Category: Sermons

The God of the Living

In the time of Jesus, Judaism was not a single uniform group but had several sects.
Among them, the Sadducees were the most powerful. They came from priestly families and controlled
the temple in Jerusalem — its sacrifices, offerings, taxes, and all economic activity connected with it.
For them, faith meant maintaining the existing order. Stability itself was holiness.
They did not believe in life after death, resurrection, final judgment, or angels.
Such ideas, they thought, could disturb the peace and threaten their power.
For the Sadducees, religion justified authority, and God was the guarantor of their system.
So they came to Jesus with a question meant not to learn but to mock:
“Teacher, if there is a resurrection, when seven brothers each married the same woman in
turn, whose wife will she be in the resurrection?” (Luke 20 : 33)
This was not a sincere question of faith but a way to ridicule the belief in resurrection.

Their question came from the law in Deuteronomy 25, known as the Levirate marriage.
It says, “When brothers reside together, and one of them dies and has no son, the wife of the deceased
shall not be married outside the family to a stranger; her husband’s brother shall go in to her.”
In ancient society, this law protected life.
When a man died without children, his name and property could disappear, and his widow could lose all
means of living.
The brother’s duty to marry the widow ensured that the family line continued, the property stayed within
the clan, and the woman’s life was protected.
Such customs were found not only in Israel but across many regions of the ancient Near East.
Yet the Sadducees ignored the life-giving purpose of that law.
They used the law not to preserve life but as a weapon for argument.

In Luke 20, resurrection means both the new order of life after death and the transforming power of God
that renews this world even now.

1

Jesus showed that resurrection is not only a future promise but also a present transformation.
He said that those who belong to this age marry and are given in marriage,
but those who are considered worthy of the resurrection “neither marry nor are given in marriage.
Indeed they cannot die anymore, because they are like angels and are children of God, being children
of the resurrection.”
The resurrection Jesus spoke of is not an abstract hope far away.
It is the power of God’s love that conquers death, despair, and separation in our daily lives.
Resurrection is not only something that “will happen someday.”
It is already active among us — in healing, in reconciliation, in every act of love that overcomes fear.
Those who live in the life of resurrection live differently from the world.
They choose sharing over possession, mercy over competition, peace over anxiety.
From this very moment, we begin to live as the people of resurrection.
This divine life that Jesus revealed stands in contrast to every system built on fear and control.
And history itself would soon prove that truth.

Earthly power and systems never last forever.
The Sadducees clung to the temple, to wealth, and to social privilege, but it did not endure.
About forty years after Jesus’ death, a Jewish revolt broke out against the Roman Empire.
In the year 70 CE, Rome destroyed the temple completely.
At that moment, the temple-based power of the Sadducees vanished from history.
The structure they tried so hard to preserve collapsed in an instant.
Wealth, fame, and authority that once seemed eternal all disappeared.
But the life of God continued beyond all that.
Everything living will one day fade, but the life that is in God never dies.
That is why we must live with humility before the fleeting things of this world
and hold on to the life that never changes — the life of God.

There will be a baptism during today’s 10 o’clock service.
This is not only a symbol but a visible sign of God’s living presence among us.

2

Baptism is performed as water is poured three times on the head,
“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
This water represents the touch of God who gives life.
Baptism proclaims the end of the old life and the beginning of the new.
It is more than the washing away of sin — it is a turning of one’s life toward God.

The baptism to be celebrated later today invites each of us to reflect:
“What kind of life am I living now?”
“Am I living the life of resurrection in my everyday world?”
We have already been baptized, yet we often forget what that means.
Baptism is not a single event in the past; it is a calling renewed each day.
Whenever we live in ways worthy of the new life God has given, we live our baptism again.
Faith in the resurrection is not only a promise for the future; it is the power that transforms our reality
now.
For our God “is not God of the dead, but of the living, for to him all of them are alive.” (Luke 20:38)
May we remember again the meaning of the life God has given us,
and, in the quiet moments of our daily journey, live out that divine life with gratitude, hope, and gentle
joy.
Amen.

A Prayer for Mercy, the Grace of Restoration
Joel 2:23–32; Psalm 65; 2 Timothy 4:6–8, 16–18; Luke 18:9–14

Today’s message asks two questions: What is true prayer, and what kind of heart does God receive?
And further, how does God’s restoring grace come into our lives when we pray?

In today’s Gospel, two men went up to the temple to pray, a Pharisee and a tax collector. They stood
in the same place, yet their hearts were completely different.
The Pharisee was a respected religious man. He kept the law strictly, fasted twice a week, and gave a
tenth of all his income. His discipline was sincere. But when he prayed, he said:
“God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax
collector.”
The problem was not his actions themselves but his heart behind them. He spoke words of gratitude,
yet deep down he was boasting about himself. His thanksgiving did not recognize grace—it was a
declaration of self-righteousness.
The tax collector, on the other hand, worked for the Roman Empire collecting taxes. Because he
served a foreign power and often dealt with Gentiles, people saw him as unclean. Tax collectors were
also known for corruption, since they could take more than required and keep the extra. For this
reason, he was despised as a betrayer of his people.
Standing far off in the temple, he could not even lift his eyes to heaven. He beat his chest and prayed:
“God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”
Beating one’s breast was a sign of deep sorrow and repentance. He did not hide his sin but stood
before God just as he was.
Jesus said, “I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt
themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.”
Righteousness is not achieved by our merit. It is God’s gift to those who ask for mercy with a humble
heart. Humility is not simply lowering oneself, it is making room for God to enter.

Why was the tax collector declared righteous? Because God first shows grace to those who cannot
stand by their own strength, to those who seek Him even amid sin and brokenness. The tax collector
knew his place within that grace.
God always takes the first step. Through His mercy, He opens our closed hearts and leads us toward
restoration.

1

The book of Joel reveals this divine promise. It was written in a time of longing for renewal after a
devastating locust plague. People faced famine and fear. Their grain and wine were gone, and even
worship had been interrupted.
But God says:“O children of Zion, be glad and rejoice in the Lord your God; for he has given the early
rain for your vindication, he has poured down for you abundant rain, the early and the later rain, as
before.”
In Palestine’s farming life, the early and later rains meant survival. The early rain made seeds sprout,
and the later rain brought the crops to fullness. Rain returning again meant that God’s covenant
faithfulness remained.
And God continues:“I will repay you for the years that the swarming locust has eaten, the hopper, the
destroyer, and the cutter, my great army, which I sent against you.”
It is a promise to restore even lost time. Then God speaks an even greater word of grace:
“Then afterward I will pour out my spirit on all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your
old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visions. Even on the male and female
slaves, in those days, I will pour out my spirit.”
God’s Spirit will fall upon everyone—beyond gender, class, and age. In a society divided by hierarchy,
this was revolutionary. The Holy Spirit is no longer for a few chosen people but a gift of life for all.
“Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.”
To call upon God’s name is to turn one’s heart toward Him. Like the tax collector, acknowledging our
need and opening our hearts is the beginning of restoration. Salvation is not a reward for the perfect
but a grace experienced in the process of living, learning, and changing with God.

