First of all, I’m not a big fan of verse seven. While I'm not a fan of tax, this verse been abused by Christian Nationalist to justify and prop up their political clout. It’s not part of the lectionary text for today. I only added it because it sets up Paul’s argument. Owe nothing to anyone.

Whether you believe in God or not, that’s just smart economics.

If you don’t pay off your credit card every month, what happens? You incur more debt than you can handle.

If you owe taxes, write the check. If you owe a merchant, settle the balance. Settle your debts, close the ledger, and carry a zero balance.

But here’s the catch. Paul tells us not every debt can be paid off. He writes, "Owe no one anything, except to love one another."

Paul is reminding a divided, young church that love is the standard God’s economy runs on.Not wealth, social status, or a particular political preference.

​As someone once told me, “Love is the debt you’ll spend your life paying off—and still die joyfully in the red.”

If you’re lucky, your mortgage is paid off  but your heart is still carrying an overwhelming amount of tenderness, mercy, and grace. Like John Chrysostom wrote in the 4th century, “Love is an infinite ocean. The more you pour out, the fuller your vessel becomes."

Again, owe nothing to anyone but love.

To ground this in real life, Paul lists four major commandments. Each one, he says, is wrapped up in this one sentence: "Love your neighbor as yourself."  He’s literally quoting Jesus!

The law is the minimum amount we pay to eek by. But love demands the maximum, so every human can flourish.

So why do we still treat these laws like a credit card statement? I can tell myself, "Well, I didn’t commit murder or steal anything today. I didn’t cheat on my spouse or covet so my account with everyone is settled!"

I think both Paul and Jesus might push back on that. They both teach us that obeying the law is the starting block, not the finish line. It’s just a launchpad we take off from to flood the world with mercy and grace.

Theologian Howard Thurman said it best, “Love is not a sweet, soft feeling that makes us feel good. Love is the hard, heroic decision to stand in the breach where pain lives and declare that grace has the final word."

As followers of the Way of Jesus, we should know by now that our primary obligation isn’t a legal code. It’s simply to love God, love others, and serve both.

While the law says, "Do not murder," love says, "I will watch over your life and build up your spirit."

The law says, "Do not steal," but love says, "I will share what I have to ensure you’re not without."

The law says, "Do not commit adultery," but love says, "I will honor your dignity and protect the sacred trust between us."

At the end of the day, even God’s laws submit to God’s love.

I’m not saying laws are unimportant. They keep order, and protect the well-being of everyone. They tell us which side of the road to drive on. And how late a person can practice their tuba in an apartment complex.

While rules can enforce and direct behavior, Jesus came to shows us that only love can transform life. Love is not only how God’s economy runs,  but it’s exactly how our salvation comes to life.

So love, right? Isn’t that what I always say? I wrote a book all about it. And even made it sound easy. Because it is easy, until someone hurts you or betrays you.

Am I supposed to just “get over it,” or pretend it didn’t happen? No. Grace is not psychological amnesia.

Love does not demand that you lie to yourself. It doesn’t tell you to pretend a wound doesn't burn, or invite you to sweep the injustice under the rug. Instead, love looks at the harm, recognizes the wrong, and says: "Even with this open wound, the only thing I owe you is love."

It’s how we free ourselves from the crushing weight of anger and resentment. It’s how we stop the endless cycle of violence that harm our communities, and keeps our friends and neighbors from thriving. “I owe you nothing but love.”

That’s how God balances the books in this scandalous economy.

To quote Karl Barth, “We do not love our neighbor so that our neighbor will become righteous. We love our neighbor because God is righteous, and God’s love in us cannot help but spill over the edges of our lives.”

This doesn’t mean the person who inflicts our pain will apologize or feel guilty, or won’t do it again.  We are just called to love, especially when it’s hard, because that’s what God does. And as I mentioned last week, it’s our job to make God visible to the world.

Henri Nouwen said it like this, "We do not love to manipulate an outcome; we love to manifest the Father."

That’s our goal, our calling, to manifest God in the space between us. The way we do that, according to Paul, is to “Put on the Lord Jesus Christ.”

The thing is, people are watching us just like a child watches their parents, to learn how to handle conflict, resolve differences, and show kindness.

People don’t just want to hear the gospel preached. They’re looking at us to see it come alive. When you claim the name of Christ, you automatically become the window for others to see Heaven. You’re either a window that lets God’s love shine through, or a wall that keeps people in the dark.

When we’re quick-tempered, vengeful, quick to gossip or cancel people, we show the world a God who’s small, petty, and unforgiving.

But when we respond to a harsh comment with gentleness, when we offer grace to the person who cheated us, when we stand up for someone being trampled we make God’s redemptive and steadfast love visible, tangible and real. This is how Jesus brought salvation into the world. And it’s what he sent us out to do.

Which is exactly what Dolly Parton did. She wrote thousands of songs, built an entertainment empire, but she will be best remembered for how she lived out the gospel; helping the least of these, our brothers and sisters, to flourish.

Dolly Parton treated her immense wealth as a debt of love owed to the world—donating millions to fund critical health research, to cover educational expenses of her employees, and to mail hundreds of millions of free books to children all over the world.

When dragged into our bitter culture wars, she refused to throw mud, famously saying, "I don't have time to judge, because I'm too busy loving."

This is what happens when we put on Christ Jesus, making the invisible grace of God’s love visible to the world.

Fleming Rutledge wrote, "The ultimate test of a Christian's witness is not whether our love succeeds in changing the person who hurt us, but whether our love succeeds in revealing the God who saved us. When we offer grace without requiring a guarantee of return, we give the world its clearest look at the cross."

Own nothing to anyone but love.

Rules and regulations can control behavior on the outside, but only love can change and transform a human heart into a divine one.

When we truly experience the overwhelming, unmerited love of God, we stop keeping score and stop looking for ways to get even. Instead, we begin to feel Christ within us, and see Christ in others.

But it’s a nearly impossible calling when we’re chained to a mountain of unpaid debt. The debt of resentment, the debt of jealousy, the debt of pride, anger, hatred, and so on. It’s time to let it go. Settle your bills. Pay what you owe. And love one another as God loves you. That’s it.

Free yourself and step out into the world with joy—ready to put on the Lord Jesus Christ, who taught us to pray, “Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.”

Owe no one anything but love. And let’s show this world what our God is really like by spending everything we have to pay the one sacred debt that makes us all fully alive.

I thought it'd be good to end our summer sermon series on this particular verse because it isn’t so much a fortune cookie as it is an actual fortune. Imagine being told,  "You are  given the manifestation of the Spirit to do good in the world."

Paul drops this into his letter, right after naming a list of spiritual gifts. And, like I said, if you’re not paying attention to what those gifts are for, you might overlook it.

A good way to read scripture is by employing the spiritual practice of lectio divina; a divine, slow reading of the text, where you sit with a passage until a single word catches the attention of your heart.

For me, that word is manifestation, which seems to get thrown around a lot these days. We hear it and think of visualizing success or speaking things into existence.

