Rev. Eric Anderson Pastor's Corner, Sermons

Sermon: Prepare Supper

October 5, 2025

Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4
Luke 17:5-10

Increase our faith. It seems like a good thing to ask as a Christian, as a disciple of Jesus. Increase our faith. Any sensible faith leader would applaud someone’s efforts to deepen their devotion.

So… why didn’t Jesus?

As Francisco J. Garcia writes at Working Preacher, “Jesus’ loaded response to the disciple’s request for more faith—telling them that all they required was the faith of a tiny mustard seed to do the impossible—tells us that they are asking for the wrong thing.”

We’ve seen this happen with the disciples before. It’s one of the ways in which they stand in for us in the Gospels. How often do we, after all, ask God or Jesus for the wrong thing?

You don’t need to answer that.

But let’s think for a moment about what gets described as faith by Jesus in the Gospel of Luke. “Faith manifests itself in many ways, by a variety of people,” writes Audrey West at Working Preacher. “Faith is persistence in reaching out to Jesus (Luke 5:17-26) and trusting in Jesus’ power and authority (7:1-10). Faith is responding with love to forgiveness received (7:44-50), not letting fear get the upper hand (8:22-25), and being willing to take risks that challenge the status quo (8:43-48). Faith is giving praise to God (17:11-19), having confidence in God’s desire for justice (18:1-8), and being willing to ask Jesus for what we need (18:35-43).”

What do these actions have in common? A couple of things: First, they are actions. They are things that people do. You might recall that in the letter of James we read that “Faith without works is dead” (James 2:26). Jesus and Luke might put it differently. They might say that faith without action isn’t faith.

I can’t see why Jesus would be irritated to be asked how to increase faith based on its connection to action, though. Ask me what you can do to have a more active faith and believe me, I’ll come up with a good long list!

But remember, there was something else that those actions of faith have in common. They are actions that we take. That we take. That we, ourselves, take.

They’re not something that Jesus can do for us. They’re not something that the Holy Spirit does for us. They’re not something that God does for us.

They asked Jesus to increase their faith. But Jesus doesn’t increase our faith.

We increase our own faith.

OK. Just believe harder. Right?

Well, no. We go back to that first principle. Faith is action.

As Amy Frykolm writes at JourneyWithJesus.net, “What if faith was not believing hard, but rather placing our tiny selves—in the cosmic sense, no more than the tiniest seeds—in alignment with the love of the cosmos? Just as in nature, the seed surrenders to the ground (John 12:24), so we, also of the same stuff as the seed, surrender to this work of creative love.”

Jesus followed up on the comparison with the mustard seed – our tiny selves, our tiny powers – with the troubling story of being the unthanked, unhappy, and pretty much unfed slaves of a demanding master. If that’s what faith and following Jesus is like, most of us would say, “You can take that away and toss it out.” But Jesus, routinely, overturned the relationship of master and slave in his stories and his sayings. He even did it in this short example. It starts by inviting us to understand ourselves as the master, and ends by equating us with the slaves.

What did the slaves do in the story? They set the table. They prepared the food. They served.

That, dear friends, is how to increase your faith.

Debie Thomas writes at JourneyWithJesus.net, “I believe the invitation in this lection is for us to go forth and live in light of what we already see, sense, hear, and know.  In other words, the invitation is to do faith.  To do the loving, forgiving thing we consider so banal we ignore it.  Why?  Because the life of faith is as straightforward as a slave serving his master dinner.  As ordinary as a hired worker fulfilling the terms of his contract.  Faith isn’t fireworks; it’s not meant to dazzle.  Faith is simply recognizing our tiny place in relation to God’s enormous, creative love, and then filling that place with our whole lives.”

When I think about the most faithful people I’ve known, I don’t think of the showy ones. I don’t think of the powerful ones. I don’t think of the well-known ones. Mind you, I’ve known (or known of) faithful people who could be described in all of those categories.

It’s just that the most faithful people I’ve known spread love about them wherever they went, and as you may have noticed, that’s not something that makes people famous. It doesn’t get them into positions of power. It doesn’t get them noticed – except by a fortunate few who recognize that greatness comes from love and compassion, not from might and mayhem.

We are great not when we are the demanding masters, but when we are the dedicated servants. We are great not when we exercise power and coercion, but when we exercise diligence and compassion. We are great not when we are fed, but when those around us are fed.

Histories, I have to say, tend to glorify the glory hounds. They give people names like William the Conqueror, Frederick the Great, based on success as warriors.

We are the people of Jesus, however, and Jesus didn’t lead armies, didn’t conquer nations, didn’t even evict the occupiers of his land. What he did was teach and gather and heal.

He taught us to set the table.

He taught us to see that everybody gets fed.

As we come to the table on the World Communion Sunday, remember that it is set for us by the God who serves. It is our model of faith.

Let us set the table.

Amen.

by Eric Anderson

We regret that we continue to have audio problems with our live video stream, so a recording of the sermon is not available.

The image is “The Parable of the Mustard Seed” an etching by Jan Luyken found in the Bowyer Bible (ca. 1791 – 1795) – Harry Kossuth photo. Electronic image created by Phillip Medhurst 10 August 2009., FAL, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7549966.

Rev. Eric Anderson Sermons

Sermon: Written in Heaven

July 6, 2025

Galatians 6:1-16
Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

“Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!”

