Just two quick words of orientation to our passage today. One is the reminder that here at Roland Park Presbyterian Church, we follow a set of prescribed readings called the Narrative Lectionary, which helps explain why we’re reading about the crucifixion even though we are still in Lent—and Palm Sunday is next Sunday, right? Yes, Palm Sunday is next Sunday. But John’s Gospel is a little bit different than the others.

Matthew, Mark, and Luke dedicate a few chapters to the last week of Jesus’ life and its events. But the entire second half of John’s Gospel is just the last week of Jesus’ life. And so it creates this interesting pace, because the first eleven chapters cover a span of two-plus years, and then the last ten-plus chapters—just one week. And so John really slows down the pace of the narrative here. And as a result, we are slowing down the pace of the narrative and drawing out the story in such a way that we’re telling it over the course of all of Lent, rather than just Holy Week.

The other thing is—and I know this is repetitive for some of you, but it’s so important—John’s Gospel is the source of so much antisemitism. And there’s truth: there’s animosity in John’s Gospel between the burgeoning Christian community and the Jewish community. But that’s not prescriptive for all times and places. That is that particular time and place, as a new community was forming and coming out of another and separating—much like a teenager does from a parent—and there is sometimes animosity that grows in that relationship. But it is still a relationship of love and of closer ties and connections than being apart.

And so I take great care in reading the Gospel because John uses this term very loosely—“the Jews.” And most of the time he refers to the religious authorities, but sometimes he’s just referring to the crowds. But because that can be problematic, I will retranslate that for us when it’s appropriate.

John 19: 1-16a

Then Pilate took Jesus and had him flogged. And the soldiers wove a crown of thorns and put it on his head, and they dressed him in a purple robe. They kept coming up to him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” and striking him on the face. Pilate went out again and said to them, “Look, I am bringing him out to you to let you know that I find no case against him.” So Jesus came out wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe. Pilate said to them, “Behold the man!” When the chief priests and the police saw him, they shouted, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” Pilate said to them, “Take him yourselves and crucify him; I find no case against him.” The Jews answered him, “We have a law, and according to that law he ought to die because he has claimed to be the Son of God.” 

Now when Pilate heard this, he was more afraid than ever. He entered his headquarters again and asked Jesus, “Where are you from?” But Jesus gave him no answer. Pilate therefore said to him, “Do you refuse to speak to me? Do you not know that I have power to release you and power to crucify you?” Jesus answered him, “You would have no power over me unless it had been given you from above; therefore the one who handed me over to you is guilty of a greater sin.” From then on Pilate tried to release him, but the Jews cried out, “If you release this man, you are no friend of Caesar. Everyone who claims to be a king sets himself against Caesar.”

When Pilate heard these words, he brought Jesus outside and sat on the judge’s bench at a place called The Stone Pavement, or in Hebrew Gabbatha. Now it was the day of Preparation for the Passover, and it was about noon. He said to the Jews, “Here is your King!” They cried out, “Away with him! Away with him! Crucify him!” Pilate asked them, “Shall I crucify your King?” The chief priests answered, “We have no king but Caesar.” Then he handed him over to them to be crucified.

For the Word of God in scripture,
For the Word of God among us,
For the Word of God within us,
Thanks be to God.

***

I wouldn’t blame you if you felt like we’ve been spinning our wheels here for the last few weeks.

John really does draw out this trial scene, and we’ve taken his cue and slowed down so that we can pay attention. But it almost feels like we’re not getting much of anywhere. At the beginning of last week’s passage, the religious authorities bring Jesus before Pilate. And at the beginning of this morning’s lesson, the religious authorities again bring Jesus before Pilate. This game of back and forth between religious and civil authorities is like a ping-pong match…except the religious and civil authorities are trying to play on the same team.

They just can’t decide who should swing the paddle.

