Tag Archives: Jesus

Labyrinth

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Proper 8C, June 29, 2025.  The Very Rev. Pamela L. Werntz

  • 2 Kings 2: 1-2,6-14. Please let me inherit a double share of your spirit.
  • Galatians 5:1,13-25. You were called to freedom…do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence.
  • Luke 9: 51-62. Follow me.

O God of the prophets, grant us the strength, the wisdom and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth, come when it may and cost what it will.

All three of our scripture readings today speak about the costs of seeking after truth – of following great teachers, of listening to prophets, of listening for God’s very Self-disclosure, and the cost of discipleship, which, as the late Walter Brueggemann used to say, is no picnic!
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Ponder these words in your heart!

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Christmas 2C. 5 January 2025. The Very Rev. Pamela L. Werntz

Jeremiah 31:7-14 “their life shall become like a watered garden”
Ephesians 1:3-6, 15-19a “I do not cease to give thanks for you as I remember you in my prayers.”
Luke 2:41-52 “I must be in that belonging to my Father.”

O God with us, grant us the strength, the wisdom and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth, come when it may, and cost what it will.

We are lingering in Christmastide for one more day. Epiphany is coming, but not quite yet! The Gospel of Luke contains the only story of the boyhood of Jesus in the Bible, and it baffles Biblical scholars. We know that ancient biographies commonly told stories of heroes in their youth to demonstrate that there were signs of greatness early on. There are some fantastic stories about Jesus’ magical powers as a young boy that didn’t make the cut when the scriptural canon was being negotiated. None of the other three Gospels, which did make it into the Bible, have any stories from Jesus’ youth; and Luke’s intention is not clear.

Is Luke demonstrating that Jesus was just like other heroes, fulfilling a divine promise that was clear to others in his boyhood? Or was Luke demonstrating that Jesus was NOT like the others because he didn’t start out knowing everything? Is this a story that demonstrates Jesus’ human-ness early on? Was he a child prodigy, learning from and asking questions of the teachers in the temple? Or was the young Jesus an ordinary adolescent, not telling his parents where he was, doing something quite dangerous, getting separated from his family, worrying them sick for the better part of a week? The answer to any of these questions could be, “Yes.”

Luke seems to be using a literary convention that matters to him and to his cosmopolitan audience to conclude his two-chapter prologue. In this little passage, however, he works in three important ideas that he wants the hearer to understand about Jesus, which found in  his Gospel.

First, in the verses just before today’s portion, Luke goes to great lengths to describe the preparation for the ceremony of Jesus’ circumcision, his dedication in the temple, the devout and righteous blessing of Simeon, and the praise of God for Jesus from the prophet Anna. We’ll hear that story on February 2 for the Feast of the Presentation. The passage ends with, “When they had finished everything required by the law of the Lord, they returned to Galilee, to their own town of Nazareth.” Then Luke says that every year Jesus’ family went up to Jerusalem for the festival of Passover. We know that Jews living within about fifteen miles of Jerusalem were expected to go to the temple three times a year: for Passover, the Feast of Unleavened Bread; for Shavuot, the Feast of Weeks (we call it Pentecost); and for Succot, the Feast of Booths. But Nazareth was more than four times that distance away. The image presented of the temple in Jerusalem by Luke is very positive, and Jesus’ parents are presented as very devout. 

Second, Jesus’ parents search and find him sitting among the rabbis, learning from them, asking questions, and demonstrating his own understanding of scripture. Here is a thoroughly Jewish Jesus, well-educated and well-grounded in his religious tradition. When Jesus asks his mother why she was searching for him, his question, literally translated, reads, “Did you not know that I must be in that belonging to my father?” This is the dramatic center of the story and these are the first words that Jesus speaks in the Gospel of Luke. The Greek words do not include the word house as in, “Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” (NRSV), nor do they include the word business as in, “Did you know that I must be about my Father’s business?” Nor does the Greek include any indication of a proper noun (no reason to capitalize the word father). Much is made about the tension between Joseph as father and God as father, and that can be there, but not necessarily. The word father is the same, so there’s no reason to believe that what Jesus is doing doesn’t belong to Joseph as well. That Jesus must be ‘in that belonging’ to his father can mean in that Jewish tradition, or in that educational Jewish dialogue. Amy-Jill Levine points out that Father’s House is a common term in the Torah, but not used to describe the temple in Jerusalem. According to Luke, the point is that Jesus was really devoutly Jewish.

