Denver Community Church: Recent Episodes
Denver Community Church
At Denver Community Church, we explore and participate in the life of Jesus, so that we can be a healing presence in our world. Download the latest teachings here.
We are a community being healed—personally, communally, historically. And we’re called to participate in God’s justice-making work in the world. This is the unfolding love story between God and creation—and we get to play a part.
Invitation to Practice: Reflect on your own healing story. Where is God inviting you to join the work of restoration and justice?
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The Church is called to reflect the mindset of Christ—emptying ourselves for the good of others, considering one another with deep care, and living in unity that is born not from sameness but from shared love. Christ’s humility becomes our pattern for being in community.
Invitation into Practice:
Practice Christlike humility this week by noticing when you're tempted to place yourself at the center— your preferences, your perspective, your power—and choosing instead to uplift and honor another.
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Just as the body is one and has many parts, so it is with Christ. We were all baptized into one body—regardless of race, class, gender, or background—and each of us matters. Diversity in the Body of Christ is not a problem to solve but a gift to receive. Every part belongs. No one can say, “I don’t need you.” True Christian unity means we suffer and rejoice together, valuing the voices and experiences that differ from our own.
Invitation into Practice: Listen to someone’s story who experiences the world differently than you. Practice making space at your table—literally or figuratively—for those who’ve been left out or overlooked.
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We are part of a long line of people who lived by faith—imperfect, courageous, often misunderstood, and deeply hopeful. Our identity as Christians isn’t built on superiority or certainty but on joining this great cloud of witnesses in running the race marked out for us, with our eyes on Jesus. He is the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, the one who endured suffering for the sake of joy, and now calls us to be his Body in the world.
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In his last teaching as Lead Pastor at Denver Community Church, Michael’s final sermon concludes our study of the Book of Luke and invites us to consider the words of Saint Francis, who said “Let us begin again, for until now, we have done nothing.”
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Jesus appears to the disciples much to their shock, fear and disbelief. But he comforts them and reminds them not to fear; he even moves toward them inviting them to touch the wounds if that’s what they need. And then, like college student coming home after a semester away he asks for something to eat. This may not be for his benefit, but for their’s, because ghosts don’t eat food. Once the shock of it all begins to wear off, he begins to teach them telling them they will be the ones to bring this good news to the world.
And it’s good news, because in Jesus we see all that was promised and a glimpse of what it to come. In Jesus we have the hope of the reconciliation and unity of all things. It’s a work he wants to do and is doing in each of us. A work he is doing in every single place of the mutliverse – from the atomic level upward. And we are invited not only to join him in that work but have that work happen through us.
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When the two travelers reach their destination, they invite this stranger to enjoy a meal with them and stay the night. Apparently, he was not interested at first, because they had to urge him to stay. They prevail and he agrees and they find themselves around a table. In an unexpected move, the stranger takes the place of the host.
He takes the bread, gives thanks, breaks it and gives it to them. Suddenly their eyes, which had been closed, are opened and they recognize him just before he disappears from their sight. What is it about the bread that points to the identity of Jesus? What does this sacred meal we participate in reveal about the Christ? This is what we will explore together.
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We will walk toward the tomb with the women expecting to anoint the body of the crucified Jesus, only to be astonished with them when the they discover the tomb is empty. We will be invited to respond to the question asked of them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?” In this, we will consider where we look for life – in places of death or life.
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Have you ever had moments when you think it’s over? That nothing can ever rise from the dead? Such was the state of mind when they placed Jesus in that tomb. It was a moment devoid of hope, when everything had fallen apart. Who can blame them for thinking this way? The idea of resurrection was not on their minds, at least not in this way.
This is why “They went home and prepared the spices and perfumes.” All they could do was honor the dead in the way they always had. All they could do was mourn and grieve as the Sabbath approached. Because nothing would ever be the same.
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Just before Jesus breathes his last, he quotes the Psalmist, “Into your hands, I commit my spirit.” This Psalm is one that extols the goodness of God; speaking of God’s refuge, protection and salvation. What a curious thing. Jesus, at the point of his death after enduring torture and hours on the cross conjures words that point to that? Perhaps there is something worth meditating on here as Jesus, even at death, shows his total trust in God.
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Jesus is nailed to the execution stake where passersby hurl insults at him and mock him. Crucifixion was not just the most horrifc forms of execution ever created, it was designed to be humiliating as well. This is why crucifixions were such public affairs. For those who wanted Jesus dead all along, they now had the chance to watch this man - who seemingly attempted to upset the prevailing order – die. But for some reason that was not enough. So they mocked him, laughing in the midst of his suffering.
But in the midst of it all, the writer is whispering to us that it is precisely because he is king, because he will rebuild the temple, because he refused to save himself that he is saving others – these are the very reasons he stayed on that cross. This, proclaims the crucified Christ, is what the love of God looks like.
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From the moment Jesus stands in front of Pilate things feel quick and chaotic. Three somewhat significant charges are brought against Jesus. He’s subversive, opposes paying taxes and claims to be a king. Pilate does little to address the situation and passes him off to Herod Antipas. Herod Antipas seemingly does less after a brief conversation and sends him back to Pilate. Pilate then tries to rid himself of the trouble by attempting to release him. But nothing seems to work. In the midst of all this, the chief priests are demanding he be put to death.
What seems to be happening here is an intensely political situation. People vying for power, working to ensure they can hold on to what they have and not upset anyone they rule over in order to keep the peace (and their position). And in the midst of all this, right there in the center, stands Jesus. One who barely speaks; one who knows something about power that they all miss. That power is not found by grabbing it, maneuvering for it or contesting for it, rather it is found in giving oneself for others.
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The trial begins with Jesus being asked if he is the Messiah; which means to be a king. And it’s right there from the very beginning that we see this group wants Jesus to be guilty, not just in their eyes, but in the eyes of Rome. Because there could only be one king, Caesar. To claim kingship in the empire was seditious and called for execution. But Jesus gives them more, he is not just an ordinary king, he is one he will be seated with God in the life to come. This is a claim of the highest kingship one could imagine. His rule and reign is both political and spiritual.
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Coming face to face with what we are capable of is often more than we can bear. This is the story of Peter. Hours before he declared his allegiance to Jesus even to the point of death. It’s possible this is what Peter wanted to believe was true about him. But then, when faced with scrutiny and questions and speculation, what was true came spilling out of Peter. Denial, not just once but three times. In denying Jesus, he was confronted with the denial that lurked in his heart. Of course, this is not the end of the story … because in the days after the resurrection, Jesus reminded Peter of who he really was, even in the midst of his most egregious mistake.
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Jesus’ revolution was like nothing the world had ever seen. It was a revolution of love. At his arrest, some seemed to believe this was going to turn violent. And in one moment it did, when a disciple struck the servant of the high priest, cutting off his ear. But Jesus’ response was different. He pointed to the fact that he was always with them, teaching and in the place of worship. These words suggest tenderness in the heart of Jesus. Something the authorities miss.
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Luke gives us a startling picture of how agonizing Jesus’ decision was to obey. He was in the place of the “olive press” – a place where olives were pressed and crushed. Jesus is compared to an olive being pressed and crushed with the oil being squeezed out of it.
Often, we abandon the humanity of Jesus and his agony in submitting to his God’s will. This was not an easy prayer to pray, but it was one that Jesus prayed in faith. Luke shows us that no matter how difficult the decision we, through God, have the power to do it, even if, like the disciples, we at times fall asleep.
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Many agree that Jesus espouses a nonviolent ethic; instructing us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us. Which is why his instruction here has the power to be confusing. However, Jesus does not stop there. He quotes the prophet Isaiah saying, “And he was numbered with the transgressors …” Which is to say that there is a connection in his mind between using the sword and transgressions. The disciples have two swords, which for Jesus is enough to fulfill the prophecy and justify the Jewish authorities accusing him of being a rebel leader.
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Just after Jesus serves the disciples, they embroil themselves in a debate about who is the greatest among them – obviously missing the point. Jesus’ response is to instruct them that the Kingdom way is about serving not being served. And it is in the serving that greatness is found. While it may be easy to roll our eyes at the disciples, who are eternally dull, we may do well to consider how we often pursue being served first and foremost.
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The meal that is recorded here is a meal that the Church has celebrated for 2,000 years. Some have called it “The Lord’s Supper,” others “Holy Communion,” and most traditionally “Eucharist.” But what does it all mean? Many recognize that it is represents the Body and the Blood of Jesus which was broken and poured out for us, but what should the people of God know?
The meal that Jesus celebrated with his disciples was the traditional Seder meal in which he brought new meaning to the elements of the dinner. Like the Seder the people of God are commanded to “do this in remembrance” of Jesus. We will ask, “What are we remembering?” “Why is the meal so central to all streams in the historic, orthodox church?” We will dive deep into the historic underpinnings of this meal and explore why some traditions forbid all those who are not “one of them” from participating in this meal.
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Judas is known for one thing: betrayal. He’s an awful character in the Gospels; one who was Satan incarnate. While we assume we know his motives for betraying Jesus, perhaps we can take a step back from our assumptions. Did Judas really want Jesus dead? Or did he just miss Jesus’ message, which led him to do the unthinkable?=
Some recognize that Judas may well have been connected to the Zealots; those who wanted a violent revolution. If this is the case, is it possible Judas was trying to foment rebellion by getting Jesus arrested? Maybe if this happened, he and others would take up arms against their oppressor. Of course, we know the end of the story. That’s not what happened. Worse yet, he missed another message of Jesus: forgiveness and restoration. He missed it all. How often do we, like Judas, miss the message and heart of Jesus?
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There is something about religion that tempts us to appear good, right, attractive, and “holy” in our own way. This is often the result of submitting ourselves to outward performance and putting on a show for others. This is what Jesus points out about the “religious” in his day. As soon as the words leave his lips, an illustration happens right in front of them. Two offerings: one big but small and one small but big.
Many immediately want to contrast this woman’s faithfulness in giving all she had. And we should, for Jesus points to her faith. But some suggest a dark side to this story given Jesus’ declaration about the religious “devouring widows’ houses.” There is a sense that there is something wrong with the system of religion that leads her to act this way.
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Spiritual Formation Pastor Hannah Thom leads us through an exploration of Luke 21:5-38.
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Imagine telling and retelling a story that you knew nothing about. This is more than talking about the good ‘ol days. This is telling a story about a legendary king named David. Yet as you talked about him you felt the breath of the Romans over your shoulder. At the same time, you had to tell these stories, because you knew that one day a son of David would come, and things would be like they used to be.
Jesus asks a question as to whether or not the Messiah would in fact be the Son of David. He seems to say no. Not in the sense of one who is descended from David, but more so in the sense that the Messiah would not be like David – a warrior king who was known for being a “man of blood.” Jesus quotes this Psalm pointing out that he in fact is David’s Lord. He is not just different, he is greater.
Advent promises Immanuel. God with us. Which means we never really wait at all. We only need to pay attention. How will our perspective change if we recognize the promise of Advent is a reminder that God has been with us all along?
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Months before Jesus was born, John was born to Zechariah and Elizabeth. It was then that Zechariah broke into a song, extolling the God who remembers. They had not only been waiting for the birth of a child, but like all those in their day, had been waiting for God to deliver them from their oppressors. And there may be a little play on words here as Zechariah means, “God remembers.” Indeed, God did. The wait, it seemed, was over. In this teaching, we explore the idea that God remembers us … and this is the promise of Advent.
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God is not slow in keeping his promise, claims Peter. Of course, we can comment that God’s conception of time and ours are two vastly different things. True. But Peter points toward God’s heart and desire for us. That we would be those who change our minds (repent) and turn toward God. It seems that in some way, God is on the move, God is responding all the time. The question is whether or not we see it.
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There is a lot said in the Hebrew Scriptures about waiting on God. The word is qava and it expresses anticipation, hope, expectancy. And that this exactly what the season of Advent is about. It is a time when we wait expectantly, where in the midst of everything, we muster the courage and conviction to say, “Even so, come Lord Jesus.” Together we will explore introduce and explore the idea of waiting on God, and the discipline that is requires. A discipline into which we are invited in the Advent Season.
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There is a lot said in the Hebrew Scriptures about waiting on God. The word is qava and it expresses anticipation, hope, expectancy. And that this exactly what the season of Advent is about. It is a time when we wait expectantly, where in the midst of everything, we muster the courage and conviction to say, “Even so, come Lord Jesus.” Together we will explore introduce and explore the idea of waiting on God, and the discipline that is requires. A discipline into which we are invited in the Advent Season.
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This is one of the more ridiculous things you can think of, the Sadducees imagine they have invented the ultimate hypothetical situation. It’s based on the Levirate law found in Deuteronomy 25. It served both economic and spiritual purposes. Either way, if this did happen then who is married to the widow in the life to come? Jesus’ reply has several layers to it.
What he suggests is that one day we will all be full alive, just as we all are with God right now. This is why he is the God of the dead, but the God of the living. This has the power to reorient the way we live our lives now – from God’s point of view. That all things are already alive.
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What is a “Jesus” response to rulers in our world? Especially governments we disagree with? How do we live an integrated life with dedication to the Kingdom?
For so long tradition has taught that this passage suggests to us a “split” way of looking at life. It has been commonly understood to refer to politics and religion as two separate spheres. These verses have historically been used by monarchs and governments to demand full loyalty to them – for they are to “render to Caesar what is Caesar’s.”
However, when we read this story in context Jesus is by no means making any commentary about the way one approaches their specific government. Rather Jesus seems to be saying that “everything belongs to God” which means then, that nothing really belongs to Caesar.
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In this week’s teaching with Jonathan Merritt, we explore John 2:1-11.
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Just like the many who welcomed Jesus as King, so we welcome Jesus into our world, often forgetting he wants to welcome us into his. When will we give up on our way of doing things and remember, we cling to the hope that it has all been done!
“Behold, I make all things new …” This is the promise that we cling to, uttered from the mouth of God. The question is will our life be found in Jesus? You see there are two realities we can cling to. The reality of God – that is happening right here and right now. One that transcends being proven and can only be trusted. Or we can default to the reality we can create.
And honestly, when we look at our world we have to ask, how well has humanity done in creating our reality? Our new world? This was what was at stake during the triumphal entry on Palm Sunday. Some wanted Jesus to be this or that – they made him in their image to suit their vision of the world. They trusted in themselves. Yet Jesus came to invite others to trust in the world he has created and sustained.
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Jesus goes wild in the temple. But given its sheer size, this was likely nothing more than a small skirmish off the side of the larger area. One that many barely noticed. And when he was done with his outburst, those buying and selling and exchanging money likely righted their booths and tables and kept on doing their thing.
What can get lost in all of this is the only words Jesus spoke, but they were not his words. They were the words of the prophet Jeremiah. In a tactic often employed by rabbis, Jesus quotes part of a verse as a reference to the larger context. Here, he quotes from Jeremiah 7 which is a full scale condemnation of those who practice evil, and still claim to worship God. It seems this is the one thing Jesus cannot tolerate is hypocrisy. Of course, we all do it, it’s just whether we are willing to admit it.
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No one knows the future. We pretend as though we do: we make plans, schedule things in the distant future and spend time before we are ever granted it. This may be because the greatest terror for humans is not having a future. Perhaps this is why Jesus told his followers not to worry about the times and dates that God has set in place for us. This has the power to lead us to the place of nihilism, if we stop to consider we really don’t know. Does it even matter?
Of course, it matters. While Jesus was short on specifics, there is a picture of restoration that we are invited to consider. That though the temple was torn down, it will be rebuilt in three days. Even when we cannot go back, even when everything is ending … just wait that means something new is happening. Something that will outlive us. A future that is pulling us forward.
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Something has ended … a plan, a strategy, a road map, a story, but what has been birthed is not yet clear. This is liminal space. It is the moment when we have not fully crossed the threshold into the new world, but stand over it with one foot in the world that has ended and the other foot in the world that is to come. Perhaps the best we can do is look back as a way of looking at the present and as a way of looking forward. In this, we just might find how to occupy this middle place in a healthy way and remain open to whatever may come.
