Easter 4 – A Message on Ephesians 4:1–2 and Luke 13:6–9 for St. Luke's Lutheran Church, Richardson, Texas
I woke up in the middle of the night this week from a nightmare that felt all too real. First, a lizard crawled out from under my foot in my indoor slip-on shoes. Then the mom lizard. Then suddenly—like dozens and dozens many-legged babies—crawling out from under my foot. I could see and, worse, feel them crawling under my foot. Then I was fighting a huge black spider. It attached its legs to my hands, and I couldn’t get it off. I was waving my arms, trying to scream for help. At first nothing came out. Then finally I yelled loud enough that my own voice woke me up—arms flailing in the air.
Once in St. Louis, I was fighting some creature so hard, I fell out of bed and kicked the dresser. So Dan is glad on the nights when I’m just talking in my sleep (I have prayed and preached in my sleep, too!).
After these horrible nightmares, I woke up in the dark, heart racing, and thought: This didn’t come out of nowhere. Because right now, life feels a little like that nightmare: Overwhelming. Out of control.
Dan was out of town all week. Erin, our Administrator, was on vacation as well. (I’ll never do that again!). Everything that could go wrong, did—issues with my laptop, technology, the automatic lock at home stopped working, the printers/scanner at church, building issues—everything needed attention at once. Also one of our kids came to town with a friend—wonderful!—and they brought ther puppy, who is not exactly housetrained (my bathroom is not his bathroom!). And then Synod Assembly was happening this weekend, our annual church meeting.
So, Dan is gone, I’m sleeping alone, and fighting the plagues of Egypt by myself, which is my brain's way of processing a lot of information and emotions that I wasn’t paying attention to during the day. Then I realized: here I am preparing a sermon on Patience, and when life piles up, patience is the first thing to go—especially patience with myself, to process all that was going on, and patience with tasks, and patience with others.
Maybe you know that feeling too. It’s usually not one big thing—it’s ten small things all at once. A schedule with no room to breathe. A relationship asking more than you feel you can give. A situation that is not resolving as quickly as you hoped. And suddenly, we’re not responding—we’re reacting. We get short with people we love.
We feel irritated over things that normally wouldn’t bother us. We want answers now. Change now. Resolution now. And we live in a world that reinforces this:
• Faster is better
• Immediate is normal
• Waiting feels like failure
• It if takes more than 5 minutes at the drive-through we have to comment that this isn’t really “fast” food.
And yet… deep down, we know that the most important things in life do not work at lightning speed. Good, healthy relationships do not grow overnight. Healing does not happen instantly--it takes time, rest, ebb and flow. Faith does not deepen on demand. And neither does patience.
Listen again to the Apostle Paul in Ephesians 4: I beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called…with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love. Patience isn’t just a personality trait. It’s part of our calling—right alongside humility, gentleness, and love. And this word Paul uses—bearing with one another—it doesn’t mean “putting up with.” It means holding space for one another. Making room for each other’s imperfections, growth, and timing. It’s relational patience.
It gets explained and lived out in the parable Jesus tells this story in Luke 13—about a fig tree that isn’t producing fruit. For three years, the owner comes looking… and finds nothing. So he says what we might expect: Cut it down. Get rid of it. Sounds like corporate downsizing. It’s not working. It’s not producing. It’s taking up space. But the gardener says:
• Give it one more year.
• Let me dig around it.
• Let me nourish it.
• Let me care for it.
That’s patience. Not passive waiting. Active, hopeful investment. The gardener doesn’t ignore the lack of fruit—he leans in. He invests. The gardenert ends. She nourishes. She trusts that growth is still possible.
And that’s how God is with us.
God is patient—not because God doesn’t care about growth, but because God does. God doesn’t give up on us when we’re not producing fruit. God doesn’t cut us off when we’re slow to change. God stays with us… tends to us… nourishes us—with love, forgiveness, community, bread and wine, hope. God invests everything in us.
That’s why he sent Jesus, a human being, who inches his way down the birth canal, and how to read and write, and how to think and feel like us, and go through puberty. Because God invests life, heart, death, resurrection, and eternity in us. That is patience—eternal patience. That is trusting that fruit will come, that our side of the relationship with God will grow and mature like Jesus did.
The good news is: you don’t have to manufacture patience on your own.Patience is a fruit of the Spirit. It’s not something we force, or muster by our own will—it’s something God grows in us. Patience is that quiet confidence that says:
- I don’t have to fix everything right now
- I don’t have to control everything.
- God is present in this moment—and the next one too.
Still, there are ways we can open ourselves to that growth—especially when our patience is stretched. Because patience gets hard when when we feel overwhelmed and out of control—like I did last week
- or when a child is struggling and not changing as quickly as you hoped
- when a spouse or partner doesn’t see what you see
- when work feels overwhelming
- when prayers seem unanswered
- It’s hard when you feel like the fig tree—or when you’re waiting on someone else to change.
So how do we make space for God to grow patience in us? First, it seems the hardest person to be patient with is ourselves. My week might have felt less overwhelming if I had just taken 10 or 15 minutes and sat with God and named what was feeling unmanageable. Then God would have said, “don’t worry, I’ve got this” and maybe I could have avoided the battle with lizards and spiders.
A second way to make space for God, is to slow down our reactions. Patience begins in that small space between what happens and how we respond. Before the words come out. Before frustration takes over.
• Just take a breath.
• A pause.
• A simple prayer: “God, be with me in this moment.”
• For some, it helps to count to 10, or just to say, “let me think a minute..”
We remind ourselves that we trust God’s timing more than our urgency. We want things fixed now—but God is often doing something deeper. Patience asks: What might God be doing here that we can’t see yet?
Third, we practice staying. In a world that walks away quickly, patience stays present (unless you are unsafe for any reason). Patience stays in the conversation.
Patience stays in the relationship. Patience stays committed to growth—even when it’s slow.
And what about the children and grandchildren in our lives or our circle of influence? We don’t teach patience by telling kids to “be patient.” We teach it by living it.
Children learn patience:
• when we don’t snap at them when we’re tired
• when we listen instead of rushing
• when we model calm instead of chaos, even when we’re stressed or running late
• when we show them people are worth time
Children learn patience when they see us:
• wait without complaining
• trust without panicking
• love without giving up
Because patience isn’t just taught. It’s caught.
So here’s your invitation this week:
Pay attention to where your patience is being stretched.
• When are you feeling reactive?
• Where are you wanting things to move faster than they are?
• Where are you tempted to give up—on a situation, a person, or yourself?
And instead of pushing harder…what if you came alongside Jesus, the gardener? What if you: gave it time, tended it with care, trusted that God is still at work, because patience is not about doing nothing. It’s about trusting that growth takes time—and choosing to stay present while God is growing you.
God is already at work in you. Slowly. Steadily. Faithfully. Even when you don’t see it yet.
Does this mean I won't have any more nightmares with lizards crawling and battling giant spiders? I hope so, but even if I do, focusing on patience this week reminds me that God is with me in the terrors of the day as well as the night. When life starts to feel overwhelming, and out of control—we can remember the fig tree. Remember the God who is patient with you.
We can pause.
We can breathe.
We are not alone.
Because patience isn’t about having less to carry. ..It’s about knowing Who carries it with you. Jesus carries our whole life with us. And his patience takes root in us, we begin to experience:
• the patience that steadies us when life is rocky
• the patience that grounds us when life feels like too much
• the patience that trusts God is at work doing much more than we can see
And in time…like the fig tree, the fruit will come. And as we bear this fruit that lasts, our mission together becomes ever more delicious, wonderful, and life-giving!
Message for Easter 2 on Philippians 4: 4, 10-14; John 20:19-31 at St. Luke's Lutheran Church, Richardson, Texas
When one of our kids was pretty young, they were struggling with a few things—some of it was coming from comparing themselves to siblings, some of it just wanting a place to belong that was all their own. And I was worried… that I was flunking as a mom. So I went to a counselor who spent time with our little ball of anger… and then he spent some time with me.
Much to my relief, he said this was pretty normal– garden-variety family stuff. Growing up is hard. It can be tough even before you get to kindergarten. But I’ll never forget what he said next. I can’t remember his name, but I can still see him looking straight at me when he said, “You know that it’s not your job as a mother to make your child happy… right?”
And I gave him a confused look and said, “Well… nooo… maybe? Is this a trick question?” I mean—what mom doesn’t want to make their kids happy? But he said it again: “It’s not your job as a mom to make your kids happy.” And he could tell… I did not know that. Because I was working pretty hard every single day to make that happen. No wonder I was exhausted.
And then he said something that helped me see differently: “Your job as a mother is to help your children learn to cope with whatever happens in life—both the good stuff and the hard stuff. They’re not always going to be happy. But they can grow up knowing they are supported…and that they can handle whatever comes.”
That moment didn’t just make me a better parent. It helped me understand the difference between happiness… and joy. Because I was trying to make my child happy in circumstances that were not going to change. What I needed to do instead was to help them learn how to live in those circumstances—how to see what was still good, how to make the best of it, maybe experience joy…even when happiness maybe wasn’t possible.
Because happiness, I realized, is about circumstances—things going our way, life working out how we want. But joy… joy is something much deeper. Joy can carry us through when nothing is going our way. Maybe you’ve had a moment like that too—when something clicked, and you realized there’s a difference between happiness… and joy.
This is exactly what the Apostle Paul is talking about when he writes, Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Always? Paul isn’t writing that from a beach somewhere. He’s writing this from prison. And then he says something just as surprising, “I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.” I have learned…whatever the circumstance.
Joy, for Paul, is not automatic. It’s something that grows over time—something rooted, not in what’s happening around him, but rather, what’s happening inside him —Who is holding him, where he centered, rooted, focused-–which is always and only in the risen Lord!
And what about the disciples? They are not happy or joyful at the beginning of our story today. They are hiding behind locked doors. Their world has fallen apart. They’re shaking with fear. And right into that fear…Jesus comes to them. Peace be with you. And he shows them his scars–it really is Jesus, alive again! Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Joy doesn’t come because their circumstances have suddenly improved. The world is still dangerous. Roman oppression still rules the day. Their future is still uncertain.
But Jesus is here, and that changes everything. Joy comes from the presence of the risen Christ. Even Thomas—who misses that first moment— who doubts, and questions—when he finally sees Jesus, he doesn’t say, “Now everything is easy.” He says, My Lord and my God. Joy is born in a deep and abiding relationship with Jesus. In trust. In knowing we are never alone.
Like the Apostle Paul, the disciples experience deep joy not because of circumstances happening around them, But rather because of what’s happening inside of them
Who is holding them, where they are centered, rooted, & focused-–which is always in a relationship with the risen Lord!
So what does this mean for us? Because we are still tempted—every day—to chase after happiness–which is fleeting. To fix everything. To smooth everything over.
To make life work just right—for ourselves, for our kids-–no matter how old they are–-and for everyone we love. I still catch myself want to make my kids happy--I don't do it perfectly. But maybe that’s not the goal. Maybe the goal is not happiness…
The Value that lasts is learning joy. This week I invite you to try 3 ways to pay attention to and experience joy.
Finding Joy in Simple things is a great way to start–it helps us see God’s love show up in even small ways. We do this by:
- Noticing the good that’s already here
- Talking time to laugh–at the unexpected, at puns, silly jokes. Sometimes we look them up on our phone and read them
- Getting outside for a walk and seeing how many colors you can find
- Pausing long enough to say, “Thank you, God, for this right here
We can help each other and any kids in our circles
- Name what’s hard… without rushing to fix it
- Do something positive on hard days, like getting ice cream or calling a relative or friend who lives far away
- Help them know they are loved… no matter what
- Let them know they can handle more than they think
A second way to instill joy is Spontaneity–Jesus showed up for the Apostle Paul and the disciples in a spontaneous, surprising way–so practicing spontaneity can keep our eyes open for what God is up to. One year when we were on a vacation with Dan’s family, all staying in a big house, it came time to clean up on the last day.
There was still ice cream in the freezer, so we let the kids eat ice cream for breakfast. Our kids have had more vacation moments than they can count, but this spontaneous-ice-cream-breakfast memory still brings a lot of joy.
Dan tells the story of the summer after 4th or 5th grade. His dad had just gotten home from work in Manhattan. He looked at Dan, and said, “Do you want to go to a baseball game?” And off they went. His Dad changed his clothes and drove from New Jersey back into the city to Shay Stadium to see the Mets game. Dan can still tell you who the pitcher was, who they played and the final score. He’s been to many baseball games he does not remember, but the spontaneity of this one, is a gift of deep joy.
Spontaneity is a great way to spark learning joy because it helps us notice when love, and therefore God, is showing up (yes! every time love shows up, it's God!)
Third and most of all—we practice joy by pointing our children (and ourselves) back to our Savior--because joy isn’t something we manufacture. It’s something we receive. Joy is knowing, even when life is messy…even when things don’t go our way…even when the doors feel closed and we’re afraid…Jesus still stands among us and says, Peace be with you. So this is easy to remember Simple things, Spontaneity, and in our Savior.
So having received the joy of the Lord today…we are going to celebrate joy together! Not in some big, complicated way, but in small, simple, real ways. Cards for Carol & Tom and the joy their love and marriage brings to all of us! How cool they met at St. Luke's and now they're getting married here! We have Cupcakes! Conversations! Munchkins! Sidewalk chalk! Games! More Bubbles–all in the Gathering Area and out that front door outside.
These all offer moments that remind us: Joy doesn’t have to be perfect. Joy doesn’t have to be earned. Joy shows up… in the middle of ordinary life. And when we notice it—and let it grow in us. When we share it—when we laugh, play, & celebrate together—we become the kind of community that helps one another experience and hold onto joy…even when life gets hard. Because we do not do this alone. We rejoice… together. We practice joy… together. We follow Jesus… together.
The good news is that Joy is not something we have to make or chase. Joy has already come to us. Risen. Alive. Standing among us. Saying, even now: Peace and joy be with you.
Easter Message based on Matthew 28:1-10, April 5, 2026 at St. Luke's Lutheran Church, Richardson, Texas
I was at a conference last month and I heard this true story about a minister named Pastor Mark:
His church member, “Joe,” was dying of cancer, and his teenage son, “Junior,” was angry at the unfairness of it all. Joe asked Pastor Mark to stay close to Junior after he was gone. Before his dad died, Junior asked Pastor Mark how he would know that his dad was OK after he passed. Pastor Mark said, “You will know. I don’t know how, but I promise you, you will know.”
Afterward, Pastor Mark thought to himself, “Why did I say that? I can’t promise he will see a sign; I can’t guarantee that he will know peace.” He tried to love this family well, to be there, to say the right and meaningful things… and now he worried he had made a big mistake.
It was spring, and the day of Joe’s funeral came. Near the end of the graveside service, a single butterfly flew into view and landed on Joe’s coffin. Pastor Mark looked over at Junior, raised his eyebrows and nodded lightly as if to say, “Here is your sign that your dad is OK.” Junior scowled at him, rolled his eyes—in a way only teenagers can—and with a huff of anger that a stupid butterfly could mean anything at all, stomped off to the car.
Afterward, Pastor Mark apologized to Joe’s wife, and she said not to worry. It will just take time. She was grateful for all he had done. But Pastor Mark left the service with the feeling that love is not enough. You try your best, you do everything you can—but love, at times, feels inadequate. He drove home feeling like a failure.
We have all been there--regardless of what keeps us occupied during the day or the relationships we have. Sometimes love just does not seem like enough:
- When your child is struggling and you don’t have the answer
- When your spouse or partner loses a job and you can’t fix it
- When someone you love is caught in addiction and you cannot save them
- When grief hits hard, and nothing you say or do makes the pain go away
We believe in love… but sometimes love feels powerless. If love is the greatest thing… If love is all we need…If love makes the world go round….why does it often feel like it’s just not enough?
It’s nice to know we are in good company
The two Mary’s in our Easter story go to the tomb because they love Jesus. But they go to the tomb with love that can only do one thing– grieve. Talk about feeling inadequate. Their love showed up over and over and over again–in meals made, clothes washed, water gathered, and so much more…but their love did not stop Jesus’ death. The women’s love was real. Their love was faithful. Their love was beautiful. But their love did not save Jesus.
But Easter is not the story of people who love well enough to fix everything. It is the story of God’s love refusing to let death have the last word.
Easter is the story of God's love… doing something their love, human love, our love cannot!
The earth shakes. The stone is rolled away. An angel speaks into their grief: Do not be afraid… he is not here; he has been raised!
God’s love is not just a feeling, or just a warm fuzzy...God’s love shows up. God’s love acts. God’s love makes a way where there is no way. God’s love makes life where there was only death. God’s love does what our love cannot.
And then, most amazing of all, the risen Jesus meets the two Marys on the road (a bonus-siting the angel does not fortell!). This matters! Because when Jesus meets them on the way… everything changes!
They came to the tomb with love that could only grieve. But when they encounter the risen Jesus, they are filled with something more. They are filled with an everlasting love in the risen Jesus, who has found them on the road. There is no reason to fear the future, or to fear our love is inadequate, because Jesus has done what he promised. He has gone ahead of them and meets them there–on the way, filling them with his presence and eternal love.
And with the two Marys, we can trust that Jesus’ love and presence, is already going ahead of us—on the road, on the way, in the middle of whatever we are facing—
especially when our love feels like it’s not enough. We need not fear this afternoon or tomorrow, or next week, because the risen Jesus is already there!
Remember Pastor Mark? His story didn’t end there. When he walked in his house after the graveside service, he got a call from Joe’s wife. She asked him to drop everything and come immediately. She didn’t sound upset—just urgent. She told him the front door was unlocked and to come downstairs to the room where Joe had been staying. When he got there, she said they had left the window open just to air out the room. Pastor Mark walked in… and saw Junior sitting on the bed, laughing and crying.
The bed was just covered in butterflies. God’s love can do what ours cannot.
The great news of Easter is that when our love runs out, God’s love shows up. When we don’t know what to say or how to fix it, we can trust that the risen Lord is already going ahead of us, and at work on the journey—and then we can ask how we might show up alongside. The signs may be small and easy to miss. The signs may be easy to dismiss.
But when we look with Easter eyes, we begin to see that resurrection love is already breaking in, and is always breaking in:
- The bird singing outside your window or when you walk into work
- A phone call or text at just the right time
- A song that lifts your spirit
- A stranger’s kindness
- And please—do not discount a solitary butterfly.
These aren’t solutions. They don’t fix everything.
But they are signs that love is still moving…that resurrection is already breaking into your life, that you are being held and guided by eternal love.
And like the two Marys, we can receive this love and let it move us to respond with new actions that show up for others, and bring good news!
For that is what Jesus’ love does. It fills us with hope and new life—and calls us into loving action. The women fall at his feet in worship… and then Jesus lifts them up and sends them out.
Resurrection love finds us on the road, and then sends us back onto the road for others. This is why we begin our Values that Stick series today. In Galatians, they’re called the Fruits of the Spirit. You can see the tree logo in your bulletin: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, & self-control!
We will focus on these values so they stick in ourselves, our kids, our grandkids. We will also post 5 activity cards for each Value/Fruit on the website and Facebook, so please watch for those!
Today we started with love. The eternal love of Jesus has found you on the road today, with many butterflies in the sanctuary! So this week, as you are sent on the road for others!
- Keep your Easter eyes open!
- Pray for the person you feel powerless to help
- Help the person you can—a card, a text, a call, a casserole
- Sit in the hard moment with someone–you often don’t need words
- Be kind to everyone you can, even in small ways
Trust that Jesus meets them, and you-–on the way. God will always show up, making much more out of our love than we can ever ask or imagine!
Message for Epiphany 4, given Feb. 1, 2026, on 1 Corinthians 1:18-31, Matthew 5:1-12 at St. Luke's Lutheran Church, Richardson, Texas
When Jesus sees the crowd in Matthew 5, he does not begin with healings, commandments, parables, or even asking for someone’s lunch to feed the people.
He begins with blessing–telling people they are fortunate, lucky, smiled upon by God.
Jesus looks at the very people who feel small, afraid, disoriented, or heartsick about the state of the world, the chaos of their community, the crises in their families — and Jesus says, “You are not forgotten. You are not outside God’s favor. You are really the blessed ones. For you are exactly where the kingdom begins.”
Maybe we hear this differently today—because so many of us, so many in Minnesota, so many across the country, and the world, are carrying grief, anger, and fear.
Fear about violence.
Worry about civil unrest.
Distress about the use of force against those exercising their rights.
Fear about safety, and real confusion about the future of our communities and our country.
Some feel powerless. Some feel unheard. Some feel like the ground beneath us is shifting.
Jesus sees all of this on the faces in front him, including our faces today, and the grieving, angry, broken-hearted faces in Minnesota, across the country, and in our conflict-ridden, unsettled world,
And into all of that, Jesus does not offer a political slogan.
He offers a way of being human.
But, we struggle with his words, his solution, his vision.
Is this really the time and place for the Beatitudes?
Because honestly, the Beatitudes sound naïve at first, don’t they? (Can I say this outloud in church?)
Blessed are the meek?
Blessed are the merciful?
Blessed are the peacemakers?
In a world that seems driven by domination, force, and outrage, this sounds… foolish.
Which is exactly where the Apostle Paul meets us in 1 Corinthians.
“The message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing,” Paul says, “but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.”
The cross does not look like power.
It looks like losing. It looks like weakness. It looks like love that refuses to retaliate, or match violence with violence.
But Paul says, This is exactly how God works.
God chooses what the world calls foolish to shame the wise.
God chooses what the world calls weak to shame the strong.
God shows up not in domination, but in self-giving love (that in the end has the power to overcome death).
So when Jesus blesses the poor in spirit, the mourners, the meek — he is not romanticizing suffering. Jesus reveals where God is already at work.
Jesus says, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”
This is not a command to feel sad. It is a permission to tell the truth. To mourn is to admit: things are not as they should be. Lives have been lost. Trust has been broken. Communities are afraid. People feel unseen, unheard, or unsafe. Mourning is not weakness. Mourning is spiritual honesty.
To mourn Alex Pretti and Renee Good is to demand honesty that things are not as they should be.
Jesus says the ones who dare to face reality without numbing, without pretending, without hardening their hearts — those are the ones who will encounter God’s comfort.
Not shallow reassurance, but the deep presence of a God who has also suffered, also wept, also been wounded by violence.
And there, you are fully human and fortunate, lucky and blessed to have the courage to live in the truth and the comfort of the God who holds you in the world that is not yet right. Because this is where God is at work in you and through you.
Jesus says Blessed Are Those Who Hunger and Thirst for Righteousness
Jesus does not say, “Blessed are those who are satisfied.”
He blesses those who hunger and thirst.
This is the longing for a world where people are treated with dignity.—not escorted to the car during an immigration arrest in their underwear, wrapped in a blanket in the dead of winter.
This is the hungering for a justice that applies to all human beings made in the image of God, even when an arrest is necessary.
Where truth matters. Where power serves life instead of crushing it. This is a holy longing.
And here is where the cross reshapes us. Hunger and thirst for righteousness is not the same as hunger for revenge. It is not winning at all costs. It cannot be fueled by hatred. Our anger is channeled and transformed at the cross so we can be fueled by love for our neighbor — even the neighbor with whom we disagree.
This kind of righteousness can look slow. It grows like a seed rather than a burst. And yes, to the world, it looks foolish. Yet there, when you hunger and thirst for righteousness, you are fully human and fortunate, lucky and blessed—because you will be filled with a right relationship with God. You will know that Jesus’ relationship with you heals. You will know the righteousness of Jesus which restores us even now, even when the world has not yet come into the fullness of the kingdom. Because this is where God is at work in you and through you.
Jesus says, Blessed Are the Merciful and the Peacemakers
Mercy does not mean ignoring harm.
Peacemaking does not mean pretending everything is fine.
Mercy means we refuse to let bitterness have the last word in our hearts. Because each of us requires grace at the end of every day—none of us are perfect—and the same is true for every other person on the planet, especially when we stop calculating that someone else’s sin as worse than ours. We all stand on equal footing, in need of grace and mercy.
Peacemaking means we work for a world where truth and reconciliation can meet. Jesus does not bless the peace-lovers. He blesses the peace-makers — the ones who step into tension without violence, who speak truth without contempt, who seek accountability without dehumanizing. This is hard. This peacemaking requires courage and the Holy Spirit. Because our instincts run toward outrage or withdrawal.
We were in Orlando this past week visiting the most beautiful granddaughter in the world. At the airport coming home on Friday, some passengers told us the tension on their tram to get from the terminal to the gate was so high, two men almost got into a fist fight on the crowded airport train. They said a woman standing near them stepped between the 2 men, pushed out her arms to separate them, and said, “we’re not doing this here!” And a fight was averted. She was a courageous peace-maker, where God was at work.
On the cross, Jesus absorbed violence without returning it. He exposed injustice without becoming unjust.
This is not passivity. It is the strongest thing love can do. Jesus calls us into this kind of bravery: love that tells the truth while love refuses to hate.
And there, when you are merciful, when you are a peacemaker, you are fully human and fortunate, lucky and blessed because you are embraced by God’s mercy, and you see God so clearly, overcoming death with life through the cross working through you and in you.
This is what God has done for Renee Good, and for Alex Pretti. They see God. And even in the tragedy of their deaths, we trust God is still at work, bringing light where we cannot yet see it.
Jesus ends with this: “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake.”
When you feel misunderstood for choosing mercy…
When you feel out of step with a culture of outrage…
When you feel insignificant for choosing love over dominance…
You are not alone.
You are walking the same road Jesus walked.
The Beatitudes are not instructions for how to avoid suffering.
They are a promise that suffering for love is never wasted in God’s kingdom.
For the kingdom does not come through domination. It comes through the cross of Jesus Christ—a love so powerful that God defeated sin, death and the devil and rose again to bring resurrected life to Jesus and to all of us!
We trust the power of this eternal life and love of God which is more powerful than death itself!
So we trust that the kingdom comes through foolish, Beatitude-people filled with the love of Christ Jesus, and who are shaped by the cross.
Filled with this Spirit, we can
- tell the truth about our grief without losing hope.
- long for justice without surrendering to hatred.
- engage the world without becoming hardened or embittered by it.
- We pray.
- We listen.
- We refuse to caricature those who see things differently.
- We support what protects human dignity and the common good.
- We act in ways that align with the mercy we have received.
And we are filled with Hope. The Beatitudes are not wishful thinking. They are a map of where God is already working.
Where people are honest enough to mourn — God is there.
Where people ache for what is right — God is there.
Where mercy interrupts bitterness — God is there.
Where someone steps between two angry people and says, “We’re not doing this here” — God is there.
This world began at the cross.
It is growing steadily, stubbornly, through ordinary people, like you and me, who choose the foolish, Beatitude way of Jesus.
And one day, Jesus Christ will finish what he started.
Until then, the kingdom comes like this:
Every time you refuse to hate someone who has made you afraid.
Every time you tell the truth without contempt.
Every time you choose mercy when outrage would be easier.
Every time you work for justice without losing your soul.
This week, I invite you to ask, “Where can I live the Beatitudes today?”
And you are most fully human and fortunate, lucky and blessed because that foolish, cross-shaped love —is where the kingdom is breaking-in through you.
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Linda Anderson-Little