Your Faith Has Made You Well

Sermon preached by Rev. Margie Quinn on Sunday, October 12, 2025

In our story this morning, we meet ten lepers. And you've heard us talk about leprosy before — this skin disease that was seen as being really contagious. One theologian reminded me this morning that having leprosy in that time made it look like you were dying, like your skin was slowly becoming corpse-like. And when people saw you, they were reminded of the imminence of death.

Anyone suffering from leprosy would have been in social isolation. They would have been removed from their families. They wouldn't have received any more loving touches or looks with dignity. They were seen as outcasts and pariahs, and only fear met them.

They weren’t made to wander in the desert, as we might think. They weren’t — we might think they weren’t, you know, just off that far away. What we learn very quickly in this story is that Jesus enters a village, which means that they were on the outskirts of society, but they were still witnessing the life of a community that they could not be a part of — which, I don’t know about you, but for me, that almost makes it worse.

So Jesus is making his way to Jerusalem, and as he enters this village, he sees ten of these people who are afflicted. And they approach him — and you probably caught this — they approach him at a distance. Yeah, that’s what they’ve been conditioned to do. They approach him at a distance. Were they trembling in fear? Were they still a little bit suspicious of this man they had heard whispers about, who was able to heal people and perform miracles? Were they desperate for his mercy?

They call out to him, “Master, have mercy on us. Have mercy on us.” And when Jesus sees them, he says, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” Priests, church, at that time were the ones responsible for declaring whether someone was healed or not — not this radical rabble-rouser from Nazareth — but the priests made the decision in the end. And so this group obeyed him, and they went. And somewhere along the way — we don’t quite know where — they were made clean.

Imagine that feeling of having these sores on your body, of feeling like a corpse, of the pain of these wounds — and then being made clean. The ones who appeared to be dying, church, were given new life, which is a little bit of foreshadowing, is it not? But not because the priests declared it so, but because they were made clean along the way. No — it’s because Jesus made it so.

And we then learn that one of the ten — only one of the ten — after seeing that he is healed, after seeing that he is made clean, turns back. He leaves the company of these men and women that he may have been with in distance, in their own broken and outcasted community. And he turns back.

And he’s not just some regular man who was healed from a disease — he was a Samaritan. He was a Samaritan. He was a hated religious outcast. He was seen as a heretic. He was seen as a foreigner. He was seen as the villain in this story. And he is the one who turns back toward Jesus. Yeah. He turns back.

And we’re reminded in this moment that the gospel often has this wild sense of humor — that in this story, we learn neighbor love from the character that people are most likely to despise. The person we want to hate and want to send back to Samaria, back to where they came from, is the very one who introduces grace and gratitude to us.

He goes back — scripture says he praises God with a loud voice. He’s not afraid to speak up anymore. He is healed. He doesn’t have to cower in shame or fear. He can be as loud as he wants to and say, “Praise God from whom all blessings flow.”

In that moment of complete and wild joy — maybe for the first time he could do that in years. This time he doesn’t cower. This time he doesn’t distance himself. This time he prostrates himself and kneels in front of the one who healed him. And he thanks him. He thanks him.

I have to wonder what he said to Jesus as he knelt at his feet when he said thank you. I wonder if he said, “Jesus, thank you — when no one else would look at me, you did. Jesus, thank you for the healing that I’ve heard you’ve done for so many others — to the bent-over woman and the boy with the demon, to the bleeding woman and the widow’s son, to the centurion’s servant and the man with a withered hand, to the paralytic, to the man with an unclean spirit. I’ve been hearing about what you’ve been doing. Thank you that you would do this for the outcast and the rejected, for the misunderstood and the dejected. Thank you.

Thank you for risking your reputation and your dignity, for being willing to heal us even though it might deem you one of the marked ones. Thank you. Thank you. I’ve heard you even healed people on the Sabbath, bending the laws in order to spread this gospel of love. Thank you. Thank you for seeing us as human beings — even the ones outside the gate, even the ones for whom the dogs were licking their sores. Thank you.

Thank you for treating me, a foreigner and an outsider — a villain in so many people’s eyes — with the respect and the care that I had forgotten that I deserve. Praise God for you, Jesus. Praise God for showing us mercy. Praise God for the blessings you have bestowed on my life. Praise God that I could be welcomed back into this community for the first time in ages. Praise God that my suffering is gone, that my pain is no more, that my wounds are healed, that my skin is smooth again, that my sores have vanished. Praise God that I get to hold my baby boy, that I get to hug my husband, that I get to have a meal with my cousins, that I get to embrace my friends — for how I have missed them. So praise God for you. Thank you.”

What a remarkable, remarkable moment of grace, is it not?

And putting ourselves in the shoes of the ten — or the nine, at this point — when Jesus asks, “Wait, weren’t ten made clean? Where are the other nine, guys and gals?” I’ve got to wonder — as maybe N. T. Wright hints — maybe those nine were afraid to go back and identify with this man who would now be deemed a marked one for the ways he was healing and touching people that were deemed untouchable. They didn’t want to be associated with him. They had just received this blessing and this cleansing.

Or maybe they were so excited to see their families, they just sprinted away to go find them. I would have done that, too. Or maybe — I don’t know — maybe they didn’t think they had any right to go back and look for the one, the Son of God. Maybe the priests told them not to go back, because the priests were the ones who declared them cleansed, not this rabble-rouser.

In any case, they are not there. And when Jesus asks, “Was none of them found to return? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except for this foreigner?” we know the answer.

I wonder if Jesus was hurt by this or confused by this. I wonder if he was saddened by the reality that despite everything he had done for God’s people, they would still leave him in the dust, alone.

But to the one who returned, one thing is clear: Jesus doesn’t care about this man’s religious status. Jesus doesn’t care about his citizenship status when he heals him. He doesn’t say, “Show me your papers, and then I’ll heal you.” He doesn’t believe in separating this man from his family. He doesn’t care if he’s going to get in trouble with the authorities or not. He doesn’t call for or approve state-sanctioned violence and send armies to go and beat and imprison this man — to deport and demean him. He doesn’t care about that. No, our God doesn’t work that way.

His healing is not limited by language or ethnicity, by nationality or economic status. His healing doesn’t care even about the quantity of this man’s faith — because we heard last week from Pastor Sele, all you need is the faith of a teeny-weeny little mustard seed. He doesn’t care about the quantity; he cares, church, about the nature of this man’s faith. The nature of this man’s faith. He cares that he came back. He cares that he returned and said thank you. He cares that he praised God. He cares that the attitude of this man’s faith was gratitude.

I did not mean to rhyme there, but there you go.

And as John Buchanan writes, faith without gratitude is not faith at all. He says, “There is something life-giving about gratitude.” There is something life-giving about gratitude.

And I could read you all these studies that I read this week about the science behind gratitude and the statistics about what it does for your mental health, for your physical health, for the chemical balance in your body. And I could say, “You need to write more thank-you notes.” And I could say, “You need to say thank you to five people every day.” And I could say, “You need to be more grateful. You need to make a list every single evening with everything that you want to say thank you for — for the sun, for this amazing family and baby that was dedicated, for the food in front of you this day, for a body that got you here, for a church community that surrounds you in love, even when you’re annoying, even when you get it wrong.”

But I don’t need to tell you that, because this story speaks for itself, does it not?

This story — this leper, this man — he returns not to get healed; he returns because he was healed. Oh, that’s powerful. His desire is not transactional for the Savior. His desire is simply to say thank you.

And this is no small act — especially in the Gospel of Luke. And this is the only gospel where we hear this story. This double outcast — this leper and this foreigner — his faith is made complete because it includes gratitude. Our faith is made complete because it involves praise.

And we see it so often in the Gospel of Luke. Remember Simeon and Anna and how they praise God. Remember all of the witnesses to the miracles of Jesus who see them and then praise God. Remember especially the centurion at the foot of the cross, who sees Jesus’s final selfless and compassionate last moments and praises God — these unexpected characters who teach us something about faith, who flip the script for us over and over again, that the villains become heroes and that the outcasts become our guideposts for how to be in this world.