They must have been stoked. Sent out without luggage or even a change of clothing – let’s not think about that for too long – the seventy (or seventy-two, the oldest copies of Luke don’t agree) had been told to bring peace, healing, and teaching to the villages of Galilee where Jesus planned to go. Imagine how nervous they’d have been. Will we find welcome? Will we find words to say what we’re supposed to say? Will we bring peace when we arrive? Most of all: when they bring us somebody who’s sick, will they receive God’s healing through our hands?

The answer to all of those, including the last, was, “Yes.” “Even the demons submit to us! How cool is that?”

Jesus, the great motivational speaker of the first century, then seems to have forgotten everything he knew about motivational speaking. Right? The thing to say was something like, “Well done! You’ve accomplished great things! And look, I’ve got even greater things that you can do! You know you can! Let’s go out and make Judea Great Again!”

But Jesus didn’t do that.

“You think you did great things? I saw Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lighting. Don’t get excited about spirits that come out when you call. That’s small stuff. Calm down. Chill out.”

I don’t think he’d have been a hit on the motivational speaker circuit.

If you want to get excited about something, rejoice that your names are written in heaven.

Well, what does that mean? The phrase only appears once in the entire Bible, right here, so we haven’t got a lot of help. If I ask the question, “Whose name does God know?” the answer I give myself is, “Everyone.”

Rejoice that your name, like everyone’s name, is known by God.

Again, it’s a tough sell for a motivational speaker.

And it’s exactly what Jesus said. The Good News of God’s reign is not about power, even over evil. It’s not about accomplishment, even of healing. It’s not about me being better than you. I’m not (you probably knew that). It is about all of us being held in the heart of God.

Rejoice that you’re held in the heart of God.

When I was in school, I liked to work for extra credit. I’d answer those optional questions on tests; I’d write a few extra paragraphs when invited. Those came with rewards. They’d bring up my average grade. They might even impress the teachers – at least, I thought they did.

Jesus didn’t give extra credit. Even to those who’d gone the extra mile.

Your names are written in heaven. That’s enough, you know. In fact, that’s what there is.

It’s not just school that insists on extra credit. So many parts of our lives scream out, “Here are the great ones. Here are the heroes.” On the weekend of the Fourth of July, American pride in country can be earnest and uniting, but it can also be prideful and jingoistic. C. S. Lewis wrote, “I once ventured to say to an old clergyman who was voicing this sort of patriotism, ‘But, sir, aren’t we told that every people thinks its own men the bravest and its own women the fairest in the world?’ He replied with total gravity—he could not have been graver if he had been saying the Creed at the altar—’Yes, but in England it’s true.’ To be sure, this conviction had not made my friend (God rest his soul) a villain; only an extremely lovable old ass. It can however produce asses that kick and bite. On the lunatic fringe it may shade off into that popular Racialism which Christianity and science equally forbid…”

[Found in “The Four Loves” in The Beloved Works of C. S. Lewis (New York, Inspirational Press), 1998.]

We don’t have any recent experience of that, do we? A combination of American patriotism and Christian belligerence that betrays the best ideals of both?

Well, maybe we do.

If casting out demons doesn’t make a difference in God’s love for us, then how much difference does it make to be British? Or Japanese? Or American? Or Hawaiian? Yes, it makes a lot of difference in human relationships, but are we held differently in the heart of God?

No. It doesn’t seem that we do. All our names are written in heaven. That’s enough to rejoice in.

We still get to participate in bringing that good news to others. Jesus asked for laborers; Jesus got seventy to go out and do the work. It wasn’t complicated. It could be challenging, but not complicated. He kept it simple. Visit the village. Accept hospitality. Share your peace. Heal as God enables you. Move on to the next. It’s simple.

“It’s amazing how often I needlessly complicate the Christian life,” writes Debie Thomas at JourneyWithJesus.net.  “’But what does God want me to do?’ I groan. What is God’s will?  How shall I hear God’s voice and discern God’s plan?

“Are the answers really all that hard?  Do justice.  Love mercy.  Walk humbly.  Pray, listen, learn, and love.  Break the bread, drink the wine, bear the burden, share the peace.  Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself.

“Get off your high horse and get in the water.  Sit down at the dinner table and speak peace to those who are feeding you.”

Rejoice that you, and they, have our names written in heaven. We are known by God. We are valued by God. We are loved by God.

Written in heaven.

Amen.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Sermon

Pastor Eric writes the sermon in advance, but he also makes adjustments as he preaches, so what he wrote does not precisely match what he said.

The photo of a koa’e ula (red-tailed tropicbird) is by Eric Anderson.

Rev. Eric Anderson Sermons

Sermon: Trinity of Wisdom

June 15, 2025

Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31
John 16:12-15

Lucy Lind Hogan’s commentary on this passage from John, posted at Working Preacher, made me laugh this week. She wrote, “I suspect that most in your congregation would not appreciate a sermon that began like this: ‘There are things that are essential to our faith, but I can’t speak about them because you would not be able to understand. They are far too complicated and way over your head.’”

So, let me check. Raise your hand or give me a nod if you’d object to a sermon that started with, “You’re not going to understand this.”

Well, that’s a pity.

Because I’m not sure you’re going to understand this.

In my defense, the reason I’m not sure you’re going to understand this is because I’m not sure I understand this. It’s Trinity Sunday, so we’re wrestling with understanding the Trinity, not one of Christianity’s simpler ideas. Further, “this” is Jesus’ promise given in John 16:30 that the Spirit of truth will come, and will guide the disciples into all the truth.

