Lord’s Prayer: Repent

Scripture Reading: Matthew 18:21-34

Praying Together

Anyone who says they don’t believe in speaking in tongues has never prayed the Lord’s Prayer with a group of Christians from diverse backgrounds. 

Over and against each other—and all at once—you’ll hear:

Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors…
Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us…
Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us…

And nobody seems to know when the prayer is supposed to stop: 

Some add the doxology; others don’t…

Some mouth along to words they can’t remember because they’re trying to show Christian solidarity but their tradition doesn’t recite that last bit…

Some are “amen-ing” when others are “kinging, powering, and glorying God”…

It’s chaos. But it’s beautiful chaos.

Leaving the end of the prayer for another week’s reflection, I don’t think it’s coincidence that the line about repentance and forgiveness is the one that we most struggle to articulate together.

A Case for Trespassing

Over the years, I’ve had the ability to take a deep look into the ways the bible talks about sin. My own studies and translation work has been aided by those of many others, such as my grad school colleague Joseph Lam, who wrote his dissertation on the concept of sin in the Old Testament. And all of that has led me to begin to think that the old ways might be best here—perhaps we should all be trespassing……in the prayer, I mean; not around town.

But first, a story. And actually, this exact story has played out more than three times in my ministry. In it’s basic form, it goes something like this:

An individual comes to me struggling with what you might call a moral dilemma. There’s something going on—perhaps in their own life, perhaps in that of a family member or among their circle of friends—but it’s something that they were taught was a sin, and they don’t know what to do about it.

At some point, I ask them what sin is. It seems a simple enough question: “What is sin?”

But universally, they each have confessed that they don’t really know. They talk about how they were given a list of things—behaviors and actions, usually—that are deemed “sin.” Sin is defined as what’s on the list. But lists are nearly impossible to use in the real world. 

I believe that part of what has sapped Christianity’s witness in the last century is that we haven’t taught people how to identify sin “in the wild,” so to speak. We don’t really know what sin is, at its core. So when peer pressure, or emotions, or stress, or health issues, or whatever it is that breaks us down does its thing, we simply shake our heads at the checklist of sins and decide that asking forgiveness is easier than asking permission.

Sin = Trespass

From all the research I’ve done, all the reading and translating and praying and everything else that has gone into it, I’ve come to the conclusion that the core sense of “sin” is not too far off from the sense of “trespass.”

As the bible talks about it, we sin “against” someone—and that someone is usually God or one other. For instance, a commonly used prayer of confession defines sin through its confessions that:

We have not loved you [God] with our whole heart;
we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves. (BCP)

Sin against God; sin against each other.

In fact, the context of the parable I read a moment ago is Jesus’ instruction for finding reconciliation with “your brother or sister” who “sins against you” (Matthew 18:15).

But what then does it mean to sin against God or each other?

As I said a moment ago, I’ve come to think of sin through the language of trespass. Here’s what that means:

Sinning against God

God has made us each unique, yet in God’s own image. It matters not our gender, our status, our economics, or our abilities—as human beings we bear the image of God. And part of that image—as seen as early as our very creation in Genesis 1 and 2—is that we are invited to be creators alongside God. 

The task of maintaining creation is a creative one, requiring the full and adaptive abilities that our God-like free-will allows.

God invited the first human into this creative process by having him name the creatures, something that God seems to have taken delight in.

Yet of course, those initial ancestors revealed the shadow-side of free will, in choosing to do the one thing they were forbidden from doing.

In doing so, they trespassed against God—and in a more literal way than you might initially think! Those first people took on themselves the role of God—deciding good and bad for themselves, instead of trusting those things to the God who made all things. They tread onto God’s lawn, so to speak, supposing to make it their own.

This is one way we sin—by taking on the roles and responsibilities that belong to God and God alone. In doing so, we trespass against God……we go where we should not go…where only God should tread.

Sinning against Each Other

In the same way, we sin against others when we trample on their free will or the image of God that they bear. Murder, adultery, theft, deceit, jealousy (to name a few of the Ten Commandments)—all of it destroys the image of God in someone, whether physically, emotionally, or spiritually.

Interestingly enough—and contrary to what we might expect—it is these sins that the God of the bible seems to have the least patience with……they are the ones that send God into a rage at injustice. 

And there are hundreds and maybe even thousands of biblical verses about this. For example:

Deuteronomy 27:19 pronounces a curse on “anyone who deprives the alien, the orphan, and the widow of justice” (NRSV).

Or: The pithy wisdom of Proverbs never fails to strike a cord. And in Proverb 6 (vv.16–19), the author says 

“There are six things that the LORD hates,
seven that are an abomination to him:
haughty eyes, a lying tongue,
and hands that shed innocent blood,
a heart that devises wicked plans,
feet that hurry to run to evil,
a lying witness who testifies falsely,
and one who sows discord in a family.” (NRSV)

Now “hates” is pretty strong language—to be used with caution, especially in regards to God. Yet the author uses it here to describe God’s response to these ways we trespass against each other. Furthermore, in Proverbs 17:15, we read “One who justifies the wicked and one who condemns the righteous are both alike an abomination to the Lord.” Both sins are against one another.

And Sodom—you remember the destruction of Sodom from back in Genesis 19?—Sodom, that archetypal bastion of sin, that eternal symbol of God’s consuming judgment. Yet Sodom was not destroyed for they ways they trespassed against God, but for the ways they trespassed against each other……and especially against those on the margins of society. Ezekiel 16:49 tells us “This was the guilt of your sister Sodom: she and her daughters had pride, excess of food, and prosperous ease, but did not aid the poor and needy” (NRSV).

Let us not forget: Jesus himself said that the whole of the law and prophets were fulfilled when we love God and love each other (cf. Matthew 22:36-40). The early church understood this better than we seem to today, and Paul references this teaching of Jesus in virtually every one of his letters. But the specific connection to the way sin is trespassing on each other may be most directly offered in Romans 13:9-10:

“Owe no one anything, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. The commandments, “You shall not commit adultery; You shall not murder; You shall not steal; You shall not covet”; and any other commandment, are summed up in this word, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law.” (NRSV)

Sinning against Ourselves

But the more I read the scriptures, and the more that—as a pastor—I am invited to walk with people in the dark seasons and places of their lives, the more I realize there there are ways that we trespass not only against God or against each other, but also against ourselves. There are ways we sin against ourselves by trampling all over our own free will or the image of God that we bear. Things like feeding addictions, gluttony, sexual sins, and so on may have a corporate dimension—which would be sinning against others—but I wonder if they may at their core be sins against ourselves. They do harm to the image of God that we bear. They limit and cramp our ability to express free will. They involve trespassing on and vandalizing the person we were created to be.

But we never lose that divine image that is a core ingredient of our very creation. I was reading this week something written by St. John of Karpathos, a 7th Century Christian leader. He wrote:

“The moon as it waxes and wanes illustrates the condition of humanity. Sometimes he does what is right, sometimes he sins and then through repentance returns to a holy life. The divine image of one who sins is not destroyed (as some of you think), just as the physical size of the moon does not diminish, but only its light. 

Through repentance a person regains her true splendor, just as the moon after the period of waning clothes itself once more in its full light. If a person believes in Christ, ‘Even though he dies, he shall live’ (John 11:25); he shall know that ‘I the Lord have spoken, and will do it’ (Ezekiel 17:24).” 

