It’s been a full week around here. The good kind of full. With so many old friends passing through, we’ve joked about putting up a sign: The Anamesa Inn – Where Love Finds A Home.
Sure, the usual rhythm of life gets a little interrupted when we have guests in town. But isn't that the point? To stop and enjoy the things and people you love. When I'm with people who’ve walked with me through the best and the worst, who’ve laughed loud and stayed close through sorrow, I don’t mind the disruption. I just make room. There’s a kind of longing joy that tends to show up when someone I love walks back through the door. The kind that lifts my face into a smile and throws my arms wide open in a way that says, “Welcome home.” Tomorrow is Palm Sunday — and that, too, is a homecoming. Jesus enters Jerusalem—not like a celebrity on parade, but like a familiar friend returning to the old neighborhood. Everyone is excited to see him. They throw cloaks like welcome mats and wave palms like they’re waving someone out of the rain into their home. It’s here something holy stirs: a hope-filled homecoming in the space between past and promise. That’s the kind of space we’re building here: a community that welcomes and wants everyone to feel at home. Where something warm is on the stove. And someone’s glad you showed up. A space where you hear, “Come on in. You’re just in time.” We know what Jesus will endure. But we also know what he brings: healing, hope, and a love that outlasts even death. No matter where you are, Jesus invitation to bring your joy, your grief, your questions, your need to belong. That’s our invitation as well. Like those who lined the streets, we’re always ready to welcome you. The porch light is on. There is coffee (or tea) in the pot. And there’s always enough room here to unpack your bags and rest. There’s no need make reservations. You don’t rent or earn your place here. You just simply belong, simply because you are.
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Jesus answered them, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain, but if it dies it bears much fruit. Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honor. John 12:23-26 So far, Lent has taken us deep into the wilderness. And Jesus, as he tends to do, doesn’t hand us a map—he just invites us to follow. Carrying our cross. Not as punishment, but to remake us, transform us in ways that only love is capable of doing.
Now, Jesus interrupts our journey with a familiar parable about seeds. He essentially says, “You’ve got to die to yourself if you want to grow into yourself.” If you don’t know the things Jesus says, you might think this is a cryptic message about gritting your teeth and suffering through life. But like all his parables, it’s a metaphor. It’s about letting go. Dying to what doesn’t serve love, so something holy can live and grow in its place. Jesus isn’t trying to kill us or trick us. He’s leading us down, what Richard Rohr calls “the path of descent”— where everything false falls away so the true self can rise. And when we fall, it might seem like we’re being buried and cracked open in the dark. Yet, as every seed knows, this is where we fall into the heart of God. Into mercy, peace, and love. But for that to happen, something in us has to give. The part that needs to hold on and control everything. To be right. To win. To be seen. Jesus says, “Let that stuff go. And really live.” Because when we fall into the soil of God’s grace—surrendering like a grain of wheat—something miraculous happens. We rise anew. Alive in Christ. Bearing his good fruit. According to Jesus, the first step into this falling is to repent. Not a do this or else kind of thing…but true renewal. In the original Greek the word is metanoia—which literally means: change your mind. When we start thinking like Jesus, we start seeing like Jesus. And that changes everything. You see others the way he does. You respond the way he does—with tenderness and healing. With a love that gives life. That’s the hard, holy work of Lent. What Paul calls being “transformed by the renewal of your mind.” For this to happen, something has to give. Something has to die. We don’t get Easter without Good Friday. Before the tomb can be emptied, the cross must be occupied. Yet, no matter how wonderful the promise is, everything in us resists. Why is that? The ego is a master of self-preservation. It says: You’re only as good as what you produce. Your worth is based on how well you perform, how polished or powerful you appear. Jesus invites us let those thoughts die so something beautiful can bloom. Every year, sunflowers grow along the sidewalk around the corner. By mid-summer, they’re towering—six, seven feet tall—faces lifted up proudly to heaven. Come September, their petals fade. Leaves crisp and curl. And their golden heads droop. It looks like a little garden funeral. We know death is in the air. But we know those heavy heads are full of seeds. Hundreds of them. Each bloom letting go of its own beauty so an entire field can rise next season. That is how life works. And Jesus is inviting us into. “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” While this is a foreshadow of what is to come - Jesus is also describing the shape of divine love. Love that doesn’t cling or hoard. Or stay shiny or safe. But the kind of love that cracks itself open and gives itself away. Love that whispers, “I’ll be less so others can be more. I’ll fall so someone else can rise.” Isn’t that what it means to love God, love others, and serve both? Jesus tells us that it’s in this giving we find our true selves. Our belonging with God. And each other. And it’s in this space we find who we really are. People who bear fruit. People who live rooted in grace, growing in love. Sometimes this looks like letting go of control. Sometimes it means staying in the hard place when everything in you wants to run away. But like James Baldwin wrote, “Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.” The ego will push back, resisting. It wants self-preservation. You have to constantly remind yourself what feels like dying is usually the beginning of something sacred. Because when we give our lives away in love, we don’t end up with less. We end up with more. More connection. More meaning. More kinship. All this leads to more joy, more peace, and more salvation. Jesus shows us how one life, given freely, can blossom into a whole field of blessing. That’s the invitation. It’s how God’s love works. Like the sunflower--one “yes” to God and suddenly your love multiplies. The sooner the false self relents, the sooner the true self can rise and get up to speed. Lent is a season of movement – dying, rising, and growing into our belovedness. Here’s the hard truth we all must face - death is inevitable. It’s embedded in our DNA. I’m not trying to be grim here, but let’s be real none of us wake up the same person as who went to bed. Your body is constantly changing. Skin cells die off. Blood renews. Hair falls and regrows (hopefully). The old dies so the new can emerge. Jesus is always inviting us to step into that newness. He reminds us that every day is a new chance to help someone. A new opportunity to forgive something; to carry one another; to plant seeds of kindness and mercy and peace. Each day is a new opportunity to build a community of love in the space between our waking and sleeping. A vibrant community that doesn't float above reality. But one that is rooted in the messiness of life. The early Church showed us what this looks like. The book of Acts tells us they "had everything in common." They shared meals with joy. And there wasn’t a needy person around them. (Acts 2:43-47). That’s what happens when people let go and fall into love. When our seeds die to individualism something holy begins to grow. Community. Kinship. Salvation. I recently went to an AA meeting to support a friend’s newly found sobriety. Around the circle, people admitted how hard it was to keep showing up. And yet, there they were. Because in that room, they belonged. Their stories were heard. Their lives were held. No one was without support. One guy summed it up best saying, “I used to be part of the problem. Now I’m part of a community.” That's the fruit of the gospel right there. Not perfection, but participation. Not polished saints, but wounded healers leaning in to carry each other. And that’s our call too. To be a community where love is lived out loud. Where our scars aren’t hidden, but lifted up as signs that grace is real and still working on all of us. Julian of Norwich wrote, “The love of God creates in us such a oneing that when it is truly seen, no person can separate themselves from another person.” That’s Anamesa. The Christ-soaked space where God meets us to love on us. And through us. We don’t do this alone. We have God’s Spirit. We have each other. We are given today to begin again. Not just with grand gestures, but with small deaths. Quiet surrenders. A kind word. A soft place to land. A voice lifted on behalf of someone who feels invisible. We are seedlings. God is the soil. Together, let us create a field of sunflowers—bringing the kingdom of heaven to life day by day. And believing in our hearts that “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.”
