Easter 5, May 3, 2026

Psalm 31

1 In you, O Lord, have I taken refuge; let me never be  put to shame;
  deliver me  in your righteousness.
2 Incline your ear to me;
  make haste to deliver me.
3 Be my strong rock, a castle to keep me safe, for you are my crag and my stronghold;
  for the sake of your name, lead me and guide me.
4 Take me out of the net that they have secretly set for me,
  for you are my tower of strength.

Psalm 31 is the appointed psalm for the Fifth Sunday of Easter in the Revised Common Lectionary*. It’s considered the most impressive of the lament psalms. Psalms of lament incorporate complaint, protest, prayers for help, and bold statements of trust in God. They are thick and complex, and therefore totally unsuitable for decorative word-art pieces from Home Goods. 

Readers and prayers of this psalm will notice the series of synonyms for the image of “refuge.” God is proclaimed a rock of refuge, a tower of strength, a fortress, a shelter and a hiding place. 

These are strong images, and depending on our context, one image might stick with us more than others. 

I led a study on this psalm at a local homeless shelter for our weekly gathering called “Conversations with Pastor Mary.” As the only permanently housed person in that room each Thursday, I must be ready to pivot, have my thoughts re-arranged, and stay humble. Early on in our hour, I was distracted by one of the regulars arriving late looking like she had just walked out of the hospital, which she had. Ingrid (I’ll call her, is a native of Germany and about 60 years old.) has been in and out of this shelter for at least two years. She’s usually well-spoken and thoughtful, but not on this day. Her eyes were rimmed in red, she was in great pain, and she had numerous open sores all along her arms. She gravitated to our group session as a refuge still wearing her hospital slippers and medical ID bracelets. We asked what had happened to her. The story is long, of course, but the bottom-line is that her body was finally crashing from sleeping out on the street each night on cold concrete. At the beginning of our prayer time, Ingrid could sit no longer and had to have help getting up and out. I stopped the prayer as we got her out. Once she was out the door, I turned to the group and said, “What do you know about what’s happened to her?” This question caused a major pivot in our conversation about psalms of lament. Now, we were composing our own. Several people started to cry. “This is just what happens to us,” they said. I understood that and didn’t understand at the same time. I let them unpack their laments, complaints, protests, and expressions of trust in God.

We talked about God as refuge, shelter, fortress of strength. But then the big ah-ha for me was when Anisha, a very beautiful and intelligent woman still recovering from a severe car accident that made her homeless, said, “It’s true we want physical shelter, and a job, and security, but mostly, we just crave compassion from others.”

Their stories of being brushed aside like trash, dismissed by the medical community and social workers, arrested for simply being homeless, are many. I realized that without compassion for and commitment to all our neighbors, there can be no shelter. The homeless community is beyond belief about the money being spent on government vanity projects and questionable wars while they get little help and all the blame.

The psalmists’ conclusion in their laments is their unshakeable confidence that God is absolutely committed to all creation and will come and save. My homeless friends have this same confidence as well, as amazing as that might be to those of us who are so comfortable in life. 

May we create a culture of compassion in our communities and congregations that all may be sheltered from the storms of this world. 

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*Bible Study Pro Tip: The Revised Common Lectionary (RCL) used by the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America was developed in the late 20th century, with its final form published in 1992. It was produced by the Consultation on Common Texts (CCT), an ecumenical group made up of scholars and representatives from many Christian denominations—Protestant, Anglican, and Roman Catholic. They built on earlier work that began in the 1960s. 

It was created to:

· Provide a shared schedule of Bible readings across denominations 

· Increase the breadth of Scripture heard in worship 

· Promote unity among churches through common texts

Matthew 11

2 When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples 3 and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” 4 Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: 5 the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, those with a skin disease are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. 6 And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”

The Advent season is more than half-way completed for this year. These four weeks before Christmas were originally an austere season complete with fasting and very little music. All the feasting and carol singing were done each day during the Twelve Days of Christmas because Christmas is a whole season from December 25-January 5, not a single day. But because we in the Western world no longer fully celebrate the Twelve Days of Christmas as was once the case, especially in the European countries; we’ve moved it all into the Advent season. The church has always adjusted to such changing times and cultures. And yet, what we haven’t changed is our faithful abiding with the scriptures and hymns of Advent. Those things make us countercultural. 