Psalm 65 praises this grace of restoration. It begins with forgiveness and ends with the renewal of
creation.
“To you that hear prayer shall all flesh come… Our sins are stronger than we are, but you will blot
them out.”
God hears our prayers and covers our sins. He is not far away but near—renewing our hearts.
Then the psalmist lifts his eyes from worship to the wider world of creation:
“You visit the earth and water it abundantly; you make it very plenteous; you drench the furrows and
smooth out the ridges; with heavy rain you soften the ground and bless its increase.”
God cares for the earth like a farmer tending his field. He softens the soil and blesses each sprout.
With that same tenderness, He tends our lives. As that rain softens the earth, our parched hearts are
renewed; and even within dried-up relationships, new shoots of life begin to appear.
If Joel speaks of the promise of restoration, Psalm 65 sings of its fruit—grain, wine, and oil. Both
declare that God renews the whole of life. Worship and creation are not separate: when God renews
our souls, His grace also renews nature and daily life. For God does not divide the spiritual from the
2

ordinary.

In 2 Timothy, Paul looks back on his life as it nears its end. He has suffered much, yet he testifies to
God’s presence through it all. His letter does not explain why suffering happens; it declares that even
in suffering, God remains with us.
For Paul, faith was not about success or failure but about trusting God to the end. He offered his life
like a sacrifice, knowing all belonged to God. Suffering, for him, became a time when grace was
revealed.
He writes:“But the Lord stood by me and gave me strength, so that through me the message might be
fully proclaimed and all the Gentiles might hear it.”
Paul’s confession meets the tax collector’s prayer: like him, Paul did not trust in his own righteousness
but entrusted himself wholly to God’s mercy.
This witness assures us that God never leaves us alone. True faith, like the prayer of the tax collector,
begins not with claiming our righteousness but by entrusting ourselves to God’s mercy. In that trust,
we find restoration even amid hardship.
God’s grace always comes first. His love crosses every boundary—restoring what was lost and
bringing new life to all creation. That grace renews not only the human heart but also the world around
us. Faith begins when we humbly respond to that grace.

Today we have seen how God’s mercy and restoring grace continue in our lives. God gives grace first;
we respond with humility; the Holy Spirit renews the community.
We have heard God’s promise to restore even lost years, felt His gentle hand that waters the furrows,
and learned of His presence that never leaves us even in suffering. We also saw why the tax collector
was made righteous—not by perfection, but by his humble heart before God.
Faith, in the end, is about how we stand before God. What matters is not what we have achieved, but
that we come before Him as we are, seeking mercy. And when we do, He restores us.
So this week, let us pray the tax collector’s prayer:
“God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”
When we wake in the morning, when we go to work, when conflict or pride rises within us, let us return
to this prayer. Upon it, God will soften our hearts again, send the rain of the Spirit, and bring forth new
life. May our lives and this whole community be renewed in that grace.
Amen.

The Covenant Written on Our Hearts
(Jeremiah 31:27–34 / Psalm 119:97–104 / 2 Timothy 3:14–4:5 / Luke 18:1–8)

The prophet Jeremiah’s voice rises from the dust of a fallen city. He lived through the last
days of the kingdom of Judah and saw Jerusalem destroyed before his eyes. The temple was
burned, the people were taken into exile, and the center of faith, Jerusalem, was reduced to
ashes. The people felt abandoned by God.
Their despair was not only political defeat but also a collapse of faith. The God who had once
protected them now seemed silent. Their prayers no longer reached heaven, and the
promises of God felt powerless before the ruins of reality. Yet in the middle of that despair,
Jeremiah delivers a surprising word of hope: “The days are surely coming, says the Lord,
when I will sow the house of Israel and the house of Judah with the seed of humans and the
seed of animals.” (Jeremiah 31:27) Judgment, then, was not the end. God would plant new
life where destruction had been. God’s judgment was not a final rejection, but a path toward
restoration—a way to begin again in relationship with God. Jeremiah saw beyond the broken
walls. He saw that God was still at work, turning despair into the ground of new life and
shaping a future filled with hope.
“Just as I have watched over them to pluck up and break down, to overthrow, destroy, and
bring evil, so I will watch over them to build and to plant, says the Lord.” (Jeremiah 31:28)
Even in the midst of destruction, God rebuilds what is broken and renews what seems lost.
God’s “watching” is not surveillance or control but a caring, life-giving attention. It is not
judgmental but nurturing. Sometimes what we call “God’s silence” feels like absence or loss,
but even then, God is planting unseen seeds. God’s work is often slow and delicate, and faith
is the courage to trust in that slowness. Each of us experiences our own kind of ruin—family
conflict, weariness of faith, social injustice, illness, or loss. Yet in all these, God comes as the
One who still builds and plants.
“In those days they shall no longer say: ‘The parents have eaten sour grapes, and the
children’s teeth are set on edge.’” (Jeremiah 31:29) This saying had expressed the belief that
children suffered for their parents’ sins. People excused their failures by blaming the past. But
1

God calls them to a new understanding of responsibility: “But all shall die for their own sins;
the teeth of everyone who eats sour grapes shall be set on edge.” (Jeremiah 31:30) Each
person now stands in direct relationship with God—not through ancestors, tradition, or
inheritance. Salvation and judgment are no longer collective but personal. Every person is
invited to respond to God with their own heart. This is where the new covenant begins. God
moves us from collective fate to personal faith, from outward religion to inward relationship.
We, too, lose strength when we live inside the habit of blaming—“It’s someone’s fault.” But
God asks us a personal question: “What will you choose now?” When we answer that
question, the covenant within us awakens.
“The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the house
of Israel and the house of Judah. … I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their
hearts.” (Jeremiah 31:31, 33) The old covenant was written on stone and received with fear.
But the new covenant is written on the heart. The Hebrew word for “law” is Torah, which
means not just rules but divine teaching and direction—a way of life given by God. The Torah
is God’s guidance for human flourishing. When God’s teaching is written on our hearts, our
very thoughts and conscience become the dwelling place of God. The law is no longer an
external demand but an inner light that leads us toward goodness. As the psalmist says: “Oh,
how I love your law! all the day long it is in my mind.” (Psalm 119:97) “Your word is a lamp to
my feet and a light to my path.” (Psalm 119:105) God’s word becomes the light that guides
our daily lives. Faith then is not blind obedience but joyful trust—finding joy in discipline, love
in obedience, and freedom in devotion.
Luke 18 opens with a parable about “the need to pray always and not to lose heart.” In a
certain city, there was a judge who neither feared God nor respected people. And in that
same city, there was a widow—a woman without power, wealth, or protection. Her only
strength was her faith in God’s justice. She came to the judge day after day, saying, “Grant
me justice against my opponent.” Though he ignored her, she did not give up. Finally, the
judge said, “Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, yet because this widow
keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually
coming.” (Luke 18:4–5) Through this story, Jesus reveals who God truly is. God is nothing like
the unjust judge. God is righteous and merciful. God never ignores the cries of those who call
day and night, and God will bring justice swiftly and rightly. (Luke 18:7–8)