Praising God was a very natural response to what they saw and what they experienced. The last sentence in this passage — the very last one — echoes a lot of what Jesus says in his previous healings in Luke. He says, “Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.”

One of the things I love most about this man — and this God made flesh — is that he does not stop at physical healing. That’s never where the story ends. He stops at wellness. He stops at being made well.

And I think that’s a really important distinction, because as people in the medical trade know, it is one thing to bandage up someone, and it is another to show dignity and welcome them back into a community that embraces them — that doesn’t judge them. Jesus wants us to pay attention to this, and we see it over and over again. And it looks like being given the opportunity to fully participate in the life of a community again. That our skin is not made smooth for nothing, but that we return — turned back — to a place that ushers us into the kingdom of God and says, “Welcome back. We missed you. Welcome back. We’re so sorry we didn’t see you. Welcome back. You have every right to be here.”

Healing first, but wholeness finally.

And to the ones who didn’t turn back to find Jesus — because I would have been one of those nine, absolutely — Luke doesn’t say that they were any less healed. He just implies that they were less grateful. That’s the distinction. And here he insinuates that it’s in the thanking that saves this grateful leper.

And this kind of thankfulness — it’s available to us every day and every second, and it’s free of cost.

So, as we look to Mary’s Magnificat of praise, as we look to Simeon and Anna, as we look to the centurion, as we look to the witnesses of so many miracles, and to this outcast and to this leper, we sing every week a song of gratitude.

So — will you be the one who turns back? Will you be the one who turns around and runs and seeks the face of Christ and kneels at his feet and can’t help but praise him — to this God who not only heals but makes us well?

And as we will sing soon — as we sing every week — as a reminder of the importance of praise:

“Praise God from whom all blessings flow.
Praise God, all creatures here below.
Praise God above, ye heavenly host,
Creator, Son, and Holy Ghost.”

And we say amen. Amen. And amen. And we say thank you.

A Living Sacrifice

Sermon preached by Rev. Kevin McNeil on Sunday, August 31, 2025

Thank you, Jack, for the reading. Good morning. We just want to make sure, um, from the scripture that was read, um, I want to lift up verses 15 and 16 again in our hearing.

Therefore, through Jesus, let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise, the fruit of lips that openly profess his name, and do not forget to do good and share with others. For with such sacrifices, God is pleased.

Um, for the four hours I've been afforded this morning, I want to— You, somebody just said, “We going to miss brunch.” Uh, but I want to use for our subject this morning: A Living Sacrifice.

Let us pray. Lord, we are thankful for this day. For when the sun shined over the mountaintop, you called our name. We're glad that last night wasn't our last night. Now Lord, we're here at the door of our tent needing a word from you. Speak to our hearts, our minds, and our bodies. Give us courage not just to hear but also to respond. It is in your name we pray. Amen.

Um, we live in some interesting times. Um, times when it feels like the church is under pressure sometimes, challenges that come our way from things that are happening all around us. The question I ponder most days is: What is our response?

What is our response to the things that we see happening, whether it's in the statehouse or in the house next door? What is our response when there are folks who seem to embrace a life of division and hate and strife and they call themselves Christians? Maybe I'm the person that's got that challenge in their life right now, that's feeling that tension as they move in and about society. But I'm challenged when I hear people say, "I'm a Christian," and then they enact policy violence on the weak and the poor. I'm challenged when I hear people say they are Christian. And in some cases, I was watching one of the news channels and the guy said, "Well, he's a good Christian, but he committed a senseless act of violence." And I listened as folks tried to justify. And maybe that's our problem. We've gotten too comfortable being Christians. Maybe that's it.

And for me, I will offer up part of that challenge with that word Christian now is sometimes I wonder: What does it mean to be a Christian? You know, I used to teach these healthy communication classes, and I would always say to folks who would come into the class, “Your problem most often when you're having a difficult conversation with someone is that you're using the same words, but you're actually speaking a different language.” What happens most of the time is when we hear people say common phrases like “I love you,” we don't know what they actually mean. We hear what we mean. And so we respond based on what we mean with what we've heard and not what they've actually said.

And so I suggest sometimes when people say things, the best thing you can do to make sure that you're not having a miscommunication is ask a simple question: What do you mean by that?

And so sometimes I find myself in these places where people are talking about Christianity and being a Christian and I want to ask, What do you mean by that? Because if you look at the history of Christianity throughout the ages, and especially in the context of our country, sometimes it gets a bit complicated.

But maybe there's a problem with the church. Maybe the problem is we were never called to be Christians anyway. That's why you probably say, "Well, where's he going with that?" Anybody remember the Great Commission? In the Great Commission, we were never called to make Christians. We were called to make disciples. And when you start to sit back and think about all that Jesus did, all that he said, and who he is, being a disciple is very different from being a Christian.

See, in 2025, Christians are transactional. I'll do this if you do that. Disciples are relational. We talk about the kingdom and family and being a part of one body together. Christians like to draw lines in the sand that Jesus does not draw. Disciples say we're all part of one body of Christ. Christians like to have rules and regulations that determine whether or not you're a member. And disciples say all are welcome at the table.

So maybe that's my issue with this word Christian in 2025: that we are about the business of making disciples. People who fall in love with Jesus and then live through their best efforts to try to mimic him.

Here is a litmus test. Now don't nobody tell on yourself. What does your life reflect? I often used to tell my students this. I would say, “Your life is like a mirror. You reflect the thing that you're closest to.”

So, if you see somebody—I know I'm not talking about anybody in here—but if you see somebody and their life is all about hate and being mean and nasty and ugly to somebody, you can probably guess what they're close to. But as a disciple, one who follows Christ, one who tries to mimic the life of Christ, I am meant to get close to him. And if the Bible says that God is love, what should I be reflecting? Is your life reflecting love? Just a thought.

The writer in our text this morning, in an attempt to deal with a church—a body of believers who find themselves in a very similar place dealing with pressures from the government that was allowing and even sanctioning folks to commit violence against them, dealing with social structures that were challenging their existence and their identity, and also dealing with some wolves in sheep's clothing who were infiltrating their communities of faith and questioning whether or not this Jesus thing was real. They were under stress. They were under tension. They were being pushed.

The reason the letter is written is because there were Jewish folks who had infiltrated the church and were trying to turn these new disciples back to Judaism. And so the letter is written to say, "Hey, hold on. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. You were saved by grace through the belief in Jesus Christ." Remember that you were meant to walk in a life of love. As a matter of fact, you were meant to live a life of love. Live a life so that people who are looking for Christ find him in you.

I often wonder when people see me, what do they see? I have been told several times that I don't look like a preacher. I'm not sure if that's good or bad. You know, I've been doing this for 27, almost 28 years. And I still haven't figured out if that's a good thing or a bad thing, you know. But I often wonder when people see me, what is it they see? What am I reflecting? What am I living out so that when people see me, I hope they find themselves a little bit closer to Christ.

Um, and if they are transformed and have to like my football teams, that'll be good too. Um, the strategy of the church is to love. We were commanded to love. We're commanded to care. In the writing here, in the first three verses of this chapter, there is a command for each individual to care deeply about the person next to them—even the stranger, the person you don't know.

You know what is interesting? In John, Jesus says, “By this they will know you are my disciples: that you love each other.” Notice that Jesus says the litmus test to tell whether or not you're a disciple is not how well you love me, not how much money you put in the plate. Because if you’ve ever seen The Sopranos or some of those movies, I mean, that could be a little sketchy. But he says the litmus test for how to tell, how I will judge whether or not you're a disciple, is how you love each other.

That's the test. Not how much money you make, not whether you go to the right school, not whether you cheer for the right team—Hurricanes and Dolphins, by the way, in case you're keeping score—but how you love each other. That's our test.