While the culture is talking about Frosty the Snowman, we’re hearing about John the Baptist on death row even late in this season. Simultaneously, we’re hearing the beautiful joyful poem of renewal and hope in Isaiah 35 that sings so proudly,

1 The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad;
  the desert shall rejoice and blossom;
 like the crocus 2 it shall blossom abundantly
  and rejoice with joy and shouting.
 The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it,
  the majesty of Carmel and Sharon.
 They shall see the glory of the Lord,
  the majesty of our God.

Advent is a season with many moods. Just like us. Just like our world. The weekend of our Third Sunday of Advent on December 14, 2025, was one filled with Christmas drop-ins in our homes, various fun festivals in our communities, and beautiful outdoor lights everywhere. It was also a weekend of terrible violence. From the shootings at Brown University, to the slaughter of Jews celebrating Hanukkah on the beach in Australia, to Ron Reiner and his wife being murdered by their addicted and often homeless son; it was one horror story after another that the bright lights on our Christmas trees could not outshine. With the shock of such acts of violence being reported all weekend long, we know that less shocking acts of violence were also happening in our local communities and in war-torn countries. So much violence and sadness.

We experience Advent themes of waiting, watching, and preparation, of Advent scriptures that take us to many points on our emotional compass reflected in the wickedness of King Herod and the exuberant joy of the returning exiles in Isaiah.  In Advent we travel from the jail cell of John the Baptist to the animal manger in Bethlehem, from the Advent warnings of end times and the trust in God’s promises that Joseph and Mary modeled. In all this “to and fro,” we can exercise many spiritual muscles that prepare us for a faithful life. Oh, the places we’ll go in this life of faith, from questioning the existence of God to placing ourselves totally in God’s hands; life with Emmanuel takes us everywhere.

We think we should have the joy without the sorrow, the success without any failure, the faith without a doubt; but a life of faith is a life of mixed mystery. There’s much we don’t understand and won’t. Yet the Advent and Christmas seasons come with their acknowledgement that God comes as one of us and assures us with angel songs and a baby’s coo that all will be well, that all will always be well. This is our light in the darkness. Be its bearer in your part of the world and all the places you’ll go!

The Everlasting Instant

[Christ] is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation, for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible…all things have been created through him and for him.

Colossians 1:15-16

The incredible Christ the Redeemer statue in Brazil towers above the landscape seeming to hold both the heavens and the earth in his outstretched hands. On this New Year’s Eve of the Christian year, we set off liturgical fireworks and fire scriptural canons to mark the day. Here at the end of the year we conclude with our most glorious statements about the person of Christ our Redeemer.

Some have found spiritual fascination with the contradictory images, metaphors, and titles for Christ Jesus. Sylvia Dunstan (1955-1993) packed many of these in her poem turned hymn called Christus Paradox. It is often sung to the hymn many of us know as “Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence.” The first of four verses sings:

You, Lord, are both Lamb and Shepherd.

You, Lord, are both prince and slave.

You, peacemaker and swordbringer

Of the way you took and gave.

You the everlasting instant;

You, whom we both scorn and crave.

Those who are Biblically literate recognize from where these images come. 

The images are unique in the four verses, but one description of Christ is repeated as the penultimate line in each: “You the everlasting instant.” Those who hear this poem or anthem are unanimously baffled by that line of poetry.

So, what does that mean, my Bible Study 

participants ask. This image is almost too paradoxical to take in. But as we often say, two things can be true at the same time. The Christian creeds hold opposite beliefs about Jesus Christ and tie them together with faith. Jesus is both human and divine. He dies on the cross and reigns as king from the cross. For him, death is victory. 

I cannot speak for Poet Sylvia Dunstan nor say what she meant by naming Christ as the everlasting instant, but I know what it means to me. It speaks one of our deepest theological statements about Christ; that he is totally Other, but also totally just like us. He is as big as the universe but walks with each one of us. I believe the poet weaves this transcendence and intimacy with the concept of time. In terms of time, Christ is everlasting. In terms of his presence, he is with us every instant of our lives. Always abiding right now and forever – that everlasting instant. Alleluia!

 John 17

10 All mine are yours, and yours are mine, and I have been glorified in them. 11 And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one. 

The attached logo here is that of the World Council of Churches. The Greek word there “oikoumene” translates to our English word “ecumenical”. The scripture verse from John 17, that is part of Jesus’ prayer before his death, was used in the 20th century as encouragement to us modern folk to seek unity amid all our diversity of beliefs and practices. Many dreamed of a day when denominations would cease, and we’d all be the one big family of Jesus that he prayed for so long ago.