(For the Encouragement of the Monks in India Who Had Written to Him)

This, then, is a big part of why repentance and forgiveness factor into this model prayer. Despite our sins, we never lose the image of God in which we were created. Despite our trespasses against God, each other, and ourselves, God never loses hope in us. God is always active in hoping for and pursuing reconciliation with us, and between us, and within us.

And we believe and confess this day and every day, that because God has conquered death through Jesus the Christ, we too can hope against hope in the promise of new life that is available now and eternally through the resurrection. 

God awaits us like the father of the prodigal, 

scanning the horizon for our return, 

mobilized and ready to run and greet us, 

eager to extravagantly celebrate the return of even this greatest of sinners.

Repent sisters and brothers, for the Kingdom of God is at hand.

Prayer (BCP, Penitential Rite 2, p.352)

Let us pray:

Most merciful God,

We confess that we have sinned against you
in thought, word, and deed,
by what we have done,
and by what we have left undone.

We have not loved you with our whole heart;
we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.
We are truly sorry and we humbly repent. 

For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ,
have mercy on us and forgive us;
that we may delight in your will,
and walk in your ways,
to the glory of your Name. Amen.


The Lord’s Prayer: Ask

Scripture Reading: Luke 11:5-13


As we work through this model prayer of Jesus, we arrive today at the fourth of six petitions. We have already prayed:

Hallowed be thy name…on earth as it is in heaven.

Thy kingdom come…on earth as it is in heaven.

Thy will be done…on earth as it is in heaven.

And now we transition from petitions focused on God’s lordship, to petitions emerging from our human need and experiences.

“Give us this day our daily bread.” [REPEAT]

And just as with the previous lines, we discover in these brief words some real challenges for us. Praying the Lord’s Prayer seems simple enough; but the more we delve into it and the more we truly consider what we are praying, the more we discover how this prayer challenges everything about life in this world…… just like all those other teachings of Jesus.

Give: the Challenge of Asking

Much as with the first week of our prayer journey, we are challenged by the very first word of this petition: “give.”

It is hard for us to ask for anything. 

How many times have I scrapped together an inadequate breakfast, because I wouldn’t borrow a couple eggs from a neighbor?

How many times have I skipped a commitment, because I had car troubles but wouldn’t ask for a ride?

How many times have I sat depressed and alone, because I simply wouldn’t call a friend?

I suppose Bob Seger was right: “the answer’s in the question.” 


But you know, as hard as asking is, it is even more difficult to receive, even if it is receiving what we ask for.

When I was in seminary in Atlanta, my spouse and I had this one old vehicle. It was already old when we bought it, and we’d put a lot of miles on it since then. But after overheating once, it was never quite the same. I kept tearing apart the top half of the engine, replacing gaskets, planing heads, and flushing and replacing cooling parts; but it seemed these were only expensive bandaids. 

And then it overheated again……for like the sixth time. After some conversation and negotiation, I pledged to fix it again, but swore it would be the last time.

But there was a problem, of course. We were a one-vehicle family, now without a vehicle. I needed parts. And besides: we still had jobs to get to, I had classes to attend, there were church commitments we had made, and we had no way to get to any of it.

It felt like a part of me died inside as I picked up my phone and called our church. I told our pastor what was going on; and I acknowledged that I had no idea what he could do about it, but that we needed help and didn’t know how to proceed. He said he’d call me back later that day.

He did. He had made a couple of phone calls, and he had located two vehicles whose owners were more than happy to loan us for a couple weeks until we got our own truck back up and running.

One was a small, almost new pickup truck.

The other was a Rolls Royce.

Now I have to pause here to say that I have wished over and over that I had picked the Rolls Royce–it would have made a much better story to tell. But the fact is that I was terrified of driving in Atlanta traffic with a vehicle that expensive, and quite sure I didn’t have enough insurance to cover it. (It belonged to a retired politician, by the way; so they’re not all bad, at least once they retire)

In truth, I might have been just as terrified when I accepted the keys to that pickup truck. And that terror didn’t stop until I had returned them to our pastor.


One of the early leaders of Christianity, Abba James, once said: “It is more blessed to receive hospitality than to give it” (Sayings of the Desert Fathers, ed. Ward, 104)

“Blessed” is one word for it……and not my first choice.

“Hard” might be better. Maybe even “challenging,” “humbling,” or even “traumatic.”

There is an inherent contradiction between “the great American virtue of self-sufficiency and independence” and “the Christian virtue of acknowledging our dependence and receiving everything that comes to us with a grateful heart” (Bondi, A Place to Pray, 71). And we do not address that contradiction easily or well.

The Parable

Speaking of which: the parable of Jesus we read this morning upsets me for all the right reasons. I mean: 

What kind of friend isn’t going to help out? 

What kind of friend considers their friend an such an inconvenience that he says “leave me alone”?

I know full well the dangers of waking sleeping children, but isn’t that is all the more reason to get up right away and help a buddy out?

But if I’m honest, there are other upsetting dimensions too:

Your friend said “no”; but you keep knocking and asking? Ever hear of boundaries? Ever hear of dignity? Ever hear of….

Oh wait… that was my inner “American” talking again instead of my inner “Christian,” wasn’t it?


This is a parable Jesus is using to talk about prayer. If we’re the one asking, then that means God is the one shutting us out. God is the one answering in the affirmative, but only because of our persistence. Jesus did like hard teachings……

This could be a sermon in and of itself, of course. But of this I am sure: Jesus knows it’s hard to ask. And maybe–just maybe–what Jesus is trying to show us is that repeatedly asking is good for our soul…… that since asking costs us so much, we will only repeatedly ask for the things that our hearts most seek. Maybe asking is a way of breaking us down–of deconstructing the facade of strength we each have built–so we can more completely and fully rest in the goodness and love of God our Father.

Us/Our: the Challenge of Community

“Give us this day our daily bread.”

The second challenge should be a bit more familiar to us by now: it’s the reminder that when we pray we do not pray alone or solely for ourselves–“Give US this day OUR daily bread.”

This example of prayer that Jesus offers to the disciples began with this recognition (OUR Father”), and it will be a factor in every single petition to follow.

Framed within the petition for “daily bread,” Jesus reminds us that our individual needs are intrinsically bound together with those of others. We cannot pray for what we need unless we pray for what others need. We cannot believe that “my God will fully satisfy every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:19 NRSV), without recognizing the “yours” (even there!) is plural. If God has met my need but not yours, then I have a responsibility to share what God has entrusted to me. After all: “How does God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help?” (1John 3:17 NRSV).

Daily Bread: the Challenge of the Naked Now

But there might even be a bigger challenge than all of this embedded in this seemingly-simple line of prayer. It lies in Jesus’ model to pray for the things of now–daily things–instead of the things of tomorrow, or next month, or next year, or a few decades from now.

1. Daily bread as necessities for the day

Like so many of Jesus’ teachings, there are layers–and this is the first one as we peel back meaning for this concept “daily bread.” In the 200’s, Saint Cyprian was writing to Christians in North Africa who were enduring terrible persecution on account of their faith. He said that this prayer for daily bread “was only for the bare necessities for the day. This was because they and he worried that to pray for—and receive—those things which would appear to provide them with long-term security would make them unprepared to face the martyrdom that could come at any moment” (Bondi p.84). 

We might not be facing immanent martyrdom in our own context today, but Cyprian’s warning still holds true: if we think we have long-term security, we may be more easily deceived into relying on our own abilities instead of relying on God, into keeping for ourselves what God would have us give to others, and into responding with condemnation instead of grace when others do not measure up to our increasingly impossible standards.