The test for the disciple is to love. And through living a life of love, you become a living sacrifice. Know what I mean? You don't know what I mean? Um, so let me see if I can help us. Maybe I'll just— So here is the tension in my own personal life.

I have three kids. Um, and I have a new granddaughter who just turned a year old. And I'm so thankful for her because I now have somebody in my family I like. But being a dad is a selfless act. Um, y'all probably had better children than me, but there are moments where I looked at my kids and said, "Is this the baby I brought home from the hospital? Is this the kid I taught his ABCs, or I taught her how to tie her shoe? Is this the child that I talked to and said, 'Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so'? Really?"

There have been some moments when I've looked at my children and said, "What made you think that was a good idea?" Oh, y'all didn't have those issues? Pray for me. I'mma find a support group.

But here's the challenge. The tension for me is even when they messed up, as a dad, God's expectation of me was to still show up and love and forgive, and show up and love and forgive, and continue to teach and not be judgmental about when they get it. So the tension for me is God is saying, "Don't just do it for your kids. Do it for all of my kids."

So every person I meet, I've got to pray for. I've got to show love. I've got to encourage. I've got to forgive. I've got to lift up. And some days I don't want to. I know I'm probably not supposed to say stuff like that because I'm standing here with the robe and the stole on, and I look, you know, real holy and all that, but let's just be honest. There's a real reason why in the Old Testament there's a book of Lamentations. Sometimes God puts something in front of you and you're like, “I don't want to do that. No.” But then he says, "Nope, that's exactly the thing I want you to do."

And sometimes when I'm looking at that thing, I want to go—well, sometimes I do go in the back and throw a temper tantrum. Then I come out and do what he asked me to do, because I mean, he is God and there's a judgment day coming. Um, but the reality is I must sacrifice not for my benefit but for the benefit of the kingdom, so that somebody else will see and meet Jesus in their own way. And then I've got to not be judgmental about when they get it, but just thank God that they get it.

He then moves on and talks about in verse 8, "Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, today, and forevermore." That's the linchpin. That's the reason I can be a living sacrifice, and you can be a living sacrifice also, because the same God that forgave on yesterday, the same God that's forgiving and providing grace and love and mercy and all those things right now, will provide them on tomorrow.

And the God that forgave me, the God that watched over me, the God that protected me—I want that same God to do it for somebody else, to do it for everybody else. But not just so they can keep doing what they're doing—so that I have an opportunity to model his love in front of them, so they want to end up getting closer to him.

The hope of the disciple is that Jesus is who he is. He doesn't just love us. He gave his life for us. He died for us. He rose for us. And he even now makes intercession for us.

We used to sing this song when I was a little boy: My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and his righteousness. I shall not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus’ name. On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand. Y'all sing that? They still sing those songs.

Do you live with that hope? Because if you live with that hope, then you embrace being a living sacrifice and give people grace. You encourage people. You push people forward. For the disciple is not one who lives to put people down. That's the rock. Jesus is the rock we stand on. He's the hope we live by. And he's the strength we live through to be a living sacrifice, not just for us but for others.

And then in verse 15, he says, "Therefore—" Well, first he says, "Through Jesus." Therefore—so let me stop. Let me just not be presumptuous. Do y'all know Jesus? That one was not rhetorical. I was hoping I'd get a yes or two.

But do you know Jesus? No, I don't mean do you know of him the same way we know of some of these athletes. Do you know him? Are you in relationship with him? Does your life reflect him each and every day? Are you trying to get to know him better and better?

Here's a test. Do you talk to Jesus on days that are not Sunday? It's a piss-poor relationship for people that only talk one day a week.

Now, if you know Jesus, if you love Jesus, if you didn't just show up here by accident this morning—you intended to be here, you got up and, you know, did your hair and your makeup and put your clothes on and you were headed here. Hopefully nobody that's sitting in here was headed to brunch somewhere and made a wrong turn and decided you would stay. But if you came here on purpose, the thing that is inferred by your presence is that you know Jesus, and y'all are good friends, that you're all right, that you love him and you've accepted his love.

The writer states, "If that is true, therefore, because you know him, because you love him, because you've accepted his love, because you're endeavoring to be a disciple, a study of him, because of those things, continually offer a sacrifice of praise to God."

Continually. What does continually mean? I know kids have just gone back to school. We starting doing English words here already, huh? Getting definitions too early. Nonstop, at all times. Not just on Sunday, and not just on the Sundays when they sang your favorite hymn. But the scripture of the text suggests to us—no, it doesn't suggest, it mandates—that we who call ourselves disciples should continuously offer the sacrifice of praise.

And why does he call it a sacrifice? Because sometimes you don't feel like it. Okay. Sometimes I don't feel like it. Sometimes I wake up and stuff that wasn't hurting when I went to bed is hurting when I woke up. Sometimes I want it to be sunshine and nice all day, and I wake up and it's raining. Sometimes I want my day to go this way, and it goes that way. Sometimes I have high hopes for people and they let me down. Sometimes I have high hopes for myself and I let me down.

But the scripture suggests that all times are good times to offer God a sacrifice of praise.

That’s really the tension in the text this morning. The tension is that these disciples, these folks who were followers of Christ, had gotten distracted. They had gotten turned around and twisted in all kinds of different ways. And so the writer is trying to point them back to their true mission, to their true identity. And so he says, “Remember to offer up the sacrifice of praise.”

What does that mean? That means that every day I wake up, no matter what’s going on in my life, no matter the struggle, the sacrifice of praise is my offering to God. That means when I don’t feel like it, I still praise. When it’s raining outside and I’m running late for work and the kids are acting crazy, I still offer a sacrifice of praise. When the doctor gives me a bad report, I still offer a sacrifice of praise. When the bills are due and I don’t know where the money is coming from, I still offer a sacrifice of praise. Because it’s not based on my circumstances. It’s based on who God is.

The writer says, “Don’t forget to do good and to share with others.” That’s the other piece. If I am to be a disciple, it’s not just about what I say on Sunday morning. It’s about how I live Monday through Saturday. It’s about how I treat people when nobody’s looking. It’s about what I do when I pass that person on the corner with the cardboard sign. It’s about what I do when I see somebody being mistreated. It’s about how I share the love of Christ not just with my words but with my actions.

And then the writer says, “For with such sacrifices, God is pleased.” See, God is not looking for your lip service. God is not impressed with your church attendance record. God is not even impressed with how much you put in the offering plate if your heart is not in the right place. What pleases God is a life lived in sacrifice—where I lay down my agenda for his, where I lay down my comfort for somebody else’s well-being, where I lay down my pride to pick up humility, where I lay down my selfishness to serve somebody else.

That’s what it means to be a living sacrifice. And when I live that way, my life becomes a testimony. My life becomes a sermon. My life becomes the gospel somebody else may never read in a book but will see in me.

So the question this morning is simple: Are you living as a Christian, or are you living as a disciple? Are you going through the motions, or are you offering your life as a living sacrifice?

Because at the end of the day, titles don’t matter. What matters is fruit. What matters is reflection. What matters is love.

So my prayer for us this morning is that we will leave this place not just saying we love Jesus but showing it. That we would leave this place not just calling ourselves Christian but living as disciples. That we would leave this place committed to being a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable unto God.

And if we do that, not only will God be pleased, but the world around us will be transformed. Amen.

