Sermon: “A Pentecostal Truth”, Acts 2:1-21/Numbers 11:24-29 (May 19, 2024 - Pentecost)

Today is the day that we remember the first Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit descended upon the disciples – the so-called “birthday of the Church”. And what a celebration it was! The Apostles started babbling in other languages, resulting in the crowd assuming they’re drunk, which in turn causes Peter to quote scripture at them and yell, “Nuh uh, it’s only 9am” – you know; just your average first birthday party. But seriously, we actually call Pentecost “the birthday of the Church” because it’s the point at which the disciples pivot from being Jesus’ sidekicks to being apostles with their own ministries. And while the “speaking in other languages” thing is a neat party trick, the Holy Spirit also gives the Church its *actual* first birthday gift on this occasion: a new sense of power and authority to create global unity through the gospel.

Sermon: "Holy Provocation", Numbers 20:1-5, 9-13/Hebrews 10:19-25 (November 14, 2021)

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Families fight. This is a universal truth. It doesn’t matter if yours is connected by genetics or by choice; it makes no difference how healthy the dynamics between its members are. All families fight.

The Church likes to pretend that it’s exempt from this natural law—that because we have Jesus as our head, we meet conflict with a level of grace and humility that puts everyone else to shame. But come on; we all know that isn’t true. ALL. FAMILIES. FIGHT. And God’s family is no exception. From arguments about what color to paint the walls to full-blown denominational schisms, the Christian family has been fighting with each other since time immemorial. Our fights may not resemble the backset arguments of our childhood over who’s touching whom or the tension of a holiday dinner in an election year, but they’re just as inevitable.

Sermon: "Pentecostal Power", Acts 2:1-21/Numbers 11:24-30 (May 31, 2020--Pentecost)

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Today is Pentecost. We’re all familiar with the account from Acts 2 that I read “In Other Words” a few minutes ago, where the Holy Spirit descends on the gathered community like “divided tongues of fire”. It’s a beloved story that we fondly call “the birthday of the Church” because it’s the point at which the disciples pivot from feeling lost without Jesus to taking ownership of their own ministry. It’s the point at which the gift of the Holy Spirit gives the community a sense of unity and agency.

Sermon: "Sensing the Sacred: Do You Not Perceive It?", Numbers 21:4-9/John 3:1-17 (March 8, 2020)

(This is the third sermon in our Lenten series, "Sensing the Sacred". 

The others can be found here and here.)

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Out of all of the senses that we’ll be talking about during Lent, sight is the one that we tend to rely on the most. It’s on the front lines of our perception. A very unscientific poll that I found online indicated that, if they had to choose one sense to lose, only 4% of respondents would be willing to give up their sight—the lowest percentage of all the possible responses.[1] Conventional knowledge says that “seeing is believing,” and while it may not be the ONLY path to belief, it certainly helps. This proverb even has a 21st century iteration—“Pics [pictures] or it didn’t happen.” Different words, same sentiment: if it can’t be observed with the eyes, then it’s irrelevant. 

Sermon: "Rock of Ages: Our Brokenness", Numbers 20:2-12/Matthew 16:13-19 (April 18, 2019--Maundy Thursday)

(This sermon is the sixth in our Lenten Series, "Rock of Ages", in which we're exploring how rocks can symbolize different characteristics of God and of ourselves.)

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Have you ever felt like the world was broken?

I remember being a kid and believing that life was fair. It wasn’t an active conclusion that I arrived at; I just assumed that “fair” was the default setting of the world. That as long as you were honest, did your best, and worked hard, everything would always be okay. Jesus loves me, God is good, the world is fair—these are the “truths” that shaped my childhood.

But as I grew up, I began to better understand what really motivates humanity. Justice and mercy are not the universal standards that I once thought they were. People are often far more motivated by greed, self-interest, and fear than by compassion and care for others. Our leaders don’t always have our best interests at heart. Hard work doesn’t always lead to success. Kindness won’t guarantee that others treat me the same. The world that I see reflected around me now is a far cry from the world that I once believed God intended for us. Our world is profoundly, irreparably broken—WE’VE broken it—and it terrifies me.

Sermon: "A Sign Unto You: The Cross", Numbers 21:4-9/John 3:14-16/Mark 8:31-38 (February 18, 2018)

2/18/18

Sermon video here.

(This sermon was the first in our Lenten sermon series, "A Sign Unto You", where we'll be talking about the prominent symbols of our faith and how they help--or hinder--our ability to see Christ.)

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Here we are again at the beginning of Lent. Purple paraments, repentant reflection, and a new sermon series: a sign unto you. Over the next six weeks, we’ll be looking more closely at the signs and symbols of our faith, considering together how they help or hinder our ability to see Christ. It’s so easy to embrace symbols without putting a lot of thought into what they really stand for, isn’t it? It’s one thing when the symbols are just literary metaphors in high school English class (does anyone actually remember what Moby Dick was supposed to be about, anyway?) but when they inform our faith—the lens through which we understand the world around us—it becomes a lot more important to pay attention.

Sermon: "Every Step", Exodus 15:1-7/Numbers 14:1-4/Luke 19:28-40 (March 20, 2016)

3/20/16

(Video of this sermon)

Andrew and I obviously had nothing to do with scheduling Palm Sunday where it sits in the liturgical calendar, but it fits so nicely with the themes we’ve had this year that I’m tempted to try and take credit. First we had the stewardship campaign, where we talked about being “all-in” as our community travels together into the future. Then the “Journey to Bethlehem” that we undertook in December, tracking the miles that we walked, biked, and swam so we could experience the distance trekked in order for our Messiah to be born. And now, during Lent, we’ve walked the path of our worship together, reminding ourselves why we do what we do every week, and where we go from there. Journeys, all of them. And now, today, we talk about yet another journey—a shorter one, perhaps, but one just as significant. All four gospels recount this story of Jesus’ triumphant journey into Jerusalem, during which he’s met with the cheers and jubilation of the people—and yes, of course, palms. There are some grumbles from the religious authorities—some of them even have the audacity to try and stifle the celebration—but nothing on earth can stop the holy procession.

Sermon: "Up, Up, and Away!" Numbers 21:4-9; John 3:14-21 (March 15, 2015)

3/15/14

Like a good movie director, our faith tradition makes generous use of symbolism. We talk about so many complex ideas that it’s virtually impossible to understand our faith without drawing parallels to our everyday life. When we appeal to our human senses, we’re able to convey aspects of the divine that don’t necessarily translate directly. For example, as I’ve said in the past, every single phrase that we use to describe God is necessarily a metaphor, because we can only truly understand the totality of God’s identity through human approximation. Describing God as a mother hen in Matthew 23, for example, goes a lot farther towards our understanding than just saying that God protects and loves us.