Rev. Eric Anderson Sermons

Sermon: Mountaintop Wisdom

February 1, 2026

Micah 6:1-8
Matthew 5:1-12

“Plead your case before the mountains,” wrote Micah some 750 years before Jesus was born, “and let the hills hear your voice.” He wrote about an imagined court in which God and God’s people each tried to make the case that they had kept the covenant, and that the other had broken it. The role of the mountains? They were summoned as judges.

It was Micah’s poetic way of inviting the people of Jerusalem, particularly the wealthiest and most powerful, to consider what God might think of the things they were doing. The prosecution’s opening statement really gets rolling in verses nine and following. “Can I tolerate wicked scales and a bag of dishonest weights?” Apparently merchants were defrauding their customers. “Your wealthy are full of violence; your inhabitants speak lies with tongues of deceit in their mouths.”

I grant you that we’re only getting one side of the case, but it doesn’t sound that hard for the mountains to judge, does it?

The covenant had been first delivered to the people on a mountain. The Temple in Jerusalem, where the people hoped their devotions would excuse their violence and fraud, stood on a mountaintop. God had set high standards from a high place. They didn’t seem to be playing out as intended down in the valleys.

Almost eight centuries later, as Matthew told it, Jesus ascended a mountain to speak to a gathering crowd who wanted to hear him. We’ve grown to call it “The Sermon on the Mount.” Its placement in the Gospel reflects Matthew’s belief that the best way to show that Jesus was the Messiah was to pay attention to what he said. Jesus’ words tell us who he was and who he is.

The first thing he did was to tell his listeners who they were. They were blessed.

As Karoline Lewis writes at Working Preacher, “You are blessed. You have to hear that on the front end. And note that being blessed is not just for the sake of potential joy, but also for the sake of making it through that which will be difficult. Again, these are Jesus’ first words to his disciples. We need to hear in each and every one of the Beatitudes what’s at stake for Jesus and for his ministry.”

You see, this is another mountaintop moment in the Scriptures. It has a pretty close relationship to the gift of the Law to Moses on Mount Sinai. It has its precursory echoes in Micah’s summons of the mountains to judge the people. It’s mountaintop wisdom, and the tragedy of mountaintop wisdom is just how often it stays on the mountain and doesn’t make it down into the valleys.

As Lance Pape writes at Working Preacher, “But if the Beatitudes are a description of reality, what world do they describe? Certainly not our own. ‘Blessed are the meek’ (verse 5), says Jesus, but in our world the meek don’t get the land, they get left holding the worthless beads. ‘Blessed are the merciful’ (verse 7), says Jesus, but in our world mourning may be tolerated for a while, but soon we will ask you to pull yourself together and move on. ‘Blessed are the pure in heart’ (verse 8), says Jesus, but in our world such people are dismissed as hopelessly naïve.”

I think Dr. Pape has his finger on it: “hopelessly naïve.” Isn’t that what we hear when we assert the Beatitudes as truths? They reflect a better world, but we don’t actually live that way. Some say we can’t actually live that way. For instance, Stephen Miller, Deputy White House Chief of Staff, who told CNN interviewer Jake Tapper “We live in a world in which you can talk all you want about international niceties and everything else, but we live in a world, in the real world, Jake, that is governed by strength, that is governed by force, that is governed by power… These are the iron laws of the world since the beginning of time.”

That’s the valley. If you can forgive a Biblical reference in a sermon, that’s the valley of the shadow of death.

Is that where we want to live?

It’s where a lot of people have lived over the course of history. The Hebrew people lived in it when they were slaves in Egypt, when their nations were overrun by the empires of Assyria and Babylon, and when they were occupied by Rome in Jesus’ day. The feudal systems of Europe, Japan, and India left a lot of people in the valley of death. As Osvaldo Vena observes at Working Preacher, “Grief comes for all of us, but mortality rates were higher in the ancient world. Parents simply could not expect their children to survive infancy, let alone make it to adulthood. It was not a given. War, food and housing insecurity, and infectious diseases could cut a life short.” In the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, in the aftermath of truly catastrophic world wars, nations and non-governmental actors strove to bring food, farming assistance, vaccination, and stable health care delivery to places on the earth that had lost child after child to the grinding effects of being poor. In 2010 I heard a United Nations official tell a UCC gathering that the end goal of these efforts was not far off. He could imagine an end to extreme poverty.