Eyes of Faith

Sermon preached by Rev. Margie Quinn on Sunday, August 24, 2025

Imagine that you are a woman with a chronic disability that most scholars would compare to something like spondylitis, which is a fusion of the bones and the spine that creates this ongoing stiffness and pain and inflammation and fatigue. And for 18 years, what you see is not God's confetti of stars sprinkled in the night sky. For 18 years, what you see is not the branches of a willow tree wrapping their arms around each other as you look up. What you see is not the eyes of your neighbor as you look into someone's face. No, you can hardly look up, cowering from the pain of your disease. What you see is dirt and dust and trash. Bound by this disease, you move through the world in a lot of physical pain, but you also move through the world in social pain. Many think that your disability is the result of God's judgment, which was true 2,000 years ago and in some areas of our world is still true today. So most people won't touch you. They won't talk to you. They're disgusted by you. They think your disease is contagious. And so they expect you to stay home, hiding away so that you do not get others sick with something that is causing you such chronic pain for almost two decades. Imagine feeling invisible. And you are so resigned to your illness at this point. You are so accustomed to the pain that you don't even dare consider asking for help, asking for healing. What good would that do? You've heard whispers of this man. This man who healed someone with a withered hand. This man who reached out and touched lepers. This man who healed a woman who was hemorrhaging blood for 12 years. This man who raised a little girl from the dead when everyone else thought she was gone. You've heard about him—Jesus of Nazareth—but there's no way he would heal you.

And this is who we meet in our passage today. Most theologians call her the bent-over woman. But if you know me, you know every time we have scripture with a nameless woman, we’ve got to name her, church. So, let's get a name for this woman. Evelyn. I love that name. Evelyn, for whatever reason, that day, despite the fact that she wasn't allowed to talk to rabbis and they weren't allowed to talk to her, who doesn't expect to be healed, appears at the synagogue that day. Did she leave her house wringing her hands in fear of people's judgment, taking a big resolute breath as she started to approach this place of worship? I don't know. But regardless, she arrives on the Sabbath looking down at the dust, perhaps even wondering why she showed up. And then she hears the voice of a man, and she cranes her neck to the side and she sees Jesus of Nazareth, and he is looking right at her. He is looking right at her, and he speaks right to her, and he invites her to come to him. And perhaps she shuffles over, scared, confused. And perhaps—I want to believe—Jesus kneels in front of her and gets on her level and looks right into her eyes and sees Evelyn. Maybe he wants to truly see her before he heals her. And then she finds those loving eyes of our holy healer. But she wonders why he has called her over and bent down to acknowledge her. No one talks to her. No one looks at her. And yet he does. He does. And he speaks these words to her: Woman, Evelyn, you are set free from your ailment. And then he touches her, knowing many would call him unclean for this action. He's risking his status by doing this, but he doesn’t care. He lays his hands on her. She hasn't received a loving touch in God knows how long. Feeling his weathered hands on her shoulders or neck, she feels the pain leave her body—a freeing experience she will never be able to quite articulate to people. And immediately, immediately she stands up straight and she praises God. She praises God because of this holy healer who sees her, who calls to her, who lays hands on her, who invites her, who speaks to her, who sets her free.

This isn't just about healing someone from physical pain. It is about a holistic healing of bringing someone back into the wholeness of community. And we’ve got to put a pin in that because what happens is our holy healer very quickly becomes our rebellious rule breaker. Have you heard of that Jesus? Healing on the Sabbath wasn't allowed because healing, church, takes work. Amen. And work was prohibited. And Jesus, ever the rule breaker for the sake of mercy, decides to piss some people off. And while it's easy to villainize this leader of the Sabbath, as I often do when I read this story, I actually get what he's saying. He's got a good point. Sabbath is reserved for rest. God rested on the Sabbath. God commanded us to rest on the Sabbath. We follow that God. We obey that God. He wasn't following some arbitrary cultural custom that he had made up. He was following the covenant that his ancestors had made with God. But sometimes, sometimes y'all, in the name of God and in the name of rest, we make rules and then we forget the reason for some of those rules. Sometimes our obedience, church, gets in the way of our mercy. And Jesus, he recognized that mercy and healing were more important in this moment than keeping a rule. And so, in true Jesus form, he raises his voice a little bit and he looks at the leaders of the synagogue and he says, "You hypocrites." And then he rolls up his sleeves and he puts on his attorney hat and he's ready to make his case. And he uses this argument which the Jewish people call kal va-chomer. And it basically means lighter to greater. Lighter to greater. He says, "Don't y'all untie animals from the manger and lead them to water on the Sabbath?" And this is the lighter part of the argument. And then he says, "Shouldn't this woman be set free on the Sabbath then?" And that's the greater part of the argument. If then so this. He's got the rule followers scratching their heads, doesn't he? And not only were they stumped, scripture tells us they were shamed. And I have felt that same shame before when I choose procedures over people. And scripture tells us next, the entire crowd—and maybe that means the leaders of the synagogue and the people following Jesus—the entire crowd rejoiced at the wonderful things he was doing. Imagine that. I wish I was there. For a woman on the margins who, as Lynn Japinga writes, tiptoed around the edges of worship spaces and marketplaces.

For years, Jesus's act of healing was not only physical, it was communal, it was spiritual, it was social. Elizabeth Caldwell makes it plain. She is both healed and restored to community through the one who sees her, through the one who invites her, through the one who speaks to her, through the one who lays hands on her, through the one who frees her. Y'all ever heard of that Jesus? This isn't just about her spine. Although, what a beautiful testament to Jesus's healing that is. This is about being seen and acknowledged and known, church. Surely the crowd witnesses this—I hope they do. And they see his work of mercy and they begin taking notes and they are ready to usher her back in. He sets her free. And just as the Sabbath is a reminder of the ways in which God set the Israelites free from captivity, Jesus is reminding us that sometimes the work of mercy means freeing people, untying their knots, from a loneliness, from a disease, from a way of not being seen that only he can. He allows her to once again marvel at the stars and see those branches of the redwood and look into the eyes of her family and friends.

Every so often during the week, we have folks who come to our doors asking to be seen. Perhaps they need a gas card or a bus pass. Honestly, sometimes they just want to talk and be heard. And this week, we had a really lovely young couple grace our doors. And they needed help paying for a few more nights at a hotel. And I'll be honest with you, sometimes these interruptions are very annoying. I had a lot to do. I wasn't in the mood to sit with folks and listen for I didn't know how long. And sometimes, I'll be honest with you, my skepticism, my weariness, my wondering if they're telling the truth or not, gets in the way of my mercy. But God is annoying. And God invites me, invites me, a broken woman, to look at others and see them and choose mercy over work. And so we sat in my office and they were petting my dog Joe. What's really interesting is they told me about their kids and their dog that they had to give away because of their financial situation. The woman said, "This is so comforting, this dog. This is such an emotional gift to me right now that this dog is loving on me." My dog Joe doesn't know who anyone is. She doesn't know where they came from. She doesn't care. She extends that loving nuzzle to everyone. And it may seem trite, I don't know. Maybe it's cheesy to you. But her excitement at seeing anyone from anywhere of any walk of life is convicting to the ways in which I limit my grace. Would I have given this couple a hug on their way out if I hadn't seen Joe do it? Would I have offered them the same grace and financial help if I hadn't felt that nudge from my holy healer, my rebellious rule breaker? Church, I don't know. That's why I keep coming back here.

As Professor James Alcantara writes, "For those who are religious, you've got to remember that when you do not see others, Jesus confronts you. The church is not meant to be a gated community," he writes, "but rather a place where those who are seen and freed by God are empowered to see others with—listen here—eyes of faith." Say it with me, eyes of faith. These aren't regular eyes. These are eyes of faith. These are eyes who know about a different savior and a different God. Who invites, who sees, who speaks to, who lays hands, who frees. Church, there are people in our community who feel invisible. And maybe they're sitting next to you right now, who may be in chronic pain without anybody who they feel gets it, who may feel in psychological pain, swallowed by the loneliness of depression or grief. There are those who may find themselves on the margins of society, maybe the margins of this church, and we’ve got to know better. We’ve got to do better, for those who feel like they are not being welcomed in and seen and healed in the ways that they wish. And they want to be desperately, desperately seen and known and invited to lunch and listened to and heard. And it is easy to overlook them and put our hurried lives first.

But there is the one who looks around. Y'all know who I'm talking about. And he slows down and he invites us over and he offers a gentle touch to our lonely or bitter or resigned souls and he says, be made well. And he says, I see you. And he says, come back to community. And he says, I’ve got you. He sees us. He calls us over. He speaks to us with love. He lays his hands on us and he frees us. And the question today for you and for me is whether we are willing to break some rules for the work of mercy.

