Discussion Questions:

1. Power and Control
   • Pastor Mark contrasts “power over” and “power with.” Where do you see these two kinds of power at work in the world today?
   • When have you experienced “power with”—a kind of leadership or relationship rooted in service, compassion, or shared dignity?
2. Pilate, Jesus, and the Illusion of Control
   • Pilate appears to be in charge, yet seems controlled by fear and pressure. Where do we see similar dynamics in our own lives or leadership systems?
   • Jesus remains calm and grounded, even when his life is at risk. What do you think gives him that kind of presence and courage?
3. The Temptation of Dominant Power
   • The sermon suggests that even good intentions can be corrupted by the pursuit of control. Have you ever seen—or experienced—this happen?
   • Why do you think dominant power can feel so effective or appealing, even when it conflicts with our values?
4. Faith and Influence
   • The religious authorities align themselves with empire, declaring, “We have no king but Caesar.” Where do we see faith communities today tempted to align with power in unhealthy ways?
   • What does it look like to live faithfully without trying to impose beliefs on others?
5. Choosing the Way of Jesus
   • Jesus models nonviolence, forgiveness, and service even in the face of suffering. Which of these feels most challenging for you right now? Why?
   • Madeleine L’Engle writes about drawing others to Christ through a “lovely light.” What might that look like in your daily life?
6. Applying the Sermon
   • Where in your life this week are you being invited to choose “power with” instead of “power over”?
   • How can we as a church embody a kind of faith that reflects humility, justice, and love—especially in a divided world?

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

Discussion Questions:

1. Seeing the Signs

• John’s Gospel refers to miracles as signs. What do you think is the difference between a sign and a miracle?
• How does viewing healing as a gift, rather than something we earn, change how you think about suffering and God’s presence?

2. Faith, Intercession, and Advocacy

• In this story, the father pleads with Jesus on behalf of his son. Have you ever advocated or prayed for someone else’s healing or well-being? What was that experience like?
• How does this story encourage us to be advocates for others—in prayer, in our community, and in the world?

3. God Chooses Partnership

• Pastor Mark highlighted that “God chooses not to be God without us.” What does that mean to you?
• How might viewing ourselves as “co-workers with God” influence how we live out our faith day to day?

4. Holy Trouble and Speaking the Truth

• The sermon confronts the misuse of Christianity in public life and challenges us to discern what truly reflects the Jesus of the Gospels. When have you felt called to speak the truth in love? What made that easy or difficult?
• What does “holy trouble” mean in today’s world? Where do you see the need for compassionate disruption?

5. Living as Beloved Children of God

• Pastor Mark says, “We are all sons, daughters, children of God—even Caesar.” What does this statement ask of us in how we treat others, especially those we disagree with?
• How does being God’s beloved help you face injustice, division, or brokenness in the world?

6. Applying the Sermon

• What specific action can you take this week to live as a co-worker with God for healing and justice?
• How can our church community continue to build up a beloved community in this time and place?

The post Sermon Discussion Guide: Co-Workers with God appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.

Well, sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good.

I wish I could claim that I had planned for our renovations to be complete and that I would launch a sermon series on our campaign theme, Come and See. But I didn’t plan it—it just turned out that way. Because the Narrative Lectionary has us in the Gospel of John this January, and that’s where we hear that invitation from Jesus to his first disciples.

He doesn’t say, “Worship me.” He doesn’t say, “Become my disciple.” He simply offers this open-ended invitation: Come and see.

I ran across a quote this week that really summarizes—succinctly and nicely, I think—what the overall message is that I’m trying to impart through all these sermons in the Come and See series. It’s a quote from a mentor of mine, Dave Davis, who’s pastor of Nassau Presbyterian Church in Princeton. He said:

“When it comes to following Jesus, the life of discipleship, the call to be a faithful steward of God’s gifts, and one’s relationship with God—it was never about a memory verse, a poster, a slogan, or a program. It is about an invitation to a divine relationship that offers a window into the very heart of God.”

John 2:1–11

On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” And Jesus said to her, “Woman, what concern is that to me and to you? My hour has not yet come.” His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to them, “Fill the jars with water.” And they filled them up to the brim. He said to them, “Now draw some out, and take it to the person in charge of the banquet.” So they took it. When the person in charge tasted the water that had become wine and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), that person called the bridegroom and said to him, “Everyone serves the good wine first and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now.” Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee and revealed his glory, and his disciples believed in him.

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.

***

An exorcism. A wedding. Or a sermon. Either in Nazareth or on the Mount.

It would’ve been nice if the four Gospel writers had gotten the story straight. They don’t even agree on Jesus’ first public appearance. I mean, come on!