Have you noticed how difficult truth is?

Cheryl Lindsay writes at UCC.org, “What is truth? The dictionary relates truth to fact and reality. Yet, disputes over facts and attempts to hide or dismiss reality may challenge our understanding of truth. Individuals speak of their truth as if it were a choice or varied based on perspective, experience, and acceptance. Is there such a thing as a shared reality when so much of human life is highly segmented and fractured?”

Lord, I hope so. While I grant the possibility of alternate realities – I’m a fan of science fiction, after all – it’s awfully difficult to live in more than one reality at a time. I also grant the existence of unknown reality, when we simply don’t know what reality is, and so different ideas of what it might be all have at least some validity. I certainly grant the existence of different notions of reality, some of which might be correct, or partially correct, or just plain incorrect.

At ground, though, I tend to assume that there is a reality, a truth, to the universe around us. While a vast amount of it might be unknown – it’s a big universe, after all – there’s a lot of truth that we do know and that we can know.

A couple hundred years of experience, for example, teaches us that vaccination significantly reduces the spread and the intensity of infectious disease. According to the National Library of Medicine, the 1853 smallpox outbreak in Hawai’i was the third worst epidemic in Hawaiian history. It killed 5,000 people. There hasn’t been a case of smallpox since 1977 anywhere in the world, and that’s because of vaccination. Those who claim vaccines cause rather than prevent disease are wrong.

They are not telling the truth.

Jesus promised that the Holy Spirit would guide us into all the truth. I might wish that the Holy Spirit would just give us all the truth, but that’s not what Jesus said and it certainly isn’t our experience, is it? We have to work at truth. We have to ask questions. We have to evaluate competing answers. We have to compare the assertions of different sources, take a look at how it matches with our experience, and consider whether our experience might be deceptive. People had considered and even practiced inoculation for smallpox for some time in Asia, Africa, India, and Europe, but most people considered making somebody a little bit sick to prevent getting very sick to be dangerous. It wasn’t until the 19th century that the practice gained wider acceptance and not until the 20th century that it knocked smallpox out entirely.

With anti-vaccination people in positions of power and exercising that power to restrict and discourage vaccination, we’re going to see more illness. We’re going to see more death. That’s truth.

Truth is not wholly revealed by observation and experimentation. For one thing, our observation has limits, and our experiments can’t always account for all the potential circumstances. Science always looks for predictable phenomena: I do this, and this happens. But if there’s more than what I do that changes in an experiment and I don’t know it, my predictions don’t work.

That makes the truth of people – or of one person – really difficult to understand.

It makes the truth of God, with whom we are in relationship and within whom there is a relationship that we call “the Trinity,” really difficult to understand.

But maybe, just maybe, there are dimensions of the Trinity that we can understand, or accept, or even rejoice in.

Meda Stamper writes at Working Preacher, “The Trinity presented to us in John is a manifestation of God’s love for us, a way of opening a door to the mystery of God that allows us to see ourselves embraced by it.” When Jesus spoke to his disciples it was in perilous times. They may not have seen it as clearly as he did – they asked “What did he mean by this?” pretty often during his farewell address – but nobody who had been with Jesus in Jerusalem had any illusions about the danger. Jesus’ arrest didn’t come as a surprise.

Jesus offered reassurance, the reassurance of the Spirit’s presence, and the reassurance of the Spirit’s truth, as a sign of his own love and God’s own love for them.

The Trinity is love.

As well as love, Jesus’ words extended hope. As Timothy L. Adkins-Jones writes at Working Preacher, “Maybe through tears of his own, and possibly to weeping disciples, Jesus offers hope to those that he loves. In a world where loss, anxiety, and fear are legion, there will be no shortage of disciples in our midst who are in need of reassurance. Our mission seems to be to offer ways that the relationship Jesus describes in this passage, between Himself, the Father, and the Spirit, brings hope to an anxious people instead of wrestling with the particulars of the Trinity.”

I’ve said more than once that hope as a Christian concept or virtue is not a feeling. It’s a choice. When I hope, I look at what is before me and decide that it does not need to be this way. It can be better. It might be pretty much okay, but it can be better. Or it might be really bad, and I choose to believe it can be better. I choose hope. I choose to work toward my hope.

Choose hope, my friends, Jesus told them.

The Trinity is hope.

Jesus’ words to his disciples continued past where our reading ends at verse 15. “You have pain now,” he told them, “but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you.”

In the midst of that solemn night with its confusion and its sense of threat, Jesus promised joy. At JourneyWithJesus.net, Amy Frykholm writes about establishing a food pantry during the COVID pandemic in Leadville, Colorado: “To cross a mountain stream, you must seek those few rocks that will remain firmly in place, that are flat enough to afford a foothold. We likened our development of the food pantry to looking for these ‘joy’ rocks. What can we do with enough joy, enough letting go, enough delight that we can stay steady while we cross this stream? If we saw ourselves falling into obligation, we’d ask, ‘Is this a joy rock?’ If the answer was no, then we looked for another route.”

Joy. That’s important. It’s a vital part of the journey; it’s a vital part of the work. It’s a vital element of truth itself. If someone’s truth claim perverts justice, threatens harm, or promises suffering, if it lacks joy or subverts joy, it is not true. Read the witness of Proverbs’ figure of Wisdom who, during Creation, “was beside God, like a master worker, and I was daily his delight, playing before him always, playing in his inhabited world and delighting in the human race.”