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Anytime the end of something arrives there is a sense that’s things are over as we knew them. And while they may be true, the end of something also signals something new is on the horizon. Which is to say, anytime we face an ending or the end of something, that means it’s the first step toward something new being born.
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Jesus tells a parable about a master giving money to his servants. Too often we approach this from our modern, capitalistic, Western viewpoint. But the hint that this is not about money is found on the lips of the master when he returns … he praises his servants for being “faithful” not successful. These are two wildly different things and it would do us well to pay attention to this for a moment.
To invest the master’s money while he is gone seeking to become king is a vote of confidence the master will return as king. To bury the money until the master returns reflects a belief the master may not return as king, and it’s best to wait it out and see what happens. The difference between the faithful and wicked servants is their belief and trust in the king.
Which raises a question for the hearer of this story … “How are we using the gifts given to us?” Do our lives and the time we spend reflect our confidence in our king?
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The famous children’s song betrays the scandal behind the story of Zacchaeus. He was not just a “wee little man …” He was a corrupt businessman working on behalf of the Roman Empire. He exploited the poor, and furthered the oppression of Rome. And then Jesus, a “friend of sinners” and a “companion to the poor” wants to hang with him?
Imagine what the poor may have thought. We are quick to point out how Jesus hung out with the “down-and-outers”, but what do we make of Jesus who hangs out with the “up-and-outers”. Too often the “other” are those who are different from us. But what if we are, in fact, the other? What if we have become so blind to who we are we are unable to see that Jesus crossed lines to hang out with people like us too – not just those who are not like us?
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In this teaching, Lead Pastor Michael Hidalgo considers how Luke plays with the idea of sight- what it means to see Jesus for who he is, and how Jesus seeks to bring healing to everyone. In a moment of almost comic relief, Luke tells a story in which a blind fellow knows who Jesus is. He cries out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” Several people responded by rebuking him and telling him to be quiet. Though they could see, they apparently were blind. No matter what they said, he would not keep quiet. So he kept shouting.
It is then that Jesus stops the traffic and approaches the man who tells Jesus he wants to see. Of course, in some ways he already does. Jesus, having compassion, heals the man but he also heals the crowd to. As Luke writes with a 1st Century wink and a nod, “When all the people saw it, they also praised God.” Apparently, in the end, everyone truly sees.
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The disciples still seem so dull. Jesus tells them about his impending death and all they can dwell upon is what places of power they will have in the kingdom of heaven. They want to be sure that their name will be remembered.
Jesus tells them that it is in his death that he will be exalted. Jesus teaches them that the pursuit of the Kingdom is not about getting ahead, but about dying. In his case, the cup that has been given to him is one of suffering and death. Clearly his kingdom is from another world – where as citizens we are those who serve.
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There is nothing wrong with being rich; it is what can happen to those who acquire wealth that is Jesus’ focus in Luke 18:18-30: that we can become slaves to it. Instead of owning it – it can own us. This is the reminder that God gives to his people in Deuteronomy 8 when he warns them never to think that they have created their wealth, but to remember that God is the one who has given it to them.
In this story we meet a young, wealthy, influential person who lacks one thing – the ability to walk away from his money. In his exchange with Jesus, we see that Jesus loves him. He is not mad, he does not roll his eyes, he does not condemn, rather he loves. He tells the man to give it all away – why? Because you can’t enter the kingdom with all sorts of attachments, which asks the question, “How many times do we walk away from the loving gaze of Jesus?”
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Jesus says that "anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it." And yet we make our faith journey about maturity, collection of knowledge, mental assent, moving through the stages of faith. We are unable to live our faith with the wonder, awe, and imagination of a child. We are unable to view and approach God with this perspective and with this posture. But, what does it mean to live in this way?
Does it mean not learning and growing in our understanding of God...staying simple, naive, and immature? No, it is all about understanding our relationship to and with God. Understanding we are first and foremost His children and that we are in a relationship, not a fact gathering, learn all you can, knowledge-based interaction. What does our faith journey look like if we do this? And how can we continue to approach God in relationship with a child's lens while living constantly wooed by the kingdoms of this world? We'll explore these ideas.
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We live in a culture that has placed “being right” on the top of the list of important things for us. Being right about politics, about religion, about cultural issues … we are so intense about this we can even lose sight of the true conversation at hand. And so we have Jesus speaking to those who are “confident in their own rightness.” He tells them a story …
The trick with this story is the one who says, “I am wrong” is actually the one who is right. And this is the difficulty for the hearer. All of us are wrong, in some way, shape or form. Whether it’s the way we live our lives, the things we think, say or do … we all must cry out for mercy. To do this takes humility and a faith strong enough to say “I may be wrong.”
How would our world look if we were those who held “our own rightness” loosely? What would it be like if we were those who fell to the ground, beat our breast and spoke boldly of our failure and need for mercy? Perhaps this kind of action would be transformational, not just for us, but for those who experienced this kind of person.
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Guest teacher Kent Dobson leads us in exploring the parable of the sower.
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Guest teacher Paula Williams leads us in exploring the parable of the prodigal son.
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Guest teacher Michelle Cazas leads us in an exploration of the parable of the lost sheep in Luke 15.
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Guest teacher Cassie Lynch leads us in an exploration of Matthew 13:45-46.
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Spiritual Formation Pastor Hannah Thom explores the parable of the widow and the unjust judge in Luke 18
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Ten lepers yell to Jesus. There are all sorts of reasons they are likely “at a distance” most of which are found in the Law and its attending rules to ensure the disease does not spread. This time, Jesus does not seem to draw closer. Rather he gives them a command in keeping with the religious norms of his day, “Go show yourself to the priest …” And they do.
On the way all of them are healed of their leprosy, exactly how, no one knows. This is what prompts one of them to not only disobey Jesus’ clear command, but to flaunt it by running back to Jesus, throwing himself on the ground and giving thanks. It turns out, while the others are healed and likely reintegrated into the life of society, only one finds salvation. That being the one who was disobedient.
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Jesus speaks in serious tones about sin – both the commission of and forgiveness of – as he should. Both subjects he addresses are serious business. The first is a warning, the second is an admonition. What seems puzzling is how they fit together at all.
Maybe this can be discovered in the response of the disciples when they ask Jesus, “Increase our faith!” They recognize what is common to the human condition; that we do cause others to stumble – even the innocent ones – and often find forgiveness next to impossible. Perhaps both are only available when faith is given us.
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Luke has spent the last couple chapters of his book recounting primarily parables that deal with a specific subject matter from a number of angles. We the hypocrisy of selective compassion under the guise of Sabbath law (14.1-6); a parable about choosing exaltation or humility (14.7-11); another parable about a banquet that the rich miss out on because of the distraction of their lives, but which happens anyway (14.16-24); a collection of brief parables about knowing the cost of one’s actions and choices or the exercising of wisdom (14.24-35); then an entire chapter dedicated to the extravagant celebration of lost being found and the distant being brought near (15); followed by a parable asking us to identify which master we really serve (16.1-14); and finally a parable where we see a man who demonstrates what has been amiss in all these other examples…there is something described as a “chasm set in place” that keeps him from entering plenty, beauty and peace (16.26).
Jesus gives us picture after picture of this very thing. Whether related to money or status or acceptance, it seems that some are in a place to take hold of this Kingdom of Heaven while, for others, this Kingdom seems wholly beyond their grasp. They won’t grasp the Kingdom, but it seems as if they all are grasping for something…and their lack of wisdom means they can’t seem to see that while they pursue, serve and death grip this other thing they have no room to take hold of the life they really seek (Phil 2 – Jesus didn’t grasp).
Richard Rohr says that most people will not ever give themselves over to the kind of death of discipleship that Jesus talks about because we simply cannot die to two things: our sense of separateness and our sense of superiority. Here, a rich man, even in death cannot let go, refuses to die, and insists on the very separation that he is condemned to. There is a chasm, but is it one God has set in place or us? Is it possible that, like CS Lewis suggests, God condemns people only insofar as he gives us what we want. If a Kingdom is truly for everyone then those who cannot stand to include all and share freely will find themselves excluded by their own sense of separation and superiority. There is no room for superiority in compassion.
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The topic of divorce is one that has been hotly debated for years. Some say you can, others say you can only if, and still others say “never.” If we look at the words of Jesus he seems to be quite strict. The debate of divorce existed in Jesus’ day too. One side said, “If your wife burns the toast you can divorce her.” The other side said, “Only in the case of marital unfaithfulness.”
When we see other accounts of Jesus’ teaching he too leaves room for unfaithfulness. But what does that mean? We will explore this complex issue not by examining divorce – but examining the implications of marriage and all that entails.
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In 16.1-15, we find one the most bizarre parables out there. A dishonest man is praised by Jesus. What are we to make of it? Some have said this is Jesus’ way of encouraging his disciples to act and behave in an unethical manner. But this would obviously go against everything else Jesus taught. Perhaps if we understand two perspectives in the parable it will help.
First, the viewpoint of the master toward the shrewd manager. There is nothing about the master that affirms, appreciated or admires the actions of the steward. If anything, he denounces his actions. But he recognizes the manager’s wisdom, which raises the question, “What was he so wise about?” And that question leads us to the viewpoint of the manager.
The manager had just dodged a bullet. As one who stole, his master could have done many things to him. From prison to selling his family into slavery there were multiple options. However, the master does none of that. Rather, he has mercy, which informs the manager. His actions after he is fired reflect his attitude toward the master. He can engage in risky behavior because he is confident in the goodness of the master.
Do we have this same viewpoint as God? Of course, we are not to be those who sin so grace may abound, but are we those who trust more in God’s mercy than our goodness?
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The stories in Luke 15.1-32 are about the joy that comes with something that was lost being found. And the joy lies in the heart of the one who found it; the shepherd finding his sheep, the woman finding her home, and the father embracing his son. What was lost has been found, let’s celebrate. This points toward something that all of us should hold close: that Jesus is walking around looking everywhere, that he has a broom and is sweeping the house, he’s waiting and watching for his kids to head back home. All because he wants to celebrate.
Maybe the question these stories pose is whether we actually believe that to be true. A second question is, do we recognize we just might be lost? Because if we believe we are found, no finding is necessary and there is no party to be had.
Lead Pastor Michael Hidalgo reads a heartfelt letter to the people of Denver Community Church, announcing his transition off of staff over the next 13 months. To view more information about our 13-month succession planning process, click here.
Meals were far more than simple “get-togethers” in Jesus’ day. They meant connection, identification and even went as far as meaning approval of the other. It is at a meal with some religious folks that Jesus tells a stunning parable about the inclusiveness of God’s heart. And what other story to tell at a meal than a story about a meal?
Jesus’ story tells a story about a king hosting a banquet and those who end up at the table are not those who everyone expected at the table. More than that, those who are supposed to be at the table are no longer welcome at the table.
This story reflects Jesus’ ministry while he was on earth. Always eating and spending time with the wrong people as a way of showing people that all are welcome at God’s table. This is not how we typically think. We often think about who is allowed at God’s table and we leave that decision up to our standards and regulations. Perhaps we need to ask – how big is God’s table?
In this teaching, we discuss our insatiable desire for more in contrast with Jesus’ exhortation to pursue less. There is a subtle image Luke deals here about this man who is suffering, whose particular illness was associated with craving and desire. When he is healed, Jesus then speaks about the craving for status and prestige that exists among those left at the table: the pursuit of this sort of thing will only end in humiliation. Jesus says that instead one should seek the low places, the humble places, and at the same time have a high view of others who are often relegated to the low places by those in places of status. This is where the values of the Kingdom begin to show. It is upside down compared to the values of the prevailing culture about working our way to the top.
NOTE: The audio during the first 30 seconds is distorted due to a capture issue on our end. At just after 30 seconds, you will receive clearer audio.
The Pharisees, often seen as opponents of Jesus give him a warning about a mutual enemy, Herod Anitpas. He apparently wants Jesus dead. Jesus’ reply is not one of flattery, referring to him as a fox. In rabbinic literature, the fox was a contrast to the mighty lion, connected to deception and preying on the “chicks” to which Jesus refers. Jesus stands firm declaring what he is called to do, come what may.
His resolve then gives way to sorrow as he cries out, “ … how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing. 35 Look, your house is left to you desolate.” This cry echoes the words found on the lips of Hecuba in the work of Euripides penned some 500 years before. A cry of lament upon seeing the city of Troy destroyed. This points toward the prophetic word Jesus speaks, his understanding that Jerusalem, like Troy will be destroyed. And Jesus’ response? Sorrow for all of those who call Jerusalem home.
In our current cultural moment, “speaking truth to power” often comes with an edge. This in contrast with the heart we see in Jesus – one that is broken and heavy for others. Maybe this is the picture we need to grapple with asking ourselves if we have sorrow for others in the manner and the way Jesus did.
When we first encounter the wounds of Jesus, it is horrific. He is crucified. Nails are hammered through his flesh, tearing fibers as they are forced through his hands and feet. This, of course, to hold him in place as he hangs on the cross spiraling toward death. After he breathes his last, a soldier approaches him and thrusts a spear into his side, from that wound blood and water flow. These wounds are what lead to his death.
Three days later, Jesus is raised from the dead, still bearing these wounds. But now, somehow, these wounds that lead to his death and the wounds that bring us life. “By his wounds we are healed …” says the prophet, Isaiah. It’s no wonder then that Jesus points to these wounds, inviting Thomas to touch them, and when he does touch them, they lead to his belief. This teaches us that Resurrection does not deny death. It embraces it. It takes it seriously. It does not say, “Everything will be fine.” Resurrection says, “Everything will be transformed.”
Jesus is paraded through the streets to Golgatha. Once there, he is nailed to the execution stake where passersby hurl insults at him and mock him. Crucifixion was not just the most horrific forms of execution ever created, it was designed to be humiliating as well; this is why crucifixions were such public affairs. For those who wanted Jesus dead all along, they now had the chance to watch this man - who seemingly attempted to upset the prevailing order – die. But for some reason that was not enough. So they mocked him, laughing in the midst of his suffering.
But in the midst of it all, the writer is whispering to us that it is precisely because he is king, because he will rebuild the temple, because he refused to save himself that he is saving others – these are the very reasons he stayed on that damned cross. This, proclaims the crucified Christ, is what the love of God looks like. In this teaching, we will seek to understand at a deepening level why Jesus stayed on that cross.
Mark tells of the abuse Jesus suffered at the hands of soldiers after being flogged and dragged into the Praetorium. While the scene makes the reader wince at the sheer brutality of it all, there is also something else just below the surface: the way Mark frames the story of what happens to Jesus from the purple robe, to the crown and the homage is a description of what would happen when Caesar was coronated emperor of Rome.
At one level this is subversive commentary: what the soldiers were doing was, in some way, hailing Jesus as the king he is. But he is also asking a question of the reader, “Is this the king you want?” Not one who comes with great pomp and circumstance, but one who comes in brokenness, humility, into the pain and the violence of our world. The question he asks demands a response. So the only question left is, “What will that response be?”
In a cultural moment where all that we had long placed our trust in seems to be eroding, we ask the question Pilate asked, “What is truth?” John details a conversation between Pilate and Jesus amidst the swirling accusations against Jesus. To get away from the crowd Pilate summons Jesus inside the palace and asks him questions in a seeming attempt to understand what is going on. Jesus makes it plain, he has come to “testify to the truth.” To which Pilate responds, “What is truth?”
His question has lingered on the lips of humanity since. Today we talk about “your truth” and “my truth.” Truth, it seems, has become whatever one believes it to be – which puts individuals at the center. But maybe there is a truth that’s bigger than all of us. That which cannot be argued against or wished away because it is the ultimate reality. And what is that reality? That’s the question we will wrestle with.