2

This parable is not only about praying hard; it is about holding on to faith with endurance. The
widow’s persistence was not stubbornness but trust in God’s justice. Her repeated plea was
an act of faith in the promise of God—a faith that refuses to forget or let go of hope. Her
perseverance did not come from her own strength. It came from the living presence of God
working in her heart. At the end, Jesus asks, “And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he
find faith on earth?” This is not despair but invitation—a question for the disciples and for us:
Can you keep faith even when God’s justice seems delayed?
The “law written on the heart” that Jeremiah spoke of is fulfilled in the persistence of prayer.
Prayer is not only asking for what we want; it is awakening the divine law already written
within us. Through prayer, that law breathes again and becomes life. That inner law is
steadfast love, trust in justice, and patience rooted in mercy. Prayer keeps that law alive in us
like the breath of life itself. This is why Jesus said, “Pray always and do not lose heart.”
Paul says to Timothy, “Proclaim the message; be persistent whether the time is favorable or
unfavorable.” (2 Timothy 4:2) The Word and prayer belong together. Prayer writes the Word
on our hearts; the Word turns prayer into action. God’s Word builds and restores us. When it
takes root in our hearts, we become not only listeners but witnesses.
The church today faces struggles much like those in Jeremiah’s time. The words of faith
remain, but their meaning can fade. God’s justice often feels delayed, and our prayers seem
unanswered. Yet the Church exists because there are still people who trust the slow work of
God—who pray, who endure, and who believe that divine justice will prevail. A praying church
is a living church. Prayer is its heartbeat—the quiet strength that sustains faith and keeps
justice alive in the world. What we need now is persistent prayer and a faith that lifts one
another up. So today we pray: “O God, may the law you have written on our hearts become a
flame that never goes out, even in the coldness of the world. Give us faith that does not give
up, even when the answer seems slow, and make our prayers seeds of your kingdom.” Amen.

Remembering and Giving Thanks

Today’s readings teach us to live faithfully even in unfamiliar and difficult places.
The prophet Jeremiah does not tell the exiles in Babylon to simply wait until they can return home.
Instead, God calls them to settle down—to build, plant, raise families, and pray for the city’s peace.
As the Lord says, “In its welfare you will find your welfare.” (Jeremiah 29:7)
This passage shows us the true direction of faith. Faith is not about longing for a glorious past or
sighing over what has been lost. God tells us to live here and now, to build, to plant, to nurture, and to
continue life even in exile. We often treat the present as temporary, thinking, “When things get better,
I’ll start living.” But that wastes the life God already gives us.
To live faithfully does not simply mean to work hard. It means to accept the present moment as the
place where God is with us and to seek God’s will within it. God calls us to focus on today. Holiness
does not happen only in temples. It grows even in strange, uncomfortable places—where our hearts
feel weak and uncertain. There, God is still with us, nurturing our faith.
So we do not avoid reality. We look at our neighbors and pray for the peace of the place where we
live. “For in its welfare you will find your welfare.” Faith is not private peace alone, it is seeking the
good of the whole community. God sends us into the world to pray and work for the well-being of all.

Psalm 66 gives us a song for those who walk through hardship: “Be joyful in God, all you lands; sing
the glory of his Name; sing the glory of his praise” (Psalm 66:1). The psalm invites us: “Come now and
see the works of God, how wonderful he is in his doing toward all people” (v.4). What are we to see?
“He turned the sea into dry land, so that they went through the water on foot; and there we rejoiced in
him” (v.5). They remember how God led them through the Red Sea, and that memory helps them face
today’s suffering.
The psalm does not hide pain: “You brought us into the snare; you laid heavy burdens upon our
backs. You let enemies ride over our heads; we went through fire and water; but you brought us out
into a place of refreshment” (vv.10–11). They confess their trials honestly, yet also God’s deliverance.
“You brought us out into a place of refreshment.”
This becomes our own confession too. We too have walked through fear and loss, yet God has
brought us to a place where we can breathe again. The Holy Eucharist is the place where we
remember that saving grace. At this table, we recall God’s mercy and turn our sighs into thanksgiving.

In the Second Letter to Timothy, Paul reminds us to hold on to the heart of our faith: “Remember
Jesus Christ, raised from the dead, a descendant of David, that is my gospel” (2 Timothy 2:8). Here
lies the core of the gospel, the incarnate and risen Lord. This memory grounds our identity and our
1

calling.
This call to remember Christ is also at the heart of baptism, which reminds us what it means to live as
those reborn in him. Baptism means dying to the old self and rising to new life in Christ. Yet we often
forget this new identity. Each baptized person is called to remember this grace every day and to live
again as a child of God. That is what Paul means when he says, “Remember Jesus Christ.”
Paul writes from prison: “I suffer hardship, even to the point of being chained like a criminal. But the
word of God is not chained” (v.9). We may be bound by circumstances, but God’s word is never
chained. Social barriers, emotional walls, and the limits of our reality cannot confine the gospel. The
word of God finds a way through every wall.
Paul continues: “I endure everything for the sake of the elect, so that they may also obtain the
salvation that is in Christ Jesus” (v.10). Then he quotes an early Christian hymn, a confession of faith
that was already known in the church: “If we have died with him, we will also live with him; if we
endure, we will also reign with him; if we deny him, he will also deny us; if we are faithless, he remains
faithful, for he cannot deny himself” (vv.11–13).
Here we find comfort. Even when our faith is weak, Christ remains faithful. So we return to what truly
matters, not arguments or prideful words, but the living word that brings life. The Anglican tradition
values balance and discernment, seeking to understand Scripture rightly and to live in ways that build
others up.

The Gospel of Luke teaches us the meaning of thanksgiving. “On the way to Jerusalem Jesus was
going through the region between Samaria and Galilee” (Luke 17:11). This region was a
borderland—both geographical and social. Samaritans and Jews were enemies. The border between
them represented division and exclusion.
Ten lepers stood there, keeping their distance. In that time, lepers were considered unclean and were
driven out of their communities. Yet they cried out: “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” (v.13). Their cry
was more than a plea for help; it was a cry of faith that crossed the boundaries between people.
Jesus said, “Go and show yourselves to the priests” (v.14). And as they went, they were made clean.
Healing happened. But the story’s heart lies beyond healing. “Then one of them, when he saw that he
was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice. He prostrated himself at Jesus’ feet and
thanked him. And he was a Samaritan” (vv.15–16).
Jesus asked, “Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them
found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?” (vv.17–18). Then he said, “Get up and
go on your way; your faith has made you well” (v.19).
The Greek word translated here as “made you well” means both “to heal” and “to save.” All ten were
healed, but only one was saved. Jesus sent them to the priests so they could receive the confirmation
required by the Law and begin the journey back to their communities. The nine were healed on their
2

way, but only one turned back—to find not just healing, but salvation.
The nine received what they asked for: their bodies were healed and the way was opened for them to
rejoin society. But the Samaritan received something far greater. By turning back to Jesus in
thanksgiving, he discovered not only physical healing but a living relationship with God.
The nine went back to their old lives; the one entered new life. Healing restored their bodies; salvation
restored their souls and opened them to God’s kingdom. Thanksgiving is not mere politeness; it is a
way of recognizing grace and returning to its source. Gratitude leads us back to Jesus’ feet, where
healing becomes salvation.
The nine received permission to return to society, but the Samaritan discovered a new home at Jesus’
feet. The nine had their problem solved; the one had his life transformed. They were healed of leprosy,
but he was saved from a life that saw God only as a solution provider.
Thanksgiving was the turning point, the moment when cure became calling, when relief became
relationship, when healing became salvation. Today we too must ask: Where are we walking? Are we
only running toward our busy routines, or are we turning back to give thanks to the One who gives us
life? When we pause and return to Jesus, even for a moment, our hearts are renewed.