A third thing to think about in this passage is a theme Luke takes up again and again: the theme of losing, searching, and finding within an expansive idea of family. Here is a story of Jesus not being in close enough contact with his parents to know that they were leaving or to let them know that he was staying; we don’t really know which. All we know is that Mary and Joseph assumed that he was with their departing caravan, and they didn’t realize he wasn’t until they were a whole day’s journey away. If this sounds implausible to you, it’s either because you don’t come from a large, extended, chaotic family, or your family has a much better grip than most. In my family of origin, I think each one of us four children got lost or left behind at least once on a family trip. Each adult thought that a particular child was with another adult or being watched by older kids. It’s a wonder we all made it out of childhood alive!

The theme of losing, searching and finding gets reprised in Luke (in stories that only appear in Luke) in the parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin and of the prodigal son. Later in this Gospel Jesus rejoices about a rich man named Zacchaeus promising to give half of his possessions to the poor and pay back four times the amount if he has defrauded anyone of anything. Jesus says in response to Zacchaeus, that the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost. The theme of family gets defined and redefined in stories about leaving home, or not being welcome at home. It is in Luke that Jesus’ disciples let him know that his mother and brothers are searching for him and he famously replies, “My mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God and do it.” This is hugely comforting to people who have left or been rejected by their families of origin because of their understanding or misunderstanding of who (and Whose) they are. 

Jesus’ wider definition of belonging is Good News to any who need, or long, to be welcomed into a more expansive, a more inclusive household of God. In Luke, Jesus employs an ever-larger definition of family, a definition of belonging and beloving that doesn’t depend on biology or inheritance, but on adoption by grace of those who listen deeply and behave lovingly toward one another. In Luke it’s clear that love makes a family. Maybe getting a glimpse of the idea that we belong and are beloved in the household of God is gift enough for this twelfth day of Christmas; or maybe it’s more than we could have thought to ask for.

At Emmanuel, I often think of the cantata as our fourth reading as well as our musical sermon. Today’s cantata text picks up the themes of losing, finding, and belonging to Jesus; or maybe it’s more about Jesus belonging to us, promising not to leave us bereft and panicked. Here we are all invited to identify with Mary searching for her dearest Jesus, her desire and joy. Here Jesus responds that he can and will always be found in the Love of God, in the love that is God. One of my colleagues, Steve Garnaas-Holmes wrote this in his poetry blog, Unfolding Light.[1] While it’s called, “Losing Jesus,” it’s more about finding Jesus.

Sometimes it feels like we’ve lost him.
Even so soon after Christmas
the magic is gone.

But we find him eventually
in the true temple:
not some place of special power or mystique,
but that sacred place within.
Where is the temple
but in that silence in the holy of holies
in you?

When you can’t find the Holy One
you may be looking too far afield.

Treasure these words and ponder them in your heart.

  1. www.unfoldinglight.net

With the Depths of Our Hearts

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Advent 2C, 8 December 2024. The Very Rev. Pamela L. Werntz

Baruch 5:1-9. Put on the robe of righteousness that comes from God.
Philippians 1:1-11. And this is my prayer, that your love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight to help you to determine what is best.
Luke 3:1-6. Prepare the way of the Lord.

O disturbing God, grant us the strength, the wisdom and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth, come when it may, and cost what it will.

This Advent, like most every Advent, I find myself wishing for some pre-holiday quiet;  but John the Baptist is always loud. It’s hard to get a sense of just what kind of loud he is from the first six verses of Luke, Chapter 3, when, in many of our heads, the prophet Isaiah’s words are accompanied by beautiful music from Handel’s Messiah. But in verse seven, which we will hear next week, John the Baptist shouts to folks who have come out to be baptized by him (mind you, they have come to receive the very baptism of repentance that he was calling for), and he yells at them, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruits worthy of repentance. If you don’t, you are like a tree that is cut down and thrown into the fire.” John the Baptist is loud, and he’s in a very bad mood. He’s wild-eyed and hopping mad. H is not the patron saint of sitting quietly sipping cocoa through a peppermint stick for a straw, dreaming of a white Christmas.