I actually used to be a pretty good ping-pong player. Not great, just good. But as we were preparing for a match, I would tell my opponent that I was the state champion in high school. I wasn’t. I don’t even think there was such a thing. It was a complete lie, and soon the truth would become very evident. And we’d laugh, and it was just a silly little joke I used to do all the time. But every once in a while I noticed that my opponent—ever so slightly—maybe their eyes would widen when I would say it. They would be just a little bit intimidated.

It would only last a few minutes.

Now Pilate is me in this weird ping-pong Holy Week analogy that’s getting away from me. Pilate’s the one who’s faking bravado here. Although, unlike me, he’s doing it to intimidate, not as just a silly prank. Because Pilate is the one who sits on the judgment seat, right? That’s why the religious authorities are going to him.

They’ve become equal parts afraid and annoyed with Jesus and his shenanigans, but they do not have the will or political clout—or both—to do what they think needs doing. So the religious authorities bring Jesus to Pilate and tell him he’s claiming to be king of the Jews, which is interesting because that title doesn’t exist. There is no such thing.

And anyway, when Pilate questions him, Jesus responds that his kingdom is not from here. Remember from last week, he told Pilate, “If my kingdom were from here, my followers would be fighting back but they are not.” And so that’s really all Pilate needs to hear. He’s not a threat.

So Pilate tells the crowds, “Look, I find no fault in Jesus,” and he tries to release him. But the crowds refuse and ask for him to release Barabbas instead. That’s the ending of last week’s passage, right?

So beginning in our reading today, Jesus is back in front of Pilate, and Pilate seems to have no clue what to do with him.

So, you know…might as well flog him, I guess. That’s what empires do, right?

But let’s pause here for a second and ask ourselves: who truly holds the cards? Because John is doing something really subtle and very clever here that we might miss.

But we’ve been in John long enough now to know that he likes reversals, especially when it comes to power dynamics.

Remember just a few weeks ago, we read about Jesus washing his disciples’ feet, and Peter protested: “No! You are the teacher, you are the rabbi, you are the one in the position of authority. We should be washing your feet, not you washing ours.” But Jesus says no.

Well, John’s up to his old tricks again.

Because Pilate is supposed to be the one in charge here, right? But everybody is telling him what to do and he’s doing it. He wants to release Jesus; the crowds won’t let him. He tells them he finds no fault in Jesus; they tell him to look again, harder this time.

But it’s not just the crowds, too. Look at Jesus. He’s the one on trial. His life is on the line. Is he cowering at Pilate’s feet? Is he begging for his life?

He is cool as a cucumber…acting as if he’s completely in control of the outcome, and not Pilate.

Finally, the crowd wears Pilate down, and he agrees to charge and crucify Jesus. But he only does it under threat. The line that finally gets him: “If you release this man, you are no friend of Caesar.” It’s kind of the ancient version of, “Can I speak to your manager?”

But then John does something else.

And it’s very subtle, and we don’t get it in our translation because they make the choice for us. But he says that he sat on the judgment seat, which is presumably some sort of fancy chair that symbolizes Pilate’s power and authority given to him by Rome.

But the catch is that the language that John uses here is intentionally ambiguous. He could have made it very clear that Pilate is sitting on the throne—or on the seat—and indeed that is what our translation presents to us. But if we go back to the Greek, we see that it is actually ambiguous.

It could mean Pilate. It could also mean Jesus.

Why would John do that?

Because he wants us to ask the question: who is really sitting on the judgment seat here? Pilate? Or Jesus?

John wants us to be confronted with that question in this narrative.

Another way to put it is to notice that there are two very different types of power on display in this passage: power over and power with.

Pilate and Rome know only dominant power. Might makes right. If you can take it, it’s yours. The one who dies with the most toys wins.

This kind of power relies on fear and violence, punishment and retribution to get its way. It divides people into winners and losers, insiders and outsiders, us and them.

But this is not the only kind of power that’s on display here. Jesus is exercising power too. By refusing to dominate people, Jesus lifts up service to others. By refusing to fight and be pulled into violence, Jesus lifts up nonviolence as a way of life. By refusing to give in to vengeance, Jesus lifts up forgiveness.