Resources:
John 18.28-40 (NIV)
Trump and a Post-Truth World (Ken Wilber, Shambhala Publications, 2017)
Oxford English Dictionary
So many of us believe we have done something God could never forgive. We’ve gone too far. We’ve done too much. We’ve made too many mistakes. But if it is not true of Jesus it is not true of God. What we learn from the life of Peter is no one is beyond the forgiveness of God.
Jesus tells his disciples they will all fall away, but Peter insists he is wrong! Jesus responds to him with a prediction. “You will deny me three times tonight.” Peter again insists Jesus is wrong. But, as it turns out, Peter is the one who is wrong. Forget about the fact that Peter just turned his back on his friend at the moment of his sentencing. Forget about the fact that Peter was a coward. Those things are true … but Peter, as a disciple was supposed to long to be noticed as disciple of his rabbi. Instead, when noticed, he rejects it.
And what does Jesus do? He looks right at him when it happens (according to Luke). Then he is marched to his death. But the he comes back from the dead and speaks again to Peter. “Do you love me, Peter?” Jesus asks three times. Peter, replies three times, “Of course!!” Why three times? Because that was the number of times Peter previously denied Jesus. But that’s not the end of the story, is it?
In Matthew 26, Jesus is tried before the Sanhedrin and before the Temple authorities. This is more than a passing detail; if the racket they were running was to remain, they had to get rid of this rebel named Jesus. This is what Mark tells us the people at the house of Caiaphas wanted to do: he tells the reader that there was nothing in this trial having to do with justice – only ensuring the death of Jesus.
During this so-called trial, witnesses attempt to discredit Jesus and find a reason to get rid of him. In the end, it seems that Jesus seals his own fate by speaking what the Sanhedrin found to be “blasphemy.” The irony of course is that it was the Sanhedrin that blasphemed by speaking against Jesus – the Son of God.
So often in the Christian Camp, there are many who are “put on trial” for their actions, beliefs, and attitudes. Many will quickly pounce on anyone who says something they disagree with as though they are the ones who are in charge of how God can and will work.
It was night, there were torches, a dispatch of soldiers, swords, groggy disciples and a kiss of betrayal. What a painful moment for Jesus. He knew where this was all going. In the midst of the scene of Jesus being arrested, a disciple grabs a sword and cuts off the ear of the servant of the high priest. Why this? Well, apparently it was a repeat of history: generations before, Antigonus cutting off Hyrcanus’ ears to prevent him from serving in the Temple. It seems the disciple’s action was no accident; it was a retaliation.
In the midst of the commotion Jesus demands a halt to all of this. He is not leading a rebellion, and there is no need for swords and clubs. He knows what he has been called to do, and he is willing to go to the place God has in store for him. He does not blame, condemn or even retaliate. This teaches us something about the heart of Jesus – a heart that is set on the things of God – not on the ideas of human beings.
In this teaching, we will dwell on the heart of Jesus revealed in this story. In the midst of betrayal he calls Judas “friend.” In the midst of violence against his enemies, he announces peace and pardon. For Jesus this is the start of the manner in which he will walk to the cross. One defined by love.
Jesus uses the metaphor of the narrow door as the way to life. While this may seem as though it makes things more difficult and demands more of us, it’s possible there is another way of seeing this. If one is to make it through a narrow door, it suggests we cannot carry much through it at all. We will need to lay things down and let other things go if we have any hope of making it through. Perhaps this is the subtle invitation Jesus offers to those who wish to follow him. God does not need or want our talents, our accomplishments and all the things we have done “for him.” God only wants us. Maybe this is what the nonreligious have insight into in a way religious people don’t: they come as they are without anything. Perhaps that’s why they make it through the door.
The mustard seed is the smallest of all seeds – yet the mustard plant is the wildest of all plants. One cannot control the mustard plant, no matter how hard they try, and once it is planted and has grown the area in which it was planted can never be cleared of the plants as they will grow again and again. Jesus uses an example that defies the logic and the rule of his day. It was clearly stated in Mishnah that one could not plant mustard seeds in a garden (Kelayim 2.8; 3.2). This is because the plant would end up taking over the whole garden – it could not be controlled. Jesus’ point seems to be not a challenge of the rules – but an observation of the kingdom. It starts small – a little yeast or a little seed. When one observes the pattern throughout scripture of who Jesus chooses it is always the last, the lost, the least. They are the ones that Jesus uses. From the acacia tree to build his throne (the ark of the covenant) to the nation of Israel itself. We continually see that God chooses that which is small. The beauty of this is that once it takes root – it becomes out of control.
NOTE: Unfortunately, our building experienced a total power outage for several minutes near the beginning of this message, so you will notice a section missing near 5:42.
This week, we consider how unhealthy religion adds burdens to people- it can be something that binds people up in an oppressive way rather than liberating them. The Torah seems clear regarding work on Sabbath. So when Jesus heals a woman who has been oppressed by diseases for 18 years, we should not be surprised the legalistic religious types in the room take umbrage with Jesus’ actions. It is their uncompassionate response that leads Jesus to ask, “Doesn’t each of you on the Sabbath untie your ox or donkey from the stall and lead it out to give it water?” This is a nod to Exodus 23 (and Deuteronomy 5) which insists Sabbath is even for the rest and renewal of animals. Simply put, Sabbath is a gift. Sabbath is also a day of liberation: it is to remind the Israelites of their deliverance from slavery in Egypt. Thus, for Jesus, this day was about liberation. His words point seem to point toward how something good, like religion, can become something that oppresses rather than liberates.
In Luke 13.1-9, Pontius Pilate had just done the unthinkable. Apparently, his soldiers attacked worshippers in the temple while they performed their sacred rituals. One might expect heartfelt compassion from Jesus, but he doesn’t respond that way at all; rather he gives a warning of sorts. One that might lead the listener to think that maybe God was punishing people for their sins- you know, the sort of thing modern preachers do when a natural disaster causes the death of “sinful people.” Before the listeners can get their head around what Jesus is saying, he launches into a parable.
The parable is about a fig tree that doesn’t bear fruit. And at the end, it sounds like the tired caricature of an angry axe-wielding God who wants to cut the whole thing down. But what if Jesus’ parable was intended to wake the listener up? And what about the gardener in the story who defends the tree? The one who wants to give it a whole year to tend to it, to see that it will bear fruit? Maybe this parable shows that bad things don’t happen because God is angry. For whatever reason they do happen, and they have a chance to wake us up. And when we do awake, maybe there is a gardener who wants to tend to us – so that we can bear the fruit we were made to bear.
Reconciliation is so difficult; at some point you have to admit you are wrong and work toward forgiving the person who did you wrong. For as difficult as this is, Jesus sees this as an essential part of living. The downside of this is that it can fly in the face of what we might want or even demand. It challenges all of us, whether we are those who want to be right, or those who do not want to be wrong. But Jesus is tapping into something deeper here: he points toward people who are willing to reconcile at any cost. How do we live as a people willing to reconcile always? We must begin by remembering this is what has the power to bring peace and healing.
According to Luke 12:49-56, when one chooses to take a stand- to go in a direction, make a decision- division will often follow. This is true even of Jesus and the direction he takes.
Shortly after mentioning God’s presence, both Genesis 1 and John 1 speak of darkness. It is in the darkness where we find the Spirit, wind, breath of God fluttering over it like a mother bird watching intently to ensure her chicks don’t fall out of the nest or hit the ground in their first attempted take off. It is in the darkness where we find the light of Christ shining. Notice, the Divine Presence not only proceeds the darkness but is also found within it, and out of this he brings light and life.
So many circumstances surrounding the first Christmas recorded in Matthew and Luke were fraught with harsh circumstances. Rather than paint an idillic picture like Norman Rockwell may have, the gospel writers point to the reality of a dark world filled with dark powers at work. Against this backdrop we learn of the birth of Jesus, and even after his birth we quickly learn things were still not okay. There is no sanitizing this Christmas story which tells us about a candle lit in a dark room. While we still attempt to light up the dark nights in December, in some ways that may be a small way of denying the darkness that remains in our world. It may even drown out the real light that came to us on that sacred evening thousands of years ago. In this story, we find that the Bible does not shy away from the reality of pain, sorrow and darkness, but plunges headlong into it. This is what the Christmas story teaches us: God does not stand off, but is there in the midst of it all – vulnerable and with us.
With every bit of revelation we receive from God, with everything that is made known there are also some things that remain hidden in the dark. We see this when God comes to his people Israel when they are at the base of Mt. Siani. At no other time in their life had God revealed himself so completely, and yet there was darkness. The writer of Exodus tells us plainly after God had spoken the Ten Words, “The people remained at a distance, while Moses approached the thick darkness where God was” (Exodus 20.21). This specific Hebrew word araphel speaks of a darkness reserved for God. One that reveals and conceals. Which, if this teaches us anything it is this; even the darkness can reveal God to us.
Advent is something many are familiar with. Each year we ready ourselves for the coming of our king, Jesus. It is a season. A moment. A way of organizing our time. And we dare not lose the organizing of our time; when we do, we are just left with something else...something out of rhythm, something that has no beat – static, mush, white noise. But with Advent, we find ourselves pausing, expecting, looking ahead, anticipating, because something invaded our calendars and offered cadence. It's always been this way- time was built into the fabric of the cosmos from the very beginning. The creation poem in Genesis 1 has its own cadence: evening and morning. Day and night. Dark and light. This wisdom teaches us that darkness has its place in keeping a rhythm for our very lives. This is something modern science is teaching us too; our bodies need darkness to establish a rhythm for health. Without the darkness, there is only static.
This teaching begins with the assumption that we will serve God first, not money. It is within this frame of mind that Jesus says do not worry. Let’s be honest none of us want to have worry or have anxiety in our lives. Yet here Jesus points to both and simply says, “Don’t do this.” The question begs, “Is it possible for me to live a worry free life?” Jesus is not rejecting the importance of these things - he is simply pointing out that we live for something more than food and clothing. In this teaching, we examine how we can compassionately consider Jesus’ invitation in a time riddled with worry and anxiety.
How much anxiety, worry and fear stem from what we do or do not possess? It’s interesting to note that consternation over possessions is actually what leads Jesus to tell this story. A man wants Jesus to help him get his share of his inheritance. It makes sense, if he’s been cheated out of his share that he would want what’s coming to him. Jesus, however tells a story that insists true life is not the result of amassing possessions. In this story Jesus masterfully uses the first-person pronoun when speaking of the rich fool. His words are filled with “I”, “my”, “myself” and “me.” His pathetic situation of being wealthy and yet isolated is glaringly obvious to the hearer (see Isaiah 5.8), yet he is blind to his situation. It’s a hard story to hear because in so many ways it reflects back the desires so many have to attain wealth, amass possessions and get more and more. The message Jesus delivers is straight forward: The wealth you make in this life will give you all the life you will ever have. What God wants for us is to be wealthy in our hearts toward him, for then we will enjoy life now and the life to come.
Luke 12:1-12 is a troubling passage at so many levels and for so many reasons. Perhaps the most troubling is Jesus’ warning that what is secret will be made known. And it’s troubling because we all have secrets, some even unknown to ourselves. So how exactly will those secrets be made known? Well, when taken in context the larger teaching of Jesus points toward times of trouble and having to speak and testify – seemingly at the threat of one’s own life. Perhaps what Jesus is getting at is this: when the waters of our lives are stirred and the path we walk becomes rocky, what is really inside each of us is what comes out.
Jesus steps into the role of prophet in Luke 11.37-54, speaking to both Pharisees and lawyers at a dinner party. The theme of his words is simple and found right at the beginning; outwardly they are clean, but inwardly they are not. This is an apt description of hypocrisy; what you see is not what you get. Throughout the gospels it seems this is the one thing that angers Jesus more than anything.
Often, when reflecting on this, many have enjoyed pointing the finger at the Pharisees, the Teaches of the Law, the Scribes and the rest of that tribe. Perhaps this is due to the fact that we often enjoy witnessing those who believe they are good and righteous – and who proudly put that on display – get their comeuppance. However, it may be helpful to pause and consider the fact that we enjoy this. Does that not say something about our hearts? While Jesus seems to be angry over this, we must ask: Was he angry at them? Or, was he angry at the systems that enabled them to live this way?
In this teaching, we explore the legalistic impulse all of us have, and invite each and every person to look within and contrast that with what we show to others on the outside.
Jesus’ final words to his disciples as he ascended into heaven were “go.” This reflects something we witness in the life of Jesus that is so compelling that we believe it is the best and brightest hope for the world in which we live. In Jesus, we see all that was promised and a glimpse of what it to come and that we have the hope of the reconciliation and unity of all things. This is a work he is doing in every single place of the mutliverse – from the atomic level upward. And we are invited to join him in that work. This is a movement that was started in the backwoods of Northern Galilee and has not stopped since. It’s not about furthering a religion or making our church brand more well-known or being relevant or proving ourselves right. Not. At. All. This is about celebrating the Christ, imitating the Christ, and working together to see the Kingdom of Heaven come on earth as it is in heaven. It is a movement.
In his letter to the church in Corinth Paul expounds at great length about the group of Jesus followers being together in unity- and as parts of a greater whole, also being together in diversity. This was not just diversity in their individual gifts, but also diversity in ethnicity, background, preferences, beliefs and practices. To hammer home his point, he compares this community to the body – a body, which is not their own, but the Body of Christ. This phrase, which is well-known in Christian circles, points toward an invitation: it invites the reader to recognize we are a part of something far larger than ourselves or any one single local faith community. Paul’s metaphor points toward something as infinite as the universe, which is to say, it points to The Christ. What a powerful thought that we, like Jesus, are the flesh and bone manifestation of what has been true since before the foundations of the world. This is not just about us, our tribe, our way of doing things, our particular philosophy of leadership; together we are those who point toward the deepest of all mysteries by the way we live our lives in community.
Tradition has long been a part of the Church. Some scoff at it, while others embrace in such a way that it seems they may never let it go. What’s interesting is how Paul speaks to the church in Thessalonica about tradition. He encourages the community there to “hold fast” to the traditions given them. The word he uses for “traditions” literally translated “to give over.” Apparently for Paul neither scoffing at these things and holding fast to them is what we are to do. Rather, like Paul “handed over” teachings to this community, they are to do the same. This makes sense because we are always handing over something to those who follow us. The question is are we doing this with intention? Do we know what we are handing over? In the days of deconstruction in which we find ourselves, this is a pressing and important question for us to consider. As we do we remember the broad, deep stream we swim in when we speak about the Church. We also recognize we do not leave things behind in the way we think we do, rather we carry them with us in new ways. So, what was handed to us, and what are we handing over to those following us? After all, we are all a part of a great Tradition.
The phrase Jesus uses about the “eye being the lamp of the body” was a Jewish idiom that spoke about generosity; this is why the word “healthy” in the NIV translation can also refer to “generous.” It seems then, Jesus teaches that generosity brings about light within us, a light that reflects the generosity of God. Of course, speaking about generosity has fallen on hard times. But if Jesus is inviting us to be generous, then this is something we need to pay attention to: remembering he is always inviting everyone toward full life – a life filled with light. Jesus seems to be on to something.
In this teaching, Lead Pastor Michael Hidalgo helps us explore dying the rising as a universal pattern that we are invited to join. Jesus said the only sign given would be the sign of Jonah. In early literature during and shortly after Jesus’ time, this sign pointed toward resurrection. Rather than looking for miracles or divine apparitions, Jesus is heading into the belly of the earth. This sign that he gives, is also one he invites us to imitate. This is the sign of Jesus. There is an incipient wisdom to this pattern that is seen in and through all things; the dying and the rising. Perhaps if we only had eyes to see, we would learn to see this mystery in and through all things.
