“Loved” John 14:15-21

 John 14:15-21

          If you ever want to have an awkward and uncomfortable conversation with someone, ask them if they go to church. Believe me, because I have that awkward conversation with people quite often. Not just out of the blue, but as a hospital chaplain, sometimes I am trying to discern where the patient finds community, connection or support. Also, I always ask patients if they would like prayer and in order to know how best to pray, it’s helpful to know if they practice a particular faith. And so I have tried to word the question differently, to make it as open and gentle as possible and to show that I have no ulterior motive in asking. Because people usually think you are trying to judge or convert them.  They almost always think there is something behind it. And so people often respond to that question with defensiveness, guardedness, justifications, guilt or anger. And I get it, people can be judgy or pushy, or even forceful or sneaky with attempts to convince or convert. But it makes it hard when you just genuinely want to know … without the judgement.

          It’s like when you tell people you are a pastor or sing in the church choir or volunteer at church. Often people will get awkward and start explaining why they don’t go to church, or why they missed a few Sundays or their intentions of someday going back. Sometimes they may apologize for swearing, hide their beer or tell you why they don’t like church. I just listen, and try my best to show that I am not actually someone looking to make them feel bad.

          I hear a lot of people say things like “I don’t need to go to church because I don’t need someone telling me how to talk to God, I can do that without someone up there acting like they know better” or “those people go to those churches and think they are so much better than everyone else, but they all have their own problems” or “I went to a church and this person was mean to me and hurt me and I never went back.” Or they list everything any church has ever done wrong. And it’s true … churches are full of people and people do things wrong. I have certainly encountered people in churches who have done or said hurtful things, and even people who have done really awful things. Just as I have encountered people like this outside of the church.

          But when I think of church, I think of the church I grew up in, where I learned to sing Bible songs and was welcomed by dedicated volunteer Sunday School teachers and felt safe, felt loved. I think of times when my stomach hurt with laughter while spending time with a youth group I was leading or all the folks who could no longer attend church in person and welcomed me into their homes as their pastor and told me their stories and sent me off full of love, care and sometimes sweets. I think of watching children carefully bring the light into the sanctuary as acolytes, I think of busy people coming together on a weeknight to plan ways to reach out to the community, I think of people praying for me and my loved ones, I think of seeing people feel safe enough to let their tears out, I think of closing my eyes and feeling closer to heaven as I am lifted by a choir of voices singing to God in unison. I think of all those times of feeling touched, moved, connected … loved.

          Feeling loved is an inspiring thing. In fact, it’s why we as Christians do the things we do. So often people think that we church goers are here every Sunday to earn points and feel holier than others, they feel guilty because they think they haven’t done enough to please God, they feel a distance between themselves and God because they think they haven’t earned God’s good graces. But it’s actually the opposite. We don’t do things to earn God’s love, God’s love is already there for us. God demonstrates this through Jesus Christ, it’s there for free, for everyone, no points needed. We come together in worship, we do acts of service, we care for one another as a response to that love.

          The passage from John that was read begins with this. Jesus says, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.” It’s about responding from love, not earning love. And keeping the commandments of Jesus is an opportunity to respond to the love of Christ. The commandments of Christ are an invitation, to live out the love that we know and to make the Holy Spirit known.

          In this passage, Jesus is preparing the disciples for a time when he will not be physically present in the way that he is now. He says that God will give them an Advocate, some translations say Paraclete. This is the Holy Spirit who will guide, help, strengthen and comfort them. But Jesus goes on to say that the world does not see or know the Spirit, but that the Spirit will abide with them.

          So this is our call as Christians, to respond to the love of Jesus Christ by showing love to others and in doing so, others will see the Holy Spirit at work and come to know of this presence of comfort, strength and help.

          This means we do have an important role to play. As much as I do think people can be unfair in how they prejudge church-goers or Christians, the truth is, others are watching us, and we have a responsibility to act as followers of Christ. We are called to make the presence of Christ known here on earth. We are called to live out Jesus’s commandments to love others and show others that they are not alone, the Holy Spirit is here. To let others know that they are loved.

          I have always been fascinated by Psychology, so much so that my bachelor’s degree is in Psychology. I like finding what is underneath people’s thoughts, behaviors and actions and I am so very curious about how people think, react to and relate to others. But sometimes I need a break from it. I will find myself watching video clips, reading articles and listening to podcasts and learning so much about the ways in which people’s upbringings, traumatic experiences or subconscious needs are guiding what they do. But then I see love, just pure love and there really is no explanation for it. The kind of love that has no benefit to the person giving it, the kind of love that doesn’t make sense given all the heartbreak someone has been through- the kind of love that reminds you that we are so much more than our psychological traumas, animal instincts or reward driven behaviors.

Several times I have sat with spouses as they lovingly and tenderly cared for their spouse who was suffering due to some circumstance like a traumatic brain injury or disease, and will never be able to reciprocate in the same way or live out the plans they made when they got married, and still … the caregiving spouse loves, they stroke their hair, they talk about the good memories, they offer smiles, they make their spouse feel loved. It doesn’t make sense, it’s hard to explain, it’s the love that Christ demonstrates for us, the kind of love that makes the presence of the Holy Spirit known in the world.

I also see this pure love when I visit new parents right after they have had a baby. At that point most parents are pretty tired, shocked, overwhelmed, worried or dazed, but not the grandparents. In a room where the baby is crying, the new parents are sweating and stressing … off to the side I sometimes see the beaming, happy grandparents. No stress, no worries about how to raise the perfect child or which products are organic enough or how to properly install a car seat, just joy, just peace, just love. It doesn’t make sense, it’s hard to explain, it’s the love Christ demonstrates for us, God’s beloved children, the kind of love that makes the presence of the Holy Spirit known in the world.

 

Today is Mother’s Day. And I know that can bring a lot of emotions for people. Some are missing their mothers today, some are missing their children today and some have complicated relationships with their mothers. Human relationships don’t always fit our expectations or always demonstrate that perfect love that we long for. I know that I am not a perfect mother. I love my kids so much it makes my heart burst, but I am a human, and I don’t do things perfectly. Since they were born, I have prayed that somehow, even through all of my imperfections and all of the pain of the world, my children will feel that perfect, pure love that comes from Christ. The kind that doesn’t make sense, the kind that can’t be explained, the kind of love that will make the presence of the Holy Spirit known to them.