And John wants to put us at that crossroads. John wants us to choose.

And he points out the danger of religion mixing with dominant power.

The religious authorities and crowds make their choice. They’re seduced by the power of the empire. They exploit Pilate and get him to bring the full force of Rome down on Jesus.

But what happens to them in the process?

They give up the farm. They sell out all their values and principles that drew them to faith in the first place. And by the end, they proudly proclaim the empire’s motto: “We have no king but Caesar.”

Lest we think this is something that just happened 2,000 years ago, last Sunday, self-proclaimed Christian Nationalist William Wolf told his congregation, “We should not blink. We should not hesitate to tell people, this is how we should order our lives together.” Wolf said, “And frankly, yes, we are going to impose it upon you. If you don’t like it, I’m sorry, but this is good and right,” he said, “and I’m going to enforce my morality on you in so much as my morality is God’s morality.”

My goodness, how can he tell the difference?

The temptation of dominant power is great. It can seem like a great way to get things done. Anything else can seem naïve in comparison.

We think to ourselves, sometimes we say it out loud, “Look,” we say, “I’m a good person, and the things I want are good. So what if I take some shortcuts to get there?”

The problem is dominant power does not bow to our good intentions. It corrupts them, pushing the line of what is acceptable further and further out. And suddenly we find ourselves pledging allegiance to Caesar and not God.

By the way, John does something else that’s very clever and worth noting here.

I mentioned a few weeks ago how we like to play the blame game. And again, it’s important to know that this passage is a source of much antisemitism, because it seems like it is the Jewish authorities and the Jewish crowds who are calling for Jesus to be crucified—but that misses the point completely.

John makes it very clear when he says, “the one who hands me over has a greater sin.”

Yes. Who hands him over?

Well, in the immediate context, we would say it’s the religious authorities and the crowds. They were persistent in their efforts, in fact. But how did they get a hold of him? One of his own disciples, Judas, had to first hand him over, right?

But that’s not it.

Then notice what John says when Pilate finally makes his decision: “Then he handed him over to be crucified.”

There is no “they” who handed Jesus over to die. It wasn’t just Judas, or the religious authorities, or the riled-up crowd, or the empire.

It was all of them together.

It was us.

When we choose dominant power over service and nonviolence.

Now if that were all that John gave us, this would be a tragic passage…the type of which we see every day on the news.

But John suddenly asks this question: who is really sitting on the judgment seat?

And even by asking the question, John is suggesting the kind of power Jesus shows us is a viable option for us to adopt—maybe even the right and faithful one.

But that can be hard for us to see, because from all the outward signs, Jesus looks weak and defeated. There he stands on his own. His own friends have abandoned him. His life is on the line.

What a loser.

But does he flinch? Does he waver from his belief in nonviolence and the worth of everyone as an image-bearer of God? Does he stop believing in the power of serving others and empowering others?

He does not—even when it leads to his death.

And in the end, God vindicates his death and this “power with” when Jesus is raised from the dead. Death does not have the final word.

The power of dominance might win in the short term. It often does. But ultimately love, justice, and power that is shared are the ultimate winners.

Look, friends, it’s hard to keep believing in the power of love in a world where bombs are being dropped and missiles are flying daily. And when our leaders call their opponents schoolyard names and bully people who look different or vote different or think different.

Our politics is dominant power on steroids.

And in this kind of environment, kindness and respect and decency… well, they just seem weak and naïve.

But the gospel invites us to believe that they are not.

Indeed, the gospel invites us to believe that they are what true, God-like power looks like.

We have to realize that the real standoff is not between religious and secular, not between Republicans and Democrats, not between any “us” and “them.”

It is between “power over” and “power with.”

And instead of imposing our faith or morality on others through force, it is better in the end, as Madeleine L’Engle writes, “that we draw people to Christ not by loudly discrediting what they believe, by telling them how wrong they are and how right we are, but by showing them a light that is so lovely that they want with all their heart to know the source of it.”

Friends, at the end of our passage, the crowd of faithful people are so turned around, they say, “We have no king but Caesar.”

They betray their faith for a chance at dominant power.

Many Christians today are being seduced in exactly the same way.

And the truth of the matter is that it is not enough for us to be against them and that kind of power.

We have to be for something.

We have to find our own lovely light that God has put in each one of us—a light that shines when we claim we have no king, no king but Jesus.

Amen.

The post Were You There? No Kings (But Jesus) appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.

Sometimes time just flies, doesn’t it? Right? How is it March 1st already? Wasn’t Christmas just a couple of weeks ago? Other times, time slows to a crawl.

Last Sunday after church, my son and I raced home, packed our bags, and headed off to the airport. Our flight to make a final college visit wasn’t scheduled to take off until six, but the weather reports and the notices from the airline suggested that arriving early would be a good idea. So we did.

Sitting at that gate, I must have checked my phone about every minute over the next two hours for updates about the flight. Is it on time? Will we make our appointment and our tour the next day in Florida? Time slowed exponentially as we waited. Then, 30 minutes before boarding, I got the ping: “Your flight has been canceled. We rebooked you for the next available flight, 6 a.m. tomorrow morning.”

Considering the forecast and the time of night, we decided to find a room in a hotel near the airport and get the shuttle for our early morning flight. So that’s what we did. Woke up at 3:30, caught the shuttle at 4 a.m., boarded at 5:30, wheels up at 6. And so I’m here to tell you, you can leave Baltimore at six in the morning, fly to Orlando, drive to Daytona, and make the 11 a.m. tour with two minutes to spare. Still, those 12 hours felt like 12 days.

Sometimes time flies. Other times, it slows to a crawl. The gospel writer John knows this to be true.

The first 11 chapters of his gospel cover a span of more than two years. But from chapter 12 on, it is just one week and change — the last week of Jesus’ life, what we typically observe during Holy Week. But John wants to slow time down.

He wants us to spend more time here, to pay attention, to slow down, to notice every detail, every morsel of this beautiful life that is about to be extinguished before our very eyes. Our reading today is from John chapter 13.

John 13: 1-17

Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. The devil had already decided that Judas son of Simon Iscariot would betray Jesus. And during supper Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from supper, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” Jesus said to him, “One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.” For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, “Not all of you are clean.”

After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had reclined again, he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord, and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. Very truly, I tell you, slaves are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.

For the Word of God in scripture,
For the Word of God among us,
For the Word of God within us,
Thanks be to God.

***

The story we just read is steeped in relationship, observes Amy Robertson — Jesus’ relationship to God as he prepares to return to God, and Jesus’ deep connection to the people who are with him on earth.

How do these things fit together? Why does Jesus’ awareness of the power he derives from his relationship to God cause him to disrobe and don a towel and wash the feet of his students? Is this about cleaning or hospitality? And how exactly does this prepare them for what is to come?

This matches what we’ve been noticing about the unique way that John tells the gospel story through the lens of relationships that Jesus formed here on earth. We, of course, have the disciples, but then we have Nicodemus, and the woman at the well, and the man born blind. And of course, last week we had Lazarus, who we are told Jesus loved, and whose death caused Jesus to weep.

Our passage today begins with John letting us know that Jesus is fully aware that his life is about to end. If you knew you had only a few days left, what would you tell your family and loved ones?

What wisdom, advice, what message would you impart?

We spend our lives running from our mortality, but when the curtain is drawing closed, how will our perspective shift? What one or two essential things will rise to the top of all the important things that fill our lives?

I’ve not been in that position myself, but like all of us, I’ve thought about it. And you know, I just can’t imagine giving one lick about success or fame or wealth or possessions.

I imagine, like most of us, it will be the relationships that rise to the top — the loved ones that went before us and those that will carry on after we are gone. That’s what will matter most. That is what will be most cherished.

So too it is with Jesus. He wants to make sure his friends know that he loves them, and he wants them to love and care for one another in the way that he has shown them.

And he doesn’t communicate this with mere words, but with himself, with his actions. He gets down and washes their feet.

Now, it’s worth stating that what is shocking or unsettling to you and me about Jesus washing his friends’ feet is not what would have been surprising for Jesus’ contemporaries — mainly because foot washing is not really a thing we do.

But in the ancient world, foot washing was a necessary act simply because they walked around in the dirt and the mud and the who-knows-what in mere sandals and bare feet. So each home had a basin and a cloth by the front door for guests to wash their feet. And in the nicer homes, they would have somebody there to do it for you as you entered.

Now, what is shocking about this scene is that socially speaking, Jesus is not their servant, but their teacher and master. And so, like the tables he turns over in the temple, Jesus flips the power dynamics in the room, submitting himself. And furthermore, he does this as an example for us to follow.

Simon Peter, ever the one to say what we’re all thinking out loud, says to Jesus, “You’ll never wash me, Lord.” Perhaps thinking that this is how Jesus really wants him to respond — you know, like it was a test.

But no. Jesus reiterates what he’s doing. Then, sensing he had misread the cue, Simon Peter goes full-on in the other direction: “Okay, wash all of me.”

Jesus again tells Simon he’s missing the point. Calm down.

John isn’t asking us to look down on Simon Peter. Rather, John invites us to see ourselves in him — in all the ways that we try to obfuscate and complicate something that’s really very simple. I mean, Jesus’ message cannot be more clear and straightforward: take care of one another.

Look after each other. The way I’ve shown you, love one another as I have loved you.

The message is simple. It’s the living it out that’s the challenge.

And too often we treat each other as a means to an end, as a tool that we can manipulate, as a resource to be exploited or used — not as fellow travelers on the journey of life, not as companions, partners, teammates, friends.

Fellow children of God.

And we don’t even have to leave our passage for today to see an example of this.

Judas plays the villain in the story — we all know that — and we treat him as a convenient scapegoat so we don’t have to face all the ways that we have betrayed Jesus and our loved ones. But just as Simon Peter gives voice to our thoughts, Judas shows us the damage that can be caused when we value money, or a cause, or whatever, over the person who is right in front of us.

But let us not mistake our judgment and condemnation of Judas for that of the text — certainly not that of Jesus himself. Clearly, all the gospel writers are uncomfortable with Judas and his role, and they don’t quite know what to do with him.

But one thing they do not do is show Jesus condemning him the way history has.

Now, we often talk about using our theological imagination. This is a great place to do it.

We can use our theological imagination to consider how Jesus might respond to Judas’ betrayal — and how that response might differ from our own.

I picture — this is not going to be surprising to some of you — I picture one of my favorite scenes from the long-running British TV show Doctor Who. In it, the main character, the Doctor, is betrayed by his closest friend and companion. She does it for what she truly believes are good reasons, but nonetheless, it’s a betrayal.

And when things finally come to a head and she breaks down, begging for forgiveness but not expecting it, finally the Doctor speaks and says, “Do you think I love you so little that betraying me would make a difference?”

Or I think of a song from my favorite band, the Irish rock band U2. The song is called “Until the End of the World.” And it’s written from the perspective of Judas in the aftermath of his betrayal. The lyrics begin, “Haven’t seen you in quite a while, I was down the hold, just passing time.” It then goes on to describe the events that happened in the upper room that we just read about — Judas’ betrayal of his rabbi and friend.

And the final verse of the song is Judas encountering Jesus in a dream, and it goes like this:

In my dream I was drowning my sorrows,
But my sorrows they learned to swim,
Surrounding me, going down on me, spilling over the brim.
Waves of regret, waves of joy.
I reached out for the one I tried to destroy.
And you, you said you’d wait until the end of the world.

Friends, can we imagine a love that is stronger than all the ways that we try to betray and deny it? Can we imagine a love big enough to show us hospitality and acceptance? Can we imagine a love that will wait until the end of the world for us?