Wisdom – Truth – the Holy Spirit – the Trinity – is joy.

Joy. Hope. Love. That’s a Trinity of Truth. It’s worth confessing. It’s worth proclaiming. It’s worth living.

It’s a Trinity of Wisdom.

Amen.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Sermon

Pastor Eric prepares the entire sermon ahead of time, and frequently makes changes while preaching.

The image is Three-Faced Christ (The Trinity) by Anonymous Flemish master (ca. 1500) – https://www.artfairmag.com/colnaghi, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=162397197.

Rev. Eric Anderson What I'm Thinking

What I’m Thinking: Echoing Jesus

It’s probably obvious, but in the first days of the Way (before Christians were called Christians) Jesus’ disciples sought to do the things that Jesus had done. They echoed Jesus.

I’m thinking about the ninth chapter of Acts of the Apostles (Acts 9:36-43).

Luke followed up his account of the conversion of Saul (we know Saul better by his Greek name, Paul) with this story about Simon Peter’s visit to Joppa, where a woman named Tabitha (known in Greek as Dorcas) had fallen ill and died. She was an important person in that small community of the Way there in Joppa, so they asked Simon Peter to come.

He sat by her bedside. He said, “Tabitha, get up,” and she rose alive and whole once again.

There are echoes in this healing — resurrection, rather — story of Jesus’ raising of a small girl. You’ll find that story in Luke (Luke 8:40-56), and also in Mark (Mark 5:21-43) and Matthew (that’s an error; it’s not found in Matthew). In Mark’s version of the story, there are echoes of the words. “Tabitha, get up,” is what Simon Peter said. “Talitha cum,” or “Little girl, get up,” is what Jesus said to the child of the ruler of a synagogue.

I think that what this is confirming for us — because for certain we should already know this — is that the ministry of the early church saw itself as an emulation and imitation and echo of the ministry of Jesus himself. The followers of Jesus sought to do the same things that Jesus had done, whether that be healing (and yes, resurrection), or whether that be to accept the outsiders, to teach and feed the hungry, to do the things that Jesus himself had done as he walked the earth.

Nobody said it was easy.

And I’m afraid my talents for resurrection, if I have any, have not been demonstrated. But I do hope I’ve demonstrated some ability to speak love and care and compassion to those around. And I hope I’ve demonstrated some ability to bring healing to a troubled spirit.

What is it that God has given you as a way to comfort, to teach, to lead, to serve. How are you bringing life to those around you?

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: Can You Turn Water into Wine?

January 19, 2025

1 Corinthians 12:1-11
John 2:1-11

Can you turn water into wine?

The answer, of course, is yes. You can. You can turn water into wine. There’s a trick to it.

The secret is to add grapes.

I am not the first to make that joke. Augustine of Hippo wrote in the fifth century, “The miracle indeed of our Lord Jesus Christ, whereby He made the water into wine, is not marvellous to those who know that it was God’s doing. For He who made wine on that day at the marriage feast, in those six water-pots, which He commanded to be filled with water, the self-same does this every year in vines. For even as that which the servants put into the water-pots was turned into wine by the doing of the Lord, so in like manner also is what the clouds pour forth changed into wine by the doing of the same Lord. But we do not wonder at the latter, because it happens every year: it has lost its marvellousness by its constant recurrence.”

The world, Augustine observed, is full of God’s miracles, so full that we’ve ceased to recognize them as God’s handiwork.

It seems, however, that somebody goofed among the wedding planners in Cana. They ran out of wine. The hosts may not have been entirely at fault. As Lindsey S. Jodrey writes at Working Preacher, “We may read the story and wonder why the family of the bride and groom failed to provide enough wine. However, it was ancient custom for guests to bring wedding gifts in the form of food and drink to share the burden of providing for such a large group. Thus, the family’s lack of wine may indicate a lack of community support in addition to their own lack of resources. Jesus’ actions are that of a friend and faithful community member; the provision of wine is a sign of shared hospitality.”

When Mary came to her son to tell him there was no wine, his reply, “What concern is that to me and to you?” was a little discomforting. As a guest, he had some obligation to aid his host. Perhaps he had already contributed something to the feast. But perhaps – and John’s narrative of a short time period between Jesus’ baptism in the Jordan valley and his attendance at this wedding some miles away suggests this could have happened – perhaps Jesus and his new followers hadn’t brought anything, or hadn’t brought what his mother considered enough. Even if he had, it’s clear that she thought he could and should do more.

The other half of Jesus’ response, though, was more complicated. In John’s Gospel, Jesus’ “hour” (“My hour has not yet come”) was the time of his crucifixion. If it seems like a stretch to say that Jesus saw this moment as one that set him on the path to that terrible Friday, I’ll just say that the author didn’t see it that way. Jesus’ mother appears only twice in John’s Gospel: here, and at the foot of the cross; when the hour had not yet come, and when the hour had come.

There was a simple way to deal with the situation. Jesus might have turned to Peter, Andrew, Philip, and Nathanael, and said, “Come on, guys. Let’s pool our money and go to the wine shop. Between us we might get enough to last out the evening.” If he was concerned that five of them couldn’t carry enough, Mary was enlisting the servers to help. Jesus didn’t have to do what he actually did.