But the challenge to live in the “naked now” of today is also a means of grace. Many of us live with crushing anxiety:

anxiety about what will happen a week, month, year or more from now……

anxiety about those test results that won’t be available for days or weeks or months……

anxiety about the future of our employment with changes in management or ownership……

anxiety about our ability to pay our bills amidst rising expenses and fixed incomes……

Praying for our daily bread gives us the grace to ask God to help us “remember that [we] actually face the future best, most flexibly, with the most integrity, most in accordance with the actual needs of others and [our]self, if [we] can let go of [our] desire to control what [we] cannot control so that [we] can respond appropriately to what actually might happen. For this reason, [we pray] only for our daily bread, for the basic necessities for thriving today” (Bondi, p.84).

2. Daily bread as heart’s longing

But sometimes, the things that are deepest in our hearts–the things that are most consuming in our minds and energies–are not “the basic necessities for thriving today.” Author Roberta Bondi helps us out:

Sometimes my prayer is not so measured or considered, and then this ‘daily bread’ I ask for is that for which my heart longs, that without which I can hardly imagine my life. Such prayer is extravagant, a truthful expression to God of what I really feel without much consideration for whether what I pray for is of the best. I pray this way because if I don’t, I will cut myself off form God or I will burst…” (p.84)

In this way, praying for our daily bread is an beautifully passionate and irrationally glorious appeal for our heart’s longing. These are the times where, like Jeremiah, it feels like there’s a fire inside us that will consume us unless it is let out (Jeremiah 20:9). These are the times, like Paul describes, where we struggle even for the words to express our inner groanings (Romans 8:26). It is the truth of who we are and where we are, even if we know it isn’t where we should be. But without sharing these things with God, we are sabotaging the friendship God wants to kindle with us.

3. Daily bread as daily dose of Jesus

One last “daily bread” reflection to walk us out. I don’t think we can read Jesus reference “bread” in the bible without thinking of two teachings recorded in scripture.

The first, in the temptation story, Jesus is 40 days past due to receive his “daily bread.” He is hungry, tired, alone, and has been battling the temptation to be something other than who God has called him to be. Quoting Deuteronomy 8:3, Jesus reminds us that there is more in play than basic needs: “One does not live by bread alone” (Luke 4:4 NRSV). 

As the gospels play out, this provides an ample foundation for many teachings and miracles of Jesus. But in John 6, it all comes to a head with this proclamation of Jesus:

“I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” (John 6:35 NRSV)

While I do not in the least want to trivialize other kinds of needs, sometimes the “daily bread” we need is our daily dose of Jesus. Some days, what we need more than anything else, is for the Spirit of God–the continued and abiding presence of the Bread of Life–to nurture and sustain us, to encourage our hearts, to pacify our minds and our spirits, to grant us endurance for that day’s road, and to be a loving presence when we feel most alone. 

So we pray: “Give us this day our daily bread.”

The Lord’s Prayer: Yield

Scripture Reading: Luke 13:20-21


“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

Some years ago, as roundabouts were becoming an increasing fixture of our American infrastructure, I was talking with some friends about the frustrations they caused us. 

One friend had never been out of North America and considered them a useless invention of liberal European society. 

I voiced my thoughts that they would work better if people actually followed the intended rules. 

And then our non-American friend said, “You know why they don’t work, don’t you? It’s because Americans don’t know how to yield.”

I certainly had not thought about that before, but I sure have since. It’s not just driving—we’re at a place in our American culture where we believe yielding demonstrates weakness. Yielding seems counterproductive to getting what you want, what you think you’ve earned, and what you think you deserve. Yielding is not the way to upward mobility, financial success, and accomplishing the American Dream. Yielding in the race of life will get you run over.

There’s so much traffic on the interstate of Americana that hardly anyone can merge—the on-ramps to success are backed up to disastrous proportions. And why? Because no one is willing to yield an inch.

I’m purposely using the world “yield” to talk about this line of the prayer instead of “submit.” Sadly, “submit” is a word that has come to carry some pretty negative connotations. It has been used to support terrible abuses in power—be they in politics, religion, or the family. To submit has come to mean that you are completely subsumed by another—that your own will/desires/intents/or even personality has been replaced by that of the one you submit to.

In contrast, I find “yield” to suggest something far closer to the biblical meaning—here and elsewhere. Yielding to my spouse (for instance) does not mean that my ideas are always terrible and I should never be trusted with myself again. It simply means that in this moment and in this way, my spouse’s desires are the ones we will follow through on.

The language of yielding affirms the individuality of a person, in all their gifts, abilities, and goodness. In contrast, the language of submitting consolidates a person of less worth into one of more.

The Will of God

And as important as all this is when we’re talking about human relationships, it gets far more serious when we start talking about how we respond to God’s will (or God’s desires, as I more often call them). 

I have know folks who force themselves to live lives they hate because they think it is God’s will, and they must submit. 

I have known people who deny themselves (and others) justice because they think the trauma they experienced was God’s will, and they must submit.

Roberta Bondi (an author I introduced you to last week), remarks on this, saying:

“It is surprising how often I hear people…speak of the will of God…to explain every awful thing that happens in life. To hear them speak, you would think that it is God who deliberately causes hurricanes, car accidents, childhood deaths, lost jobs, fires, disappointments in love, cancer, and even rape in order to punish us or teach us valuable lessons” (Roberta Bondi, A Place to Pray, p.56).

This is not the God of scripture. This is not the God revealed to us most fully in the person of Jesus Christ, God’s son and our Savior. Again Roberta Bondi reminds us:

“God’s kingdom, which comes according to God’s will, is a gift, not a nightmare of coercion. God desires our life and not our death. ‘Do you not realize,’ Jesus asks us, ‘that God’s kingdom is where God’s will is done, and that God’s will for you is for your well-being, and for the well-being of all God has created? This is the Kingdom you pray for. If you live in this awareness, then as far as it is possible in this world, you can life now in the Kingdom.’” (Bondi, p.61)

Simple Truths

The Kingdom is a gift.
The Gospel is good news.
God is love.

It’s funny how these simple, core teachings of the Christian faith get so easily lost and distorted. It’s almost like on account of their simplicity, they slip from our pockets into the cracks of the sofa, not likely to be seen again for some time.

Maybe that’s one of the things Jesus meant when he said we had to become like little children. As we pass through life, we complicate sooo much that is simple, and we oversimplify the complicated. Maybe, in offering this prayer to those following him, Jesus hopes to anchor them to the simple hope of God’s kingdom made fully present in the world. After all: “Before anything else, the promise of the kingdom of God was meant to be Good News for those who embraced it. 

Coming upon the Kingdom, says Jesus, is like finding a treasure buried in a field. 

The Kingdom is expansive and inclusive, like a tiny mustard seed that grows into a bush big enough for birds to nest in it. 

It is like a mysteriously growing bowl of bread dough. 

It is the one pearl a pearl dealer might happen upon that is so wonderful he gladly sells everything he owns in order to buy it. 

It is like a wedding, or a banquet of the king to which everyone is invited” (Bondi p.54).

The Kingdom of God is indeed good news.

The End

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

The parable of Jesus that we read a few moments ago is one of the undervalued gems of the gospels, I believe. So many of Jesus’ parables intend to teach us about the Kingdom of God, and this one speaks to the reality underneath Jesus’ model prayer and the hope we have to come. 