Not only can we imagine it — we have it right before us in the person of Jesus, inviting us to live differently, to live nonviolently, to live with compassion for all, to work toward justice — not our own self-interests.

We have the living example of one who, as Barbara Brown Taylor puts it, “was fully who God created him to be every day of his life; who loved God with all of his heart, with all of his soul, with all of his strength, with all of his mind; and who loved his friends so much that he stepped into the oncoming traffic of death in order to push them out of the way.

And he furthermore did it with no more than the basic human equipment — a beating heart, two good hands, a holy vision, and some companions who could see it too — thereby showing the rest of us humans that such a life is not beyond our reach.”

Lent is here, friends.

It’s time to slow down. Pay attention. To remember that the holy and sacred is not in some far-off heaven, but sitting right next to us, sharing the same air, the same earth, the same love.

Take care of one another, Jesus says.

Love one another as I have loved you.

It’s really just that simple. And it’s really just that hard.

Friends, today after worship we have a unique and historic opportunity to participate in the love and justice of Jesus. We know too well the damage and devastation and loss of life and liberty that has been caused by the sin of racism.

We know that racism is not merely a posture of the heart — that some lives have more value than others — but has infiltrated just about every aspect of our common lives. We call these things systemic and systematic racism. They are real, and they cause real harm — not just historically, but here and now.

We live in a city where structures and roads and neighborhood planning have all conspired to privilege some over others. Our economic and civic institutions, too, have prejudice and bias baked into them in ways that you and I, as individuals, cannot fix on our own, but nonetheless require our action and our attention.

Friends, the cause of justice is not hopeless, even though it’s not easy.

It requires many of us — particularly those of us who are white — to reorder our own lives and repair our own hearts and minds. The work is called reparative justice, and we’re going to talk about it — about the need for it, as well as the hope of it. So I hope you’ll join us today.

Because I want us to see this for the wonderful and holy opportunity that it is — a chance for us to participate in the repairing of the world right here in Baltimore.

Friends, this work is more than just and right. It is indeed holy work. It is the very living out of Jesus’ last instruction to his disciples: take care of each other. Love one another as I have loved you.

Because it’s only this kind of love — love that welcomes, love that serves, love that leads to justice — that will repair not only the world, but our own hearts as well.

Amen.

The post Were You There?: Take Care of Each Other appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.

Genesis 1:1-2:4a

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.

And God said, “Let there be a dome in the midst of the waters, and let it separate the waters from the waters.” So God made the dome and separated the waters that were under the dome from the waters that were above the dome. And it was so. God called the dome Sky. And there was evening and there was morning, the second day.

And God said, “Let the waters under the sky be gathered together into one place, and let the dry land appear.” And it was so. God called the dry land Earth, and the waters that were gathered together he called Seas. And God saw that it was good. Then God said, “Let the earth put forth vegetation: plants yielding seed, and fruit trees of every kind on earth that bear fruit with the seed in it.” And it was so. The earth brought forth vegetation: plants yielding seed of every kind, and trees of every kind bearing fruit with the seed in it. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening and there was morning, the third day.

And God said, “Let there be lights in the dome of the sky to separate the day from the night; and let them be for signs and for seasons and for days and years, and let them be lights in the dome of the sky to give light upon the earth.” And it was so. God made the two great lights—the greater light to rule the day and the lesser light to rule the night—and the stars. God set them in the dome of the sky to give light upon the earth, to rule over the day and over the night, and to separate the light from the darkness. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening and there was morning, the fourth day.

And God said, “Let the waters bring forth swarms of living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth across the dome of the sky.” So God created the great sea monsters and every living creature that moves, of every kind, with which the waters swarm, and every winged bird of every kind. And God saw that it was good. God blessed them, saying, “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the waters in the seas, and let birds multiply on the earth.” And there was evening and there was morning, the fifth day.