Some 30 years ago, I found myself in a dark place, praying that I would experience real love. Back then I didn’t know what I know now that God was already there, offering my heart what it had been longing for. It would take years of seeking and searching to realize God’s love isn’t some distant goal to strive for—it’s the very current that carries us throughout life. Lent is an invitation to stop chasing after what’s already chasing us. It’s a time to be still long enough to notice that God is sitting right here, within reach —waiting to be noticed, to be welcomed. I once had trouble seeing that, even though our reading today— one of the most well-known passages in the entire Bible —has been revealing this to me all along. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. “Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world but in order that the world might be saved through him. . . . the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.” John 3:16-21 St. Augustine said, “God loves each of us as if there were only one of us.” Imagine for a moment, being the single most important object in God’s eyes. Waking up every day to be the recipient of God’s dotting and affection.
The Hebrew word for this is hesed (חֶסֶד), which is often translated as the steadfast love of God. But it’s a bit bigger than just that. Hesed is the cornerstone of God’s character -rooted in loyalty, grace, and faithfulness. Jesus says this is the way God operates - out of great love and faithfulness - simply because God can’t not love what God has made. Or like Richard Rohr says, “God loves things by becoming them.” That’s Incarnation. That’s Christ. The Son, which has been sent and given to us. In an interview Billy Graham confessed that every sermon he ever gave boiled down to a single verse—John 3:16. And within that verse, a single word: Love. “For God so loved…” And who’s the recipient of God’s affection? Not just the church. Not just good people or those who get their theology right. Jesus says, “God so loves the world." Everyone. Everything. Full stop! I think we’re given this particular passage during Lent as a way to help us realize that God is here, recalibrating the compass in our hearts so we can move through the world like Jesus—with his divine light and love filling the dark spaces we sometimes find ourselves in. That’s the job. That’s the calling of any and every Christian church. Just be like Jesus, the perfect embodiment of God’s hesed. Jesus doesn’t just talk about love from some safe distance. He walks it straight into the chaos of people’s lives—right into their pain, shame, and hunger for belonging. He meets folks where they are and invites them into something deeper: true spiritual enlightenment and transformation. While this popular passage is so well known, it does help us to see Jesus for who he is, and helps us remember who we are in God’s eyes when we get lost in the messiness of life. It keeps our eyes and focus on what is important, and who we can count on. It reminds us, also, that God loves us with both passion and a purpose. Jesus says, “God didn’t send the Son to condemn the world, but to save it.” How unfortunate that somewhere along the way religion has abused verses like this one to draw a line in the sand. But it's not a scorecard. It's not about who’s in and who’s out. According to Jesus, the Son wasn’t sent to divide us or shut the door on anyone. He came to redeem the world, to light our way back to God. It’s not believers vs. doubters because God’s grace and love has nothing to do with what we’ve done. It’s about what God has chosen to do through Christ. And continues to do through us. That’s what makes this gospel - good news. If we make faith about belief—real belief—then it’s got to be more than just something we confess. It must be something we embody! Real belief, true faith, is about stepping into the world the way Jesus did—with his heart on his sleeve, hands wide open. Salvation isn’t a prize for saying the right creed. Salvation is a life we live when we choose to love like Jesus, no matter the cost. If “God so loved the world,” then so must we. That’s the invitation. That's what it's all about. One doesn't find salvation from reciting a formula or getting all your theology straight. You find it by becoming. Becoming like Christ in the way we live and love and shine. It’s in the doing—not just the believing—that we remember who God made us to be: The beloved. If the Church is going to bear any kind of good fruit, it has to embrace and embody the spirit of God’s hesed, loving each other the way God does. Wildly. Liberally. Faithfully. This includes everyone. The good, the bad, and everything in between. St. Teresa of Ávila said it best, “It is love alone that gives worth to all things.” This is what God has done. Soaking the world in Christ - Gods love incarnate. No matter how many cracks or callouses are on our hearts, through Christ God has already forgiven, already saved, already made peace with us. But even Jesus knows not everybody’s ready to embrace what God has to offer. Imagine someone coming into your bedroom in the early morning and flipping on the lights. You groan and quickly hide your head under a pillow. Sometimes that’s what grace feels like. Too bright. Too soon. We hide from it knowing it exposes our messiness. And that’s scary. But Jesus shows us there’s another way to wake up. With a Christ soaked heart. He offers us his light — to guide us, not blind us. To inspire us into action, not annoy us or shame us into something else. God wants more than just to hear you say you believe. God wants us to show the world why you believe all this to be true. Jesus says, “you are the light of the world.” He sends us out there to shine for others to see that God is right there, right next to you, waiting to be welcomed in. Jesus sends us into the messiness and darkness to be the visible presence of God’s love - in the flesh. We're not just being saved from something but for something. For healing. For shepherding. For being the presence of God in the flesh. For building a community of love that embodies and mirrors Christ. This isn’t done with lofty words or creeds. But with tenderness, and mercy - in the many ways we love God, love others, and serve both. Greg Boyle writes, “There’s nothing more essential or vital than love—and its carrier, tenderness—practiced in the present moment.” We profess our faith by being tender in a world that isn’t. Being patient and kind in a world that rushes and wounds. By becoming the rich soil for the fruit of God’s love to grow. While Lent is a time to look deep within yourself it’s a time to look at those around us and ask, “Who needs God’s gentleness today?” Or “Whose darkness aches for Christ’s light?” And “How can I be the one who carries it into the space between?” This doesn’t necessarily take grand gestures. Sometimes the holiest acts are the smallest things we offer someone. A kind word. A shared meal. A moment of listening when the world won’t stop talking. Every act of love, no matter how big or small, is a steppingstone that leads others to God’s heart. If God so loved the world, let us go and love one another like that. If God doesn’t condemn but saves, shouldn’t we do the same? Let’s leave here today committed to live like we believe what scripture declares:" that God’s love erases all deficits. All boundaries. All nationalities, political preferences, and religious differences. Let’s take up our cross— with relentless love and unshakable light— to build a community together that looks like heaven breaking into earth. Jesus says, “The kingdom of God is within you” (Luke 17:21). Let us go and live that reality knowing the way we love is the only statement of faith we need to make to bring God’s holy kingdom come to life.