For the Lutheran church, just one of many ecumenical fragments, we are holding our annual commemoration this Sunday of the Protestant Reformation in 1517. Preparing for this day brought my mind to the divisions in the Christian church and how they seem more than ever. For my sermon, I spoke about what it means to be Lutheran, why it matters, and what an elevator speech describing it might be like. (If you would like a copy of it, feel free to email me: mwanderson140@gmail.com.)

Alongside the sermon work, I was also researching how to understand this new movement in America referred to as Christian Nationalism. What is it, really? What’s its theology, its doctrine, its purpose? Perhaps you know much more than I, but here’s some information, some questions, and a few reflections.

I embarked on this quest after seeing some on-line chatter about “vertical” and “horizonal” theology. As Lutherans we have always held both in tension with each other like the way the two pieces of wood form the shape of the cross. Our vertical theology is our relationship to God (following the commandment to love God with all our mind, body, and strength). As Lutherans we speak of our salvation as being a total gift from God, borrowing the language of Paul that we are saved by grace through faith. In other words, it’s not our actions, our good deeds that make us righteousness before God. It is a gift that makes us free. This is our vertical theology but it’s not all. We hold strongly to a horizonal theology that connects us to one another thereby following the commandment to love our neighbors as ourselves. This is best seen in our many actions of mercy and justice for others. Lutherans describe themselves as a “cross-shaped” people because they hold these two together in their theology and their practice.

Every religious group can be analyzed by these two categories of vertical and horizontal theology. It’s not a perfect measurement, but it is a window into the world of our various religious practices. So, what about this movement among us called Christian Nationalism? 

My research showed that they are best categorized as a “movement.” They are not a denomination and don’t have any articulated doctrine. Going on what you’ve observed, do you think this movement leans more toward vertical or horizonal theology? My first thought was “vertical” given my observations that they appear so strident in their exclusion of neighbors. I thought of them as evangelicals who lean hard on the vertical with their “Jesus as my personal savior” preaching. The idea being that as long as I’m right with God, I’m heaven bound and not much else matters.

But the “A.I. gods” put them firmly in the horizonal category of religiosity. This is mostly because their passion is around national identity, political policies and human laws. It’s not that they have no vertical dimension. They certainly do affirm a belief in God, identify as a Christian, and have a spiritual life, but the focus affirms America as existing in great favor with God. This belief is used to justify political power, national identity, exclusion of others, immigration policy and cultural control. To me it seems this movement reinterprets the command of Jesus to imply, “love the neighbors of your choosing as yourself.” 

It occurred to me that just 15 years ago when Lutherans commemorated the Reformation, we centered on differences with the Catholic church from which we split in 1517. In the South where I live, the majority denomination is Southern Baptists, and we often compare our theology and worship practices with theirs. Now, in just the last six or so years we are experiencing an impact of this Christian Nationalist movement. Its influence cuts across denominations and builds its own stand-alone congregations. Because it influences laws, policies, and culture that touch all people regardless of religious affiliation, we all need to stay smart about it. Even more, we need to sharpen our ability to articulate why we believe and practice the way we each do. We can’t have a decent conversation with those who differ from us if we don’t have much to say. And when we fail to be articulate, we will succeed in being frustrated with each other. 

We’re in a strange time in our history. Luther and the reformers surely felt that way, too. This is the season of the church and of our nation we have been given. Stay faithful. Stay informed. Be brave. A mighty fortress is our God!

Matthew 5

Let your light so shine before others that they may see your good works and give glory to your [God] in heaven.

In this part of Matthew’s gospel and similarly in Luke’s gospel, Jesus -- I don’t know what verb to use – exhorts, commands, encourages, or inspires us to keep the light of our – I don’t know what noun to use – faith, discipleship, resilience – trimmed and burning.

As I’m writing this while traveling back from a long weekend retreat where I led a congregation in thinking deeply about this verse from Matthew that we speak to every newly baptized person as we hand them a freshly lit candle; I think at the end of it all I’d choose this verb and this noun: Jesus exhorts us to learn resilience in keeping our lamps trimmed and burning. The core question of the retreat I led was, “How do we practice resistance and resilience to keep our lamps lit in a world full of candle snuffers?” That was a big question, of course. With massive changes in culture, technology, Christianity, politics, global and personal relationships, it all feels eerily like the first years of the Covid pandemic when no one could pull out a “best practices” plan to address it. What do you do when no one seems to know what to do?