And God said, “Let the earth bring forth living creatures of every kind: cattle and creeping things and wild animals of the earth of every kind.” And it was so. God made the wild animals of the earth of every kind, and the cattle of every kind, and everything that creeps upon the ground of every kind. And God saw that it was good.

Then God said, “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the wild animals of the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth.”

So God created humankind in his image,

    in the image of God he created them;

    male and female he created them.

God blessed them, and God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.” God said, “See, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree with seed in its fruit; you shall have them for food. And to every beast of the earth, and to every bird of the air, and to everything that creeps on the earth, everything that has the breath of life, I have given every green plant for food.” And it was so. God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good. And there was evening and there was morning, the sixth day.

Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all their multitude. And on the seventh day God finished the work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all the work that he had done. So God blessed the seventh day and hallowed it, because on it God rested from all the work that he had done in creation.

These are the generations of the heavens and the earth when they were created.

For the Word of God in scripture,
For the Word of God among us,
For the Word of God within us,
Thanks be to God.

***

I want you to imagine with me for a moment, you have been asked to give an account of how our universe, our world came to be. Where would you start? How would you do it?

Would you try to remember what you learned in science class? Or from a PBS or Discovery special on the origins of the universe? Or would you go a different direction?

Would you try something more creative—paint a picture? Design a sculpture? Compose a piece of music? Tell a story? And what is it that you would most want to convey in your account of how the world came to be? The vastness of the universe? The beauty of nature?
Our place in the order of things?

The Bible actually contains several creation stories. There’s the creation poem in Genesis 1, which we just heard. There is the garden story in Genesis 2—which, despite its proximity, is actually a completely separate story than the one we find in Genesis 1. And the big clue that it’s a different story is that creation starts all over again from the beginning. The Psalms contain a few accounts, such as Psalm 74 and 104. The book of Job even includes a recounting of creation in chapter 26. Isaiah 51 is another one. Proverbs 8 tells the story of the creation of wisdom—depicted as a woman who partners with God in the work of creation. Even in the New Testament, as we will hear later on in this year, in John chapter 1 we get an account of creation that seems to echo both Genesis 1 and Proverbs 8:
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”

Each of these accounts tells us something about the nature of creation, of our image of God, and our place in the order of things.

For example, you may have noticed that in the version we heard today, the narrator used the words rule and subdue to describe humanity’s relationship to the rest of creation. If you were following along in your bulletin, you may have noticed that the translation there slightly differs—it uses the word dominion. There are other translations that use steward or care instead of rule and subdue.

The truth of the matter is—the Hebrew there is actually ambiguous. It could mean all of these things. All of these are reasonable translations. But, as you can imagine, which one we choose makes a big difference.

Rule and subdue, of course, seem to indicate that all of creation is there for our use and our consumption. We are the apex beings. It’s all here just for us. And we can do almost anything we want to—we can use it, abuse it, whatever.

Of course, steward and care convey something quite different. They convey much more of a responsibility on our part. Creation is not there for us to do with whatever we want. Rather, we are meant to nurture and sustain God’s creation.

Now, how do we decide between these two very different interpretations? Brian Webb, co-director of Christian Climate Observer, writes: “It very specifically says, many places throughout scripture, that the earth is the Lord’s. It’s not ours.” He says,“There’s a huge difference between God giving the world to us, and God entrusting the world that belongs to God to our care.”

A closer look at Genesis 1 gives us some clues as well. There are patterns that are repeated throughout. Each day of creation repeats the same pattern over and over again.

First, God speaks or calls something into existence. It’s very peculiar language there—this language of “let this come into being,” this allowing.

If we think about it—if you and I are to talk about something that we made, we would simply say, “Well, I made it. I created it. I built it. I sewed it.” Whatever. “I did that,” right?

But Genesis says God creates by inviting things into existence. God doesn’t say, “I’m here. I made that.” God says, “I called that into being.” There is a sense of partnership and permission-giving. God isn’t doing this heavy-handed and alone. This invitation to participate in creation is right there at the very root of everything.

The next thing that God does in this repeated pattern of creation is to separate things.