Jesus presents the religious with a new vision of who he was and what he was going to do in their midst. He uses violent language: "break-in," "tie up," "plunder," which are all illegal activities; yet this is the metaphor Jesus uses, digging into his opponents with this language. He is not simply disagreeing; he is pointing out that they are complicit in the Kingdom that will fall … along with its “house” (a seeming reference to the temple). In Jesus' time, it was believed that when Israel lost its independence that God relegated the rule of Israel to earthly powers – to the devil and his angels. While it seems that Jesus is speaking philosophically and mythologically, he may also be making a bold statement about the coming destruction of Israel. Jesus, it seems, is going about binding up the strong man, and cleaning house. And what exactly is he “plundering” – Jesus is answering a question posed by the prophet Isaiah in Isaiah 49: “Can plunder be taken from a warrior …?” God’s reply is a firm “yes.” And the plunder are the captives who are set free.
What is our relationship with God when it comes to prayer? How can we be bold and brazen in this relationship, trusting in who God is? Initially this seems as though we should to ask God for whatever it is our hearts desire, persistently knocking at God's door. Is this really how prayer works? God will deliver something to us, if only to get us to pipe down? Jesus speaks about asking and seeking and knocking, which is an idiom that refers to the study of Torah and how one should approach the text. If we are faithful to pursue the text like this, then we will better understand what it means to ask God for good things.
Luke tells us, “One day Jesus was praying in a certain place.” It was only when he finished that his disciple asked him to teach them how to pray, which causes one to wonder: what did this disciples see and experience in Jesus’ prayer that led him to make this request? It’s possible we can know this based on the words of Jesus that follow- an intimate prayer that looks to God and the Kingdom for the present (daily bread), the past (forgive us) and toward the future (lead us not into temptation). Whether we understand exactly why the request was made we, like the disciples, can learn that this simple prayer covers all of life – our regrets of the past, our immediate needs of the day, our hopes for the future – placing all of it in the hands of a God who listens.
Michael Hidalgo walks us through the story of Jesus, Mary and Martha in Luke 10:38-42. Martha is the one who plays host to Jesus, which suggests that this is her household. In this story, it is often assumed that Martha is the one who doesn’t “get it” while Mary is the one who is praised by Jesus. And while Jesus does say that Mary has chosen what it better, it is not that straightforward. Luke tells us that Martha’s work matters. The word he uses to describe her work most often relates to the work of ministry, and that is what she is doing. Her hospitality then makes her and her household a place of peace for Jesus and his disciples (see Luke 9.1-6, 10.5-6). It is from this place that she asks Jesus to tell Mary to join her in the work of ministry. Mary, we learn is “sat at the lord’s feet" (a Jewish idiom for being a disciple). Perhaps this is why Jesus says that she has chosen what is better; she is listening, paying attention, learning and hearing the words of Jesus.
Guest teacher Jason Miller concludes Denver Community Church's summer series, "57 Words."
Guest teacher Michelle Warren continues the Denver Community Church summer series, "57 Words."
Guest teacher Hannah Thom continues Denver Community Church's summer series, "57 Words."
Family Ministries Pastor Nick Elio teaches on the Lord's Prayer in week 3 of Denver Community Church's summer series.
Guest teacher Pastor Jasper Peters continues our summer series at Denver Community Church.
We will not have a message to share this week as our community is expressing worship through support of our LGBTQAI+ sisters, brothers and siblings at Pride Fest. Check back next week as we resume our journey into the Book of Luke.
He came by the place where the person was hurting, beaten and naked to provide assistance in the form of clothing, water, cleaning wounds and a ride on a donkey. Sound familiar? Well, when Jesus told this story it wouldn’t have been offensive only because he makes a hero out of one of their most despised peoples; it’s doubly offensive because he calls them to remember a story from their past. What Jesus has the Samaritan in his story do - bandaging, pouring oil and wine and giving donkey rides - is an echo of what Samaritan soldiers did for their wounded and captured countrymen hundreds of years earlier. But many years later, Samaritans, in a rage, scattered human bones all over the Jewish temple courts.
Isn’t it astounding the way we can remember the parts of the story that serve the opinion we would like to have of someone, and how easily we can forget the times we served one another and treated each other with honor and dignity? How interesting that the most recent offense has a way of blotting out of our memories years of good? What is it that is so painful about remembering the joy that once was while in the midst of angst? Isn’t this life and relationships? One day we honor each other and the next day we insult each other (knowingly and unknowingly), and in the middle we have to figure out how to go about remembering our stories with others. What do we hold onto? What do we let go of? What action gets to have the last word about someone in our heads? Or is there a better way Jesus invites us to go about this?
It can feel good to quote Jesus when he says, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” But in this text, none of that seems true. People are not supposed to have a home, bury their dead or treat their families with respect?
While these words are challenging, Jesus is inviting his followers toward a single-minded way of life. One that is devoted to and focused on the true, good and beautiful life of the Kingdom. This is in keeping with the traditions found within Judaism and Christianity – both seeing God as one. If God is one, then we are invited to live and be the same.
There are plenty of stories of fire falling from heaven on perceived enemies of God. Whether the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, or the one that seems to be reflected in 2 Kings 1 where Elijah twice confronts messengers of Ahaziah with fire from heaven that consumes them. It is no wonder then, that James and John wanted to call down fire from heaven; it was part of their tradition. As much as there may have been precedent, it seems Jesus is not interested in their ideas of violence; instead, he rebukes them in the same way he rebuked the sea. Although the Samaritans rejected Jesus, he did not seem interested in punishing them.
Jesus, once again, speaks of the upside-down nature of the Kingdom of heaven as he speaks of the pursuit of being least. In our context, we award the best, fastest, strongest, and those who win. Jesus confuses everyone by saying it is the “least among you all who is the greatest.” We say this, we hear this, but what does this mean exactly, and what does this look like in our context today in Denver?
Why are we enamored, as a culture, with the “next best thing”? Is it possible that there is something within us that knows this world was created in perfection? Is it possible that something hardwired deep inside us knows that things are supposed to be better? Is it this longing that leads us to pursue “stronger, better, faster”? The mysterious answer to that question seems to be found in the journey of descent.
From a “mountain top” experience to the depths of pain: Jesus is approached by a father who is begging for healing for his son. What parent would not do everything and anything they could to find healing for their son? But in a seeming turn Jesus does not seem to respond with compassion, rather he responds with exasperation. And to whom is he speaking? There is little that is clear here in this story regarding his response.
One thing we do know – whatever the cause of the son’s maladies – there is something wrong with what is happening. This is why Jesus heals the boy, and the people are amazed at the greatness of God; yet another phrase which is also unclear in this context. Are they saying that Jesus is God? Are they praising God because of Jesus’ actions? We are left to wonder. What seems clear is the opposition that will face Jesus and his followers, even after moments on the mountain top.
In Luke 9.28-36, Peter, James and John witness something extraordinary: Jesus’ pedestrian clothing change into magnificent, gleaming robes, his face changes in appearance, and two of the greatest prophets show up- all surrounded by glory. Somehow amidst this incredible experience, the disciples become fully awake to all that was going on...they could see.
We invest, save, work, achieve, accumulate, gain for what? Jesus asks, “What good is all of this if you end up forfeiting your soul? This powerful question pits the external against the internal. So often we take our cues from our society, family, culture and surroundings so that we might catch a glimpse of what the “good life” is, and in doing so miss what is really stirring within.
Perhaps, in order to not forfeit our souls, we need to learn to access and listen to them. Perhaps be must understand this thing within us is God given and wishes to speak to us. It is what God has wired within us from the very beginning and wishes for us to discover.
In Luke 9:18-20, Jesus asks a question of his disciples regarding his identity. They repeat what Luke wrote earlier in chapter 9: Elijah or John the Baptist or perhaps another prophet. But Jesus is not content with just knowing what others are saying, he wants to know what they would say.
There is a key line in the story of Jesus feeding 5,000+ people. “You give them something to eat.” Of course, the dumbfounded disciples point out the obvious. They barely have enough for five people, let alone 5,000. This is of no consequence to Jesus, he asks them to bring what they have - five loaves and two fish. And then, the disciples give the people something to eat.
There are several miracles unfolding in this story, including the way the food was distributed - by the hands of the disciples. How often do we think we don’t have enough? How often do we think we are not enough? Maybe, we only need to bring what we do have to Jesus, so that, like the disciples, we may find we have everything we need to serve others.
In Luke 24, the two disciples on the road have their eyes shut and do not know Jesus. Their eyes are only opened when Jesus breaks the bread, symbolizing his broken body. This is how we learn to see Jesus in our sorrow; by his sharing his brokenness with us.
Our theology of separation is not only between us and the earth, but also between us and God. We often imagine God somewhere out there and we are down here. Our task, if we choose to accept it, is to say or do or believe any number of things to make it to where God is. This story has maintained traction in the human psyche for centuries. But it is not a story found in the Sacred Text. The story told in the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures is about a God who “is all and is in all.” A God who is not only with us, but One who holds “all things together.” A God who is here.
God’s plan is for us to be God’s presence, light, life and life right here, right now. What might it say to us as human beings that we are invited to be that in our world? While it may sound above us, it also has the power to tell us how God feels about us as humans. Perhaps we have set the bar too low, and, in doing so, believe that Jesus did it all and we can simply enjoy the ride. Should we think this way we will forget we are not passengers; we are crew. Each of us has a part to play in being the presence of God in our world.
This week, as Jesus foreshadows his own death in speaking about the shepherd who lays down his life for his flock, we examine the stories we've been told about Jesus' death, and what it means for creation.
This week we look at Genesis 3. We reflect on the glory of being human, and how sin is something that scars the beauty with which we are born. In this then, our contrition is admitting we have stooped below the identity we’ve been given and trusting that God is one who freely restores our beauty.
In one of the stranger stories of the prophets, God calls Ezekiel to prophecy to a valley of dry bones. What follows is an illustration to us of what God can do with the situations in our lives that appear to be nothing more than a graveyard.
A curious fact about the Hebrew Scriptures is that there are two separate creation narratives. While the first offers no detail about how humans were fashioned by God, the second gives great detail – saying we are “formed from the dust of the ground.” Literally, we come from dirt. Recent science has told us we come from the dust of the stars, which may sound a little better. Both, however, suggest the same thing to us: we are a part of the universe in which we live all the way down to the atomic level.
As we begin the season of Lent, we will be spending the next six weeks digging into what it means to embrace The Glory of Being Human. This week, we read in Genesis about the inherent royalty of every human being, and see a unique opportunity to offer this dignity to a family currently living a very dehumanizing existence.
As we look at the way Jesus chose to bring about the good news of His kingdom here on earth, namely through His disciples, a young group of misfits from all kinds of different backgrounds, we see a picture of a God who's plan for His coming kingdom depends on those who, from our perspective, do not always inspire great confidence.
As we continue reading in Luke, we are reminded of Christ's invitation toward women. In a society that pushes women to the margins, both in Jesus' day and ours, His invitation is always toward becoming whole, and for so many women that means waking up and living into our full, human size.
As we continue in Luke 8, we will walk through the historic backdrop of this story and the words and heart of Jesus behind it. Ultimately pointing toward Jesus instructing this man, and all of us, to “Go and tell.”
As we read in Luke about the disciples fearing for their lives as they're caught in a storm at sea, we must confront the fear driven narratives that we create in our lives, and the fact that often we fail to leave space for the reality of what alsois true.
In Luke chapter 8, Jesus talks about lamps, hearing, having and losing, and who He calls family.
As we read the Parable of the Sower in Luke, we might be tempted to make the story all about how to make sure our hearts are the right kind of soil? But what if Jesus is inviting us to ponder the mystery of a God who sows good seeds no matter the condition of the soil?
It seems to be a part of the human condition to avoid being wrong at all costs. This is first seen in the Garden of Eden when both the man and the woman pass off wrongdoing by blaming their actions on someone else. The tragedy in this is that in avoiding being wrong, we miss the opportunity to experience the grace of true forgiveness bestowed on us. In the end, we will only love little.
This Christmas Eve, we celebrate the birth of Jesus in the most ordinary of circumstances.
In Matthew's Gospel, the author is not shy about who Jesus is born to be: the long expected king. The problem is, at the time that Christ was born, there was a whole crowd of others looking to claim the same title. Therefore, the declaration of the coming of a newborn king was not something to be taken lightly, but a dangerous and subversive statement.
This week, as we look at the reality of God deciding to inhabit human flesh, we’re left to wonder, what if the meaning of Christmas is one of liberation, one where our very bodies could be set free by the reality of the Divine Presence.
This week, we read in Matthew about what we commonly refer to as the story of the Magi, in which wise men, or kings, from the east see a star appear, and follow it to Bethlehem so that they might worship a newborn king. Their interaction with Herod in Jerusalem brings up the question, are we those more interested in questions and worship, or being right? And how might our worship leave us different than when we came?
In our current context dreams are often seen as “weird” or “odd” or simply a complex web of thoughts our brains sort through at the end of the day - somehow deciding what to keep and what to delete. But the stories at the beginning of Matthew’s Gospel suggest a very different way of viewing and understanding dreams; to the extent that they are central the Christmas story. Somehow, this dream suggests that we may need to pay attention to more than what is in the tangible world.
This week, in Luke chapter 7, we find John the Baptist in a moment of questioning. Imprisoned by Herod and facing death, the question arises: “Is Jesus indeed the Messiah? And if so, why doesn’t deliverance look the way I expected it might?”
This week we look at Luke 7:11-17 and engage how many of us find ourselves experiencing the death of something - a dream, a hope, a job, a relationship, a marriage a future. How often are we in the large crowd mourning? What would it be like to encounter another crowd with Jesus - one humming with life? It can feel cheap to promise life in the midst of death, but we must not forget even in the darkest moments there is something of a promise of resurrection.
This week we find a Roman Centurion, someone who is about as far from being in Jesus' "in" group as you can possibly be, expressing his faith in Jesus.
Join us as we welcome guest speaker Brian McLaren, author of “Do I Stay Christian”, as we walk through a passage in Acts where we find Jesus’ apostles ushering in a different economy, a different politic, and a dangerously subversive picture of God’s Kingdom versus the culture of the day.
This week we look at the invitation as followers of Christ to live into a future where we may not know what is coming, but we know who is coming.
Sometimes the past looks glorious from the present. This is especially the case when the present isn’t so great. We see this in the lives of the people of Israel after being freed from their captivity in Egypt. They live in inhospitable conditions, totally and completely dependent on daily food provisions, drinking water from the rock, with an eye on an unknown place and an unknown future. Who wouldn’t look back and want to go there, no matter how bad that may have been. But what happens when you can’t go back?
Jesus tells his disciples that the Temple system, the center of Jewish Religious life, will come to an end. Like all things made by human hands it will not last forever; there will be an ending. This is a truth woven into the fabric of life. But as we will learn together, endings are what gives birth to new life, to new beginnings.
As Jesus finishes His 'Sermon on the Plain', he concludes by calling to attention not so much what we believe, but how we live. In a world where many of us have placed such emphasis on faith vs. works, Jesus asks us to examine if how we live might actually be the greatest indication of what we truly believe.
This week we consider what Jesus has to say about Judgment in Luke 6. Often, we consider “blind guides” and those who judge with the “plank in their own eye” lousy religious types. But what if there is more here? What if this passage is not about bashing those who judge or refuse to forgive or remove their plank from their eye? What if, instead, this is an invitation for us to become those who are generous in the way we see others, because we have learned to be honest about how we see ourselves? What if by removing the planks we are able to compassionately and generously “see” others have sight and live free and generous lives?
This week we welcome back lead pastor Michael Hidalgo from a 4 month sabbatical, and he shares with us a perspective on obedience that may be a shift from how we’ve always thought about it as we read from Matthew 26:36-46.
This week we hear Jesus teach his followers to love their enemies. Guest teacher Cari Jenkins asks, "how can we love like God if there is any part of creation that we do not love?"
This week, as we read in Luke about the words Jesus uses as he calls those who would follow Him, he paints a picture of blessing for those on the margins, and a warning to those living in comfort. This leaves us to wonder, what about those of us who land somewhere in the middle?
In Luke chapter 6, we find a group of Pharisees following Jesus and his disciples and angrily accusing them of not keeping Sabbath. But what if Sabbath was about more than militant rest? What if there's an invitation, not into greater rule keeping, but into deep delight?