Lent is like that. It’s about locating and dealing with the deeper, more difficult things that need our attention. While it can be easy to clean out the junk on the surface - those smelly old sponges and leaking cleaning products buried underneath the sink - getting to the real problem often requires help. That’s where Jesus meets us, in these difficult spaces, doing his best work. Last week we talked about the cost of following Jesus. Today we’re looking at the cost of building a community of love in his name. Which, as we will see from our reading, is more than just making multiple trips to Lowe’s. The Passover of the Jews was near, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. In the temple he found people selling cattle, sheep, and doves and the money changers seated at their tables. Making a whip of cords, he drove all of them out of the temple, with the sheep and the cattle. He also poured out the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables. He told those who were selling the doves, “Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!” His disciples remembered that it was written, “Zeal for your house will consume me.” The Jews then said to him, “What sign can you show us for doing this?” Jesus answered them, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” The Jews then said, “This temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and will you raise it up in three days?” It’s hard for some people to read this because it makes us see Jesus as… well, human. The real, messy, unpredictable one who throws fits, and flips tables. We like our Jesus calm and measured. One who cradles lambs, smiles gently, and says, “Blessed are the peacemakers.” But John gives us this wild, whip-wielding Jesus and it messes with our heads a little. Because, let’s be honest, even though Jesus is human we don’t love the idea that he acts like us. Jesus is supposed to be the grown up in the room. He's the mature one, the patient one. The Divine one, for crying out loud! We’re supposed to be like him. Not the other way around, right? All that is true. We are to be like him. But Jesus gets frustrated. He gets righteously angry. And we should be happy about it because it means he cares deeply about what God wants. Which also means he cares deeply about you and me, too. Jesus isn’t indifferent to suffering. He’s not numb to injustice. He is, as Scripture says, "God with us." He sees the world as it is and longs for what it should be. So, if Jesus—God-in-the-flesh—gets angry at a broken system, then don't you think that maybe we should get angry too. Righteously speaking of course. My wife were having a great discussion one day about the state of the church. She asked, “Do you think any of us would recognize Jesus if he was here today?” It's one of those questions I’m sure we’d all like to answer, “Yes. Of course.” But would that be true? How many times have we walked pass him without saying hello? How many of his “excuse me” or “can you help me” have fallen on deaf ears? If Jesus walked into most churches today, would he be welcomed and embraced? Or would he be asked to leave. Would he ever make it through the front door or be shut out completely? I know a lot of churches that would turn him away because he's homeless, or a foreigner, or worse...a liberal. While it's easy to poke fun of those places that "seem to get it all wrong," we all have to look in a mirror and ask, if Jesus walked into my house, or my church, what would he turn over? And while you ponder that question, remember this simple truth: Jesus wasn’t crucified for being nice. They killed him for calling out the systems that protected the powerful and crushed the vulnerable. And I hate to say it but not much has changed in these last 2,000 years. It's as if everything Jesus said just vanished like vapor in the wind. We still create churches that come with very specific terms and conditions. We still raise up leaders who tell us who's in and who's out. We bury our heads when they make scapegoats of people for who they are, or where they're from. We allow their systems to marginalize people because it makes us look better. In other words we still create structures and laws that clash with what God wants. And this is exactly why we need Jesus to come inside and do a little house cleaning. As John tells us, Jesus enters the Temple and sees a mess. This isn’t just the physical mess of animals and money changers. It’s something deeper. The system meant to connect people with God had lost its way. It had become exclusive, boxed-in, more about control than communion. Jesus says, “Tear it down, and I will rebuild it in three days.” He’s not just laying the groundwork for Easter, he’s teaching us something important that must happen first. We have to tear down and clean out all the crap that stopping us from living out God's will for us if we want to see the kingdom of heaven come to life. Restoration begins with demolition. John's gospel tells us that Jesus starts in the Court of the Gentiles. This was a place outside the Temple that was designed so everyone - no matter who you were or were you came from - could come and meet the one true God. While only Jews were allowed into the Temple, everyone was allowed into the Court of the Gentiles. When Jesus goes there, instead of finding an open and inviting space, he sees barriers have been put up. People were being kept out. Worship had been commercialized. The sacred had been sold for profit and personal gain. Jesus sees all this and does what he does best—he disrupts and dismantles our systems of power. With righteous fury, Jesus clears the clutter to make space for God’s holy reign. He begins here because he knows God’s kingdom isn’t about exclusion or gatekeeping. It’s about gathering and embracing. Restoration begins with tearing down the walls and making room for everyone. Years ago, I worked at a record store when CDs were becoming popular. Joe, the owner, needed to do some remodeling to make space for the extra merchandise. Joe asked this guy named Billy Roppel, to take down the back wall. Now, Billy was a giant hulk of a human. Muscles from the ears down. One part punk rock. One part wrecking ball. He didn’t bother picking up a sledgehammer. He had no need for it. Instead, Billy just threw his entire body into the wall - smashing holes through the drywall. And ripping out wooden studs like twigs. To those who had no idea what was happening, I’m sure it looked like total chaos and destruction. But to the rest of us, it was nothing less than pure poetry. Joe needed that space so something new could be built. And Billy was more than happy to help. It’s the same with Jesus in the Temple. He’s not being reckless or belligerent. His actions are intentional and restorative. He’s not having a tantrum. He’s making room. Jesus knows that God is building something new. Something for everyone! And he is more than happy to help. That’s why this story is perfect for Lent - that special season where we all do a little spiritual house cleaning and renovation. It’s a time to take an honest look at the clutter in our lives—the stuff that’s keeping us from honoring God’s love and justice—and start flipping some tables. If we’re being honest, we all have hidden wounds, secrets we avoid, unresolved pain we’ve buried. Our pride, our fears, our need to be right can harden us, and keep us from healing. The thing is, Jesus didn’t come just to make a difference. He came to make us different too. He calls us to repent, to change the way we think. When we remodel our lives to think like him, we begin to see the world with his eyes and heart. We begin to love like he loves; with compassion, mercy, and grace—so that others might see Christ in us. That’s hard to do when you’re locked away in a box, or buried behind a bunch of stuff. Lent invites us to take a hard look within ourselves to name the walls Jesus wants to tear down. And to clear space so that God’s love has more room to work. We are the body the Christ, a part of that holy restoration. But if we’re not careful, we may wake up to find our sacred spaces filled with cattle, coins, and moneychangers—things that do not belong. Which is why it’s good for us to invite Jesus in to do a little remodeling, so we can have the room within our hearts to welcome him in the other. Jesus didn’t come to build an exclusive club. He came to build something better. A kingdom where the outcast are honored. A kingdom where the poor are lifted up. A kingdom where God’s love is the only law that matters. This is our work too. To join Jesus in this kingdom building remodel.
