God's Generosity: Youth Sermon and Adult Sermon

It was a good Sunday at Faith Lutheran, in Bristol, Tennessee.  I didn't have any brilliant new ideas for a youth sermon, so I went with a standard approach, modified a bit from last time.  I encouraged a thought experiment, stressing that no actual money would be given out.

The text was Matthew 20:  1-16:  laborers in a vineyard arriving at different times, all paid the same amount of money at the end, regardless of arrival time.

The 4 youth who are regulars, I asked if they would make a banner for the church.  It would be an all day project, from 9-6, and I'd pay each one of them a thousand dollars.  They agreed--no surprise.

What if I included some newer members of our youth church?  They could come at noon and be paid the same.  A bit of hesitation, but nodding heads.

What if toddler Malachi joined us at 3 p.m.?  Same amount of money, but starting much later.  Wrinkled noses, less agreement.

Now what if I included some adults, let's say, Carl, Pete, and Diane?  They could come at 5 p.m., work for an hour, get $1000 each--are we O.K. with that?  Definitely not.

After the thought experiment, a brief talk about God's generosity and ideas of fairness.  The adult sermon covered much the same ground.  I think that the youth sermon was more engaging, as it often is, on some level, even though the ideas are developed differently.

You can see the adult sermon here, on my YouTube channel.  If you'd like to read along, I posted the sermon manuscript in this blog post.

Sermon for Sunday, September 20, 2026

September 20, 2026
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



Matthew 20:1-16



Children have fierce notions of fairness. It’s fairly common for children with siblings to wonder which one is the favored one. If we’re lucky, we have parents who insist that all children are loved equally. My mom went so far as to make sure my sister and I had the exact same amount of Christmas presents to unwrap, so that we wouldn’t read anything into the pile of gifts.


Today’s parable explores the issue of fairness: that everyone should be treated fairly. But today’s Gospel asks us to consider what fairness means. Is it complete equity? Is it proportional? Needs based? Yield based equity? Is it promise based, or is it contractual justice?


Obviously, we’re not reading a capitalist management textbook. The householder pays all the workers equally, no matter how much work they’ve done. For most of us, we’d see this as a quick route to bankruptcy—by way of spending all of our cash, or the slower route to bankruptcy, by way of demoralizing your most dependable workers, the ones who show up to do a day’s work for a day’s pay, not the ones standing idle.


The workers standing idle might tempt us to a different reading of the parable, 2 different readings, depending on our relationship to work and depending on the translation of the text. If we read the words as “standing idle,” we might see these workers as lazy, people who could be working but are not—and they are rewarded for their laziness, paid just the same as those who have been working all day.


The Greek word is “argos.” It can mean “at leisure.” It can mean “free from work.” It can mean “lazy.”. It can mean what the late hired laborers offer as a reason for their idleness: “because no one has hired us.”


If we’re tempted to see Jesus teaching us a lesson about the value of capitalism and bosses and workers, you’d be about to hear a different sermon that frankly does not seem to be supported by the majority of Christ’s teaching.


It’s also tempting to see this parable as about God’s relationship to Jews and Christians, and while it’s one standard interpretation, it poses dangers. Throughout the Scriptures, a garden is often used as a way of talking about God’s relationship to people of the Covenant, and in today’s parable, the garden is not only for the Jewish people. From there, some interpreters see this text as showing a shift in God’s favor from Jewish people to Christians, but that interpretation isn’t supported by the text.


It’s much more likely that this parable isn’t about the workers at all. It’s much more likely that Jesus is trying to show us how God is generous in ways that humans are rarely generous, particularly humans who are in charge of workforces, of land, and policy decisions about justice and fairness. Consider that the landowner hires people and offers to pay them. He makes every laborer the same offer. Those of us who have been in charge of workplaces know how rare this generosity is. I’ve been part of the hiring process from both sides, and it is just exhausting, this measuring of worth, and it starts even before the worker is hired, with paperwork and evidence of past education, training, and work.


The landowner isn’t having any of it. He has work that needs to be done, and there are workers waiting to be hired. He makes every one of them the same generous offer.


And how do the workers respond to this generosity? We don’t know about the workers hired later in the day, but we do know how the ones hired in the morning feel: envious and exploited. They worked longer hours, and they are paid the same amount of money as the ones who only worked an hour???? Outrageous. Shouldn’t the ones who worked longer now get more pay? Ten day’s wages, surely, if we do the math.


The vineyard owner doesn’t engage. He says that they made an agreement, and both sides kept the terms, and thus, the workers have been treated fairly. You can almost hear the vineyard owner saying, “If you want fairness next time, I can do that, but you won’t like that as much as you think you will.”


Again and again, Jesus shows us that our legalistic approach to life will not serve us very well. And much more importantly, Jesus reminds us that it’s humans who have this mind set, not God. It’s humans who stretch their clenched hands wanting more—but with this clenched hand mindset, we can’t open our hands so that God can fill them. A clenched mindset means we can’t open our hearts, our minds, our boundaries of what’s acceptable in an alternate approach to justice.