This week, we enter back into our study of Luke as we see the Pharisees looking to Jesus for answers, but are instead met with an invitation toward a deeper question.
As we continue our summer teaching season "On The Move", guest speaker Ryan Taylor (author, Awkward Spirituality) guides us through the Sabbath need to take time in our lives to stop moving, stop striving, stop expecting, and treat ourselves with the tenderness we are called to show to the world around us.
Join us as we continue our Summer guest teaching series "On The Move" as friend of DCC, TED speaker/coach, and pastor of Left Hand Church Paula Williams shares the type of peace making demonstrated by Christ, which is a far cry from mere peace "keeping".
SUMMER SERIES: ON THE MOVE - God, the ultimate participant in all things, is always on the move - in our world, in others, in us. This summer our friends will come and share about where they observe God on the move - in their lives and in the life of the world. This week we hear from guest teacher Landon Lynch.
SUMMER SERIES: ON THE MOVE God, the ultimate participant in all things, is always on the move - in our world, in others, in us. This summer our friends will come and share about where they observe God on the move - in their lives and in the life of the world. This week we hear from guest teacher Kristin Wright.
SUMMER SERIES: ON THE MOVE God, the ultimate participant in all things, is always on the move - in our world, in others, in us. This summer our friends will come and share about where they observe God on the move - in their lives and in the life of the world. This week we hear from guest teacher Cari Jenkins.
SUMMER SERIES: ON THE MOVE
God, the ultimate participant in all things, is always on the move - in our world, in others, in us. This summer our friends will come and share about where they observe God on the move - in their lives and in the life of the world. This week we hear from guest teacher Michelle Cazas.
This week we’ll talk about our tendency to only see Jesus as the one who spent time with the sinners, the sick, and the outcasts of society, when in reality, he was just as likely to sit down with tax collectors, the religious elite, and those in power in his day. We must ask ourselves who, perhaps because of their high social stature, do we incorrectly consider to be beyond the influence of Jesus?
As Jesus heals a man whose friends lowered him through the roof (THE ROOF!), we see that Jesus is a God who seeks to heal us spiritually and physically, even when hoping on our own is too much to bear.
When we look at how Jesus interacts with those traditionally considered as 'unclean' and 'outsiders', we learn that He is not only willing to heal, but to become one of us, even to the point of being counted among the unclean.
We will explore how often we deem ourselves failures, unworthy and as those who don’t measure up. This causes us to wonder whether we have what it takes to join Jesus in the work he is doing in our world. This story assures all who are willing that the simple invitation of Jesus, “Follow me,” is in fact for everyone.
As we seek to model our lives more and more after the life of Jesus, guest teacher Mike Goldsworthy challenges us to live more fully into who we were made to be in order to be a healing presence in our world. When we do this, we must ask, "where does our deepest gladness meet the world's greatest need?"
Jesus grew up in a small town. Very small. Like all small towns, not only did everyone know Jesus, his parents and surely the rumors of scandal around his birth, but they also likely never let him outgrow his roots. He would always be “Joseph’s son.” It is this context when Jesus is in the synagogue and reads the words of Isaiah 61. Initially everyone is delighted at his reading and his short sermon following. But then he pushes the envelope. He begins pointing to the pattern of unbelief among their ancestors recorded in the Sacred Text.
The story we hear in Luke 4.14-30 is filled with so many fascinating details to explore and learn. However, Luke’s account of this varies from the others for one important reason. Jesus provokes those present by contrasting their unbelief to the faithfulness of Gentiles. Again revealing his inclusive vision for the world into which he was sent.
Today, we read in Luke about Jesus' 40 days of solitude and temptation in the desert. If we are truly to be those who model our lives after Christ, what is the invitation for us in this wilderness. What kind of initiation might this be into a deeper way of living?
In our world today we often forget that Jesus was Jewish. More than just an ethnicity or religious label, this influenced the way people understood his work and his mission. Luke, from the very beginning, works to blow all that up and his family line is one example. Jesus, in his heritage, is connected to everyone - like all people - he too is a child of God. He is flesh and bone, and the invitation to live like him is simple, and yet difficult. Love God, love our neighbor, and love ourselves.
As we read this week about John the Baptist, who called those being baptized towards repentance, we examine what repentance really invites us into. Simply put, to repent is to turn away from the old, and towards something new. But how often in our modern culture do we really allow things to end in order to let something new begin.
On this Easter Sunday, a closer look at the gospel accounts of Christ's resurrection show a picture of a group of people who could not actually believe what was right in front of them. And even when they did recognize the resurrected Jesus, it seemed that the world around them stayed much the same. How might we recognize and expect resurrection in our own lives, though the brokenness and pain of the world around us remains?
We explore the beatitude found in Matthew 5:9 – “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God” and will continue to think about mending divides within to be “everyday peacemakers” in our world. That we would be what we want to see in the world.
As we read the beatitude, "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God", we are left to ask: what is a pure heart? In a world that celebrates and elevates performance and visibility, could Jesus be inviting us into the silence of our own hearts?
This week we welcome guest teacher Dave Meserve as we read through the beatitude, "Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy."
This week we read the beatitude "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled". A hunger for righteousness, or justice, is something that many of us feel in a world rife with injustice, so much so that it can be overwhelming and cause us to shut down and shut out. Is there a way we can welcome all the pain and injustice in our world and allow it to work our hearts so that we might see justice in our communities?
The meek are not those who are pushovers, but those who are willing to do and pursue what is right regardless of what it costs them - and in the time of the prophets and in Jesus' day what it cost them was land. In the midst of this time, Jesus offers a blessing, "Blessed are those who do not practice domination and violence in order to seize what was never theirs in the first place, for you will inherit what God has long wanted to give you."
As we continue our Lent series in the beatitudes, special guest and friend of DCC Jonathan Merritt reads with us, "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted". Is there a difference between grief and mourning, and what does mourning require of us?
In the second chapter of Luke, we get the only Gospel account of Jesus as a boy, where his mother and father spend 3 days searching for him after the feast of Passover. What can we learn from the way that Jesus behaves in this passage, and what does that invite us into as followers, and some of us as parents?
As we continue reading in Luke, we find two elders who rejoice after their decades of waiting is answered in the form of a baby. How is it that there was a time when we could wait decades with hope and intention, but today our patience is limited to somewhere around 3 seconds? And how might rediscovering the value of waiting open us to a whole new way of living?
As we look at the story of Christ's birth in Luke, we see a God who becomes ordinary, and is seemingly only recognized BY the ordinary. In a world where we are constantly told to be extraordinary, what freedom might exist for us in surrendering to the ordinary as Jesus modeled?
As we finish reading in the first chapter of Luke, we look at the difference between imposed peace, such as Pax Romana, and the peace that exists when creation is as it should be. This is what we call Shalom.
When we think of Mary, many of us may picture a serene and gentle young woman in a baby blue cloak, softly staring into a manger. The picture that Luke paints of Mary happens to be anything but. Why have we set Mary aside as nothing more than a "holy womb", and what might we learn from her fierce and sacrificial way of living?
NOTE: The first few minutes of audio this week are low quality, but once the teaching begins it improves.
Mary’s story has become so common we stand to miss the larger story of Mary’s initiation. She has just said a courageous “Yes” to partner with God, but her choice forever sends her in a new direction. In a sense, she “betrays the village” and in doing so is thrown into a new world with new challenges. All the while, she carries within her the nourishment she needs, the “fruit of her womb.” And Elizabeth is there with her, as a guide, to lead her toward peace.
When it comes to the work of God in our world there are often two ways of thinking. First is that it is all up to humanity to get the work done. This discounts the power of the Great Mystery who is always at work. The second is that we need to “just trust God” which allows us off the hook for the most part - we can simply do nothing. But what the virgin birth tells us is that God and humanity work together to bring about renewal to bear in this world.
As we begin our study of the book of Luke, we find the priest Zechariah robbed of his ability to speak or hear so that he might observe the thing that God is doing. How might we embrace silence to welcome the movement of God?
As we step into a new year, we begin a new season of teaching through the book of Luke.
In this 4th and final week of Advent, we find the story of David and Bathsheba, and ask whether or not we have been reading the story as plainly as it is presented in scripture.
In this 3rd week of Advent, we look at the story of Ruth and ask, what story might we be invited into in our own lives?
In this second week of Advent, we find the story of Rahab, and we talk about what ALL of us have to learn from the women of the Bible.
In this first week of Advent, we look into the genealogy of Jesus and find a woman, Tamar, who on the surface might not be considered a picture of virtue. When we look deeper, however, we see that she represents a sort of justice that we might be invited to imitate in our own lives.
As we wrap up our season of teaching on the kingdom, "You Ready?", we hear Jesus tell us that the kingdom is in our midst. Or does he say it's within us? What if it's both?
This week we find Peter cutting off the ear of the high priest's servant when they come to arrest Jesus, however Jesus doesn't seem interested in repaying violence with violence. What if instead of reacting with violence, we were those who reacted with curiosity?
As we continue our season in the parables, we find the story of a businessman who finds treasure and sells everything he owns to buy the field where it belongs. While we often focus on the sacrifice of selling out to gain the kingdom, what if this story is more about the joy of finding something of infinite value?
As we continue "You Ready?", a season of teaching in the parables, Michael reads from Matthew 13, where we find the answer to the age old question: What do mustard seeds and leaven have to do with moped gangs and baby shark?
As we continue teaching from the parables, what do we make of Jesus' picture of a farmer being told not to uproot the weeds from their crop fields? Is he really asking us not to root out the evil all around us?
As we begin a new season of teaching entitled "You Ready?", Michael contrasts the Kingdom of God with the Empires on Earth.
As we wrap up 3 weeks of exploration of our identity as Denver Community Church, we look at what we are called to as those who embody the presence of Christ in the world today.
This week, we will look at what we are invited into as believers and followers of Christ. Is it simply to accept and adopt a set of behaviors and beliefs, or are we invited into participating in something deeper?
This week, as we begin "An Expansive Story", a brief season exploring our identity at DCC, Michael runs through an exhaustive list of the qualifications necessary for being a part of God's priesthood. Spoiler alert- it's pretty short.
In today's teaching, we read from James, as he encourages the Church toward perseverance, or discipline. When it comes to perseverance in today's world, most people are considered either fragile snowflakes or resilient, but what if there was a third way? Enter anti-fragility- the idea that we were actually created to become stronger by engaging fully with the things that cause suffering or pain in our lives.
As we continue in our season of teaching, "Yes to Life", we encounter the apostles rejoicing after being imprisoned and flogged at the hands of the religious elite. What may seem like madness actually makes sense once we understand that they were living within the perspective of a much larger story.
Listen from September 5th as we read from Job and explore what it looks like to discover meaning in our lives, for it is then that we are able to move in and through suffering with a sense of something deeper afoot - more than just our circumstances.
As we begin our new season of teaching, "Yes to Life (In Spite of Everything)", Michael walks us through scripture's central theme of suffering as a pathway forward into a deeper life.
As we wrap up our summer season of teaching, friend of DCC Kay Morrison shares about what it might look like to live into the reality that even in our darkest moments, Jesus is present with us.
This week we hear from DCC Spiritual Formation Pastor Bekah Stewart, as she guides us through an exploration of the various ways we engage with God in seasons of disorientation.
As we continue our summer season of teaching, DCC Pastor Amanda Lum shares what's been stirring within her in this season as she brings into focus the safety that is available to us when we understand God's desire to be our shield.
As we continue our summer season of teaching, we welcome back former DCC pastor Landon Lynch to share a message about the life that is available to us should we release our anxieties and expectations and live in the present moment, entrusting all things to God.
In another week of our Summer season of Teaching, "A Stirring In Our Souls", friend of DCC, neighboring pastor and "Awkward Spirituality" author Ryan Taylor encourages us to not lose sight of who we are.
This year our summer season of teaching will be a mix of DCC Leadership and friends of DCC sharing what’s most stirring in our souls – what’s been moving and re-shaping these individuals in this long season we have found ourselves in across the globe.
Our summer season of teaching, 'A Stirring In Our Souls' begins with an examination of the role grief plays in a life of healthy spirituality. Join us as we examine how being present to our grief can open us up to the aliveness God intends for us.
The Italian prophet Malachi (please use this joke in my absence) writes to the people pointing out the ways they continue to break the covenant with God. In the midst of this he also points out how God has remained faithful to them. It is God’s faithfulness and power, that will ultimately bring both judgment and renewal for the people. And when that happens, “… He will turn the hearts of the parents to their children, and the hearts of the children to their parents” (4.5,6). But it’s not all roses, there will be punishment as well during the “great and dreadful day of the Lord.”
How do we square this sort of thing in our time today? The idea of a God who punishes seems, for some, antiquated, and many struggle with the idea of ever worshipping a God who does this sort of thing? Does God really only love those who are faithful to God (see verses Malachi 1:2-3)? Perhaps our answer comes through the vision of Elijah returning. Many associate Elijah with the Messiah, who we believe to be Jesus. When we look at Jesus what do we think when it comes to a God who is angry?
The name Zechariah means “The Lord Remembers.” And there is a thread of God inviting the people to remember their history. look back, learn from mistakes and remember the faithfulness of God. This is no small thing, as humanity continually fails to learn from history. Hence, we repeat the mistakes of the past. This is, in part, what Zechariah insists the people pay attention to, their history and God’s faithfulness.
What can it mean for us, then, to remember well? To remember “rightly”? How do we look at the sins of the past, the wrongdoing of those who came before us, and respond in a way that remains faithful? In what ways will we see God’s goodness and faithfulness in the midst of that?
The temple in Jerusalem was the center of Jewish life. When Babylon sacked Jerusalem they destroyed the majestic temple, built by King Solomon. The Babylonians exiled the Jewish people, and they hung up their harps - refusing to sing. Eventually, Babylon was sacked by Persia, and the Persian King Cyrus allowed the Jewish People to return to Jerusalem to rebuild the city and its temple. There was some opposition, along with discouragement that the second temple would never be as majestic as Solomon’s.
Enter Haggai. He brings words of encouragement to the people. It expresses God’s longing to have a house, a place where the people are able to once again enjoy fellowship with one another and with the Divine. There is something beautiful about this. A God who sends a prophet to strengthen and encourage people so they can spend time together.
Today as we read from Zephaniah, we ask the question: how do we learn to see "the other" in the same way we see ourselves?
Habakkuk is interesting as there is no direct message given to the people of Judah. Rather, it is a record of the prophet’s conversation with God. One could even say it is an argument with God. The prophet cries out against the way things have played out in his nation; believing them to be unjust. God replies to the prophet two times, which leads to a response - one of trust.
This trust expressed is not because everything is going to work out well or because things are suddenly all better. Not even close. Habakkuk says, “Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior” (3.17,18). This is the conclusion Habakkuk comes to.
This week we will focus on Nahum and take a look at why we might find it hard to hear of the anger and outrage in our world today. Could it be that we might be complicit in the pain and oppression that has brought about this anger?
Micah begins on a tear against the leaders of Israel and he goes on for some time. He announces God’s fierce anger against them for their constant injustice. He says, “Hear this, you leaders of Jacob, you rulers of Israel, who despise justice and distort all that is right; who build Zion with bloodshed, and Jerusalem with wickedness” (3:9,10). As you read his poetry, his words spoken it is sobering and upsetting. Sobering because of its seriousness. Upsetting because of the injustice spoken against. If there is any prophetic book that speaks in a way to stir up the anger of the reader, it is Micah. But then something happens … kindness, compassion.
This comes not from Micah, but from God. There is a certain sorrow in God’s anger. Like a loving parent who watches their child head down a destructive path, there is an ache, a love, a longing that things will change. Because the parent knows, if things do not change destruction will be the outcome. This is the heart of God reflected here. Anger with ache. It is from this place that God invites the people back to relationship - not through religious ritual but through a life, a way of walking (See: Halachah) - one that reflects justice, loving-kindness and humility.