May we use this time to examine our hearts. To sit in prayer, asking God to make us more open, more accepting. More patient with ourselves so that we might be more gracious to others.
Shane Claiborne wrote, “The church is not a group of people who believe all the same things; the church is a group of people caught up in the same story, with the same Jesus.” Let us stand together in the space between, and continue what Jesus began to build. Not walls, but bridges. Not exclusion but embrace. A kingdom in the space between hurt and healing, fear and faith, rejection and welcome—where love does its best work. As we will discover on Easter, God’s love is the only structure, the only law that cannot be destroyed. Jesus is that love, the Christ incarnate. Given to the world to restore us all to our rightful place as God’s beloved children. And, if you ask me, that’s the kind of love worth flipping a few tables.
The cross is the visible reminder of what Jesus went through, and what he calls us to do.
On this second Sunday of Lent, we step out of the wilderness and follow Jesus to a place just as dangerous. Life itself. Lent is a time we move forward with Jesus, without hesitation or trepidation. The disciples would eventually follow Jesus to Jerusalem, where he will be put to death by a legal execution. This is not what the Twelve had in mind when they dropped everything to follow him. Luckily, we know how the story ends. But before we can get to Easter, we too have to keep walking with Him. And this, according to Mark’s gospel, is how we are to do it. Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes and be killed and after three days rise again. He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” He called the crowd with his disciples and said to them, “If any wish to come after me, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? .... Mark 8:31-38
Fresh off Peter’s bold declaration that Jesus is the Messiah—Jesus takes a deep breath and says something that knocks the wind out of everyone: “The Son of Man must suffer.”
And just like that, all their triumphant hopes come crashing down. Peter, bless him, pulls Jesus aside and basically says, "Hey man, you're the Messiah! You don’t suffer. You win!" And Jesus just tells him, "Get behind me, Satan." But can we blame Peter? We all want a strong, victorious Messiah. Not a suffering one. We want a champion, a victor, not a loser. We also want discipleship that’s all Easter and no Good Friday. But Jesus says, "If you want to follow me, then you got to actually follow me." Deny yourself. Pick up your cross. And start walking. Not exactly the best recruitment strategy. But that’s the call of discipleship. Eugene Peterson stated plainly: “We want to follow Jesus, but like Peter, we also want to tell Jesus where to go. Jesus does not need our advice; he needs our faithful obedience.” Despite what modern Christianity often markets, discipleship isn’t about how well we win. Jesus is more interested in how well we lose. He tells us, “Whoever wants to save their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it.” This goes against everything we’ve been told and taught from the world. That’s the paradox of spiritual growth and transformation: you can’t find your true self without denying or losing, your false self. Like we touched on last week, we have to face the beasts in our lives, then leave them in the wilderness and move forward in life to live out your Christlikeness. That means following the one who is the Christ who showed us there’s no resurrection without the cross. Discipleship isn’t about winning or losing; it’s about surrender, letting go of the things that are holding you back from being who God made you to be: a beloved child. The way of Christ isn’t about getting ahead—it’s about moving forward to where God needs you to be. It’s about emptying yourself of ego and pride and taking what God has to offer—even if it’s the cross. Because, like Greg Boyle reminds us, “The Risen Christ isn’t found in the dead. Resurrection locates us in the here and now.” Christ is the foundation of life. He comes alive day after day, second-by-second through you and me. We are resurrection people. But you don’t get the joy of Easter without the suffering of the cross. The good news in this is Jesus doesn’t tell us to go find a cross. He says, pick up the one you already have. Yours might be a disability, chronic pain, depression, or conflict in your family or workplace. Too many in our country bear a cross simply because of … the color of their skin or the person they love. Some crosses are heavier than others, or more difficult to manage but Jesus says, “Pick it up and walk with me.” His yoke is easy. His burden is light. So what’s stopping you? Is it a cross of shame, guilt, fear anxiety? Is your cross telling you, you’re not worthy or strong or faithful enough? Have we forgotten that Christ didn’t come to make your cross heavier. He came to redeem and heal and transform you into who God wants you to be: The Beloved. Today is 3/16…and like John 3:16 teaches us God didn’t send the Christ to start a new religion. Christ was given to us so we could start a new life. And not just any life, but an abundant life. The kind that lives on forever. To receive such a gift, something has to give. Jesus asks, “What good is it to gain the whole world but forfeit your soul?” What good is our faith—this church—without the cross? The very thing Paul calls “sheer madness to world… but to us who are being saved, it is the power of God” (1 Cor. 1:18). And what is that power if not Love? Love claims us, names us, sustains us. It picks us up when we fall and welcomes us home when we stray. God’s love comes to us in the flesh through Jesus—who, as Peter boldly declared, is the Christ, the very love of God incarnate. And the cross is proof of just how far God is willing go to love us. But how far are we willing to go to love God, love others and serve both? Love is the cross we are called to carry. It is the way of Jesus, the way of God. And we must surrender anything that keeps us from loving. Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.” This isn’t the comfortable Christianity we prefer. It isn’t prosperity gospel or easy good news. It’s a call to sacrifice, one Bonhoeffer knew well as he took up his cross and followed Jesus—even to his death—resisting the rise of Nazi Germany. Let go of your old self. Pick up your Christ-like self. And go share love… even if it costs you everything—it’s in losing ourselves in love, we are found. In Christ, God sets the compass of our hearts. And Jesus leads us in the direction we must go. Down a path that embraces and embodies the very heart of God. Which means we have to let go of whatever is holding us back from receiving this gift. We have to give up that which isn’t divine love. Because, to love like God, which Jesus embodies, requires a shift, a sacrifice. Love makes us surrender the need to be right, to be better than, to win. It reshapes us, rewires us. It teaches us to let our hearts lead. That’s the way of Jesus. For two thousand years, the Church has stood on Peter’s truth: Jesus is the Christ. Our job is to bear witness to that—not just with our words, but with every fiber of our being. Not by making the right theological arguments, but by living like Jesus lived. With tenderness. With courage. With a love so big it makes people stop and want to follow. Jesus says it like this, “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (John 15:13). That’s discipleship. That’s following Jesus’ lead. Lent is a time for us to contemplate deeply what Jesus is asking of us. Let’s enter every space knowing we are called to make a sacrifice too—giving ourselves in holy acts of love, showing compassion and mercy for those in need of it; demanding justice that calls for equality, and leads us all to peace. Jesus calls us to be the light of the world, a light that shines for others. And when we live in each other’s light, darkness cannot overcome it. As we build a community of love in the space between, we build together knowing that in the losing, the suffering, and the surrendering, we find God, we find ourselves, and we find Easter. This is resurrection- the mark we leave behind to let the world know who we are. The visible presence of Gods love that not even the sting of death can destroy. Work Cited Boyle, Gregory. The Whole Language: The Power of Extravagant Tenderness. New York: Avid Reader Press, 2021. Peterson, Eugene. A Year With Jesus: Daily Readings and Meditations. San Francisco: Harper Collins, 2006. Lent reminds us that the wilderness isn’t optional. It’s part of the deal. Not because God wants to make things hard on us— but because the wilderness strips away the noise. It forces us to confront what we really believe.