Sometimes, in my work as a hospital chaplain, the hardest part can be leaving the room. Because there are a lot of lonely people in the world and it feels sad to walk out the door, move on with my life and know that people are alone and hurting. So when I pray with patients, I always pray that they will feel the presence of the Holy Spirit in and through and around them, that they will feel held in the palm of God’s hand and know that they are not alone. Because of faith, I believe that somehow, someway in a way that can’t be explained, they are not alone, the Holy Spirit, the Advocate, the Paraclete that Jesus told us about, is there with them.

In May of the year 1373, Julian of Norwich experienced divine revelations from her cell attached to a small church in the town of Norwich, England. She immediately wrote these down and you can read them compiled in a book called “Showings.” Some years ago I got to go and sit in that cell where she wrote these and still, all these hundreds of years later, there is a palpable feeling of holiness in that space, a feeling that the Holy Spirit has been and still is there. These revelations she had are powerful and have captured the faith and hearts of many who have read them. They are words pouring from a heart in the depths of love. In chapter 59 she writes, “As truly as God is our Father, so truly is God our Mother, and he revealed that in everything, and especially in these sweet words where he says: I am he; that is to say: I am he, the power and goodness of fatherhood; I am he, the wisdom and the lovingness of motherhood; I am he, the light and the grace which is all blessed love; I am he, the Trinity; I am he, the unity; I am he, the great supreme goodness of every kind of thing; I am he who makes you to love; I am he who makes you to long; I am he, the endless fulfilling of all true desires. For where the soul is highest, noblest, most honourable, still it is lowest meekest and mildest.”  You can hear the rapturous tone in her writing as she writes of that love which is hard to explain, doesn’t make sense but makes the presence of the Holy Spirit known.

Jesus says “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.” Let us live as a people who are loved, as a people who know we are loved – even if it doesn’t make sense and is hard to explain - and in doing so we will make the presence of the Holy Spirit known here on earth.

Sermon from 4/26/26 First UMC East Greenbush

 

Psalm 23, John 10:1-10, Acts 2:42-47

          Many years ago I remember asking my then toddler “What do you want for Christmas?” He looked at me with his big eyes and with his little toddler voice said, “a tree and a box.” I dutifully wrote it down on the piece of paper I had titled “Christmas List.” And that whole Christmas season when we took him to see Santa or when others asked what he wanted he said “a tree and a box.” At some point he had seen or remembered images of Christmas and a big sparkly tree with colorfully wrapped boxes underneath and it was exciting, different and beautiful. So that was what he wanted “a tree and a box.” Of course over the years that list changed as advertisements, catalogues, friends and stores offered an array of things to “want” for Christmas. Also, over time, that sense of wonder and awe at the tree and box also changed. I often hear people talk about the “magic” of Christmas for little children, I wonder … does the “magic” go when our awe and wonder at a tree and a box gives way to a detailed and extensive wish list?

           That question, “what do you want for Christmas” forces us to think about what it is we seem to be lacking, what cool things do other people have that we want, what is the next thing that might make us happy? What do you want … can be a leading question, leading us toward the flashy images of happy people with the latest technology, or beautiful people in the latest styles or big fancy things that seem to exude comfort, luxury, piece of mind … Where does that question “what do you want?” lead you?

          Today for the Call to Worship we read together a familiar Psalm. A Psalm that many people recognize and some have memorized. In that Psalm we are being led to a place that is different from advertisements, spending, and influencing. In that Psalm it says the Lord “leadeth me beside the still waters.” Waters that restore the soul. Not the kind of waters that promise to be infused with all the essential minerals to make your skin glow and are on sale for a limited time. Not the kind of waters that require an exclusive pass to access and are only available to the first few in line. We learn in the first verse how to access these waters. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” The path begins not with the question of “what do you want?” but by the absence of wanting … and only trust … following a shepherd.

          This Psalm begins from the perspective of a sheep, following a trusted shepherd to all that is needed, pasture and water. And then it moves to the perspective of a traveler in dangerous territory, protected and guided to this generous display of security through the valley of death, extravagant care and generosity right next to enemies. A breath-taking peace despite scary circumstances. A sense of stability despite complete vulnerability. A place of awe and wonder right in the middle of what is uncertain.

           I wonder about that connection between letting go of want and embracing awe and beauty. When the follower lets go of want at the presence of the shepherd, they find themselves in this beautiful and serene environment filled with assurance and peace.

           I was thinking about that sense of awe as I reflected on the passage read from Acts. This passage comes to us after Jesus died, was resurrected, hung out with the disciples for a bit and then ascended into the clouds. So this is right around the beginning of that time when they are trying to figure out how to keep the Jesus movement going without the physical presence of Jesus. There is a lot of work to do to get this story about God incarnate rising from the dead from there to the ends of the earth and across thousands of years.

         The passage from Acts begins by saying, “They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. Awe came upon everyone, because many wonders and signs were being done by the apostles.” It goes on to describe how they all lived together in harmony, everyone praising God, everyone sharing and all needs being met. It’s sort of this golden age of being a Jesus follower. They are still living in that awe of having experienced the risen Christ, witnessing his ascension and then having Pentecost. And like in the Psalm, there is this connection between awe and a lack of wanting. It says the disciples are all living in awe while also dividing everything equally and praising God and living in joy. There is no talk of what is lacking, who is messing up, or a wish list of items that would make their communal life easier. No want, just awe. Guided by the shepherd, their souls restored by the still waters.

          The image of Jesus as a Shepherd that we find in John really is about relinquishing our want and embracing trust. We hear the voice of Christ and we follow. We follow through the gate, we follow to the still waters, we follow through the shadow of death, wanting for nothing.

          The idea of letting go of want is countercultural. There are advertisements everywhere we look. We are bombarded with messages of what we lack- in our homes, in our closets, in our loved ones, in ourselves. And I wonder if all that want has taken away our sense of awe.