Of course, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John are from different areas, different times, and they have different overriding concerns and perspectives—which perhaps accounts for the different ways they choose to tell their story.

Mark and Luke don’t agree on everything, but they hold the most in common. And John—John is widely agreed to be the last to be written, and it has the most unique, original material.

Perhaps the most important difference between John and the rest is the characterization of the relationship between the earliest followers of Jesus and their Jewish community. In Matthew and Luke, the Jesus movement is still part of Judaism. It’s under the umbrella.

But by the time John writes later, tensions have grown among the two communities, and they’re starting to fracture.

Now, I’ve used this analogy before, but I think it’s really helpful to think of John as a teenager.

As you know, it is a teenager’s job to grow from being a dependent child into their own unique personhood. The necessary separation between parent and child is rarely smooth—and often includes churlishness, moodiness, and sometimes full-out rebellion. (And that’s just the parents!)

But seriously, we know that it is the job of a teenager to challenge authority.

Now, if we think of John as the teenager of the Gospel writers, then when we see him speak negatively of “the Jews,”—a term he uses often in the Gospel—we can understand that this reflects a very specific and unique period in the long history between Jews and Christians.

It is a misuse of the text to take these temporary sentiments as the all-time stance for the relationship between Christians and Jews.

The truth of the matter is that we share much of the same story as our Jewish siblings, and we do not improve our faith at all by denigrating theirs. Quite the opposite.

No one knows the Jewish story better than they do, of course. Some of my deepest, most meaningful, and impactful theological conversations have been with rabbis. They’ve helped me understand my own faith and tradition better.

I believe—and my experience has taught me again and again—that our faith traditions, Jews and Christians, although unique and distinct, are much more in line and much more complementary than they are in conflict. I would add Muslims to that as well.

So when we read John and his apparent animosity toward “the Jews,” we need to be very mindful and very careful. We do not want to feed into Christianity’s sin of antisemitism—even though, unfortunately, it’s true that these texts have been used as justification for all kinds of evil.

And so, we cannot simply read John and these passages and ignore this history.

Therefore, I find it helpful to re-translate. When John says “the Jews,” I re-translate that to “religious authorities,” or sometimes “Jewish religious authorities.” The purpose of this is to remind us that John was not talking about Jewish people in general—and certainly not Jewish people of all times and places. He was talking about a very specific group of mostly religious leaders who were opposing these earliest followers of Jesus.

The real difference between people of faith is not between Jews and Christians. It’s between those genuinely seeking a path of spiritual enlightenment and a way of living—and those who would use their power for their own desires.

So let me stop explaining and start showing.

Today’s passage is a familiar one: the wedding at Cana.

Jesus is there with his pals. His mother’s there too. We notice that in John’s Gospel, she’s called the mother of Jesus—never by name, Mary. Right?

This introduces us to something unique John does: he’s more apt to refer to people by their relationship to Jesus, rather than by their name. So it’s not just Mary, but the mother of Jesus. It’s not just disciples, but the beloved disciple, for example.

In addition, Jesus’ response when his mother points out that the host has run out of wine—it’s probably not meant to be as harsh as it sounds in English. I have so much trouble reading that! I don’t know how to read those words without it sounding insulting. But I don’t think it was meant that way.

So there we are. Jesus and his followers are at a wedding where the host has run out of wine—a huge faux pas. A big shame on the host. His mother alerts him to the problem. He indicates he’s not really ready to start the show quite yet—I mean, you only get one chance at a first impression, right?

But despite this… his mother just proceeds without him!

Jesus decides to do something about the situation. He spots some large jars used for Jewish rites of purification. He asks the stewards to fill the jars with water, which they do. And when the chief steward draws water from the jar, it turns out to be wine.

And not just any wine—but good wine. Twenty to thirty gallons of good wine added to the pot. The party’s saved. Everyone’s impressed.

That’s the story.

So what do we make of it?

Some interpreters like to focus on the detail about the jars being used for Jewish purification rites. Why tell us that detail? Could this be an indication that Jewish purification rites are no longer needed? That they’ve been replaced by the wine of celebration now that Jesus is here?

A clear indication of the supremacy of Christianity over Judaism?

Have you heard that one before? I have.

It seems to me that it misses the point—big time.

I mean, you have to do some pretty fancy footwork to make it all work. Maybe the jars were just there because… they were there!

You know, there’s a difference between approaching Scripture like a miner—whose job is to extract the one and only possible truth—and approaching Scripture like an explorer: someone who is curious, asking questions, enjoying the process of learning and discovery.

So let’s look at the passage again.