The mountaintop wisdom was in sight from the valley.

Mr. Miller and his ilk would drive it away, out of sight, obscured by clouds high on the mountain.

We need to bring mountaintop wisdom to the valley.

As Debie Thomas writes at JourneyWithJesus.net, “Jesus acts.  He doesn’t simply speak blessing.  He lives it.  He embodies it.  He incarnates it…

“This is the vocation we are called to.  The work of the kingdom — the work of sharing the blessings we enjoy — is not the work of a fuzzy, distant someday.  It is the work — and the joy — of the here and now.  The Beatitudes remind us that blessing and justice are inextricably linked.  If it’s blessing we want, then it’s justice we must pursue.”

Mountaintop wisdom.

Let’s bring it to the valley of death.

Amen.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Sermon

Pastor Eric makes changes while preaching, sometimes on person. The sermon as delivered does not match the prepared text.

The image is The Sermon on the Mount by Fra Angelico (1437) – Copied from an art book, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=9048898.

Rev. Eric Anderson Pastor's Corner, What I'm Thinking

What I’m Thinking: The Uncomfortable Parable

Transcript 9/23/2025

Jesus told a number of stories that people eagerly memorize and repeat. The story of the rich man and Lazarus isn’t one of them.

Here’s a transcript:

I’m thinking about the sixteenth chapter of Luke’s Gospel (Luke 16:19-31). This is one of Jesus’ parables that is told only in Luke, a distinction that it shares with such well known even popular parables as “The Good Samaritan” and “The Prodigal Son.”

I would not describe this one as popular. I wouldn’t describe it as well known. This is a story that we don’t repeat very often. It’s not hard to see why. It is the story of “The Rich Man and Lazarus.”

The rich man was wealthy. He lived in a great house. He enjoyed his food. Lazarus was a poor man, and ill. He lived outside the rich man’s door. He didn’t even get the leavings from the rich man’s table. Dogs came and licked his sores.

Unlike most of Jesus’ stories, this one continued after the death of its characters. Lazarus found himself embraced by Abraham in heaven, whereas the rich man was tormented in hell. The rich man asked if a warning could be given to his brothers so that they would not make the same mistakes as he had and also end up in torment. He asked even if Lazarus could go and give them that warning. Abraham said they have the warnings of the Law and the Prophets. They will not pay attention even if someone were to return from the dead.

It’s hard to find a story of Jesus that is more pointed amongst a bunch of very pointed stories indeed. “The Good Samaritan” and “The Prodigal Son” are both fairly pointed stories. And it is difficult to find a story that we so gladly forget — conveniently forget — when we are the ones in place of the wealthy man, when we are confronted by the Lazaruses of the world, when we have good things and someone else does not.

This is the contest, if you will, between greed and compassion. All too often in this world greed wins: The desire for comfort, the desire for security. All too often, compassion loses, grace loses, generosity loses.

I don’t really think that Jesus intended to tell us a story about the nature of heaven and hell. He used the conceptions of the time to make his point. I think Jesus was trying to tell us about the relative importance of greed on the one hand and compassion on the other. Compassion, said Jesus, is what comes first. Set your greed aside.

What will it take us to convince us of that truth? I don’t know. Jesus may have known, but notice how pointed the ending of that story is. They’ll not be persuaded even if someone returns from the dead.

And in this world in which greed so often wins, how can we say that Jesus was wrong?

That’s what I’m thinking. I’m curious to hear what you’re thinking. Leave me your thoughts in the comment section below. I’d love to hear from you.