What are the options besides burying our heads in the sand?

As a pastoral leader in our church, I’m constantly doing one of two things, either learning more about leadership or teaching about it. While many of us self-identity as either leaders or followers, visionaries or worker bees; as Christians we are both disciples and apostles. We are disciple/students of Jesus, and we are apostle/leaders in the church. If you are a baptized Christian who was presented with a candle with the exhortation of resilience: Let your light so shine before others that they may see your good works and give glory to your God in heaven, you may call yourself a follower of the Jesus Way, but you are also expected to be a leader in proclaiming the message of the gospel. 

Resistance work is fueled by a faithful resilience that takes many forms. Resistance work is hard, but we can do hard things. We must have a resilience to oppose the forces of evil and all the ways of the world that defy God. We promised this in our baptism as well. These forces are the creeping candle snuffers that seek to defeat our hope and dilute our love of neighbor. We know our lamps have gone out if hope, love, peace, and forgiveness are only flickering lights on the distant horizon.

You may feel that way now as you wake to news of another senseless shooting, sword or nuclear warhead rattling, political stand-offs, cruel polices against immigrants and refugees, or self-serving rhetoric. It’s hard to stay positive surrounded by negativity. It’s hard to protect your little flame of faith and light when surrounded by these candle snuffers. The difficulties of physical, mental, or relationship disruption seek to douse our light of faith even when other things are going well.  So many snuffers.

Two verbs help with our resistance and resilience: abiding and practicing. This might sound Pollyanna-ish to some, but what I’m about to advise has proven useful and fruitful for Christians since Easter Day. In our American culture where a great number of people are caught up in an epidemic of loneliness and where religious communities are declining in active participants, baptism calls us to abide fully in a community of others who follow the ways of Jesus. When our lamps are running low on metaphorical oil, our siblings in Christ can offer some of their abundance to refuel our flame. And when situations are reversed, we can do the same. We abide in Christ by abiding in the community that worships and adores him.

Spiritual resilience is like physical resilience. Both require regular exercise driven by regular discipline. Since ancient times, Christians have practiced a disciplined prayer life that causes us to pause at certain times of the day to give God thanks and praise and to speak our gratitude and our needs. Other practices involve steady Bible study, preferably with others instead of always alone. And the practices of worship, fellowship, singing in a choir, and volunteering out in the community to make people and places better. Every pastor will tell you that often following a visit to a homebound or nursing home member, he or she feels renewed in their calling by that visit. We often hope the visitee is as recharged as the visitor!

Abiding and practicing are regular steady ways to resist all our candle snuffers and grow our resilience in all times and circumstances. Keep your lights trimmed and burning!

Hebrews 13

1 Let mutual affection continue. 2 Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.

[This reflection on Hebrews 13 and Luke 14: 1, 7-14 was my sermon preached on August 31st. It centers on the theme of “hospitality.” The Bible has much to say about this topic and what it teaches us is a difficult lesson for many. Take a read!]

On this Labor Day Sunday, our scriptures fall open to teachings about a simple sounding subject that we could all define easily. The Letter to the Hebrews and the story in Luke of Jesus dining at the home of one of the Pharisees speak of hospitality. Many congregations have a hospitality committee, which is usually a group of people who provide food for fellowship meals,receptions for funerals, or coffee hour treats after worship. As a pastor, I greatly appreciate those who have a special gift for this! In addition to providing food, we think of hospitality as being welcoming to others – opening our homes for a neighborhood gathering, or providing a place to stay overnight for our cousin traveling through town. Scripture would agreethat those things are signs of warm hospitality, but Scripture would also say, “Children, those things are just the tippy top of the iceberg. You must go deeper.”

​The Letter to the Hebrews here is listing out for the struggling first century Christians a packed list of ethical exhortations that define the core of the Christian life. It’s pretty obvious the writer is referring to more than offering pimento cheese sandwiches and lemonade. So, let’s dip below the water line. 

When I was reading the history book of one of my past congregations, specifically the chapter dedicated to the 1960s, the historian talked about a policy the church council had adopted to guide their ushers when strangers come in the front doors on Sunday morning. The policy said African Americans were welcome  if they were coming in order to worship, but not if they were there to cause trouble. The question arose, “Well how do we know if they’re here to cause trouble?” The response was, “Why else would they be here?”