In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove upon him. And a voice came from the heavens, “You are my Son, the Beloved;[a] with you I am well pleased.” And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tested by Satan, and he was with the wild beasts, and the angels waited on him. - Mark 1:9-13 - Every year, lent kicks off with one of the three gospel stories of Jesus being tempted in the wilderness. Mark’s gospel is by far the shortest. He doesn’t waste any time. The action moves quickly - which seems so counterintuitive to the slow, contemplative nature of the season.
Yet, these four, fast verses give us plenty to think about. Jesus gets baptized. The heavens tear open. God declares, “You are my beloved Son.” And then--boom—off he goes into the wilderness still dripping wet. No party. No reception. God has no time to waste. And if we blink, we might miss some crucial clues to understanding faith. For example, before Jesus does anything noteworthy—before he preaches, heals, feeds, or saves anyone—God names him and claims him. “My son, the beloved.” This isn’t so much about revealing who Jesus is, but who God is. The one whose loves us for no other reason than - as Richard Rohr points out - “God can’t help but love the things God makes.” That includes you and me. Which tells us before we do anything, God claims us and names us, “Beloved.” This is the foundational truth of our faith. Because we belong to God, we can face the challenges that lie ahead. Without this knowing, without this belonging, the wilderness will eat us alive. Yet how many of us go through life not believing this truth? Greg Boyle has written extensively on gang members who have been through more wilderness than most of us can imagine. Each one believes the same thing: that they’re unlovable. They don’t see themselves as good enough or worthy enough to be a part of God’s family. Henri Nouwen wrote,“Self-rejection is the greatest enemy of the spiritual life because it contradicts the sacred voice that calls us the Beloved.” We might think we’re not good enough, or do enough to earn favor with God. We tell ourselves we need to do more, be more, achieve more. But God says, “No. You’re mine. That’s enough.” Salvation, true healing and transformation, isn’t about having it all together or proving yourself. It’s simply trusting, as Boyle tells the homies, “God is just too busy loving you to have any time left for disappointment.” (Boyle) But here’s the thing…Once you realize that, buckle up. When Jesus realized his belovedness, the Spirit immediately drove his soggy self into the wilderness. Again, God doesn't waste a second. One moment, Jesus is floating in the Jordan, basking in divine love. The next, he’s wandering in the desert, hungry, exhausted, face-to-face with every doubt and temptation. Maybe you know what that’s like. In the morning everything is fine, perfect even. Then by noon, you’ve lost your job. Or received an unexpected diagnosis. I’ve been there. One minute I’m killing it in seminary. The next cancer was trying to kill me. There wasn’t any time to think or ask God, “why me.” We were just driven into the wilderness without passing go or collecting $200. Lent reminds us that the wilderness isn’t optional. It’s part of the deal. Not because God wants to make things hard on us— but because the wilderness strips away the noise. It forces us to confront what we really believe. Do I actually trust God enough to do what God is calling me to do? You see, the wilderness doesn't create the lies we tell ourselves. It exposes them. And when they’re out in the open, God can transform them. God doesn’t waste a second of our life, or anything we go through. As Rohr tells us, “The wild spaces of the wilderness is where we unlearn the lies we have believed about ourselves.” And that’s what makes this particular space both sacred and scary. To truly understand who we are, we have to spend time in the wilderness confronting the wild beasts that come to harm us. And I’m not talking about hyenas or lions. But fear, addiction, anger, guilt, or shame we carry. Our first thought isn’t to face these things, but to run away from them. To distract ourselves. Stay busy. Numb the pain. But that’s not what Jesus does. He stays. He doesn’t avoid the beasts. He sits with them. And something amazing happens. Jesus goes into the wilderness fully human. And in facing it all - his doubts, fears, hunger, struggles - Jesus walks out ready to live his Christ nature. Having been emptied of the human mess, he makes space for his divine self to emerge. What then does that say about the beasts we face? That hidden secret? Or bitter grudge? Lent is a time to confront them head on. It’s a season to fast from our old identities and behaviors. And feast on the truth of our divine nature. This is how habits are broken. And newness begins. We belong to God. That’s enough. This doesn’t mean it will be easy, or without its challenges. To embrace our new identity, the old must go away. And loss, no matter how big or small, can be hard to navigate. But when we sit in the wilderness, when we stop running away from the beasts, we realize we’re not alone. God is with us. Just as God was with Jesus - through the wilderness and grave - there are angels caring for us. This could mean celestial creatures sent by God. Or it could be the Christ within me, caring for Christ in you. Teresa of Ávila wrote, “Christ has no body on earth but yours. He has no hands, no feet on earth but yours, Yours are the eyes through which he looks compassion on this world, Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good, Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.” Just as we receive God’s grace and love, we are also called to offer it to each other. We might not have halos and wings, but together, we can be a community of love that ministers to those struggling with their demons. When we lean on one another, knowing and belonging, then we not only find our salvation but we also become a part of God’s healing and restoration of the world. This was something Greg Boyle did with Homeboy Industries. He created a radical new community that redeems, restores, and transforms gang members into beloved children of God. Isn’t that what we’re called to do? Be little angels helping people who are spiritually lost to find love, belonging, and healing? Every act of goodness, mercy, love shown towards another is more than just a window into heaven. It’s an open door out of the wilderness and into God’s heart. Jesus doesn’t stay in the wilderness. And neither do we. He steps out tested, yet unshaken. The beasts don’t break him—they reveal him and his true identity. Jesus emerges ready, clear on who He is and what He’s here to do. And that’s the invitation of Lent. A call to the wilderness—not to suffer, but to be transformed. Not to prove ourselves, but to strip away every lie that tells us we aren’t enough. And to listen for and rely on the only voice that matters—the one that has been speaking over us since the beginning: You are my beloved. That is enough. God doesn’t waste a second of our life. And neither should we. Instead, let us step into it. Own it. Let it shape who we are - a community that loves God, loves others, and serves both. Let‘s be a people who walk with Jesus to the cross knowing that, as Easter morning will reveal, love breaks through the darkness of death. And always comes out victorious. And that is enough.