But Paul isn't talking about self-centered abstract belief, or a vague spiritual vibe. He uses a word that literally means "making visible." As in making the invisible God visible for the common good of the community.

It's like the story I often tell, of a church who was known for their statue of Jesus who stood out front with his arms reaching out to the community. One night, a vandal decided to smash off the hands of Jesus and part of his arm.

When the congregation wanted to raise money to repair the statue, to literally fix Jesus, the minister refused. “Leave it broken,” she said. “We are His hands now.”

That’s how God manifests through us. Not through stone statues, cold theology, or a Fortune Cookie faith centered around you. God shows up every day, in flesh and bone, every time we show up to help our neighbors.

As A.W. Tozer famously put it, "The Gospel is not a doctrine to be debated, but a life to be lived.”

That’s Paul’s whole point.

He was writing to a church obsessed with spiritual status symbols. They were treating spiritual gifts like participation trophies to show off inside the sanctuary. But Paul reminds them, these gifts aren't for showing off; they're for showing up.

The manifestation of the Spirit isn’t a trophy to display. It’s a tool to employ. And if this tool isn’t being used to bring healing, relief, dignity, and justice to the person standing right in front of you, then it’s not a manifestation of the Spirit. It's just noise.

That has been the unofficial main theme throughout this sermon series. God is more concerned with righteousness and justice, than pious words or passive faith.

In other words, God isn't looking for religious performances. God is looking for practical love.

Faith isn’t about singing songs on Sunday. It’s about making Christ’s hands visible on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Like Robert G. Ingersoll states, "Hands that help are far more sacred than lips that pray."

When you grip a paint roller to cover graffiti in your neighborhood, that’s God’s Spirit manifested in service.

When an ICU nurse holds the hand of an anxious patient at 3:00 a.m., that’s God’s mercy showing up in scrubs.

When a small business owner signs a paycheck for an ex-con no one else would hire, that’s God’s grace, showing up when others won’t.

These aren't just good deeds. They are the exact ways Jesus brought heaven to earth. Think about how Jesus moved through the Gospels. He rarely healed from a distance. Instead, he got up close. Used his hands.   

When a frantic father heard the news of his daughter’s death, Jesus walked into the house, took the little girl by the hand, and brought her back to life (Mark 5:21-43). 

When He restored sight to a blind man, he spit into the dirt, used his fingers to make mud and his hands to spread it over the man’s eyes (John 9:1-7). 

When Peter was sinking in the stormy sea, Jesus reached out his hand and pulled him to safety (Matthew 14:22-33).

When five thousand hungry people were stranded on a hillside, Jesus took bread into his hands, blessed it, and handed it out until everyone was full (Luke 9:12-17).

Faith has hands too. When an unnamed woman, who had been suffering for twelve long years, stretched out her hand just to touch the edge of His robe, she was made whole (Luke 8:43-48).

Every time you move toward the suffering of your neighborhood rather than pulling away, you make the invisible God visible, in ways that make the gospel come to life. We see this pattern throughout history whenever Christians actually live like Christ.


St. Catherine of Siena tirelessly cared for the sick and dying when the Black Plague overtook Europe.
While St. Teresa of Calcutta used her hands to tenderly cradle, bathe, and comfort the dying. Both of these women did this so others could experience the dignity, warmth, and love of Christ in their final moments of life.

When the Spirit of God is alive in you, it’s hard to ignore suffering knowing you have the power to do something. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Be the hands of Christ in every space we find ourselves in. To manifest Divine love in ways that bring people back to God’s heart.

Imagine what might happen if we were known by the relief we bring to our neighbors. Imagine local schools knowing they never have to ask twice for tutors, winter coats, or weekend food packs because our hands are already on it.

Here’s the thing: What we learn in here must be put to use out there. Otherwise, what’s the point? To paraphrase St. Teresa of Ávila, God has hands. God has feet. God has a heart and a soul in this world. And they’re yours.

Paul goes on to remind us that we all belong to the same body, “If one part suffers, every part suffers with it. If one part is honored, every part rejoices” (1 Corinthians 12:26).

You were not given your mind, your strength, your skills, or bank account to build a private fortress to hide in. You were given these gifts because someone in your community is carrying a burden that’s too heavy for one pair of shoulders.

The Spirit of God has appointed you to bring relief. The gift has already been deposited inside you. The question is no longer “What is my gift?” The question now is “Who is my gift for?”

So here is your Fortune Cookie challenge for the week: Keep looking at your hands. Keep reminding yourself of the potential they hold. And keep employing them to work for someone who cannot pay you back.

It doesn’t have to be big grand gesture, just something real and tangible. When our neighbor lost her job and couldn’t afford her gardener anymore, my son went over and mowed her lawn for free. That’s the hands of Christ showing up.

You can use your hands to grip a steering wheel to drive your elderly neighbor to a doctor’s appointment or grocery store.

You could use your hands to write a check that clears a child's school lunch debt.

You could use your hands to pack food bags at the local pantry. Or to hand them out to their clients.

How Christ manifests through you is up to you. But you have to be willing to show up like God’s Spirit shows up in you.

Remember, Jesus said, “You will do greater things than me” (John 14:12). I think he meant it. You can. And you will, if you’re willing to preach the gospel without ever uttering a word.

Look at your hands and see the potential. They can be the miracle someone needs today.
They possess the power to live out your calling: to love God, love others, and serve both.

Stop waiting for a dramatic, voice-from-heaven to commission you. Jesus gave us all that commission two thousand years ago. And with it, he gave us the Spirit who has already placed the tools in our hands.

Let’s step into our communities with our sleeves rolled up and the Spirit of God manifesting through us. Let’s be the hands that lift up one another. 

The feet that run toward need. And heart and soul of Christ, that makes the love visible to a world that desperately needs to see him in order to believe there is still righteousness and justice that’s worth working toward.

I’ll go out on a limb here and say this is one the most widely quoted, and probably most widely misunderstood, verse in the New Testament.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard someone say, "Jesus said 'don't judge,' so you can't say anything about what I’m doing!"

Oh, how we love to take the stuff Jesus says, strip away its context, and flatten it into something that lets us off the hook. But Jesus isn’t about self-serving slogans. Everything he teaches reveals something about the Kingdom of Heaven. “Don’t judge, or you’ll be judged.”

You might be thinking, "But Rev, we have to make judgments every single day!"  That’s true, we do. But if we look closely at the text, we see Jesus isn’t telling us to turn off our brains and abandon moral discernment.

He knows there are some judgments we have to make just to survive today. Is the milk still good? Is this street safe to walk down at night? Should I grab an umbrella because it looks like it might rain?

That’s not what Jesus is worried about here. It’s much bigger. He’s warning us against the destructive temptation to play God in the lives of other people.

When Jesus says, "Don’t judge," the Greek word used is krinō. It’s a legal term for condemnation. It means you’ve placed yourself on the judge’s bench, and with gavel in hand, you render a final verdict on a person’s worth.

