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