So, for example, light is called into existence, but then God separates the light from the dark. And in this way, things are given space to be.

And finally, God takes a step back and pronounces what has come into existence as good. God blesses it. In fact, at the very end of the sixth day when everything has been created, God not only pronounces it good, but adds extra emphasis: It is very good.

This pattern of creation—invite, make space, bless—this is how things are, according to Genesis 1. Therefore, as those created in God’s image, it is reasonable that this story is calling us, as well, to live out this pattern in our lives and communities: Invite. Make space. Bless.

In this way, God’s act of creation is not static, but ongoing. It’s not once and done. There’s no finished product that can be hung on the wall or in a museum. God doesn’t just create things—God creates things that create things. Animals are told to procreate. Humans are told to be fruitful and multiply. Plants have seeds—which spawn other plants. Creation isn’t static—it’s dynamic.

In a very real sense, Genesis 1 isn’t something that happened thousands or millions of years ago—it’s something that is still happening today. And that means you and I are partners in God’s creation. We’re not only on the receiving end of God’s creativity—we are invited to participate in it as well. Invite. Make space. Bless. It’s not just the pattern of creation, but of our lives.

Theologian Jürgen Moltmann says it well: “God does not create by calling something into existence or by setting something afoot. In a more profound sense, God creates by letting be, by making room, and by withdrawing God’s self.”

The Reverend Jean Buchanan tells the story of a familiar scene—one repeated over and over again at this time of year. It is the story of watching his daughter and her husband take their daughter, his granddaughter, to college.

He writes:

“It’s an old drama. These parents love their firstborn so much they’re going to do the most extraordinary thing—they’re going to let her go. They will take her to college in another state. They will help her settle in—maybe even make her bed for the first time.

And then they will get in the car and drive away, leaving her alone.

But she won’t really be alone. Their love will remain with her. In time, she will understand that their leaving her was not abandonment, but the full expression of their love. They are experiencing a deep theological truth, even though they may not name it. The finest thing love can do is give the gift of freedom. It’s not without pain. Nor is it without risk. But genuine love lets go, backs away, gets in the car, and drives off, and allows a beloved child the freedom necessary for her authentic personhood—with all the risk that that entails.”

Invite. Make space. Bless.

As we come to this table, we see this same pattern in this meal that we share.

Following the example of our Lord, we take bread, bless and break it, and share it with one another. We pour out the cup, proclaiming the overflowing grace of our God.

Here we are fed for the life of faith, for our calling as partners in the ongoing work of creation: Invite. Make space. Bless.

So let us come—for we have been invited.
And let us make space for one another—for God has made room for all of us.
And let us bless each other—as God has so richly blessed us.

Amen.

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Discussion Questions

1. Reflection on Creation:

• Genesis 1 offers a poetic vision of creation with repeating patterns and intentional rhythms. What stands out to you most in this creation account?
• Pastor Mark pointed out that God “invites” creation into being rather than commanding it into existence. What does this teach us about God’s character?

2. Sacred Partnership:

• Pastor Mark suggests that Genesis 1 shows not just what God made, but how God creates: by inviting, making space, and blessing. How might this shape the way you approach your own creativity or relationships?
• In what ways do you see yourself as a participant in God’s ongoing act of creation?

3. Freedom and Love:

• The story of the grandparents leaving their granddaughter at college offered a powerful metaphor for God’s love and freedom. Have you ever experienced a time when love required letting go?
• How does this model of divine love challenge or affirm your image of God?

4. Caring for Creation:

• Words like “dominion,” “stewardship,” and “care” reflect different interpretations of humanity’s role in creation. Which of these resonates most with you? Why?
• What responsibilities do we carry, as a church and as individuals, in nurturing creation?

5. Applying the Sermon:

• The sermon outlined a three-part pattern: Invite. Make Space. Bless. Which of these is hardest for you? Which comes most naturally?
• How can you practice this pattern this week—in your home, workplace, relationships, or community?

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