All today’s readings remind us of one truth — to remember God’s grace, to live faithfully where we are,
and to give thanks in all things.
Just as he once walked through the region between Samaria and Galilee, he now enters the
borderlands of our own lives—our strange and uncertain places—and says, “Get up and go on your
way; your faith has made you well” (Luke 17:19).
Holding on to that voice, we return to our daily lives. Even in our own Babylon, we build, care, and
pray for peace. Even when we pass through fire and water, God will bring us “into a place of
refreshment” (Psalm 66:11). Even when our faith wavers, “he remains faithful, for he cannot deny
himself” (2 Timothy 2:13).
So, open your eyes in remembrance. Build your house in faithfulness. Return to the Lord in
thanksgiving. And like the Samaritan who fell at Jesus’ feet, may we move from healing to salvation,
from suffering to praise, from strangeness to peace. Amen.

The Spirituality of Contentment and Sharing 

The story of Jeremiah begins in a time of siege and fear. Jerusalem was surrounded by the Babylonian army, and the people could not see a future. In that desperate moment, Jeremiah said the Babylonian invasion was God’s judgment and that surrender was the only way to survive. Because of this message, he was put in prison. 

Yet in that prison, Jeremiah heard an amazing word from God: “Buy the field at Anathoth.” (Jeremiah 32:6–7) To buy land during a war sounded foolish. The field at Anathoth looked worthless at that time. But God was showing that this land would one day be a sign of hope and restoration. 

Jeremiah obeyed this strange command. He bought the field, weighed out the silver, signed the deed, sealed it, set up witnesses, and entrusted the deed to his faithful companion Baruch, who placed it in a jar to be kept safe. The jar symbolized that hope must be preserved for the future. 

The church’s liturgy works in the same way. At the Lord’s Table we keep God’s promise in our hands, in our mouths, and in our memory. Like Jeremiah’s jar, the church is a community that keeps hope alive through remembrance. We too are called to write “documents of hope.” Jeremiah’s deed pointed to restoration; our documents of hope are our faithful actions that witness to God’s promises in daily life. 

The mission of the church is not only the rebuilding of buildings but also the healing of relationships, standing with the weak, and giving steady care and education. These things are the documents of hope in our time. Just as Jeremiah showed faith in the future through his bold act, we too can show God’s promise through our choices today. 

Psalm 91 is a hymn of trust that calls God a refuge and a stronghold. The psalmist says, “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High, abides under the shadow of the Almighty. He shall say to the Lord, ‘You are my refuge and my stronghold, my God in whom I put my trust.’” (Psalm 91:1–2) 

The psalm does not hide the dangers of life. It names them: “the terror by night,” “the arrow that flies by day,” “the plague that stalks in the darkness,” “the sickness that lays waste at mid-day.” (Psalm 91:5–6) These are the fears we may meet at any time. 

The promise is not that all suffering will disappear, but that we are never left alone in it. Even when the night feels long and heavy, we may discover signs that God is quietly present, sharing our pain and giving us strength. The hope of salvation is not only that God is with us, but also that God can open a way toward peace and new life even in the hardest moments. 

1

Later in the psalm, God speaks directly: “Because he is bound to me in love, therefore will I deliver him; I will protect him, because he knows my Name. He shall call upon me, and I will answer him; I am with him in trouble; I will rescue him and bring him to honor.” (Psalm 91:14–15) 

The promise rests on relationship. In evening prayer, this psalm is often read so that fearful nights may be turned into nights of trust. Prayer does not change the world as we wish, but it changes our hearts, giving us peace as we rely on God’s presence. 

The apostle Paul writes, “We brought nothing into the world, so that we can take nothing out of it; but if we have food and clothing, we will be content with these.” (1 Timothy 6:7–8) He also warns, “The love of money is a root of all kinds of evil.” (v. 10) 

The Bible does not call wealth itself a sin. But it asks us where we place our hope. He also warns the rich not to be proud or to trust in uncertain riches, but to place their hope in God who provides richly for all. They should do good, be rich in good works, be generous, and be ready to share. 

Contentment here does not mean giving up or denying life. Unlike the wisdom of the world that relies on human strength, true contentment comes from peace and freedom in relationship with God. A person who learns sufficiency in God is not bound by how much they have, but finds joy in sharing. True contentment is not for oneself alone; it carries responsibility for others. If my neighbor’s needs are met, even if I have less, that is justice and life together. 

This responsibility does not end with people around us. Just as true contentment seeks the good of our neighbor, it also extends to the world we share. In today’s world, this spirit of contentment means not only caring for one another, but also caring for creation and the life God has entrusted to us. 

Paul also says, “Fight the good fight of the faith.” (v. 12) This fight is not about defeating others. It is the quiet struggle to overcome greed, fear, and envy. It is the effort to choose honesty and truth in a culture ruled by materialism. In a world where advertising and media stir up endless wants, faith calls us to moderation, to look after one another, and to choose generosity. 

Faith is not only spoken in church. It shows in our daily choices. To turn our hearts back to God is the fight of faith, and its fruit is peace and generosity. 

Jesus’ parable leads us to the gate of a house. A rich man lived in luxury every day. At his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, full of sores, longing for scraps from the table. But the 

2

rich man did not see him. After death, their places were reversed. Lazarus was with Abraham, and the rich man was in torment. 

The rich man’s fault was not an act of great evil, but his indifference to the suffering person right at his door. The chasm between them after death was not new; it had already been made by the rich man’s lack of care during his life. 

In his torment the rich man begged Abraham to send Lazarus to warn his brothers, so they would not end up in the same place. But Abraham said, “They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.” (v. 29) The problem was not the absence of a sign, but a heart unwilling to listen to the word already given. 

This parable is not only about personal charity. It also questions the habits and systems that keep neighbors outside the gate. Luke’s Gospel again and again shows God’s care for the poor and the weak. God remembers not the nameless rich man, but Lazarus, whose name means “God helps.” 

The message to us is clear. God’s kingdom is not only inside the church. It is also at our gates, in the poor, the sick, and the lonely around us. Faith is shown not only in words and worship but also in how we see and treat these neighbors. When we open our doors in welcome, we show the kingdom of God. When our tables are shared with others, the kingdom begins. 

Jeremiah wrote a deed of hope. The psalmist sang of trust. First Timothy taught us contentment and sharing. Jesus’ parable testified to God’s justice at the gate. All four readings remind us that the choices we make today shape the life of tomorrow. 

The blessing of animals today is not only about our affection for pets. It is also our confession of gratitude and responsibility for all creation. Every creature we care for is made precious by God’s hand. To respect and love them is to live out hope, trust, contentment, and sharing. 

The bread and wine of the Eucharist are signs of life’s promise. God’s promise is not only a record from the past but a living reality in our lives today. The world may not change instantly when we leave this place, but our vision and choices can change. And small changes shape the future. 