John chooses a wedding as the setting of Jesus’ first public act. Not a pulpit. Not a house of worship.

A wedding.

A celebration of joy and love. Where the whole community is invited and participates. Where so much fun and joy and fellowship is happening that they run out of wine.

I mean… what a party, right?

And what about Jesus?

He’s simply there to celebrate with the newlywed couple. And when the wine runs out, he doesn’t take the spotlight. In fact, the only people who know he had anything to do with it are his mother, the stewards, and his followers.

Everyone else just assumes they brought out more wine—or maybe they were never aware it had run out in the first place.

Sounds like not everybody was in the best shape, right?

In either case, the party continues. And at heart, that’s what this story is about.

Did you notice what John calls all of this?

He doesn’t call it a miracle. He calls it a sign.

The other Gospels talk about Jesus’ miracles. But in John, he prefers the word sign.

Why is that?

Well, a miracle is more of an aberration, isn’t it? It’s an exception to the norm.

But a sign… a sign is an indication. A marker that you’re on the right path. A glimpse into the way things really are.

In her Pulitzer Prize–winning book Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, Annie Dillard tells of growing up as a child in Pittsburgh. She was about six or seven at the time, and she played this game where she would hide a shiny new penny—one of her very own—along the path where someone else might find it.

She’d tuck it off to the side, in a crack in the sidewalk or under a leaf. Then she’d hide and watch to see if someone would notice it.

If no one did, she’d put up a sign that said something like, “Surprise ahead!”

She just believed—deep down—that there were signs in the universe for those who had the eyes to see them.

Jesus’ signs are like that too—offered with great generosity and great love.

And these signs are everywhere. They invite us to consider our surroundings. [NOTE: audio appears to drop out briefly here]

English author Terry Pratchett once said that humans believe in the strangest miracles—flowers blooming in concrete, weeping statues. But what if it’s not that we need more miracles… it’s that we need better eyes?

Maybe everyday miracles are enough. If we’re open enough to experience them. If we can see.

God’s love and grace constantly surround and uphold us.

Like two people committing themselves to each other in love.
Like a community joined together in celebration.
Like the good gifts of food and drink.
Like justice over hate.
Like the company of family and friends.

These are signs that we are on the way—Jesus’ Kingdom way.

After a week like the one we just had, Reverend Ginger Gaines-Cirelli reminds us what this way looks like. She writes,“Christianity is not about controlling others or protecting our privilege. It is about following Jesus, who consistently chose love over domination, who chose compassion over cruelty—every time.”

Before worship today, I gave a bunch of pennies to some of our youth with the intention of hiding them around the church where people could find them.

I’ll encourage you to look for them today. There are a few on the communion table, too—they’re all over.

Also—your star word for 2026 is up here on the table. You’re welcome to come receive it.

Friends, our Lord invites us to Come and See the Kingdom signs that are all around and within us. The everyday miracles that remind us that:

God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them.

Amen.

The post Come and See: Everyday Miracles appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.

Isaiah 9:1-7

But there will be no gloom for those who were in anguish. In the former time he brought into contempt the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the latter time he will make glorious the way of the sea, the land beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the nations. 

The people who walked in darkness

    have seen a great light;

those who lived in a land of deep darkness—

    on them light has shined.

You have multiplied exultation;

    you have increased its joy;

they rejoice before you

    as with joy at the harvest,

    as people exult when dividing plunder.

For the yoke of their burden

    and the bar across their shoulders,

    the rod of their oppressor,

    you have broken as on the day of Midian.

For all the boots of the tramping warriors

    and all the garments rolled in blood

    shall be burned as fuel for the fire.

For a child has been born for us,

    a son given to us;

authority rests upon his shoulders,

    and he is named

Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Great will be his authority,

    and there shall be endless peace

for the throne of David and his kingdom.

    He will establish and uphold it

with justice and with righteousness

    from this time onward and forevermore.

The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this. 

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.

***

Now, I know I haven’t been the sharpest this morning already—with my Easter blunder there—but you’re probably wondering again if I have my dates mixed up, if I’m somehow confused. Why are we reading a Christmas Eve text before Thanksgiving?

Are we, as the Church, going the way of big business, starting Christmas observances earlier and earlier each year?

Don’t worry, you still have time.

We are actually reading these familiar words from Isaiah 9 more in their proper context. What I mean is, these words were not originally written about Jesus. They were written well before his time. And remember, prophets are not people that have special access to the future. Rather, they are people who have supreme trust in God’s future. Prophets are not fortune tellers.

Most scholars believe that the words of Isaiah 9 were written for a coronation of a new king, one that perhaps everybody was excited about. Scholars think maybe Hezekiah. During a time when Israel was at war—probably with Assyria—one biblical scholar, Charles Aaron Jr., writes: “The poem expresses deep political desires of the human heart. It presents a doctrine of a top-down picture of a leader who combines the best qualities of any person in authority. The leader displays wisdom, strength, concern for the poor, justice, and facilitates relationships, righteousness.”

Professor Mark Hamilton writes: “How do we speak of hope in a world filled with terror?” A solution eluded them then because centuries punctuated by war, forced migration, resettlement, and all the accompanying tragedies kept generating dialogue about the work of God in such a world.

For a while now, people in the biblical narrative have put their hope in kings. First in Saul, and then in David, and then in Solomon. And then we remember, things got so tumultuous that the kingdom split into the Northern and Southern Kingdom. And that’s where we are now.

And so these people are going through these traumatic times. There are pressures from other nations. There are pressures from inside. And once again, people are looking for a place to put their hope, a way out of this darkness.

Remember, this is a time when light is so important. A candle that lasts the night means safety and warmth and all of these things. But Professor Hamilton also writes, “Even if, as many scholars think, this poem originated in this context and is about this royal coronation, the placement of the text in this larger context allows it to mean more.”

It’s this hope-filled language that points to worlds not confinable to a single moment, and they trigger new imagination.

I love that. New imagination.

We don’t often think of going to the Bible for new imagination, do we? New insight? No, that’s old imagination and old insight. But no, right here in Isaiah, we have an example of new insight, new ideas about God. We’re allowed to do that. Did you know that?

We can use new ideas and images for God. That’s allowable. You could do that.

Aren’t we supposed to stick with what we have, though? Isn’t it somehow watering down God’s word when we mix it with our own?

What we sometimes forget is that all of our language about God is metaphor. All of it is symbol. All of it is story—a way of talking about God.

And so whatever we say about God, whatever our speech is about God, it’s always incomplete.

Barbara Brown Taylor puts it so beautifully. She says, “Our words are fragile, but oh what gorgeous sounds our failures make. Words flung against silence like wine glasses pitched against a wall. As lovely as they are, they’re meant for smashing. For when they do, it’s as if a little of God’s own music breaks through.”

In other words, when we speak of God, it is our humility—and not our certainty—which gets us closer to the truth.

There’s the big one, right? And we even get it a little bit in this passage: “Son of God.” We call Jesus Son of God. And we’ve taken this literally. And this is a hurdle for so many people that I know—that this title, this word, this phrase—we’ve turned it into something literal. We say Jesus is God’s only son.

But what do we mean by that? And what did they mean by that? And what might we mean by that?

The truth is that “Son of God” is not meant to convey a biological reality, but a theological one. It’s meant to help us understand how God and Jesus are related to one another—how they’re the same and yet different—how they’re one and yet many.

And so many in the ancient world related to them as a parent and a child—a father and a son. It’s a relationship of caring and sharing. If it had been a different kind of relationship that they meant to convey—one that was more hierarchical—they could have chosen something different, right? Ruler and subject. Boss and apprentice.

But the one that dominated—the one that has persisted—is parent and child, father and son, which is a more loving relationship.

So do you see how acknowledging that we don’t mean it literally doesn’t take power away from it? It actually lends credence to it. It gives it more depth. And it makes it more useful.

And theological language needs to be useful. If it’s not useful, what good is it?

Our language about God should bring us closer to God—not set barriers between us and God—not push us further away. It needs to shed light on the idea of God, not obscure it further in darkness.

A few weeks ago in adult education, we were talking—I don’t even remember exactly the subject—but I talked about it as if God’s love and God’s justice were like radio waves or some kind of wave constantly bombarding the earth. They’re always there. It’s always there for us to access. But we’re not always tuned into it, right? We’re not always tuned into the right frequency.

I said, well, we can think of Jesus as like a satellite dish. Jesus was always tuned in to that frequency—to God’s justice vision. It’s always there, but we don’t always receive it. But we can look to Jesus to interpret it for us.

Some people found that helpful. Some people were like, “Oh, I didn’t know we could do that. Are we allowed to do that?”

Another example I used to use—some of you won’t get this because you’re too young—but I used to talk about Jesus in the Gospels—in Matthew and Mark and Luke—was like… you remember a dial-up modem? You couldn’t be on the phone and the internet at the same time. Matthew and Mark and Luke, Jesus is like that with God. There’s a connection. It just takes a little while. It’s a little slower.

Whereas in John, it’s like DSL. Remember when DSL came? You could be on the phone and the internet and it was quicker. You know, you could download something. You didn’t… you didn’t have all the noises.