Are we willing to go and do likewise? Are we willing to scramble after the one who says come? Are we willing to see each other with eyes of faith? May it be so. Let's make it be so.

Peace that Divides

Sermon preached by Rev. Wesley King on Sunday, August 17, 2025

As we prepare for this word, would you please join me in prayer?

God of healing mercies, we come to you this day as imperfect people. We know that you desire for us hope and happiness and love. Yet, we have found so many ways in which to block your gifts or to grab hold of them as if we are entitled to them. We've been given the pathway to peace in the witness of Jesus Christ. He taught us to live as a people of compassion and service. But our service has often been for ourselves, for our own gratification. We have failed to be your church. We are witnesses on earth. We have neglected the needs of others in our own rush for our own comfort. Forgive us, O merciful God. Heal your wounded spirits, our wounded spirits. Turn us again to you, that we may again learn of your love and mercy, and help us to become partners in peace and hope for others. And may glory be to God our Creator, to Jesus Christ our Redeemer, to the Spirit our Sustainer. As it was in the beginning, will always be, world without end. Amen. And amen.

There's a gym in my hometown that's a faith-based gym, and the logo is this shield with a big kind of gaudy cross on it. The name of the gym I've always giggled at: Resurrected Warrior. I typically giggle or roll my eyes sometimes because it feels a little silly to me that this gym would have that persona of Jesus. But I understand why they call it that. It comes from a literal understanding of John's apocalyptic writing in the book of Revelation.

But I understand that book differently—that it isn’t meant to be understood as a literal description of the end of times, but instead a genre of prophetic writing meant to challenge the powers of empire and give hope to an oppressed and occupied people. Still, this image of Christ that the owner had—or maybe the image of Christ the owner thought might sell more memberships—is fair. Because to be honest, Prince of Peace Pilates doesn’t have the same je ne sais quoi.

Truthfully, I think our culture has many ideas and imagery of who and what Jesus of Nazareth is and who he came to be. Some describe Jesus as someone who wants you to prosper. And while I do believe that’s true, I don’t think twelve monthly payments of $5.99 is how you achieve it. Some describe Jesus as a healer. And I do believe that to be true as well, but I don’t think a bottle of holy water for $10 will fix whatever problem you might have. Some describe Jesus—like the gym in my hometown—as a shredded bodybuilder who, like social media influencers, wants you to achieve your peak aesthetic goals. And I do believe that our bodies are temples and holy vessels that we should take care of. But I don’t think that Jesus cares about the size of our biceps or triceps.

I think many people have made Jesus Christ into their own image, rather than trying to live into the image of who Jesus Christ is as described in scripture.

Now, our text today is a strange one. Jesus, the Prince of Peace, says that he’s coming to bring strife and divisions, and that families will essentially be torn apart in his name. So I want to read this text again, this time from the Living Bible translation. And I also want to offer a method of reading scripture. This is a method that Catholics and Episcopalians often use when reading the gospel message in order for them to ingest it in three different ways. They say, “The gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ: may it pierce our minds, may it pierce our mouths, and may it pierce our hearts.”

Here now from the Living Bible Translation:

"I have come to earth to bring fire to earth, and oh, that my task were already completed. There is a terrible baptism ahead of me, and how pent up I am until it is accomplished. Do you think that I have come to give peace to the earth? No. Rather, strife and division. From now on families will be split apart, three in favor and two against, or perhaps the other way around. A father will decide one way about me and his son the other. Mother and daughter will disagree, and the decision of an honored mother-in-law will be spurned by her daughter-in-law.”

Then he turned to the crowd and said, “When you hear the clouds beginning to form in the west, you say, ‘Here comes a shower.’ And you’re right. And when the south wind blows, you say, ‘Today will be a scorcher.’ And it is. But you hypocrites! You interpret the sky well enough, but you refuse to notice the warnings all around you about the crisis ahead.”

What we know about this passage from Luke’s gospel is that Jesus in this moment is in transition. He’s on his way to Jerusalem, where he will ultimately meet his end. Earlier in this chapter, someone from the crowd of thousands who had gathered to ask Jesus some questions said, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.” And Jesus replied, “Who appointed me as judge or referee between you and your brother?”

Jesus then goes on to say, “Guard yourself against all kinds of greed. After all, one’s life is not determined by one’s possessions, even when someone is wealthy.” I take that to mean that probably the people he was speaking with didn’t have much in the first place.

Later in Luke’s gospel, he is sitting with tax collectors—some of the most hated people in the community—and with sinners. The Pharisees and the legal experts were grumbling and judging him. He also heals a man later in the gospel on the Sabbath, which was against the law.

So Jesus was teaching people a new way of living, a new way of interpreting the law that they had been given—even breaking the law when necessary to care for and love his neighbors. He was challenging Roman and religious authority.

I can imagine those who were listening to him and following him might have returned home to their households or communities, who likely didn’t take too kindly to these new teachings, these broken laws, these words of challenge to the way things were. I can imagine these teachings caused a lot of heated conversations, perhaps over the dinner table. I can imagine fights breaking out as sons, grandmothers, and fathers brought home the radical teachings of this man Jesus, and all the arguments that might have followed.

Think of it this way: we all think very highly of Martin Luther King Jr. now. But at the time, he was marching and obstructing roadways. He was encouraging sit-ins, protests, and rallies. In fact, when he died, he had a public disapproval rating of nearly 75%. And that wasn’t just racists—that was everybody.

And so I think of Jesus the same way. His teachings were radical. He was challenging Roman and religious authority. He was challenging ethnic and racial assumptions of the time. He was challenging gender assumptions of the time. And like MLK, he was making a lot of enemies. And like MLK, he was later murdered for it.

Jesus said, “Do you think that I’ve come to bring peace on earth? No, I tell you, I have come instead to bring division.”

Now, I don’t know about you, but that makes me uncomfortable. I grew up thinking of Jesus as the Prince of Peace, as someone who would unite the nations—“Every knee will bow, every tongue will confess.” And I still believe those things universally about Christ. But in this story, we are in a particular part of human history. At this part of the story, Jesus has not yet completed his time on earth.

This summer, I participated in the Center for Faith and Justice program in D.C., and they gave us shirts that said, “If you want peace, you have to fight for justice.” And I believe we are closer to achieving peace because of those who fought for justice. Much like MLK, the peace Jesus was working toward would not be realized until long after his death, resurrection, and ascension. And in some ways, it still hasn’t been fully realized. That’s what we continue to fight for.

That is why we continue to fight for justice now—so that one day that same peace the prophets foretold, that Jesus preached about, and that MLK dreamed of might finally become reality.

Peace does not mean passive. Peace does not mean saying nothing in order not to ruffle any feathers. Peace does not mean taking the path of least resistance when you know what the right thing is, even if the right thing may be much harder.

Jesus starts this passage saying that he came to cast fire upon the earth and how he wished that it were already ablaze. My hometown gym, and those who like me grew up hearing a very literal understanding of the final book of the Bible, might interpret that to mean something apocalyptic, something end-times related.

But think back to John the Baptist, who told the crowds that while he baptized with water, there would be one to come after him who would baptize with fire. And maybe that fire that Jesus is casting is the courage to be Christlike as described in scripture—especially in a world that has made Jesus into its own image.

Maybe that fire looks like taking care of the vulnerable and the downtrodden in a culture and in a society—and even among other Christians—who say that somehow empathy is now an epidemic and a weakness. Maybe that fire looks like taking care of human beings no matter where they are from or where they were born, when our culture, society, and even other Christians generalize them as criminals and lowlifes. Maybe that fire looks like ensuring that we don’t look, sound, or act like our society, our culture, or even our fellow Christians when they aren’t being Christlike.