          In a September 2025 article in National Geographic called “The Life-Changing Power of Awe” various tests and studies were reported that showed the power of experiencing moments of awe. Findings showed things like: reduced inflammation, less self-focused brain activity, lower amygdala or “fight or flight” activity, less stress, fewer physical complaints, greater well-being, less impatience, more generosity and higher life satisfaction.

         Now, I feel like some kind of advertisement, trying to sell you on some wellness program or fitness regimen. All of this is not to add something to your wish list or to do list. Please do not take out your phone and add “experience awe” to your daily task list. In fact, I think awe may actually be the opposite of a task or a regimen or a wish list item or something to spend money on or even an exclusive opportunity. Awe is right here and all around us. It’s about taking a moment to acknowledge the presence of God in the voices united in singing a hymn, the way the light breaks through the stained glass, the soft tiny hands of a baby, the gentle hug of a loved one, a flock of birds in a perfect V formation, the unbelievable colors that are sprouting out from the ground right now, the way the planets rotate around the sun, the fact that the sun always sets and rises, or that we are here together in this moment sitting where people have worshiped together for so many years, singing praises to Jesus who died thousands of years ago and was resurrected. This is not a limited time offer, there is no credit card number required … it’s here and it’s there and it’s everywhere.

        But we do have to be willing to look for it, to listen for the voice of the shepherd and to put down our need to figure everything out, control everything and insist on our own way- to trust, let go and allow ourselves to be led to the still waters that restore our souls.

           Before I lived here, I lived in Colorado Springs and if you have ever been to Colorado Springs, you know that it has this great big majestic and beautiful backdrop called Pike’s Peak. It is the purple mountain majesty that is said to have inspired the song “America the Beautiful.” It is the frame behind every parking lot, grocery store and sunset when you live there. And in our living room we had a great big picture window that framed our view of it. When we first moved there I think I took pictures of it from just about every place I went. I marveled at the way the sun was reflecting from it that day, or the fresh coat of snow on top or the sunset colors behind it. During the days of pandemic lock downs I would stand and stare at it each day, my connection to the outside world. We lived right down the street from Palmer Park where we could do a quick rocky hike to a little cave and just sit there with a stunning view of the whole city shrunken under the big white peak. It was truly awe-inspiring.

 And then we moved here in January and when Spring came we marveled at every colorful thing that burst forth from every corner of our yard, so many colors and shapes against bright green grass. We commented on the birds and creatures that passed through our yard before our dog barked them away. And on every church visit we have done with my husband I constantly am telling the kids “look at that” as we drive by waterfalls, lakes and mountains. And every time I drive home from this church on I90, I look to my left as I cross over the Hudson river and look at the beautiful shapes of the downtown skyline, hugging the banks of the river.

         Of course all of this is when I am not complaining about the cold, or wishing I was on vacation or looking down at my phone or in a hurry to get from one place to another. But all I have to do is look up and there it is … awe. All around. A transcendent experience of restoring waters right here around us. The Holy Spirit on display for all to see and hear and feel- from the big white mountains to a colorful wrapped box under a sparkling tree … God calls us to see the beauty even in the chaos, the stillness even in the shadow of the valley of death … the voice of God calling for us to follow.

Sermon from 4/19/26 "Foolish and Slow of Heart"

  Luke 24:13-35

          I once had a preaching professor say that you can tell a lot about what’s going on with a pastor by the sermons they preach. And a mentor of mine once shared that he found that to be very true for him. He said he didn’t realize it at the time, but when he looked back over years of sermons, he could clearly see what struggles he was facing or what was going on in his life. So … what does today’s sermon title say about me? And why, when I looked at the scriptures to come up with sermon titles for the newsletter, was that the verse that stood out to me “Foolish and Slow of Heart?” Perhaps I have inadvertently revealed to you that behind the robes and title is indeed someone who, like those disciples walking along the road right next to Jesus -is in fact foolish and slow of heart.

           But as I spent time meditating on this scripture for today, I found that when I quieted my mind, slowed my breathing and steadied my soul, it was a different phrase from the lesson I kept hearing in my heart. It was verse 29. This is after the disciples have been walking with this “stranger” for quite a while, and he has been explaining the scriptures to them. The disciples say, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.” I love that image of this beautiful, powerful, eye-opening walk at dusk, about to come to an end and the disciples say, “don’t go!”

          This particular verse is part of many traditional prayers said by the church in various forms, but one that came to mind for me is towards the end of the Evening Prayer liturgy in the Book of Common Prayer which is the worship book for the Episcopal Church, and the book where our Methodist service structures and liturgies comes from. There are set prayers for each part of the day, and evening prayer is for that time of day right about when Jesus is about to part ways with the disciples and they ask him to stay. As the daylight begins to fade into dusk, your body begins to long to settle in at home, your feet are tired and thoughts of the day to come may begin to take over your mind. Right at that time is this prayer, “Lord Jesus, stay with us, for evening is at hand and the day is past; be our companion in the way, kindle our hearts, and awaken hope, that we may know you as you are revealed in Scripture and the breaking of the bread. Grant this for the sake of your love. Amen.” As the night begins to approach, we look to Jesus, walking along the way with us and say “don’t go, please stay, come on inside and stay here with us.”

           I feel that in my soul. I think of times when I was about to do something scary or face something hard and I would pray “please stay with my Jesus.” I pray this before I begin my work at the hospital, not knowing what difficult situations I may face, feeling small and ill-equipped, I pray “stay with me Jesus.” Every time I open my mouth to preach, hearing the silence before my words break it, feeling the potential impact for good or for bad of words, I pray “please don’t leave me Jesus.”

 It reminds me of that hymn in our hymnals that says, “I need thee every hour, in joy or pain; come quickly and abide, or life is in vain. I need thee, O I need thee; every hour I need thee; O bless me now, my Savior, I come to thee.” I hear these words from hospital rooms, funeral parlors, friends facing indecision, family members struggling with fear, and people everywhere in joy or in pain praying “Don’t go Jesus, please stay … I need thee.”