May today’s Word take root deeply in us. May we become a church that shows hope, learns trust, shares freely, and widens the table of welcome. May this worship and blessing be one step toward a world where people, animals, and all creation live together in peace. Amen. 

3

The Path of Tears and Faith 

Today’s readings are more than lessons. They are an invitation. They show us God’s deep love and call us to live freely and faithfully in that love. This is a time to recognize God’s sovereignty and mercy, and to seek a way of walking together beyond the powers and divisions of this world. 

Our first reading speaks about Jeremiah. He was a prophet who carried God’s word. People often called him “the weeping prophet.” He cried because he saw his people’s sin and pain. Jeremiah says, “My joy is gone, grief is upon me, my heart is sick” (8:18). He heard the cry of the people across the land, “Is the Lord not in Zion? Is her King not in her?” (8:19). He also speaks the Lord’s question, “Why have they provoked me to anger with their images, with their foreign idols?” (8:19). Jeremiah asks, “Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician there? Why then has the health of my poor people not been restored?” (8:22). And he ends with a cry of pure lament, “O that my head were a spring of water, and my eyes a fountain of tears, so that I might weep day and night for the slain of my poor people!” (9:1). Jeremiah did not weep only from his own heart, he shared God’s heart. God does not pass by the wounds of the people. We also have times of sorrow, when we are sick, lonely, or troubled. In those moments we can speak honestly to God, “Lord, this is too hard for me. Please help me.” Our tears are not hidden from God, and they are not wasted. 

Psalm 79 is not a lone voice, it is the prayer of a people. They face ruins and shame. They ask, “How long will you be angry, O Lord?” (79:5). This is not complaint without faith, it is trust speaking honestly. The psalm ends with a clear petition, “Help us, O God our Savior, for the glory of your Name; deliver us and forgive us our sins, for your Name’s sake” (79:9). This is true prayer, seeking not only our good, but God’s glory. We also pray together as a church. Personal prayer matters, yet shared prayer gives strength. We carry one another’s pain and ask God’s help with one voice. 

In the epistle, Paul urges Timothy, “First of all, I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for everyone, for kings and all who are in high positions” (2:1–2). This includes family and friends, but not only them. It also includes people different from us, even those we find hard to love, because “God our Savior… desires everyone to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth” (2:3–4). There is “one God” 1

and “one mediator between God and humankind, Christ Jesus” (2:5). His love has no border, so our prayer must not be fenced in. When we pray for all people, our vision grows wider and our hearts grow deeper. Praying for those unlike us makes us a little more like God in love. 

In today’s Gospel, Jesus tells the story of a manager (16:1–13). He was about to lose his job. He was not strong enough to dig, and he was ashamed to beg. So he acted quickly and reduced the debts of those who owed his master. The master praised him, not for being honest, but for being wise about the future. Jesus is not telling us to copy corruption. He is showing that even a dishonest person can act with courage when the future is at risk. If “the children of this age” are so clever for their own gain, how much more should “the children of light” live wisely for the kingdom of God? Jesus told this story not to teach tricks, but to show how we treat wealth. In Jewish society, the law forbade open interest on loans. But in daily practice, debts of grain or oil were sometimes recorded with added amounts, which functioned like hidden interest or fees. Some scholars think the manager reduced these extra charges, which were really his own profit. If so, he did not steal from his master. Instead, he gave up his own share to gain goodwill and restore trust. His motives were not pure, but the act shows that money can be turned from abuse into a tool for healing relationships. Jesus says, “Make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth, so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes” (16:9). In other words, wealth will not last. Wealth is not a master. It is only a tool. What we have shows greater value not when it remains in private possession, but when it is used for healing, blessing, and building a world we share together. When we share with generosity, even something imperfect can serve God’s good purposes. Jesus also says, “Whoever is faithful in a very little is faithful also in much” (16:10). Faithfulness is not about waiting for dramatic moments. It reveals itself through daily choices and simple acts of integrity. Finally, Jesus makes it clear: “No slave can serve two masters… You cannot serve God and wealth” (16:13). 

These four voices do not tell four separate stories, they form one path for us now. First, honesty before God. Jeremiah shows that we can come to God without masks. We sing in joy when we are glad. We bring our tears and sighs when we are broken. God receives honest hearts. Second, a shared faith. The psalm shows that faith is not a solitary road. The church carries burdens together and shares joy together. In the prayer and solidarity of the community, we receive strength. Third, a love that includes all. Paul calls us to pray across every boundary, near and far, similar and different, even hard-to-love. This widens our sight and shapes us into Christ’s likeness. Fourth, Jesus asks us how we handle what we are given 

2

and how we make choices in small things. Our resources are meant to serve others and to build trust. Daily faithfulness is a gift we offer to God. These four steps belong together. Honesty becomes shared prayer, shared prayer grows into wider love, wider love takes shape as faithful, concrete living. In this way, God’s word changes us within and sends us out to live it in the world. 

In the Holy Eucharist, we meet Jesus. Week by week, God meets us at this table. Like the “balm in Gilead,” the sacrament brings healing and new strength. Jesus knows our wounds and sorrows. He forgives our sins and gives us grace to continue. When we share one bread and one cup, we become one family. We are different people, but we are one in Christ. The grace of this meal is the same for all. What we have or do not have does not matter here. We are all God’s children, equally loved by Jesus. 

After Communion, we return to our homes and our work. What do we carry with us? We carry Jeremiah’s compassion, to feel with those who suffer. We carry the psalm’s shared prayer, not living only for ourselves, but trusting God together. We carry Paul’s wide love, to hold the whole world in prayer. We carry Jesus’ teaching, to let God be our true Master, and to walk faithfully in the small things. 

These are not grand acts. But if we live with this heart, our ordinary days become holy. Our homes become a dwelling for God’s presence. Our neighborhood becomes a small sign of God’s kingdom. In this way, our daily lives become signs of God’s kingdom. Amen. 

3

The Lost Sheep, the Found Sinner 

O God, because without you we are not able to please you, mercifully grant that your Holy Spirit may in all things direct and rule our hearts; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. 

The Collect for today expresses the heart of the gospel reading: God is the Good Shepherd who seeks the lost, who leads us with love and patience, who forgives us and brings us to the feast of joy. All of us know the experience of losing and finding something precious. A child feels relief when a lost toy is found. Families rejoice when they meet a loved one after many years. Even finding a misplaced item can bring freedom and peace. These moments are not only about the object itself, but about the restoration of relationship, the return of stability, the confirmation that what was lost still matters. 

Today’s gospel reveals this truth in our relationship with God. The difference is this: we are not the ones searching. God is the one who seeks. And what is lost is not an object, but our very lives. 

Luke 15 shows that Jesus’ actions shocked his society. Tax collectors and sinners gathered to hear him, but the Pharisees and scribes complained: 

“This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” (Luke 15:2) 

In the world of Jesus, a shared meal was not just food. It showed who belonged and who did not. To sit at table with sinners was to cross social and religious boundaries. Jesus was not only being kind; he was announcing a new order of God’s kingdom. He showed that God does not divide people into pure and impure, but welcomes all. To explain this, Jesus told the parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin. 