In Revelation 21-22, a man named John catches a vision of where the whole story of God and humanity is heading. He aims, using symbolism and whatever language he can cobble together, to depict God’s intended future—what God wills, if you’d rather. And the language that he settles into as best describing what he sees is that of marriage.

To appreciate this though, we have to realize that in the New Testament era, they divided everything in existence into spheres or realms. That phrase in Philippians 2 (for example), that anticipates how “every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth” (v.10), speaks to three realms:

heaven—which is the realm of God

the earth—which is the realm of life, which we inhabit

under the earth—which is the realm of the dead (Paul is using the imagery of the Greek underworld Hades here, which would have been familiar to his audience)

When Revelation 21 begins, the dead (those in the “under the earth” realm) have been brought into another realm where they are “judged according to their works, as recorded in the books” (Revelation 20:12; cf. v.13). That leaves us with people in two realms: the God realm (heaven) and the realm of life (earth). These two realms are then united in Revelation 21, as in marriage. They become “one flesh,” so to speak; and “what God has joined together, let no one separate” (Matthew 19:6/Mark 10:9). This means, that at that point in the future:

The way things are in heaven and earth is the now the same.

There is no longer a disparity between the way things should be and the way they are.

The earth realm has so completely become the Kingdom of God (that began with Jesus) that it is no longer distinct from—or separable from—heaven itself.

In his book Surprised by Hope, scholar Tom Wright points out that “[Revelation 21-22] is the final answer to the Lord’s Prayer, that God’s kingdom will come and his will be done on earth as in heaven” (p.104). He continues:

“Heaven and earth, it seems, are not after all poles apart… They are different, radically different, but they are made for each other in the same way (Revelation is suggesting) as male and female. And when they finally come together, that will be cause for rejoicing in the same way that a wedding is: 

a creational sign that God’s project is going forward; 

that opposite poles within creation are made for union, not competition; 

that love and not hate have the last word in the universe; 

that fruitfulness and not sterility is God’s will for creation” (Surprised by Hope, p.105)

A Little Leaven…

So here comes the big question: how do we get from here to there?

Well, as Paul reminds us in 1Corinthians & Galatians “a little leaven leavens the whole lump” (Galatians 5:9; 1Corinthains 5:6).


And that’s our parable, really.

I don’t know how many of you have made bread from scratch before, let alone a sourdough bread or other older type that doesn’t actually use yeast. But I suppose for Jesus’ point, even store-bought yeast is effective.

If I’m making a couple loaves of bread, I might use 4 or 6 or more cups of flour. But it only takes a couple-few teaspoons of yeast for the dough to do what it needs to do. This is a tiny amount. An old recipe book of ours prescribes a teaspoon of yeast per cup of flour…that’s a 1:48 ratio!!

When worked through the dough, the yeast does its subversive, insidious, infectious thing. It transforms the rest of the dough chemically, changing its very nature from the inside out. What power is exerted by this fraction! this minority! this remnant!

This is what the Kingdom of God is like, Jesus says. When the subversive love of God is worked through the world by the people who are yeasty like Jesus, all of creation will be transformed.

When we pray “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,” we invite the leaven of Jesus to bubble up in us, no matter how many times we punch it down. But we also invite God to knead us into a needy world, that the salvation made available to all may be experienced by all.


You know, it’s nearly impossible for me to hear “a little leaven leavens the whole lump” without remembering another adage that I often heard alongside it: “One bad apple spoils the barrel.” 

It’s got the same meaning, right? It only takes one to infect the whole. 

I’m sure Jesus knew about apples. After all, they came out of central Asia and were pretty significant to Greek mythology. I don’t know if he ever ate one, but I do know that Jesus liked to turn contemporary proverbs and cultural expectations on their head. 

So instead of urging you to be less crusty and more yeasty, I though I’d suggest you be the bad apple for God’s kingdom. (NOT “be the bad apple IN God’s kingdom.”) But if the world thinks Christianity is effectively a blight, let’s own it. Let’s spoil the whole barrel, smearing God’s love all over the place so completely that they’ll never be able to wash it off.

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”




The Lord’s Prayer: Praise

Scripture Reading: Matthew 6:1, 7-15

Teach Us How

When I was studying at the University of Chicago, I took a great deal of language and translation-based courses. My advisor would work his way around the room, instructing each of us in turn to do a line and asking probing questions that we struggled to answer. But every now and again—usually following a lengthy period of instruction prompted by our ignorance—he would lose track of which of us had last contributed. And that is when he’d speak those words that struck terror in our hearts: “Ok, let’s see who’s next……”

We students would freeze—like baby deer who just became aware of a nearby pack of wolves. 

Do not make eye contact, do not make eye contact do not make eye contact……

And we would be held—breathless—until he called a name, which seemed to be my own name far more than standard deviation would suggest.

Now, all these years later, I experience the other side of that dynamic every single week. 

I’m in a small group and we’re about to begin or end. I say something like: “Would someone volunteer to pray?” and it happens:

Everyone freezes. 

No one makes eye contact. 

Not a whisper of breath passes for a moment……and then two……and then more…… 

And so I call out someone’s name (and they often respond with the suggestion that the lot falls on them more than standard deviation would suggest).

There’s all sorts of reasons for this fear of praying, I suppose. 

Most of us have never been taught how to pray—we simply absorbed some of it by the osmosis of worshipping together as the church: we mimic what we hear. 

Most of us are pretty private about religious and faith issues as well. We don’t readily talk about our relationship with God, our struggles and successes, and so on. 

So when we’re asked to do something publicly that we aren’t terribly comfortable doing privately, we freeze.

Perhaps we should be encouraged that—for all the ages, and the chasm of culture between then and now—Jesus’ disciples seem to have had similar struggles. I think that’s what prompted them to ask Jesus: “Lord, teach us to pray” in Luke 11. As Luke tells the story of Jesus, it is this inquiry—this confession of how uncomfortable they were with praying—that prompts Jesus to give them the example that we call the Lord’s Prayer.

Intro to Series/Prayer

For the next few weeks, we’re going to be wrestling with prayer—and specifically the short, somewhat ambiguous template for prayer that Jesus offers as instruction to his followers.

For many communities of faith—and in fact for much of Christian history—an intrinsic part of our worship has been reciting this prayer together. 

The prayer was not particularly groundbreaking, as far as faith practices go; nearly every line has an antecedent in the teaching of the rabbis. 

Nor is it distinctly Christian; scholar Dale Allison has noted that “a Jew wanting to have nothing to do with Jesus could still pray the Our Father” (The Sermon on the Mount, 134). 

But at the same time, this model for prayer is decidedly Jesus-ey, because praying like this can only open us up to the fulfillment of the Christian life as Jesus defines it: love of God and love of neighbor (cf. Mark 12:29-31). This is part of what we will be exploring over the coming weeks.

Our process will be straightforward. Each week, we will attend to a different line of the prayer. I have attached to each line a word of direction: praise, yield, ask, repent, trust, and celebrate. I’ve also joined each line of the prayer to a text from elsewhere in scripture—something to hold in dialogue with the prayer, to provide context for interpretation and application, and to remind ourselves that the important dimensions of faith do not rely simply on one or two verses quoted out of context—it is always the whole of scripture that must be considered.


Today we begin with the opening line of the prayer: “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.” And already—from that very first word—we find the task of praying like Jesus to be almost too much to bear.