Rev. Eric Anderson Pastor's Corner, Sermons

Sermon: Riches

August 3, 2025

Psalm 49:1-12
Luke 12:13-21

It was an easy question, and it should have had an easy answer. “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.” Behind the request is, I expect, a pretty painful story. Under first century Jewish custom, the eldest son received a double share of the property of a deceased father. That’s one of those examples of first-son favoritism that is part of so many cultures. The same eldest son, however, also had the responsibility to divide the property among the surviving siblings – which means the one who had the greatest interest in delaying the division also had to make the division. I imagine that lots of younger sons had the same problem with their older brothers.

Asking Jesus about it was a sign that Jesus was honored and respected. As Niveen Sarras writes at Working Preacher, “It was common in first-century Palestine for Jews to ask rabbis for a legal ruling. The man thought of Jesus as a respected rabbi who influenced people, and could convince his brother to give him his inheritance. By calling Jesus a teacher, he acknowledges his ‘authority to render a decision in his case.’“

Simple request: ask my brother to divide the property as he’s supposed to do. Simple answer: As a respected teacher, I rule that the brother should do what he’s supposed to do.

But if Jesus did the things he was expected to do, the Gospels would be very different.

Jesus launched into one of his favorite subjects, particularly in Luke’s Gospel: the problem of wealth. So he told a story.

The story, writes Meda Stamper at Working Preacher, “…reflects a central theme in Luke and in Jesus’ preaching, the problem of wealth in the context of the holy kingdom where closeness to God is life and attachment to things reflects soul-stifling anxiety and fear.” It’s the story of a rich man who had a good harvest. If we look at him in the light of Joseph’s story in Genesis, the successful farmer wanted to do what Joseph had done: store up the produce of a good year against the hazard of a bad year ahead. In Joseph’s case, we called that more than prudence. We called it inspired.

This wealthy man, however, had no notion of saving against need. He saved for himself. He didn’t mention the people who’d done the work. I suspect they got laid off after the barns were done. He wasn’t aware of his neighbors, either. “What of the widow who walks by and sees the new barns, full of grain, while she has no way of making a living?” asks Melissa Bane Sevier at her blog. “What of the child whose parents choose between food for the children and food for the grownups? What of the rabbi who wishes he had food enough to give away to those who need it?

“Abundance versus scarcity. Too much abundance for a few creates scarcity for so many more.”

Most of all though, Jesus called the character in his story – remember, it’s a story – a fool because he saved the wrong treasure for the wrong thing.

You may have heard me preach about money and riches a few times. Like most preachers, I have a limited set of ideas, and “the problem of wealth” is sermon number three. Of about seven. I’m in good company, of course. Jesus talked about the problem of wealth a lot, too.

Most of us have an uneasy relationship to money. First, most of us don’t think we have enough of it. There is usually something we can think of, which might be an item, a service, a comfort, that we don’t have and can’t get immediately.

Personally, I can think of plenty of things to spend money on, money I don’t have, at least at the moment. A friend thinks I should get an eight-string ukulele to join the four and six-strong instruments I have. Well, I think so, too. I think there are some cool camera lenses that would be useful for taking pictures of flowers. And I’m always curious about microphones, and…

This is rapidly becoming a shopping list rather than a sermon, so let’s stop here.

I have uses for all this stuff. I think. You’d like to hear me play an eight-string ukulele, right?

But am I saving up treasure for God?

That’s a harder question. A good deal of my music goes to celebrate God and God’s world. A good deal of my photography serves to renew my spirit and, I hope, that of some others. That’s worth while, I think. But am I saving up treasure towards God?

God and I are still working that one out.

It is certainly true that added wealth makes this relationship with God and gold harder. Dan Clendenin quotes and echoes the fourth century Bishop John Cassian at JourneyWithJesus.net, writing, “’When money increases,’ observed John Cassian (b. 360), ‘the frenzy of covetousness intensifies.’ Greed is insatiable: ‘It always wants more than a person can accumulate.’”