Why do humans like to play dress up? Do you think it matters to God what we wear? No, it doesn't. And…well, yes, it kind of does. No, because what truly identifies us isn’t something we put on, but something we live out. And well, yes, because how we live actually matters. Like we learned last week, it’s about living out God’s will - with mercy, justice, humility. What matters to God isn’t our shirt or shoes it’s our actions, from what we say to what we do. Paul gives us this encouragement. Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power; put on the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil, for our struggle is not against blood and flesh but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Therefore take up the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to withstand on the evil day and, having prevailed against everything, to stand firm. Stand, therefore, and belt your waist with truth and put on the breastplate of righteousness and lace up your sandals in preparation for the gospel of peace. With all of these, take the shield of faith, with which you will be able to quench all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. Pray in the Spirit at all times in every prayer and supplication.... - Ephesians 6:10-20 Does living out your faith sometimes feel like suiting up for battle? It seems that way for Paul.
Yet, his aggressive language doesn’t sound very Christlike, does it? No. And…well, yes. No because it doesn’t sound very gentle and tender. And yes, because it’s a call to always wear the fierce, unshakable love of Christ, like Jesus did. Even if you’re dressed in the Emperors Clothes, you’re always wearing something. I’m not just talking wardrobe. Some days, I wear frustration. Other days it’s insecurity, worry, or I put on the armor of self-protection. But how often are we dressed like Jesus? Not sandals and tunics, but in compassion, mercy and grace? The kind of spiritual attire that can transform and heal the world. That’s the challenge of following Jesus. It requires a willingness to suit up in faith, and get out there to love God, love others, and serve both. And as Paul writes, this takes putting on “the whole armor or God.” To lean on God’s strength and power as our own. It’s the spiritual attire that relies on God’s heart. It’s the kind of power and strength Jesus knew we’d need when he said, “anyone can love people who love them back. I want you to love those who don’t love you back.” But here’s the thing. You don’t just pick up God’s armor and battle evil instantly. Loving the way Jesus calls us to love takes practice. Lots and lots of practice. It takes wearing your faith over and over again. Think about something you wear every day; something you don't’ even think about when you put it on. Imagine doing the same with compassion. Wearing it daily, letting it shape you, until love is just second nature. In this crazy metaphor, Paul describes everyday clothes for people who want to look like Jesus - starting from within one's self and moving outward towards others. How then should we dress? Paul says put on the belt of truth. This isn’t about being hip and trendy, but honest and real. It's about seeing others as they really are—not as labels or categories but as beloved children of God. When we wear our beloved truth out into the world others will be able to see their true worth in God’s mirror. And know what God is calling them to do. What's God calling us to do? God wants us to strap on the breastplate of righteousness. This isn’t about putting on a holier-than-thou attitude or even a sunday hat and gloves. It’s about living in right relationship—with God, with others, with ourselves every day. of the week. Last week we heard from the prophet Micah who told us what God's righteousness is about. Or at least the kind of righteousness we can actually live out if we are willing. And that is, to be merciful, just, and humble. As most of you can imagine, wearing such a breastplate can protect your heart. But at the same time, it also exposes your heart. Therein lies the tension of faith. In the space between life and death there is joy and sorrow. No one will escape this world without experiencing both. Go through enough of these battles, and cynicism or bitterness become your go-to sword used to harm or cut people out of your life. But Jesus shows us a different way. Where we think with our heart and love with our brains. Jesus shows us how to see others for who they truly are and love them without terms or conditions. Dress your heart like Christ, and everything changes. “As for shoes,” Paul writes, “Put on whatever makes you ready to proclaim peace.” The world tells us that peace comes through power. But Jesus says it comes through compassion, mercy, justice, and humility. Imagine what that will do to dismantle the industrial war complex. Imagine what that might do to international relationships. Again, wearing out truthfully and authentically isn’t easy. Many of us struggle to show our heart because it makes us visible and vulnerable. Like i said, that’s the tension we must hold. When you live in a right relationship with God, and others, the world will notice - and not always kindly. My father-in-law used to say, “Why do bagpipers march when they play? Because it’s harder to hit a moving target.” Paul says, put on your feet whatever it takes to get out there and teach peace. He and Jesus walked the same paths as we do. The same path that every saint has wandered down as well. Steep ones, narrow ones, one’s littered with the sharp edges of old wounds and resentment. But each one kept on walking even as others took shots at them. So shield yourself with faith, put on your helmet of salvation and get out there! Bring the good news of God’s peace and healing to a world in dire need of it. Get out there and let the light and love of Christ shine through you, so people can see their true belonging in God’s heart. And find their seat at God’s table. Faith isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about leaning into love even when we don’t. St. Augustine said it like this, “Faith is to believe what you do not see; the reward of this faith is to see what you believe.” When we wear out Christ like our favorite shirt, Christ becomes more visible to us. And more real to others. With Christ as our clothing, everything changes. Including you and me. Because that’s what love does. It changes us for the better. And leaves no one behind. So no, it doesn’t matter if you dress like a goth or a golfer, we are all called to put our arms through the warm sweater of God’s love. For the onus is on us. “Love is a battlefield,” according to Pat Benatar. But love is the way to true spiritual awakening and healing. A battle worth fighting for. So, dress accordingly. Take the only weapon you need, which according to Paul, isn’t even a weapon. It’s the sword of the Spirit, “which is the word of God.” That word carries not just promise and protection, but hope and grace, peace and salvation, healing, and transformation. The Word of God has a name: it’s Christ - made manifest in Jesus. Which tells me Jesus’ words matter. And so do ours. If Jesus tells us to love our neighbor as ourselves, shouldn’t we be doing that? If Jesus says do not retaliate but turn the other cheek, why do we still fight back? If Jesus tells us to pray for our enemies, perhaps we should give that a try instead of trying to kill or dominate them? We have a choice. We can be like the Pharisees who cared more about looking righteous than being righteous. Or we can be like Jesus who, through all the ways he showed love, lived out the will of God in real time. Through him, God’s love stripped death of all its power. So it is worth remembering what Jesus says, that “it’s in all the different ways you show love to each other, that the world will know who you belong to.” So it’s not what we wear, but how we wear it, how we proclaim it, using the Word of God as our script. The world has enough warmongers. What it needs, now more than ever, is more love makers. People whose actions speak louder than anything printed on a t-shirt. People who will help us build a community of love in the space between. As we finish Ephesians, and begin our journey towards the season of Lent, let me remind you that we don’t go into the wilderness alone. Just as the Spirit was with Jesus, God’s Spirit is with us always. When we gather together, armed in that Spirit, something beautiful happens. The Word of God is proclaimed. The love of Christ is seen. And the Spirit of that love pierces very heart of everyone we welcome. And when we wear our love like Jesus - boldly, fiercely, without hesitation - we become a community that welcomes everyone with justice, mercy, and humility so everyone can see their own belovedness in God’s loving arms. And where no one has to play dress-up to earn a spot there.
In the same way, some of us will tear our life apart to find what God wants us to do, even though it’s right here, in plain sight. The bible is full of directives. Take the prophet Micah for example.