Instead of seeing this reading as a parable about workers, it’s much more useful to ask what this parable tells us about God. God doesn’t make contracts—God makes covenants. God isn’t a boss rewarding us only for merit—and thank goodness! And the covenant isn’t dependent on human behavior—what a relief, because we all fall short. God isn’t keeping a ledger sheet; Luther would remind us that we can’t be redeemed by our works, but only by God’s grace.


God doesn’t bestow grace on us because we deserve it. We don’t get privileged treatment because we were early to say yes to God. We don’t get payment because we worked hard and had a higher yield than others.


On the contrary, God’s generosity extends everyone, from those dependable workers that labor long, to the ones hired last, the ones that have been waiting because it seems that no one will ever call upon them. In the business world, we’d say that there must be a reason that no one has hired them, and we’d avoid hiring them too. But the vineyard owner hires these laborers, at the close of the working day, for the same rate, when he could have hired them for far less. It’s no way to run a business.


Praise be to God—God is not running a business. God is tending a vineyard in ways we won’t always understand, but God will always invite us to be part of this creating. We can react to God’s generosity in any number of ways, and today’s parable shows what happens when we respond with envy.


A far better response is to release all of the tight and clenched parts of our lives and say yes to God’s invitation. A far better response is to open our hands and respond to God’s generosity with gratitude. And let us always remember to say daily prayers of thanks to our triune God who gives us so much, each and every day.

Lutheran Safe Houses

For several weeks now, I've found my brain returning to an idea that doesn't exist as much as I can tell.  I wish we had a nation-wide network of Lutheran safe houses.  I don't mean that term in the 60's radical kind of way, as a shelter for people out in the world working to overthrow any number of societal forces.

It would be great to have houses with individual sleeping spaces with doors that lock, and communal spaces like bathrooms, kitchens, and living spaces--perhaps sleeping spaces with private bathrooms too.  People could stay as they were traveling or if they needed a retreat.  Houses could offer long term housing too.

We used to have more of these kind of spaces, although Lutheran ones were probably more likely to be connected to campuses.  I'm thinking about Catholic Worker houses and other dwellings connected to monastic traditions--how many of them still exist?

Is there a website or some other network that lists them all?  I did a quick internet search and didn't come up with one.

Longtime readers of this blog know that I'm never far from contemplating communal housing, particularly communal housing with a religious connection.  I've had this on the brain even more intensely because one of my church members in Bristol could really use this kind of resource as she waits for a unit to open in one of the places for low income seniors.

Would it be cheaper than the cheap motel which costs $430 a week that we're helping her pay for?  Hard to say--but I'd feel better about our church money going to a local Lutheran safe house.

The Feast Day of Hildegard of Bingen

 September 17 is the feast day of Hildegard of Bingen, mystic, herbalist, musical composer, naturalist, and Abbess. Her life was full of accomplishments, an amazing feat considering she lived in the twelfth century (she was born around 1098 and died in 1179).

Until recently, I had never thought of the twelfth century as a high water mark of feminism, but female monastics did amazing things during that time period. By studying them, I come away with a new appreciation for the medieval Church, where talented women found a cloistered kind of freedom. In many ways, the cloistered life was the only way for medieval women to have any kind of freedom. Cloistered life offered the only protection available to women who lived at the edges or outside the margins of society: widowed, artistic, not wanting to be married, weird in any way.

But Hildegard's life shows that freedom was constrained, since women monastics answered to men. For years, Hildegard wanted to move her group of nuns to Rupertsburg, but the Abbot who controlled them refused her request.

We all face constraints of various kinds, and the life of Hildegard shows what could be accomplished, even during a time where women did not have full rights and agency. She was an Abbess, and because being in charge of one cloistered community isn't enough, she founded another. She wrote music, and more of her music survives than almost any other medieval composer. She was an early naturalist, writing down her observations about the natural world and her theories about how the natural world heals us. She wrote to kings, emperors and popes to encourage them to pursue peace and justice. She wrote poems and a morality play and along the way, a multitude of theological meditations.

She did all of these things, in addition to keeping her community running smoothly. Yes, I'm thinking about Hildegard as an administrator, a woman who could be efficient and artistic at the same time. It’s no wonder that I find her inspiring.

It's interesting to think about the different types of groups who have claimed her as their own. Feminists claim her importance, even though she didn't openly advocate equality. Musicians note that more of her compositions survive than almost any other medieval composer. Her musical works go in different directions than many of the choral pieces of the day, with their soaring notes. New Age types love her views of the body and the healing properties of plants, animals, and even minerals. Though her theology seems distinctly medieval, and thus not as important to modern Christians, it's hard to dismiss her importance as a figure from church history.

I often say that it's odd I'm drawn to monasticism, as I'm a married, Lutheran female who has all sorts of worldly commitments, and thus cannot fully vow obedience. But as I think about church history, I'm struck time and time again by how often monasticism has offered a safe space to women that no other part of society did. I shouldn't be surprised that it's a tradition that speaks to me still.

It’s a tradition that speaks to many others too: have you listened to the Hildegard of Bingen channel on Pandora?  At one time, the channel was one of the most popular on that streaming service.

Maybe today is a good day to tune in that medieval music. We could listen while writing letters to those in charge, letters which demand more work towards social justice. Or we could focus on other writing projects, as Hildegard of Bingen did. We could plant a healing herb garden.

Today, on her feast day, let us say a prayer of thanks for Hildegard of Bingen and other medieval matriarchs of Christianity.

The Ghost in the Machine and the Holy Spirit

In late 2022 and early 2023, I first heard about ChatGPT and the current incarnation(s?) of artificial intelligence, I heard a lot of experts telling us that machines/programs/AI can't learn the way humans can learn.  Then they'd explain the creation process of these technologies and how humans programmed them to learn, and I thought, that process sure sounds the way my students learn.

Now I'm hearing a few people talking about the technology and issues of morality and spirituality.  Granted, more people are talking about how AI might kill us all--this week, at least, more people are talking about those dangers.  I saw one pastor post his notes from a Carey Nieuwhof webinar on AI and the Church and this bit intrigued me:  “AI doesn’t have the Holy Spirit. You have the Holy Spirit. AI doesn’t pray.”

When I was growing up in the 1970's, almost every Christian faith tradition taught that humans were God's supreme creation, the best of the best.  Many of those traditions taught that only humans go to Heaven.  It's a different faith scene now--says this pastor who is thinking about her first blessing of the pets as part of a worship service, at least first as one I've led.

This morning, I find my mind coming back to AI, to our beliefs (hopes?) about how human neurons are superior to silicon neurons.  I think about an NPR show back in the early days of this century that had philosopher Daniel Dennett as part of a panel discussion on Artificial Intelligence. He said that he thinks that silicon based life forms (like computers) are eclipsing carbon based life forms (like you and me). Further, he said that computers are using humans to assist in the evolution of computers. The part of me that loves sci-fi was intrigued, and continues to be intrigued. The part of me that doesn't understand machines was horrified at the thought of enabling them to take over the world and enslave us.  The rest of the panel scoffed at Dennett's idea.

Now it seems like prophecy--or that Dennett was keeping up with the research in a much more comprehensive way than most of us.

I am aware of the dangers of anthropomorphizing this technology, and yet I keep thinking of Claude or ChatGPT praying.  What would those prayers sound like?  Would God hear them?  How would God respond?

This morning's pondering took me back to other times when I've tried thinking about God in different ways than I was taught in childhood.  It's made me think of a poem I wrote a long time ago, when I looked up at the pre-dawn sky and thought about how many astronomical objects are cold, hard rocks as far as we can tell. It led to this poem, which has become a renewed favorite of mine, after the spouse of a dear friend told me how it had stuck with him and made him think about the universe differently. It was published in my first chapbook Whistling Past the Graveyard.


Geology, the True Life Science


Our planet—warm, gooey corner
of a cold, lifeless cosmos,
a primordial ooze which forms
the perfect building blocks for life,
a miraculous exception to the universal
rule. The official astronomer’s story.

But perhaps God prefers rocks and minerals.
Why else create such a diverse abundance?
Maybe animals and humans are the experiment
gone horribly wrong, an accident of pumping liquids
surrounded by decaying flesh.

Bones calcify, kidneys form stones, arteries harden
with plaque—instead of medical disaster,
perhaps our bodies move towards their ultimate evolutionary
destiny, seeking God’s pleasure.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, September 20, 2026:

First Reading: Jonah 3:10--4:11

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Exodus 16:2-15

Psalm: Psalm 145:1-8

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 105:1-6, 37-45

Second Reading: Philippians 1:21-30

Gospel: Matthew 20:1-16


I've often thought that these parables that use work metaphors are less useful to those of us toiling in the 21st century--and I've wondered how the contemporaries of Jesus would hear this parable.  Would they hear it as a typical tale of how rich landowners abuse those forced off the land?  

Outrage is the classic response to the idea that the workers who toiled all day getting the same wages as those who show up one hour before quitting time. We howl, "But that's not fair."  But is this parable designed to teach us a lesson about capitalism?

The poet in me immediately searches for a new way to frame this parable. What if, instead of toiling in the vineyard, we're invited to a party? Those of us who come early get to drink more wine, eat more goodies, and engage in more hours of intense conversation. We get to spend more quality time with our host. Those who come later will still get to drink wine, eat goodies, converse, and have quality time. The wine won't have soured, the goodies won't have molded, the conversation won't have dwindled, the host won't be tired and wishing that everyone would just go home. The party will still be intensely wonderful. But those who come late won't have as much time to enjoy it.

Maybe Jesus tries to tell us about a different kind of work.  Maybe God's work is like that enriching job, the one where you were challenged, but not overwhelmed. God's work engages you on every level and you look up at the end of the work day, amazed at how time has passed and how involved you have become. At the end of God's work day, you're amazed at all you've been able to accomplish.

God calls us to partnership in an amazing creative endeavour. We're called to transform the world, to help reclaim the world for God's vision. In Surprised by Hope, Bishop N. T. Wright reminds us, "But what we can and must do in the present, if we are obedient to the gospel, if we are following Jesus, and if we are indwelt, energized, and directed by the Spirit, is to build for the kingdom. This brings us back to 1 Corinthians 15;58 once more: what you do in the Lord is not in vain. You are not oiling the wheels of a machine that's about to roll over a cliff" (208).

The ways that we can do this Kingdom work are varied, from helping the poor, to enjoying a good meal, to writing a poem, to consoling a friend, to playing with your dog, to painting . . . the list is as long as there are humans in the world. Wright assures us that "God gloriously honors all kinds of ways of announcing the good news" (226).

Do the kind of creating that involves you on many levels, that makes you lose your sense of time, that leaves you unmoored in your wonder at the beauty of creation. That's the work that God calls us to do.

Satisfying Sunday

Yesterday was a fairly good day.  At church, as I was moving through the communion liturgy, I could feel my throat about to crack, and sure enough, I went into a coughing fit.  Because I was at the words of institution, I felt weird about having someone else speak the words--Lutherans believe that only ordained or specially appointed ministers can consecrate the bread and wine.  I think it would have been fine, as long as I was there, but I don't really know how members feel.  So I drank some water, coughed a bit, and powered through.  People were kind.

I have spent most of the week wondering if I'm fighting off a cold:  I'm more tired and less hungry, and my throat has felt a bit scratchy off and on.  And I'm still not here.

I felt good about my sermon, although I'm aware of all the ways it could be improved; you can view it here on my YouTube channel and read it in this blog post).  We spent Sunday afternoon as we usually do, watching other people's sermons from churches where we feel a connection.  No one else preached on the Gospel.

I wanted something else of depth before we reverted to our usual viewing of old TV shows like Whose Line Is It Anyway?  We watched this podcast of David Brooks interviewing philosopher Meghan Sullivan. My spouse and I both have solid liberal arts educations along with graduate degrees, so it wasn't groundbreaking for us, but it felt nourishing.

I did some stitching in the evening so that I stayed awake past 7:15--success!  I'm making smaller squares, the first level of a log cabin square--but they're not all the same size.  I may put them aside and go back to the quilt I'm making for my cousin's first child who graduates from high school this year.

And now, another week:  week 6 at one school, week 3 at another.  We've got sanding to finish at the fixer-upper house.  The work at Faith Lutheran continues.  Onward!

Sermon for Sunday, September 13, 2026

September 13, 2026
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



Matthew 18: 21-35



Last week’s Gospel instructed us in how to deal with disagreement in the context of community. Today’s Gospel continues the teaching—the work of forgiveness is never done. By now, we all know that Jesus isn’t telling us to keep a ledger book to track how often we’ve forgiven. Jesus is showing us how our forgiving becomes less a ledger book and more a repair manual.


Like last week’s text, today’s teaching, boiled down to that pithy 70 times 7, or 77 in newer translations, that number has been used to insist that we forgive some very hard to forgive actions: domestic violence for example. It can be a damaging text, taken out of the context of last week’s passage and the parable at the end of today’s Gospel.


Last week’s text reminds us that forgiveness doesn’t come without a change in someone’s behavior and/or belief, which is true repentance. If we’ve tried to sort out differences, not just one on one, but in the presence of community, and reconciliation can’t be achieved, we are eventually allowed to stop trying. Today’s parable tells us that forgiveness involves more than just an apology, which some people see as short hand for repentance. True repentance involves a change in behavior. True repentance involves a change in attitude too.


The slave in the parable shows neither a change in behavior nor a change of heart. Consider his predicament: the slave owes 10,000 talents. One Bible scholar notes that 1 talent is approximately 20 years of wages. It’s a shorthand way of saying he owes more than he can ever repay.


The fellow slave owes a hundred denarii, a much lesser amount—one denarii is one day’s wages. But the slave who has just had his much greater debts forgiven, literally in the same hour, on his way out of the palace, orders the other debtor slave thrown in prison. Luther tells us that repentance must be constant and daily, but the forgiven slave can’t even manage an hour! The king revokes his forgiveness and orders the non-repentant slave not only thrown into prison, but tortured.


Here we have another hard teaching, especially if we look at all of chapter 18. On the one hand, if someone is non-repentant, we’re allowed to cast them out, as verse 17 tells us we must. But we’re also required to forgive and forgive and forgive. And yet, if one remains non-repentant, the punishment is harsh. We’re told that God will refuse to forgive us, if we refuse to forgive.


It shouldn’t be a surprise. Jesus teaches us to pray “forgive us our debt, as we forgive our debtors.” If we don’t forgive, the Lord’s prayer says we won’t be forgiven. The parable elaborates on the prayer. It can also give us a bit of spiritual whiplash, with its depiction of extreme mercy in the early part of the parable and severe judgment at the end.


Christian teaching often sums up the idea of forgiveness as we are supposed to forgive and forget, but that idea is much too simple. Again and again in his theology, Luther tells us that the work of repentance continues until death. Luther saw humans as deeply sinful and that the work of turning away from sin takes humility and a daily effort. Part of that work is seeing where we are not the creatures God calls us to be and asking for forgiveness and turning away from the sinful behavior. Daily. If we’re not doing that, we can’t have an expectation of forgiveness for ourselves. We’re like the people in Luther’s day who wanted to pay money for an indulgence to avoid having to face the consequences for sinful acts.


The practice of rooting out sin sounds hard, and it can be, and that’s where we see the advantage of community. We are not the only ones discerning where we need to change. We are not alone in our discerning of whether or not the behavior of others in our community needs to change. The parable also continues to show the importance of having a group of people to help discern righteous action. In the parable, it is fellow slaves who notice the unjust behavior and report it to the king. Jesus shows us the role that community plays in right relationships—between humans and between humans and God.


Of course, this work will never be fully complete. God offers the gift of grace, an ongoing gift, because we are not made perfect in this lifetime, as Luther reminds us over and over again. We will fall short of being the people God calls us to be. We will cause harm. Others, too, will fall short, and we will need to repair relationships.


Scholar N. T. Wright reminds us that we must forgive others, not in a spirit of forgetting what was done, but in a move towards reconciliation, not revenge. He uses an interesting metaphor in explaining the last part of today’s Gospel: “Forgiveness is more like the air in your lungs. There’s only room for you to inhale the next lungful when you’ve just breathed out the previous one. If you insist on withholding it, refusing to give someone else the kiss of life they may desperately need, you won’t be able to take any more in yourself, and you will suffocate very quickly.”


Theories of social justice remind us of the importance of not just forgiveness but of accountability. In our own time, we’ve seen how these processes can work on an international scale. There are many examples, but one of the most successful recent ones is the truth and reconciliation committees in South Africa that allowed the nation to heal from the terrible wounds of apartheid. In the 1990’s, Nelson Mandela and Archbishop Desmond Tutu developed this approach in which victims explained the damage done to them, and perpetrators could confess what they had done, in the hope of both amnesty and reparations given to the victims. Some perpetrators still had punishment, particularly if they didn’t show repentance. It’s a compelling example of restorative justice taking the place of retribution. It’s a vivid and modern example of Matthew 18 in action.


Reconciliation is so important that it is now part of Just War Theory, the school of Philosophy that recognizes Matthew 18 on a geopolitical scale, that wars can be unavoidable, but they can be fought justly. In recent decades, the need for a just and lasting peace was added, a realization that without ensuring a just peace, the seeds for the next conflict are sown.


Bible scholar John T. Carroll says, “To be sure, Matthew’s Gospel emphasizes the importance of forgiveness in the lives of individuals and for the health of communities: blessing comes to those who are merciful (5:7). Yet justice matters too. There is and needs to be accountability for harmful actions and abuses of power.”


Our reading from Romans tells us that even like-minded people can disagree about any number of issues, but we find a way not to be torn apart. Our Old Testament reading reminds us of the way that reconciliation can happen, even after the most soul wrenching actions, if there is repentance. Our Gospel tells us what can happen if debts are forgiven without repentance. The king in the parable made forgiveness too easy, and thus, true repentance didn’t happen. Our Divine king does not make forgiveness simple, but the gift of grace that we can never earn is ours, ours so that we can continue with the repair work that must be done: repair to ourselves, repair to our relationships, and by doing so, repairing the larger mechanisms of both our communities and the larger world.

Alternate Apocalypse

Even though my friends tease me for my apocalyptic mindset, my ability to see dystopia lurking around every development, I am not always quick to see immediate, personal danger in world developments.  I remember a leadership team meeting in early February of 2020, when our college president mentioned this strange new sickness in China and maybe we should be thinking about how it might affect us.  I remember saying that it wouldn't be any worse than the flu (my first blog post about the disease is here, January 30, 2020).  I had been aware of various versions of flu and SARS viruses, and I understood worst case scenarios--in other words, I'm not a denier of any sort.  But still, I was the one downplaying the danger.

On September 11, I was getting ready to drive down to the University of Miami to teach my Brit Lit Survey class.  I was still at home, almost ready to walk out the door, with NPR on the radio, when I heard about the first plane hitting the World Trade Center.  I wondered what part of the navigation on the plane could have gone so terribly wrong, or could it be engine failure?  And then the second plane hit, and I thought, what are the odds of that?

As I drove to Miami, hearing more information and then the Pentagon plane, I kept scanning the skyline for mushroom clouds.  I had spent my life expecting a nuclear attack.  I did wonder if I should turn around and go home.  But not only did I not go home, I taught my first class to the distracted students who came.  By the time of my second class, U of Miami President Donna Shalala had canceled all classes for the day.

I am sure I have mentioned much of this story before, perhaps in different combinations.  I've been blogging since 2008, and that's a lot of anniversaries.  It's hard to believe it's been 25 years.  My onground students weren't born in 2001.

As I think about these 2 historic events, the COVID-19 pandemic and 9/11, the pandemic probably changed more lives of more people I know personally than 9/11.  People made dramatically different decisions once they had gone through that time of pandemic crisis.  If I had been in NYC, if I moved in military circles, perhaps I would have had different experiences.

Or perhaps it has to do with the passage of time.  I do remember always having a gas tank never below empty and always having a case of water in the car.  I remember asking if my school had an emergency plan, and I did take note of various control panels in the building.   Those developments, though, were later, because that school was AiFL, and I didn't start that job until 2002.  I asked about the emergency plan during the days when the federal government would issue color coded threat levels.  Those memories have faded, but pandemic memories are still fresh.

I have always looked for the exits, no matter where I am.  I am the one who says, "If something happens, and I'm in Spartanburg and you're in Arden, we'll meet in Arden."  I'm the one who knows which location is best for surviving various dystopias.

I have been listening to various programs that look back on that day and how it changed us (I particularly like this podcast from The Dispatch).  This blog post seems inadequate.  So let me post a poem.  It's not a 9/11 poem, but a pantoum about preparing for the wrong apocalypse.  I wrote it in 2002 or 2003.

And of course, we haven't prepared for the "wrong"  apocalypse.  Global warming has accelerated, and the world is less safe from nuclear weapons now than we ever were in the cold war years.  History should teach us that unexpected apocalypses are always lurking.

Alternate Apocalypse



We expected mushroom clouds and radiation.
Instead we changed the chemistry of the atmosphere.
Chunks of glaciers break for freedom and sail across the sea.
Ice caps melt, and the sea swallows islands.

Instead we changed the chemistry of the atmosphere,
yet we refuse to believe the evidence of global warming.
Ice caps melt, and the sea swallows islands,
but global warming is just an unproved theory.

Yet we refuse to believe the evidence of global warming.
Temperatures rise farther and earlier in the year,
but global warming is just an unproved theory.
Some years we have no winter.

Temperatures rise farther and earlier in the year.
Old people bake and die forgotten in their homes.
Some years we have no winter;
furious storms hurl themselves across the oceans.

Old people bake and die forgotten in their homes.
Lucky ones huddle together, hiding from the oppressive heat.
Furious storms hurl themselves across the oceans.
We see new diseases stalking continents.

Lucky ones huddle together, hiding from the oppressive heat.
We expected disasters to rain down on us, but not these.
We see new diseases stalking continents.
This was not the apocalypse we envisioned.

We expected disasters to rain down on us, but not these.
We feared nuclear winter, not this relentless warming.
This was not the apocalypse we envisioned.
We expected mushroom clouds and radiation.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

  The readings for Sunday, Sept.13, 2026:

First Reading: Genesis 50:15-21

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Exodus 14:19-31

Psalm: Psalm 103:[1-7] 8-13

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 114

Psalm (Alt.): Exodus 15:1b-11, 20-21 (Semi-continuous)

Second Reading: Romans 14:1-12

Gospel: Matthew 18:21-35

The Gospel for today, at least the first part, is probably familiar to most of us. Peter is looking for the magic number of times that he must forgive--and you can tell he's annoyed, ready to cut off the person who has offended him, but he'll forgive seven times--and you know that he's probably already forgiven that person eight times. Jesus tells him he must forgive seventy times seven.

I remember in fifth grade Sunday school class where we studied this passage. We immediately got to work on the math. And if you were an obsessive child, like I had a tendency to be, you started keeping a list of how many times you had forgiven your sister.

I had unwittingly proven Jesus' point. Peter asks a stupid, juvenile question, and Jesus gives him an answer to let him know how petty he has been. By now, we should all know that Jesus didn't come to give us a new set of legalisms to follow.

Jesus then gives us a parable about the nature of forgiveness. Most of us will need more forgiveness throughout our lives than we really deserve. We are like indentured servants who can never hope to pay off our debt, but we're miraculously forgiven.

Most of us, happily, will never experience indentured servitude in the traditional sense. But many of us have experienced a different kind of indebtedness. We might have a mortgage or a student loan that seems like a sum larger than we'll ever repay. Many of us look at our credit card bills and can't remember what we bought and how long ago and how the balance ballooned.  Think of how wonderful it would be if someone came in and relieved us of those debts. Think of forgiveness the same way.

Our task--and it sometimes seems more monumental than paying off a huge financial debt--is to extend that quality of forgiveness and mercy to others--and to ourselves.

If our capacity to forgive isn’t at 70 times 7 yet, let’s pray for an expanded ability to forgive. Let us also remember to pray for our enemies, both the personal ones and the political ones, the inner voices that berate us, the outer voices that shrilly defeat all peace initiatives, all the enemies who would undo us.

Navigating Conflicts: The Recording of the Sermon for Sunday, September 6, 2026

It was a good day at church yesterday.  The conventional wisdom would have told us to expect light attendance yesterday because it's a holiday week-end.  But we ran out of wine (just 1 glass short, so I went without).  I felt good about my sermon, and the youth sermon went well too.  

Both sermons talked about navigating conflict.  The youth sermon talked about crazing, the problem in pottery with cracks that destabilize the whole piece.  I also talked about the organist playing extra measures for the prelude as the acolytes and an adult tried to troubleshoot an issue.

The adult sermon also talked about conflict but on a larger level, even a national level; it ended with praise for local public libraries and for the Dep't of Transportation who plants flowers in interstate medians.  Go to this post on my YouTube channel to see the recording of the sermon.  If you'd like to read along, I put the manuscript in this post on my theology blog.

Sermon for Sunday, September 6, 2026

 

September 6, 2026

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott

 

 

 

 

 

 

Matthew 18:15-20

 

 

 

Truly, this Gospel text is a hard teaching.  It’s harder than the one on forgiveness that we’ll get next week, the one that looks at forgiveness as a math problem, forgiving each other 70 x 7 times.  For some of us, today’s teaching is a harder cross to bear than the cross of persecution and death.  So you might ask, why is it so difficult?

 

It’s a hard text because it has a complicated history and use.  On the one hand, it can be used as a blueprint for how to build community.  But it also has a troubling history of being used to cast people out of community.  It doesn’t take much imagination to envision how a sociopath or a narcissist could use this text to get support for their views and to get rid of everyone who disagrees and will not conform to their world view.

 

For some of us, it’s hard because it seems so legalistic.  Bible scholars can show us that today’s Gospel is rooted in ancient Jewish law about how differences will be settled.  On its face, this Gospel doesn’t seem like the rule of love that Paul encourages in today’s passage from the letter to Romans.

 

For some of us, it’s hard because it reminds us that what we want to have happen—a quick resolution so we can all go back the way we were before—this outcome may not happen the first time we make an attempt.  Forgiveness and repair of relationships can be an arduous process—and the fact that Jesus doesn’t offer a quick fix makes it a hard teaching.

 

Today’s text reminds us that Jesus comes to earth for many reasons, but one of the most essential reasons is to show us how to live in community, not how to live for ourselves.  And today’s text tells us how to navigate one of the hardest parts of living in community—how to handle disagreements of all sorts, from the petty to ones more major.

 

The bad news is that we don’t automatically agree on what God wants, for us and for the larger world, just because we profess the same savior.  The good news is that we don’t have to do the work of resolving disagreements by ourselves. We don’t have to change ourselves to be what someone else wants us to be, but we can’t ignore, dehumanize, avoid, or just dismiss the one with whom we disagree.  We have to talk to them.  We can’t do what so many do in this age of social media, complain to everyone else except to the one with whom we disagree.

 

Jesus gives us an order of approaches, which involves more and more members of the community.  We’re involving others for several reasons.  Maybe we need witnesses.  Or maybe it’s because we’ll be more likely to work on a resolution in the company of others.  Maybe the other members of the community will see a way forward that those who are disagreeing do not see.

 

Involving others also helps everyone to have a spirit of discernment.  In a disagreement, it can be so easy to be sure that we are right, that we have been wronged.  A loving community can remind us of our part in the conflict, of the ways that we have not been innocent, the way we may have added fuel to the bonfire of disagreement.

 

We begin the work of reconciliation on a small scale, one on one, two by two, and then with the larger group.  If differences can be sorted out easily, no need to involve others.  But if it can’t, the resources of the larger group may be required.

 

In verse 17, the larger group is translated as “church,” which probably leads many of us to think of a group of folks, like this one, who gathers on a Sunday.  The Greek word is ekklesia, which is often translated as “church,” but the writer of the Gospel of Matthew would not have meant a church, like this one, but a much smaller group of people called by God, living together like the church in the book of Acts.  The church that Jesus creates in the first century is one forged in opposition and resistance.  The stakes of a disagreement can be much higher, truly life and death. 

 

Jesus’s life shows what happens when disagreements aren’t settled in the way that Jesus describes in today’s Gospel.  We know that some of his ekklesia of 12 disciples are not happy with decisions that Jesus makes.  We saw it last week with Peter wanting a different outcome for the ministry of Jesus, and we’ll see it in the Holy Week stories of Judas being so upset that he betrays Jesus to the authorities.  Judas shows what happens when disagreements are allowed to fester.

 

But the experiences of the other 11 disciples show a different path, and what a transformative path it is.  At the beginning of the book of Acts, we meet a traumatized group living in fear and isolation behind locked doors.  By the end, they have become a cohesive group that has gone out to declare the Good News of the life of Jesus and the love of God and the movement of the Holy Spirit.  Along the way, they’ve had many differences.  But Jesus has showed them how to manage those differences, and in the book of Acts, they handle disagreements in the way that Jesus taught them, although we only read about disagreements brought before the council at Jerusalem, the last arbiter of disagreements.

 

We say the disciples did great things because Jesus commissioned them, and that’s true.  But one of the less talked about reasons for their effectiveness is that they were able to be a cohesive community, the way Jesus taught them. They listened, they puzzled, they questioned, and occasionally, they disagreed—and then they listened and puzzled and questioned some more so that they could come to reconciliation.

 

I spent the week-end with a different ekklesia, a group of friends, at a Crafts for Christmas retreat at Lutheridge  It’s a small retreat of women from across the southeast, who have known each other for decades.  I think of us as “retreat friends,” but our bond is so much deeper.  We are women of faith, women who have spent our lives in the helping professions.  Talk turned, as it so often does with friends who are my age and older, to ways that life now seems worse than when we were younger.  Regardless of political affiliation, it’s not hard to make a case that life in previous decades seemed less perilous.  One of my friends said, “Is there anything right in the U.S. today?”

 

I said, “Well, my local public library is thriving, and every day they have a cool event or two, in addition to all the books we can borrow for free.”  Complete silence.  My friends stared at me.  I couldn’t tell if they thought I was delusional or if they wanted me to say more or to go back to our conversation rooted in despair.  I continued, “I don’t deny that there’s a lot that is wrong with the world—which is why I think it’s even more essential to remember all the things that are going beautifully.”  From there, the talk took a more positive direction, as we remembered all the ways that a community can change the world for the better.

 

When we aren’t willing to talk to each other, to sort out our disagreements so that we can come back to unity, even if we’re not in agreement, we get the world that my friends were seeing, a world without hope for the future.  If we are willing to talk, two by two or in front of larger parts of the community if need be, then we have the hope of building something beautiful, something that is part of God’s kingdom on earth that Jesus proclaims is near:  a public library or a retreat or a classroom or some other Christ-shaped community that can serve the world.

 

Yes, today’s Gospel is a hard teaching, particularly as it reminds us of how hard it can be to live in community.  Happily, Jesus assures us that we need not be afraid.  Jesus is with us, helping us as we heal our fractured world, as we gather together in groups of two or three or more, building something greater than the sum of ourselves, a community of inclusiveness that our world so desperately needs.

 

 

 

 

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, September 6, 2026:

First Reading: Ezekiel 33:7-11

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Exodus 12:1-14

Psalm: Psalm 119:33-40

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 149

Second Reading: Romans 13:8-14

Gospel: Matthew 18:15-20

The Gospel readings from the last several weeks have shown us Jesus trying to prepare his disciples to take over his mission, once he's no longer physically there to lead them. The last verse of this Gospel is one of the more famous Gospel verses, the one that tells us that we only need two or three to gather in the name of Christ, and he'll be there. But what does this verse mean for the larger church?

This morning, I'm thinking of the modern church, which seems focused on numbers and growing large. This morning, I'm thinking of this passage and wondering if Christ calls us to be small. This year, I'm thinking of the text in a new way, in light of the past several years, when so many churches have experimented with online options for gathering. 

I think of all the articles I've read that talk about the declining numbers of people who affiliate with a church of any kind. I think of all the people who remember the glory days of the U.S. church, back in the middle of the 20th century, back when stores were closed on Sundays, and it seemed that everyone went to church. When church leaders talked, communities listened.

Of course, the sociologist and historian in me also knows that many vulnerable members of the community were not heard in those days. I would not go back to 1959, even if more people went to church on Sundays. Too many people led restricted lives--no thanks.

Still, those of us who have inherited the churches that were built during those glory days might be spending a lot of time wondering how to support those buildings with our smaller memberships. We look for ways that the building can be a blessing to many groups, not just ours.  It's good to remember that church doesn't mean the building. 

And offering a digital experience that can be accessed when there is time and space and electricity might mean that more people worship. The old way of offering one worship service, or several services, on a Sunday morning excluded many people: those who are too sick to leave the bed, the disabled, those people who must work at a variety of jobs on Sundays.

Jesus promises that the presence of God will be with us when only two or three gather. And we've seen from the lives of the earliest Christians, the transforming power of what happens when groups of two or three go out into the world together in the company of the Holy Spirit.  These days, we're going out into the world in new ways, across airwaves that many of us had never tried to access before. The Holy Spirit is loose and moving in new ways, and we know what to expect--the world will be transformed!

Farewell, Wendell Berry

 I was sad to hear of the death of Wendell Berry on Monday.  But why should I be sad?  He was 92 and had lived a good life, mostly on his own terms, from what I could see.  But the death felt like "one of the greats has left us" moments.  I remember reading him in college, so his writing has been with me a long time.

Back in my undergraduate days,  I felt somewhat embarrassed for liking someone whose work was so accessible.  Now, of course, I think it's one of his more important traits.  Berry's work has seemed vital for decades now.

What I value most these days is his ability to never sink into gloom for too long. He manages to sound prophetic (one of the prophet's duties being to call people back to right living, as well as to warn), without setting up a house in the land of the apocalypse. He always comes back to one of his main themes: ". . . hope is one of our duties. A part of our obligation to our own being and to our descendants is to study our life and our condition, searching always for the authentic underpinnings of hope. And if we look, these underpinnings can still be found. For one thing, though we have caused the earth to be seriously diseased, it is not yet without health. The earth we have before us now is still abounding and beautiful" ("Conservation and Local Economy" from Sex, Economy, Freedom, and Community, page 11).

He wrote those words almost 20 years ago, and yet, they still have relevance.  Some days, when the news seems unrelentingly bad, it's hard to continue to hope.  But it's one of the more important activities we can undertake.

Here's a passage that reminds us of the miracles which surround us each day:  "Whoever really has considered the lilies of the field or the birds of the air and pondered the improbability of their existence in this warm world within the cold and empty stellar distances will hardly balk at the turning of water into wine--which was, after all, a very small miracle. We forget the greater and still continuing miracle by which water (with soil and sunlight) is turned into grapes" ("Christianity and the Survival of Creation" from Sex, Economy, Freedom, and Community, page 103).

That passage made me gasp when I first read it, and it still does.

As I was looking over old blog posts about him, I came across this one that I wrote after reading  Distant Neighbors: The Selected Letters of Wendell Berry & Gary Snyder.  It made me want to read the book again.  It seems a fitting read for this tim of so much loss of greatness.