Jesus is essentially saying don’t place yourself above others. Stop claiming authority that isn’t yours. Stop evaluating someone’s motive or assign their guilt, because it’s not up to your to hand down a sentence on their soul.

Yet, we do it every single day in our social, political, and spiritual lives.

We hunt for flaws in others to validate our own status. We construct worlds where we’re always the hero or victim, and everyone else is the villain.

We judge other’s choices believing we’re defending God’s truth, yet fall completely out of alignment with God’s heart.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer said it best when he wrote, “Judging others makes us blind, whereas love is illuminating. By judging others we blind ourselves to our own evil and to the grace which others are entitled to just as much as we are."

That’s the radical, transformational truth about God’s Kingdom: Everyone is loved. And everyone is given grace.

Our job is to make that a reality in our day-to-day lives. And trust me when I say, this takes practice.

I’ve told this story before about how I gave up judgement for Lent. I left the Ash Wednesday service anointed and ready to spend forty days completely judgment-free. But the second I pulled into traffic, I failed. I didn’t even make it a block before failing a second time.

What I learned over those 40 days was how quickly I applied one standard of grace to myself and a completely different standard of justice to everyone else.

By that I mean, I judged my mistakes based on my intentions: I was tired. I was stressed. I meant well. But when someone else messed up, I judged them strictly on their actions: They’re selfish, careless, reckless.

Jesus reminds us, "…the measure you use, will be measured to you."  This tells me there’s an inescapable reciprocity in God’s Kingdom.

If you’re kind, kindness will find you. But if you’re a disrespectful jerk, don’t act shocked when you’re disrespected. If you construct a world defined by harshness, suspicion, and hyper-criticism, you end up living in the very prison you’ve built.

When Jesus says, "Do not judge," he isn’t imprisoning us with a new set of restrictive rules. He’s offering us pure liberation. He’s releasing us from the heavy burden of playing God so we can finally get on with the real work of the church: loving God, loving others, and serving both.

That's the good news here. I mean, do you know how much energy it takes to police behavior, draw boundaries, or keep score?

When you spend your life managing everyone else's moral ledger, that isn’t heaven. It’s hell. And it’s an exhausting, soul-crushing way to live.

Many people think because I am a minister that it's my job to judge people. It’s not. It’s not even my job to save people. My job is to engage with people, to encourage people, and invite people to practice the nonjudgmental love of God by practicing it myself.

The moment we climb onto that judge’s bench, we trade God's heart of grace for the cheap thrill of moral superiority. Before we know it, we’ve become the very religious elitists Jesus took aim at.

It’s not our job to fix, police, save, or condemn the world. We’re called to something far more beautiful: to offer unconditional love to everyone, without judging who’s worthy.

So how do we step off the bench and step into that kind of freedom?

Jesus showed us just what to do when he knelt with a basin and towel to wash his disciples feet. He says, “I have come to serve, not to be served.”

Jesus shows them that the teacher is not above the student. He’s inviting us to drop our moral superiority and see others the way God sees us all,… as beloved children in need of grace.

Henri Nouwen wrote, "When we stop judging others, we open ourselves up to receiving them as gifts.”

Jesus didn’t sit in a gallery evaluating our flaws from a safe distance. He stepped directly into our pain and mess, not to judge or condemn, but to share in our brokenness and to heal our hearts. That’s salvation.

It’s crazy to think the only person with the absolute right to judge us chose instead to serve, to bleed, and to forgive. If the true Judge of the universe laid down his gavel at the cross, what business do we have picking it back up?

In a world that thrives on moral superiority and judgment, this is a great challenge for anyone brave enough to follow the Way of Jesus.

But here’s what I’ve learned trying. When you drop that gavel, something remarkable happens in your heart. You stop scanning the room for people to correct. And start looking for people to love.

You trade the weight of a moral executioner for the liberating freedom of grace.

So, here’s your Fortune Cookie Challenge: Follow Jesus’ lead.

Whenever you catch yourself judging someone this week—in traffic, at work, or online—don't slam the gavel down. Instead, pause and pray these eight words: "Lord, show them grace, and show me mercy."

It’s time to stop treating the people around us like paintings on trial. Instead, let’s start meeting them as beloved children of God. Because every person is an image-bearer of Divine love.

So, let’s lay down the gavel. Let’s step down from the bench. And allow the mercy you have received from God, become the measure you extend to others.

Because the Kingdom of heaven isn't a courtroom where sentences are handed down. It’s a banquet hall where there’s room for everyone. And more than enough grace to go around.

But there’s a dark side to social media as well. Not only does it invite us to play judge and jury with every ten-second clip, but it can numb and desensitize our hearts over time. Before we know it, we’re scrolling past a horrific event thinking, “Someone should really do something about that.”
​
If you know what I’m talking about, then today’s passage is written directly to you.

Doesn’t that sound like some shit Jesus says? I can see him walking through town telling his followers, “If you can help someone, help them.” 

It’s holy and to the point. You don’t have to be the religious kind to it.

Most of us, when doing well, don’t have a problem lending a hand. But Solomon flips our notion of generosity on its head. He says helping isn't a favor you bestow. It’s a debt you owe.

As a minister, I’ve been on the receiving end of some incredible, deeply needed gifts, for the church and for myself. The kind that just showed up with a note saying, "God blessed me, and I wanted to share this blessing with you." These are gifts given out of joy, not compulsion.

It’s what Jesus pointed out in the temple when he watched pious men meticulously count out coins to fulfill a duty. Then comes a poor widow, who drops in all she had left: two tiny coins.

Jesus says she gave more than all of them. Why? Because she wasn't giving out of obligation, but out of radical trust; knowing everything she had belonged to God in the first place.

We tend to think, “What is mine is mine. I earned it, and I can do with it what I want.” That thinking makes us believe everything is earned. But that’s not how God’s economy runs. 

Everything we receive from God is an unearned gift, entrusted to us so we can pass it on.

This verse asks something very important to each one of us: Did you do good with the power you had today? Did you give away what God to gave you … for the sake of someone else?

That’s when it gets hard for me hard.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve rolled up to someone looking for help at a freeway off-ramp, knowing full well I have a twenty in my wallet. But because I don't want to give that much—and can't exactly ask for change—I nod and think, "Maybe next time."

I had the power to act, and I chose myself instead; hoarding the gift God placed in my hands for them.

Can you recall a time Jesus did that? Probably not, because when Jesus had the power to act, he acted. He never checked who was "deserving." He didn’t count the cost. He just gave without judgement or hesitation.

I think when we limit our care to those we think have earned it, we block the very love God meant to move through us.

Remember the story of the Good Samaritan? A man is robbed and left for dead on the side of the road. A priest and a Levite walked past, ignoring him. They had schedules to keep and religious laws to observe.

They didn't rob the guy. It wasn’t their fault he was in this predicament. But they harmed him nonetheless, by withholding good when they could’ve helped.

Then comes the Samaritan, people the Jews considered lower than them. He has the oil, the wine, the donkey, and the cash. Realizing he has the power to help, he does so. Jesus says, go and be like that guy.