The prophets are bizarre books, and among them the most bizarre is the book of Jonah. Is this historic or a parable? Is it based on an actual person named Jonah or is Jonah a name that refers to one who is “senseless” (see the Hebrew word meaning: “dove”)? Even more, is this a prophet? We seem comfortable saying he is, the book is even counted among the prophetic books of the Hebrew Scriptures, but the book itself does not call Jonah a prophet. So, what do we do with this odd, seemingly out-of-place book that tells a story that is wildly popular?
Regardless of what we believe about the story, one thing the reader observes is Jonah is a story about his failure. He fails in his response to God’s call, he fails in his attempted escape and he fails in the message he delivers to Nineveh (at least he thought so). He believed his message would bring about the doom he prophesied. Instead, it stirred God’s compassion. And this was Jonah’s greatest failure. He failed to appreciate the compassion of God.
This week we'll look at the book of Obadiah, where the prophet speaks to a people who are rejoicing in their enemy's calamity, asking "Is this how you treat family?"
When Amos, a shepherd, came around the people of Israel were enjoying the good life (6:1-7). Well, not all of them. The ones enjoying the good life were on the “top” of the social order; the ones oppressing those on the bottom. And those on the bottom were the ones working to ensure the good life remained for those at the top. They enjoyed safety, security, wealth and allowed their places of worship to become pagan centers of worship. The women even told the men, “Bring us some drinks!” (4:1), while others went hungry and thirsty. Of course, they did all of this with impunity believing that as long as they worshipped God and performed some religious rites, they were pretty much good to go.
God’s response? ““I hate, I despise your religious festivals; your assemblies are a stench to me. Even though you bring me burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them …” (5:21,22). You see, God never says, “I reject your justice because of your lack of worship!” Rather God insists, “I reject your worship because of your lack of justice.” This is what the people of God got backward, and what unhealthy religion gets backward constantly. Religion is not to serve our comforts, but to lead us to seek the healing and justice of our world. This is why Amos cries out, “Let justice roll down like a river!”
Joel speaks of an army invading and the coming destruction it will bring. The army here are locusts and ancient people understood the power of such an army. They would devour everything in their path until nothing is left. Famine and drought would follow close behind. So what are the people to do? Well, according to the prophet, now is a time for wailing, mourning, weeping, despair, sackcloth, fasting and repentance. For this is a time, when all is stripped away, they are able to see things more clearly. And when they can see, they can repent.
It is then that there will be restoration. God has compassion on God’s people (2:18), will restore their land (2:25) and will pour out God’s spirit (2:28). Which raises the question, “Is this how it all works?” Because it seems like, according to Joel, God punishes to get our attention, and when we repent, then God relents. Perhaps. It’s also possible that when we turn (the literal meaning of the Hebrew word for repent) toward God we recognize the God who has been there the whole time. In this, we are able to recalibrate the way we live and move in this world.
Perhaps there is not better prophet to speak to the United States in 2021 than Hosea. He spoke mostly to the Northern Kingdom of Israel addressing its religion, its morality and its politics. His chief metaphor for the people of Israel was that of a “harlot.” To feel the impact of this, we may want to use the word “hooker.” As a people they were promiscuous; fooling around with anyone or anything that they believed would serve their interests. Corruption and oppression were rampant, and they people of God pinned their hopes on their allies rather than God. Hosea, speaks to the people and remind them, not of God’s great anger, but of God’s great love.
This picture of Israel’s promiscuity is expressed in Hosea’s own household. His wife, Gomer, is an adulteress, one who has been with many others. This leads to divorce in his marriage - and in that culture it is Gomer who would have been seen as one who is a disgrace. But the story of Hosea and Gomer reflects God’s heart, not our attitudes. This is why Hosea brings Gomer back to be his wife and renews their marriage.
The idea that this story of Hosea and Gomer actually happened was unacceptable in the minds of many. This is why many have suggested maybe this didn’t really happen - maybe it was a dream, a vision or a picture, but not a historical fact. Perhaps what’s more unacceptable is the way God continues to return to God’s people; reaching out to us again and again to renew a relationship for which God’s heart longs.
In the church we are familiar with Good Friday, when Jesus gave His life on the cross. We also know that Friday was not the end of the story; that the story does not end in death. We gather every year on Easter to celebrate and cling to the hope found in the resurrection. We are familiar with Friday and possibly even more familiar with Resurrection Sunday, but what about Saturday? Rarely do we talk about the day that the family, friends, and followers of Jesus lived through between His death on the cross, and His resurrection. Even though we rarely talk about Saturday, all of us at some point in our lives will sit in our own Saturdays.
Saturday and the pain it holds is a reality all of us will face in this life, but Sunday is coming. Resurrection is coming, and it will be beyond anything we could have ever dreamed or imagined. Today we hold the promise of Resurrection because we know the story does not end in death, but the disciples didn’t know that, in fact they never saw it coming. When you read about the resurrection and about the encounters Jesus has with people following His resurrection, there is one common theme, confusion. They are utterly confused, filled with fear, and doubt; none of them saw it coming. That’s because in the ancient world the followers of Jesus never thought of or even dreamed of the possibility of their Messiah being resurrected. There was no category in their thoughts, lives, or beliefs for the Messiah to be resurrected. This was brand new. And that’s what resurrection is, something completely brand new. Resurrection invites us to open our eyes, our minds, and our hearts to possibilities we never thought would ever have existed. Resurrection invites us to see that God is doing a new thing, bringing new life, and it is beyond anything we could have ever imagined.
Of all the words Jesus spoke on the cross these three: “It is finished,” may be among the most well-known. However, it is possible we can overlook the nuance of Jesus’ words, as in some ways something new had just begun. The words John records echo the end of the creation poem in Genesis 2.2 when “God had finished the work” of bringing the universe into existence. Of course, these words of Jesus that John records have even greater connection to the creation poem because of how the gospel begins: “In the beginning …” A clear reference to Genesis 1.1, and the connections do not stop there. The next scene is in a garden, where Jesus is thought to be the gardener. Another reference to the first human whose job was the care for the garden.
All of these references to the creation poem are meant to lead us to see a beginning of sorts. In the case of Jesus, it is a new beginning. Though for Jesus it was finished, for his followers the work to which he called them had just begun. And how would they go about doing this? And here there is one last detail John offers us. After Jesus spoke these words, he “he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.” Except the Greek does not indicate it was “his spirit” but “the spirit.” It is the Spirit Jesus had promised them when he said, “ … very truly I tell you, it is for your good that I am going away. Unless I go away, the Advocate will not come to you; but if I go, I will send him to you” (John 16:7). And this is exactly what John says happened when he died. Which is no surprise because Zechariah had prophesied “… I will pour out on the house of David and the inhabitants of Jerusalem a spirit of grace and prayer. They will look on me, the one they have pierced, and they will mourn for him as one mourns for an only child … On that day a fountain will be opened to the house of David and the inhabitants of Jerusalem, to cleanse them from sin and impurity” (Zechariah 12.10, 13.1). So here we are then, at the end, which is the beginning of the work the Spirit has empowered us to do.
“Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” With these words, we learn Jesus has lost everything, even God. In his cry, he experiences the absence of God. For Jesus, and those in his culture, God was seen at the foundation, the bedrock of all things. To lose God then means to lose everything. We are confronted with this troubling truth not on the fringes of our faith, but smack in the midst of the most central event. That doubt, crying out - even an atheism from experience - is a part of our Christian Tradition.
If we are called to participate in the death of Christ, then we are invited into this reality as well. But we resist, for to do so would be to give up our explanations, our security and how we make sense of our world. “It is the incoming of that which cannot be contained in our various mythologies, that which ruptures them all and calls them into question” (Insurrection, p 23). And it is in this place, in these moments that we find ourselves with Christ. We discover all that we held to tell us who God is … are not God. In losing them, we find the Divine. Perhaps this is what Meister Eckhart meant when he wrote: “God rid me of God.”
Hanging on the cross, Jesus said to his mother, “Here is your son,” and he was not referring to himself. This is not the first time Jesus messes with the accepted idea of family. In another story, his mother and brothers think he’s not making wise decisions and they call for him, only for him to say, “Who are my mother and brothers?” It’s a new way of relating to others in his Kingdom; not the way culture has understood it. Everyone, Jesus insists, is family and to be treated as such. This is what the “disciple who Jesus loved” understood, for it is reported that this disciple took the mother of Jesus to live in his home.
It is presumed “this disciple” (you know, the one whom Jesus loved) is John. That’s one way of understanding it. But what if by not naming this disciple throughout the Gospel, John is giving a subtle nudge for us to find ourselves in the story. What if John is asking us to see ourselves as the “disciple whom Jesus loved?” What if we are standing at the cross? What if we pay witness to the shame Jesus bears as he hangs there, suffering, the object of scorn? If this is the case, then this is our mother, and we are the child. Because in the kingdom, we are family.
Paradise. A loan word from the Persian picture of an enclosed park or garden. This picture, of course, calls to mind something familiar: The Garden of Eden. The word Luke uses is the same word used in the Septuagint referring to Eden. And what was Eden? It spoke of radical union with God, the other and one’s self. But that’s not the end of the story of Eden. The story unravels and speaks of disintegration, splitting, conflict and banishment. What was once a place for humans to grow and flourish and employ their calling is now a distant memory. And should one want to find their way back, the entrance is guarded by an angel with a flaming sword.
This story is echoed in other places and other wisdom traditions. It speaks of the universal longing to enjoy the union with God and with all things. The sort of union manifested in Paradise. This is the picture John offers in Revelation when he refers to the “paradise of God” (Revelation 2.7). And this is the same word-picture Jesus offers the rebel dying with him on the cross. Which is an interesting moment. For it is there, being crucified with Christ, that the rebel understands who Jesus is. And there, dying next to a rebel, Jesus says, “You will be with me …” And what does Jesus invite his followers to? To be crucified. Perhaps, this rebel, is in many ways the first disciple. And in picking up his cross, in losing his life, he finds it in Jesus - in Paradise.
When Jesus pronounces forgiveness to those who have crucified him, he is, at the same time, accusing them of something. For if there is no wrongdoing, there is no need for forgiveness. Said another way; when forgiveness is granted, it proclaims the presence of wrongdoing. This is what we witness in Jesus’ words - he is crucified as a rebel, guilty of sedition. In our time, as we remember his death we hear these words as a statement toward, not only those doing the accusing and the crucifying, but also a display of God’s mercy to all humanity. However, if we consider the first readers of Luke’s gospel, what did they hear?
It’s possible they read this and understood themselves forgiven for the Imperial System they were caught up within; a system of domination, the Global Military Superpower called Rome. It was this system that killed Jesus; and he prays forgiveness over them as he is dying. Some may rightly question: “Is this anyway to bring justice to bear?” This question may arise as it feels like those who have been forgiven get a pass for their part and the system can continue. But this sort of thinking believes forgiveness and justice do not go together. We cannot forget “every act of forgiveness enthrones justice.” For it has the power to make things right - it names the wrong, it pursues reconciliation (where possible) and works toward restoration, while at the same time dispensing with the need for revenge. This is the power of these words: it exposes the evil and commits to undoing it.
Trial, difficulty, pain, and disappointment will visit us; it is not “if” only “when” this happens. These troubled seasons are revealing in many ways, for they expose what is within our heads and hearts. They reveal to us what our anchor is in the midst of troubled waters. Because we all have an anchor - it may not always be conscious, but we do. So, the question is not whether we will have an anchor, rather what will our anchor be? This is an important question as research shows that those who have hope as an anchor fair better in difficult seasons.
For some the anchor may be anxiety, for others the anchor may be unforgiveness - when we recognize any anchors such as these, ones that do harm to others or us, we must cut the rope holding us to anchor. This gives us an opportunity to bring intention to our lives and choose hope as our anchor. Only then are we able to learn how this can serve us in difficult seasons. How even in the midst of the unspeakable times, we can still practice hope.
Hope requires not only a vision and a way forward, but the resolve to stay the course. As individuals this is often called “willpower.” The writer of Hebrews points toward the same thing for the Church, writing, “Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess … And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds” (10:23,24). This is what hope needs to not just survive, but thrive in the heart of a congregation. Which means, we need each other.
Because sometimes, if left to our individual selves, hope seems too great a burden to bear. However, many hands make light work, as the saying goes and it is the same with holding onto hope. This is the importance of community, it allows for a “communal willpower” - that together we can hold on to the hope we profess, and we can do this by provoking (the literal translation of the Greek) one another toward the good and the beautiful.
It is one thing to have a vision in mind, but moving toward the vision is what’s even more important. This calls for collective wisdom, communal discernment and unity amidst real diversity. This is far easier to talk about then to do. Our churches today reflect the divisions and splits that exist in our prevailing culture. Sadly, though this is the current state of things, this should never be the case within the Church for we are the presence of Christ in flesh and bone. As the Apostle Paul asks, “Is Christ Divided?” Of course, the intended answer is, “No, Christ is not divided.” Which means we ought not to be either.
Often the division comes about not because of the vision, but on how we will move toward the vision. It is the process of moving, growing and changing that brings about the great upheavals within the hearts of even the most fervent people. So how do we discern a way forward together? We see an example from the early Church in Acts. The vision was to bring Jew and Gentile together, but what brought division was how that was to happen. Their wisdom and discernment is manifest in their willingness to listen, to pray, to hear from the Spirit and, perhaps most importantly, leave room for change in the days ahead. This is why they say, “It seems good to the Spirit and to us …” Together then, they bring the heart of unity into a way of moving forward.
This week we find two travelers on the road to Emmaus, whose hope has run out after seeing Jesus put to death just days before. What does God say to those whose hope is in the past tense?
The first occurrence of hope described as a virtue is within the Judeo-Christian Tradition. The Apostle Paul even places it alongside the virtues of faith and love. This is why within the Christian Tradition hope is a familiar word. But what exactly is hope? According to most definitions, hope is an expectation that things will go well, or a desire for certain things to play out in a particular way. This is not hope, but wishful thinking. And wishful thinking believes that the power for things to turn out in our favor or for difficult circumstances to pass by lies elsewhere. But hope invites us to see that we have something to say and a role to play in making things better.
Hope, it turns out, is a discipline, and like all disciplines, it is something we practice. Hope is a resolve of our spirit, and a way of moving in the world. As we journey alongside one another, we work together toward a common vision. We then discern together ways we can move toward that vision, and encourage one another to never give up. This is hope: believing that we can work together to see our longings and vision for this world - for the common good - realized
On Wednesday, January 6, 2021 events unfolded in our nation that will long be remembered around the world. So how do we, as the people of God allow hope to make use of us rather than us making use of it in the midst of a fractured and hurting nation? Where do we go from here? Join us Sunday, January 10 as we consider these questions and more, as we continue exploring what is means to be prisoners of hope.
Many within Christendom are familiar with the words of Zechariah 9 because of the connection Matthew makes between it and Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a donkey. Fewer, however, are aware of the verses that follow. In particular, when the prophet says, “Return to your fortress, you prisoners of hope …” This curious phrase was written to those who were exiles in Babylon who had returned to find Jerusalem in ruins because of the Babylonian destruction decades before.
Still, after destruction, after exile, after returning to rebuild their city there is a flame that hasn’t gone out: hope. There is no ignoring the pain, suffering, disillusionment, grief and anger the people felt upon their return. Yet, in the midst of this there is hope. There is a future. The story, as it were, is going somewhere. And according to Matthew, the story is moving toward a time when Jesus himself will ride into town. As we begin this season of teaching, we will explore the nature of hope - one that sees itself a part of a larger story. One that believes God wastes nothing.
Every Advent we wait for the arrival of our king, and each year we read with expectation the story of Jesus’ birth found in Luke 2. Jesus entered this world in the most vulnerable way. A baby. Not only a baby, but a baby born to poor parents embroiled in scandal. Even Luke’s telling suggests that our King was born on the margins. His arrival was witnessed by those on the edge of proper society; the shepherds. His birth was in the shadow of power; the Herodian of King Herod. This is the first glimpse we get of Jesus, the face of God who is love. This simple narrative, made widely popular in our broader culture by Charlie Brown, speaks of how God is with us.