And so, liturgically, we are deliberately setting the context for our celebration of the Nativity in two weeks and two days, not with quiet reflection, but with disturbing visions from the Gospel of Luke. We began last week looking through Luke’s lens at the brink of the Passion. This week and next week we look back a little further at John the Baptist. Luke draws a picture of him as a cousin to Jesus. Perhaps they were blood relatives, but none of the other Gospels mention it; and I don’t think Luke is trying to portray a familial connection. I think, for Luke, John’s and Jesus’ work were closely related, their purposes were so akin to one another, that it was as if they had known one another since before they were even born. 

Luke’s audience would have immediately recognized John the Baptist as a prophet who was using words from Isaiah. And Luke’s audience would have immediately recognized him as a prophet just like Jeremiah. Both consecrated before birth, they predicted judgment at the end of the age, proclaimed God’s saving grace, and announced that God’s new covenant was available to everyone who repented. The books of Isaiah and Jeremiah are set in the contexts of specific points in history with references to the reigns of particular kings. So Luke dates the moment of this story of John the Baptist: It was in the fifteenth year of the domination of Emperor Tiberius, when the notoriously cruel Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea,  treasonous and insecure Herod ruled Galilee, Herod’s rival and brother Philip ruled Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruled Abilene. If that’s not enough, Luke adds to the context the corrupt and complicit high priesthood of the retired Annas and his son-in-law Caiaphas. Into this period of deepest despair a word of God came to John, son of Zechariah.

A word of God came to John in the wilderness (not the word; there’s no definite article here). Notably, a word of God didn’t come to anyone on the Who’s Who list of rulers of government or temple, but to John, out in the middle of nowhere in the year 26 or 27 CE . Isaiah heard a word of God in something like 738 BCE, which the compiler of the book of Isaiah put on a scroll more than a century after that, a word that Luke recorded two generations after John’s ministry, a word coming to us nearly two millennia later! Here is a word of God for all people for all time.

John was in a particular middle of nowhere at the mighty Jordan River; and he was in every place that is wilderness. Wilderness is the place of formation for God’s people, a place of disorganization and dispute, of loss and grief, of surprising beauty and even intermittent joy, of vulnerability and dependence on God (in other words, a long spiritual journey). Here is a word of God for our particular place on our particular spiritual journey. Here is a word of God for all people for all time in all places, all kinds of nobodies in all kinds of nowheres,  all flesh.

Rather than being a claim in the literal meaning of the term, that all flesh will see the salvation of God, this word of hope is echoed in a voice in every situation of despair. Commentator Mark Davis writes, “Its meaning may lie not so much in how it is fulfilled in any given moment in time, but in how true it is in every moment in time.”[1] A word of hope, a word of love is always and eternally being spoken by the Holy One. A word of hope, a word of love, is without limits to those who can hear.

It seems to me that being able to hear a word of hope, a word of love, has to do with immersing ourselves in repentance. Baptism is about immersion. The words baptize and immerse are synonymous in the New Testament. What does it mean to immerse ourselves in repentance, to bathe in repentance? It means to change. Repentance is not about being sincerely sorry, regretful or ashamed. Repentance is about changing thinking, direction, and action:  returning to God, returning from alienation to reintegration, from estrangement to reconciliation with God, remembering our citizenship in the realm of God. What does it mean to immerse ourselves in repentance for the forgiveness of sin? Forgiveness of sin here literally means to divorce sin, to send sin away. It means to give ourselves and others a future. It means freeing ourselves and freeing others to move forward in a new direction toward God, which is the direction of Love. It’s not easy, and we need help (a lot of help), but the cost of not doing it is so much greater than the cost of immersing ourselves in repentance, and turning again toward Love. 

If you’ve heard me preach before, you know I’m drawn to the practice of weaving together strands of theology, scripture, liturgy, and parish ministry in ways that provoke and motivate us to live out our mission in the world. I recently read about Gus Speth, an environmental lawyer who co-founded the Natural Resources Defense Council. Speth has said he used to think the most pressing environmental problems were the loss of biodiversity, the collapse of ecosystems, and climate change. He thought 30 years of good science could address and even solve those problems. Now he believes the most pressing environmental problems are selfishness, greed, and apathy; and to deal with those, he says, we need a spiritual and cultural transformation. Scientific methods don’t know how to address that, but people of faith do. Our scriptures and ethical teachings know about cultivating community where people learn to practice loving others, even complete strangers, to give with an open hand rather than grasp with a clenched fist, and to cultivate empathic and compassionate actions. 

A few weeks ago I mentioned novelist and essayist Cara Hoffman. Her latest piece in the New York Times yesterday responds to the voices of people who want to flee this country rather than live under the coming administration. She cautions that she knows from her own experience that it’s nearly impossible to live somewhere in the world where the US doesn’t have influence, positive or negative. Also, the far right is on the rise in many parts of the world. Hoffman’s advice is, “Don’t let the politics of fear displace you. It’s much more important to find your compatriots and to create a life worth living, no matter where that is…imagining what it is [you] want instead of reacting to what [you] fear.” That is the message of the whole Gospel. That is what we are doing here this morning, imagining what it is we want instead of reacting to what we fear, and not just imagining, but enacting. We are building a beloved community right now.

In light of our scripture, this compels me to ask, what repentance, what particular change, are we being called to on this December morning? What repentance for forgiveness of sin might we be immersed in today? What direct ways or level paths are we being called to prepare? What needs to be cleared or smoothed out so that all flesh will see the salvation of God? What joy can be a quiet subversion in the face of despair? This Advent, let us once again immerse ourselves in repentance, change our direction, and head again towards Love. Let us immerse ourselves because we have work to do. We have work to do to bear fruits worthy of repentance. Once again, the final chorale of today’s cantata sums it up beautifully, so I’m paraphrasing: we will succeed if (and whenever) we believe (and behave) in Love from and with the depths of our hearts.

  1.  D. Mark Davis, “All Flesh Shall See the Salvation of God,”  Left Behind and Loving It, 1 Dec. 2024.

You are set free from your ailment.

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11th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 17C, August 21, 2022; The Rev. Dr. John D. Golenski

Luke 13:12.  When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.”

In our Gospel portion today, the authors of Luke describe an encounter between a woman living with long-term consequences of something like Guillain–Barré Syndrome, multiple sclerosis, Parkinson’s Disease, or tuberculosis of the spine.  As so often happens in the Gospel stories, when a diseased, wounded, or psychically-damaged person encounters Jesus, a profound healing results.  These accounts of Jesus’s cures, however, are not selectively recounted in the Gospel just to convince us that Jesus is divine.  Usually, there is a message or lesson embedded in the account of the healing. Continue reading →

Do you not know how to interpret the present time?

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The 10th Sunday after Pentecost, August 14, 2022; The Rev. Dr. John D. Golenski

Luke 12:56. Do you not know how to interpret the present time?

Believe me when I tell you that clergy in Christian churches using the Revised Common Lectionary dread August.  That’s when we have to deal in our preaching with the apocalyptic passages in the Synoptic Gospels.  When last we shared a meal, I joked with Pam that she always takes her vacation during this month so she can escape all these “doom and gloom” passages.  Seriously, there is a lot of gloom in the portions from the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke that are assigned for August’s Sundays.  Suffused with what we could call an apocalyptic vision, they focus on the inevitability of divine judgment and the imminence of the end of time.

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Belonging to Truth

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Last Sunday of Pentecost:  Christ the King.
Proper 29B.  21 November 2021. The Rev. Pamela L. Werntz

2 Samuel 23:1-7. The spirit of the LORD is upon me.
Revelation 1:4b-8. Grace to you and peace.
John 18:33-37 .  For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth.

O Wondrous Power of Love, grant us the strength, the wisdom and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth, come when it may, and cost what it will.

We have come to the end of our liturgical year on the last Sunday in the season of Pentecost, now known as The Feast of Christ the King. It’s a newish holiday, first declared by the Bishop of Rome, Pius XI, in 1925 as he was trying to make friends with Benito Mussolini. As Episcopalians keep our ecumenical commitment to use the Revised Common Lectionary, Christ the King Sunday has become a part of our annual observance, printed on our calendars and planning books (that’s how we know it’s real). If I didn’t feel so strongly about the redeeming urge of the Holy One, I’d say that we shouldn’t observe this feast at all; maybe take the Sunday off before the holidays. But I think we have a moral obligation to acknowledge that, as Frederick Buechner observes in his book Telling the Truth, “the Gospel is often bad news before it’s good news.” Continue reading →

Peace at the Last

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Proper 27B.  7 November 2021. The Rev. Pamela L. Werntz

Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17. I need to seek security for you.
Hebrews 9:24-28. Not to deal with sin, but to save those who are eagerly waiting for him.
Mark 12:38-44.  She…has put in everything she had.

