Tag Archives: Palestinians

Preaching, Sermons

A Moment of Peace in the Cultural Chaos

Pastor Caitlin Trussell with Augustana Lutheran Church on August 2, 2026

[sermon begins after two Bible readings]

Matthew 14:13-21 Now when Jesus heard [about the beheading of John the Baptist,] he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns. 14 When he went ashore, he saw a great crowd, and he had compassion for them and cured their sick. 15 When it was evening, the disciples came to him and said, “This is a deserted place, and the hour is now late; send the crowds away so that they may go into the villages and buy food for themselves.” 16 Jesus said to them, “They need not go away; you give them something to eat.” 17 They replied, “We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish.” 18 And he said, “Bring them here to me.” 19 Then he ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass. Taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven and blessed and broke the loaves and gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds. 20 And all ate and were filled, and they took up what was left over of the broken pieces, twelve baskets full. 21 And those who ate were about five thousand men, besides women and children.

Romans 9:1-5  I am speaking the truth in Christ—I am not lying; my conscience confirms it by the Holy Spirit—2 I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. 3 For I could wish that I myself were accursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my own brothers and sisters, my own flesh and blood. 4 They are Israelites, and to them belong the adoption, the glory, the covenants, the giving of the law, the worship, and the promises; 5 to them belong the patriarchs, and from them, according to the flesh, comes the Christ, who is over all, God blessed forever. Amen.

[sermon begins]

We connect with each other in the blink of an eye. Texts, emails, DMs, and pings fire from our fingertips. Phone calls fly across the planet. Our lightning-fast connections mute the handwritten letters of past centuries and millennia, slow boats and snail mail. Most letters are long gone, wisps of paper more fragile than our bodies. That is, unless you’re a historical figure like the Apostle Paul who wrote a lot of the letters included in the New Testament of the Christian Bible.

We wing around Paul’s name with so much respect that it’s hard to remember that he was a 1st century Jewish religious leader responsible for deaths of the earliest Christians. He held the coats while they were stoned. Paul’s conversion to Christianity is told in the book of Acts. It’s flashy, dramatic, and memorable – maybe even Hollywood worthy as he was blinded by the light, heard the voice of Jesus, and scales fell from his eyes to regain sight. Instead of killing Christians, Paul began planting churches. He wrote letters to these new churches, telling them he loved them, quieting their concerns, and reminding them about God’s promises in Jesus.

Paul’s letter to the Roman church became the Bible book of Romans. In our reading from Romans today, Paul had just finished writing the promise that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. Nothing. He then wrestled with what this means for Jews, for his people, his kindred in the flesh.

As Paul wrestled, he rambled, “…my kindred according to the flesh; they are Israelites, and to them belong the adoption, the glory, the covenants, the giving of the law, the worship, and the promises; to them belong the patriarchs, and from them according to the flesh, comes the Messiah, who is over all, God blessed forever, amen.”

Thousands of years ago, the Israelites, who were later called Jews, were blessed by God. Who were they to Paul? In our times, Israel is a country. In our Bible’s book of Genesis, Israel is a person, a person whose name was changed from Jacob after he wrestled “with God and with humans and prevailed.” From the Hebrew people freed from Pharoah by Moses, to the people Israel named after Jacob, to the Jews – generations of people to whom God made promises, promises in the form of a covenant through which the whole world would be blessed through a new covenant that includes everyone.[1]

In Lutheran Christianity, we talk about God’s promises quite a bit. At the communion table, we hear God’s promise through Jesus as the “new covenant in my blood.” We trust God to keep God’s promises and hold God accountable for the promises God has made. God’s promises are forever. Paul could have argued that Christianity is over and against Judaism, but HE DIDN’T. For good reason. Paul knew that either God keeps God’s promises or God isn’t trustworthy to keep any promises. The new covenant is an extension of the covenant that God made with the Jews, not erasure.

God’s promised covenant with the Jews matters today as much as it ever has. Antisemitism is the word that describes hatred for Jews and antisemitism is on the rise all around the world and here at home in Denver. How we talk about our Christian faith becomes a matter of life and death for our Jewish family, friends, and neighbors. As we call the modern state of Israel to account for its war against the Palestinians, we need to take care that we don’t paint Judaism with the broad brush of antisemitism as demands rightly escalate for peace in that region. It’s very complicated and it’s all too real with Palestinian and Jewish people’s lives at stake. We work for peace with Jews and Palestinians even as we long for it.

Paul longed for full knowledge. His letters are filled with longing to see the God’s promises fulfilled. In another letter he writes about being human as seeing through a mirror dimly.[2] We simply cannot see the big picture. Every so often we get glimpses of it, but our human highs and lows distract us. Matthew’s Gospel reading today is a case in point.

Jesus feeds the more than 5,000 children, women, and men in the story immediately following the gruesome beheading of John the Baptist at King Herod’s dinner party. After he gets the news of John’s death, Jesus’ pursuit of quiet is foiled by the crowds who follow his boat on foot around the water’s edge. When he goes ashore and sees the people, he’s filled with compassion. The Greek work for “compassion” here means that he felt for them deep in his belly. The crowd’s desperation was gut-wrenching for Jesus. In their distress, they had followed him to a deserted place. Perhaps they too were grieving and even afraid after John’s murder. At the very least, it was a tumultuous time for Jesus followers.

As 21st century Jesus followers, we are learning a thing or two about our own tumultuous times. We feel our own grief and fear. Desperation is in our own homes, down the street, and around the world. Fragile social structures are destabilized and leave some people especially vulnerable. It’s tempting to look away because the despair is heart breaking and our emotional resources feel maxed. But we can also pause and see people as people and allow desperation to stir our gut-wrenching compassion.

Augustana’s Soup Shelf was born out of such need and compassion during the pandemic. The honor system food shelf on the covered porch of our Sanctuary feeds people in our own congregation as well as neighbors in the community. We leave canned food on the porch of the Sanctuary and are instrumental in people eating today. You can bring canned food to share or take food to eat.

When Jesus prepares food for thousands of children, women, and men, he takes, blesses and breaks the loaves of bread before giving them to the people. This is not a serene summer picnic for the people or for Jesus. John’s execution by the king is a public act of political theater that traumatized the people. They sit together in what amounts to a funeral reception of fish and bread and each other. The people are treated to a meal from Jesus using the language of holy communion—bread taken, blessed, broken, and given. Amid the cultural chaos, there is a moment of peace fed by God’s promises.

We also pause in the cultural chaos of our time to simply be together and to receive. I’m sure that I’m not the only one who needs the reminder that we don’t muster up all that we need spiritually from inside of ourselves. It’s easy to either get caught up in the myth of the rugged individual or to curl up in despair when left to our own devices. Today, in bread and wine we’ll receive the fullness of Christ’s grace, forgiveness, strength, and peace.

A moment of peace when we’re reminded that Jesus turns to the desperate crowd and has compassion for them. Just as Jesus turns to us in these impossible times and has compassion for us – for our humanity, for our noise, and for the mess we find ourselves in. Jesus reminds us to sit, to pause, to eat, and to remember how important it is to give and to receive.

For today, you are invited to receive Jesus’ compassion. Jesus who knows the trauma of losing close friends amid political chaos. He knows the instinct to find quiet in a deserted place when bad things happen. He is the Word made flesh who experienced surrender, pain, hope, and joy. Following Jesus means we can receive his compassion for us when we don’t know what to do next. Sometimes, it’s enough that we set a table at home for communion via livestream or we hold our hands out to receive God’s promise in bread and wine. Hope for today is kindled and fueled as we receive God’s promises beyond our imaginings in the small, simple things of bread and wine from Jesus—the who is, who was, and who is to come.[3] Thanks be to God and amen.

__________________________________________

[1] Genesis 12:1-3

[2] 1 Corinthians 13:12

[3] Revelation 1:8

Preaching, Sermons

Jesus is at the Party [OR Joy and Suffering Coexist in Fires, Ceasefires & MLK Day] John 2:1-11

Caitlin Trussell with Augustana Lutheran Church on January 19, 2025

[sermon begins after the Bible story]

John 2:1-11 On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. 2 Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. 3 When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” 4 And Jesus said to her, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” 5 His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” 6 Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. 7 Jesus said to them, “Fill the jars with water.” And they filled them up to the brim. 8 He said to them, “Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward.” So they took it. 9 When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom 10 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.” 11 Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.

[sermon begins]

The Wedding at Cana is one of my favorite Bible stories that also happens to be in my favorite book in the Bible – the gospel according to John. Most people, even if they’re not Christians, have a vague sense that water was turned into wine. They might even know that Jesus miraculously turned that water into wine. It’s less likely that people know that water was turned to wine at a wedding party full of drunk guests. That doesn’t sound like the Bible as people imagine it to be. But it does sound like the Bible because here it is, right here. Jesus was at a wedding with his mom and his friends. Wedding parties that ran out of wine were shameful. When the wine ran out, Jesus’ mother pulled the mom card. She didn’t take no for an answer and Jesus made the best wine ever.

Jesus’ obedience to his mother may be more difficult to believe than the supernatural sign. Or his obedience more confusing than the connection between the Hebrew scripture and God’s covenant with God’s people that’s compared to marriage vows. Or his obedience more unbelievable than a wine steward running out of bad wine to serve drunk wedding guests. (Do those drunk people really need more wine?) Or maybe even harder to believe than Jesus’ obedience is that he was at a party where joy, laughter, and hope were in abundance along with the fine wine he produced. That certainly wasn’t the Jesus of the Christian church in which I was raised and taught.

The church building that I grew up in burned down last week in the Eaton fire in Altadena, California. Up until a week and a half ago, I told people that I grew up in Pasadena because no one knew where Altadena was. Now Altadena has the headline. Not because it was a uniquely diverse place to grow up and not because of its historic architecture. But because a lot of it sits in ashes after the Eaton fire. My brother evacuated from the Palisades fire. My stepsiblings were evacuated from Altadena. Their homes still stand while neighbors next door on the same street lost theirs. Messages, photos, and news videos are still exchanged and forwarded to each other. One of the pictures is the burned-out hull of that church, cinderblock walls standing guard around the spaces where I learned to sing hymns acapella, where the older women of the congregation would reach out and hug me as I walked by, and where I taught Bible lessons on felt boards to the littlest children. It was also where only men were allowed to preach, baptize, and preside at communion, where dancing and alcohol were prohibited, and where God’s judgment was bigger than God’s grace. When I left home, I decided that Jesus was no fun at a party, so I didn’t take him with me. No way.

But then we come to find out, yes way! Jesus was at a wedding where joy and celebration abound. His mother and friends were there, too. It’s an epic party where the wine is flowing until it runs out. The celebration seems fitting.  Jesus’ ministry is revealed by the events at this wedding. During a party like this one, I can imagine someone saying, “I feel like I shouldn’t be having fun when there is so much suffering in the world.” I can imagine it because people say it to me fairly regularly at parties, no less. It’s harder to allow joy when pain and grief assail us as faraway fires or military bombs decimate bodies and entire neighborhoods of friends, family, and strangers alike. Even as the ceasefire begins today in Gaza between Israel and Hamas, the relief does not erase the trauma of bombs, death, and grief for Palestinians and Jews. Joy somehow feels wrong, like a betrayal of our own or other people’s pain.

It is in this tension between joy and suffering that the Wedding at Cana really shines. Jesus is at a wedding celebration. He embodies grace smack in the middle of it. His presence and activity at the wedding do NOT obscure the very real problem of Roman oppression or the pain that is experienced in everyday life. In the wedding story, Jesus is an example of celebrating life in spite of Rome and in spite of day-to-day suffering. He is also more than an example.

Turning water into wine and other things happening at the Wedding at Cana points us somewhere even as it echoes back from somewhere. When I preach this story at weddings and funerals, I often use the word “echoes” to describe what’s happening between the wedding celebration and Jesus’ death on the cross. Some of the words in the wedding story echo back from the cross. The story itself begins “On the third day” which echoes Jesus’ resurrection.[1]  Jesus refers to his “hour not yet come.” In the Gospel of John, Jesus’ hour refers to the time that he will hang on a cross.[2]  Even the tasty wedding wine itself echoes back from the sour wine given to quench Jesus’ thirst on the cross.[3]  Jesus’ mother is not named in the Gospel of John.  She is called “the mother of Jesus.”  She shows up in the gospel only twice – once at the Wedding at Cana and then again at the cross.[4]  Jesus’ mother is another echo. From his first sign of turning water into wine, the cross is already in play.  Suffering is on the horizon.  And curiously, Jesus is at a party.

The Wedding at Cana is how life works. There are moments of joy and there are moments of suffering. Neither joy nor suffering are completely absent while the other is present. Both are human. Both are faithful. I want to be clear here that I’m not talking about blind optimism in the face of suffering. As if everything is fine despite all evidence to the contrary. I’m talking about faithful joy in the gift of life while being honest about the truth of suffering and working to alleviate it as Jesus calls us to do.

Jesus is at a party where the wine steward knows how things usually work in the world. After Jesus turns the water into wine, the wine steward goes to the bridegroom and says, “Everyone serves the good wine after the guests have become drunk; but you have kept the good wine until now.” I read this as the place where sin shows up in the story. “Everyone” tries to hide what they’re doing and get away with substandard wine late in their wedding celebrations. The con is the norm. But not this time. Not this wedding. Not this Jesus. This Jesus is totally worth taking to the party. Like the wine steward, we expect that people will protect their own interests at the expense of people who are unaware of the decisions made at their expense. Jesus’ turning water into wine toward the end of the wedding party reverses how things often work in the world. Jesus’ sign reverses the selfishness that we expect as normal.

Tomorrow this country celebrates Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s life and ministry.  He stands among the saints as an example of reversing accepted cultural norms of racism and poverty through a multi-faith and multi-race movement. He believed people could do better in the face of black people suffering at the hands of white people. He believed that oppression makes everyone less than human – victims and perpetrators alike. Rev. Dr. King believed this from a place of faith that is unequivocal about God loving the world which, by definition, means black people. And God’s love for black people inspired a movement of human dignity that continues through today. A multi-race, multi-faith movement that continues to reverse the cultural norms of racism and poverty. Rev. Dr. King believed and acted from a place of faith. And he lived in joy while being honest about suffering and our own hand in it. He said, “It is cheerful to God when you rejoice or laugh from the bottom of your heart.”[5] This from a man who experienced raw suffering as racist cultural norms were viciously protected. Joy would not be stolen by ignorant harm or malicious injury. Joy is celebrated as victory and as a right of the human spirit.

We sing songs and pray prayers of praise, joy, and thanksgiving in worship today as our bodies face the cross. Our worship mirrors the tension between joy and suffering at the Wedding at Cana. Our worship mirrors life. Life that Jesus gives as he shows up with us in both celebration and suffering. Jesus gives life by way of his own life. Life that showed up in the skin of a baby. Life that laughs and dances with joy at a wedding party. Life that knows suffering. Life that self-sacrifices for the sake of the world. Life that is given for you despite your own efforts to live on your own terms. That’s the promise God makes to you. Jesus is at the party. Let’s celebrate. Alleluia and amen.

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[1] John 21:11-20

[2] John 16:32

[3] John 19:28-29

[4] John 19:25-27

[5] Martin Luther King Jr.  http://martinlutherkingjrquotes.org/martin-luther-king-jr-quotes-bootstraps.html