He is with all of us. Not just a few of us; all of us. This Immanuel does not show up to exert power over, but allows God’s self to be in the midst as the most vulnerable. In this way, God is forever asking the question, “What will you do with me?”
There was a belief in the Ancient Near Eastern world that the gods were local - specific to a place, a people, a nation. My god is my god over there, your god is your god right here. So if you were to travel through a nation, you were well served to offer sacrifices to the gods of whatever nation you were traveling through, because your god only had a particular region in which she could exert her power. It may sound archaic, but consider the way many churches work. We worship different gods. Some worship a god of power, some worship a god of anger, some worship a god who forgives, and we do so believing our god is the right one. Not too far off from our ancient siblings now, are we?
It was this kind of thinking that we see reflected in the story of Naaman. A valiant soldier from Aram who worshipped the god Rimmon. He was stricken with leprosy, which, in that time was a death sentence. He made his way to see the prophet Elisha. Upon arrival, Elisha told him to go dip in the Jordan River seven times - then he’d be healed. After some protesting, Naaman goes and does it and he is born again (his flesh was restored and became clean like that of a young boy). Naaman then makes a curious request. He asks Elisha to give him dirt to bring home with him. Wha’?! Why would one do that?
One would do that to bring the God of Elisha home with him, because if the gods had zip codes, then bring some of the zip code with you! But one more thing, Naaman says, “When my master enters the temple of Rimmon to bow down and he is leaning on my arm and I have to bow there also - when I bow down in the temple of Rimmon, may the Lord forgive your servant for this.” Elisha’s response, “Go in your wholeness.” Things admittedly get blurry here - boundaries, who is being worshipped and the actual location of God. Perhaps, we may have eyes to see that God is always right here, right now.
There is a popular phrase within many Christian circles when describing one who no longer identifies as Christian. The phrase? “Far from God …” We talk about someone who no longer goes to church, “Yeah, I haven’t seen Wendy in quite a while on Sundays, she’s far from God.” Or we tell others our story saying things like, “For a time I was doing my own thing and didn’t care about the Christian faith, I was far from God.” Here’s the thing: It’s impossible to be far from God.
We learn this from the *mythic story of the first man and the first woman in the garden. They eat of the fruit God commanded them not to eat from. And what does God do? God goes to them, seeks them out and invites them into conversation. It’s clear in the story, the humans are the ones who run and hide; God calls them out of hiding. As one walks through the biblical narrative what we witness again and again is a God who is near to us … near as our next breath, because God is our very breath. This is the God who is right here, right now.
The Bible begins with a poem that tells of God’s intimate involvement with the universe. God speaking, bringing order to chaos and God getting God’s hands dirty when forming humanity from the dust of the ground. It’s a beautiful picture of how God’s involvement in the world in which we live. According to the biblical writers, this involvement was not just a one-time thing “in the beginning”, but a constant involvement every single second. From our breath to the energy that holds all things together - God is here. God is the very ground of being.
This life, animating force, divine breath is still a mystery that stumps the brightest minds today. We know it is there, but it cannot be seen. Paul, when speaking of this mystery wrote of the “invisible God” claiming Jesus was the image of the invisible God. But he goes further, claiming that all things have their being for him, through him and in him all things hold together. Which means that all things are sacred for Christ is in all things and all things are in Christ. It’s always been that way according to John and Paul. Immanuel then, speaks of the Divine as one who is Right here, right now … and always has been.
Jesus shows us the way. Just as the cross shows us our violence, so these OT passages reflect our violence onto us. We all have it. But the call is toward a nonviolent ethic that we see on the cross. What looks ugly is actually love. It is God coming toward us … it is God allowing us to do to God what we want. And in doing so, discovering the Love that is beneath all the ugliness.
For in the moments that we see a bleeding, naked, crucified God - we at the same time see the monstrousness of our violence. God chose to not return violence for violence, but instead absorbed the violence in God’s self in Jesus. This is the invitation to us (in part) when we are invited to pick up our cross.
At DCC we believe that as we explore and participate in the life of Jesus, we become a healing presence in the world. Part of participating in the life of Jesus is actively engaging our interior worlds. This involves exploring who we are, the Divine in us, and the ways in which God uniquely speaks to and leads us. Contemplative prayer practices are a great way to cultivate this in our lives. As you sit at home, or perhaps as you take a walk, simply download the podcast and you will be guided in a contemplative prayer practice.
At DCC we believe that as we explore and participate in the life of Jesus, we become a healing presence in the world. Part of participating in the life of Jesus is actively engaging our interior worlds. This involves exploring who we are, the Divine in us, and the ways in which God uniquely speaks to and leads us. Contemplative prayer practices are a great way to cultivate this in our lives. As you sit at home, or perhaps as you take a walk, simply download the podcast and you will be guided in a contemplative prayer practice.
At DCC we believe that as we explore and participate in the life of Jesus, we become a healing presence in the world. Part of participating in the life of Jesus is actively engaging our interior worlds. This involves exploring who we are, the Divine in us, and the ways in which God uniquely speaks to and leads us. Contemplative prayer practices are a great way to cultivate this in our lives. As you sit at home, or perhaps as you take a walk, simply download the podcast and you will be guided in a contemplative prayer practice.
At DCC we believe that as we explore and participate in the life of Jesus, we become a healing presence in the world. Part of participating in the life of Jesus is actively engaging our interior worlds. This involves exploring who we are, the Divine in us, and the ways in which God uniquely speaks to and leads us. Contemplative prayer practices are a great way to cultivate this in our lives. As you sit at home, or perhaps as you take a walk, simply download the podcast and you will be guided in a contemplative prayer practice.
At DCC we believe that as we explore and participate in the life of Jesus, we become a healing presence in the world. Part of participating in the life of Jesus is actively engaging our interior worlds. This involves exploring who we are, the Divine in us, and the ways in which God uniquely speaks to and leads us. Contemplative prayer practices are a great way to cultivate this in our lives. As you sit at home, or perhaps as you take a walk, simply download the podcast and you will be guided in a contemplative prayer practice.
After the flood narrative Noah, who apparently was quite the gardener plants a vineyard, ferments the grapes, drinks the wine (too much wine), gets schnockered and then passes out naked in his tent. His son Ham walks in on him and sees him in all his miserable glory, and goes to find his brothers Shem and Japheth to tell them about dad. It feels like a moment in a frat house: Connor, after a heavy night of drinking, passes out face down in the bathroom buck naked. Aiden walks in and sees him, laughs, goes to get his phone because he’s absolutely got to get a picture of this, and he tells Justin because he’ll think it’s hilarious!
That aside, Shem and Japheth find little humor in the situation, put a blanket over their shoulders, walk into the tent backward so as not to see their father’s nakedness, and lay it over him. The next morning Noah hears about Ham and is furious. He says, “Cursed be Canaan!” Canaan being one of Ham’s boys. Interesting isn’t it? Why Canaan? Why not one of his other sons - say Cush or Egypt or Put. Canaan didn’t see Noah naked, Ham did. Not only did Noah curse Canaan, he praised Japheth and Shem (Abram was his descendant) - blessing them. So this hatred of Canaan goes way back, and the praise of the Shem goes way back too.
We see this trend through the Hebrew Scriptures. The prophets and the people of Israel really pile it on Canaan, but not just him. Ham’s descendants include people from Babylon, Assyria (Nineveh anyone?), Egypt was the father of … well Egypt the brutal slave overlords, the Philistines (the longtime nemesis of Israel) and Sidon, the Hittites, Jebusites, Girgashites, Hivite, Arkites, Amorites, Sinites, Arvadites, Zemarites, and Hamathites. All of them enemies of the God and his people. This rift and hatred runs deep - generations deep. But then comes Jesus.
Jesus goes through Sidon, a big no-no. It’s there he encounters a Phoenician woman … and who else was a Phoenician woman from Sidon? Jezebel; the woman who epitomized all the evil that came from Ham’s lineage. And what does Jesus do? He heals her daughter and praises her faith. It’s no wonder then people from Sidon bring their sick to Jesus to be healed. Jesus even says it’s going to be better for Sidon than for the people of Israel … better to be Ham than Japheth.
This points toward a way to help us understand the Bible and God and all the violence. Simply put: if it doesn’t look like Jesus then it’s not an accurate picture of God. Because Jesus is the very face of God who is love. It is through him, his life, teaching and love that we come to know God. So what if that is what we gave ourselves to?
If the violence of God was only in the Hebrew Scriptures, we might be able to move on with a bit of a wince and keep going. However, we are met with the violence of God for all eternity when it comes to the threat of hell that suddenly rears its ugly head in the Christian Scriptures. What makes things more interesting is this threat of eternal conscious torment forever in the fire prepared by a loving God is found on the lips of Jesus. Jesus, the face of a God who is love, talks about eternal fire and a place where the worm never dies; and he talks about hell more than heaven. This fact has been seized upon by many over the years.
It’s helpful however to take a big step back before we continue. First, Jesus only speaks about hell to the religious who believed they were in no danger of hell. In some ways saying, “If you think you are not in danger of hell, and believe they are … you may well be in danger of hell.” Second, Jesus always spoke of a very specific place. Like one you could walk to. A place that had a sordid history, and, in Jesus’ day, was a garbage dump that also served as a place of burial for poor families and a place the Romans would toss crucified bodies. It was called Gehenna (aka Valley of Hinnom). Third, our understanding of hell that we walk around with today wasn’t actually in the minds of those who wrote the Bible. Seriously, it wasn’t. Our modern notion of hell is much more the product of Dante Alighieri than anything written in the Bible.
So what exactly was Jesus talking about then? Well, it seems he was speaking toward some sort of willful separation or distance from the Divine that we choose within our fractured selves. That’s what we will explore when talking about hell.
According to the Bible, God tells the people of Israel to utterly destroy the Canaanites. All of them: Men, women, children, infants, animals. Not only are they to be killed, they are to be shown no mercy. More than showing no mercy, they are to be cherem - set apart - for destruction. This, from the lips of a God who is “slow to anger” and “abounding in mercy.” Even giving a moment’s thought to this is enough to make one’s stomach turn. It’s genocide, there’s no getting around that, and apparently God commands his nation of priests to carry this out on the cities, towns and villages in the land they are going to take over.
Some defend this command, believing God is just so whatever God says to do, you do. No questions asked. I mean, who are we to question God? Those who think this way argue the Canaanites were the most horrible people living in the Ancient Near Eastern World. However, the Canaanites were no better or worse than anyone else living back then. The only difference between them and, say, the Assyrians is they lived in the wrong place. They lived in a land that Israel wanted and the way to get it was to wipe them out.
This story and these words echo the words of a King of Moab in the 9th Century B.C. named Mesha. In other words, this kind of violence was not original with the people of Israel. ANE tribes often praised their gods by attributing gross violence to them, and then, after the battle, gave them glory for their victory. The gods were violent warriors who looked out for their people, and were ready to destroy anyone (and in this case everyone) else. Let’s not forget Israel was immersed in this culture, and to a certain extent participated in it. So, what do we do with these stories? The simple answer is “engage them” for what they are. That being a record of people’s conversations about God, how they understand God and what we can learn from that.
There are many stories in the Bible about God getting angry. One even pits God as so mad that he needs to take some time off, some time away to cool down, because if he doesn’t he’s gonna lose it! And when God loses it, God turns and destroys people. A lot of people. This portrait of God is alive and well today. Some point to God getting really angry over some very specific sin - sin they are never guilty of - which is convenient. But there is a more subtle way of talking about a god that is kind of a jerk. Not long ago I spoke with someone who spoke of how their god got her attention by causing her to be in a terrible accident. What? This is how god got her attention? By hurting her, putting her in the ICU for 3 ½ weeks and scaring her family because they thought she’d die?
It’s important to note that any parent who did something similar to their child to “get their attention” would be arrested and imprisoned. Rightly so. But this is how we talk about God (I guess there is some kind of divine excuse for abusing people that we as humans don’t get)? And we do it quite often. How can we love a god like this? Trust a god like this? Believe in a god like this? Worship and pray to a god like this?
But this is the portrait painted in many passages of the Bible: God. Is. Angry. But what if this is one portrait of God and teaches us something, not about God, but about humans? What if this is a reflection of the ancient, primitive, backward view of a fire-breathing deity who needs to be satiated by our good deeds and proper behavior at every turn? Perhaps God’s anger has something to teach us - not about God but about us.
The story of Jonah has long captured the minds and imaginations of many. It seems to have it all, a stumbling prophet, a supernatural fish, second chances and a surprise ending: God asking Jonah a question about why God shouldn’t show mercy. As popular and enduring as that story is few people ever say, “Man, that book Nahum? It is a real page turner!” Even though one only need turn very few pages to get there from the end of Jonah.
Like Jonah, Nahum too involves Nineveh, but there is no fish and no second chances. However, like Jonah, it too ends with a question. The question is not about God’s mercy, but about why God shouldn’t absolutely, utterly and without question destroy and wipe out Nineveh and pelt them with filth (see Nahum 3.6: shikkuts) as though this is a scene from Monty Python.
We start the series here because, let’s face it, when it comes to the Bible there is no shortage to the troubling pictures of God and God’s people. But then, there are no shortage of beautiful, loving, endearing pictures of God - as mother, as lover, as creator, as forgiving. So what do we do with this? Toss it? Ignore it? Defend it? Or maybe wade into the mess of things and allow this contrast to lead us into something deeper.
Christianity is not a religion for the elite. Not even close. Consider its name. It references Jesus of Nazareth who was a victim of state sponsored execution. The disciples who carried his message were all executed, save one, and he was exiled. It attracted the last, the lost, the least and those on the margins. And the invitation to be a part of this movement that was birthed by a rabbi from the outskirts of the Roman Empire? One only needed to be tired or worn out or burned out on religion, for then they might here the invitation of Jesus, “Come follow me.” Which is to say, this invitation, this movement, this way of living is open to everyone.
It was this reality at the heart of the early church that caused it grow so rapidly. The early church sought to serve, to include, to recognize that everyone belongs - because this is what they saw Jesus do. Jesus was often found in lonely, out-of-the-way places with the down-and-outers. This is why, at DCC, we invite everyone who will to journey with us in our transformation.
Often, when we use the term “Christian” we have a quick definition in our minds. However, the contours of the Christian faith are vast and ancient. We forget this as we often have only grown up in one expression of it. However, with more exploration there will be a greater appreciation for all it has offered to the world over the Centuries. At DCC, we are explorers who want to see how far this Jesus based faith goes. After all, if we claim to worship an infinite God, the one who holds the universe together, why would we ever think a small, manageable faith is what we should be about?
We believe this massive thing called Christianity, is ours to explore. And not only that, but that our faith teaches us that all things are ours, whether “he world or life or death or the present or the future”, because we are “of Christ, and Christ is of God.” If this is the case, then we have some exploring to do.
The writer of Acts tells us, “The disciples were called Christians first at Antioch.” Which means there was a time when they were called something else. For them, however, who they understood themselves to be was clear. They were a group of people who modeled their way, their life after the life and teachings of Jesus. And who was Jesus? The union of the Divine and human, of material and spiritual, the one who came to give life to the full. It was this life manifested in Jesus that was, for the early disciples, the foundation of their identity.
Today, we live in a world that is filled with all sorts of ways to identify ourselves. And it becomes easy, with each label layered on, to lose our individual identity as image bearers and collective identity as Christians - those who resemble Jesus. Perhaps we need a moment to reflect on what it means for us to understand who we are and whose we are so that we will have greater clarity on our deepest and truest identity.
