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.

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.

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.

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.

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.
  ​

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:

'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.

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.