The Indian philosopher Barodata said in the 1920s, “Jesus is ideal and wonderful, but you Christians—you aren’t like him.” Even last week, Reverend Margie said, “By faith, we proclaim to be a different kind of Christian in this world. One who is not tempted by the powers of greed and pride, but is faithful to a God of humility and love.”

Our passage ends with verses 54 and 55. I’m reading from the Common English Bible now:

"Jesus also said to the crowds, ‘When you see a cloud forming in the west, you immediately say, It’s going to rain.’ And indeed it does. And when a south wind blows, you say, ‘A heat wave is coming,’ and it does. You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the conditions on earth and in the sky. Then how is it that you don’t know how to interpret the present time?’”

When I hear this, my mind translates it into something like this: “You seem so self-aware of the obvious around you, yet you have your heads in the clouds. And I’ve told you, but you still don’t understand.”

And I get it. This is a hard passage. It shakes us up. Jesus is using his teacher voice in this moment, and it seems like the folks surrounding him just don’t get it. But we’re not judging. Churches across the world will read this gospel message this morning, and still much of our world won’t get it either.

But that’s where we step in, friends. That’s where we step up.

The front of your bulletin says, “Help us to become partners in peace and hope for others.” And I love that. But don’t be fooled into thinking that achieving that peace and hope only looks like sitting around a campfire singing kumbaya. It means fighting for justice now so that we might someday have peace.

And it might be tough. It might be unpopular. It might be hard and uncomfortable. It might mean uncomfortable conversations at the dinner table with friends and family. But we have been called to so much more. We have been called to bring the kingdom of God to earth as it is in heaven, where each and every person is treated with respect and dignity as a beloved child of God. We have been called to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and visit the imprisoned. We have been called to be agents of peace and justice and mercy and compassion in Christ’s name.

And I believe that we can do it. I might be naïve, but I believe that our fight is not over.

I offer this prayer as we close today. I pray that you receive it in this moment, take it with you into your week, and live it this week:

Christ, who has called us to be so much more than this world might offer, help us to become partners in peace and hope for others. Help guide us in how we achieve that peace and hope. Be with us, be before us, be beside us, and behind us in this work. And may the fire that you have baptized us with ignite our bones to do your will on earth. May it be so. And may we make it so with our living and our loving.

Amen.

19 Reasons

We don't know who wrote the book of Hebrews. We really don't. But we do know who this book was written to. This book was written to a group of new Christians who were following Jesus and were already being ridiculed and imprisoned, who were already having their possessions stolen, who were being mocked for following this person named Jesus Christ. So this book was written to them amidst a lot of their disappointment and discouragement that this person that they loved, this God enfleshed, hadn't returned yet, had been resurrected, and they thought would return immediately and still hadn't. And so they were losing hope. That's who this book was written to.

And we're kind of in a different time, aren't we? We're in a different country than that. We're in a different demographic than those Christians hearing these words today. And yet, I think this passage that Sarah just read from Hebrews has something to offer us in the way of encouragement and hope. We have all heard the first verse of that passage before, right? I call these pillowcase verses like Philippians 4:13 and Jeremiah 29:11. They're sort of the perfect verses to put on a pillowcase. And so this one is kind of like that: “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for and the conviction of things not yet seen.”

Sometimes verses like this lose their power when they're taken out of context. Or sometimes words like the word faith are so overused that they lose their meaning. Faith. How would you describe faith to someone who asked you what it meant?

I love what the author of Hebrews does. Instead of giving a long Webster's definition, he actually points to a litany of biblical patriarchs and matriarchs who embodied faith as a way to explain the word to this group of people. And what you'll notice is this author—or I'm going to say preacher, because a lot of theologians think that the book of Hebrews is just one long sermon—this preacher told them about people. And the thread through all of the people I'm about to describe in Hebrews 11 are people who followed God even when they were not sure where God was leading them.

I'm going to say that again: they were people who followed God even when they were not sure where God was leading them. So Sarah read eight verses this morning, but I want to give you the entire overview of this chapter. So I am going to quite literally roll up my sleeves, because 19 times in this chapter alone, you are going to hear the words by faith. You are going to hear how our ancestors followed God by faith. Are you ready? Are you ready? Okay, buckle up.

By faith, our ancestors received their approval from God. By faith, God created the world—created something visible out of something that was invisible. By faith, Abel and Enoch and Noah put their trust in a God who didn't even tell them the plans God had for them, but they trusted God anyway. By faith, this guy named Abraham obeyed God when God told him to depart from his homeland of Mesopotamia and go to a foreign land he had never been to. God promised him that this land would provide for him, and Abraham went without knowing where or seeing what it was.

And by faith, Abraham stayed in that land for a very long time—a land where he was seen as a foreigner, a land where he was living in tents with Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs to the exact same promise as him. By faith, he was able to have children with Sarah, even after they had been told they were too old, or, as the scripture writes, he had been deemed “good as dead.” By faith, Abraham was put to the test, offering up his son Isaac. And by faith, Isaac then invoked blessings on Jacob and Esau. By faith, Jacob blessed each of the sons of Joseph.

Y'all see where we're going? By faith, Joseph, at the end of his life, mentioned the exodus of the Israelites. By faith, Moses, the leader of those Israelites, was hidden for three months by his parents because, scripture says, they saw he was beautiful and they were not afraid of the king. And by faith, he refused to be called a son of Pharaoh's daughter, instead receiving ill treatment with the Israelites, the people of God, rather than receiving the fleeting pleasures of sin. By faith, he left Egypt. By faith, he kept the Passover. By faith, the people passed through the Red Sea.

By faith, the walls of Jericho came crumbling down after they had been encircled for seven days. By faith, Rahab lived because she had sheltered two Israelite spies and kept them safe. And what more should I say? That's the preacher in Hebrews talking, not me. Verse 32: “What more should I say?” the preacher says. “For time would fail me if I continued to tell you about Gideon and Barak and Samson and David and Samuel and Jephthah and the prophets, who through faith conquered kingdoms, who through faith administered justice, who through faith obtained promises and shut the mouths of lions and quenched the power of fire and escaped the edge of the sword, and were made strong out of weakness.”

Y'all, this is in the Bible. You may need to read this before you take a test or have a work presentation. This is a cheat code right here. By faith, some were mocked and suffered and were flogged and put into chains and imprisoned. They wandered in deserts and mountains and caves and holes in the ground. Yet, all of these were commended for their faith. Though they did not receive what was promised, they knew that God had provided something better.

Imagine, imagine hearing this sermon, church, when you are hopeless, when you really, really thought your Savior was coming back, and you look around and you do not see Him, and you are being beaten and brutalized for your own belief. Imagine hearing this lineage of biblical heroes before you who, by faith, were able to do what God asked them without knowing where God was leading them. Faith, the preacher shows us, is not about certainty in God, as many people would lead you to believe. It's about trust in God.

Faith is a hope that is directed toward the future. Perhaps you caught that in Abraham's vision—it's not strictly earthbound. As David Gray points out, Abraham looks beyond the temporal binding of his own life to this full reality of God and God's promises—the city of God. Did you hear that in verse 16? The city of God contrasts with these tents that they were living in and moving in. This city of God, this heavenly place, was a place that would provide them stability—stability and safety and permanence. The holy architect of that city had their back.

It is as if God is saying, “Keep one eye on the very human realities of this world, and the other eye on the future kingdom that I have promised you—a kingdom for those who live by faith.” Because when you live by faith, you let your future determine your present. I want to say that again: when you live by faith, you let your future determine your present. Which doesn't mean we get to bypass this life and just wait around for the heavenly one. It means we get to put our trust in an architect who has already pointed us toward where we are going, even if we don't know where God is leading us to today.

And it's because of this faith in the future kingdom that we can trust in that God today. We as Christians believe that faith cannot be severed from hope. But we also know that hope is really risky, isn't it? Hope is risky. It's probably why the author and preacher of Hebrews felt the need to use 19 examples to tell the people the kind of faith and hope they were going to have.