In the first parable, the shepherd leaves ninety-nine sheep in the wilderness to look for the one that is lost. From a human perspective, this seems foolish. Yet in this action, we see God’s love. In Scripture, God is often pictured as a shepherd. Psalm 23 begins, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” In Ezekiel 34, God promises, “I myself will search for my sheep… I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak.” 

When the shepherd finds the lost sheep, he lifts it with joy and carries it home. This shows what true community is. No one is left behind. When even one is missing, the whole body suffers. But when the 

1

one is found, the whole community is strengthened. The ninety-nine also learn that they will never be abandoned. This trust builds unity and hope. To seek even one lost life is not a small gesture; it is the way a community is kept alive. 

The second parable shows the same truth in a different picture. A woman loses one silver coin out of ten. For her, this is not just money but security for her household. Losing one coin threatened her stability. So she lights a lamp and sweeps the house carefully until she finds it. 

This persistence reveals God’s unfailing love. Even if we wander far, God does not give up. God searches every corner until we are restored. And when the coin is found, the woman calls her friends and neighbors to rejoice with her. What was at risk was not only her possession, but her peace and stability. Its recovery restored her sense of security, and her joy could not be contained. 

So too, when God restores one lost life, the whole community rejoices, because everyone is bound together. Psalm 139 gives voice to this truth: 

“If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast.” (Psalm 139:9–10) 

No matter where we go, God’s hand is already holding us. 

Our world today often feels broken. Violence and hatred still tear communities apart. Just last week, many were shaken by the news of a young political leader who was shot and killed at a university in Utah. Regardless of political stance, we grieve the way fear, suspicion, and hostility can erupt into deadly violence. Such tragedies expose the deep divisions and wounds of our time. The prophet Jeremiah once cried out: 

“My people are foolish, they do not know me; they are stupid children, they have no understanding. They are skilled in doing evil, but do not know how to do good.” (Jeremiah 4:22) Jeremiah’s harsh words came from deep sorrow over the blindness of his people. Yet he also saw that even in destruction, God’s steps were still approaching—not to destroy, but to call his people back. Just as parents discipline a child out of love, so God’s judgment is not only punishment but also an invitation to return. Even when the world seems to collapse, God does not abandon us. God comes as the shepherd searching for the lost, as the woman determined to find what is precious. 

At the heart of both parables is repentance and joy. When the shepherd finds his sheep or the woman her coin, they invite neighbors to celebrate. Jesus says: 

“There will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous 2

persons who need no repentance.” (Luke 15:7) 

God’s joy is not in the ruin of sinners but in their return. The world celebrates success and achievement, but God rejoices in restored life and renewed relationship. Every time we celebrate the Eucharist, we share in this heavenly joy. The table of the Lord is not for the perfect, but for all who turn back in faith. 

The apostle Paul is a clear witness to this grace. Once a persecutor and violent man, he became a servant of the gospel. He called himself “the foremost” of sinners, yet he received mercy so that Christ’s patience could be shown through him (1 Timothy 1:15–16). 

These parables are not only stories from long ago; they are God’s invitation to us today. They call us to restoration. When the lost return, their place in the community is renewed, and the whole body is made complete again. 

They also call the church to go beyond safe walls. The mission of the church is not only to care for those inside, but to seek those left out: the forgotten, the voiceless, the powerless. To embrace them is not optional; it is what makes the church truly the church. 

Finally, these parables invite us to share God’s joy. God rejoices when even one life is restored. When the church welcomes back the lost, it becomes a sign of that joy for the world. 

God’s heart is always turned toward the one who is lost. This persistent love gives life to the whole community. The ninety-nine also gain hope because they know they will never be abandoned. Even when the world seems to fall apart, God still seeks us. When the church becomes a community that searches for the lost and refuses to give up on one another, then it becomes a witness of God’s joy. And in that joy, the world may glimpse the very heart of God. 

Amen. 

3

From Fear to Freedom 

Jeremiah 1:4–10; Psalm 71:1–6; Hebrews 12:18–29; Luke 13:10–17 

In life, we cannot avoid moments when we are “called.” Someone might ask us to take on a task. Or a situation might suddenly demand responsibility from us. At such times, we find ourselves standing before a call. 

But when that call is not easy, the first thing that comes is often not joy, but fear. We whisper to ourselves: “Can I really do this? I am not good enough. What if I fail?” 

Today’s four readings begin in places of fear and weakness. Jeremiah hesitated, saying he was only a boy and could not speak. The psalmist confessed trust in God who had been faithful from the womb. Hebrews proclaims a movement from the mountain of fear to the mountain of grace. And in the Gospel, a woman bent over for eighteen years is lifted by Jesus’ touch and begins to praise God. 

Each story stands on its own, yet together they echo one truth: God meets us within weakness and fear; God frees the oppressed and turns despair into new creation. 

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nations.” (Jeremiah 1:5) 

Jeremiah was young and inexperienced, so he answered: “Ah, Lord God! Truly I do not know how to speak, for I am only a boy.” (Jeremiah 1:6) 

This short reply reveals fear, helplessness, and the weight of responsibility. We know this feeling. When a larger role appears, we want to step back. 

But God does not leave Jeremiah inside his fear: 

“Do not say, ‘I am only a boy’; for you shall go to all to whom I send you, and you shall speak whatever I command you. Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you, says the Lord.” (Jeremiah 1:7–8) 

The call does not rest on Jeremiah’s talent. It rests on God’s presence. Then God touched Jeremiah’s mouth: “Now I have put my words in your mouth.” (Jeremiah 1:9) 

Jeremiah becomes not only a messenger but a vessel that carries God’s word. His mission is weighty: 

“See, today I appoint you over nations and over kingdoms, to pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant.” (Jeremiah 1:10) 

It is tearing down injustice; it is raising new life. We, too, say, “I am not enough. I cannot handle this.” Yet precisely there, within our limits, God’s strength is revealed. 

1

In old age, the psalmist sings: 

“Upon you I have leaned from my birth; it was you who took me from my mother’s womb. My praise is continually of you.” (Psalm 71:6) 

From youth through hardship into gray hair, he testifies that God has held him steady. Calling is not a single decision but a lifelong path. Even when we fall, doubt, or wander, the hand that called us does not let go. 

Jeremiah’s promise, “Before you were born I knew you”, and the psalmist’s confession, “Upon you I have leaned from my birth”, belong together. Faith does not begin only when we choose God; it begins with grace that first chose us. 

So discipleship becomes a long learning of God’s faithfulness. 

Hebrews shows where this calling leads. It contrasts Mount Sinai and Mount Zion. Mount Sinai thundered with fire, cloud, trumpet, and a terrifying voice . The people trembled at a distance, while only Moses drew near. 

But now: 

“You have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to innumerable angels in festal gathering.” (Hebrews 12:22) 

It is a place of celebration, the city where Jesus, mediator of a new covenant, gathers his people. Trembling steps at Sinai become dancing steps at Zion. 

Yet grace is not cheap. It comforts us, but also changes us. God still says: “Yet once more I will shake not only the earth but also the heaven.” (Hebrews 12:26) 

This “shaking” is not meant to terrify, but to clarify. What is false and hollow falls away. What is true remains. 

It is purification, not ruin, until only the “kingdom that cannot be shaken” endures (Hebrews 12:28). 

