Author: Aaron

Fifth Sunday of Easter (B) — Acts 8:26–40

Sometimes, the readings for Sunday worship have words that are difficult to pronounce. I’m not saying this because of our reader today; she did a great job. But this Sunday, three years ago, I was preaching in a congregation in New Jersey.

The pastor’s chair was WAY too close to the lectern, so when the reader came forward, I had to move to a folding chair behind the organ console, where the congregation couldn’t see me. And thank God for that. The reader began:

Then an angel of the Lord said to Flippy, “Get up and go toward the south to the road that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza…” So he got up and went. Now there was an Ethuppan Enooch, a court official of the Candace, queen of the Ethuppians, in charge of her entire treasury.

Fourth Sunday of Easter (B) — John 10:11–18

A few years ago, the New England bishop’s office offered leadership training for congregations, and the churches I led joined their second cohort. One month, our homework was simple. Go out into public places and eavesdrop. Sit in a restaurant or bar, and just listen to what people are talking about. I’m a a Starbucks junkie, so it was easy for me to do.

Third Sunday of Easter (B) — Acts 3:12–19

I’m always a little startled that the crowd doesn’t turn on Peter immediately when he preaches to them in today’s reading from Acts. He’s very accusatory and direct. Pilate “decided to release [Jesus], but YOU rejected the Holy and Righteous One and asked to have a murderer given to you. And YOU killed the author of life.” If you get a chance to preach in the greatest religious center in the known world, to speak to God’s people and give them an insight into the very heart of faith, you probably shouldn’t start with accusations of murder.

Second Sunday of Easter (B) — John 20:19–31

“Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul.” I wish Acts described Christian community today. But it’s mostly an ideal.

The Resurrection of Our Lord (B) — Stories from the Easter Vigil

Fifth Sunday of Lent (B) — Jeremiah 31:31–34

We’re trying to live more like Jesus this Lent, imperfectly but joyfully. God was lovingly powerful with Noah. God was radically generous with Sarah and Abraham. God was relational with Moses. God was imaginative in the desert. And today, we hear my favorite passage from the entire Bible, from the prophet named Jeremiah.

One reason I love it so much is that Jeremiah is so unloved—and for that matter, unloving—and yet this prophecy is so beautiful that it almost doesn’t fit him. Jeremiah is a bringer of bad news, not a fun job in any context. He was called to his unhappy ministry as a young boy, and back then, he protested: I’m just a kid. I can’t do this. But God insisted Jeremiah was born for this job; God knew him while in his mother’s womb. And when Jeremiah spoke, everything would be torn down—and everything would grow up again.

Fourth Sunday of Lent (B) — Numbers 21:4–9

This Lent, we’ve been talking about living more like Jesus. We don’t need to try to be holy, because Jesus’ death and resurrection makes us holy. But we can try to show that in our lives. Through Noah and the flood, God promised to use his power to love. With Sarah and Abraham, God shows radical generosity, giving a long-desired child and much, much more. Last week, we noticed that God is all about relationships. There are lots of rules in the Bible, but it’s not about God telling us to behave; it’s about God teaching us to love.

Today’s story is the kind that makes us think the Old Testament is old, strange, and confusing, and maybe we should stick with Jesus. Especially when we have that beloved passage from John, “God so loved the world.” But I learned long ago that when hard passages come up, if I ignore them, the Holy Spirit gives me trouble.

The Third Sunday in Lent (B) — Exodus 20:1–17
Bethany and Faith Lutheran Churches, Reading, PA

This Lent, I’m preaching about living more like Jesus. We can learn what God is like, and while we’ll never be perfect, we can try to come closer to that ideal. We saw with Noah’s family at the flood, God can destroy, but chooses instead to create, because he loves creation. And last week, God promised a child to Sarah and Abraham, but God couldn’t keep it simple. God’s radical generosity overflows, giving gift after gift.

Today we encounter Israel in the desert. They’re escaping from Egypt and come to Sinai, God’s mountain. God tells Moses that he wants to make the Hebrews his greatest, most treasured possession. They wash and purify themselves to prepare for God’s arrival, and on the third day, God’s presence in smoke and fire appears.

The Second Sunday in Lent (B) — Genesis 17:1–7, 15–16
Bethany and Faith Lutheran Churches, Reading, PA

This season of Lent, my plans are to talk about how we can imitate–or at least, live more like–Jesus. We can take a good look at what God is like, what his various characteristics are, and start to get a sense of those we might emulate. Last week we talked about how God is creative, not destructive. God’s heart breaks because of our injustice, but breaks even more at the idea of ending our evil by removing us altogether. After the flood, God promises to look for other ways to redeem us and all of creation.

Today, the Church reads the story of Abraham and Sarah, and the promises given to them. Their covenant is made several times in Genesis, and our version today is from chapter 17—somewhat more straightforward than the stories in chapters 15 or 18. While it’s a simple account, there are some wonderful, interesting little details.

The First Sunday in Lent (B) — Genesis 9:8–17
Bethany and Faith Lutheran Churches, Reading, PA

The fifteenth century “Imitation of Christ” is one of the great classics of Christian spirituality, but I’ve never read it. It seems ridiculous to me. Become more like Jesus. We fail before we begin. It’s one thing to follow his teachings, to live like Jesus wants. That’s hard, but maybe possible; if not, he wouldn’t have said it. But to live like Christ himself? Jesus is God, made flesh. I am very much not God. I cannot even begin to approximate him.