Everything [in] between Grief & Hope

Everything [in] between Grief & Hope

Everything [in] between: Part 7
Series based on the Narrative Lectionary & Sanctified Art
April 13, 2025 - Easter Sunday
John 20:11-18, Luke 24:1-12

Very early in the morning on the first day of the week, the women went to the tomb, bringing the fragrant spices they had prepared.  They found the stone rolled away from the tomb,  but when they went in, they didn’t find the body of the Lord Jesus.  They didn’t know what to make of this. Suddenly, two men were standing beside them in gleaming bright clothing.  The women were frightened and bowed their faces toward the ground, but the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?  He isn’t here, but has been raised. Remember what he told you while he was still in Galilee,  that the Human One must be handed over to sinners, be crucified, and on the third day rise again.”  Then they remembered his words.  When they returned from the tomb, they reported all these things to the eleven and all the others.  It was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told these things to the apostles.  Their words struck the apostles as nonsense, and they didn’t believe the women.  But Peter ran to the tomb. When he bent over to look inside, he saw only the linen cloth. Then he returned home, wondering what had happened.

Luke 24:1-12 (CEB)

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Reflections written by Rev. Jeff Chu

Grief is liminal, not terminal

What makes an ember of hope flare up into a revivifying fire?

Sometimes it’s a memory.

Then they remembered his words, Luke says of the women who had brought burial spices to Jesus’ tomb. It took outside help, in the form of two angels, and it wasn’t instantaneous. First there was terror, because it’s not every day that otherworldly visitors come calling. But then they received a gentle word: Remember.

Sometimes it’s a testimony.

The spark of the women’s story gave Peter just enough hope to get up, run to the tomb, and seek more for himself.

Sometimes neither memory nor testimony will feel sufficient. The cold cloak of grief may still be too thick, as it was for Jesus’ other friends. To them, the women’s story was λῆρος (leros). My Bible translates that Greek word as “an idle tale,” but I think that lacks oomph. Really, it might be better rendered “nonsense” or “the mutterings of the delirious.”

The other apostles’ incredulity feels so relatable to me, especially in the context of our contemporary lives. In a world beset by so much sorrow, so much suffering, and so much heartbreak, a glimmer of good news can have such a hard time breaking my gloom. A glimpse of beauty, a flash of loveliness, can feel like foolishness amidst so much bad news.

This isn’t to say, of course, that it’s wrong to sit with grief. Our grief deserves our attention, because mourning is a bittersweet memento of love. We need not rank our griefs either. Even when it comes to the pettiest, tiniest things, we need to grieve so that we can make room for the better.

There’s the key, though: our grief cannot become our everything. With memory, testimony, and time, we can recognize that grief is liminal, not terminal. And it need not crowd out other truths: that we have loved and been loved. That we are not alone. That there is still hope in the land of the living. 

Everything [in] between Shouting & Silence

Everything [in] between Shouting & Silence

Everything [in] between: Part 6
Series based on the Narrative Lectionary & Sanctified Art
April 13, 2025
Luke 19:29-40

As Jesus approached the road leading down from the Mount of Olives, the whole throng of his disciples began rejoicing. They praised God with a loud voice because of all the mighty things they had seen.  They said,

“Blessings on the king who comes in the name of the Lord.
    Peace in heaven and glory in the highest heavens.”

Some of the Pharisees from the crowd said to Jesus, “Teacher, scold your disciples! Tell them to stop!”

He answered, “I tell you, if they were silent, the stones would shout.”

Luke 19:37-40 (CEB)

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Reflections written by Dr. Mindy McGarrah Sharp

Stones have seen a thing or two. Grabbed in rage, they’ve absorbed the shock of violence. Balanced in meditative towers, they’ve marked graves and birthed centering peace.

In an Arizona courthouse, I wasn’t thinking about stones. I was thinking about students’ passionate shouts and silent death stares. We had traveled to the borderlands to listen in a place about which there is much shouting and even more silencing. A most progressive student and a most conservative student grudgingly traveled together, carrying histories of screams and silences into that courthouse.

In the pre-trial explanation, we heard that doors would open, and we would all rise. But this would be no triumphal entry, no cloak-lined path, no donkey willingly lent from a neighbor, no rejoicing. Just hand sanitizer and instructions: Silence! No photography!

We were entering Operation Streamline’s public gallery, the daily hearing where up to eighty humans are tried en-masse for immigration violations. Since 2005, this has continued through Democratic and Republican administrations. Chained by ankle, wrist, and waist, human beings walk to a judge six-by-six, clanging, pleading. It would be over in under an hour, and then we'd go on about our day.

Unexpectedly, the polarized students joined voices: This cannot be! One quoted scripture: the Imago Dei, neighbor love, caring for strangers, remembering Jesus’ own journey as a migrant. The other quoted law: due process, presumption of innocence, amnesty, constitutional rights. Between stony silences and snarky shouts arose some solidarity. Together, they witnessed what we humans can do to each other and the lengths we go to make it all make sense.

Bearing witness complicates things. Divisive soundbites crumble, north and south get confused. But, stones certainly know the violence, graves, and peace prayers held in this sacred, desecrated land.

On a borrowed donkey from a gracious neighbor, on crowd-sourced paths accompanied by loud rejoicing, Jesus wept on arrival, knowing full well what we humans are capable of doing to each other. He rode right into what stones have seen: criminalization and death -dealing decisions, dehumanization and denial of dignity, disregard for expansive beauty.

     What would stones shout?

     What do you shout?

     What do you silence?

Everything [in] between Righteousness & Mercy

Everything [in] between Righteousness & Mercy

Everything [in] between: Part 5
Series based on the Narrative Lectionary & Sanctified Art
April 6, 2025
Luke 19:1-10

Jesus entered Jericho and was passing through town.  A man there named Zacchaeus, a ruler among tax collectors, was rich.  He was trying to see who Jesus was, but, being a short man, he couldn’t because of the crowd.  So he ran ahead and climbed up a sycamore tree so he could see Jesus, who was about to pass that way.  When Jesus came to that spot, he looked up and said, “Zacchaeus, come down at once. I must stay in your home today.”  So Zacchaeus came down at once, happy to welcome Jesus.

Everyone who saw this grumbled, saying, “He has gone to be the guest of a sinner.”

Zacchaeus stopped and said to the Lord, “Look, Lord, I give half of my possessions to the poor. And if I have cheated anyone, I repay them four times as much.”

Jesus said to him, “Today, salvation has come to this household because he too is a son of Abraham. The Human One came to seek and save the lost.”

Luke 19:1-10 (CEB)

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 Reflections by Rev. Jeff Chu

“God has a really bad habit of using people we don’t approve of,” Rachel Held Evans once said. “What makes the gospel offensive is not who it keeps out, but who it lets in.”

I might tweak Evans’s formulation and put it this way: God has a really bad habit of loving people we don’t approve of. Or maybe this: God has a really bad habit of showing mercy to people we don’t approve of.

Or maybe: God has a really bad habit of extending grace to people we don’t approve of.

All are true, as is evident in Jesus’s encounter with Zacchaeus.  In those times, tax collectors were loathed. The phrase “tax collectors and sinners” appears multiple times in Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and in one testy exchange with the chief priests and elders, Jesus tosses a rhetorical grenade into their midst, saying, “The tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you.”

Tax collectors were stooges of the Roman Empire. They betrayed their own people and enriched  themselves in service to the oppressor. And Zacchaeus was no average corrupt bureaucrat. He’d amassed immense wealth, climbing on others’ backs to the rank of chief tax collector. In other words, he was a senior deplorable.

So it especially galled the gathered crowds that, of everyone clamoring for Jesus’s attention that day in Jericho, he would choose to stay with that man. Can you believe it?

The good teacher would want to be in the home of that despicable, unrepentant sinner? I say “unrepentant” because, before Jesus invites himself over, the vertically challenged Zacchaeus has done nothing except climb a tree to get a better view, again setting himself apart from his people. He hasn’t admitted wrongdoing, resigned his position, or confessed his sin. Still, Jesus says, I will abide with you.

It’s striking that Jesus never called Zacchaeus out — no loud shaming, no public humiliation. Rather, this seems like the gentlest calling-in. Faced with Jesus’ tender warmth, Zacchaeus descends from the tree, rejoins the people, and immediately pledges restitution — a two-pronged act of reconciliation with both God and neighbor.

Confirmation of this remarkable turnabout comes in Jesus’s declaration: “Today salvation has come to this house.” Our ears might be tempted to hear an absolution of individual sin. But Jesus says “to this house,” not “to this man,” which hints at something broader. The Greek word σωτηρία (soteria), translated here as “salvation,” also means “deliverance.” Woven into σωτηρία is a suggestion not just of cleansing but also of wholeness. In the communal culture of Jesus’ day, salvation meant the wholeness derived from belonging. By repenting, Zacchaeus had been delivered from broken relationship with his people back into the wholeness of community.

We can’t know how Zacchaeus would have responded if Jesus had instead tried loud condemnation. We do know that what worked was winsome grace, gentle mercy, and a love so attentive — and so offensive — that it healed.

Everything [in] between Lost & Found

Everything [in] between Lost & Found

Everything [in] between: Part 4
Series based on the Narrative Lectionary & Sanctified Art
March 30, 2025
Luke 15:1-7

All the tax collectors and sinners were gathering around Jesus to listen to him.  The Pharisees and legal experts were grumbling, saying, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.”

Jesus told them this parable:  “Suppose someone among you had one hundred sheep and lost one of them. Wouldn’t he leave the other ninety-nine in the pasture and search for the lost one until he finds it?  And when he finds it, he is thrilled and places it on his shoulders.  When he arrives home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, ‘Celebrate with me because I’ve found my lost sheep.’  In the same way, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who changes both heart and life than over ninety-nine righteous people who have no need to change their hearts and lives.

Luke 15:1-7 (CEB)

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This week I had the honor of serving as a pastor on a 3-Day Spiritual Retreat and did not preach a regular sermon. However, please enjoy this week’s reflections from our current series from Dr. Mindy McGarrah Sharp posted below. Check back next week for my message on Everything [in] between Righteousness & Mercy.

reflections written by: Dr. Mindy McGarrah Sharp

Maybe none are found until all are found

 “I’ve found my voice!” The class beamed with excitement, sharing in palpable joy. This student had been quiet for years, almost never speaking. One day, they spoke, then again, building steam throughout the semester, deepening their vocal participation and contributing mightily to collective learning.

“How did I not know about this?” asked another student in a different class. They had been studying for years and had already devoted countless hours to
various ministries. “Now that I found this out, I am free! And I am also mad!” That class joined in palpable joy and righteous anger.

How did these students find their voice and freedom? Both exclaimed that the assigned reading invited them in, showing that their voices were welcome, their
freedom was at hand, and that people who look like them have been calling them through generations to find their voice and freely join the conversation.

For a teacher, bearing witness to a student who finds their voice is joyous. With newfound courage, freer students glow. What they did or didn’t realize was lost is now found! The whole room shifts when a voice found adds something to the group that was lost without them. When a found voice claims its rightful power, there is almost always rejoicing.

But it’s also maddening. Voices aren’t disembodied utterings, but embodied precious people worthy of being heard. Bearing witness to the joy of found voices also bears witness to obliviousness that voices were missing. Even with deep conviction and contrition, it’s painful when the almost-always-heard realize they never noticed anyone missing in readings, historical genealogies, or learning environments.

I assign readings from often-invisibilized theologians who honor their mentors, one generation to the next across multiple generations. These readings also clearly describe the finding of the authors' own unique and powerful voices.

Tracing generations of Asian Feminist, Womanist, Liberationist scholars in theological trajectories teaches about the kind of mentoring it takes to help scholars find their voices. Readings themselves become mentors to many students, including the two mentioned here.   

While diverse representation in readings is just a start, it’s not enough. I seek to read what has existed for generations, but has been left out, lost, unread,
unpreached, unassigned, unknown. Who noticed? Who searched?

One commentator suggests calling this the parable of the found instead of the lost sheep because this search continues until the final finding. It doesn’t stop, doesn’t tire of noticing the missing. Have you found your voice? Have you found your freedom? Have you found your anger? Have you found your joy?

Maybe none of us are found until all of us are found. Whose voices have you not yet noticed? Which ones are missing, unread, unpreached, unheard? What search parties have you joined? What joy it will be to bear witness to the deep calling of finding all voices!

Everything [in] between Rest & Growth

Everything [in] between Rest & Growth

Everything [in] between: Part 3
Series based on the Narrative Lectionary & Sanctified Art
March 23, 2025
Luke 13:6-9

Jesus told this parable: “A man owned a fig tree planted in his vineyard. He came looking for fruit on it and found none. He said to his gardener, ‘Look, I’ve come looking for fruit on this fig tree for the past three years, and I’ve never found any. Cut it down! Why should it continue depleting the soil’s nutrients?’  The gardener responded, ‘Lord, give it one more year, and I will dig around it and give it fertilizer. Maybe it will produce fruit next year; if not, then you can cut it down.’”

Luke 13:6-9 (CEB)

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 Reflections written by Rev. Jeff Chu

Slow down. Do your part. Remember the promise.

Two years ago, I planted asparagus crowns. The farmer who sold them to me said, “You know you’ll have to wait a couple of years to harvest, right?”

Of course I did. I had Googled: “how to grow  asparagus.”

Still, the next spring, when a slender spear rose from the midst of the previous autumn’s fallen leaves, I could barely restrain myself from harvesting it. I immediately imagined charring asparagus, and squeezing some lemon and grating some parmesan over the top.  Ooh — and how about a slightly runny fried egg?

Then I remembered the farmer’s counsel: “You know you’ll have to wait a couple of years to harvest, right?”

After briefly congratulating myself for my self-control, I tucked my dream back into the vault of future possibility. It wasn’t yet time for our homegrown  asparagus. It needed that year, then another, to  concentrate on its largely invisible labor: finding purchase in the soil, extending its roots, gathering strength to flourish.

Like my asparagus, the fig tree can’t be rushed. Jesus’ original, agriculturally sophisticated audience would have known that a fig seedling needs several years to bear fruit. They might even have found the vineyard owner’s question laughable. They would have understood that absence of fruit on a young tree wasn’t a sign of failure. Maturity requires time and care, attention and patience. It has always struck me as odd that a common reading of this parable imagines the vineyard owner to be God. (Such is our temptation toward hierarchical thinking that the most seemingly powerful figure in a parable must always be God.) That interpretation runs up against our belief that God is “slow to anger and abounding with steadfast love.” And surely a call to faithful waiting seems more apt and necessary for God’s ever-impatient people. As God reminds Habakkuk, “There is still a vision for the appointed time. . . . If it seems to tarry, wait for it. It will surely come.”

Faithful waiting doesn’t mean doing nothing: The gardener waters, weeds, and fertilizes. And modern science is teaching us what happens in the meantime. Contrary to the peevish vineyard owner’s assertion, nothing is wasted. Down below, the fig tree isn’t just gathering strength; it’s also building relationships.
Soilborne fungi are finding home in its roots, boosting the tree’s capacity to resist disease and take in nutrients.

In return, the tree feeds the fungi. Perhaps this parable is better read as a gentle rebuke against those of us who are all too comfortable with our on-demand, instant-gratification culture—and who believe the lie that we can control more than we actually do. Perhaps, too, this parable was a word that Jesus needed to preach to his very human self. After all, he’s the one who, in Matthew and Mark, curses a fig tree for failing to give him fruit when he wants it.

Perhaps this is our invitation: Slow down. Do your part. Remember the promise.

Whether asparagus or fig, the harvest will come.

Everything [in] between Faith & Works

Everything [in] between Faith & Works

Everything [in] between: Part 2
Series based on the Narrative Lectionary & Sanctified Art
March 16, 2025
Luke 10:38-42

While Jesus and his disciples were traveling, Jesus entered a village where a woman named Martha welcomed him as a guest.  She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to his message.  By contrast, Martha was preoccupied with getting everything ready for their meal. So Martha came to him and said, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to prepare the table all by myself? Tell her to help me.”

The Lord answered, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things.  One thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the better part. It won’t be taken away from her.”

Luke 10:38-42 (CEB)

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Reflections written by Dr. Mindy McGarrah Sharp

“Are you a Mary or a Martha?” is the wrong question. This familiar question reminds me of two former bosses. The first valued photographable work: build something tangible, make something quickly, sell something profitably. Don’t just stand there, do something!  The second valued relational depth and learning across differences: linger with people, let it disrupt other tasks, for this is the work. Don’t just do something, sit there!

The first go-getter had portfolios of success, but lacked depth and mutuality. The second sit-with-er had stories, but no material buildings to show for it. Which is better? 

At first glance, this text forces an either/or, especially when we read Jesus’ words with dripping condescension in translations that choose “the better part” to describe Mary’s actions (Luke 10:42). Should we be a workhorse or build relationships? Surely, no one has time to always do both well.

Recall what happens in Luke just before. When asked about what a disciple has to do, Jesus’ Good Samaritan story screams, “Don’t just stand there (or pass by), do something!” Receiving Martha’s frustrated question about unshared labor (where theological education was being counter-culturally offered to a woman), Jesus appears to scold, “Don’t just do something, stand (or sit) there!”

This could lead to a simple discernment—one choice better, one worse: choose better. But, when we read the Good Samaritan alongside this text, we see that Jesus blesses both: do something and sit there.

Further, Mary and Martha are sisters. They’re related. My second boss was right about working hard for right relationship. My first boss was onto something too: what are you making together?

Rather than showing which is better, my back-to-back bosses raise deep questions about productivity and
relationality. “Are you a Mary or a Martha?” is the wrong question.

What might it look like to shift our imagination from the ever-tempting mode of sibling rivalry — aiming to
outdo each other, a tendency found in sacred texts and in contemporary families, cultures, and countries?

What might a faith/works, works/faith healthy sibling relationship look like? What practices and habits would that require?

Decades after two very different bosses, I still have questions. What kind of relationships do the works we produce, photograph, and celebrate reflect? Is there shared labor and fair compensation?  Does everyone get enough time and space to rest, reflect, and learn? Is theological education accessible to everyone across genders, sexualities, races, nationalities, abilities, ages, and every other difference?  How would we know?  What new work could we create together with the benefit of sitting with each other, listening and learning each other’s stories?

Don’t just work, reflect on what your faith requires: sit and listen.

Don’t just rest in faith, put it to work: respond through just relational networks.

Repeat.

From Glory to Glory

from Glory to Glory

March 2, 2025 - Transfiguration Sunday
Luke 9:28-36

About eight days after Jesus said these things, he took Peter, John, and James, and went up on a mountain to pray. As he was praying, the appearance of his face changed and his clothes flashed white like lightning.  Two men, Moses and Elijah, were talking with him.  They were clothed with heavenly splendor and spoke about Jesus’ departure, which he would achieve in Jerusalem.  Peter and those with him were almost overcome by sleep, but they managed to stay awake and saw his glory as well as the two men with him.

Luke 9:28-32 (CEB)

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People don’t rise before dawn on vacation to watch the sunrise for the sake of the sun itself. A scientific explanation of the brilliant colors spreading across the sky may be interesting in a classroom, but it’s not what draws us to the shore in silent wonder. Rather, it is something deep within us — something beyond words — that makes each sunrise spectacular, no matter how many we have seen. Beauty, awe, and wonder transform us from the inside out in ways we cannot explain.

In the same way, Jesus did not reveal his glory to the disciples for his own sake, but for theirs. The Transfiguration was not simply about his radiance; it was about giving his friends hope — hope they would desperately need to carry the light of God’s glory into the darkness they were about to face. This moment of divine mystery, beauty, and wonder was as much about their own transformation as it was about Jesus’. Charles Wesley expresses this in his hymn Love Divine, All Loves Excelling:

Finish, then, Thy new creation;
Pure and spotless let us be.
Let us see Thy great salvation
Perfectly restored in Thee;

Changed from glory into glory…

It’s easy to understand Peter’s desire to build dwellings on the mountain for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah. What better place to establish God’s Kingdom on earth? But when the heavenly voice interrupts, saying, “Listen to him,” it becomes clear that Peter has missed the point. Scottish theologian Henry Drummond puts it this way: 

God does not make the mountains to be inhabited. We ascend to the heights to gain a broader vision of the world below. But we do not stay there. We do not tarry there. The streams begin in the uplands, but they descend quickly to gladden the valleys below.

As we descend the mountain into the dark valley of the Lenten season and journey with Jesus toward the cross, we must not leave behind the vision of God’s glory. Instead, we are called to carry that light with us — to embody God’s love in the valleys of pain and suffering along the way.

•  Where do you see transfiguration happening in the world today—not in dazzling displays of power, but in the quiet work of love, justice, and transformation?

• How will you carry the wonder and mystery of God’s glory into the dark places of life this week?

The Reconciliaton / Liberation Story: Some of Us For All of Us

The Reconciliaton / Liberation Story: Some of Us For All of Us

February 23, 2025
Matthew 7:13-14, John 13:1-17, Luke 19:41-44

Series based on The Seventh Story, by Brian McLaren & Gareth Higgins

As Jesus came to the city and observed it, he wept over it.  He said, “If only you knew on this of all days the things that lead to peace. But now they are hidden from your eyes. The time will come when your enemies will build fortifications around you, encircle you, and attack you from all sides. They will crush you completely, you and the people within you. They won’t leave one stone on top of another within you, because you didn’t recognize the time of your gracious visit from God.”

Luke 19:41-44

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     The Reconciliation and Liberation Story is an alternative seventh story embodied by Jesus. It contrasts sharply with the six dominant narratives of the first century and all of human history.  In Luke 19, Jesus weeps over Jerusalem.  He laments her refusal to embrace the way of peace and foresees the inevitable destruction caused by these other stories.

• The Revolution Story (Zealots): Zealots sought justice through violent rebellion, but Jesus  countered with a nonviolent revolution of love, teaching, “Love your enemies” (Matthew 5:44).

• The Purification Story (Pharisees): Pharisees pursued holiness by rigidly separating from impurity, often leading to exclusion. Jesus rejected this, touching the unclean, welcoming sinners, and declaring mercy and justice as the heart of the Law.

• The Isolation Story (Essenes): Essenes withdrew from society, viewing it as irredeemable. Jesus,
  however, engaged the world, proclaiming, “You are the light of the world” (Matthew 5:14-16), calling His followers to transform the world rather than retreat.

• The Accumulation Story (Herodians): Herodians aligned with Rome, pursuing wealth and power.  Jesus warned, “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth” (Matthew 6:19-20), inviting trust in God and generosity.

• The Victimization Story (Oppressed Jews): Many Jews, as victims of Roman oppression, sought vindication. Jesus blessed the poor in spirit and the persecuted (Matthew 5:1-12), offering hope and liberation from bitterness through resurrection.

• The Domination Story (Sadducees): Sadducees preserved power by compromising faithfulness.
  Jesus overturned their corruption, calling people to a kingdom where the first are last and the last are first (Matthew 20:16).

Jesus expresses God’s deep longing for humanity to reject these destructive narratives. His story — embodied in acts of love, service, and reconciliation — invites all into God’s kingdom of peace.  The six stories persist  today in violence, legalism, isolation, consumerism, resentment, and power struggles. Jesus calls us to reject these and live His story: Love enemies. Seek justice with mercy. Engage the world as light. Trust God over wealth. Move from resentment to hope. Serve humbly, rejecting power for its own sake.

• Which of these six stories tempts you most?

• How can you embody reconciliation in your life today?

The Accumulation Story: Us Competing With Them

The Accumulation Story: Us Competing With Them

February 16, 2025
Luke 12:15-21, Matthew 6:19-34

Series based on The Seventh Story, by Brian McLaren & Gareth Higgins

Stop collecting treasures for your own benefit on earth, where moth and rust eat them and where thieves break in and steal them. Instead, collect treasures for yourselves in heaven, where moth and rust don’t eat them and where thieves don’t break in and steal them. Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Matthew 6:19-21

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The Accumulation Story is centered on the belief that wealth and material success are essential to happiness and security. The Herodians, a political group that supported the Roman-appointed Herod, are often seen as the embodiment of this story. They were willing to align themselves with Roman rule in order to maintain their wealth and status. Their pursuit of material success often took precedence over faithfulness to God.

