Rev. Eric Anderson Sermons, Uncategorized

Sermon: Towards Peace

December 7, 2025

Isaiah 11:1-10
Matthew 3:1-12

It’s a vision of improbable things.

Wolves living peaceably with lambs, leopards and kids, calves with lions, cows with bears. They’re all grazing, which you’d think wouldn’t work for the wolves, leopards, lions, and bears. They don’t have the right kind of teeth.

Through them wander these little children who lead – I grant you that little children lead us around all the time, but that’s only until we catch on – and they even play safely around the poisonous snakes.

It seems fantastic. As Cheryl Lindsay writes at UCC.org, “Then, there is the testimony of the Banyan tree. It’s an extraordinary spectacle. Roots grow from the branches of the tree. The branches are long and the roots seek water from the ground. The Banyan tree can live for hundreds of years and expand to cover acres under its canopy of branches and sustaining roots. Most trees do not function this way, and the Banyan tree may seem like a creation of fantasy rather than another version of a fig tree.

“The world described in Isaiah 11 may also seem to be the fruit of impossible fantasy rather than a prophetic, imagined future crafted by the abiding love and longing of the Holy One.”

Living in Hilo, we’re familiar both with the wonders of the banyan tree and with its strange fragility. We’ve seen great trees come crashing tragically down. And we’ve seen them grow and thrive supported by those fantastic roots.

Is the banyan, or the remade natural world, really any more improbable than what launches this utopian vision: the image of a leader emerging from the house of David who demonstrated wisdom and understanding, counsel and might, knowledge and the fear of the LORD?

Isaiah lived through the reigns of good kings and bad kings. He had advised King Ahaz, who got very bad reviews from the authors of 2 Kings: “He did not do what was right in the sight of the Lord,” is how they introduced him in chapter 16. Isaiah had much better experiences with Ahaz’ son Hezekiah, who received great praise from the authors of 2 Kings and 2 Chronicles. “He did what was right in the sight of the LORD just as his ancestor David had done,” reads 2 Kings in chapter 18.

Is it so strange that a ruler should govern with wisdom and understanding, with knowledge and in the reverence of God?

Corrinne L. Carvalho writes at Working Preacher, “It is difficult for Christians to hear this poem, especially during the season of Advent, and not think it celebrates the birth of Jesus. But it is important to remember that this yearning for a perfect world pre-dates and exists independently of the Christmas story. I think if people around the world were asked to draw a picture of a perfect world leader, that ruler would have many of these same attributes.”

Although… there are some who have other ideas. Michael J. Chan writes at Working Preacher, “In the royal propaganda of the ancient near East, royal figures frequently encounter predatory animals, and especially lions. And so it is no surprise to find the royal child depicted as a shepherd among lions. What is surprising, however, is the way in which the young shepherd interacts with them. In general, kings would be depicted fighting and killing lions, not leading them or living among them.”

Fighting and killing. Not leading. Not living among them.

Does this sound familiar?

Isaiah’s vision of peace relies upon leaders who make peace a priority. Peace, not power. Peace, not privilege. Peace, not pride. Isaiah’s peaceful ruler relies upon the wisdom of God, the righteousness of God, the reverence of God. Isaiah’s peaceful ruler uses that wisdom and righteousness and reverence to look more carefully at the stories they hear. They give regard to the concerns of the poor. They relieve the oppression of those who suffer from the acts of the powerful.

In his novel Jingo, Terry Pratchett described a dialogue between a ruler, Lord Vetinari, and a genius, Leonard of Quirm.

“As they say, [said Lord Vetinari] ‘If you would seek war, prepare for war.’”

“I believe, my lord, the saying is ‘If you would seek peace, prepare for war,’” Leonard ventured.

Vetinari put his head on one side and his lips moved as he repeated the phrase to himself. Finally he said, “No, no. I just don’t see that one at all.”

Terry Pratchett, Jingo (New York, HarTorch), 1997

We make peace by moving toward peace. We move toward peace in our households when we stop insisting on our way, or our authority, or our “rightness.” We move toward peace when we work on our relationships. We move toward peace in our voluntary communities when we work through the different ideas and disagreements and choose a way we can share together. We move toward peace in our churches when we accept that there are things we don’t know about God and about the nature of the world and prioritize the welfare of those affected by our decisions.

We move toward peace in the world when we select leaders who decide in the interests of all people, not just themselves or those in their circle or class. We move toward peace in the world when we send leaders packing who demonstrate that they work for themselves, not others. We move toward peace in the world when we make it clear that we will not tolerate injustice, intolerance, oppression, cruelty, and tyranny.

We move toward peace in the world when we embrace peace within ourselves. We move toward peace in the world when we choose the righteousness of God rather than the self-interest which is so common. We move toward peace in the world when we ourselves take the time and effort to learn more than what appears to be obvious, and seek diligently for truth. We move toward peace in the world when we choose wisdom over folly.

As Cory Driver writes at Working Preacher, “God has always been calling the Holy Community to justice and faithfulness, and has always promised to send leaders who will show the way. It is such a leader that we, along with Isaiah, look for during this Advent.”

Let us be such leaders in our families and communities; let us be such citizens in our nation, let us insist upon such leaders in the houses of government in the world.

Let us journey toward peace.

Amen.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Sermon

Pastor Eric writes his sermons in advance, but he makes changes while he preaches, sometimes intentionally, and sometimes not.

The image is Peaceable Kingtom by Rick and Brenda Beerhorst, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=55782 [retrieved December 7, 2025]. Original source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/74782490@N00/5816094892.
Rev. Eric Anderson Pastor's Corner, What I'm Thinking

What I’m Thinking: Peaceable Kingdom

Isaiah’s vision of an utterly peaceful world began with wisdom, compassion, righteousness, and peace. May we move toward it this Advent season.

Here’s a transcript:

I’m thinking about the eleventh chapter of the prophet Isaiah (Isaiah 11:1-10). This coming Sunday is the second Sunday of Advent. The theme is peace, so it is entirely appropriate that the Isaiah reading is one of his accounts of the Peaceable Kingdom.

The wolf and the lamb lying down together. The lion eating straw like the ox. “And a little child shall lead them.”

Not surprisingly, Isaiah started with a description of what leadership would look like: that a shoot would emerge from the stump of Jesse, and that this new monarch would rule in a new and different way, with wisdom, with righteousness, with the fear of the Lord – that kind of reverent respect that, well, is frankly very uncommon amongst leaders of nations, now isn’t it?

The foundation of peace for the natural world, Isaiah said, was peace within the human world.

I can’t say that that is obviously true. If human beings ceased to make war upon one another, if human beings ceased to commit crimes against one another, if human beings abandoned violence forever, I’m afraid there would still be hunting in the forests and in the seas – at least until God changes the world. Nevertheless, Isaiah was absolutely right to seek out that first part of the vision rooted in peace amongst human beings. Because even if we can’t directly affect the peace of the rest of Creation, we can make peace amongst ourselves. We can choose wisdom over folly. We can choose compassion over violence. We can choose peace.

All too frequently, we choose folly. We choose violence. we choose war. All too rarely, we choose wisdom. We choose compassion. We choose peace.

In this Advent season, may we take a step, even a fraction of a step, towards Isaiah’s vision. Let us choose wisdom, righteousness, compassion, and peace.

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, What I'm Thinking

What I’m Thinking: Worthy Hope

Hope is an exercise in imagination: to believe the world can be better than it is. Let us hope for and work for what is worthy: a world of peace.

Here’s a transcript:

I’m thinking about the second chapter of the prophet Isaiah (Isaiah 2:1-5). That’s his vision of the mountain of Jerusalem, Mount Zion, becoming the focus for the peoples of the world, streaming into its gates to learn the ways of God. In those days, Isaiah imagined, then swords would be beaten into plowshares and spears into pruning books because it would be the day of peace.

There are times in life, in history, in communities, in societies when the word “hope” gets tossed about: How do I find hope? How do I maintain hope? In the face of what may be really severe conditions, somebody afflicted by a major storm or an earthquake: where do they find hope? Someone in the midst of war: where do they find hope? Someone in the midst of injustice: where do they find hope?

Ind I wish that I had a way to tell you how to feel hopeful. The problem is that I can’t tell you how to feel anything. The hope that I can say something about is a hope that we choose. It is an exercise in imagination, of looking at what is and deciding that it does not need to be that way. It can be different, it should be different, and with work and the grace of God it will be different.

I can still feel pretty pessimistic about it all, but I choose to believe that the evils that are will fail, and the good which is not yet will come to be.

So there’s that decision to hope. There’s also the choice of what to hope for. I stand with Isaiah: a vision of peace, a vision of people ordering themselves into a supportive society. There are plenty of people in the world who hope for very different things. They might hope for their personal enrichment. They might hope to dominate others. They might hope that their nation invades and overthrows others. To my mind these are not worthy hopes.

These are not the hopes of Isaiah. They’re not the hopes of Jesus. I’d say they are not the hopes — the proper hopes — of the followers of Jesus.

Choose to hope. Choose to hope for blessed communities. Choose to hope for peace.

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: A Quiet and Peaceable Life

September 21, 2025

Jeremiah 8:18-9:1
1 Timothy 2:1-7

“I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for everyone, for kings and all who are in high positions, so that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and dignity.”

A quiet and peaceable life – that sounds pretty good, doesn’t it? It sounds pretty good to me. I don’t mind a little excitement from time to time, but that excitement can come from things like making music, watching lava fountains on Kilauea, eating something delightful, and, well, I have been known to glide down a zip line.

Just a little excitement, excitement that is consistent with a quiet and peaceable life.

What fosters a quiet and peaceable life?

First, it’s prayer. It’s the extension of our spirits to God on behalf of others, the people around us, the communities we live in and the communities beyond us, for their benefit and welfare. It’s not just for Christians. As Sunggu Yang writes at Working Preacher, “In this passage, it is very interesting to see that the author urges his readers to invoke (the name of) Jesus, the mediator, in prayers for probably—this is very likely—unbelieving gentile Greek kings and those in high political positions. Simply put: prayers for the sake of unbelievers!”

Why? Because quiet, peaceful communities are created and maintained by all the members of those communities. We all know the havoc that’s created by people that steal things, or who commit violence against others. We all know the havoc that’s created by people who drive recklessly or do their work carelessly. We all know the havoc that’s created by people who say one thing and do another. We all know the havoc that’s created by people who put themselves ahead of everyone else.

The first step, then, is to pray for everyone in a community so that they live and act from a spiritual foundation. Right. How effective is that?

The short answer is, I don’t know.

The longer answer is, I think it’s more effective than we might believe.

The reason is personal. Many years ago, one of the members of my family had a medical crisis. I’m not talking about how prayer influenced the course of healing. I’m talking about how the prayers of other people carried me through that crisis.

My family was pretty well known in our UCC Conference – Connecticut, at the time. Well enough that our story went around church leaders, lay and clergy, and even into the congregations. Literally thousands of people prayed for us. In the midst of a lot of stress and a lot of fear, something miraculous happened.

My feet stopped touching the ground.

Not literally, of course. That’s the only way I’ve ever come up with to describe the feeling, though. Those prayers carried me through the scary days and nights. They carried me through the months. They carried me.

One of the reasons I know it was the prayer that did it is that I’ve had other crises in my life. I didn’t share those events with a large number of people. I didn’t have their prayers supporting me during those times.

I did not feel the sensation of being carried through my stress.

Prayer will not automatically create caring, compassionate people who act for the benefit of their neighbors. If it did, we’d have been living in the peaceable realm for centuries now, and we’re not. What prayer will do is make it easier for people to find and to foster their care and compassion for their neighbors. What prayer will do is lighten their steps through their days.

We start with prayer.

Then we live out our prayers.

In the fourth chapter of this letter, the author advises his readers to “set the believers an example in speech and conduct, in love, in faith, in purity.” (1 Timothy 4:12) Actually, an example for the believers and the unbelievers. One of the scandals of Christianity – of other religions as well, but the scandals of Christianity belong to us – is that we haven’t always treated non-Christians as well as we should. We’ve made war on Muslims. We’ve oppressed Jews. We’ve tortured and executed “heretics,” which basically means somebody whose Christian theology isn’t close enough to yours.

It’s up to us to act better than that. To make sure that there are places for people to live, and to pay people such that they can afford to live there. It’s up to us to see that nobody gets persecuted for their religious beliefs or their skin color or their gender or their relationship status or their disabilities. It’s up to us to create a community that protects and nurtures everyone.

Pray. Act. And we will live quiet and peaceable lives.

Maybe.

We have a lot of power over our own prayers and actions, but every one of us knows there are times we let our feelings get ahead of us. There are times when we feel like we’re not being carried by prayer, but being carried away by some other power within us. That’s part of our humanity, and as much as I’d like to believe that prayer and action can prevent that, I don’t think they can. Not entirely. We have to keep an eye on that within ourselves.

More than that, though, we have to face the presence of prayer for “kings and all who are in high positions” in this text.

Despite Paul’s comments in Romans that we should obey the authorities, the simple truth is that Paul himself disobeyed the authorities multiple times. He got in trouble. A lot. In Second Corinthians he proudly wrote, “Five times I have received from the Jews the forty lashes minus one. Three times I was beaten with rods. Once I received a stoning.” (2 Corinthians 11:24-25) Those, plus his uncounted imprisonments and floggings, were the result of refusing to obey authorities. Some of that would have been due to accusations of heresy – when other people didn’t like his beliefs. Some of that was probably due to what we’d call “disturbing the peace” today.

Paul obeyed a good number of the rules of his society, those of Judea and those of Rome, but not all. Not enough. He died at the legal order of a Roman Emperor.

Sometime in the first half of the second century, Bishop Polycarp of Smyrna wrote, “Pray for all the saints. Pray also for kings, and potentates, and princes, and for those that persecute and hate you, and for the enemies of the cross, that your fruit may be manifest to all, and that ye may be perfect in Him.”

Did you notice? Pray for the saints. Then pray for a group that includes kings, potentates, and princes, and those that persecute and hate you. I think that Polycarp considered the powerful of the Empire as those who persecuted him and his fellow Christians, because, well, they did. Like Paul before him, he was martyred at the orders of a Roman official in the mid-150s.

How does anyone live a quiet and peaceable life if the authorities have set against you? How does anyone live a quiet and peaceable life if the authorities themselves have chosen to do the things that cause havoc in a community: theft, violence, recklessness, carelessness, lies? How does anyone live a quiet and peaceable life if the authorities enshrine religious, racial, or gender prejudice in law? The simple truth is that those who rule have an outsized impact on everyone else.

We pray for them not because they are inherently right, but because their impact is so great. When they do well, everyone benefits. When they do badly, some benefit, and some suffer. Some suffer a lot.

Keep in mind that as First Timothy was being written, Romans prayed to their emperors as deities. As Christian A. Eberhart writes at Working Preacher, “In this kind of imperial milieu, the request in 1 Timothy 2:2 to pray ‘for kings’ instead of ‘to the kings’ takes on new meaning. It implies most ostensibly that rulers, like everybody else, depend on the guidance and mercy of God. Furthermore, it indirectly implies that they are not divine but mortal humans.”

We pray for the rulers for the same reason we pray for everyone else: that it might be easier for them to do well, to do the things that foster quiet and peaceable lives for their communities. We pray for everyone so that they are not so burdened with their cares that they give way to the errors of self-centeredness and fear. We pray for everyone because it takes everyone to make a just society.

We act so that people have someone else to emulate, to work with, to live quietly with, to live peaceably with.

And we insist that this quiet and peace be for everyone, not just for “us,” because when peace is denied to anyone, it will break for everyone.

For everyone we pray.

Amen.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Sermon

Pastor Eric makes changes from his prepared sermon as he preaches. Sometimes it’s intentional.

Photo of a peace lily by Eric Anderson.

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

What I’m Thinking: Quiet and Peaceful Lives

In our prayers for quiet and peaceful lives, who should we pray for? Everyone.

Here’s a transcript:

I’m thinking about the second chapter of First Timothy (1 Timothy 2:1-7), in which we are urged to raise our “supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings” for everyone, particularly for those who are in positions of power and authority, so we might live quiet and peaceable lives: lives of godliness; lives of dignity.

The first thing I’ll note is that Paul directed these prayers to be raised for everyone. It’s up to a community whether they are going to set themselves up as a place which is consistent with quiet and peaceful lives, in which lives of godliness and dignity can be maintained by everyone. It’s not up to just one or two. We all have to cooperate to make that happen.

It is true, however, that there are major questions that people in authority — they make the choices, and others follow along. Sometimes these are choices but the better: choices that lead towards peace. Sometimes they are choices for the worse: decisions that lead towards war, and when people follow those choices.

I can’t help but observe that the Apostle Paul himself did not manage to live a quiet and peaceable life. It was a life, I think we’d have to say, directed towards godliness. It was a life in which he insisted upon his own dignity and those of other followers of Christ. But it was a life that led him into conflict over and over and over again with those in authority. It was a life that led to a martyr’s death at the orders of the Emperor of Rome.

I have no doubt that he raised his supplications and prayers, that he gave thanks for the good decisions of the officials that he ran into, but I also have no doubt that, well, not everybody in those communities did the things that were needful so that they and their neighbors could live peaceful and quiet lives. And certainly not all of the rulers that he encountered did so — definitely not the last.

Let us continue to raise our prayers. Let us continue to hold those in authority in prayer, not because they are doing what God wants, but because they can be a part of doing what God wants.

And let us continue to pray for one another that we might live and thrive in communities of quiet and peace, lives in which we might live faithfully, lives in which we might maintain our dignity.

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 What I'm Thinking

What I’m Thinking: Fire from the Sky

When Jesus’ disciples asked if he would punish a village with fire from the sky, he said no.

Here’s a transcript:

I apologize for the scratchy voice. I’m recovering from a respiratory infection, and, well, the voice comes back more slowly, but I’ll do the best I can. And if you can’t understand what I’m saying, you can try the transcript at holycrosshilo.com.

I’m thinking about the ninth chapter of Luke’s Gospel (Luke 9:51-62). Jesus decided to set his face towards Jerusalem, that is, to begin a journey — what would be his final journey —towards the capital city not just of the Hebrew people were also of the Jewish faith. But along the way, he went through a village of Samaritans. But because he was going to Jerusalem, the Samaritans would not receive him. Jesus’ disciples asked, “Shall we ask God to send fire from heaven to destroy them?” Jesus said, “No,” and they went on their way.

Two thousand years later, we don’t ask God to send fire from heaven. We send it ourselves. And it doesn’t much matter what nation loads the airplanes with bombs. What matters is that death and destruction fall from the sky. And while you can say some targets are legitimate military targets, the simple truth is that people die.

People die.

Sometimes they’re soldiers — whose lives are also worth a great deal in the eyes of God. Sometimes it is civilians. Sometimes it is children.

Shall we send fire from the sky? Jesus said no.

Peace is so precious. Yet we squander it.

Shall we send fire from the sky?

Jesus said no.

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: Leaving Peace

May 25, 2025

Acts 16:9-15
John 14:23-29

These words of Jesus come from John’s account of the Last Supper, specifically from the long (three chapters worth) speech we usually call “Jesus’ Farewell Address to his Disciples.” During Bible study this week (and last week as well), I think it’s safe to say that people found these words to be assuring and, at the same time, confusing. Jesus spoke of coming and going and wouldn’t say where.

We get confused, and a little anxious, and we know how the story goes after this. We know that Jesus spoke of his crucifixion as leaving, of his resurrection as returning, and how were the disciples to understand what he told them without knowing about that? I suspect that Jesus’ friends listened to most of this address the same way I’ve listened to a number of speeches or lectures in my life: letting the words flow over me in the desperate hope that I’ll pick up something sometime that will make it all make sense.

Given our difficulties figuring out all Jesus said in the Gospel of John, I think the disciples didn’t figure it out until after the resurrection, and even then it probably took some time, wouldn’t you think?

Brian Peterson points out at Working Preacher that one of the important things Jesus was trying to convey was that whatever happened, they would not be left alone. He writes, “The first disciples asked where Jesus was staying (1:38); now they have their answer: Jesus is staying with them. Jesus is certainly going away, yet paradoxically, the life of the church is not marked by Jesus’ absence but by the presence of an abiding God.”

Jesus promised that presence through the Holy Spirit, and went on to promise something else: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”

Peace. Peace.

What did Jesus mean by peace?

Let’s face it, he didn’t mean, “You’re going to live an easy life.” His followers didn’t live easy lives in the first century, and they’re not living easy lives in the twenty-first century.

Even so, people accept an all-too-limited idea of peace. If there’s no war, we might think, there’s peace. Mind you, an end to war is an important step toward peace. There’s no peace in Ukraine or Gaza or Myanmar these days because there are wars going on. Organized violence destroys peace.

So does the violence of official coercion. Osvaldo Vena writes at Working Preacher, “The peace that Jesus gives contrasts sharply with the world’s peace. Even though this affirmation has been spiritualized by conservative and fundamentalist readings of John it is pretty obvious that in its present context this text has in mind the first century world and its understanding of peace as that of the Pax Romana. Therefore, we have here a profound critique of the social and political order of the day.”

The Pax Romana, the Peace of Rome, was enforced by a military establishment that routinely committed mass executions, enslavements, and savage punishments. Thirty years after Jesus was crucified – a torturous method of execution used by Romans against non-Romans – a British chief named Prasutagus died, leaving authority over the Iceni tribe to his two daughters. The Romans in Britain ignored his will and annexed his territory. According to the Roman historian Tacitus, “…his kingdom was pillaged by centurions, his household by slaves; as though they had been prizes of war. As a beginning, his wife Boudicca was subjected to the lash and his daughters violated: all the chief men of the Icenians were stripped of their family estates, and the relatives of the king were treated as slaves. Impelled by this outrage and the dread of worse to come — for they had now been reduced to the status of a province — they flew to arms, and incited to rebellion the Trinobantes and others, who, not yet broken by servitude, had entered into a secret and treasonable compact to resume their independence.“

Boudica’s rebellion failed, of course. A Roman force broke her army and slaughtered not just the soldiers but the women and even the pack animals.

Pax Romana.

The peace the world gives. You may recognize it. It’s been popular for millennia.

It was not, is not, the peace Jesus gives.

In the 1985 Pronouncement “Affirming the United Church of Christ as a Just Peace Church,” the 15th General Synod defined Just Peace as “the interrelation of friendship, justice, and common security from violence.” In a just and peaceful community, people live without concern about imminent violence, enjoy the political rights we highly value, and have access to the necessities of life including clean water, health care, food, housing, and employment.

Any other peace, I’d say, and I think Jesus would say, is not peace. It’s better than outright war, but it’s not peace. Not fully. Not completely. Not truly.

There are a lot of people out there, many of whom claim the title of Christian as not just their identity but their authority for what they say, who assert that peace is gained by adhering to their rules and nobody else’s. It’s an historically popular opinion. I mentioned a few weeks ago that the Emperor Charlemagne imposed the death penalty on non-Christian religious observance in parts of his empire. The Church created the office of the Inquisition in the 12th century and through it instigated full-on wars of massacre and pillage against groups with differing Christian theologies. They went on to bring torture and death to non-Christians in Europe. One of the early English translators of the Bible, William Tyndale, was burned to death in 1536 for his Protestant writings. The wars between Protestants and Catholics have stained the world with blood and the Church with shame.

Would that it had ended there. But force as a substitute for peace is as popular as it ever was.

Its most obvious face in the United States is in Immigration and Customs Enforcement. They’ve come to coffee farms on this island. They’ve staked out schools. They’ve claimed that political speech is equivalent to terroristic threatening. At a recent meeting of the Micronesian Ministry Committee of the Hawai’i Conference, we learned that some Micronesians are avoiding even travel within the United States because they fear their status will be arbitrarily questioned when returning to Hawai’i.

In the meantime, the House of Representatives has passed a bill that reduces funding for Medicare, which provides access to medical care to the nation’s kupuna, by an estimated $500 billion, according to Robert Reich. Medicaid cuts, which serve the nation’s poor, will cause an estimated 8.6 million people to lose coverage. He writes in a recent post on social media:

“4. How much will the top 0.1 percent of earners stand to gain from it? (Nearly $390,000 per year).

5. If you figure in the benefit cuts and the tax cuts, will Americans making between about $17,000 and $51,000 gain or lose? (They’ll lose about $700 a year).

6. How about Americans with incomes less than $17,000? (They’ll lose more than $1,000 per year on average).

7. How much will the bill add to the federal debt? ($3.8 trillion over 10 years.)”

Pardon me if this doesn’t sound like Jesus’ peace to me. It sounds like the Pax Romana. It sounds like “more for me, less for you.” It sounds like…

Well. It doesn’t sound like Jesus.

Karoline Lewis writes at Working Preacher, “Those who say they ‘keep Jesus’ words’ and yet whose words — and actions, for that matter — in no way reflect Jesus’ love. How should we and do we respond to such observable duplicity? Do we look away? Do we remain silent? And why? Because of anxiety? Too worried about the bottom line to be bold in the proclamation of God’s love? Because of fear? Too concerned about securing our future and forgetting that our future, and the future of the church, is in God’s hands? Because of misplaced conviction? Thinking that success of ministry is all up to us, leaving behind the truth that it’s in God we trust?”

The truth is that when Jesus left peace with us, he left a challenge with us. He didn’t leave us a peace that had been accomplished. He left us a peace toward which we strive. He didn’t leave us a peace that makes us feel good. He left us a peace for which we hope. He didn’t leave us a peace that already stands. He left us a peace for us to build.

Yes, that’s not as the world gives. The world will happily give us a peace that is not peace, and insist that it’s the only peace there is.

It’s not. Christ’s peace lies before us. Christ’s peace is the only peace worth having. Christ’s peace is worth building.

Amen.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Sermon

Pastor Eric changes things while preaching. Sometimes intentionally.

The image is Christ Taking Leave of the Apostles by Duccio di Buoninsegna (between 1308 and 1311) – Web Gallery of Art: Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7922656.

Rev. Eric Anderson What I'm Thinking

What I’m Thinking: Jesus’ Peace

Jesus gave his peace to his disciples at the Last Supper. It’s a peace for us to pass on.

Here’s a transcript:

 I’m thinking about the fourteenth chapter of John’s Gospel (John 14:23-29), a portion of what we call Jesus’ Farewell Address to his Disciples. John gave three full chapters of his book to instructions and encouragement that Jesus gave to his friends at the conclusion of the Last Supper before they went out to the Garden of Gethsemane.

In this, and let’s face it very brief, section of the much longer address, Jesus was trying to answer a question about why the entire world wasn’t hearing about him. And he said that the first things are for those who love him — love Jesus — and are dedicated to carrying on his work. Others (he didn’t say here but he said later) would need to learn about the message of salvation through them, through Jesus’ followers.

He also said something about what he was giving them in this section. “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you… Do not let your hearts be troubled; do not let them be afraid.”

I nearly always read this section of John’s Gospel at a funeral because peace of the heart is so hard to find when we are in the midst of grief. But peace of the heart and soul is also hard to find in a lot of places, and it is essential that we recognize that our role is to bring that peace that Christ has given us. This is one of the ways that we know that we are loving Jesus. This is one of the ways that we know that we are following Christ. Are we bringing peace? And if others around us are looking at our actions — if we are coming with coercion or even with violence; if we are disregarding their welfare and their peace — then we are not loving Jesus. We are not following Christ.

“My peace I leave with you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not let them be afraid.”

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: Unarmored

August 25, 2024

Psalm 34:15-22
Ephesians 6:10-20

It was a hymn tune first, with lyrics that included “Oh Brothers” (and in the next verse “Oh Sisters”) “will you meet me on Cannan’s happy shore?” It was one of those sung in the camp meeting worship services of early 19th century American settlements in the West.

With the arrival of the Civil War, however, the tune found a new set of lyrics. “John Brown’s body lies a moldering in the grave; his soul’s a marching on.” It became a marching anthem for soldiers of the Union Army, who took inspiration from the intense anti-slavery activist John Brown, who had been executed after a frustrated attempt to seize guns to outfit an uprising among enslaved African Americans in 1859.

Julia Ward Howe heard the song during a review of Union troops in Washington, DC. A companion, the Rev. James Freeman Clarke, suggested that she come up with a new set of words – and she did. “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” became a marching anthem for the Union armies as they moved to battles throughout the 87 year old nation.

The Civil War is still, today, the deadliest conflict in the history of the United States of America. “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” played a role in inspiring  hundreds of thousands to kill or be killed.

I get… anxious… about military imagery in hymns, theology, and yes, in Scripture. Human beings are gifted at transforming military metaphors into actual assaults. For that matter, they transform other symbols for use in armed conflict. Famously, the Emperor Constantine put two superimposed Greek letters on his shield before he went to battle against Maxentius in 312 with the Imperial throne at stake. The letters were Chi and Rho – which look like an X and a P to our eyes – the first two letters of “Christ” in Greek.

Constantine won. Maxentius died. We don’t know how many others died with him. Constantine legalized Christianity in the next year, ending nearly three hundred years of intermittent persecution. Unfortunately, it would also strengthen the notion of a warrior Christ, one who would give military victory, and incidentally label all those opposing Rome, or France, or Spain, or England (or take your pick) as evildoers to be cut off from remembrance on the earth.

The Apostle’s metaphor of the Whole Armor of God has been used to endorse the holy wars, the inquisitions, the crusades that have taken so many lives and grieved their purported Divine endorser. I have no doubt it would also grieve the Apostle.

Sarah Henrich writes at Working Preacher:

Yes, it is dangerous indeed to classify those with whom one disagrees as agents of the devil. We have three protections against making Ephesians 6 a warrant for warfare or oppression:

  • first, this metaphor was written for minority persons;
  • second, flesh and blood opponents are not those against whom one contends;
  • finally, the very nature of the armor makes clear that the message here is a survival strategy for persons of faith in a hostile world, not a strategy for aggression.

Take a good look at this Whole Armor of God. It’s not intended for a battle against human beings. Imagine going into a conflict equipped only with truth, righteousness, peace, faith, salvation, and the Spirit. The people who came with real armor and real weapons are going to hurt you. To put it into poetry:

I’m grateful that the struggle is not with
the powers of blood and flesh. Not if
I’m to rely upon these items
for protection of my vital spark.

What happens to the righteous? Why,
they suffer, as do those who speak of peace.
A shield of faith is powerless against
an arrow, or a club, or fist.

Should I entrust my head to its
salvation? The logic doesn’t work for me.
I wish I thought an offense of the Spirit,
of the Word, protected anyone, but… no.

And worst of all, to recommend
I gird my waist with Truth, as if
the truth has ever carried any weight
when cut so easily by lies.

Those virtues will not help you very much in a human conflict, let’s face it. Certainly not in physical combat. They’re not always very helpful in negation or debate. More than one party to a lawsuit has found that truth and righteousness falter under the pressure of greed and lies.

And peace may be the most fragile thing of all. It vanishes as soon as violence or coercion take place.

Why, then, did the Apostle advise us to enter these encounters essentially unprotected, unarmored?

It’s because there is no substitute for virtue.

Remember that these virtues are not about interactions with people – though I note that we should be using them in interactions with people – they are primarily about resisting the influence of spiritual forces. In our tradition at this time we don’t give a lot of attention to the idea of spiritual forces other than God. We don’t explain mental illness or distress with possession by demons. We don’t explain the power of greed as resulting from demonic influence. We don’t understand our own temptations as coming from anyone other than ourselves.

Many of our ancestors, physical and spiritual, did. They employed these virtues of truth, righteousness, peace, faith, salvation, and the Spirit to resist the temptations around them, temptations to selfishness, to the abuse of power, to the abandonment of their relationship with Christ. In that context, these virtues had the ability to help.

As I say, we don’t think that way about temptation. For us, it comes from within.

Does it matter?

Whether temptation is an external force or an internal collision with desire, these same virtues have the capacity to help us resist. When we search for the truth about this thing we’ve come to desire, perhaps we’ll learn not only that it’s not all it claims to be, but that it won’t make us happy anyway. I keep wondering whether, before the 2007-2008 financial crisis, if more people had spent more time understanding the truth about the financial instruments being traded, if they would have calmed things down. If more of them had been able to check their greed at the door, would things have changed?

I think so.

It’s not just the obvious temptations of sex and greed. As Katie Hines-Shah writes at The Christian Century, “’Spiritual forces of evil’ are present in mundane human life. Racism, sexism, homophobia, greed, destruction of the environment, lack of concern for human life, failure to do the good that is within us—these are forces of evil, from the classroom to the boardroom. Faithful Christians need to gird themselves against them.”

Let’s face it, the world has taught us racism, sexism, homophobia, greed, disregard for the environment. We see these things sometimes subtly and sometimes dramatically, from the offhand racial microaggression to the open and casual dumping of toxic waste. We have been taught to value human life, but to value the lives of ourselves, our families, our communities higher than others. And that makes a difference. It permits us to tolerate or even support evil.

What have we learned about doing good? That it’s the thing to do? Sometimes – but not always, right? Sometimes it would be futile, so we shouldn’t. Sometimes it would promote bad habits in someone else, so we shouldn’t. Sometimes it would put us at risk, so we shouldn’t.

All of those can be difficult questions… but can’t we do the good that is within us more often than we do?

I sincerely wish that truth, righteousness, peace, faith, salvation, and the Holy Spirit offered real protection in the real world. They don’t. They offer us protection only in the world of the spirit, which is a strange place with strange rules. The sad truth is that we confront the evils of this world basically unarmored against their physical manifestations. The sad truth is that we frequently fail to understand the ways in which these virtues protect us against injuries to our souls.

Take on, then, this Whole Armor of God with eyes wide open. Know that you will still face the challenges of life, and that you will still face challenges to the soul. Those virtues may not help you much in the world.

But those virtues are the best there are to protect you against spiritual harms. Those virtues will guard your soul.

Amen.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Sermon

Pastor Eric prepares the sermon text in advance, but while preaching things happen and things change. What you view will differ from what you read.

Photo of Roman crocodile armor by Ken Kennedy (taken in the British Museum) – https://www.flickr.com/photos/kkennedy/503916291/, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16228691.