I thought of this moment between Jesus and the disciples last week. We spent Spring break in Ohio, where both my husband and I are from. We have family in different parts of the state and after we met in seminary in New Jersey, we headed back there where I served my first two appointments as a pastor. We lived in Toledo for 7 years and that was where we bought our first house, had our babies and made wonderful friends. It has been 10 years since we lived there and yet, when we went back last week I felt very much at home. Our first night there we invited some dear friends over and it felt so good to just “be.” Not trying to make a good first impression, not trying to remember how to get home in a new place, not trying to figure out a school system or new jobs. It was one of those times when you can let your guard down because the people you are with have already seen you cry and get mad and be weird and they still love you. As the day came to a close, evening set in and bed times for the kids neared, it was time to give hugs and say goodbye. I smiled and waved, but in my heart I felt those words “don’t go, please stay.” That longing to stay in that peaceful place of connection and ease and love and comfort. But we have moved enough now to know sometimes you have to say goodbye and keep going even when your heart hurts.

 And in this passage today, the disciples’ hearts hurt. They had walked many miles with Jesus, and he loved them and they loved him. And now he was gone. They saw him die and they hadn’t yet figured out what the empty tomb meant or if it was even true that it was empty. They had walked many miles with Jesus, and now they walked alone, trying to process everything they had just seen and heard and experienced. The scripture says when Jesus asks what they are talking about “they stood still, looking sad.” Their hearts hurt from the goodbye they just experienced. Many times in the Gospel story we hear the disciples saying to Jesus in various ways, “please stop talking about the death stuff and just stay with us, don’t go.” Like during the Transfiguration when they want to make tents and just keep everyone there in that beautiful moment. But he goes and he dies and they are alone, trying to keep going, keep moving,

 And so they have this amazing conversation where this stranger explains the scriptures and everything Jesus had been trying to tell them and their hearts are burning and their faith is becoming reignited and then … he keeps walking ahead. So they say “please stay, don’t go.” And he doesn’t go, he stays. He stays and when Jesus takes the bread, blesses it and breaks it … they see. Their eyes are opened.

 After that he “vanishes” but … now they know … now we the reader know … he hasn’t left us and this is how we experience Jesus in the world after his death and resurrection. He is hiding as a stranger, in the other, in the people we encounter along our journey in this life and he is in the acts we do together as a community of believers. And when we realize we are in the presence of Christ, he is in our burning hearts. Things may not be the same as they were, but he didn’t leave them, he didn’t leave us. He is very present in and through and around us.

 It’s easy to find all the places where we don’t see Jesus. The pain, the suffering, the fear, the heartache, but when our foolish and slow of heart selves can open our eyes, we see that Jesus keeps showing up again and again. He stays, he does not abandon us.

I was talking with this woman some time ago, she was over 70 years old and she was telling me about her mama. She told me how beautiful she was, how she made her feel so loved, how she told her she was special, how she gave her wonderful memories. I was surprised when she said her mom died before she was even 10 and it was devastating for her and she missed her even after all these years, but she looked at me and said “I am so grateful that I got to have her as my mama.” I was moved by those words of gratitude. I was in awe of her ability to smile and feel the joy of having been loved so deeply even after experiencing pain so deeply. There were many things in her life that she could point to as struggle or as the absence of Christ, but her heart was still burning from that deep love she experienced, a love that never left her and all she could feel was gratitude.

The truth is … I am foolish and slow of heart. I keep asking God to stay and not leave, even though again and again I keep realizing that God is all around me and always shows up. In each moment of fear or worry or defeat I say “don’t leave me, please stay” failing to see that Jesus is right next to me the whole time.

I thought of this at the end of Spring Break as we made our way back onto the turnpike and headed across Pennsylvania and New York to here our home for the last two years. I was sad to say goodbye to so many people we love but also remembered how every time we have moved I have met Jesus in the people who started out as strangers and in the communities where I have worshipped. I see the presence of the risen Christ again and again even in unknown places and in uncertain circumstances. God keeps showing up, even when I feel lost in a new place. Even when I am foolish and slow of heart. I am grateful that my foolishness is not a barrier for God, that Jesus can still break into our hearts, just as he broke through a tomb and walls and the hearts of foolish disciples.

         

Maundy Thursday Sermon

 

4/2/26 John 13:1-17, 31b-35

          Back in my early years of being a pastor, back when I was in my twenties, before my hair had strands of gray mixed into the brown and before my knees felt sore in the winter … I used to hate it when people referred to me as a “kid.” I was fresh out of seminary, ready to put everything I had learned into action and fully focused on the seriousness of ministry, so when people would say “you can’t be old enough to be a pastor” or think I was part of the youth group, it felt disheartening, frustrating and condescending. And sometimes it was meant to be, sometimes it came from people’s insecurities, or as a way to be dismissive or “put me in my place.” But sometimes it was honest and simply an observation. After some time, I found myself suddenly aware that I was no longer hearing those comments and I kind of missed them.

           But sometimes comments about age can be said with the intent to be condescending or discrediting. We do it with teenagers and young adults who are finding their voice and wanting to be heard and taken seriously. We smile and nod or say “you will understand when you are older” and dismiss them. And we do it with folks who are older and want to know that their wisdom and insight is heard and valued. We smile and nod and call them “cute” or confused. So, I wonder what it felt like when, in this passage from John, Jesus refers to the disciples as “little children.”

          On the one hand, he had every reason to call them little children out of frustration and disappointment for how they were acting. Jesus is nearing the end of his earthly time with the disciples and in this passage he has this very intimate and moving time with them. Throughout their time together, he has poured himself out in love to them. He has instructed them, nurtured their faith, guided them, corrected them, demonstrated miracles, brought someone back to life in front of them and yet, here we are … the end of the road and even as he does this very intimate act of love in kneeling down and washing the dirt from their feet, Peter still shows a lack of understanding, Jesus knows Peter will deny he knows him and Jesus also knows that Judas, who is right there with them, will betray him. They are like “little children”- misguided, foolish, impulsive, stubborn, misbehaving little children.

