who tells his Roman Christians we wait with patience for God’s healing of the whole creation. If we urge “be patient while you wait for God to bring wholeness and life to this bitterly divided and dying world,” we could actually perpetuate the evil.

But within the word “patience” itself is the clarity we need to be faithful.

In the languages of the West, patience has an important heart.

As far back as we can see, through the Greek and Latin and Germanic and Romantic languages as they evolved into the English language we share, whatever word is used for patience is created from the root word for suffering.

To be patient, our language says, is to suffer. We see this in another usage: the person suffering in the hospital is called the “patient.” You can’t understand “patience” without remembering that for thousands of years, people whose language we now speak in our own way, didn’t understand patience apart from suffering.

So when Paul says “if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience,” he means – in his own Greek and in our modern English and all the languages in between – he means we suffer as we wait. “Being patient” doesn’t mean accepting the status quo or quashing reform or blindly pretending that just waiting will fix things. “Being patient” means we will suffer while we wait, while we work, while we hope.

This shines a different light on Jesus’ parable today.

Jesus says that good seed has been planted, but an enemy has sown evil seed. And we’re going to have to live with both good and evil side by side until the harvest is sorted.

That can give hope. We’re the ones in the parable saying, “Didn’t you make a good world, plant good seed?” and are reassured by God, “yes, I made this world good, but an enemy has brought wickedness and evil into it, so don’t be surprised or dismayed. I’ll take care of this.”

But it’s discouraging, too. We understand the urgency in today’s parable, the desire to root out all the evil right now. We don’t like to suffer. Or to see others suffer. And God’s plan of letting good and evil live together without always intervening will lead to much suffering. Has led to it. Just listen to the news, or walk seven blocks south or one block north of Mount Olive.

And the whole creation knows this, Paul says, suffers this.

Paul doesn’t limit salvation to humanity, or a percentage of humanity. For Paul, God’s healing is a comprehensive healing of all things – all people, all creatures, nature itself.

So the whole creation groans for God’s healing. The parable says we’re not imagining the evil spread throughout God’s good creation. Paul says we’re not alone in seeing this, either. All people, animals, rocks, trees, stars, waters, groan. All are patiently waiting, that is, waiting with suffering.

And what sign will tell the creation God’s healing has begun?

Paul says the creation is waiting for the revealing of the children of God. Those who are revealed as filled with God’s Spirit.

Now, consider the psalmist’s prayer today: “Look well whether there be any wickedness in me, O God, and lead me in the way that is everlasting,” and look again at the parable, keeping Paul’s words in mind. Jesus might not mean simplistically that the “weeds” are evil people and the “wheat” are righteous people. The psalmist and Paul suggest that each of us has God’s good seed growing in us, alongside evil seed that the enemy planted.

It is God’s weeding out of the evil in each of our hearts that will reveal us as children of God. And as more and more are revealed, the world will begin to heal. Our country, our city, can begin to heal.

Right now. Because we don’t have to wait for the end of time for the harvest.

We know all sorts of plants bloom and flower and bear fruit at different times in the year, not just fall. Surely Jesus means that of your heart. While things are growing in you, you might not be able to distinguish good from evil, so you should be careful about what you try to root out. But whenever something bears fruit – when you see what happens when what is growing in you comes to maturity – then you’ll know.

If it’s harming anyone or anything, it’s a weed, and now that fruit is obvious, you can ask God to remove it from your heart and burn it away. If it’s blessing and grace, you can praise God for that harvest in your life.

But patiently waiting for this is, as those before us have said, suffering. Suffering as we feel the pain of \ God burning our weeds. Suffering in the world as evil remains alongside good for a time. The path of being revealed as a child of God for the healing of the world is a path that always includes suffering for and with each other and the creation.

But our God is also a patient God. A suffering God.

It cost Jesus his life to be God-with-us and to call us to be children of God, good wheat bearing seeds, in a world where evil and good thrive side-by-side. And next week Paul will tell us the Holy Spirit speaks on our behalf with “sighs too deep for words,” groaning, suffering, on behalf of God’s children and God’s creation.

But remember, this suffering patience – God’s and our own – is labor pains, not death pains, Paul says. In spite of what we see in our world, and in our own hearts, God’s suffering Goodness and Grace and Love, willing to face and break death on behalf of all things, is now bearing Life for this world.

That’s our hope in the midst of the world’s and our groaning. The Triune God is already giving birth to a new creation, and as you are revealed more and more as God’s child, you are born along with that new creation, for the healing of all.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen