Sermon: How Not to Give (or Live)

First Presbyterian Church

October 18, 2026, Pentecost 22A (Stewardship)

Matthew 19:16-26

 

How Not to Give (or Live)

 

It’s a curious story, and as is often the case, Matthew tells it particularly curiously.

It is told in the gospel of Mark, which was written before Matthew, but this author provides some details and wording that Mark does not, resulting in particular lessons for us that are emphasized to a degree that they are not in Mark (or in Luke, for that matter, which also tells this story; Luke is the only gospel that refers to this man as the “rich young ruler”).

I’m guessing the outlines of the story are familiar, “rich young ruler” or not. The young man comes to Jesus asking about eternal life; Jesus, after a sly remark about being called “good,” instructs the young man to “keep the commandments,” emphasizing the later commandments about interpersonal relations; the young man says he has kept those all his life, and Jesus instructs him to go and sell all he has and give it away to the poor, and to come follow him; the young man goes away sorrowing, because he has a lot of stuff. The story is capped with some dialogue between Jesus and the disciples, dialogue that includes that famous line about it being easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God (and that leads into the account from Matthew 20 that we heard a few weeks ago, about the day laborers and the vineyard owner).

The outline is indeed familiar, but Matthew does include some distinctive details. For example: while Mark and Luke merely depicting the man asking what he had to do to receive (or “inherit”) eternal life, Matthew phrases the question differently; “what good deed must I do to have eternal life?” I suspect Matthew’s version might resonate even more strongly for us modern-day Christians; whether Christians admit it or not, so many times the practiced theology of so many, both churches and individuals, uncovers the secret, even unspoken conviction that we are just fine with Jesus, or Jesus is just fine with us, if we do a few prescribed “good deeds” for some poor unfortunate soul.

Both Paul’s letter to the Romans, where we spent a few months, and the forthcoming anniversary of the Reformation, much of which was inspired by Martin Luther’s intensive study of precisely that book, call out the lie inherent here. Our salvation is by grace – God’s grace – alone; no deed of ours will ever contribute one whit to our “being saved.” (The later letter of James will remind us that if indeed we are saved, our lives will show it in the deeds we do, but those deeds reflect our salvation; they do not procure it.)

While Jesus could easily have pursued that theological argument, he was far more interested in the soul of this young man asking this (evidently sincere, but still misguided) question. His return with the prescribed commandments (with his own formulation summary, “love your neighbor as yourself”) draws forth (again distinctive of Matthew’s account) the stark admission of emptiness from the young man – “I have kept all these; what do I still lack?” All the rigorous rule-keeping and the hole in the soul is still there.

Jesus’s challenge to the young man is not a universal proclamation; it is specifically directed to this individual. It is not an order that every follower of Christ sell every possession. What it does do is challenge our understanding of what we hold dear. For some it is indeed their “many possessions.” For others it might be a particular possession, or simply accumulation of wealth.

To be sure, there are certainly non-physical or tangible things that can possess us the way this man’s possessions possessed him, and on another week, given the awful and horrific headlines that besiege us every day, those things probably would have taken over this sermon.

For now, I know Jim has been waiting for this “stewardship sermon.” We are rapidly approaching that Sunday (November 8) on which we ask of you a pledge of financial support for this coming year of the church’s life.

Preachers hate, and (I do not overstate this) – I mean hate – preaching stewardship sermons. (A preacher who claims otherwise is not to be trusted.) In no small part they are profoundly uncomfortable to preach because it’s impossible not to be aware that part of what you are seeking in preaching a “stewardship sermon” is … your own salary. And it’s frequently impossible not to feel that your own salary is probably too large a portion of the church’s budget. So yeah, it’s uncomfortable. It’s also not terribly thrilling to acknowledge that much of the budget that the stewardship campaign seeks goes toward decidedly mundane things: paying the electric bill, keeping the grass mowed, getting the copier fixed so these bulletins can be printed, getting those furnaces downstairs inspected as required (that was this past Thursday) and so forth. Not exactly the stuff of thrilling oratory, no matter how practical or necessary.

And yet, those mundane things, keeping our fiscal house in order and the bills paid, are utterly necessary, and doing so involves a pledge to keep our priorities in order, to avoid being so consumed by some possessions or other that we do not contribute to the upkeep of the body of Christ, that we avoid the “I” that so consumed this rich young man questioning Jesus and remember the “we” that gathers here in this space weekly, as well as those members of the “we” that can no longer be with us physically but most certainly remain part of “we” in spirit.

By no means do I encourage you to give in order to “save yourself.” That’s not Jesus’s message to the young man, and it’s not Jesus’s message to you. By no means do I encourage you to give in order to assuage any guilty conscience you might feel. That doesn’t work either, and is no less guilty of being “works righteousness.” By no means do I encourage you to give for any reason that begins with “I” or “me.” Give for “we.” Give for the edifying of the body of Christ. Give for the work of ministry. Give for the proclamation of good news.

Honesty compels me to acknowledge that this time of year – this “stewardship campaign” season – will not be the only time we ask for money or other donations over the course of a year. You know this; why pretend otherwise? For example, the PC(USA)'s Christmas Joy offering will be coming along soon, and there's also our denomination's disaster relief work in the wake of Hurricane Isaias. And that's just two examples.

I have no doubt that your well-demonstrated generosity will rise to these occasions, but first our generosity must rise to the call of taking care of the basics. Pledge cards aren’t fancy or thrilling, but pledging does call upon us to avoid the self-centered trap of the rich young man, and to pull together as the body of Christ, each contributing and giving and supporting to the best of her or his own ability.

For bearing witness, helping those in need, and keeping the lights on, Thanks be to God. Amen.

 

 

Hymns (from Glory to God: The Presbyterian Hymnal): #692, Spirit, Open My Heart; #708, We Give Thee But Thine Own; #697, Take My Life

 

 

 

 

Sermon: It's a Trap!

First Presbyterian Church

October 11, 2026, Pentecost 21A

Matthew 22:15-22

 

It's a Trap!

 

 

 

One of the most recognizable and most quoted bits of Star Wars film lore is a simple three-word exclamation, spoken in Return of the Jedi by an admiral in the Rebel fleet upon learning that not only had they not caught Imperial forces unprepared, but that the Empire had a brand-new Death Star powering up and ready for them. Upon seeing this, Admiral Akbar, a distinctly non-humanoid character, exclaims "It's a trap!" And for that line, Admiral Akbar is one of the most-quoted characters in Star Wars lore.

Were Admiral Akbar lifted out of Star Wars and plopped into today's Matthew reading, he would have multiple opportunities to let out his famous quote, some of which are obvious to pretty much all the readers of this passage, and some of which require a bit more work to detect. (Some of them might even illuminate our upcoming stewardship campaign, too.)

The first clue that "it's a trap!" is the composition of the squad who approaches Jesus in the first place. Under normal circumstances, the Pharisees and the Herodians would have nothing to do with one another. The Herodians were not necessarily a religious group, and they were open in their support for the Roman-installed puppet king Herod, and by implication the Roman Empire who propped him up. By contrast, the Pharisees were an extremely religious group (you probably know the type) and were practiced in the p.r. of opposing Rome, but not so loudly as to get Rome riled up. That these two groups were appearing together before Jesus at all was plenty enough reason for Admiral Akbar to exclaim "it's a trap!" (and we see in verse 18 that Jesus is well aware of this trap).

Admiral Akbar would be yelling out again pretty quickly once he heard the opening statement of the Pharisee-Herodian cabal. Verse 16 is a classic bit of buttering up, some deeply insincere flattery spouted forth as if Jesus were susceptible to such a thing. If they truly believed what they were saying, they would know very well that it wasn't going to work on Jesus. Cue Admiral Akbar again: "it's a trap!"

A clearly sprung trap is what we see in verse 17. "Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?" Admiral Akbar would be spewing out "it's a trap it's a trap it's a trap" on a seemingly endless loop by this time. Sure enough, in verse 18 Jesus calls out the cabal for their "malice" - no pulling punches here! - and then springs his own trap on them by asking them to produce "the coin used for the tax."

This is a part of the trap that Admiral Akbar might not catch. Jesus's phrasing here sets this particular tax apart from all the other random taxes the people might have imposed upon them from Rome or from the Temple or from anywhere else. The particular "tax" referenced here is one that Rome reserved especially for those lands it had taken by conquest. It was, in effect, an "occupation tax," one that Rome levied on its conquests to pay the salaries and expenses of those soldiers and other officials doing the local physical work of occupying a territory.

In other words, Judea (and many other regions taken by the Roman Empire) were paying a tax to fund their own occupation by Rome. And to further the aggravation, such tax (roughly equivalent to a normal day's wages) could only be paid with this particular coin. No other currency would be accepted. So you had to go through the hassle of getting one of these coins before you could pay the "occupation tax." No wonder many in such occupied territories never paid it and hoped the Romans wouldn't notice.

So, by inducing his questioners to produce this particular coin, Jesus had trapped them into revealing that they were apparently OK with paying this tax, since there was literally no other use for this coin. Admiral Akbar might respond with a variant of his usual phrase, but in a much more admiring tone - <slowly> "now THAT'S a TRAP!!!"

There's one more potential trap in this passage, but it's a lot more subtle, and might be the one that modern readers and scholars of this scripture are more likely to get caught in. Jesus finishes the conversation by asking them whose image was on the coin, and when they correctly answered "the emperor's" in verse 21 Jesus springs his get-out-of-the-trap card: "Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor's, and to God the things that are God's." It's enough to get the Pharisee/Herodian cabal to beat a hasty retreat, to be sure. Still, though, we moderns (as well as many generations of the church before us) might well be trapped by the particular interpretation of the scripture we want to see.

It's not hard to come up with a scripture like Psalm 24:1 - "The earth is the Lord's and all that is in it" - and jump quickly to the conclusion that "hey, we Christians don't have to pay any taxes!" The trouble is that even before we get to Matthew 22, we've been through a passage in Matthew17:24-27 that doesn't let us off the hook so easily. In that passage the collectors of the temple tax show up wondering if Jesus was one of those tax-skipping types (leaving aside the fact that Jesus literally had no income). Peter answers straight out of fear "yes, he does" and then goes running to Jesus, who oddly enough seems to know exactly what's on Peter's mind. He uses an illustration about whom kings assess taxes on (hint: not their own children) to acknowledge, in a way, that the claim is correct; the children of God really don't "owe" the empire. And yet, in the next breath, Jesus suggests that "so that we do not give offense to them," Peter should go and literally fish a coin out of the lake via a fish's mouth and pay the tax with it.

Jesus doesn't see any good in an agitating, performative, but not very effective way of sticking it to the Empire. Left unspoken but implied is that if you are truly following Jesus, you're going to offend the empires you live among soon enough (that goes all the way back to chapter 10). If you're going to offend the empire, do it in a way that means something and does people some good in the process. Admiral Akbar might be wondering at this one: "it's a trap?"

One could argue that there's one more trap inherent in Jesus's final answer. Remember that the coin used to pay the "occupation tax" literally had no other use anywhere in the Roman Empire; all it could do was pay that tax. Why would God want such a thing? It truly was the emperor's in that sense, and frankly, it's best to let him have it. Give God the actually useful stuff; your time, your abilities and efforts, and yes, your financial resources as you can.

This might be a place where we get tripped up today. We may occasionally get tripped up (or trapped up?) by our sentimental attachments to certain things, even certain things about the church, and confuse our attachments to those things with things that the church can actually use. Or perhaps society has conned us into thinking some of its own obsessions and infatuations are something we need to offer to God. Even Admiral Akbar might have to concede, "yeah, it's a trap."

Let's put this bluntly in stewardship part one: aside from our own time, energy, presence, and work for the church, the most useful thing we are going to be able to give to the church is money, or something that can be redeemed for money, the stuff that enables the church to do things like keep the lights on and the air conditioning or heat running, to fix things that need to be fixed or remove things that need to be removed, and yeah, to pay folks who work for the church in some capacities.

Don't give God the useless things of the world; give to God what is God's, starting with ourselves and what we have.

For staying out of the traps of stewardship, Thanks be to God. Amen.

 

 

Hymns (from Glory to God: The Presbyterian Hymnal): #692, Spirit, Open My Heart; #708, We Give Thee but Thine Own; #697, Take My Life

 

 

 

 

Sermon: The World at God's Table

First Presbyterian Church

October 4, 2026, World Communion

Isaiah25:1-9; Revelation 7:9-17

 

The World at God's Table

 

 

It doesn't take much to remind ourselves that, whatever of God's promises we might seek out or read about or remember, or whatever vision of future glory we subscribe to, we don't live in that world yet. Clearly this is not a world that is unified in its devotion to God. Your average front page of a newspaper (whether in print or online) can usually make that clear pretty quickly.

What we might do well to remember sometimes is that the same is true of the world in which these scriptures were first written and disseminated. The Israel in which Isaiah wrote was a land at various times under siege or carried off into exile by one empire or another, and frankly beset by the inept or crooked leadership of one king after another. As to the time of the writing of the book of Revelation, most likely some time near the end of the first century, the Roman Empire held sway. As if that wasn't enough, the far-flung but still emerging body of followers of Christ was having to face the reality that there would be no home in the Judaism in which many had been born or raised before coming to follow the way of Christ. Even those who had held out the longest could no longer deny that the two, no matter what common roots they may have had, were simply separate faiths at this point.

That point is simply that texts like those we have heard today sounded as farfetched and fantastical to their first readers and hearers as they do to us today, perhaps even more so. Remember from last week's reading from the book of Jonah, how ragingly angry Jonah was at the repentence of Nineveh, the capital of Assyria? If you take Isaiah's prophetic writing at its word, that this "feast of rich food" that the Lord prepares is to be "for all peoples," then you have to assume that the people of Assyria (and Nineveh) are included among "all peoples." And to put it bluntly, there were plenty of other menacing empires that had harmed Israel, either through attack or exile, or who threatened to harm Israel, that the idea of a feast "for all peoples" might well have sounded more like threat than promise to Isaiah's hearers and readers.

It's also worth noting the nature of this feast. The wines are not only well-aged but "strained clear" - wine-making in this period often produced wines, particularly of the less-expensive variety, that were cloudy or needed to have some excess matter strained away to be palatable. And while describing food as "rich" nowadays might suggest health risk more than anything, the opposite was closer to the truth in this time, with a "rich" meat not lacking in texture and quality and frankly edibility, which was too often the case with the meats that most could obtain.

The remainder of this brief passage describes how the Lord takes away those barriers that have kept the peoples of the earth at one another's throats. The "shroud that is cast over all peoples," the shroud of violence and death, is lifted away; the tears of the peoples are dried; the disgraces that weigh down all peoples (for indeed all people are "his people") are wiped away. None of these can stand in the presence of the Lord presiding over the feast.

Our second reading also takes us away to a time yet to be, in the seemingly fantastical writings of the writer who goes by the name of John, recording a series of visions each seemingly more "out there" than the previous one. In this case, though, this particular vision is an interruption; in chapter 6 six "seals" have been broken and great terrors set loose in the land, but before the seventh seal is broken we get a glimpse of large numbers of those who have in some way remained faithful despite the tribulations visited upon them. First to be presented is a vision of thousands out of the twelve tribes of Israel. Then, however, a much greater multitude appears, "a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people, and language," standing before God. They are described in verses 14-16 as "those who have come out of the great tribulation"; they serve before the Lord's throne day and night, and "never again will they hunger; never again will they thirst," and the Lord will "lead them to springs of living water."

In short, no matter which testament you prefer, you get a vision of a great, gathered multitude, one in which all of the peoples of the earth are represented. Whether they are put before a "feast of rich food" or being led to "springs of living water," this great multitude is being provided nourishment and even more, well beyond sustenance, by the one Lord.

This is the ultimate vision of the people of God, one way or another. When one compares that vision to the current state of the church, it's not hard to see that we have some ways to go to live into that vision of joyful multitudes from all the peoples of the earth.

The church is truly spread across the nations, with all peoples or really darn close to it found in its number among the countries and tribes and languages of the earth. It can be difficult to tell that in visiting any one particular congregation of the church at worship time, when the old saw about the church at worship being one of the most segregated entities around still holds too close to true (though that's less so here than in any other church I've served).

In some ways the whole point of a World Communion Sunday such as we celebrate today is to remind ourselves that God's table is not only found in the United States nor alone in any other nation. That Sunday morning separation, willful or otherwise, cannot obscure the truth that God truly gathers followers and disciples from all the peoples of the earth. Some of the practices of those peoples might look wildly different from even the church next door, but God is gathering. What remains for us, really, is in some ways to get out of God's way and see all nations as part of the people of God. Even more, though, we are called to join, to serve together, to make welcome and hospitality for all those peoples God gathers in.

For the great multitude, from all the peoples of the earth, Thanks be to God. Amen.

 

Hymns (from Glory to God: The Presbyterian Hymnal): #515, I Come With Joy; #526, Let Us Talents and Tongues Employ; #504, We Come As Guests Invited; #500, Be Known to Us in Breaking Bread

 

 

 

Sermon: The Confession of Caesarea Philippi

First Presbyterian Church

September 27, 2026, Pentecost 18A

Matthew16:13-20

 

The Confession of Caesarea Philippi

 

 

Like many of the accounts of Jesus' life in the gospel of Matthew, this story has a parallel in the gospel of Mark – or actually a predecessor, since it seems extremely certain that Mark's gospel was written well before Matthew's. In most cases the accounts are largely the same, but sometimes there are slight differences between the two, and sometimes those differences in wording or phrasing can be quite substantial in how the story gets read. This is one of those stories.

For one thing, while Mark's gospel describes the conversation recorded here as happening while Jesus and the disciples were on their way to Caesarea Philippi, Matthew records it as happening after they had arrived there – when they "came into the district of Caesarea Philippi" is how the NRSV renders it. For Mark, language of being "on the way" is frequent enough that it suggests an easy metaphor; the journey from one place to another becomes a representation of the journey of discipleship, the journey of following Jesus. Similarly, for Matthew to place the discussion in Caesarea Philippi itself comes freighted with meaning in a different way, having to do with the nature and history of that location itself.

The earliest history of this location seems to have been as what southerners might call a "stop in the road," a location with a nearby spring for travelers on an important trade route between the port city of Tyre and the inland city of Damascus. The conquest of the region by Alexander the Great's armies and the resulting "Hellenization" of the region added a new level of significance to that spring; it was quickly appropriated as a shrine to the Greek god Pan and the location given the name Paneas.

The subsequent occupation of the area by Rome added one more layer of significance. During the reign of Caesar Augustus, the local Roman puppet ruler Herod the Great (yes, both of those names are familiar from the Nativity story in Luke's gospel) built a grand temple at the location in honor of his patron, the emperor (and perhaps also to overshadow the older Greek shrine). His son Philip expanded upon his father's work, building a full-fledged city there; therefore, the location became Caesarea Philippi – a city of Caesar belonging to Philip.

So this wasn't just some anonymous town for Jesus and the disciples to stop for a rest. For Jesus to ask "who do you say that I am?" and for Peter to answer "You are the Messiah, the son of the living God" in this particular city of all places carried the weight of the words themselves – which are weighty and powerful enough, to be sure! But it's one thing simply to say that "You are the Messiah, the son of the living God", and another thing to do so in a location carrying the marks of three of the greatest obstacles to the human understanding of God:

§  Empire – as the seat of political power in the area, Caesarea was as much the emblem of Rome as any city in the area, or even more.

§  Idolatry – both the shrine to Caesar and the older shrine to Pan make the location an excellent stand-in for a whole host of "idols" seeking to detract from God – and remember, any religion can lapse into idolatry…and finally,

§  Money – don't forget that ancient history as a center on a trade route.

Given Matthew's penchant for making everything in his gospel have some level of extra significance, it's hard to believe he didn't give extra emphasis to this conversation happening in this city. To claim Jesus, inevitably, is to reject these other claims on us.

On such an occasion it would be easy for someone like Peter to get a little puffed up and full of himself. Jesus's words in response to Peter's statement would go a long way towards getting Peter all puffed up, at least at first glance. "Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah!" Jesus says, and you can imagine Peter all flush-cheeked and waiting for Jesus to lay it on thick. But what comes next changes course a bit: "For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven." In other words, Nice job, Rocky, but you didn't come up with that all by yourself.

It's a bit of humility we can all stand to take to heart. Even the ability to understand just a little bit, to catch just a flash of a moment of insight into what God is doing with us or in us or among us; even that is a gift of God, ministered by the Holy Spirit. This discourse from Jesus that follows, a part of the story not found in Mark's version, becomes a necessary moment of instruction about our role in Jesus's work in the world.

Peter made the good confession, yes. Literally across the centuries since then, Christians have sought to give words to the call of God upon the church, to put down, in that moment and in that place, what God was doing amongst them and how God was leading them. Many of those statements are found in our denomination's Book of Confessions. Some of those confessions even reflect the place where they were written down – the Scots Confession, the Heidelberg Catechism, the Declaration of Barmen, the Confession of Belhar, for example. In many ways Peter's "Confession of Caesarea Philippi" is the forerunner of all of these, and Jesus's disclaimer to Peter – "flesh and blood has not revealed this to you" – had better be true of any such statement that comes along, or it's really not worth the trouble of writing it down. In the midst of all the idols the world offers for our adoration, it is the Spirit that gives us the answer, "Jesus is Lord."

Verses 18 and 19 have frankly become lightning rods for disagreement within the larger scope of Christianity. For example, the statement of Jesus about "you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church" becomes a sticking point depending on what you decide about "this rock"; does it refer to Peter himself, an interpretation significant in Catholic thought and understanding of Peter as the forerunner of the papacy? Or does "this rock" refer to Peter's declaration, a more historic Protestant interpretation? All of what follows, about the authority represented in the "keys of the kingdom of heaven" and things being bound or loosed on earth, gets hung up in this particular thicket. And the final verse of this reading, one that is carried over from Mark wrapping up all of Matthew's added material, makes less sense here than in Mark's gospel, in which the so-called "Messianic secret" is a consistent theme.

At any rate, the idols of Caesarea Philippi – empire, money, and even "religion" itself – still contend against the faith of those who would seek to follow Christ. And if we take nothing else away from this account of Peter's confession, we must take this: we do not resist those temptations on our own, reliant on nothing but our brains or our heart or our emotional commitment or anything like that. We resist those idols because God gives, as God gave to Peter, the words to say and hear and do in order to follow faithfully and to live as Christ would have us live in a world that would rather us not.

For the good confession in the not-so-good place, Thanks be to God. Amen.

 

Hymns (from Glory to God: The Presbyterian Hymnal): #81, Glorious Things of Thee Are Spoken; #321, The Church's One Foundation; #313, Lord, Make Us More Holy

 

 

 

Sermon: Unfair!

First Presbyterian Church

September 20, 2026, Pentecost 17A

Jonah 3:10-4:11; Matthew 20:1-16

 

Unfair!

 

 

On the surface, it might seem odd to put these two scriptural accounts together. Obviously, the makers of the Revised Common Lectionary felt otherwise, but you can be forgiven if you don't see what these two stories have in common. To see what makes these two stories complement one another, we might need to adjust our perspective; who are the important characters in each story, and why do they do the things they do?

We come to the book of Jonah after the famous part. The "great fish" has already done its work, gathering up Jonah after his attempt to run from God's call and depositing him in such a place that Nineveh, the city Jonah was trying to avoid, was about the only place he could go. Jonah gave up fleeing and made the pronouncement God had commanded. We are not told how much energy or effort he put into that announcement, but whatever he did it took effect in a way very few prophetic warnings ever have. The king himself took up the public role of chief mourner and commanded that all of Nineveh join in repenting. Our reading begins with God's response, in the last verse of chapter 3: "God changed his mind about the calamity that he had said he would bring upon them; and he did not do it."

At this Jonah "loses it." Jonah was upset precisely because his prophetic proclamation, so to speak, "worked." Nineveh and its king repented, and God relented. And this, it seems, made Jonah angry.

This is probably hard to stomach for most of us, wishing for that kind of destruction on anybody. I suspect, though, if you asked a citizen of Ukraine right now if they'd want to see Moscow destroyed, at least some would say "yes." We need to remember that this wasn't a random, unprovoked reaction; Nineveh and the kingdom of Assyria over which it ruled had wreaked havoc over Israel and Judah (and a lot of other nations) multiple times, with horrific levels of violence and destruction. Jonah's anger may have been over-the-top, but it wasn't without foundation.

Nonetheless Jonah has no answers for God, so he goes off and sulks like most people who know they've lost an argument, perhaps waiting to see if anyone in Nineveh might screw up and God might overthrow the city after all. God "appointed" a bush (what an interesting word choice, "appointed") that brought shade for Jonah, which gave him at least some pleasure. But then God "appointed" (that word again) a worm to kill the bush, and Jonah wilted as the hot, dry wind began to blow. For the umpteenth time he ordered God to let him die. That's when God settled the argument for good. Jonah could get all upset over a bush he had done nothing to grow or nourish, but God was not allowed to care about "Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not know their right hand from their left, and also many animals?"

Again, it's hard to see what this story has to do with the parable from Matthew. A vineyard owner keeps going back to the marketplace and calling forth more day workers to go out into the field and work for him for the day. That's okay, as far as it goes, but when day's end came and the owner paid the latecomers the same wage as those who started at first light, things get testy.

The answers given by the vineyard owner don't necessarily look great on the surface, do they? "You got what you agreed to." Well, yes, but one of the workers might note that doesn't answer their complaint. "Take your wages and go; it's my choice how to pay." Also true, but it's not going to silence many cries of "unfair!" "You're telling me I can't do what I choose with what's mine?" And finally, the kicker: "Or are you envious because I am generous?"

We need to take note of that last answer. "Envious" is not an uncommon translation for the words used here, but it's not very literal. What is recorded here is an idiom. A literal translation of that question would be "Are your eyes evil because I am jealous?" That's a pretty evocative metaphor. If nothing else, that will hopefully give us pause before we dismiss envy as some kind of lesser transgression. It is one of the seven deadly sins, after all.

Back to the story: our tendency is to latch on to those first laborers as the "main characters" in the story, much as we tend to assume that, well, Jonah is the main character in the book of Jonah. Doing that, though, probably hinders us from seeing what God - the real "main character" in most anything from the Bible - is doing. God moves heaven and earth (and even the sea) to get a prophet to Nineveh to warn that city into repentance, and then hears their repentance and relents from destroying it. Clear enough, I suppose.

But to get a grip on the vineyard parable, let's try a different perspective. Instead of the first group sent into the field, take a look at those left waiting; some finally get sent out to work at about 9:00 a.m. (adapted for our daily patterns), another batch at noon, still more at about 3:00 p.m., and finally one more group, somehow overlooked all day, gets sent with maybe an hour of daylight left.

From not getting any work for the day, these laborers go to getting "the usual daily wage." Some translations might use the word denarius here, but perhaps it's useful to take that out of the equation and get to the core of the matter. While this is still a subject of some discussion in biblical scholarship, one of the more strongly held positions is that "the usual daily wage" would typically be enough to feed a family for three or four days. That doesn't necessarily sound like much to our ears, but it's not nothing, and being able to feed your family for a few days can be a major blessing if there's no work to be found the next day.

The point of the story is the generosity of the vineyard owner (and let's just acknowledge that this is probably the answer to the perennial parable question "where is God in this story?"). This is where God is revealed; this is what the kingdom of heaven is like; as God was unwilling to give up even the people of Nineveh to destruction in the Jonah story, so God (in the person of the vineyard owner) is unwilling to give up any of the laborers to go without.

God's economy is not our economy, nor will it ever be limited by our economy. Our standards are (whether we admit it or not) all about bringing in those who are deserving, or have some special merit, or something that (in our eyes) sets them above others. God, on the other hand, wants everybody, and God doesn't care how late they come to the work. God doesn't care how horrifying they have been, as long as repentance is real and put into action. God brings in all, no matter what we say.

This is an interesting thing to ponder in a time when churches of many different kinds are struggling to stay afloat, having declined precipitously from the pinnacles of size, wealth, and influence they knew many decades ago. At that point a church could get away with being quite selective about who they would welcome in - not that anyone would be turned away, mind you, but there's a difference between letting folks come to worship services and welcoming them into the church. Nowadays, you have to wonder if some of those churches can remember how to be welcoming to "all" of those whom God seeks, even when their institutional lives might well depend on it.

Maybe it's The Parable of the Generous Vineyard Owner? It is at the last a story of a God who seeks to draw in and save and redeem and justify all of us, even those who seemingly get passed over again and again. Really, the only thing for us to do is get on board with God.

For a generous God, Thanks be to God. Amen.

 

Hymns (from Glory to God: The Presbyterian Hymnal): #620, Praise, My Soul, the King of Heaven; #36, For the Fruit of All Creation; #725, O Jesus, I Have Promised

Sermon: Who Are These People?

First Presbyterian Church

September 13, 2026, Pentecost 16A

Romans 16:1-16

 

Who Are These People?

 

 

I don’t know how it was for you, but when I was growing up we children were given “illustrated” Bibles – that is, Bibles with pictures in them. Usually the pictures were reserved for the “big stories” – Noah and the ark, the Exodus, maybe Jonah, maybe a prophet being all fiery. In the New Testament you’d get something from the birth of Jesus, one or more of the miracles like the feeding five thousand or walking on water, the crucifixion and the resurrection. In Acts, you might get something for Pentecost. As I remember it, though, the pictures tended to become a lot less prolific after that.

There are obvious reasons for that, of course. The remaining books in the New Testament don’t necessarily suggest obvious pictures. For example, would you really want to illustrate anything we've read from Romans these last weeks?

Anyway, as best as I remember them, all the stories were illustrated with bunches and bunches of … dudes. Men. Obviously, there were some exceptions – you can’t do a Nativity picture without Mary, for sure – but between ancient armies and twelve disciples and crowds of Pharisees, there were a lot of guys in those picture Bibles.

Here’s the thing; I was pretty impressionable at that age, and when the denomination in which I was raised was not (and still is not) friendly towards women in leadership roles except for children’s Sunday school classes, it was pretty easy for me to come away from those pictures with the distinct if subconscious impression that church was “men’s work.” The pastor and all the deacons and even the music director were men. The girls didn’t get to preach on Youth Sunday, even. Men’s work.

Clearly, they weren't reading Romans 16.

As has been noted earlier in this series, Paul had not yet been to Rome when he wrote this letter, but that didn’t mean he was unfamiliar with the church or churches there, and while such greetings are typical of all of Paul’s letters, these are much longer and more elaborate than usual, both to extend genuine greetings to his friends and comrades among the Roman Christians and to make clear to the others reading or hearing the letter that he knew more about them than they realized.

The first name in this extensive list, though, is not one of the Roman Christians; rather, Phoebe was one of Paul’s fellow laborers in the faith, and probably the one who was delivering and proclaiming the letter to the Romans personally. Paul also calls Phoebe (who is mentioned nowhere else in scripture) by two distinct Greek nouns: διακονος (diakonos) and προστασις (prostasis). The former is indeed the root of the modern English word deacon, as it is translated in the New Revised Standard Version. The term διακονος represents an official title or office in the early church, unlike other possible translations such as “minister” or “servant,” although those are valid translations in some contexts. At any rate the term denotes leadership by service. The term prostasis also connotes a leadership role, in this case one involving patronage and official representation. For example, if a member of the community at Cenchreae were called to appear before the local court or government, Phoebe could appear as that person’s representative or advocate.

Now those whom Paul greets among the Romans are also an interesting mix. The only ones we know appear elsewhere in the scriptures are the first ones mentioned, Prisca and Aquila, Paul’s fellow evangelists. They first appear in Acts 18 (Prisca is called “Priscilla” there), as among those who minister both to Paul and to Apollos, an eloquent and passionate, but ill-educated, young evangelist who becomes their student, learning the Way of the Lord more accurately from them. Greetings go out to Prisca and Aqulia in 2 Timothy, and they are with Paul extending greetings in 1 Corinthians. Paul indicates that he even owes his life to them, and that’s not a metaphor in this case.

Another interesting greeting goes to Andronicus and Junia, whom Paul calls “prominent among the apostles” and “in Christ before I was.” At minimum this suggests that these two (possibly husband and wife like Prisca and Aquila) had been converts before Paul, and possibly eyewitnesses to the resurrected Christ. The title “apostle” also denoted its own form of authority. These two, like the apostle Paul, were apparently traveling evangelists or what we might call “church planters” today, and had apparently been in prison with Paul at least once.

Later in the list, three women are singled out by Paul as “those workers in the Lord”: Tryphaena, Trypohsa, and Persis, who Paul says “worked hard in the Lord.” While no specific title is applied to those women, their work has been enough to be singled out by Paul along with the work of Urbanus, “our co-worker in Christ,” although it is possible from their position in the list that Paul is not as well acquainted with them as with those named earlier.

One other interesting name is that of Rufus. Back in Mark 15:21 we are introduced to Simon of Cyrene, the man compelled by Roman soldiers to carry the cross of Jesus when Jesus had collapsed. For reasons known only to Mark, the gospel identifies Simon as “the father of Alexander and Rufus.” While it is impossible to know if the son of Simon is the same Rufus greeted by Paul, there is some logic to the possibility, not least that both Mark and Paul feel compelled to single him out: Mark as an identifier (if his readers didn’t know Simon’s name they’d know his son’s), and Paul as one “chosen in the Lord.”

One more note on names, some of which suggest a particular role in life for their bearers. The names Ampliatus (which means “ample”), Narcissus (a name taken from mythology), the aforementioned Tryphaena (“dainty”), Trypohsa (“luscious”), and Persis, and possibly Hermes and Hermas (more names from mythology) were all common names for persons enslaved in the Roman Empire. This does not mean that all of them were actually held in slavery at the time Paul writes, but it is quite likely that some or all of these persons were either enslaved, formerly enslaved who had been granted or able to buy their freedom, or children of persons enslaved or formerly enslaved (whether freed somehow or even born free).

I don’t know how I’d have reacted, with those illustrated-Bible pictures in my head, had someone taught me this chapter in my childhood. The deacon/minister Phoebe, the evangelist Prisca, and the apostle Junia would have caused much cognitive dissonance in my young mind up against the pictures presented to me every Sunday in church. Over the centuries some have experienced that cognitive dissonance, to the point that some translators over the centuries have tried to take away Phoebe’s office, calling her only “servant,” or to suggest that “Junia” must really have been a male, “Junias,” because obviously a woman can’t be an apostle – even though; (1) in all the records of that era, the name “Junias” does not, technically, exist, and (2) the first use of the not-a-real-name name "Junias" doesn't appear in biblical manuscript until the 13th century, more than a millenium after the fact. The degree to which Paul made no accounting for class – enslaved or formerly enslaved persons jostling right up next to the wealthy or even nobility wouldn’t have fit very well into my brain either.

And yet this is the church.

Where all are called to use their gifts to the glory of God, no matter their gender or class or anything else, where there is “neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free,” this is the church. This is the body of Christ, and everyone members of it.

What probably looked like a strange and motley crew to the Romans around any of those groups (remember, we're probably talking about several house churches instead of just one) was something glorious for Paul to see, and indeed a collection of followers of Christ with much to teach us even if we know almost nothing about them. Let’s face it, folks: without women to serve as elders we’d have a severely difficult time comprising a session around here, just to name one example.

And yet even today there are churches and pastors out there today that would utterly dis-fellowship that Roman church if they came upon it today for all the ways they violate "what scripture says" about the church. This would be pretty ironic, since if we take scripture seriously Romans 16 is what scripture says about the church, or at least part of it.

The church at Rome is kinda all over the place, and yet the body of Christ. Maybe that sounds or looks familiar to us, or maybe it doesn't. Anyway, like the church at Rome that Paul so commends, our job is to welcome those who seek, no matter how different from us they may be, and to do the work of the church, no matter what anybody else has to say about it.

For our mothers (and fathers) in the faith, Thanks be to God. Amen.

 

Hymns (from Glory to God: The Presbyterian Hymnal): #409, God Is Here!; #---, See the children of God; #306, Blest Be the Tie That Binds

 

 

 

 

 

Sermon: Food Fight!

First Presbyterian Church

September 6, 2026, Pentecost 15A

Romans 14:1-12

 

Food Fight!

 

 

I'm going to begin today by introducing you to one of our cats, one that is no longer with us. Felicity came into our household ten years ago, after the death of one of the members of my first-call church. None of their children could take them in, and well, we’re suckers for cute kitties. So Felicity and her sister Phoebe came to our place, doubling the cat population at the time.

It turned out that Felicity was, and I’m trying to be gentle about this, two things: terrified, and crazy.

She was terrified of basically everything. She hid under beds, she hid under blankets, she hid under books (or between them), she hid under her sister (and this was before they were even introduced to the cats already in the household). If anyone (besides her sister) got near her she turned, if not quite vicious, definitely hostile. When Mickey and Pluto came into the picture things only got worse, with Pluto in particular becoming the focal point for a lot of hostility. It was enough to have us wondering if we'd be able to keep all four cats after all. She was, so to speak, the weak link.

At one point she and Pluto got into such a fight that one of Felicity’s claws was damaged, and she had to go to the vet for treatment. When she returned home, she had to be kept in isolation from all of the other cats and given a litterbox with shredded paper, because exposure to cat litter could have caused a much worse infection in the wound. As a result, Felicity took up residence in our bathroom.

It was this period of isolation that allowed a non-fearful personality to show in Felicity. She hated the wound treatment Julia had to give her, but otherwise during this isolation she actually started to respond to the world around her with something other than hostility and fear. She actually accepted attention and affection at times, and even started to give it sometimes. Figuring that maybe it was better to go with it, we kept our bathroom set up for Felicity and continued to do even when we moved to Kansas. There were bumps in the road, to be sure, and she and Pluto never got along, but Felicity became a much-beloved part of the fur family, no less loved than any other of the cats, and even ventured out into the hall and the living room on occasion. And she outlived Mickey and Pluto and her littermate sister Phoebe (and took over the whole house). (Not to mention she was the one cat that would actually snuggle up next to me.)

Okay, it’s not a direct path from Felicity to today’s reading from Romans, but Paul might recognize in her (to the degree he wasn’t freaked out by us moderns keeping cats in our homes) one of the “weak” of which he speaks, within the dynamic of our home back then. And the point of Paul’s instruction here, or at least part of the point, is that the “weak” are called of God, chosen of God, forgiven by God, and loved of God every bit as much as the “strong” - and the strong don't need to act otherwise.

Of course, Paul doesn’t really help his case here by using words like “weak” and “strong” (and you’ll notice if you read on to verse 14 that Paul counts himself among the “strong” on this particular subject, having no problems eating meat). While it might be surprising that food is the thing that apparently trips up the Romans to whom Paul is writing, a very similar problem also prompted Paul to spill a lot of ink in his letters to the Corinthians. On the other hand, if you’ve come together for a big holiday meal only to discover that one of the grandkids is a newly-minted vegetarian, maybe you do understand how food can become a flashpoint.

To explain as briefly as possible, people living in Rome didn’t exactly have access to herds of cattle from which to obtain meat to eat. Therefore, one would have to go to a market to purchase some to eat.

Where that market differs from the local Hy-Vee is that in some cases, the meat offered for sale might have had an interesting history. Rome, not unlike Athens of its time, harbored quite a few shrines to numerous deities, and in some cases those shrines practiced sacrificial offerings, in which the meat had been offered on or over an open flame – in other words, roasted or broiled. Since the stone or wooden idol never was going to consume that offering literally, these shrines had an awful lot of perfectly good meat on their hands, and sometimes that meat ended up at the local market.

This could be a problem to the discerning Christian shopper in two ways: (1) for some, the very idea of eating meat offered to an idol, i.e. a false god, was itself problematic (this particular question is what Paul addresses in his first letter to the Corinthians); and (2) meat offered in such fashion was very unlikely to be prepared according to Jewish dietary law; in other words, it wasn’t kosher. The latter seems to have been the root of the issue in Rome, whether among Jewish-born members of the churches at Rome or among Gentiles who had converted to Judaism before following Christ.

In this, one of two cases in this letter in which Paul seems to be addressing a very specific concern in the church communities of Rome (the other being a taxation issue in the previous chapter), his answer still points to the very universal teachings that have been laced throughout the letter. For example, only God can judge; it is not our place to presume to judge those who, by our standards, are “weak” (and remember, the non-meat eaters probably considered themselves "strong" and the meat-eaters "weak"). Sin is still always lurking, seeking any entry to create discord and hatred, and quarrels over food are as good an opportunity as any. Our freedom is not an absolute license to do whatever, whenever, however. Our freedom in God is freedom to build up the community, not to tear down one another over food, or the color of the cloth on the communion table, or any other matter great or small.

To put it bluntly, we aren’t the gatekeepers of the church.

In his systematic theological treatise Institutes of the Christian Religion, John Calvin stressed as one of the most central tenets of Christian faith that God, and God alone, held all rule and dominion over everything – all created things, all people, everything. From this idea Calvin extrapolated that the fate of all people rests solely in the hands of God.

It all sounds good and theologically proper to us, but we’re not always good at following through on it. We – speaking broadly of the Church Universal – have an incredibly persistent tendency to appoint ourselves gatekeepers. They can’t be in, because they don’t believe <insert favorite doctrine here>. <My favorite Bible verse> says this, so they have to be going to Hell. No. To be more theologically precise, Hell? No. The moment we find ourselves slipping into anything like that mindset we are usurping the sovereignty of God.

And with exclusive sovereignty comes exclusive judgment. That’s how Paul wraps up this segment of his letter, reminding the Romans that judgment is the work of God and God alone. As verses 10-12 put it,

Why do you pass judgment on your brother and sister? Or you, why do you despise your brother or sister? For all will stand before the judgment seat of God.

For it is written, ‘As I live, says the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue shall give praise to God.’

So then, each of us will be accountable to God.

 

We are not in a position to judge, and that holds true for issues far beyond eating or not eating meat.

Just as in chapter 12 Paul had reminded the Romans that vengeance was solely the province of God, here too judgment is solely the province of God. And that remains true no matter how many Bible verses you summon up by which to judge others. Let's put it bluntly: the moment you set yourself up to judge who is or is not "in," you are setting yourself outside of the body of Christ, and nobody else.

The flip side of this point is that in all cases, the meat-eaters or the vegetarians, Sunday abstainers or Sunday indulgers, the honor goes to God. Again, it’s not about a checklist – it’s not “eat this, not that.” Whatever you eat, do so honoring God. Whatever you don’t eat, do so honoring God.

And yes, this goes well beyond meat-eating or not meat-eating. Whichever we do, we do so in the Lord. We don’t do so only to ourselves – we aren’t islands; we are in the Lord. And as the body of Christ, we are in the Lord together, whatever we eat or don’t eat.

Leave aside the judgment and gatekeeping; live in forgiveness, live in grace, live in the Lord.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

 

Hymns (from Glory to God: The Presbyterian Hymnal): #269, Lead On, O King Eternal; #754, Help Us Accept Each Other; #363, Rejoice, the Lord Is King!

 

 

 

 

Felicity, once she finally decided our bedroom was hers.