          And yet he still does it- all of it. He takes their feet into his hands and washes them like a servant would. He breaks bread and invites them to eat his body and blood. And he walks toward the cross, moving toward the suffering and death, the great outpouring of love …. He still does it … knowing they still don’t really get it. And he tells us to do the same … to love one another … even when we are frustrated and annoyed and angry and heartbroken and sick of everyone. He says you gotta do this. You have to love one another … even when you are acting like little children.

         This is no easy task. We live in deeply divided times. Times when we are being pulled apart from each other and encouraged to hate one another for all kinds of reasons. A Pew Research report posted on March 5^th of this year, showed that “Americans are more likely than people in other countries surveyed in 2025 to question the morality of their fellow countrymen.” It goes on to say that “The United States is the only place we surveyed where more adults … describe the morality and ethics of others living in the country as bad … than as good.[1]” So basically … a lot of us think the rest of us are bad. We are the only country where most people point to their fellow Americans and say they are immoral and unethical. We are deeply divided. And yet, Jesus tells us we have to love one another.

           While I can certainly see ways in which being called “little children” can be dismissive or condescending, I also can see how it can be said with love and tenderness. Jesus had good reason to feel frustrated with the disciples. He was laying it all on the line, he was literally pouring himself out in love, he had taught them and shown them again and again and now it’s not just that they weren’t understanding, they were going to deny ever knowing him and turn him over to the authorities to be killed. And yet, when he calls them “little children” I hear a gentleness, a deep love. Children are innocent, they are trying their best, they have a purity in their emotions and intentions, they are vulnerable, their small size, their undeveloped brains, call us to protect them, take care of them and love them. I hear that desire to love, protect and care for the disciples, from Jesus. I wonder if when he washed their feet he felt the soft spots and remembered that they were once babies, innocent and needy.

        Over the years I have taken a lot of teenagers on week-long “mission trips.” I led several groups on these trips at the various churches I served. I always used a company that set up the sites and the framework and paired us with teens from other churches. They had a kind of formula for the way the week went. Every time, on the last night we would have a worship service and the service would include this scripture reading from John. Afterwards, the young adults who were leading the site would come out with basins and towels and wash the feet of the adult leaders. We would then go around the circle of teens sitting in a fellowship hall or a gym of some sort, in the middle of summer, after a week of painting houses, cleaning and running around, and we would wash their feet. Every single time … every time I went on those trips and there were many, the teens began to cry. Next to the friends they wanted to act cool for, next to the people of the opposite gender who brought out their awkwardness, they let the tears flow as I held their feet in my hands, poured water over them and gently patted them dry. The evening ended with prayer, reflection, hugs and Kleenex.

          I never could fully name why exactly it always caused this emotional reaction in the teens. It is hard to be a teen. It’s this space between happily playing make believe, watching cartoons and displaying dolls -to living away from your parents, paying bills and searching for a life partner. It’s this space between happily being called “little children” and pushing hard against anything that might label them as a “child.” They very much do not want to be seen as a child and yet they still are learning and growing and figuring out life. And honestly, aren’t we all still learning and growing and trying to figure out life? Finding out how to be independent and strong while also longing for care and connection?

          Maybe that’s why Jesus washed the disciples’ feet, to show them that he sees the little child inside them, he sees their mistakes, their hurts, their fear and confusion and loves them anyway. He sees them without whatever strong front they may feel they need to put up. He sees the dirtiest, smelliest part of them, and treats it with love and tenderness. Maybe that’s why it was so meaningful to all those teenagers. Here they were trying their best to “look cool” act grown-up, do what they are supposed to do, make sense of it all and then someone comes and sees their smelliest and dirtiest part and demonstrates the unconditional love of Christ.

          I hope that’s what you feel tonight. Whether or not you have your feet washed. I hope through the hymns, the prayers said together, the broken bread and poured out juice, the recited words of Christ, the dirty feet made clean, the warmth of this space, the open hearts of each one here, I hope you feel the messiest parts of yourself seen and loved by God. I hope you feel the love of Christ poured out for you as he makes his way to the cross, doing this ultimate act of love for an imperfect people … for his “little children.”

 

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[1] “In 25-Country Survey, Americans Especially Likely to View Fellow Citizens as Morally Bad.” The Pew Research Center. www.pewresearch.org. 3/5/2026

Sermon from March 22, 2026

John 11:1-45, Ezekiel 37:1-14

                  Things are starting to get real. At the beginning of the passage from John we learn that Jesus is heading to Bethany. Bethany is near Jerusalem. The disciples are concerned, they know that there is danger, but Jesus knows the time is nearing and he is ready to face it. Most of us know the story well enough by now to know what is coming. Jesus getting nearer to Jerusalem means Jesus getting nearer to his death on the cross. Next week is Palm Sunday and then Maundy Thursday and then Good Friday. It’s coming nearer, things are getting real.

           What Jesus and the disciples will have to face in Jerusalem is death. Both of the Scripture readings today are about looking death in the face. Maybe the Ezekiel reading felt kind of weird to you, I’ve always found it kind of weird too. In fact, some years back when I was planning a Halloween bonfire for a youth group I led I picked this passage from Ezekiel as the scripture reading for the event. It was the creepiest passage I could think of. The rising up of bones and then sinews and flesh, I picture it all happening at nighttime with sounds of clanging bones and groaning. It is pretty creepy.

          The passage from John also gives us a Halloween worthy creepy image as the stone in front of the grave is rolled away, the stench of death fills the air and out comes Lazarus wrapped in death clothes. Can you imagine the gasps, the pounding hearts and the jump scare reactions? It’s no wonder that for thousands of years artists have been drawn to this gaze worthy image.

          These passages force us to look directly at something we may otherwise try to avoid- death. And honestly, life forces us to look directly at death, even when we try to avoid it. Death is all around us. The melted snow reveals the decayed leaves that got trapped under, the cold of winter slowly lifting shows what was hiding under the blanket of ice … death.

           One thing that both my job as a pastor and my job as a hospital chaplain have in common is exposure to death. I went into this line of work quite young and sometimes I think about my first encounter with death besides going to a funeral. I was 24 and doing a hospital chaplaincy internship and it was my first time having the pager overnight. It beeped in the middle of the night and I walked down to the operator bleary eyed and still not fully awake. I went to the room that called, I waited for life-saving measures to finish and I walked in. Everyone else had left, the tv was playing some show like Law and Order, it was quiet, and there I was, looking death right in the face. If I was serious about this pastor stuff, which I was, I knew I needed to face this.