Well, so that was helpful—but it’s already, that analogy is already outdated.

I feel like that’s what we can do with our… and you all can come up with a lot better ones than I can. But that was one that was helpful to me to get that point across. It made it useful, right?

And there’s been a whole lot of discussion in recent decades over the predominantly male language for God that heavily emphasizes God as Father, right? And the case for this is strengthened when we notice how often Jesus himself uses this metaphor for God—notably using the overly familiar “Abba,” which is not just “Father,” but “Daddy.” It’s much closer.

Additionally, when Jesus is asked to pray, he tells his disciples to pray addressing what? God as “our Father.” And what we might miss now is how innovative that was at the time—that Jesus would go around referring to God as “Father” or “Daddy.” I’m sure more than a few religious gatekeepers criticized him for that: “He’s changing the language about God. He’s making it overly familiar. He should stick to what we have.”

But today, now, “Father” sometimes can be a little off-putting for people. Not everyone has a loving relationship with their father. “Father” means someone who is emotionally distant—maybe even cruel—maybe absent.

So do we just stop using “Father”? Do we throw it out?

No. But maybe we use it a little bit less. And maybe we mix it with other metaphors. And that’s why I begin the Lord’s Prayer the way I do—not because I want to change the tradition—but because tradition itself doesn’t use just one metaphor for God, but many.

That’s what the Bible does. Father. Mother. Rock. Redeemer. Savior. Lord. Friend. Companion. Guide. River. Lamb. Lion. Eagle. Protective mother hen.

These are just a few of the titles—the words—the metaphors that the Bible uses to address God, to refer to God.

As one of my mentors once said to me, “As Christians, our job is not just to believe what scripture says. It’s to do what the Bible does.” The Bible uses many names and metaphors for God—not just one. And it uses not just the old traditional ones—the ones that people are familiar with—it uses new and innovative ones as well.

So maybe it’s not just permissible for us to do so. Maybe we’re supposed to.

Now I started by saying—and maybe this caught some of you off guard, maybe some of you knew it—that the original author wasn’t referring to Jesus when he uses all these words: Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. We call Jesus “Prince of Peace,” right?

So what does it mean to say, “No, no, in Isaiah 9, not referring to Jesus but Hezekiah”? Who’s Hezekiah to us, right?

Does that mean we don’t follow Jesus?

No, of course not.

Acknowledging this doesn’t lessen its impact for us as Christians—quite the opposite.

You see, part of what I’m trying to show us is—we don’t have to trample on other traditions to uphold our own.

It’s important to recognize that first and foremost, this is a Hebrew text—written for the Hebrew people in their understanding of God. But it is also true that for us as Christians—for millennia—we have found Jesus in these words.

That’s to say, where people once put their hope in kings and warriors to save us—for many of us, once we met Jesus, once we heard him preach of God’s love, once we saw him heal the sick, embrace the outcast, challenge political and religious leaders of his day—we said, “That’s what a real king should look like.” That’s the type of ruler that we want.

One who leads from love and stands for justice. One who is not propping himself up at the expense of others.

So we can acknowledge that this is a Hebrew text and that it was not originally referring to Jesus. But we can also acknowledge that as Christians we have found him in these words. And that is where we place our hope.

It’s very interesting that Hebrew doesn’t have a past tense and a future tense. It has a perfect tense and an imperfect tense—something that has been completed and something that is yet to be completed.

When the author of Isaiah talks about this time in the future where peace will come—where we’ll no longer have need of the things of war, where we’ll have turned them into other things, where we are led by love, where righteousness and justice are not just constant—the author of Isaiah 9 says, “This is already completed. It just hasn’t happened yet.”

Being so sure of God’s future that even though it hasn’t happened, we know it’s going to—and so that is what we work ourselves toward.

So as we head into this season—one of thanksgiving and anticipation and hope—we’re going to hear a lot of different words for God. Different names. Different metaphors. Different language for Jesus and the reign of God.

May they not only enrich the message of God’s love and peace and justice, may they be a reminder for us to do what scripture does—to find new ways to communicate and show and make real and make tangible this gospel that we proclaim in word and deed, that the world may grow more and more into the likeness of the Holy who cannot be contained by our language but who invites us to try nonetheless.

Because in our trying—and even in our failing—we move ever closer to this ineffable mystery that we call God. This love in which we live and move and have our being.

Amen.

The post An Idea Is Born to Us appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.

Discussion Questions

1. Experiencing the Wilderness

• The sermon compared our modern lives to the Israelites’ time in the wilderness. What does “wilderness” look like for you today?
• Pastor Mark shared Barbara Brown Taylor’s idea that we don’t choose the wilderness—it happens to us. Have you ever felt thrown into a wilderness season? What was that like?