“For indeed our God is a consuming fire.” (Hebrews 12:29) 

This fire is not cruelty. It is holy love, burning away injustice and bringing forth new life. 

Luke’s Gospel shows how grace enters the ordinary day. 

A woman bent over for eighteen years could not stand upright. Her body spoke of more than illness. It bore the story of weight, isolation, and a long sorrow. 

Here we must remember: her healing was not only the straightening of a spine, but the release of an entire life scarred by exclusion and pain. For eighteen years she had carried not only a crippled body but also the wounds of being set aside and unseen. Jesus’ touch lifted her physically, but also restored her dignity and her place in the community. 

2

Our lives are not so different. Each of us carries hidden wounds, burdens too heavy to speak of, and tears buried deep inside. Yet when we let those tears flow before the Lord, when we no longer cling to them, grace meets us in that very place. Christ does not ask us to conceal our pain. He calls us to bring it into his presence, where sorrow is not denied but transformed into healing and hope. 

Jesus saw her. “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.” (Luke 13:12) He laid his hands on her. She had not even asked. Grace came first. At once she stood upright and praised God. 

It was more than the healing of a spine, it was the restoration of dignity and place in the community. The synagogue leader, however, grew angry, insisting that healings belonged to the other six days. But Jesus replied: 

“And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the sabbath day?” (Luke 13:16) 

Sabbath is not a day for oppression but for freedom and rest. Jesus restores its meaning, a day for all creation to breathe and rejoice. 

These four texts show different scenes, yet they sing one song. 

Jeremiah: a call that reaches even the unsure and the young. 

The Psalm: a witness to God’s steady hand across a lifetime. 

Hebrews: a journey from fear to grace, from shaking to what endures. 

Luke: the bent made straight in the middle of an ordinary day. 

In our weakness, God’s power is made known. Through every moment, God’s presence holds us fast. By grace, fear yields to freedom. What is bent is straightened. What seemed finished begins again. 

Today God says to us, “Do not be afraid. I am with you.” We belong to a kingdom that cannot be shaken. Our vocation is to rebuild what is broken, to open what is closed, and to sow seeds of peace, seeds that grow into love. 

And today at the table of the Eucharist, we join the feast of Mount Zion. Here fear is received and transfigured into grace. Here bent souls are lifted, like a gentle hand on the shoulder, like a head raised to meet the light. Here the Church learns again to stand, to sing, and to hope. 

The world still trembles, but the One who holds us does not tremble. 

In him we find freedom, and with joy we answer with our “Amen.” 

Amen. 

3

God’s Vineyard and the Fire of Transformation 

Isaiah 5:1–7, Psalm 82, Hebrews 11:29–12:2, Luke 12:49–56 

Today’s Scripture is not just a gentle encouragement or a comforting word. It is a call that demands deep reflection and decisive action. At its heart lies a single, piercing question: “What kind of fruit are you bearing?” 

This question carries weight for the young, but it resonates even more deeply for those who have walked through many seasons of life. The longer we live, the heavier this question becomes, urging us to pause and examine the fruit of our lives. It calls us to look back on the path we’ve traveled and to consider how we will live the days ahead. 

Let’s begin with the “Song of the Vineyard” from Isaiah 5: 

“My beloved had a vineyard on a fertile hill. He cleared it of stones and planted choice vines. He built a watchtower and prepared a winepress, expecting good grapes, but it yielded only wild grapes. The vineyard of the Lord is the house of Israel; He expected justice, but saw bloodshed; righteousness, but heard a cry.” 

The owner of this vineyard spared no effort. He prepared the soil, removed the stones, planted the best vines, built a watchtower to protect it, and even carved out a winepress for the harvest. He did everything to ensure a bountiful crop. He entrusted all of this with the expectation of a rich harvest. But instead of sweet grapes, the vineyard bore only wild, bitter fruit. 

God’s expectation was clear: He wanted justice, love, fairness, and mercy. But what grew instead was injustice, violence, exploitation, and indifference. In Judah at that time, society was marked by political unrest and deep inequality. Wealthy elites seized land from the poor, leaving families destitute. Courts delivered judgments in favor of the powerful. Priests and religious officials kept outward rituals while 

ignoring the covenant’s demand for justice and mercy. This was not merely individual sin; it was systemic corruption. God exposed their hypocrisy and injustice. 

This same truth comes to us. Our lives—our health, our families, our work, our church, our faith—are not possessions for our comfort but vineyards entrusted to us by God as a holy stewardship. The question is not simply “What blessings do I enjoy?” but “What fruit am I returning to the Lord?” 

But what fruit are we producing in this vineyard? Are we growing the fruit of love and justice that God desires, or are selfishness and apathy taking root like wild grapes? 

Psalm 82 makes God’s expectations clear: 

“How long will you judge unjustly and show favor to the wicked? Defend the weak and the orphan, uphold the rights of the poor and the needy, rescue them from the hand of the wicked.” 

1

God’s justice is different from the world’s justice. In Scripture, justice is always paired with mercy. Protecting the vulnerable and defending their rights is at the heart of God’s justice. For the Church, standing with the powerless is not a political program; it is the essence of the gospel. 

In our world today, we see poverty among the elderly, child abuse, the struggles of refugees and immigrants, and the isolation of the disabled. To ignore such suffering is not merely a neglect of charity; it is to turn away from God Himself. 

Hebrews 12:1–2 gives us this call: 

“Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely. Let us run with perseverance, keeping our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith.” 

The life of faith is like a marathon. The faithful lives of Abel, Noah, Abraham, Moses, David, and countless unnamed martyrs inspire us today. Scarred by struggle yet steadfast, they now surround us like a great stadium of witnesses, urging us onward. Their endurance lights our way and reminds us to cast aside burdens such as regret, bitterness, and misplaced loyalties. 

This race is not solitary. As the Church, we are companions in the same course—called to strengthen one another, lift those who stumble, and move forward together with our eyes fixed on Christ. 

In Luke 12:49–56, Jesus declares: 

“I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! Do you think I came to bring peace? No, but division.” 

In ancient Jewish thought, fire had three meanings: 

Purifying fire, burning away impurities like dross from metal (Malachi 3:2–3). 

Fire of judgment, God’s tool to confront evil (Isaiah 66:15–16). 

Fire of the Spirit, like the flames at Pentecost, bringing new life and mission (Acts 2:3). 

The fire that Jesus spoke of holds all three of these meanings together. It purifies us, it confronts and judges evil, and it leads us into the new life of the Spirit. When this fire reaches into our families and our society, old orders are shaken, and God’s new creation begins to break forth. 

At first, these words about division can sound troubling, as though Jesus were encouraging conflict even within families. But His intention was not to glorify conflict. Rather, He was pointing to the radical upheaval needed to transform a corrupt society. The fire of God’s kingdom must reach into the most basic human relationships, even within families, to uproot old loyalties and plant new values. 

As new wine cannot be poured into old wineskins, so the life of the Spirit cannot be confined to patterns of injustice and complacency; true renewal requires a breakthrough. It calls for daily effort to be remade, to let go of what is comfortable but corrupting, and to embrace the new creation God is bringing to birth. 2

If we cling to the old wineskins, we will not only resist God’s new creation but risk losing the very life of the Spirit meant to renew us. 