           When we face death we have some options. We can run in fear, we can immediately begin reassuring ourselves that we are safe and this won’t happen to us, we can deny it and walk away or awkwardly change the subject. All of these are completely valid and understandable reactions. But in the passages read today, God calls us to do something else. God calls us to look right through it.

          The reading from Ezekiel is a prophecy. It points to something larger than the creepy bones clanging together. It is meant to show us God’s commitment to God’s people, to show that there is hope, God has not abandoned them and God is about to do a new thing and bring new life to a hopeless and dried up people.

           In the reading from John, Jesus says again and again that the death of Lazarus is to show the disciples, and the people gathered, who Jesus is so that they might believe. At this point in the story the disciples have had some time with Jesus, they have heard his teachings and seen miracles, but they still don’t get it. Thomas, always the relatable one with his doubts and realism, immediately shows his lack of understanding. Jesus says they will go to Judea, they say they are afraid. He then says he will go and awaken Lazarus who is dead and Thomas says (and I imagine him saying this while he exasperatingly throws his hands in the air) “ok, let’s go too so we can all die with him.” He doesn’t seem to get it.

         When Jesus gets to Bethany, it seems like Martha might get it, she might understand who Jesus is … but does she really? She basically says she knows Jesus does miracles and she gets all the traditional doctrine, but Jesus says “I am the resurrection and the life.” This is not just about the miracles, the miracles are about who Jesus is. Martha later shows she still doesn’t quite get it when she cautions Jesus about rolling the stone away because it’s just going to let the smell of death out.

           Mary then seems to understand. She says that if Jesus had been there her brother would not have died, but then she begins to weep and the others around her are weeping and then Jesus starts weeping. It’s interesting to note that the word used for weeping is different when it is used for Mary and the others than when it is used for Jesus. In his commentary on this passage, Francis Moloney explains, “The careful use of another verb for the weeping of Jesus … indicates that Jesus’ tears cannot be associated with the surrounding mourning process. He weeps because of the danger that his unconditional gift of himself in love as the Good Shepherd … the resurrection and the life who offers life here and hereafter to all who would believe in him, will never be understood or accepted.” [i] In other words, Jesus is crying in anger and frustration that people can not see or understand who he is and what his presence means. The miracle of raising Lazarus from the dead is not the story, it is meant to point to the real story that is Jesus Christ, the Savior in this life and the life to come.

         This is the good news of the story, the miracle that was present for Lazarus and you and me. Death is not the story, life in Christ is the story. The death of Lazarus, and the death that will soon come on a cross, point us to life. A life in Christ that is not bound to the physical laws of this world. A life that is rooted in God’s love, a life that is part of the body of Christ, a life that is drenched in hope and fueled by faith. A life we are all called to. We are those dried up bones being called into new life in a relationship with God. We are the mortal body of Lazarus bound by garments of death being beckoned by Jesus to a new life in him.  One where death is not the final word, one where we can look at death and not be afraid because we know that God’s love is greater than death.

          It’s been a long time since I stood in that hospital room as a 24-year-old who was preparing for vocational ministry. Unfortunately, in that time I have faced death many more times. And it broke my heart. I have wept and mourned and feared and lamented and been angry and grieved deeply. Because like Mary and Martha and Thomas and all those others weeping, I am human and it can be hard being human. But I have also learned to look through death, to see the greater story it points to, to hold onto faith during fear.

          I sit with a lot of people at the hospital who are facing death. I take a seat next to their hospital bed, I ask them how they are doing, I listen to their story and then there comes the part where they look at me and say “I’m dying.” One thing I have learned over the years is to hold that gaze. As they look me in the eye, I look right back and I don’t move. I don’t turn my gaze away, I don’t say anything. I sit there and look them in the face for as long as they want. It’s important to me to do this because I want them to know I am not afraid to look at this with them. I am not afraid to see them even in this difficult moment. Because that is a gift we can offer as followers of Christ. We can tell this story of death on a cross over and over again. We can wear crosses, which are really instruments of death, around our necks. We can read these creepy scriptures and know that God has us. We are not alone. Jesus has shown us the way. And even though we are human and we are frail and we are scared and we have hurts and pains and fears, we have seen what happens on the other side of Good Friday, we have seen through death, and we know God is greater.

 

         

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[i] Moloney, Francis J. Sacra Pagina: The Gospel of John. The Liturgical Press, 1998. Pg 331

Sermon from 3/8/26 First UMC East Greenbush

 

 John 4:5-42

          I’m not very good at small talk. I have to remind myself to engage in some light “how about that weather” talk before asking someone about their hopes, dreams, fears, beliefs. Because I realize I may come off a bit strong if I jump right into “what’s your life story?” It’s not that I don’t enjoy talking about the weather, especially this week when we finally are starting to thaw. It’s just that I am really curious about people and I love making connections with others. I love those moments of genuine connection where walls come down and hearts are seen. This is one of many reasons why I love this passage from the Gospel of John.

          It’s a long one, and for folks who like to ingest Bible passages in smaller doses, you may not have been excited to see that it goes all the way to verse 42, but when I looked ahead at the lectionary and saw that this was the reading for today, I audibly said “yes!” It’s my favorite passage. Many of you have noticed the green stole I wear during what the church calls “ordinary time” which basically means the time when it is not Lent, Advent, Pentecost, Epiphany or other big days. The stole is custom made and was an ordination gift from my friends and family. The artist who made it incorporates meaningful symbols from my life, and next time I wear it, you will see her- the figure next to the well … the woman at the well. She has been my favorite for a long time now and so she has accompanied me on my ministry journey on my stole and in the way I understand Jesus.