John called it the first of his signs. He meant something specific by that. It wasn’t enough that Jesus did something remarkable, or powerful, or miraculous. That act revealed something about Jesus. It said something about his purpose. It said something about his nature.

John wrote that turning water into wine in Cana, the first of his signs, Jesus “revealed his glory.”

But hardly anyone recognized it at the time.

The chief server didn’t know. Nobody told him where the good wine had come from. The hosts didn’t know. Nobody told them, either. The other guests didn’t know. The servants knew, but if they told anyone else, John left it out. Jesus’ mother knew. Jesus’ closest friends knew, because they were paying attention.

As far as I can see, Jesus revealed his glory to less than a dozen people.

That tells us a lot about Jesus’ glory, doesn’t it? It’s not a glory for show, to display or to impress. It’s not a glory that cries, “Look at me!” It’s not a glory about ego. It’s not a glory that demands worship. It’s a glory that can go unnoticed. It is, to go back to Augustine for a moment, a glory that can lose its marvellousness by its constant recurrence.

It was also a glory of profound compassion.

It’s not clear just how much the hosts would have suffered if they had, in fact, run out of wine at the feast. Some scholars suggest it would have been shameful, which is no small thing in a culture based on honor and shame. Others don’t think they would have experienced any long-term consequences. At the least, it would have been embarrassing. I’m pretty sure that years later, they’d have blushed when the story came up – again – “Remember when the wine ran out at the wedding? Good times!”

Mary thought that was worth avoiding. In the end, Jesus thought so, too.

I’m afraid that doesn’t mean that Jesus will always act to preserve us from simple embarrassment. I can tell you that Jesus might have done done that at various times in my life, but certainly not every time. I’ve been embarrassed more times than I care to count or remember. It does mean that Jesus cares more about the seemingly trivial parts of our lives than we might imagine. It’s not all about life and death, suffering and wholeness, damnation and salvation. It’s also about helping us through the other challenges of life.

Jesus’ compassion extends not just to our health, but to our joy. As Karoline Lewis writes at Working Preacher, “Turning water into wine is revealing of abundant grace in this season of Epiphany. And what does abundant grace taste like? Like the best wine when you are expecting the cheap stuff.” Jesus’ compassion delights.

Abundant grace is also easy to miss. How many people were at the wedding feast that day? I don’t know. How many received this grace without knowing it? Nearly all. Nearly all.

So can you turn water into wine?

It turns out you can. You and I just have to work harder to make it happen. As Debie Thomas writes at JourneyWithJesus.net, “Maybe we can be like Mary. Maybe we can notice, name, persist, and trust. No matter how profound the scarcity, no matter how impossible the situation, we can elbow our way in, pull Jesus aside, ask earnestly for help, and ready ourselves for action. We can tell God hard truths, even when we’re supposed to be celebrating. We can keep human need squarely before our eyes, even and especially when denial, apathy, or distraction are easier options. And finally, we can invite others to obey the miraculous wine-maker we have come to know and trust.”

We can turn water into wine.

We can bring more joy into the lives of our families, friends, and neighbors. We can act such that the needs we see get addressed, whether they’re urgent and important or seemingly trivial. We can gather the supports to get things done. We can name and proclaim the acts of grace, the deeds of mercy, the times of transformation, and we can declare, “This is glory, people. Ignore the prattle of the powerful and their pathetic posturing. Glory is compassion. Glory is humility. Glory is love. This is glory.”

Yes. We can say that. We can live that.

We can turn water into wine.

We can also turn wine into water, and for those who have addiction to alcohol, we might have to do that sometimes. There’s a trick there, too. Boil it. The alcohol evaporates first. The point is: Don’t let the metaphor get in the way.

Jesus displayed his glory with compassion, humility, and grace. Let us display our glory with compassion, humility, and grace.

Let us be like Mary. Let us be like Jesus.

Amen.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Sermon

Pastor Eric does depart from his prepared text from time to time. Sometimes he’s trying to improve it.

The image is The Marriage at Cana by Frans Francken the Younger (ca. 1605) – https://www.christies.com/lotfinder/paintings/frans-francken-ii-the-marriage-at-cana-6182794-details.aspx?from=salesummery&intobjectid=6182794&sid=7c5b9177-028d-4214-857b-35022d21ca55, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=80461976.

Rev. Eric Anderson What I'm Thinking

What I’m Thinking: Compassion for a Wedding Host

In John’s Gospel, Jesus’ signs reveal something about him. At the wedding at Cana, he revealed his care and compassion for the wedding host.

Here’s a transcript:

I’m thinking about the second chapter of John’s Gospel (John 2:1-11). It’s the story of Jesus turning water into wine at a wedding in Cana. This took place early in Jesus’ ministry; John described it as the first of his signs.

Now, John used “signs” in a very particular way. For John, a “sign” was some kind of unexplainable — miraculous if you like — action that Jesus performed that revealed something about him. Jesus didn’t expect to perform a sign at this wedding. In fact, he and his disciples attended just because they’ve been invited. It was his mother that realized that the hosts had run out of wine.

This was a problem. At a wedding the host was supposed to be hospitable, and hospitality meant you don’t run out of the necessities: and one of those was wine. Jesus didn’t want to do it, but his mother told the servants to do whatever he told them.