He makes it clear that “God has shown you what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.” (Micah 6:8) That's it. It’s not a riddle, or puzzle to figure out. It’s just this: Love. Justice. Mercy. Humility. And Jesus, narrows the list down to “Love God, and love your neighbor as you want to be loved.” As we pick up from where we left off in our study of Ephesians, Paul continues to awaken our Christ consciousness. Today he offers this: Be careful, then, how you live, not as unwise people but as wise, making the most of the time, because the days are evil. So do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is. Do not get drunk with wine, for that is debauchery, but be filled with the Spirit, as you sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs to one another, singing and making melody to the Lord in your hearts, giving thanks to God the Father at all times and for everything in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ... Ephesians 5:15-20
'Coming on the heels of last week’s invitation to let your Christ light shine, Paul reminds us to be mindful of how we live. If we are the light of Christ, then take what you know about Christ and shine. Let this knowledge be the wisdom that guides you.
Last week Paul gave us this imperative: “Find out what is pleasing to the Lord.” Today, he says don’t just find out, but understand “what the will of the Lord is.” Paul isn’t asking you to figure out some great master plan that God has in store for you. God’s plan, as Micah stated is simply this: Love. If you love God, you’ll love one another. If you love one another, you’ll be kind and merciful to everyone. And your humble heart will reflect Christ’s light, and God’s great glory. This is every encounter Jesus has. He shows love to the outcasts. Mercy to those who are unable to help themselves. He even bends down and washes his disciple’s feet to show us how to be humble. Jesus is the perfect example for us to know how to live out the will of God in real time. In real ways. So, Paul warns us to be mindful of how we live. If we’re not busy loving, God’s will for us can get lost, or misplaced. Instead of getting drunk on wine, he tells us to get filled with the Spirit. If God’s Spirit is love, then let love be the thing that intoxicates you. Be so filled with the Spirit that it spills out of you everywhere you go. Paul also says, “Be wise; make the most of your time.” Richard Rohr describes wisdom as, “learning to see as God sees, which always means seeing with love.” This tells me God’s will is less about mental intelligence and more about emotional awakening. As my mentor Fr. Anderson taught me, “Think with your heart. Love with your brain.” You don’t need to know all the right answers. Just know what matters most to God. And live your life as if it's a form of worship. “Making melody to the Lord with your whole heart.” This isn’t about performing elaborate rituals or grand gestures. It’s about seeing the world with the eyes of a compassionate heart. It’s about welcoming everyone with justice, mercy, and humility. Being generous with one another, as God is generous with you. Victor Hugo so beautifully reminds us that, “To love another person is to see the face of God.” If you want to know what God looks like, or what God’s will for you is then you need to look no further than the person next to you. Continuing to draw from Micah: Jesus teaches us something important about God’s justice. In his parable of the workers in the vineyard, Jesus sa ys a landowner goes out to hire folks to pick grapes. Each person agrees on a salary and gets to work. This happens multiple times throughout the day, as there is more work than workers. Now here’s the twist…despite showing up at different times in the day, each worker gets the same paycheck. That’s what justice looks like in the kingdom of heaven. It’s rooted in God’s grace, not our effort. It’s about making sure everyone gets what they need to thrive. Making sure no one is left out or forgotten. This is why we are to show God’s mercy to one another. Mercy isn’t just feeling bad for someone. It’s moving toward them in love. A man with leprosy approaches Jesus and says, “If you choose, you can make me clean.” Jesus sees the man with a compassionate heart and meets him where he is…embracing him saying: “I do choose.” Choosing to act with compassion is a holy act of worship. This is what God’s wants from us. Then when Jesus heals the leper, he humbly asks the man not to tell anyone about who did it. He knows he’s not the center of the story—God is. And what is God's story? The greatest love story ever written. I think if we want to be wise, if we want to do the will of God, then we need to see the world through God’s eyes. This is how we make the most of our time - living each day filled with the Spirit, giving thanks to God. Why does this matter? Like Paul says the world is evil. It uses fear to gain power and control others. Fear is not just. Nor is it merciful. It’s certainly not humble. But like Jesus shows us, love is the antidote to fear. Just as hate begets more hate, love begets more love. What's the most common side effect of kindness? More kindness. The same is true about mercy and grace. Instead of just talking about loving God, others, and serving both—just do it. For “The real symbol of God is not power over others,” writes Elizabeth Johnson, “it’s love poured out for others.” True worship is love in action. But it takes a willing heart. A while back I saw a man in the park getting hassled for sleeping on the bleachers. Two dads, there for their kids’ game, were yelling nasty and degrading things at the guy to get him to leave. I don’t know what made me do it, but I went up to those dads and told them, “He could be any of us.” One of them got up in my face and screamed, “You calling me a bum?” I simply said, “No. And I’m not calling him one either.” Then I reminded them, “We’re all someone’s son.” As they rolled their eyes and walked away, I sat down next to the guy, while Cali loved on him. All he could say was, “Thank you for seeing me.” Faith isn’t a spectator sport. It’s how we participate in the redemptive work of the kingdom of heaven. If you want to know God’s will, Mother Theresa would say, listen to the cries of your neighbor—and respond. "Each one of them is Jesus in disguise." So, love one another accordingly. Love is not a whispered thought. Or something left for saints to do. Love is something we must all become. Jesus embraced his Christlikeness and lived as the very manifestation of God’s love, in the flesh. As we continue to build a community of love in the space between, may God’s way always be our guide and blueprint, shaping our actions, our purpose, and our very being. For “The best way to say, ‘I love God’ is by loving what God loves.” (Rohr) May we never lose sight of this, but keep out in the open, right here in plain sight for the whole world to see. Work Cited: Johnson, Elizabeth A. She Who Is: The Mystery of God in Feminist Theological Discourse. New York: Crossroad, 1992. Rohr, Richard. The Universal Christ: How a Forgotten Reality Can Change Everything We See, Hope For, and Believe. New York, NY: Convergent Books, 2019.
More often than not, our critiques of others tend to be base on what we don’t like about ourselves instead of recognizing the inherent goodness of every person.
While we’re busy measuring each other up, God is looking at all of us and saying, “You are my beloved. I made you in my image.” What if we truly believed that? What if we could see ourselves as God sees us—made to reflect something holy, something good? Paul believes this is possible. And calls us out to make it happen. ...for once you were darkness, but now in the Lord you are light. Walk as children of light, or the fruit of the light is found in all that is good and right and true. Try to find out what is pleasing to the Lord. Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness; rather, expose them. For it is shameful even to mention what such people do secretly, but everything exposed by the light becomes visible, for everything that becomes visible is light. Therefore it says, “Sleeper, awake! Rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.” Ephesians 5:8-14
Paul has this rhythm in his letters—first, laying out theology, then following it up with how we should live in response. For example, he tells us who we are in Christ. Then, he tells us how to live in a way that mirrors Christ’s love.