It would be so much easier if there were a magic threshold at which I didn’t have to work out my relationship between me, money, and God. Then I could just gaze at the wealthy with sympathy for their dilemma, one which doesn’t trouble me. But I can’t. That younger son who asked the question of Jesus probably wasn’t due to inherit much. Jesus didn’t spend much time with the wealthy; there weren’t many wealthy people in first century Judean villages. Any of us can get stuck on money, whatever the quantity is.

According to Jesus, no amount of money is worth anything.

Best to build up riches with God. As Cheryl Lindsay writes at UCC.org, “Being rich toward God means loving God, neighbor, and self. The inheritance offered shares God’s abundance and flourishing as all needs are met–material, physical, social, spiritual, mental, and emotional. Being rich toward God priorities the status of the soul over the balances in financial accounts. Being rich toward God positions us for peace and joy.”

Love. Abundance. Flourishing. Met needs. A secure soul. Peace. Joy. In the end – and even along the way – those are better riches than money any day.

Unlike the riches in the big barns, you can take those with you.

Amen.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Sermon

Pastor Eric makes changes as he preaches, so the prepared text will not match the sermon as preached.

Photo by Eric Anderson

Rev. Eric Anderson Pastor's Corner, What I'm Thinking

What I’m Thinking: You Can’t Take It

When somebody wanted Jesus to intervene in a dispute over inheritance, Jesus reminded those who listened that you can’t take wealth with you.

Here’s a transcript:

I’m thinking about the twelfth chapter of Luke’s Gospel (Luke 12:13-21), in which a man called from the crowd, “Teacher, tell my brother to share the family inheritance with me.”

Jesus first responded by saying, “Friend, who made me a judge over you?” To me that seems a little peculiar, because I think of Jesus as judge over all of humanity. During his earthly ministry, Jesus chose not to exercise that kind of power in that kind of a way.

Instead, Jesus told a story about a man of wealth who had such a great crop that his barns couldn’t hold it all. So he tore the barns down and he built new ones, and there he could store his grain and his goods. But God said, “You fool! Tonight your life is ended, and whose will all your wealth be?”

In a sense, Jesus had done what that first man in the crowd had asked him to do. Indirectly he had told the brother who was holding all of the family inheritance (or at least more than his younger siblings thought he should) that holding on to it would do him no good. In the end, we all come to the boundary of our earthly lives in which material wealth means a great deal. When we journey across that boundary, material wealth means nothing.

Jesus followed in centuries of wisdom tradition in saying that wealth is a thing for this life and this life only. Selfishness and greed will not carry across the boundary. What you accumulate will be left for others and lost to you.

So build up treasure with God.

Jesus didn’t say it in the parable, but he said it often enough in other times: the way to build up treasure with God is with generosity towards those around you. The way to build up treasure with God is by deepening your own relationship with the Divine. The way to build up treasure with God is to follow the ways of Jesus.

When Jesus died, they cast lots for his clothing, because that was all that he had.

You can’t take it with you. You can’t take it with you.

So build up treasure with God.

That’s what I’m thinking. I’m curious to hear what you’re thinking. Leave me your thoughts in the comment section below. I’d love to hear from you.

Rev. Eric Anderson Sermons

Sermon: Summer Fruit

July 20, 2025

Amos 8:1-12
Luke 10:38-42

As I remember the home in which I grew up, I recall two paintings – prints, actually – that adorned the walls. One was a mother and child. The other was a still life of a bowl of fruit. Summer fruit.

Well, actually, it was apples and pears, which in New England are early autumn fruit, but let it pass.

To all of us in the household, it was a colorful illustration of sweetness, of family, of nourishment, of hospitality.

So to me, a basket of summer fruit is a peculiar way to open Amos’ fierce denunciation of the powerful people of ancient Israel. I’m not the only one to find it strange. Pamela Scalise writes at Working Preacher, “The bounty of sweetness from pomegranates, figs, and grapes, the value of olive oil and wine, the long years of care and cultivation to bring fruit-bearing trees and vines to productivity—all these associations with summer fruit anticipate a good word of blessing. God’s word through the prophet, however, announces the end.”

God – or Amos, because it’s clear that part of an ancient prophet’s role was to choose the human words with which to express what they’d heard from God – had a reason to start with fruit that isn’t apparent to us, because we’re reading this text in translation. As Tyler Mayfield writes at Working Preacher, “…the image is likely chosen primarily to create a wordplay in the original Hebrew. The word for ‘summer fruit’ is qayits, and the word for ‘end’ is qets. The prophet uses similar-sounding words to craft a message.”

As a fan of puns, I approve this message.

I also have to point out, along with other commentators, something that every one of us know who live in this climate. If you leave a basket of fruit out for very long, bad things happen, at least from our point of view. From the point of view of the fruit flies it’s not so bad, but few of us enjoy the sight or smell of rotting fruit on the kitchen counter.

Amos’ readers knew that just as well, and Amos’ readers would have been able to make the connection to the national reality of ancient Israel 750 years before the birth of Jesus. Dan Clendenin writes at JourneyWithJesus.net: “He lived during the reign of king Jeroboam II, who forged a political dynasty characterized by territorial expansion, aggressive militarism, and unprecedented national prosperity. The citizens of his day took pride in their misguided religiosity, their history as God’s elect people, their military conquests, their economic affluence, and their political security.” In other words, the nation itself resembled a basket of summer fruit: Ripe. Fragrant. Tasty. Nutritious.

The nation’s prosperity and power, warned Amos, was also the sign of its end, the hidden decomposition that would spread until the color faded, the fragrance fouled, the flavor soured, and the nutrition turned to poison. Why? Because the nation’s riches were founded on exploitation of its citizens.

4 Hear this, you who trample on the needy,
    and bring to ruin the poor of the land,
5 saying, “When will the new moon be over
    so that we may sell grain,
and the Sabbath,
    so that we may offer wheat for sale?
We will make the ephah smaller and the shekel heavier
    and practice deceit with false balances,
6 buying the poor for silver
    and the needy for a pair of sandals
    and selling the sweepings of the wheat.”

7 The Lord has sworn by the pride of Jacob:
Surely I will never forget any of their deeds.

Thanks in part to the authors of First and Second Kings, we tend to remember that the primary sin of the ancient realms of Israel and Judah was the worship of foreign gods. When you read what the prophets wrote in their own time addressing the immediate concerns, they did raise that problem. Amos did just that in verse 14 of this very chapter.

But. To Amos, that was secondary.

As Dr. Mayfield writes, “The people’s offense has almost entirely to do with how they treat each other. It’s ethical. Amos 2:6–8 makes this clear:”

If you haven’t memorized Amos 2:6-8, here it is:

6 Thus says the Lord:
For three transgressions of Israel,
    and for four, I will not revoke the punishment,[c]
because they sell the righteous for silver
    and the needy for a pair of sandals—
7 they who trample the head of the poor into the dust of the earth
    and push the afflicted out of the way;
father and son go in to the same young woman,
    so that my holy name is profaned;
8 they lay themselves down beside every altar
    on garments taken in pledge;
and in the house of their God they drink
    wine bought with fines they imposed.

To punish these kinds of sins, God announced the destruction of the nation. If that seems harsh, it was. The reality was that God didn’t have to do anything to destroy the ancient realm of Israel. It was destroying itself. The metaphor of the summer fruit was a pun on the end, but it also reflected the not-yet-seen degradation of the nation itself based upon the misbehavior of the most powerful. When those in authority abuse their citizens, when those in power discount the needs of the community, when those of wealth extract more wealth for themselves from those who have the least, those societies cannot stand. They will crumble. They will fall.

The nation of Israel to which Amos prophesied fell about 730 years before Jesus was born, probably about the same time Amos himself died. It fell before the invading army of an enormous empire. Other nations, including its neighbor Judah, survived that great invasion.

But in the northern kingdom of Israel, the basket of summer fruit had fully decayed.

You know, I’d kind of like to stay away from the basket of summer fruit that is the United States of America. I’d like to choose the better part of Jesus, to attend to what he said, and to rejoice in the reassurance of his presence. That’s partially what my sabbatical was about. To soak in the goodness of God.

But then along comes Amos, and I can’t tune him out. As Dan Clendenin writes, “Amos delivered a withering cultural critique.  He describes how the rich trampled the poor. He says the affluent flaunted their expensive lotions, elaborate music, and vacation homes with beds of inlaid ivory. Fathers and sons abused the same temple prostitute. Corrupt judges sold justice to the highest bidder, predatory lenders exploited vulnerable families.  And then religious leaders pronounced God’s blessing on it all.

“Does this not sound strangely familiar?”

Of course it does. Of course it does. In the wake of Congressional decisions to reduce taxes on the wealthiest and increase the burdens of the poor, it sounds very familiar. In the wake of countless people whose refugee petitions were abruptly dismissed and found Immigration and Customs Enforcement officers waiting in the court hallways to whisk them away, it sounds very familiar. In the decisions to end foreign aid programs while flexing military might, it sounds very familiar.

These choices place the nation on the path of decay. Of degradation. Of rot. These choices imperil the social contract that makes the nation function, that brings people to their jobs every day, that underlies their obedience to basic laws, that helps them trust in the integrity of juries and judges. These choices will inevitably degrade the efficiency and reliability of police forces, the military, and the other public servants who maintain our roads, inspect the food supply, and make sure our medications are safe and effective.

These choices link the prosperity of summer fruit with the heartbreak of the end. These choices do not need God to bring catastrophe in punishment. These choices make their own catastrophe.

Israel’s rulers did not listen to Amos 2700 years ago.

We will need to be loud indeed for our leaders to listen to us now.

Amen.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Sermon

Pastor Eric makes changes from his prepared text while preaching the sermon, so what you read here will not be identical to what he said while preaching.

Photo by Eric Anderson.

Rev. Eric Anderson Sermons, Uncategorized

Sermon: They Were Noticed

June 1, 2025

Acts 16:16-34
Revelation 22:12-14, 16-17, 20-21

Two weeks ago the Sunday School made some presentations to the teachers who’ve worked with them during this school year. I was one of those honored. They were kind enough to say they were nuts about me, which really touched my heart. They gave me nuts, too.

They also gave me this insulated travel mug bearing these words: “Difference Maker: A dedicated individual who can make a big impact even with just a small action or few words. Someone who makes a difference in the lives of others.”

Difference maker.

That’s what I’ve wanted to be since I was a small child. I went through a number of ways to make a difference: I wanted to be a firefighter, a doctor, a scientist, a teacher, an actor, and some others before I followed a call to ministry. Which, you’ll notice, is a profession that seeks to make a difference.

Whether I have or not, whether I do or not, is something we can debate. I’ve got to tell you, there are days it feels like the world is going on without paying any attention to me at all. Sometimes that’s just fine. Other times, I desperately wish I could change the course of events.

The Apostle Paul along with Silas and some other companions had been in Philippi for a few days. We read of their work and welcome from the Jewish community in the city last week. Lydia, a leader among them, hosted them in her own home.

The woman described in this story came from much further down the social spectrum. She was a slave – Luke didn’t know or didn’t record her name – and she was a person afflicted by demonic possession. It doesn’t really matter whether the first century diagnosis or a twenty-first century diagnosis of severe mental illness was actually correct. She was doubly bound as an enslaved person and as someone who could not control her own speech and actions.

As Jaclyn P. Williams writes at Working Preacher, “One who needed freedom could clearly call out the source of salvation but could not so clearly embrace that salvation. The same spirit that oppressed her could see the presence of the way of redemption—the way that is Jesus Christ. It is also meaningful that she refers to Paul and Silas as ‘slaves of the most high God’ (verse 17) while she was enslaved by the spirit of divination and those who were taking advantage of her torment.”

She may have been doubly bound, but she made a difference. She made a difference to her owners, who sold her words as predictions of the future. She made a difference to those who purchased her words, or so we assume, because people kept paying for them. She made a difference to Paul, because when she followed and shouted at him over a few days he got annoyed.

You know, I really wish Paul had exorcised the demon for better reasons than pique, but that’s how Luke told the story, so what can I do?

Paul and Silas, up to this point, hadn’t made much of a ripple in Philippi. They’d made friends among the Jewish community, but that was a small group in a big city. The rest of the population didn’t notice them. Until…

Paul got annoyed, and healed a young woman, and cut off her owners’ source of income. That made a difference.

Suddenly they were noticed.

Eric Barreto writes at Working Preacher, “Gripped with avarice, the formerly profitable girl’s owners accuse Paul and Silas of profound treachery before the city’s ruling authorities. Notice, however, that their indictments fail to mention one key piece of evidence: the loss of the unnamed slave girl’s services in a lucrative endeavor! Instead, these rapacious merchants resort to the tried and true method of base ethnocentrism. They accuse Paul and Silas of drawing Philippi’s denizens away from the approved Roman way of life to Jewish customs incommensurate with the city’s ethnic values. Of course, the charges are false.”

The charges may have been false, but the magistrates found them guilty. They imposed the punishments given to people who were not citizens of Rome, which would have been most people at this time in the first century.

Jerusha Matsen Neal writes at Working Preacher, “Acts 16 narrates a leveraging of cultural superiority and social fear for the preservation of an economic system that grounds the status quo. The torture, beatings, and social isolation of prison are powerful technologies in that mechanism. Paul and Silas are not imprisoned because they break a law. They are imprisoned because they are imprisonable people—vulnerable people—who threaten the bottom line of the powerful.”

If you want to be noticed, if you want to make a difference, if you want to change the future: threaten the bottom line of the powerful.

You may not enjoy the attention. Paul and Silas didn’t. Is there a way of making a difference that does not incur the baleful attention of the wealthy, the powerful, the ones with intrenched interests? I’m not sure there is.

Greed is never satisfied. The author known simply as “The Preacher” wrote in Ecclesiastes 5: “The lover of money will not be satisfied with money, nor the lover of wealth with gain. This also is vanity.” Last week I shared some figures compiled by Robert Reich about the budget bill currently before the Senate. The richest .1%, said Dr. Reich, would receive a $390,000 tax cut on average. What I hadn’t checked was how much they earn in the first place.

According to James Royal of Bankrate, in 2022 average earnings for the top .1% were $2.8 million. So they’d be adding 1.3% to their income with the tax cut. Not shabby, I suppose, but hardly dramatic.

At the same time, those earning less than $17,000 will lose about $1,000, 5.8% of their income. They’ve got a lot less to lose.

I’m probably as annoyed as the Apostle Paul was two thousand years ago. I wish I had the power to heal these people double chained by poverty, illness, circumstance, or oppression. I wish I had the power to free people who are chained to their greed, because that’s a harsh bond as well.

Most of all, though, I hope I make a difference. I hope I make things difficult for the ones who exploit others. I hope I make things difficult for those who deprive people of their liberties. I hope I make things difficult for those who use lies and distortions to get their way.

Paul and Silas were noticed. May we be noticed, too.

Amen.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Sermon

Pastor Eric prepares his sermon beforehand, but he tends to make changes while preaching. Sometimes he does it intentionally.

The image is Paul and Silas in Philippi, by an unknown artist (between 1591 and 1600). Photo by Rijksmuseum – http://hdl.handle.net/10934/RM0001.COLLECT.223502, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=84114572.