I wonder, church, what about our 19 examples? What would a preacher say to Vine Street Christian Church 19 times to allow us to live into this risky and bold hope and courage and trust in the year of our Lord 2025? I'm going to give you 19 of them. You ready?

By faith, you are participating in the life of a church during a season of a lot of transition and change. By faith, you are putting your trust in not one but two reverends with nose rings—it's true, one, two. By faith, the leaders of our church this morning are saying yes. Our council members, our elders, our deacons are saying yes to serving our church this year. By faith, Lydia is putting together a Room in the Inn task force to make sure that our lay leaders continue to do the necessary work of serving and walking with our homeless neighbors.

By faith, our staff is expanding and changing and dreaming of what this church can be. By faith, we all try to hit these high notes, and we hope to God it sounds decent on the live stream. By faith, Quentyn is leading an open and affirming task force to make sure that “all means all” in the life of this church. By faith, we are doing the best we can to live and believe in hope in a time of fear and scarcity. By faith, we are going to try intinction during communion again, y'all—come on.

By faith, our Sunday school teachers have answered the call to teach spiritual formation and biblical curiosity to kids ages one to 101. By faith, our new members today will take a chance on this church as they start an orientation. By faith, we are counting on this new HVAC to keep the temperature comfy up in this sanctuary. By faith, you have pledged your tithes and offerings, trusting that we will do the will of God with the gifts that you give.

By faith, we are discerning ways to engage in outreach in a new way and be the hands and feet of Christ out in the world. By faith, we proclaim to be a different kind of Christian in this world that is not tempted by the powers of pride and greed, but is faithful to a God of humility and love. By faith, every time we close this service, we hold hands and say, “Jesus Christ is Lord,” because we desperately and faithfully believe it to be so. By faith, we show up week after week to love each other and serve each other—even when it's uncomfortable, even when we are annoyed, even when we'd rather sleep in, even when we feel overscheduled, overburdened—because we believe that a commitment to a community is the only way we're going to get through this, y'all. Amen.

And by faith, we believe in the one who didn't place his hope on things of this world, but placed his hope on the resurrection, the heavenly place, the eternal place where we will all be one with God. And by faith, we live our lives as if that is true—trusting in the things that are unseen, having confidence in what could be with God's help. And by faith—somebody was counting—they think I got to 19 there.

Church, if you hear anything today, I hope you hear that all things are possible through God by faith. And faith isn't the assurance in things that we can see or that we know are going to happen or that have been foretold to us. No, that would be boring. What a silly end to that story. Faith is the substance, is the belief in the things that are unseen and yet to come. Our litany of heroes like Abraham and Sarah and Moses and Rahab and Abel and Enoch—they didn't know what was on the other side of their “yes,” but they said yes anyway.

Their faith was courage. Their faith was trust. Their faith was hope—hope in a future kingdom, hope in a God who had a plan even when they didn't. Their faith allowed them to follow God when they weren't sure where God was leading them, trusting, hoping that something better was waiting for them on the other side of their yes. Say yes with me this morning, Vine Street. Say yes with me and let's see what waits for us on the other side of that yes. Amen.

Courage and Context

Sermon preached by Rev. Wesley King, August 3, 2025

This morning’s text is one that I normally would shy away from because these types of texts have been used—and misused—to try and assert control or shame people for many, many years.

This entire book, actually—the book of Colossians—has been used and misused many, many times. This book contains a version of the “wives, submit to your husbands” text. It also contains the “masters, be just and fair to your slaves” text. But I decided that instead of trying to shy away from this text and choosing an easier one, I wanted to possibly turn this into a teaching moment. It’s why I’m right here instead of up there. I’m also down here because I want us to truly tackle this text together this morning. And I want you to know that I expect both of us to put in a little bit of work.

So, if you’d like to actually grab that pew Bible and go to page 2011, I invite you to do so. And while you do so, allow me to pray over our time together.

Spirit of the living God, fall afresh on me. Melt me and mold me. Fill me and use me. Spirit of the living God, fall afresh on me. Amen.

Okay, you don’t have to raise your hands, actually, but how many of you grew up during, adjacent to, or just knew about—or remember—purity culture? Hello.

If you are unaware of what I’m talking about, purity culture was an evangelical movement from the ’90s that placed a really strong emphasis on abstinence before marriage. This is where you start getting uncomfortable in your pews. It also laid out that abstinence was the only sexual ethic outside of marriage and thus did not leave any space for anything or anyone that did not fall into that heteronormative assumption.

It instructed women and girls to cover up and dress modestly, though that same instruction was often not given to the men or the boys. Purity culture also emphasized traditional gender roles and asserted that men must be the head of the household, the main moneymaker, and that women must be more submissive. They must stay home. They must provide whatever is needed for their husbands. Dating was discouraged or heavily confined—mostly to avoid premarital sex. Self-pleasure was highly discouraged, though more strongly discouraged for women than men.

You’re really getting nervous now.

And lastly, purity culture established comprehensive moral systems in which sexual behavior was closely tied to your spiritual identity, your gender roles, and your communal belonging—meaning if you did not believe this way or act this way, you were out.

Texts like this passage from Colossians were central to purity culture.

Now, some still proclaim that it was the right decision and are happy to have participated in this movement. Others, though—and truthfully, most of the people that I’ve heard from, talked to, or read about online—have shared that all it did was turn them off to church, make them repressed and confused.

All of that to say that what we do here, the words we share here, has weight. These texts—these words—are long-lasting, for better or for worse. And that is why what we do here must be intentional, and we must be invested in what that message is.

So today I want to talk about this text. But more than that, I want to talk about how we read and engage texts like these—specifically, three different ways that I want you to use, or invite you to use, rather, moving forward.

And the first way is this: you have to ask yourself, Who wrote this? Who were they writing to, and why?

The letter to the Colossians is considered a disputed letter. That means that biblical scholars do not believe that Paul literally wrote this letter. In fact, Colossians is perhaps the first letter written in Paul’s name after his death.

My Bible professor at LTS, Dr. Jerry Sumney, said this: “Paul personally did not found the church at Colossae. But the language is more powerful if Paul had already suffered a martyr’s death.”

So if Paul didn’t write it, who did? Most scholars suspect Ephesus—someone who was on Paul’s mission team—probably wrote this. And I’m also not saying that we shouldn’t listen to him just because Paul didn’t write it. But it does pose the question of how much weight we give it, or how much authority we give it over our lives, knowing that Paul himself didn’t give the instruction.

Moreover, we have to understand that Paul and his mission partners believed that Jesus’s return was imminent—so much so that in some of his letters to the Corinthians and the Ephesians, Paul even discouraged folks from getting married altogether because he believed that Jesus could return at any moment. And thus, perhaps this text too was written with that same kind of urgency in mind.

Next, the Colossian church had several leaders come through proclaiming that you had to have seen visions in order to secure your place with God. That is mentioned one chapter before this, in chapter 2. And so Paul’s purpose in this letter—or in this text—was to instruct, or possibly re-instruct, what his theology is when it comes to spiritual living and salvation.

Keep in mind that the early church did not have thousands of years of theological tradition. Many ideas and theologies and understandings flowed through the early church. And part of Paul’s purpose in writing his many letters was to institute what they believed and why.

These details are crucial because if we read these passages at face value, we are only hearing our 21st-century understanding of a text that was never intended for us. Now, that isn’t to say that we can’t learn something from it—but it is to say that it was not written to us with our 21st-century context in mind.

Here’s an example of what I mean: if I write the words, I want a Mountain Dew, and I give that note to Margie, she’s going to assume that I want the soda, Mountain Dew. But if I put that same note in a time machine and send it back a hundred years—before the invention of the best soda, Mountain Dew—they’ll assume that I’m talking about actual dew from an actual mountain. And if I send that note 100 years into the future, who knows what they’ll think I’m talking about.

That context—that historical context—is key.