2. Hangry Faith

• The Israelites’ physical hunger made them forget God’s faithfulness. Pastor Mark joked about being “hangry” and reminded us we’re not ourselves when we’re hungry. How do your spiritual or emotional needs impact your faith and relationships?
• When have you, like the Israelites, forgotten past blessings during present stress? What helped you remember again?

3. Daily Bread vs. Long-Term Security

• God offers daily bread—not monthly or yearly—and invites us to trust. Why do you think it’s difficult to live with “just enough”?
• How does this challenge or reshape your understanding of God’s provision in your own life?

4. Recognizing God’s Gifts

• The Israelites received manna and asked, “What is it?” Have you ever missed or misjudged an answered prayer because it didn’t look how you expected?
• How can we become more aware of the “manna” God places in our lives today?

5. Serving One Another

• Pastor Mark invited us to serve one another communion in a “holy exchange.” How can we better serve and recognize God’s presence in our neighbors?
• In your life this week, who might be hungry—spiritually or emotionally—and how can you offer “bread”?

6. Applying the Sermon

• What is one tangible way you can trust God’s provision this week?
• How can RPPC—as a community—create space for others to receive “daily bread,” both spiritually and materially?

The post Sermon Discussion Guide: You’re Not You When You’re Hungry appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.

Discussion Questions

1. Humor and Scripture

• Pastor Mark suggests that parts of the Bible are meant to be humorous, and that we often miss the joke because we don’t expect it.
  • Have you ever encountered humor in Scripture before? If so, where?
  • How might humor open us up to deeper spiritual truths or catch us off guard in a helpful way?
  • Why do you think it’s important that we approach the Bible with curiosity and openness to unexpected interpretations?

2. Deception, Identity, and Family Dynamics

• In this story, Jacob deceives his father Isaac with help from his mother Rebekah, disrupting birthright norms.
  • What emotions or reactions do you have to this act of deception?
  • Have you ever felt like you had to “prove” yourself to receive something you already deserved or hoped for?
  • How do family dynamics—favorites, rivalry, expectations—shape our understanding of identity and worth?

3. Striving vs. Receiving

• Pastor Mark suggests that Jacob’s mistake—and often ours—is fighting for something already given.
  • What are the “rabbits” you feel you’re chasing in your life?
  • What would it look like to live from a place of already being blessed, instead of always striving?
  • How does the idea of grace challenge the belief that we must “earn” God’s love or success?

4. The Ladder and God’s Presence

• Jacob dreams of a ladder with angels ascending and descending—yet it is God who comes down and stands beside him.
  • What does it mean to you that God comes down the ladder to meet Jacob where he is?
  • Have you ever had a moment where you realized God was present in a place you hadn’t expected?
  • How might we begin to trust that God is already with us, not just waiting at the top of the ladder?

5. Blessing and Becoming a Blessing

• God tells Jacob: not only are you blessed, but you will be a blessing to others.
  • What’s the difference between receiving a blessing and being a blessing?
  • How do you see yourself living as a blessing in your community, family, or workplace?
  • What unique gifts might God be calling you to share right now?

6. Applying the Sermon

• Pastor Mark uses humor, storytelling, and a Fred Craddock parable to challenge how we see ourselves and our spiritual journeys.
  • What part of the sermon surprised you, challenged you, or made you laugh?
  • What is one thing you will carry with you this week from this sermon?
  • How can we, as a church, encourage one another to stop chasing the “not-real rabbits” and instead trust the love that already surrounds us?

The post Sermon Discussion Guide: Climbing the Stairway to Heaven 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.

The post Partners in Creation appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.

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?

The post Sermon Discussion Guide: Partners in Creation appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.

We have been, for the latter half of the summer, looking at the last book of the Christian Scriptures—the last book of the Bible—the book of Revelation. A very misunderstood book, a very misinterpreted book.

We have been reading Revelation, as Eugene Peterson says, not as prediction but as perception. It is a book about what the people of God at that time were experiencing, but it’s also a book of hope—that the way things are now is not necessarily the way they’re going to be, or that they have to be.

One of the reasons the book is so misunderstood is because it’s so heavy into the use of symbolism and metaphor. There are talks of dragons and lions and lambs and all of these kind of fantastical things. But these are really symbols that are pointing to realities that the people of that time would recognize and—as we’ve hopefully seen through this series—that you and I might recognize as well.

Just a quick word or reminder, as always—and I know some of you are like, “Mark, you say this all the time, we got it”—but our culture is so strong in the opposite message. And that’s just simply that this word apocalypse, this word revelation, it’s not a big scary word. It doesn’t mean the end and judgment and fire. It actually refers to—kind of just what I was joking about a little bit—those little miracles that pop up that we can claim, that give us a glimpse.

That’s what the word apocalypse means. It means kind of like—it’s the idea of pulling back a curtain to reveal something that you didn’t see. It’s been there, but you didn’t see it. So that’s literally what the word apocalypse means: a pulling back of the curtain or veil to show us something.

And so the idea is that these little miracles, these little things, are instances of us getting a glimpse of grace, a glimpse of God’s reality kind of infusing our own. And it gives us hope, even in the midst of some difficult circumstances, to keep on going.

And with that, we will be reading toward the end of the book of Revelation. This whole thing has been building—there have been battles and all of these things—and then it’s kind of a nice surprise ending.

Let us pray:

You are our God, and we are Your people. And in Your kingdom, every place is holy. We pray for hearts open to see Your face reflected all around us, not only here. Even now, already, Your glory shines, and You bid us taste and see that You are good.

Give us a glimpse—even a moment—that we may be strengthened for the living of these days. Amen.

Revelation 21:1–6, 22:1–5

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 

“See, the home of God is among mortals.

He will dwell with them;

they will be his peoples,

and God himself will be with them and be their God;

he will wipe every tear from their eyes.

Death will be no more;

mourning and crying and pain will be no more,

for the first things have passed away.”

And the one who was seated on the throne said, “See, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true.” Then he said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life.

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city. On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month, and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. Nothing accursed will be found there any more. But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him; they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And there will be no more night; they need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever.

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 very first verse of the very first chapter of the very first book of the Bible—Genesis—reads: “In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth.” In Revelation, the last book of the Bible, we read about a new heaven and a new earth. In Genesis 2, we read about the Garden of Eden, the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, the river watering the garden flowing from Eden. In Revelation, we read of the river of the water of life flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb, and the tree of life on its shores. Clearly, the author of Revelation wants us to hearken back to the beginning—that original vision of paradise.

In many ways, that is the story of the Bible. It’s the story of getting back to the Garden of Eden. That first ideal. That original wholeness and completeness. Generations have been asking, “How do we get there?” Is it through power and might, by conquering neighboring kingdoms? Is it through obedience and faithfulness? How do we get there?

And it almost seems like the harder we try, the worse it gets. First there’s the flood—where things are so bad, God wants to restart. Just like a malfunctioning computer or device: “Have you tried turning it off and on again?” Now, initially this seems to work, but then more trouble comes. In Egypt, the golden calf. Wandering in the desert. Exile in Babylon. And on and on.

But then for us Christians, eventually Jesus arrives on the scene with a direct link to the divine. And he shows us what is possible: loving God and loving neighbor, sharing our bread, caring for the widow and the orphan. But these are the very things that put him in opposition to the empire. His message of love and justice is a direct threat to the status quo and the powers that be. So eventually, they arrest Jesus, and they put him on trial for sedition. And at this, the crowds—who had once gathered to hang on his every word and welcomed him into town with shouts of “Hosanna!”—lose hope yet again. Their shouts of praise turn to cries of “Crucify!” As one hymn puts it: “A murderer they save, the Prince of Life they slay.”  All of our attempts to return to the Garden—to get to God—fail. In large part because we prefer the empire and the status quo to the Kingdom of God.

One way of understanding the book of Revelation is that it is kind of a retelling of this biblical narrative. A fantastical reworking of salvation history, with the Roman Empire as the beast and with Jesus as the Lamb, and the people of God caught between these two ways of being in the world. Revelation portrays the battle between these forces, where everything seems to be at stake.

And this is the thread most often picked up from Revelation—this eternal battle between good and evil, along with its vivid imagery. This is why Revelation is such an inspiration for so much art—for paintings, for music, for movies, for novels.

Though it’s interesting that many of these artistic interpretations—as well as regular interpretations—suppose, like those first crowds who followed Jesus, that love and justice are ultimately no match for the ferocity and power of the empire. We just—just cannot imagine, in the language of Revelation, the Lamb outlasting the beast. If this were a video game, the beast wins 100 out of 100 times.

And I’m guessing that most of us, if asked about Revelation, might say something about the final judgment, about the end of the world. But as we’ve hopefully learned over these past several weeks, Revelation is not about the end of the world. Rather, as the band R.E.M. put it in the ’80s—maybe early ’90s—“It’s the end of the world as we know it.” To get that distinction—it’s so important. It’s not the end of the world. But it is the end of the world as we know it.

