Sermon: “A Perfect Fit”, 1 Samuel 17:32-33, 37-40, 18:1-5/Ephesians 6:10-17 (June 20, 2021)

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Have you ever gotten a gift that you just…didn’t like? For me, it’s coffee mugs. I have coffee mugs coming out of my ears, and while I DO love coffee, I don’t need a different mug for every day of the year. I struggle to find a place to put them all, and it’s not like they have an infinite number of uses (I only have so many pens that need holding). Every time I open a gift containing another mug, I inwardly groan. I know I’m not alone; I’m sure there are plenty of father-figures around the country this very minute opening hastily wrapped presents and wondering just what the heck they’re gonna do with whatever’s inside.

Sermon: “God’s Co-Op”, Genesis 2:4-9a, 15, 18-22/Mark 4:26-32 (June 13, 2021)

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God’s kingdom has been compared to a lot of things. According to Jesus, the Kingdom of God is like a treasure hidden in a field, a pearl of great price, yeast, a fishing net, a landowner hiring day laborers, a wedding banquet, servants entrusted with talents, and so on and so on. All revealing something important about God’s kingdom, and yet all (to our modern ears, anyway) rather enigmatic. (What actually *is* a talent, anyway?) If even the disciples struggled to extract meaning from these parables in their context, what hope do we have today?

A Modest Proposal for a New Edition of the Bible

How I wish scripture had a sarcasm font.

I'm reading through Mark 4 to internalize the context for this week's scripture reading, when I come to v. 11-12:
"[Jesus] said to [the disciples], “The secret of God’s kingdom has been given to you, but to those who are outside everything comes in parables. This is so that they can look and see but have no insight, and they can hear but not understand. Otherwise, they might turn their lives around and be forgiven."

Sermon: "Out of Our Minds", Mark 3 (June 6, 2021)

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We throw the term “crazy” around pretty lightly these days. If someone does something risky or daring, we exclaim, “That’s crazy!” If someone makes an unusual or unexpected choice, we protest, “That’s crazy!” If someone tends to behave in ways that are flamboyant or bombastic, we explain it by saying, “They’re crazy!” We usually mean it benignly or even admiringly, using the term to describe something outside of the norm in one way or another. But if we’re being honest with ourselves, the primary function of this term is to disassociate the speaker from the subject; to say, “I’d NEVER do something like that!” “Crazy” is a word that has, intentionally or not, come to represent severed connections.

Sermon: “Beyond Our Ken; Within Our ‘Can’”, Isaiah 6:1-8/John 1:1-5, 9-14 (May 30, 2021--Trinity Sunday)

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Today is what’s affectionately known by many preachers as “Heresy Sunday”. Devoting a week’s worship to the Holy Trinity SEEMS like a great idea in principle, but if you’ve ever attempted to explain the Trinity to anyone unfamiliar with the doctrine, you can understand why this is actually one of the most challenging Sundays of the year to preach. The Trinity is such a strange concept—three equal and unified persons of the same substance contained within a single God—that humanity has yet to discover an analogy that doesn’t accidentally slip into heresy in one way or another.

Sermon: "Speaking in the Spirit", Acts 2:1-8, 12-13/Ezekiel 37:1-10 (May 23, 2021--Pentecost)

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When we think of the story of Pentecost, we usually think of the dramatic visuals: the individual tongues of flame alighting on each person; the confusion of the crowd; the jeering of the unbelievers. When we think of Ezekiel and the “Valley of Dry Bones,” we likewise think of the incredible imagery: the deserted low place full of dry, sun-bleached skeletons; the spectacle of these bones suddenly becoming covered in sinews and flesh and skin; the great earthquake that accompanies this miracle. If you close your eyes, it’s easy to picture these events. They’re two of the most vivid scenes in all of scripture. No wonder we’re drawn to them.

Sermon: "This Changes Everything!" Acts 1:4-9/Ephesians 1:15-19 (May 16, 2021)

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When I first started telling people six years ago that I was moving to Idaho, I got all sorts of responses to the news. I remember one person joking that I was continuing my “I-90 ministry”—I’d begun with my theological education in Boston, continued back in my hometown of Rochester, and now was making the leap to Idaho (I-90 runs through the panhandle). According to this theory, I’ll have to retire in Washington to complete the journey.

I didn’t mind the joke at all. In fact, there was something comforting about knowing that I’d still be connected, however distantly, to the highway that I’d logged so many miles on over the years. Growing up, my family traveled I-90 to visit my grandparents in Buffalo; I made the trek between Boston and Rochester on a regular basis during the 5 years I lived in Massachusetts; I’d even occasionally hopped on I-90 for just a few miles if the traffic was bad on the other highways. Even though I was only really familiar with a relatively small stretch of the Interstate, it was still reassuring that, in the face of such a dramatic life change, I could still follow that same road to travel back home.