TWENTIETH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Jeremiah 14:7-10, 19-22

Psalm 84:1-7

2 Timothy 4:6-8, 16-18

Luke 18:9-14

Prayer of the Day: Holy God, our righteous judge, daily your mercy surprises us with everlasting forgiveness. Strengthen our hope in you, and grant that all the peoples of the earth may find their glory in you, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“Have you completely rejected Judah?
    Does your heart loathe Zion?” Jeremiah 14:19.

Jeremiah has good reason to wonder whether God might finally have given up on Judah and Israel. He witnessed the demise of the brief revival of his nation under King Josiah following the monarch’s untimely death. He witnessed the destruction of Jerusalem, the burning of its temple and the exile of so many of his fellow Judeans. Jeremiah was also acutely aware of his nation’s unfaithfulness to God’s covenants with it. He saw its kings routinely disregard protections for the poor written into the Torah. He saw Judah and its leaders repeatedly put their hope for survival on alliances with imperial powers and their gods at the price of crushing tribute falling chiefly on the backs of those least able to bear its weight. Jeremiah had every reason to suspect that, by now, God had had enough. He had every reason to believe that the people of Israel would henceforth be on their own.

But Jeremiah could not give in to this terrible fear, however plausible it might have been. Note well that his words are not those of a despondent cynic sitting alone on a park bench muttering to the wind. Neither is he speaking to some nameless, faceless deity on grounds of divine justice-as though it were self evident that God, if such a being really exists, owes him an ordered, just and predictable universe. Jeremiah’s words are addressed to the God of his people Israel, the God of the covenant. Under the terms of that covenant, God made specific promises to Israel. Though Israel may have been less than faithful in its own covenant responsibilities, God is not thereby excused from God’s obligations. Jeremiah knows that his God cannot renege on the covenant promises. That is not because of any limitation on God’s divine power. God cannot abandon Israel because God’s essential nature is faithfulness. If God were to break God’s promises to Israel, God would not be the God that God has always revealed God’s self to be. God must honor the covenant promises in order to be true to God’s self. Therefore, Jeremiah can pray with confidence,

“Do not spurn us, for your name’s sake;
    do not dishonor your glorious throne;
    remember and do not break your covenant with us.” Jeremiah 14:21.

I find that immensely comforting. As much as I love the church, I have been deeply wounded by it, disappointed in it, frustrated with its shortsightedness, enraged at its timidity in the face of evil, its blindness to the suffering on its doorstep and its indifference to the cries for justice, mercy and peace from the world around it. There are times that I, too, wonder whether God is ready to give up on a church that often looks little like Jesus, whose Body it is supposed to be. As I have witnessed the decline of the church in this country over the decades of my life, I have wondered at times whether we are experiencing God’s judgment on our many failures. Perhaps God is washing God’s hands of the whole ecclesiastical project.

Still, however tempted I might be to give up on the church, I find it impossible to give up on my baptismal covenant which, whether I like it or not, binds me to the church. During those times in my life when the covenant seemed most frayed and likely to break, there has always been some saint whose witness convinced me to remain. At times when church life seemed most petty, mean and shallow, there was always some event, some small expression of kindness, courage and faith that caused me to doubt my doubts about the presence of Jesus in his church. So, like Jeremiah, I cling to the covenant for dear life, because I know deep down that there is no life for me outside of it.

This month, the Spirit gave me one of those rare faith saving assurances. It came in the form of a letter from the bishops of my Evangelical Lutheran Church in America to the church:

Beloved in Christ,

Grace and peace to you in the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

As bishops of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA), we write to you in this moment of national and global tension with clarity and conviction. Our faith compels us to stand where Jesus stands—with and for those whom society often seeks to exclude, erase, or diminish.

Our shared confession that every person is created in the image of God (Genesis 1:27) grounds us in the conviction that all people possess inherent dignity. The incarnation of Jesus Christ reveals God’s profound solidarity with humanity—especially with those who are marginalized or oppressed. The gospel we proclaim insists that our neighbor’s need is the occasion for our love and that our public life is shaped by justice, mercy, and a commitment to the common good.

Further, we have a shared tradition in our social teachings which grounds us. The ELCA’s Social Message on Immigration reminds us:

“We are to respond to newcomers as we would to Christ—welcoming them, meeting their immediate needs, and advocating for justice in our laws and policies.”

Likewise, our recently adopted Social Statement, Faith and Civic Life, affirms that Christians are called to be “a public witness, holding leaders accountable when they fail to protect the vulnerable.”

We are living through a time when vulnerable communities are being scapegoated and attacked. Immigrants and refugees are vilified, though Scripture commands us to welcome the stranger. People of color continue to bear the devastating weight of racism woven into the fabric of our society. Transgender people, beloved by God, are being targeted with laws and rhetoric that deny their dignity and even their right to exist. These assaults on our siblings are not political abstractions—they are deep wounds in the body of Christ.

In this time of division and fear, we, as people grounded in our faith, insist on love. This commitment flows from our faith in Christ crucified and risen—the One whose love breaks down barriers, confronts hatred, and transforms hearts.

Love insists on the dignity of every human being.

Love insists on justice for the marginalized and oppressed.

Love insists that the church must reflect God’s diverse, life-giving community. Love insists that we listen, speak, and act with respect, even in disagreement. Love insists on hope, trusting that God’s kingdom of justice and peace will prevail.

This love also compels us to speak clearly against Christian Nationalism, which our Churchwide Assembly named as a distortion of the Christian faith and an unhealthy form of patriotism. Christian Nationalism confuses the Gospel with political power, turns God into a mascot for the state, and privileges some people over others based on race, religion, or birthplace. This is not the way of Jesus. The kingdom of God is not a nation, not a culture, not a political ideology—it is God’s reign of love, justice, and mercy for all people.

Therefore, as bishops of this church, we declare that the ELCA cannot be silent. Our call is clear:

• To proclaim the God-given dignity of every human being.
• To resist systems and ideologies, including Christian Nationalism, that oppress, dehumanize, or erase.
• To stand shoulder to shoulder with those who are targeted or harmed.
• To bear public witness that the love of Christ is stronger than fear, stronger than hatred, and stronger than death.

We call on all members of the ELCA to join us in prayer, advocacy, and action:

• Pray for those who are vulnerable and for all who work for justice.
• Advocate in your communities, legislatures, and Congress for laws that protect migrants, advance racial justice, and safeguard LGBTQIA+ people.
• Engage in the holy work of hospitality, creating spaces of safety, affirmation, and belonging for all God’s children.
• Model respectful dialogue in a polarized world, seeking understanding rooted in love.
• Hold fast to hope, trusting that the Spirit is still at work renewing creation and reconciling the world to God.

In baptism, we are marked with the cross of Christ forever. That cross is not only a sign of our hope—it is also a summons to follow Jesus into solidarity with those who suffer.

In the power of the Spirit, let us be bold. Let us be faithful. Let us insist on Love—in our words, our actions, our public witness, and our life together.

I have long hoped for just such a bold statement of faith for these dark times. See, e.g., A Barmen Declaration for our time? This letter gives me reason for hope. I hope that this letter will be more than just another social statement. I hope that what we read in the text of this letter will make its way into the preaching within our congregations. I hope that our members will carry it into their family gatherings, into the barbershops, bowling alleys, hair salons, book clubs, back yard barbeques, classroom discussions, chat groups and everywhere else people gather. I hope that my church will not have to issue yet another statement of apology a generation from now for its failure to stand up for immigrants ruthlessly deported for lack of “documentation,” for people of color brutalized by our government’s ruthless efforts to rebuild the structures of Jim Crow, for the persecution, slander and violence committed against transgender persons and whatever other victims the present American regime consigns to the netherworld of “the least” among us. I hope that enough of us have learned the lessons of our failed past to avoid repeating it in this present moment God has given us for witness and service.

No, God has not rejected the church and never will. The question always is whether the church will, for the sake of peace in the ecclesiastical household, reject the peace God desires for the world that comes only through the doing of justice. History does not paint a hopeful picture. But the good news of the gospel is that history is not the final word. The past need not bind the future.   

Here is a poem by  CAConrad on the forward direction of hope.

Slaves of Hope Live Only For Tomorrow

Source: PoetryNow, 2015, (c. 2015 by CAConrad) CAConrad (b. 1966) is an American poet, professor and author. Conrad identifies as Queer and uses the pronouns they/their. They were born in Topeka, Kansas and grew up in Boyertown, Pennsylvania. Their mother was a fourteen-year-old runaway and their father was a Vietnam War veteran. They were bullied as a child and stated in the feature film documentary, The Book of Conrad (2015), “People called me ‘faggot’ more than they called me my name.”

Conrad was a 2014 Lannan Fellow, a 2013 MacDowell Fellow, and a 2011 Pew Fellow, they also conduct workshops on (Soma)tic poetry and Ecopoetics. Their book While Standing in Line for Death won a 2018 Lambda Book Award; their Amanda Paradise: Resurrect Extinct Vibration received a 2022 PEN Oakland – Josephine Miles Literary Award. In 2022, they were awarded a Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize for lifetime achievement in poetry. Conrad currently teaches poetry at Columbia University and the Sandberg Art Institute in Amsterdam. You can read more about CAConrad and sample more of their poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.