          She is bold, courageous, open-hearted and not really good at small talk and polite conversation. The first thing she says to Jesus is a challenge. He tells her to give him a drink and she questions him saying “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” There is no “hi, how are you?” or “boy what a hot day today” she goes straight to the question. And her question isn’t just a simple question about one person asking another for a drink. It is about historical divisions between two groups of people, religious differences and social norms. So right from the beginning, we know this isn’t going to be any ordinary conversation. Just as the bucket stretches deep into the well until it reaches the water, this passage takes us into a deep dive about: differences, judgment, gender, history, God and the meaning of life. Which I am pretty sure is outside what one might consider light-hearted small talk.

          I really began to love this passage when I began to really read it for myself, and not just accept traditional interpretations of it. For example, typically people present this passage as a story about a poor and desperate condemned woman, sort of crawling through the shame of who she is to get to this well in the hot mid-day sun. But is that really what the text says?

          She engages Jesus with courage and knowledge. She challenges him when she asks “are you greater than our ancestor Jacob, who gave us this well, and with his sons and his flocks drank from it?” I think sometimes when people talk about this passage they talk about this woman as an outcast, as someone to be pitied, as someone who has lived what others may call a “sinful life.” But what I encounter in this passage is someone who is confident, and not afraid to be direct with a Jewish man talking to her alone in the middle of the day. Samaritans and Jewish people were not supposed to get along and had a long history of issues. And a man and a woman who were strangers weren’t supposed to be talking to each other alone. In fact, we read that when the disciples found him they were “astonished that he was speaking with a woman.” The text goes on to say, “but no one said, what do you want or, why are you speaking with her.” I wish they would have; I would love to hear Jesus explain to the disciples why it was important for him to talk to this woman that they were so astonished by.

 I think people often pity this woman because of what we learn about her.  Jesus says that she has had five husbands and that the guy she is currently with is not her husband. Because of this, she is often cast as sad or shameful or desperate. But what I find interesting is that the text doesn’t say that. Jesus describes her situation matter-of-factly and never pairs it with any judgment. And then reveals to her the truth of who he is and the nature of God.

 In her book, Abuelita Faith, Kat Armas says, “Jesus doesn’t just talk to an otherwise despised woman- as many theologians have pointed out to be radical- but he assumes her agency and engages her in mutuality. Jesus welcomes the    Samaritan woman’s challenge, participating with her in teologia en conjunto, the act of theologizing together in collaboration. And through their back-and-forth exchange, the mujer at the well encounters the Living Water- our sacred water who himself heals, gives life, and restores.” It’s not that Jesus is celebrating her past or that she is either, but he also isn’t letting it get in the way of having a meaningful conversation and bringing her to the living water.

          This is a conversation that goes deeper than the surface. She is fully seen by Jesus and with an open heart seeks the living water he speaks of. Jesus tells her that he is the Messiah and invites her to “worship in spirit and truth.” And we the reader, along with the whole community who she will go and tell this message to, hear that God is spirit. God is a living, moving, truth that is accessible for all, and we are called to dive deep into the heart of God. Beyond polite prayers and tacit acknowledgement and into the spirit of God which seeks to enfold us.

          And because of the testimony of this woman, this woman who asked questions, who opened her heart and who felt truly seen- many came to believe. And at the end of the passage read it says “They said to the woman, it is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the Savior of the World.” They encounter the “living water” of Christ and know that the divisions do not matter, that Jesus has not come just for one group of people, but for the whole world. Living waters unleashed upon the whole world from this encounter at a well between a sassy woman and Jesus.

          And our world needs these living waters. There is so much pain and hurting and war and fear and death and destruction. It can begin to feel like hearts have run dry, wells of hope are empty and faith is far away. But Jesus invites us to dive deeper. To worship the God who is spirit and truth. To find the deep well inside ourselves where the Holy Spirit dwells. Beyond our short comings and failings, beyond our divisions and hatred, beyond what we show on the surface. 

          Maybe part of why I love this passage is because I see myself in the woman at the well. Not that I have had five husbands or plan to and not just because I like to ask a lot of questions, but because I feel it in my soul when she says “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty.” I feel that longing for something deeper. Something deeper than being distracted by social media, engaging in polite conversation, and the daily work of being human. She wants something deeper, something life-giving, her soul is thirsty.

          And day after day I see thirsty souls. I know the statistics about declining churches and increasing apathy, but I see that less as a pronouncement about the increasing irrelevancy of church and more as a challenge to spread love, spread the hope of Jesus, and be willing to encounter people as they are. To truly see them, hear them and take the time to know them. To see the thirsts of their souls and in our interactions to find that the Holy Spirit is moving sometimes as a rushing river and sometimes as a gentle stream, guiding us to the living waters of God’s love.

          The woman at the well finds these waters, it fills her so deeply that it overflows onto everyone she meets. She finds it in this man called Jesus, the Messiah standing at her well, asking for a drink from her. Who sees her and knows her and accepts her. Who tells her that yes there is more, God is spirit and truth. God is a well that is deep and never runs dry. 

***Thank you to the Rev. Rosie Veal Eby for the photo of her awesome tattoo of the Woman at the Well*

Sermon from 1st UMC East Greenbush 2/22/26

 

Matthew 4:1-11, Genesis 2:15-17, 3:1-7

          Many of you know that I work as a hospital chaplain and this past Wednesday was a busy day. I arrived at work at 6:45 am and helped set up a table in the area referred to as “main street” at the hospital. It’s the main hallway where almost everyone walks through on their way to the various units of the hospital. The table had printed out signs on it that said “Lenten Ashes” and cards with Lenten prayers on them. To set up, I helped carry out the little plastic cups of ashes that had been prepared and the long individually wrapped Q-tips that the hospital said we need to use to dispense ashes in a sanitary way. And then I stood there as the shifts changed and said “good morning, we have ashes for Ash Wednesday if you would like to receive them.” And over and over again I smeared dust on foreheads and said “remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.”

 

          At times I felt a bit like those people at the mall with the perfume kiosks trying to get passersby to stop and sample their product. Because sometimes I could see people were hoping I wouldn’t make eye contact and that they could just hurry on by. But instead of selling fragrances, I was offering dirt.

