Sermon for Holy Trinity – John 3:1-17

What if you could rewind your life? What would you change if you could do everything over again? Would you make different choices? As I come to terms with middle age, those questions pop into my head a lot more. Why didn’t I save more for retirement? Why did I waste my 20s? Why didn’t I travel more? Can you relate? Facebook doesn’t help because you see what other folks your same age are accomplishing, and you start comparing yourself. But I’m an optimist. I like to think that I’ve learned a lot. That I can make smarter choices. Maybe stop watching Facebook so much. Except, how do I know I’m really making better choices? I don’t know about you, but I wish I had some kind of sign that I’m really going in the right direction.

Our gospel reading has a lot to say about this. How can we know if we’re going in the right direction? That’s what Nicodemus wants to know. So he goes to Jesus because he’s looking for a sign, and he believes Jesus can set him straight. Now, we don’t know Nicodemus’ life story. We don’t know what he’s proud of or what he regrets. But we know he’s a Pharisee, and not just any Pharisee, but a leader of the Jewish community. That tells us a lot about him. He’s smart. He knows scripture backwards and forwards. He works hard to obey God’s commands, because a lot of eyes are on him. He should feel confident, right? Yet Jesus must have something he wants, otherwise he wouldn’t be sneaking by night to talk to Jesus. So maybe being a Pharisee isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

And he figures Jesus must be suspicious, so he tries to butter him up first. “We know you’re a teacher come from God, because there’s no other way you could do these amazing signs.” That’s what Nicodemus wants. He wants a sign, because he feels uncertain. Signs give direction. So this is him telling Jesus, “I know you can tell me which way to go, because I’m not sure.” That’s an impressive confession coming from someone in power. But then Jesus launches into this crazy theology lecture. “No one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” Nicodemus is like “huh?” Honestly, we should feel confused too. Because these are heavy thoughts. I mean, ask 100 different Christians what Jesus means here, and you’ll get 100 different answers. Now, Nicodemus is kind of a literal thinker. He asks, “how can anyone be born again? You mean, like, crawl back in?” Mothers in the room, what do you think?

Sermon for 6th Sunday of Easter – John 15:9-17

This week, our gospel reading is a difficult passage. Jesus is trying to teach his disciples about love. But love is a hard word to pin down. We have such different ideas about what it means. It starts with what we learn as children. Maybe your family always told that you were loved, and everything’s gregarious and demonstrative. Or maybe they avoided saying the word out loud, but showed it by their actions. Or maybe love was something that was given or withheld as a way to manipulate folks into doing what you want them to do. Lots of situations. As adults, that stuff still plays out in our relationships. Or therapy wouldn’t be a thing, right? Not that we’re just stuck on repeat. We all change in one way or another. But our love still has baggage. It’s complicated.

It’s complicated for Jesus’ disciples too. Jesus tells them, “As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love.” That’s reassuring, considering that Jesus has been telling them how he’s going to be taken away from them. But then Jesus says something strange. “If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love.” Now, when we think of Jesus, we think of how he loves sinners. Forgiveness and unconditional love. But here it sounds like Jesus is basically saying if you do what I say, then I will still love you. If-then. So right away, what’s our first question? What happens if we don’t? Will Jesus stop loving us? And it doesn’t help that Jesus just told the parable where he’s the true vine and his Father is the vinegrower. Jesus says, “He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned.” That’s not reassuring.

Sermon for 5th Sunday of Easter – Acts 8:26-40

Most of you know I’ve been in the candidacy process for a long time. A really long time. Like, I think there was life before candidacy and seminary but I can’t really remember what that was like anymore. Now, we have a great candidacy committee, and the process has been good. But it started out in a rocky way. You interview with a panel who asks you really personal questions like “Tell us about your prayer life.” “What does Jesus mean to you?” They just want to get to know you, but it feel like a test. It’s been too long ago to remember everything, except what one person asked me. What will you do if no congregation will call you? Since you’re gay? Wasn’t ready for that question. It was such a shock that I don’t remember what I said.

Our reading from Acts reminds me of that question. Peter and the Ethiopian eunuch. This story always catches the attention of a lot of LGBTQ folks, because a eunuch was someone who didn’t fit into society’s conventions for gender or sexuality. We know what that feels like. Folks in every age have always had rigid ideas of what it means to be a man or woman, and that there can only be 2 categories. So when those rules are broken there’s always a cost. Persecution. Stereotypes. Biases. Condemnation. So, this story catches our attention because we want to know what happens with this guy. And we especially want to know what God thinks about him. Is he accepted or rejected? That’s a really telling question, isn’t it? Because it says we’re not sure. If faith is about confidence, but we’re not so confident, then what?