When Jesus heals the man with the withered hand on the Sabbath, the religious leaders are furious that he is breaking the rules. But Jesus flips it back on them: "Which is lawful on the Sabbath: to do good or to do evil? To save life or to destroy it?"

Having the power to heal means using it to heal. Period. When you have the power to help, help. If you are blessed, be a blessing to others. This is Jesus 101.

​Think about every time he touches a leper, feeds a crowd, or defends the outcast, he’s handing over the grace and mercy God placed in his hands for them.

If we are going to follow the way of Jesus, if we are going to claim the name Christian, then don’t you think we should follow and act like him? The first church understood this mandate.

When terrible plagues swept through Roman cities, the elites fled to save themselves. But, the early Christians? They stayed behind to care for the sick and dying, even the one’s who hated them.

Such love wasn't easy. In Acts 6:1 they wrestled with the same things we do: selfishness, prejudice, and burn-out. In the early days, Greek-speaking widows were being overlooked in the daily distribution of food.

Later, in James 2:15–16, the Apostle had to call out believers who offered cheap platitudes like "Go in peace, keep warm and well fed," while doing nothing for those who were hungry and naked.

And knowing how exhausting this kind of active love can be, Paul urged a tired church: "Do not grow weary in doing good" (Galatians 6:9; 2 Thessalonians 3:13).

Practicing Christlikeness isn't just about helping when it's easy or convenient. It's about waking up everyday with a clear intention to do the good you have the power to do.

Hoarding our help, wealth, or influence while others drown in hardship isn't just selfish. It’s spiritual theft. You are robbing God’s children instead of giving to them.

St. Basil the Great bluntly stated, "The bread which you hold back belongs to the hungry; the coat hanging unused in your closet belongs to the naked."

According to C.S. Lewis, “Real goodness costs us something.” And if our gift doesn't pinch or hamper us, it’s probably too small.

We live in an age that has more wealth and connection than any generation in history. Yet, most charities are barely surviving.

This past Wednesday, the Los Angeles Lakers sold for $12.5 billion. The seller walked away with a $2.5 billion profit after owning the team for just ten months.

Think about the good that money could do for everyday Americans struggling with food insecurity. Millions of our neighbors lack basic medical care while resources are hoarded by those who have more than enough to help.

This isn’t a dig on the rich; it’s a wake-up call for us.

We scroll past heartbreak on our phones, drop a sad emoji, and think that’s enough. We hide behind smart doorbells and busy calendars while our neighbors drown in loneliness.

We can blame politicians for cutting SNAP and putting undue burdens on welfare recipients. But we’re the ones who keep voting them in power. That’s us withholding the good!

But here’s the thing I know, there’s a lot of good being done. Social media is full of stories of foster parents who open their home to a vulnerable child. And volunteers who intentionally make time in their schedule to help in their community.

Those reels where a person steps up to pay for a stranger's groceries when the card gets declined? Not only do they make me cry, but they make this verse come alive in real and tangle ways.

Jesus calls us to act, to be the visible presence of God; bringing hope and dignity to those who are suffering.

But here’s the sobering truth: these opportunities have an expiration date. A friend who needs encouragement today, might not be around next week. The resources in your bank account, could disappear over night.

So here is this week’s Fortune Cookie Challenge: pay a debt of goodness forward, today.

Look at your schedule, your resources, your professional influence. See where you currently have the leverage to solve a problem for someone else, and help.

Instacart groceries to stock up someone’s pantry.

Or make a phone call to recommend someone for a job. 

Cover a shift for an exhausted teammate.

Or simply walk across the street to fix something your elderly neighbor can't manage on their own.

If you can help, help. If you can heal, heal. If you can bless, bless. If you can love, love.

If you have the leverage, the time, or the resources to lift a burden right now, do it right now.

That capacity isn't meant to be saved—it’s meant to be spent. Stop holding on to what God has given you to be given away.

Don't die with God's blessings still trapped in your pockets. Let people encounter the face of Christ through your hands, today.

Go spend every last drop of God’s goodness on the world… knowing and trusting that the gift you pay forward will always come back to you.

When we started this series, I didn’t plan for a theme to run through all of it. But week after week, the same thread keeps weaving its way into our conversations—and today is no exception.

Remember those two words Tzedakah and Mishpat? The Hebrew words for righteousness and justice?

Here they are again, which tells me they’re kind of important to know. In this verse, they show up in a royal procession, a metaphor everyone in the ancient world would have recognized.

Back then, before a king or queen traveled, a vanguard went out ahead to repair broken roads, remove hazards (or troublemakers), and clear a path for the monarch to arrive.

What I love about this image is how it reveals God as both the Sovereign on the throne and the Vanguard leading the way.

It also tells us that God’s authority isn’t built on some fortune-cookie promise. It is anchored in Tzedakah and Mishpat—righteousness and justice —the unshakeable foundation of the throne.

And marching out ahead, clearing the road, is hesed—God’s steadfast, relentless love.

Last week, we talked about trusting God’s lead, that in the space between our footsteps God is clearing our path.

Today, we realize why: because hesed is meant to lead our way, too.

We’re not just called to be consumers of God’s love. We’re called to be conduits of it. We are called to embody it, practice it, and be it.

As much as I love the word, I think our English translations does it a disservice by rendering it as "lovingkindness" or "steadfast love." While that is part of the definition it can make hesed sound like an emotional sentiment that drifts in and out depending on how we woke up feeling.

In Hebrew, hesed isn’t a mood. It’s a relentless, covenantal verb. It’s what Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann described as, “the tenacious commitment of God to stick with a relationship even when the other party has broken every single condition.”

Simply put: hesed is a love so faithful and trustworthy that it still hold up it’s end of the bargain, long after the contract is torn to pieces.

Take the story of Jonah. Wild fish tale aside, it’s all about God’s faithful promise to him and the people of Nineveh. Driven by fear, the rebellious prophet tries to flee. But hesed pursues him, rescues him, and refuses to give up on him.

Take Jesus’ story of the prodigal son. Before the boy can utter a confession or beg for mercy,  the faithful Father runs out to meet his wayward son and embraces him. Before judgment is ever spoken, hesed goes out first to clear a way home.

If scripture gives us the framework for God’s covenantal love, Jesus gives it a face, a voice, and a heartbeat. His ministry alone is full of examples of such faithfulness leading the way.

When a man with leprosy says, "If you choose, you can make me well," Jesus ignores the purity laws (a legal righteousness), reaches out, touches him, and heals him (a divine justice).

Jesus’ action shows us how hesed leads us through the threshold to do the right and just thing.

When Jesus goes to Jericho, he doesn’t stop by the synagogue seeking religious leaders to have lunch with. He goes to a sycamore tree and calls out to Zacchaeus, a corrupt tax collector who enriched himself at his neighbors' expense.

Jesus didn't demand a public apology from the guy before he will break bread with him. Because hesed just shows up, creating a grace-filled space where genuine transformation can happen.