There is so much here. As usual in his Gospel, John took some time with this story, included details that the other gospel writers simply did not linger for. The back and forth between Jesus and his mother is frankly rather delicious. I mean, what mother really pays attention to what her son has to say, right?

But mostly what strikes me is that this sign revealed something very important about Jesus. He was not just there for the wedding to increase the joy of the newly married couple and of their families. He was also there to make certain that all went well for them in the wedding feast and in the years beyond. He would not see that family tagged with the label of being inhospitable at a crucial time.

This first sign that revealed Jesus’ glory, revealed the depth of his love. Well, maybe not the full depth of his love, but revealed that it was deeper than others had expected (except, perhaps, his mother). May we see in this sign and in all the other signs Jesus’ love, compassion, and care for us, that we, too, might celebrate, rejoice, and believe.

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: What Really Matters

December 8, 2024

Philippians 1:3-11
Luke 3:1-6

The Apostle Paul was, it seems, accustomed to repeat himself. In chapter three of this letter, having spent some time telling the Philippians things he’d already told them, he wrote, “To write the same things to you is not troublesome to me, and for you it is a source of steadfastness.” After that, he told them some more things… that he’d already told them.

In some ways I can safely say that I emulate the Apostle Paul. Or in at least one. I repeat myself.

I’m pretty sure I’ve told you that I repeat myself before… probably in that sermon I titled, “Repeating Myself.”

No surprises today, I’m afraid.

We don’t know exactly when Paul wrote this letter to the Philippians, or what city he was in. He was in prison, but that doesn’t tell us much. In Second Corinthians, he wrote that he had “far more imprisonments” than some other people with whom he was in conflict. Apparently he had the capacity to annoy local authorities with his preaching – and he had the will to do so rather than stay safe and silent.

While it’s no surprise to find Paul imprisoned, he did set a different tone in this letter. For one thing, it sounds like he’d been held longer than he had previously, long enough for the Philippians to hear about it and start worrying about him, long enough for them to worry about his companion Epaphroditus as well. In the first century, jail was not a punishment. People were held for trial and after trial to await punishment, and Paul had experienced “countless floggings” in his career. This time, though, the possibility of execution loomed. “Living is Christ,” he wrote in verse 21. “Dying is gain.”

In the midst of all that, Paul wrote what is safe to describe as the most joyful of his letters, at least the ones we have. This is no Second Corinthians, full of contention and conflict. This is no Romans, dedicated to a thorough explanation of his ideas. This is not even Philemon, encouraging a friend to do something extraordinary. In Philippians, Paul rejoices in the faithfulness and compassion of this congregation he has loved and cared for.

As Carla Works writes at Working Preacher, “Joy permeates this letter. Paul will make use of the language of joy or rejoicing sixteen times. The apostle can have joy in the midst of suffering because of his confidence in God’s work through Christ. His joy is wed to God’s activity rather than to his own personal circumstances. Joy is an appropriate theological response. It is not joy because of suffering, but joy because those who cause the suffering will not have the last word.”

Joy is the first of things that really matter.

Another thing that really mattered, and really matters now, is the presence and support of other people. As Cheryl Lindsay writes at UCC.org, “Paul’s letters to the churches of his era and to the church today, remind us, across time and distance, that our faith is shared. Our journey is communal. If we are called to be a righteous branch, we recognize that branches are connected to a tree, bush, or vine.” Over the course of the letter to the Philippians, Paul mentioned four of his comrades in the gospel by name: Epaphroditus, Timothy, Euodia, and Syntyche. In fact, Paul routinely named other people as he wrote his letters, either because he wanted to greet them specifically in the church to whom he wrote, or because he was passing along the blessings of people with whom he was working at the time.

What really matters? Don’t do it alone. You don’t have to. And you shouldn’t. Get together, and stay together.

What else matters? Paul named something else in this one-sentence prayer that closed today’s reading: “And this is my prayer, that your love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight to help you to determine what really matters, so that in the day of Christ you may be pure and blameless, having produced the harvestof righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ for the glory and praise of God.”

Love. Love matters. Love really matters. Love. Agape. Hesed. Aloha. Love really matters.

This is the love that puts someone else’s welfare and interests at or above your own. This is the love that not only knows that we don’t have to do God’s work alone, this is the love that doesn’t let someone else do God’s work alone, either. This is the love that Epaphroditus demonstrated by coming to Paul and getting sick. This is the love that Paul showed by sending the recuperating Epaphroditus home, not just for his benefit, but to comfort the Philippians who were worried about both of them.

This love is not a feeling, but it nurtures feelings, doesn’t it? This love is audible in words, and it is visible in deeds. This love is tangible in making change in the physical world. This love tastes like my friend’s favorite meal. This love has the perfume of blossoms after rain.

These things make us feel good. They make others feel good. This is what love is. And: it really matters.

Paul’s prayer didn’t stop there, though. As L. Ann Jervis writes at Working Preacher, “Paul calls for love that is discerning and courageous, not simply tolerating everything in everyone; love that has insight and wisdom; love that reflects the moral character of God as reflected in Christ.” I’ve said it before, love carelessly expressed may not comfort, may not heal. It may, in fact, annoy, irritate, and mislead. People who dearly loved me have given me some real clinkers of Christmas gifts over the years. I love the people, but I do occasionally wonder how they thought I’d like… you know, that.