 

Honestly, I’ve never been into the whole “ashes to go” thing as I feel like just getting ashes without the beautiful liturgy of repentance and scripture readings is a bit disjointed. But, mostly, dispensing ashes at the hospital was a really meaningful experience for people. Some people stopped and asked what it meant and I got to tell them why we do it and what it means. Some people let tears out as I looked them in the eye and reminded them they are dust. Some people stopped and shared their stories with me. Some people asked me to pray for the loved one they were visiting in the hospital.

 

          We gave ashes to over 200 people in that main street hallway, and, in addition to that, we went to the floors and offered ashes to staff and patients there. The staff were so appreciative, even if it wasn’t part of their faith tradition and they did not take them. As I swiped my badge and walked through the doors of the Emergency Department, it struck me what a unique opportunity it was to invite people to pause in the midst of their busy jobs of keeping people alive to be reminded that we are all going to die.  It’s a bit of a juxtaposition really.

 

          I thought of this kind of juxtaposition as I read the scriptures for today. We read two examples of people being tested. The first is Adam and Eve in the garden. God tells them there is only one tree to avoid and then after being tempted, they eat from that tree. And then in the Gospel reading, Jesus goes out into the wilderness and is tested three times. The first is with bread when he is starving, the second is to jump from the pinnacle of the temple and the third is with power. Jesus resists every temptation.

 

          It’s interesting to look at what happens before and after this. Before this reading in Matthew Jesus is baptized and then goes right into the wilderness where our reading from today takes place. As soon as he comes out he learns that John the Baptist has been arrested and he gets right to work, he starts calling his disciples and begins his ministry of preaching, teaching and healing. This order shows us how Jesus chose to begin his ministry. Before he began surrounding himself with crowds and travelling around, he went to the wilderness to be tested. He looked inward and wrestled with temptation and when he came out, it’s as if he is fully connected with God’s will. Like he emerged with a special kind of closeness and reliance on God that would enable him to face all the suffering, pain, temptation and struggle that lies ahead.

 

          For Adam and Eve, it’s a bit of a different story. Before the passage that was read, they roam freely and without shame, they enjoy closeness with God, even a physical closeness with God. But after this passage, after they disobey God and give in to temptation, they are sent out. And then the pages of the Bible after that tell the story of God and humanity trying to keep that closeness again and again as humans move away from God, God calls them back and it happens over and over again. For Adam and Eve, this experience of temptation was a move away from connection with God, for Jesus, it was a deepening of connection with God. Both went through temptation and struggle, but there were two different choices made and two different outcomes.

 

          I don’t know about you, but I wish we didn’t have to go through the struggle part. I wish we could just become closer to God, wiser and more connected through just being comfortable and everything going well. I wish it so much that I often find that I am holding tension in my body as I worry and fear and try to control uncontrollable things. I’m not one to say that God causes our struggles in order to prove something about us. I hear that often as people wrestle with why something bad is happening to them. They wonder if God is causing their suffering to try to teach them something. I believe that God wants love and joy and peace for us and that God suffers with us when we suffer, but that life is full of choices and scary things and uncontrollable things that there is no rhyme or reason for. And Jesus models for us how to walk through all of that and stay connected to God. How to weather the storms and find that God’s love and peace was actually there with us all along and has not left us.

 

          Beginning last Wednesday with Ash Wednesday, we are invited to follow Christ on a journey through the wilderness. To face the tests, the temptations, the scary things of this world and hold on to our faith, stay connected to God and trust that God has not left us. I’d rather skip to Easter baskets and candy than face the discomfort and pain, and yet … I do believe that there is much to be gained from the valleys of life, from the wilderness wrestling.

Often people think that a chaplain’s job is to encourage people, make them feel better and provide reassurance. That’s actually not true. What we do is sit with people in the struggle, in the pain, in the uncertainty. Part of our training is to practice again and again not trying to fix people. If a patient tells me what they are struggling with and I tell them “everything will be ok, don’t worry, you will be fine.” I am not honoring their story, their pain, their struggle, I am not honoring the ways their spirit is growing through that experience of suffering- I am only trying to fix them so that I can feel more comfortable. And so we practice again and again sitting in the suffering, and trusting that God is present. We don’t have to turn off the hard things or make them look away from the struggle, we can accompany them as they face the pain, trusting God will hold them in God’s eternal and unconditional love … without our empty reassurances or shallow attempts at fixing.

          It is a strange thing to walk around a hospital where everyone is focused on saving lives- and remind everyone that we will all die as I wipe dust on their foreheads. When I walked into that Emergency Department last Wednesday with my sanitized Q-tip and plastic cup of ashes, it did feel like a strange juxtaposition. Everyone is busy and I am asking them to pause. Everyone is doing their best to not show emotion and I am looking them in the eye to see their humanity. Everyone is working against death and I am inviting them to face it.

 

          But it’s also really beautiful. In the midst of medicines and diagnoses and machines and a constant rush, we remember that we are humans, all of us. The nurse, the doctor, the custodian, the patient. All of us are made of dust and to dust we shall return. And it’s ok. We are all connected in that shared humanity, we are all in it together. None of us is unique in having to face the truth of our own mortality. There is a connection in that. It’s also a reminder that there is so much we can’t control. And that’s ok. We are called to trust in God, the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the one who molds us from the dust and the one who invites us into a new life beyond this one. We are connected in that reliance on God. No matter what we do, we are all dust and to dust we shall return. A reminder that we can release the tension, the weight of the world, the attempts at controlling or understanding what is not controllable, because it’s all in God’s hands. 

          This week I had a birthday, I turned 45. When I was 25 I became a pastor and in all that time I have longed for wisdom. I have studied and prayed and accepted new challenges and learned and taken classes and trainings and thought and thought and thought and asked questions and worked hard to find wisdom, the kind of wisdom I always though a pastor should have. I have heard people talk about how there is a certain kind of wisdom that comes with age and I think I am starting to understand that more and more. In all this time of being determined to be wise, in trying to figure everything out, in trying to remember to loosen the tension in my jaw and let my shoulders release the weight of the world, wisdom kept coming, through every tear and laugh, every moment of awe and moment of pain. Through the tests and temptations that I failed and the ones I passed. It has been lesson after lesson in trust. In knowing that God is with me and that no matter what I do, God is the beginning and the end. That I am dust and to dust I shall return.