Are you seeing a pattern? Hesed moves first, stoops down, and welcomes all before a single condition is met. That’s our calling: to make love our muscle memory, our go in all situations.

Jesus didn't say, "Sit back, relax, and enjoy love."  Jesus gave us a clear directive, "Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another."

The standard isn't "love people when it is convenient," or "love people who love you back." The standard is love as I have loved you—with an active, initiating, vanguard hesed that clears the way for God’ glory to shine through you.

This means taking the terrifying first step toward reconciliation before an apology comes.

It means sitting on the ash heap with people in their darkest moments, like Job's friends did before they ruined it with cheap answers.

It means choosing vulnerability over self-preservation, knowing full well that real love costs something.

C.S. Lewis warns, “to love at all is to be vulnerable.” This is where it gets scary for most of us. If you’ve been burned or betrayed by someone you trusted, your natural instinct is to lock your heart away in a safe box where nobody can hurt it.

But, to borrow from Lewis, when you lock your heart away from pain, you aren't saving it—you're burying it alive. A heart wrapped in self-preservation eventually turns to stone.

The choice isn't between a broken heart and a safe heart. It’s between a heart broken open by love, or one that rots in the dark because it was too afraid to care.


Jesus shows us how hesed always chooses to risk the pain of loving people, as God does, no matter what. That kind of love is a spiritual discipline built on three simple habits:


First, initiate grace before it is earned. Send a text to someone who pissed you off, not to debate who’s right, .but simply to say, "I love you and I miss you."

Second, practice presence, even in the wreckage.  When someone in your orbit is going through a divorce, a loss, or a health crisis, don't wait until you have the perfect words to say.

Go over, drop off a warm meal, rake their leaves, or just sit on the couch and let them cry.

Third, choose generosity no matter the cost. When a coworker takes credit for your idea, or a neighbor lets their dog ruin your garden, let hesed lead your response instead of retaliation.

Initiate grace. Practice presence. Be generous. That’s this week’s Fortune Cookie Challenge.

Pick a person in your orbit who grates on your nerves, ghosted your friendship, or wrote you off. Sometime this week, drop an unexpected act of hesed into their life.

Surprise their inbox with an unexpected gift card. Or send a brief note that says, "No need to reply, just thinking of you today." Maybe quietly cover an expense for them, without keeping score and no strings attached.

Just let love clear the path ahead of you, just as love cleared the path on the cross.

That’s the sacrifice Jesus was willing to make to change our lives forever. The smallest act of kindness has the greatest potential to transform hearts.

Here’s where it gets tricky. You can’t do this halfway. A culture pursuing justice without love becomes cold and legalistic. Likewise, a church that preaches love without a bedrock of righteousness only offers fortune-cookie fluff that changes nothing.

When righteousness and justice form our foundation, and steadfast love leads every interaction, Jesus tells us the Kingdom of Heaven becomes visible and alive.

I hope you will remember you are the advance guard clearing the way for the presence of God.  Instead of waiting for the world to become kind. Lets go ahead and be the kindness the world craves; embracing and embodying God’s hesed.

Let’s go, bringing forth the righteousness and justice that leads us towards peace. Let’s live out love so boldly that when people look at us, they can’t help but encounter Christ. Go clear the path, knowing and trusting God’s faithful love is marching right behind you.

If I were to translate this into dad advice, I’d say, “Trust God’s lead, and you’ll always find your way.”

When King Solomon tells us to, “Trust in the Lord”,  he uses a Hebrew word that means far more than simple confidence. Bāṭach isn’t about trusting your parent’s advice, or believing the bridge can hold the weight of your car.

The word is way more physical. Bāṭach means to fling yourself or to slump helpless yet completely secure, like an infant resting against her mother’s shoulder. And  Solomon says this kind of pure trust requires your lēb—your whole heart.

In ancient Hebrew, the lēb wasn’t just an organ pumping blood or a feelings factory.  It was considered to be the command center of the entire person. The seat of reason, decision-making, memory, and the human will.

To “trust God with all your heart,” is a call to completely surrender everything, to place your entire mind, body, and spirit at God's feet. It’s the kind of trust you can bet your life on because it relies on God’s complete faithfulness to us, even when we struggle to be faithful to God.

This leads me to wonder, do I trust the faith of God enough to surrender everything? Can I actually let go of control and let God lead the way? It’s easy for me to think so, until it’s put to the test.

Every morning, while we were in Lake Tahoe, Cali and I would go for these wonderful hikes in the mountains. One day, perhaps a little overly confident, I decided to try a new trail.  

An hour in, I began feeling anxious because it seemed we were moving further away from where I thought we should be.

When I pulled out my phone to check the map, I didn’t have a signal. That’s when fear crept in. And I began to convince myself we were hopelessly lost.

As my mind raced to all kinds of situations, Cali was completely unbothered. She just kept trotting ahead without a care in the world.

When I stopped to try to get my bearings, it dawned on me that I was trying to manage an entire mountain on my limited knowledge. I’d become too reliant on my phone to get me to where I wanted to go.

It took being completely helpless for me to realize I was leaning on myself and not God. That’s when I remembered my favorite proverb and surrendered my path to the One who made the mountain for me.

As you can see, it worked. I made it back safely.

So often, our frantic attempt to control the outcome is the very thing blocking the path God is clearing for us. Again, “Trust God’s lead, and you’ll always find your way.”

No one practiced this better than Jesus. He leaned on God in the wilderness after his baptism. When crowds mobbed Him and critics attacked him, he didn't defend his ego, but relied on God to provide the words to say. 

At every single turn, Jesus refused to lean on His own understanding, declaring, "The Son can do nothing by himself; he can do only what he sees the Father doing."

I know it’s easy to trust God when your job is going well, when your relationships are strong, and everything seems under control.

But what about when you lose a loved one to cancer? Or your job to someone less competent? Or your a home to the bank? Jesus shows us, the ultimate test of trust happens where all hope seems lost.

We call these moments “The dark night of the soul.” This is the place where all our comfortable illusions of control are stripped away, and we’re for forced to rely on God's guiding hand as we walk completely in the dark.

In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus trusted God knowing the physical and spiritual agony he was about to face. Every human instinct urged Him to retreat, to find a way out.

Instead, He surrendered His will completely praying, "Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will."

On the cross,  feeling the weight of abandonment and enduring the taunts of the crowd, Jesus slumped over into God’s arms knowing, believing, and trusting God knew what God was doing. And God did not disappoint.

To this day, the resurrection stands as definitive proof of what God is capable of doing for us all. When you trust God with your whole heart through the darkest valley, even a dead-end tomb becomes a pathway to new life.

So, why is it so hard for us to let go of the need to be in control, and to trust God with all the big and little things we face every day?

What mountainside are you climbing right now? How has your anxiety convinced you’re lost? Where is fear whispering you’ll never find your way back?

For most of us, the honest answer is that we feel like we're failing at this. We hear Paul famously say, "we all fall short of the glory of God," (Rom.3:23) and we quickly interpret it through a lens of shame—like we’re flawed and will never measure up.