Jesus’ words about fire were not just about personal purification but a bold challenge to the unjust structures of His time. He came not with the sword of rebellion but with the fire of God’s kingdom: exposing hypocrisy, confronting injustice, and planting the seeds of a new creation. In Palestine, the Roman Empire, Herod’s family, and a few temple elites controlled land and taxes, pushing many into poverty. The temple, meant to be a place of worship, had become a tool for maintaining inequality. 

Jesus’ fire was a call to expose and dismantle these unjust systems, not through violence, but through the power of God’s Word and the practices of a faithful community. 

We need this fire in our lives today. The hardened habits of selfishness, unforgiveness, or reliance on worldly values must be burned away by the fire of transformation. Change is painful, but it’s the only way to bear new fruit. 

We are often quick to notice changes in the weather but slow to see the signs God places before us. Yet God’s signs are all around us—in the needs of our families, the pain of our neighbors, and the opportunities for change within our church. These are not distant or hidden signs but invitations in daily life. Like the people in Jesus’ time, we must learn to read and respond to the signs God gives us today. 

God has planted each of us in His vineyard to bear fruit, not the wild grapes of injustice and complacency, but the fruit of love, truth, mercy, and faith. This fruit does not grow by chance; it grows when hearts are purified, when lives are reordered, and when the fire of God transforms us from within. 

The vineyard is not ours; it is entrusted to us as holy stewardship. The fire is not ours; it is God’s gift for purification and renewal. And the fruit is not for our pride, but for the glory of God and the healing of the world. 

Let us pray that God’s spark ignites anew in our hearts, our homes, and our church. When that fire becomes words of love, acts of forgiveness, and moments of prayer, God’s vineyard will overflow with abundant fruit. 

Surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us run with perseverance, our eyes fixed on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith. On this road, the love of God will make us new. Amen. 

3

Walking by Faith, Looking at the Stars 

Genesis 15:1–6; Psalm 33:12–22; Hebrews 11:1–3, 8–16; Luke 12:32–40  We live in uncertain times. Economic troubles, climate change, war, and global instability make us ask hard questions: “Where is God? Do God’s promises still matter?” The future feels foggy, and even the present is hard to endure.  In Genesis chapter 15, Abraham had just won a battle, but he was still anxious. He had no children, and this made him worry about the meaning and future of his life. In the ancient world, having no heir meant more than personal sorrow, it meant that the family name would disappear, the legacy would vanish, and there would be no one to carry on the memory or protect the household.  Then God spoke:  “Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great” (Genesis 15:1).  In Genesis chapter 15 verse 1, God says to Abram, “Do not be afraid.” The Hebrew for this phrase is “Al-Tira,” which means more than comfort—it is a declaration of God’s presence. God does not deny Abraham’s fear, but shows a greater reality beyond it.  Abraham brings his honest worry to God:  “O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless…?” (v.2)  This is both a cry and a prayer. Faith is not about always being certain, it includes the courage to bring doubts and fears before God.  God then takes Abraham outside and says,  “Look toward heaven and count the stars… So shall your descendants be” (v.5).  This is not just a vision, it shifts Abraham’s eyes from a limited view to the infinite promise of God. God shows Abraham a future beyond what he can calculate, inviting him to trust in the creative power of the divine.  Then the Bible says:  “And he believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness” (v.6).  The Hebrew word for “believed,” aman, means deep trust—not just mental agreement, but placing one’s whole life in God’s hands. Abraham did not understand everything, but he trusted the One who made the promise.  We, too, live with anxiety about work, health, family, and the future. But just like God showed Abraham the stars, God also says to us:  “It is as if God were saying, look at the stars. I am with you.”  Faith is not denying reality. It is living in reality while holding on to God’s promise.  1 Psalm chapter 33 expands faith from a personal matter to a communal one:  “Truly the eye of the Lord is on those who fear him, on those who hope in his steadfast love” (v.18). God’s gaze is not fixed on the powerful, but on the humble and those who trust Him.  Ancient Israel lived under constant threat from stronger nations. In those days, survival often depended on military strength and political alliances. But the psalmist declares:  “A king is not saved by his great army… the war horse is a vain hope for victory” (vv.16–17).  True salvation lies not in power, but in God’s faithfulness. Those who wait for God’s love are the ones with real hope.  Today, we also face fears and want to rely on wealth, power, or technology. But the psalm reminds us again: “Our soul waits for the Lord; he is our help and shield” (v.20).  A community of faith is not built on worldly strength, but on trust in the promises of our faithful God.  Hebrews chapter 11 gives this powerful definition of faith:  “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (v.1).  Faith is not just a feeling or optimism, it is a commitment to walk toward what is not yet visible, trusting that it is real.  Abraham left his home “not knowing where he was going” (v.8). He lived as a stranger in the promised land. He died without seeing the full promise, but the text says:  “They saw and greeted them from afar” (v.13).  Faith is not about whether we reach the destination—it is about who we walk with.  Hebrews says that Abraham and Sarah longed for  “a better country, that is, a heavenly one” (v.16).  This is not just about the afterlife, but a desire for a world where God’s justice and love are fully realized. People of faith do not settle for the present world, they live as pilgrims, walking toward the values of heaven.  We, too, are strangers on this earth. We do not live for comfort or success alone, but aim our lives toward God’s kingdom. Even when the promise seems far, we live with joy and hope, waiting in faith.  Jesus says:  “Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom” (v.32). 2 This echoes God’s words to Abraham: “Do not be afraid.” The disciples were small and weak in the world’s eyes, but they were cared for by God.  Jesus continues:  “Sell your possessions, and give alms” (v.33).  This is not just charity, it is a way of life that reflects God’s economy. The world says to gather more, but Jesus says to give more. That is how we store up treasures in heaven.  What does it mean to “make purses… in heaven” (v.33)?  It is not only about rewards after death. The heavens are different from the earth. We can say “this land is mine,” but we cannot say “the sky is mine.” The sky cannot be owned. It is a space without borders, where no one can say, “This is mine alone.”  So to store treasure in heaven means to shift the center of our lives from ownership to sharing, from selfishness to solidarity. It is a call to live under the same sky, looking up together, living for a shared hope.  Jesus also says:  “Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit” (v.35).  This is not just future readiness, it is a call to live faithfully today. Faith is not a feeling, it is a life that stays awake to God’s will, right now.  Those who trust God live that trust through their money, their time, and their actions. To store treasure in heaven means to align your life with something you can never claim as your own—the open sky of God’s kingdom. It is about letting love and justice guide your steps.  God showed Abraham the stars. Those stars were the promise and the light in the darkness. Today, we are invited to look at the stars too. But remember, the sky above is not mine or yours. And the heaven toward which it points is not “my heaven,” it is our heaven. So we walk together under that sky, toward that heaven.  The world is still hard. The future is still uncertain. But God’s promise stands. God walks with us. God calls us to walk forward toward what we cannot see.  Faith is walking through the night while looking at the stars. It is living today with love and justice, guided by God’s promise. And that life opens us up, not just to “my land” but to the values of heaven that belong to no one and yet welcome everyone.  So do not be afraid. Look up. Walk by faith. You are not alone on this journey with God. Amen.  3