As we just read, Revelation doesn’t conclude with destruction, but new birth. New creation. It is about that return to the Garden. The reunion of God and humanity. But instead of us finding our way to God, God comes to us. “Behold, the home of God is among mortals.” Turns out we’ve had it wrong all along.

Richard Rohr describes this theological reality when he writes: “Most of us have been taught that God would love us if and when we change. In fact, God loves us so that we can change.” Turns out we don’t need to prove ourselves. We don’t need to earn God’s love. It’s been with us all along. We just have to trust that love to guide us. And most of the time, you and I do not believe that it’s powerful enough to overcome all that we face.

Throughout this series, I’ve made some unusual comparisons to help us dive deeper into the message of the book of Revelation—and maybe to demystify it a little bit. You might remember in one of the first sermons in this series, I said that Revelation was like the children’s book Goodnight Gorilla. A few weeks ago, I equated it to a New Yorker cartoon that appeared in the magazine shortly after 9/11, in which a man was standing on a street corner holding a sign—and instead of “The End Is Near,” he proclaimed the message: “It’s All Going to Be Okay.” Then last week, I used the example of an uptight college admissions counselor from an elite private college to remind us that God’s grace is not stingy, but sweeping.

Today, in my final sermon in this series, I want to offer one last comparison: The book of Revelation is like one of those Hallmark movies that my wife loves so much. She agrees with me that they’re a bit cheesy and predictable. In fact, that’s the reason that she loves them. With so much in our world that is complicated and depressing, it’s nice to escape from that reality to one in which love does, in the end, always win.

I sometimes tease her about how predictable these movies are. Here’s the typical plot:

Two people meet in some unexpected fashion, right? And there’s a spark—an attraction—but it can’t be. Circumstances are preventing it. They’re from two different parts of the world. Perhaps one’s already in a committed relationship. Inevitably, one’s from a small, quaint, picturesque country town, and the other is from the big city. Am I doing okay so far? Yeah? I’m doing okay.

The person from the big city has big dreams. But the person from the small town also has big dreams—although they seem a little bit more humble and quaint. Despite these differences, circumstances just keep somehow bringing these two people together—until eventually they can no longer deny their attraction. But still—still—their circumstances prevent them from seeing a future together. But then, finally, in the end, something changes. The opportunity presents itself. And they can both live out their dreams together in some previously unforeseen way. And eventually, love wins. And the movie ends—usually with the two people getting engaged, or maybe there’s the beginning of the wedding—and almost always with a kiss.

Sometimes I lovingly joke with my wife that just once—just once—I’d like to see a sequel that goes back to this couple years later when they’ve been married for a while. Maybe when they have kids and a mortgage. Maybe when their careers don’t quite pan out the way that they had hoped. But that never happens, because of course, that would ruin the fantasy, wouldn’t it?

Did you notice that Revelation ends with a wedding? The wedding of the Feast of the Lamb.
It’s this metaphor that we’ve encountered many times throughout the Bible— The marriage, the unification, of God and God’s people. Ultimately, the book of Revelation is like a Hallmark movie. It’s about hope and the perseverance of love. Not hope that life is without struggle or that the battle is easily won. Not hope that the empire never wins anything—only that those wins are short-term. The long-term—the end—belongs to our God who loves us and promises never to leave us to our own devices. Hope that all of this is only the tip of the iceberg, and that beyond this reality, there is a benevolent way of being where truly love and justice do reign.

Hope, on the one hand, writes Walter Brueggemann, is: “An absurdity too embarrassing to speak about, for it flies in the face of all those claims that we have been told are facts.”

(This is on your bulletin cover, by the way.) “Hope is the refusal to accept the reading of reality which is the majority opinion, and one that does that at only great political and existential risk. Hope,” Brueggemann says, “is defiant and insists that God is not finished writing the story.”

Throughout this series, we’ve been saying Revelation is not about prediction, but perception. The truth of the matter is: the author has no special insight into the future.

Rather, he has a vision. And it is a vision that we, as fellow Christians, are invited to adopt as well: The belief that love is stronger than hate. That life is stronger than death. And that in the end, all will be well. So if it’s not well, it just means it’s not the end. And if it’s not the end, then you and I have work to do.

Now, it is my understanding that in the Jewish tradition, when they come to the end of a set of biblical readings, they always end by going back to the beginning, where they read the first sentence of the first reading of the next year. In this way, they remind themselves that the end is not really the end—but just a new beginning—and that everything is in this continual loop. Likewise, next week we will begin again at the beginning, in Genesis chapter 1, where God invites us to join in the work of creation—to be co-workers and co-creators with God—because God is not done with us yet. The story is still being written, and the promise is that the best is yet to come.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

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