But what if Paul is giving us permission to stop trying to control and manipulate the situation?Or dare I say, to stop trying to be God?

What if "falling short" is an invitation to step aside, stop forcing the outcome, and just let God do what God does best?

Most of us don’t wake up intending to turn our backs on God. We just default to micromanaging, because being in control has always been the way we cope. But that only gets us so far.

It’s funny how we willingly trust God with our eternal salvation because it feels so far away.

Yet, when it comes to our bank accounts, our children’s decisions, or a medical diagnosis, our go-to is to lean squarely on our own understanding. And that go-to always leaves us lost in the woods—anxious and exhausted.

But trusting God with your whole mind, body, and spirit brings an internal peace that surpasses all understanding.

Having suffered her own dark night of the soul in a German concentration camp, Corrie ten Boom famously asked, "Is prayer your steering wheel or your spare tire?"

In other words, are we only leaning on God in times of crisis? Or are we allowing God to take the helm every day, in every situation?

This is something each one of us has to answer on our own. We can either treat God as emergency roadside assistance. Or trust that the One navigating the road has never once lost the way.

As Jesus taught us from a Galilean hillside, we don't need to figure out tomorrow, or next month, or five years from now. We just need to trust God with right now. 

You might recall, Jesus says, if God feeds the birds of the air and clothes the lilies of the field, then God will surely take care of you (Matthew 6:25-26).

“Trust God’s lead, and you’ll always find your way.” Because in the space between your footsteps, God is there, clearing the path forward.
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So here’s your fortune cookie challenge this week:Identify area in your life where you’re losing control, maybe a place where fear has you paralyzed, or anxiety has you convinced you’ve lost your way.

Grab an index card and write it down. Then below it, write, “God, I give this to You.” Place it somewhere you will see it every morning.

Every time the world tempts you to tighten your fists and try to control what you cannot fix, let that card be your permission to stop. Open your hands. Let it go. And trust that the God who holds the cosmos is more than capable of holding you.

Trust God’s lead. And you will see that you are always exactly where you’re supposed to be. Right here in that sacred space called life, where God holds you and loves on you, today, tomorrow and throughout all eternity.

What makes this Proverb a perfect fortune cookie, is that it doesn’t demand much more of us then to "be good people."

But to those who first heard it, this wasn’t just a spiritual dessert that comes with the bill. … This was the whole meal. Back then, sacrifice wasn’t a metaphor for giving up chocolate for Lent; it was deeply embedded into the economy of their worship and daily life.

If you broke a commandment, sinned against a neighbor, or felt a deep need to reconnect with God, the prescription was clear: buy an animal, bring it to the Temple, and offer God a blood sacrifice.

It sounds archaic, but it  was the culturally approved, highly visible, and very expensive way to show your piety and devotion is right here without having to change your heart.

Although, it was a lawful requirement, handed down to Moses from God, these sacrifices had become transactional, not relational.

But as this proverb reminds us, God’s ledger is balanced by how we treat our neighbor on Monday, not by what we burn on the altar on Sunday.

The same is true for us today. If we are actively harming others—or just sitting idly by while it happens—then what good is our faith, or this space we call Anamesa? God isn't looking at our attendance record. God is looking at how we show up with our hearts and hands open wide. Scripture is loaded with such warnings.

The prophet Isaiah warned the religious elite that God was turning away from their prayers, and was deeply offended by their rituals, their incense, and pageant, all because they were ignoring the very people God watches the closest: the widow, the orphan, the poor, and the immigrant.

King David wisely confessed, "My sacrifice, O God, is a contrite heart..."

And even Jesus quotes the prophet Hosea, who famously declared that God desires mercy, not sacrifice.

The goal isn’t to look religious, or to play church. God wants us to be the church, the embodiment of Christ, that stands for righteousness and justice, just like Jesus did.

True worship of God isn’t just what we do in here. It’s what we do out there. As Cornel West put it, "Justice is what love looks like in public." That outward expression begins inside, in our hearts where God kissed each one of us into existence. 

I suspect the depth of this passage gets lost because it’s been translated into English too simply.

Take the Hebrew word, Tzedakah (צְדָקָה), which is translated as "righteousness." As I’ve said before, we tend to associate righteousness with individual, moral perfection. But to the ancient Hebrew mind, it meant  being in a "right relationship" with God and the people around you.

By the time Jesus came into the picture, the word had shifted into a rigid, performance-based religion. It was completely losing that ethical heartbeat that kept the community healthy and whole. And the system itself, fair and just.

It’s no surprise Jesus called the Pharisees “whitewashed tombs.” Turns out they were completely consumed with how they looked on the outside, checking off every little box of the law, while totally ignoring the very people the law was written to protect.

Jesus reminds us that being in a right relationship with God isn't about appearance; it's about opening our hearts to care for one another so that everyone has a seat at God's table.

Think of it like a jigsaw puzzle. You've got all these random, scattered pieces that only make sense once they’re locked together. Tzedakah means being beautifully connected to the people right next to you. Because a puzzle, or life, can never be complete if some of the pieces are left out.

Which takes us to the word, Mishpat (מִשְׁפָּט), or what’s translated as "justice." This isn’t eye-for-an-eye retaliatory justice Sean was trying to throw down to justify a hit.

Mishpat is almost always paired with Tzedek (righteousness) or Tzedakah (charity/justice). Together, they form the foundation of a moral society. It's the concrete action we take to correct a wrong, specifically defending the one who is weak, vulnerable, or about to be crushed by her little brother.

Look, it’s one thing to feel bad about an injustice you see while scrolling through Instagram. I mean, you can post a comment and move on feeling like you did something helpful.

But it’s a completely different thing to get up, and go out to change the game so that injustice doesn't happen again to someone else. We could say Mishpat is the kind of DEI style justice that levels the playing field so all people get a shot at goal.

We can come to church every single week. We can read our bibles and pray every day. We can call ourselves “believers” all we want. But if our hearts aren’t in it for others, then how can they be in it for God?

The true benchmark of faith will always be revealed in how we love and serve BOTH God and each other.

Paul said, “It’s not the hearers of the law who are righteous before God, but the doers of the law who will be justified” (Rom. 2:13).

Simply put, we can’t worship Jesus while ignoring him in the person of the poor. We can’t say we love Jesus, and then turn around and hate a brother. And we certainly can’t call him our savior, and support a system that harms our sisters.

Jesus knew healing a broken person on the Sabbath was infinitely more pleasing to God than keeping a religious rule while a human being was suffering.

Like Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, "The righteous person is not one who merely avoids doing wrong, but one who actively restores community where it has been broken."

That’s the true mission and ministry of the church. Jesus consistently showed us that true righteousness and justice are measured by how close we are willing to get to the marginalized just to return them to the fold.

We all must take an honest, uncomfortable inventory of our spiritual lives. Attending services and making a financial contribution are the modern-day “sacrifice” we make. But they become empty rituals the second they’re divorced from how we love and care for others.