“Our” God: Interconnectedness


Whatever our preconceived ideas about prayer may be—and whatever our culture tells us about religion and personal worth—the prayer Jesus teaches his followers begins with the confession that our faith is not an individual practice. 

God is not my God, but our God. 

My prayer is not my prayer but our prayer—prayer by us and for us and from us, and directed to the God of us. 

Matthew places this model prayer in a section that cautions against a purely private expression of religion—and the early church was quick to take note of this fact and guard it. In the early days of Christianity, the North African leader Cyprian expressly forbids praying this prayer in the singular. He wrote:

Before all things the teacher of peace and master of unity [that is, Jesus] is unwilling for prayer to be made singly and individually, teaching that he [or she] who prays is not to pray for himself [or herself] alone. For we do not say, “My Father who art in heaven,” nor “Give me this day my daily bread,” nor does each one ask that only their own debt should be forgiven them; nor does she request for herself alone that she may not be led into temptation, and delivered from evil. Our prayer is public and common; and when we pray, we do not pray for one, but for the whole people, because we the whole people are one. (On the Lord’s Prayer 8)

This goes against everything our culture has taught us. It even goes against what some of us may have been taught in church. But it is quite clearly what the scriptures proclaim and what our ancient forbearers in faith upheld. The great theologian Thomas Aquinas even said that to pray “Our Father” is to express love for our neighbor [Lord’s Prayer 1:4].

I love a practice that Roberta Bondi has suggested—a way of praying this particular word of the prayer that gets to the heart of what Jesus and the early church sought to teach.

She recommends beginning each morning with the words “our Father.” “After that [she says], I visualize the face or faces of the people I must be with that day with whom I am angry, or whom I would avoid because they have hurt me or sap my energy or exercise internal or external destructive power over me.”

“Then, I paraphrase the words “our Father” and repeat them as a prayer for myself and for the other person or persons together: “my Father and the Father of my student Stephen”; “my Father and the Father of the church group I am on my way to speak to”; “my Father and the Father of my uncle.” (A Place to Pray, 29)


God as Father (But Not Father)

This leads us immediately to our next challenge: God as father.

The language of our most recently composed scriptures is still nearly 2000 years old. The language of a dominant bible translation that many continue to use is over 400. Even translations completed in the last 50 or so years look at little rough around the edges on account of the evolution of the English language and archaeological and textual discoveries that have emerged. And then there’s the cultural shifts—some for good reasons, a few perhaps not so good—away from such gendered language and it’s sociological consequences.

For some good Christian folks, calling God “father” is simply a remnant of an archaic, patriarchal societal model that has been responsible for so much oppression, domination, and violence done to so many over the years.

But many more face an immanent and personal problem—many of us have not had positive connotations with “father” in our earthly experience. 

At one extreme end are those who have experienced terrible violence and trauma perpetrated by their fathers. 

At another: there has been no experience of “father” at all, besides an awareness that a “father” isn’t there, or doesn’t love and want your existence. 

Roberta Bondi, who I quoted earlier, writes that she realizes she “transferred to God the Father all the pain [she] felt around [her] human father” (p.23). She expected God, like her father, was impossibly perfectionistic and expected his children to demonstrate a superiority over others that she just couldn’t manage.

This prayer modeled by Jesus gives us an opening to talk about our father issues. But since it is a model (rather than a rule), I do not believe it forces anyone to address God as father whether they want to or not. 

Be reminded, Church, that we only know God by analogy, and analogies are by nature imperfect. 

Remember too: the Bible does not envision God to be a gendered being, communicating rather that both male and female are made in God’s image.

But against all these obstacles, I do also think God works to redeem fatherhood, just as the cross has been redeemed and transformed from an instrument of torture and death, to an emblem of hope and life. In God and across a lifetime, we may discover a parent who is the perfection of what a parent ought to be—a parent who can 

love us unconditionally, 

challenge us and appropriately motivate us to become who they know we can be, 

correct us when we are heading down the path of self-destruction or the destruction of others, 

and teach us how to be better parents than any we may have known. 

After all: “Is anything too hard for [God]?” (Jeremiah 32:27).

Hallowed Be Thy Name

“Our Father, who art in heaven. Hallowed be thy name.”

With “hallowed be thy name,” we arrive at the first of six petitions in this prayer. The first three attend to the lordship of God, and the second three attend to human need. All (as we will see) transform us and our actions into the fulfillment of Jesus’ only rules: Love God and love neighbor.

Now, contrary to the way we sometimes think about it, it is God (and not us) who is tasked with making God’s name holy. In praying “hallowed be thy name,” we pray like Jesus in John 12:28: “Father, glorify your name” (NRSV). Or put differently, we request that God fulfill the promise offered in Ezekiel 36:23: “I will sanctify my great name” (NRSV).

Yet even if we recognize that this holy-making is something that God does rather than we do, we cannot get around the fact that in this communal prayer we are requesting that God do it in us. Back in the fourth century, Gregory of Nyssa “explained that what Christians pray for in ‘hallowed be your name’ is an ability to mirror the characteristics of God so that anyone looking at us can see in us something of who God is.” (quoted in Bondi p.42n1).


But thinking about God’s holiness gives us fits, just like “Our Father” upsets our individualism and pushes against our human experiences. Too often over the years, pastors and churches have talked about God’s holiness almost exclusively in connection with sin. Especially in the ways we have taught children, “the very idea of God’s holiness carried with it God’s dangerously righteous hatred of sin, as well as the threat of God’s anger, which could blaze out suddenly against even the most innocent of mistakes” (Bondi p.33). 

But more often in the bible, “holy” is how we describe our experience of awe upon encountering God’s transcendent otherness. As we read in scripture, encounters with God’s holiness enables us to see differently—to see a kind of beauty, for sure; but more often, to see our experiences of things like poverty or success or even faith in an entirely new light.

Learning to pray “hallowed be your name” involves inviting God to open us up to the truth and justice that God is pursuing in the advancement of the Kingdom. But as we have already seen, that involves learning to love one another as God loves us.

Here again, Roberta Bondi writes with power, saying:

“Very rarely does a day go by now that I don’t pray for the compassion and love that comes with an awareness of God’s holy beauty in the lives of the other people with whom I share my world. 

‘Hallowed by your name,’ I pray as I catch myself pushing away the knowledge of what it is like to be poor and demoralized, unable to find a place to live on minimum wages, to provide good food and medical care for your children. 

‘Hallowed be your name,’ I pray as I read in the paper of crimes, wars, and atrocities committed here and in places far away.

 ‘Hallowed be your name,’ I pray; ‘may I not turn my face away in callousness, judgment, or cynicism from any human life, from anyone who reflects your image, whether it be an image of your glory or of your humiliation.’” (Bondi p.49)

That, sisters and brothers, is a demonstration of the Gospel.

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.”


How remarkable, O God,
that even as we seek to praise your name,
you are forging within us
an appreciation of the value of one another.

Help us, we pray,
to remember that just as we pray together,
so we fail together, and we succeed together;
we sin together, and we are forgiven together;
we confess together, and we discover together
the bottomless well of your love and grace.

Make your name hallowed,
and true in our lives,
and in the whole of creation.

Just as you looked upon our initial creation
and called it “good,”
so may we be transformed by your goodness
into your likeness—an image that bears the imprint
of the good news of your love and redemption.

Our Father, who art in heaven,
hallowed be thy name.