O God of Peace, grant us the strength, the wisdom and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth, come when it may, and cost what it will.

Being within the Octave or eight days of November 1, we are observing the celebration of All Saints’ Day today. Eight is a sacred number in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. In our sacred texts, eight represents a fullness of time, more than complete, a time for new life and new beginning, entrance into the eternal. In Islam, there are eight gates to heaven. The Arabic numeral 8 on its side stands for infinity. For Christians, there are traditionally eight sides on a baptismal font recalling the Torah command to circumcise on the eighth day, the Torah command to observe the feast of Passover, and the Gospel account of the resurrection of Jesus on the eighth day. Today we are sacramentally full to the brim. Liturgically, our cup is overflowing with Jane Harte’s baptism and with our celebration of Holy Eucharist. Our Great Thanksgiving will memorialize and honor those on the heart of our parish who have died since All Saints’ Day in 2020, and the beautiful Ruehr requiem will commemorate Ruth Ann Richwine Ruehr and all who died in 2020. Continue reading →

Immersion

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Proper 24B.  17 October 2021. The Rev. Pamela L. Werntz

Job 38:1-7, 34-41. Who?
Hebrews 5:1-10. Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears.
Mark 10:35-45.  What is it you want me to do for you?

O God of Mercy and Compassion, grant us the strength, the wisdom and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth, come when it may, and cost what it will.

This morning we have many reasons to deck our dear souls, our dear selves, with gladness, as the famous chorale tune begins. God woke us up today and called us to this place. We have responded to our longings, whether they are barely perceptible or practically billboard-sized. God has put longings in our hearts, longings to make spiritual meaning of our lives and of our world with shared prayer, communal wisdom, and the practice of self-giving love. Now I realize that some of you might be thinking, “Oh, that’s not why I’m here! I’m just here for Diana’s baptism,” or “I’m just here for the music!” or “I’m just here because it matters to someone I care about.” My response is, “I am too! It’s all good, and I’m so glad you’re here!” Continue reading →

Approach the throne of grace.

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Proper 23B.  10 October 2021. The Rev. Pamela L. Werntz

Job 1:1, 2:1-10. Do you still persist in your integrity?
Hebrews 1:1-4, 2:5-12. Someone has testified somewhere.
Mark 10:2-16.  Receive the kingdom of God as a little child.

O God of Possibility, grant us the strength, the wisdom and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth, come when it may, and cost what it will.

Last week I shared a question that I often hear from my colleagues, that is: “What are you going to do with those readings?” That question has been rolling around in my head and lingering in my prayer. A startling idea occurred to me this week that maybe the better question is: “What are those readings going to do with me or you?” Because as we just heard in Hebrews: [1]

Indeed, the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow; it is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And before God no creature is hidden, but all are naked and laid bare to the eyes of the one to whom we must render an account.

In the passage we heard this morning, even while Job searches in vain for God, he knows that God sees him. Continue reading →

Hold the salt, and pass the peace!

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Proper 21B.  26 September 2021. The Rev. Pamela L. Werntz

Esther 7:1-6,9-10; 9:20-22. Days for sending gifts of food to one another and presents to the poor.
James 5:13-20. Are any among you suffering? They should pray. Are any cheerful? They should sing songs of praise.
Mark 9:38-50.  Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another.

O God of Beauty, grant us the strength, the wisdom and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth, come when it may, and cost what it will.

Well, nothing says, “Let’s begin a program year” like our Gospel reading from Mark today! As one vestry member asked the other night when we were talking about this passage with its gruesome illustrations of maiming and fiery hell, “Remind me, who makes the calendar of readings?” One answer is that the Episcopal Church’s enormous, bicameral, legislative branch meeting in convention in 2006 voted in favor of adopting the Revised Common Lectionary, the three-year calendar of scripture readings. The RCL, as it is called, was developed and tested by an ecumenical group of English-speaking liturgical scholars and denominational representatives from around the world. The practice of a liturgical calendar of readings goes back to ancient Judaism. Continue reading →