Understanding that this passage was written to an early and young church about spiritual living in a time when women were still property to be owned and used to barter business deals, and where slavery was common practice, is crucial in discerning the weight that we give this passage and the authority that we give it over our lives.

Which leads us to the second way to read and understand scripture: discerning what is contextual about a passage and what is universal.

I always get really frustrated when I hear somebody say, “The Bible says it. I believe it. And that settles it.” Because if that’s the case, then what do you do about the parts that say, “Don’t get married because Jesus is coming back”? What do you do about the part one chapter later than this text in which we instruct masters to be just and fair to your slaves, in a society in which we denounce slavery? What do you do about the fact that the details of the four Gospels are all different—and sometimes even contradictory?

The Bible says... what you believe... what is settled...

The Bible is not univocal—meaning, it does not have one writer. This book was assembled over the span of 1,200-ish years and has been translated umpteen times. That’s not to discredit it at all—but it is to say that it takes more work than that.

The author of our text says in verse 5: “So put to death...”—again, words we probably wouldn’t use now—“Put to death the parts of your life that belong to the earth, such as sexual immorality, moral corruption, lust, evil desire, and greed, which is idolatry.”

Now, when I was growing up, this verse was interpreted to mean what my 1990s Sunday School teachers understood it to mean—and that’s what they taught me. But what did it mean to the writer?

Well, people much smarter than me think that it likely meant sexual practices as a part of pagan worship at that time. It likely meant adultery—specifically for the woman or the wife—as the men were not always expected to adhere to that same standard. It could have meant any practice that did not lead to pregnancy, as procreation was always the main goal. It could have meant sexual practices between married men and women that the society or the culture deemed inappropriate.

The point is: biblical scholars think it could have been a number of things pertaining to that time.

And so to you I ask: What is contextual from this passage, and what is universal? In other words, what was written for a very specific historical context—a very specific point in time—and what might we glean from it today in 2025?

I do believe that God holds a sexual ethic for us. And I believe that that message is universal. But surely the actual practice of said ethic is not the same as the first century.

So then, what is it?

I believe a key part of Christian discipleship is engaging with scripture and discerning God’s will—not just accepting something because someone told you so many moons ago. And in that same mindset, don’t just accept what I have to say today because I’m up here wearing this.

The writer had a specific intention in mind—as did our Sunday School teachers and preachers growing up. But I’m asking you: What do you think it means?

Growing up, I was told that drinking alcohol was sinful—any alcohol at all. But as I’ve grown older, though, I’ve come to realize that, for me at least—only speaking for myself—drinking alcohol isn’t inherently sinful. I’ve had many parties, dinner parties, celebrations, or just nights out with friends in which beer, wine, or rye bourbon (which is my favorite) was shared—as were cherished memories and stories. Bonds were built, relationships and friendships forged, and they remain to this day.

But I’ve also misused alcohol at times—made poor choices, said or did things that I might regret. And so I’ve had to learn my limits and how to conduct and control myself. And so I wonder if maybe our sexual ethic is similar.

The truth is: the Bible does not convey the message of “abstinence only before marriage.” Those words—or that message—is just simply not in the book. That’s just how people have interpreted it.

Which is fine, by the way. For some people, maybe it works. And for others, maybe it doesn’t. Because I know people who waited until marriage and wish that they hadn’t. And I know people who didn’t wait and wish they had.

So maybe sexual morality is more complex than that. Maybe a godly sexual ethic is for you to discern with God.

Perhaps it’s more about honoring the act, treating people with dignity and respect, emphasizing communication, and not treating sex as something of power or gain or control—but as caring for and perhaps loving somebody else.

Verse 7 of that text begins:

“These are the ways that you once followed when you were living that life. But now you must get rid of such things—wrath, anger, malice, slander, abusive language from your mouth. Do not lie to one another, seeing that you have stripped off your old self with its practices and have clothed yourself with a new self, which is being renewed in knowledge according to the image of its creator.”

To me, this message is universal. It surpasses historical context and speaks through time and space. Christ has called us to love our neighbors as much as we love ourselves. And here, Paul—or someone writing on Paul’s behalf—is reminding us that in order to love our neighbors as Christ has commanded, we must put away anger, put away wrath, put away malice and slander and abusive language that hurts and harms our neighbors if we are to be set apart.

The beginning of this passage describes us as being raised with Christ—meaning that when Christ was resurrected from the dead, we too were raised, leaving behind earthly behaviors that hurt and harm. For when we are raised with Christ, it is to be more like Christ.

Lastly, the third way that I want you to understand scripture is not only personally—how does it affect you and your walk—but communally. In scripture, in the original text and in the original languages, these authors and speakers are rarely using the singular “you.” So much of these teachings were meant for the entire community.

So with that in mind: What does it mean to respond to this text as a community?

Perhaps we end sexual immorality by working to end human trafficking.

Perhaps we end moral corruption by ensuring that our communities are registered to vote so that their voices are heard and counted.

Perhaps we end lust and evil desire by training people to communicate what they want and what they need, but also recognizing consent and honoring the “no” as much as the “yes.”

Perhaps we end greed by ensuring that funds and resources are not hoarded but are flowed and given back to the community.

Maybe a country made up predominantly of Christians doesn’t look very Christian at times because for far too long, the majority of us have just been on autopilot—not engaging with the text, not engaging with God—just accepting it at face value and then never questioning, never digging deeper, never re-evaluating or asking ourselves these questions.

And to be fair, many of us were taught, especially at young ages, not to question—and that actually doing so was antithetical to our discipleship.

Wasn’t going to tell this story, but after my grandfather died, my grandmother was really doing poorly. And I went and visited her, and she began to share with me all these questions that she had: Why did this happen? Why could God let this happen? And then she very quickly cowered and said, “I know you’re not supposed to question God. I know you’re not supposed to question.”

And I asked her. I said, “Gran, the Bible is full of people questioning God. The Psalms, the lamenting Psalms—everybody is questioning God. Why would you let this happen, God? How long, O Lord, must we wait?” But that speaks to the fact that she—like myself—was taught that questioning meant that you were not a good Christian.

And I’m not saying to throw away the things that we learned growing up. We wouldn’t have made it this far without the amazing parents, grandparents, teachers, preachers, and everybody who taught us the stories of God and of God’s abundant love.

But in those moments that we find ourselves questioning, perhaps instead we lean into it—not as an act of defiance, but as an act of taking agency over what we believe and why.

Friends, we follow a God whose time spent here on earth ministering was spent asking questions—both of his own followers and of religious authority. He often said, “You have been taught this, but what I tell you is this.”

I believe that that is another way that we are raised with Christ. Jesus’s example on earth was many things, and one of them was an eagerness to seek love despite laws, to seek mercy despite mandates, to seek compassion despite codes of conduct.

This led him to questioning the man who was accusing—or actually the men who were accusing—the woman of adultery and were ready to murder her for it.

This led to Jesus questioning religious authority when he healed the man on the Sabbath, despite it being against the law.

This also led to the Ethiopian eunuch questioning Philip as to why he couldn’t get baptized despite his racial, sexual, and gender differences.

This led to the Stone-Campbell movement ordaining Rev. Clara Hale Babcock in 1889—despite her being a woman—because the first people who shared the gospel were women.

This led to Vine Street Christian Church in the 1960s questioning why anybody would be barred from the table of God because of the color of their skin, when our own Savior had brown skin.

This led to our denomination questioning why anyone would be barred from membership or ordination or any other facet of the church because of their orientation or their gender, back in 2013—because these people too are children of God.

Friends, I hope that this has given you not any answers but more questions. But I hope that you take these frameworks and apply them to the scriptures you read. Ask these questions. Be empowered to ask these questions.

And I think in doing so, we will find and follow Christ’s example.

So may we question.
May we inquire.
May we discern.
May we pray and seek God’s will.

And in doing so, may we be raised with Christ—leaving behind earthly things that may hurt or harm ourselves or our neighbors.

And may it be so.
But may we make it so with our living and with our loving, and with the help of God.

Amen.