Kindling the Kingdom of God

Scripture: Romans 8:22-27

Creation is in labor

When I first started really getting into translating the Hebrew language, one of the things that I found remarkable was how much imagery in the bible is rooted in the image of childbirth. For a language that usually talks about the process of making a baby as simply “knowing” each other, Hebrew tends to compare a lot of things to the swelling of pregnancy, the relentlessness of contractions, and the incomparable “pains” of birth.

Childbirth is a threshold event—there is before, and there is after. (That may be the only clear-cut and certain thing about it.) And aside from death, there may not be another experience in life that draws so firm a line.

So in before-and-after events of Isaiah 42:14 (for example), when God is so pained by the injustice of the world (and especially that perpetrated by Israel) that God steps back and allows their consequences to crash over them with devestating effect, Isaiah knows of no better description than this. God says: “I will cry out like a woman in labor, I will gasp and pant” (NRSV).

When (in Psalm 88) the psalmist is trying to describe the relentless and overwhelming nature of being on the wrong side of God, the best imagery available is that of the relentless and overwhelming contractions of childbirth (often translated as “waves” here), which seemingly interminably wrack the mother’s body.

And so here (in Romans 8), as Paul is searching for a way of describing the ultimate before-and-after event (the return of Christ and the fulfillment of the Kingdom of God), he too—Jew among Jews—reaches for the imagery of childbirth.

Starting in v.18, Paul begins to imagine with (and for) the Roman church “the glory about to be revealed to us” (v.18b). And here, it is in fact all of creation that is “groaning in labor pains” (v.22). The Kingdom of God that is being birthed into existence does not just affect we human beings—but everything that iseverything that God made, and called “good” back in Genesis 1.

Labor Pains

It’s not too hard to see these “labor pains” if we open our eyes and look around us. Another week has gone by……

Another school shooting……

Another round of dehumanizing rhetoric……

Another series of murders in the Near East due to misguided theology……

More terrorist bombings: India, Nigeria, Afghanistan (2), Iraq (2), Indonesia (5)—and that’s just this past week……

Another week of wars and rumors of wars……of natural disasters and evacuations……

Another week of political corruption being exposed……

Another week of the most vulnerable slipping through the cracks……

Another week of our deep division being exposed by something as simple as a soundbite and the words: “laurel” and “yanny.”

Truly Paul is right: all creation is quaking, wracked by wave after wave of contractions, nearly splitting itself apart as it awaits transformation at the emergence of God’s kingdom.

But what about us? How is our labor coming along?

“Likewise” Means We Too

You see, Paul follows up v.22 with v.23, moving from the labor pains that creation is experiencing to the ones that we are experiencing “while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies” (NRSV).

Paul expects that we—if we are followers of Jesus in whom the Kingdom begins—we will be “groaning” as we are similarly wracked by the contractions of a Kingdom that wants to be born. 

But I don’t think we’re dilated at all.

And I wonder: Perhaps we need some “spiritual pitocin” to help us along. 

You know: if a woman’s labor isn’t moving along as it needs to for everyone to be healthy, she is often given pitocin. It induces labor by jump-starting contractions in the uterus. It is not (admittedly, in my passive experience) a pleasant thing to need. Birth is traumatic enough without anything being forced more than happens naturally. But sometimes that push is exactly what needs to happen in order for mother and child to pass safely from before into after.

And while it might not be pleasant for us, some “spiritual pitocin” might just ensure that we survive the birthing of God’s kingdom too.


It’s been required before, you realize: that little IV bag of the Holy Spirit hooked up to the people of God?

Nearly two-thousand years ago in a city named Jerusalem, the disciples were in labor with the Church of Christ Jesus. It wanted to be born—it needed to be born. But those “contractions” just weren’t happening. 

The disciples were still afraid. 

The disciples were still struggling to make sense of what happened: Jesus’ life and Jesus’ death; their failings and Jesus’ forgiveness; and the way Jesus just disappeared back to heaven, when they were hoping for an eternal kingdom then and there. 

Acts 2 describes the disciples as “all together in one place,” which is remarkably similar to how they were described when the risen Christ first appeared to them in John 20. 

Forty days with the risen Christ and they’re still stuck, closed up from the world? 

Forty days with the risen Christ and they’ve still not grasped that Jesus meant that “Great Commission” thing?

If something didn’t happen soon, the Church was going to have to come by C-section.

But something did happen on that Pentecost day: 

There weren’t any IV bags, but there were tongues of fire.

There were no shrieks of unnatural contractions, but there was a “whoooosh” as the extraordinary Spirit of God filled the room.

There was no cursing at husbands, but the Gospel was miraculously heard in all languages simultaneously.

And the disciples even appeared drunk from the giddiness of this birth.

Against all odds, and despite the Body of Christ not working quite as nature intended, the Church was born. 

That same church continues today. 

Admittedly, its teenage years were rough. 

Sure, there were a lot of bad decisions in early adulthood as we were usually full of passion and just as often misguided.

And it’s no secret that we’ve made huge, blasphemous, God-betraying mistakes—both in the distant and recent past—mistakes that cannot be forgiven lightly……if at all.

But if there is one thing we have, it is the hope that what God is doing does not rest solely on our own shoulders. 

As followers of Jesus, we are often messengers—or even ambassadors, as we are called in 2Cor 5:20. 

And as followers of Jesus, we are often “the eyes through which he looks with compassion on the world”; we “are the feet with which he walks to do good”; we “are the hands with which he blesses all the world.” 

But the Pentecost story reminds us that always, always, God will do what it takes to move things along toward health, healing, wholeness, and love.

Kindling the Kingdom

This Lenten season and Eastertide we have been seeking out ways to live the life of Christ more fully—”to walk just as [Jesus] walked,” as 1John describes it (2:6 NRSV). 

All of it—our entire journey—combined could be summed up as “kindling the Kingdom of God.” For that is our task today—as every day. 

Jesus himself urged us not to get caught up in the uncertainty and busy-ness things, of the fear of each other and whether there would be enough. Instead, he simply insisted: “Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and then all these things will be given to you too (Matthew 6:33 VOICE). 


If we need a dose or two of pitocin to birth the kingdom, I am sure God is already measuring it and checking it against our chart. But let’s make sure we’re doing all we can of ourselves, too. 

Let us follow Jesus instead of the world.

Let us look to the well-being of others before ourselves.

Let us prove the goodness of creation with our generosity.

Let us pursue justice instead of fairness.

Let us confess our sins so no one can claim we are hypocrites.

Let us seek to see the image of the Creator in each and every person.

Let us overwhelm fear with love.

Let us practice the Kingdom of God as though it were already here.

For such is the model left for us by the one and only person who has taught us true life.

In the name of Jesus the Christ, Amen. And let us pray:



What a journey these past months have been.

If there is one thing that has become clear to us,
it is that we we have become conformed too much to our world,
and transformed too little by your Spirit.

Send that Spirit among us now,
kindling our hearts with fire as in ancient days,
overcoming the obstacles within us and outside us
by the power of your unrelenting love.

May your name be praised
on this and every day,
within our hearts, mind, and lives;
as we offer our whole self to you—
the one who made us,
redeemed us,
transforms us,
and will one day resurrect us
to the new, abundant, eternal, and true life
that is available to all
who will become like little children
and follow the Christ.


Kindling True Life

Scripture: 1John 5:9-13

Intro to Series

It has been quite a journey for us these past months, and one we are nearing the end of.

We began with the ashes of Ash Wednesday, and as we journeyed toward the cross we asked: “What needs to die in my life in order to be more like the Jesus I follow?

Along the way, we wrestled:

with our identity as the Beloved of God,

with our insistence on doing things our way and through our power,

with our tolerance for justice,

with our allegiance to this world,

with our attempts to control our own destiny,

with our contentment with short-term victories,

and with the diverse (and sometimes perverse) pictures of Jesus that we hold.

Turning the corner at the cross, we have been journeying toward the fires of Pentecost, which will conclude our journey next week. Along the way, we have been asking: “What needs kindled in my life in order for the Spirit to move through me in the world?”

Here too, we have wrestled with many practices that should be hallmarks of who we are as followers of Jesus the Christ. Things like:


the practice of righteousness,



obedience to God,

and for today: true life.

If the Holy Spirit is going to move move through us according to God’s loving power, we need to kindle true life.

But what does this mean? What is true life, and how do we kindle real, abundant, true, living life?

Declaration of Independence

To get our thinking juices flowing this morning, let me offer these famous words:

“When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” (“Declaration of Independence,” 1776).

With these words, our nation declared its independence. And also with them, we birthed a concept that has fueled the actions of countless thousands and millions since then: the American Dream.

The Dream

The idea that the government should protect the “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” of its citizens was as polarizing then as it is today, albeit over different issues. When authoring the “Declaration of Independence,” our nation’s ancestors could not imagine this “right to life” existing while they were being taxed without representation. Their American Dream meant that they would have a say in the laws that affected them.

Of course, in the time since there have been all sorts of reasons our own ancestors were drawn to immigrate to this nation.

For many, the “right to life” they desired meant religious freedom—that they could practice their religion without governmental intrusion. (the early Baptists fall in this camp). To worship was their American Dream.

For others, “the right to life” meant quite literally the right to live—they had been persecuted and killed in their homelands because of their culture, their ethnicity, their language, their politics, or their religion. To survive and exist was their American Dream.

For still others, the “right to life” meant the possibility to improve or increase. Their cultures stigmatized them in ways that prevented their living into their full possibility. To improve economically and vocationally was their American Dream.

But along the way—particularly for those of us who are a few generations removed from immigration—our American Dreams got complicated. Around the 1920’s the American Dream underwent a transformation—instead of communicating the hope for a better life (“life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness”), it morphed into the desire to acquire material things. The Dream (that began with a valuing of each individual human being) moldered into a kind of consumerism that measured value against possessions. By the time any of us were even born, the American Dream was rooted in having: having a house, having some land, having a TV, having a car, having a comfortable retirement, and so on. As Americans, many felt entitled to these things; and if we did not experience them, we felt jaded and cheated by others.

By the time I was in my teens, the American Dream was also about experiencing: travel, eating out, movies, music, entertainment, etc. But the boom of that era ended up going bust, in what economists are calling the “Great Recession” or “the Second Great Depression” starting in 2008.

Our culture has taught all of us—no matter our age, at this point in our nation’s history—that “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” is about having more: more than we did previously…… more than our neighbors…… more than anybody, really.


This “American Dream” is patently false. But more than that, it deceives us into trading the things that matter—our time,  our life, our liberty, our happiness—for things that do not.

We spend so much of our time earning money to acquire, that we neglect our families, our friendships, our health, and our soul.

We acquire so many things that require care and maintenance that we become enslaved to our possessions, unable to actually do the things we want to do.

We busy ourselves with so many responsibilities and commitments that any happiness easily eludes us. We do not know contentment; we do not know joy—we simply comfort ourselves with the lie that we will have time for happiness when we retire.

This is not life, liberty, or the pursuit of happiness.

Christ Calling

Across the centuries, Jesus asks us:

“Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?

“And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe youyou of little faith?

“Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well” (Matthew 6:26–33 NRSV).

Across the centuries, Jesus reminds us:

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matthew 6:19–21 NRSV).

This American Nightmare is not what life is about. God invites us to believe in another dream—a true dream—a dream of true life.

True Life Originates with God

What is this “true life?” What does abundant, real life look like?

First, true life finds its origins in the God who created and loves us.

The whole point (to begin) of the creation accounts in Genesis 1 and 2 is not the means by which God created all things, but rather the fact that God created all things, creating spaces where life can exist, and breathing life into everything that breathes.

Jesus reminded us (in a text we referenced last week) that he “came that [we] may have life, and have it abundantly” (John 10:10 NRSV). Jesus isn’t talking about having lots of stuff, but rather experiencing the fullness of what “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” was trying to communicate.

As our scripture lesson today proclaims:

“God gave us eternal life, and this life is in his Son. Whoever has the Son has life; whoever does not have the Son of God does not have life.” (1John 5:11–12 NRSV)

We find true life in the One who gives life. Our breath is given by the One from whom breath and Spirit emanate.

If we are to kindle true life so the Spirit of God can move through us and work in us, we have to first remember that our actual life rests in the hands of the One True God.

True Life Is Lived for Others

Beyond originating with God, another characteristic of true life is that it is lived for others.

More than anywhere else, this is a place where our culture works against us. In the midst of a culture that is all about me, me, me—in the midst of a culture that supposes my rights are more important than yours—in the midst of a culture that celebrates making money and getting ahead by unjust wages and means—in the midst of our world, God’s description of true life is hard to hear.

Jesus reminds us about true life when he says “Those who try to make their life secure will lose it, but those who lose their life will keep it” (Luke 17:33 NRSV).

Later, he’ll say: “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (John 15:12–13 NRSV).


The world may tell us that our best life is lived for ourselves, but Jesus insists that true life is lived for others. The early leaders of the Church are emphatic about this as well.

Peter insists that “each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms” (1Peter 4:10 NIV).

Paul insists that “to each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good” (1Corinthians 12:7 NRSV).

He also instructs us, saying: “let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others” (Philippians 2:4 NRSV),

And: “Bear one another’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2 NRSV).

Also in Galatians, Paul takes this community responsibility to its radical end: “For you were called to freedom, brothers and sisters; only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence, but through love become slaves to one another” (Galatians 5:13 NRSV).

Similarly, the author of Hebrews urges: “do not forget to do good and to share what you have” (Hebrews 13:16 NRSV).

I promise: I’m not stopping because I ran out of references. I’m just pretty sure you’ve got the point.


Remembering that God is the one who gives us life, and remembering that life is intended to be lived for others—these two bases may not describe true life completely, but I don’t think you will find or experience true life if these two are not present. They may be true life’s most irreducible minimum, so to speak—the narrowest definition of a thing before it is not the thing any longer.

If we are going to blow on this ember in an attempt to kindle true life, these things will certainly shape our worship, our practices, our commitments, our expenses, our interactions, our endeavors, our communications, and everything else.

And in the process, I believe they will shape ourselves, our families, our friends, our vocations, our coworkers, our communities, our state and nation, and even our world. After all:

“In [Christ] was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” (John 1:4–5 NRSV)

Kindling Obedience

Scripture: 1John 5:1-6


When theologians and philosophers and historians and social psychologists and other people who look at how the world changes find places of transition, they label them. And since the new world that’s emerging hasn’t really developed yet, they tend to refer to what is coming by what is past. So they make up words that start with “post”:







I wonder if we are living in a post-obedience world.

In the wake of WW2, the Nuremberg trials heard person after person insist that they should not be held accountable for the atrocities they committed—because they were only obeying orders.