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We might shake our heads at such obvious prejudice. But casting stones is a risky business.  For decades in American culture, we parents have been teaching our children about “stranger-danger.” The stranger isn’t someone to welcome into your life, but someone to stay away from. We also know of congregations like Emmanuel AME in Charleston who welcomed a stranger to their Bible study and then lost their lives because of their Christian hospitality. While we seek to practice hospitality, there is a balance between being street-smart and erring on the side of grace. There are numerous passages in the Bible that command us, call us to welcome the stranger and the foreigner. We wonder how to follow those commandments wisely at our own front doors and at the front doors of our national borders.

Perhaps the bottom of the iceberg is at the level that New Testament scholar John Dominic Crossan calls the principle of open commensality, that is open eating together or sharing a meal with others. He wrote: Invite everybody, all the nobodies; transgress class boundaries; don’t lower your standards, have none. This is the way to entertain strangers – all of them angels – sent by God.

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Well, if the tip of the hospitality iceberg is serving tea and cookies after a funeral service, and if the bottom of the iceberg is to never exclude anyone from anything, which most of us would struggle to be faithful to; let’s look at what a slower deepening of hospitality looks like. Let’s look at what the middle of the hospitality-to-the-stranger iceberg is like. As a faith community, this is more our goal to be street smart in balance with loving our neighbor with a grace as close to Jesus as possible.

In the fields of theology, in education, and in the corporate community, hospitality is taught as having three levels. The first one we know right well – we say we welcome everybody to church, both the familiar faces and the stranger. We welcome people into a space that is not originally theirs. That is, they have no family roots in this place, maybe they come from another culture or ethnic background. Everybody gets the bread and wine of communion and a cookie and some lemonade. But there is a division between the newcomers and the long timers, between the guests and the hosts. The host still holds the power; the guest is received, but the terms are set by the host. Here’s how we do things here, we might tell them. We hope by extending hospitality and having the time to know each other that we’ll break down the walls of fear, suspicion, and exclusion. 

I remember my Daddy would often say that he joined our Lutheran church, not because he didn’t want to be a Methodist anymore, but because he married into one of the old church families at St. Michael’s. He often said, too, that it took about 10 years for the long-timers to stop treating him like he just walked in the door. That’s because the next step of the three that takes us to a deeper level, is harder. The next step is “inclusion” and goes beyond welcome. Inclusion makes sure the “stranger” is not just a guest, but has some power. They can use their voice to let their ideas and visions of where God is leading be known. They are viewed as full members of the community, they have value. Now,they aren’t just welcomed, they belong. When most people join a congregation, this is usually where they hope to be. They have a seat at the table.

Back in 1988 when our denomination was formed by a merger of three Lutheran bodies in the U.S., one of our big goals was to have our membership grow to 10% people of color within the first 10 years. It sounded doable. We were at that time at 2%. After 37 years we remain at 2%. Why? In talking to several people of color who are very active in their Lutheran congregations or are pastors; the biggest struggle is that many people of color never made it past the welcome stage of hospitality. And while some did get to the inclusion stage by serving on Council or teaching a Sunday School class, they never were part of a community that got to the deep third stage of hospitality. That is, their presence never created any mutual change. There was no reshaping of the community by their gifts or perspectives. They bought their gifts, but they were never opened.

Often when a congregation receives new members, somewhere along the liturgy I will say, “These people are no longer new members. We are a renewed congregation by their presence.” A renewedcommunity is one that doesn’t just tolerate diversity but celebrates it as essential to living into the Kingdom of God. That is, we are all transformed, none of us are quite the same for being part of one another. 

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Some of us in the Leadership Pilgrim program whohave been studying Todd Bolsinger’s books on church mission, will remember that he says, people are often called stubborn because they just don’t like change. But in reality, he says, they don’t fear change, what they/we fear is loss. As Jesus also taught us, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain. But when it gives itself away into the soil and loses itself, it grows into a new life, bigger and more fruitful than before. 

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To move beyond welcome to real hospitality, the truly deep stuff, we must be willing to give up and lose some things to gain even more. That takes a lot of trust in one another and in the God who calls us. Together we can do it and as Jesus promises, it leads to a very abundant life. Yes, this is Christ’s Church. There is a place for you here!