Today, Paul says we were darkness. But now? Now that we have been awoken to our Christ consciousness. Now we are light. Not just reflecting it or just basking in it. We …are … light. This light is our identity. So, live as children of the light – illuminating all that is good, right and true. Which of course should stop us from contributing to the darkness. Of course, the simplest definition of darkness is the absence of light. But science suggests that’s not entirely true. While dark matter swallows up most of the universe we still see the light, in its purest state, reflected on stars, planets and galaxies. Light and dark share the same space. They always co-exist. What is true in the cosmos … is true within us all. We are light. But sometimes it takes a little effort to find it. I remember staying at a friend’s place one night. His room was built into the center space of a giant warehouse. Which meant no windows, no outside light creeping in. When the lights were off, it felt like I was drowning in total darkness. It was suffocating and I was having trouble breathing. But way over in the corner I spotted a tiny green light glowing from his laptop charger. It was my lifesaver. The longer I focused my eyes on it, the brighter it got putting my soul to ease. That’s the power of light.The smallest glow can bring a glimmer of hope. Jesus says, “You are the light of the world.” You. Are. Light. So when life feels overwhelmingly dark, you always have something within—illuminating, even when you can’t perceive it. That something is Christ…the light of God’s love that reveals our true nature, and draws us closer to our divine source. Barbara Brown Taylor writes, "When we allow ourselves to be the light of Christ, we do not need to seek it out; it already shines in us. To live as children of the light is not to be something we have to become, but to be something we already are." You might think your light is weak or barely noticeable. But in a world stumbling through the dark, even the smallest glow matters. Light and dark co-exist. But here’s the thing: light doesn’t just exist for itself. It’s there to illuminate the darkness, to guide us through it, and to reveal what’s hidden in it. Light exposes truth, it casts out fear, it leads people home. Thus, we are called to radiate God’s love in our relationships, our communities, and the broken places where we think this light can’t reach. Like Lenard Cohen sang, “There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” Our job is not to hide what God has given to us, but to shines through the cracks of our brokenness, bringing healing and hope to all. We are the light of the world. The light we possess is the Christ within us all. Christ is the power of God’s love that breaks through the darkness. And allows others to see their inherent worth in God’s heart. St. John of the Cross reminds us, "In the evening of life, we will be judged on love alone. It is love that transforms us and others into vessels of divine light." To walk in the light, is to walk in love that sees the goodness of Christ in others. Think of the word, Namaste – the Hindu greeting that’s become a part of our vernacular these days. It means “I greet the holy one in you.” To greet someone this way is to acknowledge the fullness of God in the goodness of every soul. It says, I unite my divine light with your light. While so many of us love to say namaste, I’m afraid we don’t practice it very well. I think most of the political and social problems we’re having stem from our inability to recognize the divine light in each another. This not only causes division among us, but it stops us from really understanding God and ourselves. The Persian poet Hafiz wrote, “Look upon yourself more as God does, for He knows your true royal nature.” This takes us back to that first question of what if we could actually see the divine light in ourselves and others as God does. That would be powerful to the healing and restoration of our communities and the world at large, don’t you think? The deepest part of us is always connected with God and when we tap into that source, we become the divine power that can heal and transform the world. This is exactly what Jesus did when approached by a man possessed with a legion of demons. He looked beyond this man’s darkness to his divine light. By uniting his light with the man’s, healing and transformation happened. All that is good, right, and true became whole again. Jesus did the same when he embraced the leper. And forgave the woman caught in adultery. In fact, this is what Jesus did with everyone he met. He said “Namaste. I see your light and give you mine.” But like Chesterton pointed out, instead of being united by our divine nature we waste our time measuring ourselves against one another. We allow the world’s judgment to snuff out or diminish our light, instead of letting God’s radiant love to shine through us. Jesus says, “Let your light shine so others can see your good works and give God glory.” We are called to be children of the light —which exposes the darkness and reveals all that is good, right, and true. This is our divine birthright. Our purpose in life. This is our calling. And how we actually love God, love others, and serve both. So, let’s be who we were made to be—beacons of love. Created in the image of God. As we continue to build a community of love, we have a choice. We can be people who amplify the light in others. Or we can be people who dim it. We can call out love, justice, and mercy. Or we can choose bitterness, resentment, and fear. One of those choices leads to life. The other? Darkness. Again, Barbara Brown Taylor writes, "The light that comes from God does not cast shadows. It calls us to step out of the darkness, to see one another as we are, to see each person as beloved, as worthy of God’s care, as a vessel for God’s light to shine through." You are God’s beloved. You are the light of the world. You were made to shine reflecting God’s light in the purest form, like the star that you are. So shine on you crazy diamond. Shine on. Work Cited: Cohen, Leonard. Anthem, track 5 on The Future, Columbia Records, 1992. John of the Cross, Sayings of Light and Love, trans. Kieran Kavanaugh and Otilio Rodriguez (Washington, D.C.: ICS Publications, 1991), Saying 64. Taylor, Barbara Brown. Learning to Walk in the Dark. New York: HarperOne, 2014. Last week, my wife attempted to make enchilada sauce from scratch—a desperate move after Trader Joe’s discontinued our favorite kind. She followed the recipe with care and love, but something was off. We knew it wouldn’t taste exactly like the one we loved, but it also lacked the depth of flavor that makes a dish come alive.
So, I decided to give it a try. My version was bold—full of spice and heat, rich with intensity. But in my enthusiasm, I may have gone too far. It was a wee bit too fiery. As we both gasped for breath, I agreed we needed another approach. But rather than wasting more time and ingredients, we decided to combine the two sauces. To our surprise, the result was perfect—an unexpected balance of flavors neither of us had anticipated. It struck me how often our political and religious worlds mirror this struggle. We’re either too mild or too hot, too timid or too angry. And when we stand firm in our positions, convinced only one side can be right, something is missing. It’s not as good as it could be. What if, instead of fighting for dominance, we blended the best of our different ideas, values, and perspectives into something that works for everyone? What if, like those sauces, we allowed what seems incompatible to come together to create something richer, deeper, and more whole? At Anamesa, each of us brings a different ingredient to the mix. But only in blending together does the gospel truly come to life. Just as our sauces needed each other to find their harmony, we too can build a community of love where differences—political, cultural, or personal—become the very ingredients for unity. Perhaps the secret to making the kingdom of heaven come alive isn’t in eliminating the heat or the mildness, but in coexisting with Christ and one another—creating something new and surprising in the space between. |
Ian MacdonaldAn ex-copywriter turned punk rock pastor and peacemaker who dedicates his life to making the world a better place for all humanity. "that they all might be one" ~John 17:21“Prius vita quam doctrina.”
~ St. Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274) * “Life is more important than doctrine.”
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