So, here is your Fortune Cookie Challenge for this week. Go out and intentionally perform one quiet mishpah or relational tzedakah before you come back to worship next Sunday. How you do that is up to you. But the bible offers us many ideas.

Psalm 146 tells us God upholds the cause of the oppressed, gives food to the hungry, sets prisoners free, and lifts up those who have been pushed down. If that’s what God is doing out there, then it’s pretty clear to me that’s where we have to show up. Like Jesus puts it, “What you do to the least of these, your brothers and sisters, you do also to me.”

This could mean putting your body in the way of an ICE agent to protect an immigrant. Or showing up at a court hearing to stand up for a foster child being abused in the system. It could simply be refusing to throw gas on a heated family argument. Or making amends with a sibling you hurt.

At the end of the day, the ultimate proof of a God-aligned heart is how we show up, and treat the person standing right in front of us. A person, like you, who hold’s the very divine image of the One we are here to worship today.

So let’s stop playing church. Let’s get up off the couch, run toward the brokenness, and go be the body of Christ in the world.

Because at the end of the day, that’s still the greatest form of worship we can ever offer God.

On the surface, AI is remarkable. It can gather more information in a second than any of us could process in a lifetime. I can use it to draft a tricky email, plan a weekend getaway, or even use it to punch up this sermon.

AI is a fantastic tool, until it isn’t.

Yes, it threatens the livelihood of millions of workers who are being replaced by its technology. But what really worries me is how we've started treating AI less like a helpful librarian and more like an sacred Oracle.

​More and more people are turning to it for the kind of existential guidance that used to drive us to our knees in prayer. But I’m afraid it is here to stay, which means the onus is on us.

So, what will we do with it? And how can we use AI to grow the Kingdom of Heaven?

Well, as I was getting ready to write the next installment of Fortune Cookie Theology, I asked Gemini to write a fortune about itself, this is what I got. “Information can be generated instantly. Wisdom takes time.”

When I pushed it to make it more theological, it replied, “It’s one thing to outsource your data and another to outsource your soul.”

Long before we started outsourcing our intelligence to algorithms, ancient human intelligence taught us this:

The Book of Proverbs has always reminded me of that annoying friend who always has something to say on any given subject. The difference is Proverbs mostly offers timeless guidance worth listening to. It’s practical, grounded, and deeply concerned with helping us live faithfully here and now.

But in order to get the true depth of this passage, we have to let go of the notion that wisdom means “being smart.” This wisdom isn't about earning a Ph.D. for your mind; it's more like beginning an apprenticeship for your soul.

When Solomon compiled these sayings, he wasn't writing some abstract philosophy for scholars to argue about long after he was gone. Solomon was creating something more like a handbook for us to use to master everyday life.

In this verse, he uses the Hebrew word chochmah (חָכְמָה), which is commonly translated as wisdom. In Jewish mystical texts, chochmah is described as the primordial point of divine wisdom, which shines forth from the will of God.

But as we have learned from other passages in traditional scripture, the word is about having expertise, like a master craftsman.

We see it used in Exodus to describe the artisans who built the Tabernacle. They had the technical expertise to weave, carve, design, and build something beautiful and sacred for God.

While information can tell us what something is, wisdom teaches us how life actually works.

This is an important distinction to make, especially when it comes to following the Way of Jesus who shows us how to wisely live a righteous and faithful life.

According to scripture, to be righteous in the eyes of God isn’t just about being perfectly obedient to God’s law.

It’s more about being willing to embody the spirit of the law; to ensure everyone is cared for, that your neighbor has access to basic needs, to demand justice and equality for all people. And it’s our faithfulness that keeps us achieving these goals when the world makes it impossible to do.

The beginning of wisdom is to know that you cannot separate what you believe from how you behave. Which is why we must constantly discern our faith because it bridges the gap between what we know and how we actually live.

You can have all the right facts stored in your brain, or on your phone, and still build a fractured life.

At the end of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus tells a story about two men who build two houses. One builds on rock. The other on sand.
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The difference between the two wasn’t their access to the data. They both had the identical information, and ability to build. The difference wasn’t knowledge. It was application. The wise builder took what he heard Jesus say, and practiced it. He built his life upon it, and was able to withstand the storms when they came.

Knowledge can populate the mind. But wisdom always positions the heart.

That’s what Jesus is all about, repositioning our hearts back to God. For faith and righteousness is relational, with God and with one another. That’s the insight wisdom offers us.


The early church understood this. They weren’t interested in collecting clever ideas. Their goal was to be like Christ, who Paul explicitly called, "the wisdom of God."

They looked at Jesus, copied his craftsmanship, and used it to build a community that loves God, loves others, and serves both.

Following this blueprint, what can we do with the wisdom of Jesus? How can we copy his craftsmanship to become more Christlike?

Do you remember the gospel story of the woman caught in adultery? When the religious leaders dragged her out into the dirt, she was nothing more than a prop to trap Jesus. They wanted a legal ruling. They wanted information. But instead, Jesus offered wisdom saying, “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone.”

A foolish leader would have reacted defensively or slipped into an academic argument. Not Jesus, he was wise enough to let them decide their own fate. With one sentence, He fulfilled God’s call to righteousness, faithfully standing up for justice by extending mercy to protected a vulnerable soul.

And isn’t this exactly the kind of wisdom we need today?

We’re currently living in the most informed age in human history. We have a mountain of knowledge and endless opinions, with around the clock digital noise telling us what to think, who to blame, who to fear, and who to hate.

We have mastered the art of reacting, but have completely forgotten the art of loving people.

If we want to be a community that actually follows the Way of Jesus, we have to recognize that his wisdom is the way of our spiritual survival.

To apply his wisdom means having the courage to pause before we react. And the humility to listen before we speak. It means choosing restoration over retaliation.

It means recognizing that our faithfulness to God isn’t measured by how loudly we defend our opinions online.But how deeply we love our neighbors in real life.

The world has enough angry people reposting information. It needs people who can take raw knowledge, filter it through the heart of Christ, and love others liberally.

So here’s your fortune cookie challenge: stop consuming noise and start radiating wisdom.

Tomorrow morning, when you wake up, don’t simply ask God for an easy day. Do what Solomon did and ask for a wise heart. Ask for the grace to see Christ in people who don’t look like you, think like you, or vote like you. Ask God to make your righteousness a force that heals a wound rather than inflicting one.

The digital prophets of our age promise that the ultimate answer is just one click away. But they are selling a shortcut. Our God offers something infinitely deeper. Wisdom.

This is what I think Jesus describes as “the truth, the life, and the Way.” He doesn’t say it’s going to fast, or easy, or without it’s challenges. He just says, “Follow me.”

So let’s go and “Get wisdom.”

The slow, beautiful craftsmanship that builds communities with people, like you and me, to mirror the life and love of Jesus. Because that should always be our heart’s desire. Not wealth. Not status. Not influence or clout. Just wisdom.

The very word of God made flesh, that teaches us how to love; how to forgive; how to build a life on a solid foundation that can withstand any storm throughout eternity.