The gospels mention collaboration between the Pharisees and the Herodians as a way to hold onto their power, wealth and privilege.  Herodians are portrayed as astute and cunning, using their connections solely for their own personal interests.  They often accommodated to Jewish customs and practices, but this in many ways was just to prevent any uprisings and keep the peace so they could maintain their good standing in the Roman government.  In some ways, we might call them the “God AND Country” people, in the sense that the were fine with God so long as their religious interests aligned with their political interests.  To challenge unjust Roman practices in the name of their religious beliefs would be too great a risk for their personal comfort. 

Jesus countered this mentality in powerful teachings, warning against the accumulation of earthly wealth. "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth... But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven". For Jesus, true success and security came from dependence on God, not on material wealth or political influence. The Accumulation Story often leads to anxiety and greed, while Jesus calls us to trust in God's provision and practice generosity.

In our consumer-driven culture, the Accumulation Story is alive and well.  At the end of the day, the market, the economy, and our personal bank accounts have far more influence on our everyday decisions than our faith.  We are often willing to turn a blind eye to unjust practices if it means more profit, and we have no  problem lining the pockets of the ultra-wealthy and giving them virtually unlimited power so long as their services make life easier and more comfortable for us.

Jesus invites us to redefine success, finding meaning not in material wealth, but in spiritual richness and  generosity.  He warns that storing up treasures on earth is a foolish endeavor because all that will remain are the investments we make in the kingdom of heaven such as our care for the poor, the widow, the orphan and so on.  It’s easy for those of us who are not rich to think this is not an issue for us, but it is so embedded in our culture we cannot escape it.  This story is going to take a lot of hard work to change.

• Where do you find yourself placing security in material possessions rather than in God?

• What steps can you take to live a more generous life and resist the Accumulation Story?

The Victimization Story: Us In Spite of Them

The Victimization Story: Us In Spite of Them

February 9, 2025
Psalm 137:1-9, Matthew 5:1-12

Series based on The Seventh Story, by Brian McLaren & Gareth Higgins

Alongside Babylon’s streams, there we sat down, crying because we remembered Zion.  We hung our lyres up in the trees there because that’s where our captors asked us to sing; our tormentors requested songs of joy: “Sing us a song about Zion!” they said.  But how could we possibly sing the Lord’s song on foreign soil?

 Psalm 137:1-4

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The Victimization Story revolves around suffering and oppression, shaping an identity rooted in past harm.  In the first century, many Jews saw themselves as victims of Roman oppression, a sentiment deeply tied to their history of exile and subjugation. Psalm 137 vividly expresses this experience:

 "By the rivers of Babylon, we sat and wept when we remembered Zion. There on the poplars, we hung our harps" (Psalm 137:1-2).

This psalm reflects the pain of the Babylonian exile, where the Jewish people were torn from their homeland, mocked by their captors, and forced to sing songs of Zion in a foreign land. Their suffering was real, their grief legitimate, and their longing for justice palpable. These experiences of oppression carried forward into the Roman occupation, where heavy taxes, exploitation, and loss of autonomy deepened their sense of victimhood.

Despite their legitimate suffering, Jesus challenges the Victimization Story as the defining narrative of their identity. He declares, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 5:3). Jesus acknowledges the reality of oppression but offers a vision of hope.  He calls His followers to see beyond their suffering to the transformative power of God’s kingdom. His resurrection stands as the ultimate rejection of victimhood, transforming suffering into victory and calling His followers to live in the hope of God’s justice and restoration.

In today’s world, the Victimization Story persists both personally and in our larger society. On a personal level, individuals often cling to past hurts, defining themselves by wounds and grievances. Socially, groups may highlight injustices, sometimes justifiably, while also perpetuating cycles of resentment and division rather than seeking healing. 

Jesus does not dismiss the reality of suffering and victimization, but he invites us to move beyond this story so that it does not become our core identity. He calls us to acknowledge pain and injustice while refusing to let them define us. Instead, He offers a path of forgiveness, healing, and reconciliation. This does not negate the legitimacy of suffering but transforms it into a story of hope that inspires others.  Jesus’ story is not one that avoids suffering and death, but rather one that invites us to transcend death through resurrection.

•  Are there areas where you are holding onto past hurts that prevent healing?

• How can you share your story of suffering in a way that brings hope and healing to others?

• How might Jesus’ resurrection inspire you to live beyond victimhood?