Psychologist Stanley Milgram was curious how so many “regular” people could end up doing such terrible things. He designed a now-infamous experiment wherein people would be instructed by an authority figure to administer painful electric shocks to others. He concluded:

“Ordinary people, simply doing their jobs, and without any particular hostility on their part, can become agents in a terrible destructive process. Moreover, even when the destructive effects of their work become patently clear, and they are asked to carry out actions incompatible with fundamental standards of morality, relatively few people have the resources needed to resist authority” (Stanley Milgram, Obedience to Authority).

In other words: even when asked to do things that anyone would say were wrong, most of us would do them anyway—if the right authority asked us to.

While Milgram’s experiment has been questioned on many grounds, his basic conclusion has been affirmed by other research over and over again. Obedience has a dark side, especially since we do not tend to really question the authorities in our lives.

But all of this is just a part of how we experience our world anymore. Even graffiti artist Banksy offered this critique of obedience in the book Wall and Piece:

“The greatest crimes in the world are not committed by people breaking the rules but by people following the rules. It’s people who follow orders that drop bombs and massacre villages.”

Is obedience even seen as a virtue any longer? I don’t know. In this post-obedience world, verses like our scripture lesson this week seem kind of quaint and irrelevant—like a relic of an earlier, more naive era in humanity’s youth.

We know (at least abstractly):

that there are times we should not obey a friend (“If Johnny jumped off a cliff with all his friends, would you do it too?”)

that there are times we should not obey a parent

that there are times we should not obey a boss/employer

that there are times we should not obey a pastor

that there are times we should not obey a government

Can we believe in obedience at all anymore? Is there any value to this concept that the bible speaks often and highly of?

If there is, surely the Spirit can help us reclaim the value of obedience, can’t she?


Clive Staples Lewis was a British author of the last century, most famous for his “Chronicles of Narnia” series. But C.S. Lewis made significant contributions to our Christian worldview that extended far beyond this one fictional series. He was, himself, a latecomer to faith in Jesus; and he became (for his generation) perhaps their greatest Christian apologist—that means he communicated faith: both in the terms of the world at large, and in a way that that was accessible and even attractive to unbelievers.

Part of why Lewis proved so successful in this regard was his willingness to engage hard questions and posit creative—and unorthodox—answers. His novel Perelandra has significance for us this morning, in the context of our scripture reading.

Perelandra is the middle volume of his three-part “Space Trilogy,” and it envisions traveling to a planet that is early in its own creation. In fact, the planet Perelandra is developmentally parallel to the Garden of Eden, a genuine paradise and only two people. Like with the Genesis story, there is only one thing that is off limits. And like the Genesis story, the characters wrestle with why anything would be forbidden at all.

The main character of Lewis’s reimagining, Dr. Ransom, is the one that journeys from earth to this new world. He argues that such “forbidden fruit” is required for us to demonstrate true obedience in love to God. He says:

“I think He made one law of that kind in order that there might be obedience. In all these other matters what you call obeying Him is but doing what seems good in your own eyes also. Is love content with that? You do them, indeed, because they are His will, but not only because they are His will. Where can you taste the joy of obeying unless He bids you do something for which His bidding is the only reason?” (Perelandra, 118).

[repeat:] “Where can you taste the joy of obeying unless He bids you do something for which His bidding is the only reason?”

It’s an interesting observation, for sure.


Let’s put this in the context of parents and children. If I instruct one of my children to get in the car because we’re going to the zoo (and presuming they want to go to the zoo), they’re probably going to obey the instruction. They want to obey the instruction, but not because of anything to do with me. They want to obey the instruction because it produces the result they want—they get to go to the zoo.

I am grateful for this kind of obedience. As a parent, I’m grateful for any obedience I can get. But this is different than the kind of obedience Lewis is talking about in Perelandra.

Let’s imagine now that we’re out and about somewhere—maybe at a public park—and I see something that poses a real threat to my child. Maybe they’re playing near the road and I see a car driving erratically. Maybe there’s another kid about to crash into them and knock them from the equipment. Maybe my spidey-sense is tingling and I don’t know what that means, but I’ve learned to trust it. Whatever it is, my child does not see the threat. They do not see the goodness of my instruction, nor the benefit to themself…… And maybe they even think my instruction looks bad to them—like it’s going to mean they don’t get to have the fun they want.

Here is where the parenting-rubber meets the road. If my child obeys my instruction—even when they do not see the goodness or purpose of it, and even if they think it prevents them from having what they want—then this is a different kind of obedience. This is obedience that is rooted in the love that we share, rather than in common priorities or mutual benefit.

As Dr. Ransom argues in Perelandra, there is a joy in obeying that can only be experienced when our own motivations are stripped away—when obedience is rooted in love and relationship.

The Shepherd

Though it may have felt a bit coarse at the time, Jesus’s teaching in John 10 about the Good Shepherd may be helpful for us here.

Even back then—way before this post-obedience era began—it is clear there were authorities who were teaching the wrong things and leading people to do bad things—even manipulating fear and hate and crowd-mentality to crucify one Jesus of Nazareth. But in John chapter 10, Jesus addresses this obedience crisis head on, naming names and taking no prisoners.

There are many who claim to be leaders—people who ask for (or even demand!) your obedience, loyalty, or action—but not all of them deserve your obedience.

There are those who sneak around in the dark, thinking it shields their wrongdoing.

There are those who who jump over the walls they tell you to stay within, thinking themselves exceptions to the rule you must follow.

There are those whose agendas result in death and destruction and theft, who pretend themselves to be agents of salvation.

There are those whose real aim is the power and authority and recognition that comes with being a leader, but they are inattentive to the needs of their followers to the point of criminal negligence.

But twice Jesus contrasts himself with these pretending shepherds, claiming “I am the good shepherd” (John 10:11, 14). Four times he references his laying down his life for his sheep. And repeatedly, the reason that the Good Shepherd’s sheep follow Jesus’ voice is because they “know him.”

You see, this is a big deal. If we’ve had an experience of Jesus’s redeeming and transforming love, we know him. We know Jesus. Jesus has revealed himself fully to us, demonstrating his purposes, his methods, his motivations, and his mentality in his willingness to die that we might “have life, and have it abundantly,” as he says in John 10:10 (NRSV).

Two thousand years ago, Jesus effectively said: Put me to the test and see for yourselves.

And we did.

We ran Jesus through the wringer:

through being tried by the media,

through the ancient version of “frontier justice,”

through our corrupt courts,

through public abasement.

through the abandonment of his closest friends and allies,

through torture as cruel as waterboarding,

and through one of the most painful, humiliating, excruciating means of execution the world has ever known.

But Jesus did not recant.
He did not recuse himself.
He did not show even the slightest crack in what we thought was a facade, but which was proven to be the very heart of God.

In proving that he is a good shepherd, Jesus proved that he can be trusted with something as precious as our obedience. That his purpose really was selfless: “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly” (John 10:10 NRSV).


Ultimately, as followers of the Christ, we are not called to be obedient to the government, to pastors; to employers, friends, parents, or even (and I know this will seem controversial) to the bible. Our obedience is to Jesus the Christ, the Son of the Living God, who died and was raised to new life again.

He is the Good Shepherd who lays down his life for the sheep (John 10:11). He is the one who calls to us and says “My sheep hear my voice…and they follow me” (John 10:27).

Sisters and brothers, Jesus is calling. Do we believe in him enough to follow his “royal law” of loving even our enemies as ourselves?

The world awaits our answer.