God never speaks in this book. With all of the accusations and the questions put forth; God remains silent. A feeling of distance adds to this sense of God not even hearing the cries or the prayers. But someone is listening. Someone is seeing. The first words spoken by the widow are, “Look, Lord.” She is crying out, “God can’t you, won’t you look at me?!” And then the geber shows up and says, “I have seen …” There is someone at last. Now, in the final poem, a prayer, there is no longer first- person singular, but first-person plural.
What we witness is those who are suffering move toward one another, lament, cry out and eventually are found praying together. It’s possible that right there, in the midst of the flesh and bone of human beings, in that very place is where God is. What this teaches us is that God is present in the other - in the midst of pain, hardship, disappointment - when we cry out and we are not alone in our cry but surrounded by others. That is God being present. Too often we try to have answers, but maybe we are the answer. An answer given simply by us showing up.
When hard times hit nothing is at is should be. This is the point of this fourth elegy. Here we see a description of all that has befallen the city of Jerusalem as a result of it being utterly razed. Nothing is as it should be - even children who are a gift, now are seen as a burden. The priests and the anointed, those who once had the confidence of the people are no more. And they are the very ones who through their evil, were the cause of this calamity.
And the one who caused the calamity? Well that was God. Which raises the question, is this how God works? Does God really punish us for the bad things we or others do? Does it work the other way, where God blesses us for the good things we or others do? It is this hope that we find at the end of the chapter - that it won’t be this way forever in Judah. But for Edom, it will happen to them for the evil they have done. This can make God sound like a finicky deity who rewards and punishes based off what we do or fail to do. Is this really what God is like?
In this poem a geber shows up on the scene. A man (what kind of man and exactly “who” this man is has been the subject of much conjecture) who has experienced the pain, the suffering and the exile firsthand. He then launches into a description of what he has befallen him: his skin and flesh grow old, his bones have been broken, he has been besieged and surrounded with bitterness and hardship, he dwells in darkness like those long dead, he has been walled in, and weighed down with chains. When he calls for help his prayer is shut out, his way has been barred with blocks of stone, his paths have been made crooked, he was dragged from the path, mangled and left me without help, he was the target of arrows, his heart was pierced, he was a laughingstock of all the people, they mock him all day long, he is filled with bitter herbs, has only gall to drink, his teeth has been broken with gravel, he has been trampled in the dust, deprived of peace, he has forgotten what prosperity is and now says, “My splendor is gone and all that I had hoped from the Lord.”
His response to all of this? The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord. W.T.F.? Seriously? How can this be? How can one name all that has befallen them and then turn to the one causing all the heartache and express trust? O’Connor writes, “When you meet the geber, you meet someone with tangled theology. Hope and horror stand side by side. Hope and honesty stand side by side. Hope and contradiction stand side by side.” And that’s the thing about hope - it doesn’t ignore the crap and the hard circumstances. It stands right beside them.
Many have been told that hope is to the exclusion of the raw emotions expressed by the geber - you either have hope, or you succumb to your circumstances. Here, however, is someone who has hope, and sits with humiliation, deprivation, suffering, bitterness, and the horrors of what he’s witnessed. Isn’t this how it often is? That hope is near to all these other circumstances? It’s possible to say in the same breath, “God is good” and “This is hard and it hurts and I’m getting screwed all in the same breath.”
The second elegy speaks toward anger. God’s anger with the people of Judah, and the anger of the poet toward God - one who is almost an enemy of the people. This is so necessary, because many have been taught to hold it in, to not speak to God this way, to keep our “emotions in check” and to not let them “get the better of us.” But that is not what we witness here, not at all. And why wouldn’t the poet be angry? How angry would you be if no one listened to your cry, to your wailing because of the pain and the hopelessness of your people? How angry might you be with God when you cry out and its seems God ignores you?
It’s likely the anger over the pain would well up, and eventually it would spill out, and it should spill out. Especially toward and before God. As Miroslav Volf rightly observes, unattended rage should be dropped at the feet of God. Why? Because God can handle it. More than that, naming and seeing our anger - allowing it to flow can be a gateway for us to see and name that which is causing our anger. Anger, can actually be a first step toward healing, toward speaking truth. And speaking truth is, after all, what prophets do. As Kathleen O’Conner points out, when we name what is wrong, when we lament, when we open ourselves to grief and anger - we expose the conditions that cause God’s good world to get out of order; we name them, and in doing so, open make them and us visible for remedy.
Jerusalem is destroyed, flattened. It’s in habitants hauled away into exile. The city is “shamed by her destruction.” How do you even begin to speak about this? An impossible situation in which it seems no one cares and there is no one to listen - not even the Divine? In this elegy, the poet uses the picture of a woman - a widow who is alone. Saying things like, “there is no one to comfort her” and the widow saying, “No one is near to comfort me, no one to restore my spirit.” And the isolation only seems to grow. Because Jerusalem is destroyed no pilgrims come to celebrate the feasts, “The roads to Zion mourn, for no one comes to her appointed festivals.”
This is perhaps the hardest, most intense of the five poems. It finishes without hope, only a request; without light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, only a hope for some sort of revenge. What do we do in these kind of moments? We cry out. We lament. We lay it all out there, even if we are not wholly sure God is listening.
We live in the midst of a country that believes “might makes right.” We are a country and culture that extols power, winning, strength, victory and conquering. More than that, we seem to have an aversion to suffering and pain of any kind. So we rush through it, we numb it, we deny it, we ignore it … anything to not have to sit in it and with it. This arrogance and unhealthy pursuit of a good time is crippling our souls.
Learning to lament has the power to liberate us and others. It gives us the chance to name what hurts, what’s wrong, what’s unjust, to acknowledge our weakness and move into the pain (which is the only way we will ever move out of it). In this, we can discover that lament has the potential to be prophetic in that it sheds light on the truth and holds that up to the light.
Jasper Peter joins us for our final season of teaching "Sermons from the Heart" and speaks about compassion and what it looks like to live a life that reflects love.
This week we will talk about how life has a way of shaking us up, especially right now in our world. One of the reasons we look to the Bible for insight and help is because the writers speak to our human experience. We relate. We know what the writer is talking about. King David shares his experience of being confused, anxious, fearful, and disoriented in Psalm 62. He declares that God is his rock and he won’t be shaken. What does this mean? What can we learn from David’s experience that could help us today? How can we be connected to God in ways that center and ground us in the midst of a tumultuous world?
As a faith community, we must continually challenge ourselves to follow the way of Jesus. Included in this is educating ourselves about racism and engaging in the difficult work of dismantling systems of oppression that impact our BIPOC brothers and sisters. Our process must include both personal contemplation and action.
This recording is from our Spiritual Formation Workshop on the theme of “confronting systemic injustice”. This was a time to help us grow in our understanding and practice of the necessary internal work that we can do to support our advocacy.
In this teaching, we will look at John 6 – the feeding of the 5000 and then Jesus saying "I am the bread of life." We will explore what it means to "taste and see that the Lord is good" through the practice of gratitude.
We'll explore the process of discipleship by diving into the model that Jesus used with his disciples, exploring the great commission, and thinking about what it looks like for us to both have someone in front of us we are following and someone behind us we are leading.
Many of us find ourselves weary and worn out. Especially in this time of a world-wide pandemic. God’s invitation to us is to experience rest and restoration in our lives even in the midst of all the demands we face. God created for six days and then “God rested”. One of the commands is to keep the Sabbath holy. What does keeping a Sabbath have to do with rest? Why is it hard to accept that invitation to rest? What does it mean to rest? How do we rest? These are the questions we will pursue in this teaching.
Explore how personal sin is merely the symptom of the much darker, insidious, and unseen diseases that are rooted in power and principalities.
The Church in Galatia was in a theological bind. They were arguing about what was expected of those who were a part of the Church. Rules. Beliefs. Expectations. All of these things have the power to bind us, to imprison us and shackle us as slaves in the world of poor religion. It’s nothing new, we do the same thing today. What God wants is freedom for all people.
Into this context, Paul writes and says, “The only thing that matters is faith expressing itself through love.” That’s it. It is that simple. Our faith is to worked out in our lives and through our lives into the world by love. What if this framed our theology? Our beliefs? Our thinking? Our religion? Our church? Phrased another way, if our faith when worked out is not love, it is dead wrong. It’s possible, this really is the only thing that matters.
Here we have a description of love. It begs the question what does patience, kindness, joy, humility, honoring others, seeking good for others, not being easily angered, not keeping a record of wrongs, not delighting in evil, rejoicing with the truth, protecting, trusting, hoping and persevering look like in everyday life? If we can begin to form a response to this question we might come close to being those who put hands and feet on the idea of love.
While it may seem overwhelming, this long list has two things in common. First, they all describe the Divine. Second, they all insist we place others before self. So, it could be said, the practice of love is to imitate the love we see in Jesus, one who always placed others before himself.
Paul spills a lot of ink leading up to these verses. He addresses questions of lifestyle, worship, Eucharist, service and unity among the Church in Corinth. Then he points out even if all these things are in place - if there is no love - then not one of them is worth it. It is just noise. It is all nothing. It is worthless. Love, is the most excellent way.
This is important for us to consider for often we can be about all sorts of good things - speaking Divine words, spouting knowledge and wisdom, giving generously, even risking our own security for the sake of others ... but if any of these things are done without love it simply does not matter. Which means love must be the foundation of all we do - whether justice, generosity, teaching, acts of service, worship - everything must be grounded in love.
“By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” That’s the mark. That’s how we can be identified as Jesus followers: by loving each other. This was the command Jesus gave to those who follow his way, and as disciples they understood that living life in imitation of their rabbi was what being a disciple was all about.
Jesus, later tells them what this love looks like when he speaks about laying down one’s life for their friends. Of course, in the immediate context, Jesus was about to lay down his life for everyone, not just his friends. But when we consider practicing love in the way of Jesus - what does it look like for us to lay down our lives for one another?
One of Jesus’ most famous parables is about The Good Samaritan. Most people know it well, but what is often missed is the set up to the story. Jesus is asked about the greatest commandment, and he follows up talk of loving God, with practicing love for our neighbor. It is then Jesus is asked, “And who is my neighbor?” In other words, “And who do I have to love?” Jesus then launches into the story of a man who gets robbed, beaten and left for dead. He is on the side of road looking dead when a couple of religious people walk past, and eventually a Samaritan helps the poor guy out. Jesus concludes by asking, “Who is the neighbor?”
In doing so he turns the original question around. Instead of asking, “Who should I love?” Jesus points toward the reality that the practice of loving others is what it means to be a neighbor. For us then, it is not a question of who we should love, but are we loving others? This is the challenge in this story - and the challenge we face in our context today.
The 13th Century mystic, Marguerite Porete, famously wrote, “I am God, says Love, for Love is God, and God is Love …” These are a few of her words found in her book, The Mirror of Simple Souls - a work, that because she refused to recant, led to her death on charges of heresy. Her observation recorded here points toward a mystery at the heart of the greatest command: Love is God, and we are to love God, which means we are to love, Love. More simply, we are to love what the Divine is.
Which raises the question: what does this look like? There is no singular response to that question, but it can begin with our simply response being a willingness to participate in the life of God. It is this Divine life that already sustains all things, including us, and we can embrace that reality or resist it. Should we choose to embrace love, we just may find ourselves loving God.
When Jesus came screaming into the world from the womb of his mother, it wasn’t his first showing. He’d always been around, but this time he was showing up differently. He had put on flesh and made his dwelling among humanity. This is a deep truth attested to throughout the text. In him all things were made and in him all things hold together. This mysterious power, energy, force - the glue that holds our expanding universe together is something that still stumps the most brilliant scientists in the world. However, the biblical writers had no problem naming it - it was the life of God and that life was not made human. We can now see it, touch it and it has a name.
Jesus. The face of a God who is love. It is this realization that led Teilhard de Chardin to claim love at the heart of the universe. He recognized all things were powerfully drawn to one another in relationship. This, he observed, is love. If love, then, is the engine of the universe it’s possible when we participate in anything else we work against the very life of God.
Paul is writing to a group of people who, like all of us, have religious, gender and social identities. And he argues none of that matters. All the labels, the divisions, the identities and classes are irrelevant, for all are in Christ. Which means, there is only one. There absolutely is NO them, there is only us. Whether Jew or Gentile, gay or straight, Republican or Democrat, far or near, liberal or conservative, male or female. It does not matter … in Christ, we are one.
What if we focused on questions that did not divide, but came together around the table? What if we asked, “Can we agree on Christ’s broken body and blood shed for the reconciliation and healing of the world?” “Can we agree on our need for the reconciliation and peace of Christ?” The answer, of course, is yes. We all need these things. And, in Christ, all the divisions cease.
Join us for another week of our season of teaching “Everything & Everyone” where we will explore what it looks like to “have all things in common” - even in the midst of dramatic difference. This is exactly what the Acts 2 community experienced.
Scripture: Genesis 12.1-4
God makes a promise to Abram, but this promise comes with risk and responsibility. First, the call for Abram to “Go” - this is risky. No one in his day would dream of leaving their country, their people and their father’s household.” To do this would be to betray the family and the tribe. In this time, you stayed. In staying you devoted yourself to the tribe; ensuring its prosperity, fortune and protection. To go was to be out on your own, and would have been seen as a betrayal of the family and the tribe.
But this call to go was not for Abram alone, and it was not just for his family or his tribe alone. The call was an election to responsibility - he, and his offspring, were to go and bless all people. This is the earliest record we have of anyone being invited to be trans-tribal. To transcend the interest of their kin and consider the interest of others. This early call is what informed Jesus and his followers - those who understood the future was beyond tribe.
Scripture: Genesis 1:26, 27
The words “image” and “likeness” were known in the Ancient Near Eastern context. But they were not words used for everyone; they were regal terms reserved for royalty. It pointed toward those in places of power and prestige. In Mesopotamia, Egypt and Assyria the kings were the image and likeness of the gods. Here in the creation poem of Genesis 1 we find this term was used to speak of all people in all places in all times. If we are to practice community, then we must consider who it is we are in relationship with. It’s not just a person, but one who reflects the beauty, power and majesty of the Divine. A regal individual. When we behold the face of another, we see glimpses of the Divine. How might this change the way we speak to others? Treat others? Act toward others?
Listen as we draw near to the mystery of this day, that there can be no resurrection without death, and that Jesus is intimately connected to our shared humanity, certainly in our joy, but also deeply within our pain and suffering. Now more than ever, Easter is a day that brings us bright hope for the future.
Much has been made about the prologue to John’s gospel, and rightly so. It is there we read of the Cosmic Christ, one who “was with God … and was God” from the beginning. In John’s context he is clearly speaking of the historical Jesus - the Divine in human form who is the universal context we know as “The Word.” But here’s the thing: what John riffs on in the first fourteen verses of his gospel was not original with him. It’s a remix of a much earlier poem, one that, like John’s Prologue, speaks about the birth of the universe and the one through whom the universe came to be. The poem John references is found in Proverbs 8, but it does not speak of Jesus, nor does it speak of a male. It speaks of Wisdom and she is a woman. Wait, wait; then why would John apply this to Jesus when he was clearly a man? It’s possible John knew something about the universe and how it is all held together. Like Shekinah, Wisdom is often directly associated with the Divine, to the extent is becomes another way of speaking about God. Proverbs 8 shows us the extent of this connection by showing Wisdom’s role in bringing about the universe. Which means this world is not just masculine, but feminine as well. It is within this synergy that we exist and live and move and have our being.
“Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne?” This is the question posed by the prophet, words placed on the lips of God. The answer of course, is “No.” But just in case, the prophet writes, “Though she may forget, I will not forget you!” The picture is obvious - God, like a nursing mother, holds Her people to Her breast and gives of Herself to nourish Her children.
This paints a picture of tender intimacy; one that science now shows happens at the physiological level between a mother and child during breastfeeding. There is a connection between the two unlike any other connection that occurs between human beings. This is what we are invited to contemplate, and what the prophet suggests. That even in the moment when the people of Israel and suffering exile, even when it seems God is nowhere, God’s response is to remind them She is the God who tenderly holds and feeds Her children at Her breast.