Christmas gifts are one thing. Day to day gifts are another. How often do we take on some regular job in the household firmly believing that we are providing relief or relaxation to someone we love? How often did we take it on because, well, it’s easier to do it ourselves than to share it? How often did we take it on because it’s something we were good at and the other person wasn’t, and we just couldn’t be bothered to teach it?

How often do we find ourselves unintentionally limiting the roles our loved ones can take on or the skills they can learn?

Did we ask?

It turns out that knowledge matters when we set out to love. It turns out that we can lovingly do exactly the wrong thing. It turns out that ignorance isn’t loving. Shouldn’t we care enough to ask?

Yes. We should.

Care enough to ask. It really matters.

Care enough to observe, as well. That’s where insight comes from. That’s what allows us to make those inspired guesses about things that will delight those we love. When we pay attention to what pleases those we love, we can make better and better judgements about what will please them next. Insight isn’t a gift that some have and some don’t. Insight is something you build from experience, observation, and consideration. Insight, like knowledge, takes work.

Do the work. It really matters.

What really matters?

Joy. Joy matters. Joy in the grace of God that rises above the current circumstances. Joy matters.

Togetherness. Togetherness matters. Living out our calling from God in company with others, supporting one another in righteousness. Togetherness matters.

Love. Love matters. Sharing and caring for others as we would have them share and care for us. Love matters.

Knowledge. Knowledge matters. Asking when we do not know, so that we can love well. Knowledge matters.

Insight. Insight matters. Paying attention to those we love so that we can love well without asking every question. Insight matters.

Paul repeated himself. So do I. Because it’s so important that we know what really matters, and that we do what really matters.

Love with knowledge and insight. Love together, not alone. Love God’s creation, and celebrate God’s joy.

Amen.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Sermon

Pastor Eric preaches from a text, but he does vary from it, as he has done today.

The image is Saint Paul Writing His Epistles by Valentin de Boulogne (ca. 1618-1620) – Blaffer Foundation Collection, Houston, TX, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=596565.

Rev. Eric Anderson What I'm Thinking

What I’m Thinking: What Really Matters

What really matters? It is the question of the ages. The answer is rooted in love, knowledge, and insight.

Here’s a transcript:

I’m thinking about the first chapter of Paul’s letter to the church in Philippi (Philippians 1:3-11). Paul wrote it while imprisoned — a circumstance that he said was actually helping to spread the good news — but his writing it to the church in Philippi appears to have been more in the way of comforting them than it was in the seeking their consolation.

Above all, the apostle praised them for their faithfulness and their kindness. And in this opening section, he wrote that he hoped that their love would overflow with knowledge and insight to help them know “what really matters.”

And that is the question for all of us, isn’t it? What really matters?

Oh, there’s plenty of people who will tell you what really matters. In the newspapers, on the television, on the radio, there are lots of people who will tell you that what really matters, especially in this season, is the purchase of this, that, or the other thing to make your life (or the life of someone else) better. That is what really matters. Others will tell you that what really matters is your physical health. They’ll tell you what really matters is your mental health. They’ll tell you that what really matters is the global economy. They’ll tell you that what really matters is some sort of sense of pride. And indeed, all of these count.

It’s good to be physically healthy. It’s good to have a sound global economy. It’s good to have a sense of self-worth. It’s good.

If we want to know what really matters, or what Paul thought really matters, well, it’s best to read the rest of the letter of Philippians, because, after all, he had the rest of the letter to reflect on it, but the clues are there, even in the way he put it. “Let your love overflow with knowledge and insight.”

These are the ingredients for what matters: knowledge and insight. These are things that we achieve through effort, through study, through asking questions of people and not simply sitting around and observing and assuming, but of studying and considering and, above all, when you don’t know: ask. But even knowledge and insight are not enough, because where does it begin?

It begins in the overflow of love, the overflow of compassion, the overflow of consideration of someone (or someones) else. This is the foundation of what matters.

As we go through this Advent season, as we prepare for the holiday of Christmas, as you go out and look for all those wonderful things that the advertisers would like you to buy, remember that what really matters is the overflow of your love through knowledge and through insight.

That is what really matters.

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: Signs and Times

December 1, 2024

1 Thessalonians 3:9-13
Luke 21:25-36

“There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.”

Isn’t that just how you were hoping to begin the Advent season?

I say this pretty much every first Sunday of Advent, because in the season in which we prepare for Christmas it seems odd to jump to the end of the book. Jesus spoke these words to his disciples in or near the Temple during what we know was the last week before his crucifixion. Why would we be here rather than somewhere in chapter one of Luke’s Gospel?

The answer, in brief, is that Advent is not about preparing for the birth of Jesus. That’s already happened. It’s not even really about preparing for the celebration of the birth of Jesus, though that closer. Advent is the time in which we prepare to celebrate the gift of Christ in the person of Jesus, a gift which was given us two millennia ago, a gift which remains given to us through history into the present, and a gift which will continue to be given to us to the end of time.

Which is why we’re in chapter 21, because here Jesus spoke about things that Christians have interpreted to take place at the end of time. Some of them, however, had already taken place. Earlier in the chapter Jesus spoke about the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple. By the time Luke wrote his Gospel, according to scholars, the Temple had been destroyed. Jesus warned his disciples that there would be official persecution of his followers. By the time Luke wrote his Gospel, that had already taken place.

As for the signs and the distress and the roaring and the fainting, well, Catherine Healy writes in The Christian Century, “I am not a biblical literalist, yet the imagery in this passage gives me pause. As our planet gets hotter and tidal floods increase, aren’t we already seeing ‘signs in the sun [and] the moon’? And as rising waters drive more and more climate refugees from their homelands, it’s hard not to notice that ‘distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea’ is already upon us.”

It’s hard not to notice that, indeed.

Based on the way people keep trying to match signs and distress and roaring and fainting with historic events, it’s apparently hard to notice that… these things happen all the time.

I grant you that we’ve had an eventful few years here in Hilo, Hawai’i, but since I began serving as pastor here we’ve had earthquakes, a volcanic eruption that displaced two thousand people, a hurricane, at least a couple of tropical storms, a significant civil disruption, increasing political dissension in the United States rising to an actual insurrection event. Oh, and a global pandemic. I almost forgot that.

Come, Lord Jesus! If you want to return before Christmas, I’m fine with that!

The truth is that these “signs and times” aren’t useful to predict timing because they are so frequent. Karoline Lewis writes at Working Preacher, “Yes, Jesus speaks the truth, not about our future, but about our condition, the world’s condition, that never really changes. Perhaps this is the grief of this passage. That nothing ever changes. That God cannot prevent those who seek power from exercising power in the most inhumane of ways. That we still live have to prepare God’s way in spite of fear and foreboding.”

Come back before Christmas, Lord Jesus. I’m more than fine with that.

Except that… Jesus already has. That, I think, was the point he was making with his disciples two thousand years ago. You see, Jesus had already said something about when the reign of God was coming. He said it back in Luke’s chapter four, when he announced in the synagogue that the Isaiah’s promise of a year of God’s favor was fulfilled in their hearing. Or in other words: the Messiah was already present.

God’s promises were already present in front of the disciples who heard him say, “the kingdom of God is near.”

So near, disciples, that you’re part of it just sitting there.

“The season of Advent, as we reflect upon the coming of the Word made flesh and dwelling among us,” writes Cheryl Lindsay at UCC.org, “challenges us to make our love incarnate, our hope unmovable, our peace tangible, and our joy complete.”

That, after all, is what God did in the incarnate Jesus: rooted our hope, founded our peace, completed our joy, and embodied love.

I wish that Jesus’ presence meant that all the signs and times with their distress and roaring and fainting had been transformed into the vision of a Peaceable Realm described by some of the prophets. That, all too obviously, hasn’t happened. If a great outbreak of peace took place, it seems to me that that would be a much bigger and more visible sign of better times.

What we have instead is Jesus’ presence – all the time. As Audrey West writes at Working Preacher, “the apocalyptic vision shared by Jesus is assurance that even (especially) in the face of devastation—whether it is caused by nature’s fury or by human hubris—the reign of God will not be impeded. No matter how much it appears that the world is coming un-done, God’s way endures.” And: “Even during earth-rending moments, God is near.”

The age-old images of disaster and destruction will not, I’m afraid, tell us when history will end. They won’t tell us when Jesus will return. Partially that’s because they’re not much use as predictors, since they’re so common. Mostly it’s because Jesus promised to be with us always, and we trust in the promise.

Jesus has been with us through the earthquakes and storms and volcanic eruptions. Jesus has been with us through the political upheavals and pandemics. Jesus has been with us through the day-to-day blessings of our lives. Jesus has been with us at the birthday celebrations, at the achievements, and at the end of days when nothing much seemed to happen except the same-old, same-old. Jesus will be with us this Advent season and right on into Christmas.

Signs and times be what they may, Jesus is with us.

Amen.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Sermon

Pastor Eric frequently makes changes while preaching, accidentally and otherwise, so the sermon text will not precisely match the sermon as delivered.

The image is Jésus se promène dans le portique de Salomon (Jesus Walks in the Portico of Solomon) by James Tissot (between 1886 and 1894) – Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 2007, 00.159.177_PS2.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10957468.

Rev. Eric Anderson Pastor's Corner

Pastor’s Corner: Love and Gratitude

November 27, 2024

Despite the persistent effects of nostalgic Thanksgiving films, stories, pictures, and memories, Thanksgiving is a remarkably adaptive holiday.

While many will prepare a turkey for the main dish this week, a good number will prepare something completely different, something that better matches their preferences to their gratitude. Even those serving turkey have scoured the media, the Internet, and their cookbook shelves for a new way to prepare it. We may giggle at the idea of a turkey stuffed with a chicken stuffed with a duck, but doesn’t it illustrate our flexibility around that iconic dish?

As a child, Thanksgiving was a meal we celebrated with Gramma Anderson, mostly at her house in western Massachusetts. We weren’t always there, even if she did have a dining room that best matched the front of a holiday card. My parents hosted everyone a few times, as did my aunts and uncles.

As an adult, Thanksgiving gatherings grew substantially. In addition to blood family, dear friends began to join the celebration. We added a “Thanksgiving Day Croquet Tournament” which took place between dinner and dessert. My parents were the regular hosts for quite some time as they had a dining area big enough for everyone (we borrowed tables and chairs).

Then they shrank again as people graduated, moved, and passed on.

The consistent things about Thanksgiving throughout have been love and gratitude. The locations have changed, the faces have changed, but the love and gratitude have been the same.

May they be a part of your Thanksgiving celebration this week and every year.

In peace,

Pastor Eric