We don’t often spend time in this ancient Hebrew book. In fact, outside of funerals, this is the only time I have ever preached a sermon from Ecclesiastes.

As I was searching for fortunes to offer for this series, this passage jumped out as one that seems less like a vague prediction about the future, and more like a divine path for the present.

The author boldly states, "…for God has already approved what you do."

I am not going to lie but that’s something I have always struggled with. Or so my therapist liked point out. If you're like me, then consider how much time you've wasted by constantly seeking approval from your peers, your social circles, your political party, your religion, and even from your own high standards.

The problem extends well beyond our nation's borders. This, I dare to say, is a global issue simply because it's a human issue. 

A quote often attributed to the American Trappist monk Thomas Merton, though popularized by Stephen Covey, warns, "People may spend their whole lives climbing the ladder of success only to find, once they reach the top, that their ladder is leaning against the wrong wall."

Why do we constantly chase after things, like the approval of others, that drain the life right out of us?

Instead, we ought to embrace the tangible, life-giving gifts that God has placed right here before us. The bread on your plate, the company at your table, and the laughter shared.

This verse invites us to stop climbing and start living in the grace that is already ours. The only approval we need is God’s, which has already been granted. 

The way I see it, when you choose joy over someone else’s opinion, you’re essentially saying, "I trust that God is bigger than the division around me, and I’m going to live like it."

Now, verse seven begins with the command to "Go” which comes from the Hebrew verb hãlak (הָלַךְ) which occurs over 1,500 times in the Old Testament.

"Beyond simple walking, it is heavily used as a metaphor for spiritual conduct, daily behavior, and one's "lifestyle" or "manner of life" before God. . . . In Jewish tradition, this root verb forms the basis of Halakhah (often translated as "The Way"), which encompasses the broad body of religious observances and practical laws that dictate daily Jewish life and conduct." (1)

This is much more than mere action of movement, hãlak is a call to walk, to journey, and to actively engage with the life in front of you. It’s an invitation to go and participate in the world.

That is to say, it's not a solitary walk through life, but a call to walk together, learning from and leaning on, each other. And the place we are sent to is the table, to eat bread and drink wine as one big family.

In ancient culture, bread and wine were the primary symbols of shared life and community. If we read further, we’d see how the author speaks of wearing white garments and using oil, both of which are symbols of celebration and health, which stands in direct contrast to the worry and stress that weigh us down.

If we were to sum this verse up on a tea-towel, we might simply say, “Life is short.”

Yes, i know, it's a bit cliché, but it packs a powerful message. If you knew you had a limited time in this life, why would you ever waste a second of it being miserable, or angry, or in fear or worry?

In this incredible playground called life, God is offering us a seat at the table; where we sit with our family, and friends, and neighbors even those we find difficult. It’s here we look each other in the eye and truly share the messiness of life together.

In a culture driven by outrage and tribalism, choosing to sit at a table with someone you fundamentally disagree with is an act of quiet defiance. I think that’s the American way. If not, it’s the Way of Jesus.

These days, it’s a rare and radical choice to prioritize humanity over ideology.

We often fall into the trap of thinking that unity means everyone has to sign off on our personal opinions. But our faith calls us to something much deeper. To love and serve God and one another, no matter what.

If we are going to truly follow the Way of Jesus, then we must make the kingdom of heaven come alive on every path we walk, and every table we sit.

Remember, our theme for the year is "Knitted together in Love." This should be a theme for our nation to embrace because it reminds us  we are just individuals threads in a massive, complex tapestry. We don’t have to be the same color, texture, or pattern to belong to the same garment.

It also reminds us that we are not the weaver.  God is.  But if we start yanking on the other threads, the whole thing is going to lose its shape.

I know how tempting it is to draw lines and retreat into our own private tables because, let’s be honest, we don’t like facing someone who might challenge us.

But the way to peace isn't through winning the argument or getting the last word. It comes through finding our shared humanity. And embracing our diversity.

Jesus gave us this simple rule of life: if you want to be a peacemaker in a divided land, … you have to be willing to be a neighbor.  He says, “Love one another, like I love you.”

In other words, go, hãlak, be the thread of love that weaves people together.  Show up in your actual community instead of just your digital echo chamber. Listen to someone different than you, without mapping out your rebuttal while they’re still talking.

Go celebrate together the common ground we have, like our shared desire to keep our families safe, to eat good food, and to live with a sense of purpose.

We are called to be the ones who move toward others, even when it’s uncomfortable, because that is where the real work of living happens. It’s where real peace, and deep joy is found.

So let’s keep this week’s "Fortune Cookie Challenge" simple: Go set a table that you wouldn’t normally set.

Invite a neighbor you haven't spoken to in a while, or a coworker who gets under your skin, or a family member you’ve been avoiding. Invite them to "eat bread" with you.

Don't go in with an agenda to change them. Instead, go in ready to be changed yourself by the simple, radical act of being human together.

After all, the heart of our faith is trusting that God’s table is big enough for everyone.

Jesus built a ministry out of sitting down with people he disagreed with. By breaking bread with tax collectors, outcasts, religious zealots, and weary fishermen, he wasn’t just feeding his hunger, he was offering everyone there a taste of heaven.

At the table, Jesus dismantled walls of hostility, not by ignoring our differences or pretending they didn't exist, but by loving people right through them.

He didn’t do this for his own comfort. He did it because he knew that the only way to heal a fractured world was to knit us tightly together in a love that actually lasts.

To paraphrase Henri Nouwen, when we show hospitality, we create a space "where the stranger can enter and become a friend." Jesus sends us out to build tables, not divisions.

So, let’s commit to being that kind of people. Let’s be the ones who bring the bread, who choose joy over outrage, and who prioritize conversation over condemnation.

When you reach across the divide, you aren't just having dinner—you are participating in building up the kingdom of heaven, right here for everyone to see.

God has already approved the work of loving your neighbor, so go, hãlak, in all the different ways you love one another.

As Jesus showed us with his own life, there is no higher calling than that.


Work Cited:
Covey, Stephen R. The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People: Powerful Lessons in Personal Change. Simon & Schuster, 2020.
Nouwen, Henri J. M. Reaching Out: The Three Movements of the Spiritual Life. Doubleday, 1966. [1, 2, 3]
Precious Seed. Word for Today. https://www.preciousseed.org/articles/a-word-for-today-step-walk-heb-halak/

Watching our kids experience life by trying new things and sharing their joy with us has always been the highlight of parenting.

​Now they are in the season of adulting, I thought this would be a great relief for them. Little did I know the panic that would secretly ensue.

I will find out soon enough if it was the best or worst “advice” I ever gave them. Either way, I still believe their story will be infinitely better than receiving another coffee mug with a religious pun printed on it.

Speaking of dad advice, there is plenty I’ve shared with them that probably shouldn’t be repeated from a pulpit. However, this one is practically made for a fortune cookie: “When you’re unsure what to do, go for the story.”

And if you're looking for the ultimate source of both adventure and wisdom, there’s no better place to find it than the Bible. Which takes us to our reading: