Sermon for Sunday, November 30, 2025

November 30, 2025

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott




Matthew 24: 36-44



When I arrived at church this morning, I felt my shoulders release, going from a usual “hunched to my ears” kind of position to a more relaxed state. I felt my brain relax too, as I looked at the Advent wreath and the Chrismon tree with its beautiful lights. Christmas at last! My favorite time of year!

And then we get to the Gospel, which says, “Not yet.” How does the Gospel say this? The way the Gospel always does for the first Sunday of Advent, by reminding us of the impending doom that is always around the corner. Some of us are probably saying, “Gee, thanks. I live in a constant state of anxiety already.” My shoulders just hunched back up.


At first I thought that we had one of those fluky years where Advent 1 is Apocalypse Sunday. Then I looked through my file of written sermons and realized Advent 1 is ALWAYS Apocalypse Sunday, which means every Gospel includes this kind of apocalyptic teaching from Jesus (two years ago it was from Mark, last year from Luke). And when I read today’s Gospel, I thought, I feel like I’ve been preaching on end times a lot lately. Since I’ve been following the lectionary and not using the news shows as my starting point for the sermon, that must mean that it’s more than just a stray Gospel text that circles back to apocalypse.


Some non-Christian folks have told me that they assume that Christians are always focused on the end times, except for when we’re trying to ruin everyone’s good time in the here and now. Indeed, the ideas in this text have helped shape what many modern people, Christian and non-Christian, assume the end times will be, the left behind story, that somehow those who have managed to stay faithful will be rescued while everyone else perishes.


In today’s text, Jesus invokes the God that rescues Noah, a depiction of God that is my least favorite, God the destroyer. I prefer the God of the first chapters of Genesis, God who creates and creates and creates and delights in every aspect of that creation. The God in the time of Noah is the one who crumples up the rough draft and tosses it all in the trash can.

I imagine Jesus here, listening to this sermon, Jesus who would say, “Not every rough draft. Noah and his family are saved, along with two of every animal.” That’s a lot of rough drafts saved from the garbage, saved from judgment. Or maybe not saved from judgment, but evaluated and found worthy.


Of course, that idea of a God of judgment isn’t one that I warm to. The world is full of judgment, so why do we need to bring judgment to our Sunday, particularly an Advent Sunday?


Some theologians would say, “You’re focusing on the wrong part of the story. It’s not about the judgment. It’s about the confidence that God is at work in the world, the world that looks flooded with bad news and bad decisions, the world that looks like it is going in a disastrous direction.” The story of Noah could remind us of when God acted as judge and destroyer. But it should also remind us of God who is making all things new, taking the wreckage and building a new creation. The resurrection of Jesus is one of the most stunning examples of the power of God to put to right all the ways that humans destroy things. As scholar David J. Bartlett says, “We wait in hope because we wait in memory.” We wait in hope for a new creation.


Today’s Gospel tells us that it’s not enough to wait, however, even though Advent is traditionally a season of waiting, at least in the Church, if not in larger culture. We go about our regular lives, but we must also stay alert. In the time of Advent, it’s easy to stay alert. In some ways, it’s unlike the time that Jesus discusses, where we don’t know the day or the hour. In Advent, we’re surrounded by reminders that Christmas is coming. It’s one of the few times that the larger culture joins us in our waiting for the big day—December 25 is still for most of us the culmination of the Christmas season.


But what if we try a different approach this year? What if we borrow from the season of Lent, or the traditions of the new year? What if we set an intention to be more faithful people in the coming year? What if we adopted an Advent discipline instead of a Lenten discipline—but this year, what if we kept that discipline going for the whole year instead of just a season.


I’m not suggesting anything particularly radical, but I am suggesting that we think about a daily discipline, not a seasonal one. As we move through Advent, I plan to think about what is giving me life. Is it the lighting of the candles on the Advent wreath? As we leave Advent behind, I could continue to light candles, a new candle for each week of the year. Is it the devotional time that can come with the candle lighting? Let me add a 5 minute devotion at a time of day that’s not usual for me. If it’s the special music we like, there’s nothing that says that we can’t use the music of Christmas to enrich other times of the year.


I know that for many of us, it’s the mood of good cheer that we love about this time of year, more than the external aspects like decorations or food. But hear the good news: by taking our Advent disciplines with us throughout the year, we can keep the mood of good cheer going. Sure, everyone else might descend into grumpiness—but maybe if we keep our Christmas calm, with our shoulders not bunched up around our ears, maybe that calm will spread.


Jesus tells us again and again that we can’t know the day or the hour that the day of rescue will come. But Jesus assures us that we don’t need to worry about it (shoulders down), and yet, we don’t get a free pass to sit back and enjoy the destruction of others. David J. Bartlett says, “One day Jesus may appear in the clouds, suddenly, like a thief in the night. But before that—as Matthew reminds us—Jesus will appear just around the corner, suddenly, like a hungry person, or a neighbor ill-clothed, or someone sick or imprisoned.”


Our Advent disciplines will help us to be ready for whatever comes. Maybe it will be that day long foretold when the final judgment happens. But in the mean time, as we wait for whatever comes, we find ourselves uniquely prepared to repair our society and ourselves, to reweave all the shredded fabric of our lives into a new and vibrant cloth.


The Chrismon tree and the Advent wreath declare that Christ is coming. The Gospel texts ask if we are ready. Our Advent disciplines, taken with us through the year, will help us declare that yes, we are ready. Come Lord Jesus!

Thanksgiving History in Fabric Scraps

Here I sit, at the kitchen table of the big, ramshackle house at Lutheridge, the church camp where my family has always had our holiday festivities (well, since 1992 or so), the house where we’ve assembled for at least 20 years.  It was at this table, on the Saturday of Thanksgiving week-end in 2022, where I first assembled the log cabin patch out of scraps, and I’ve been doing it ever since, and may just continue to do it until my fingers won’t let me.

It has been a great Thanksgiving this year, although zooming by too fast, and I know I likely say that every year.  This year, all the members of the next generation are teenagers now, which brings a certain sadness about all the books we’re not reading about giving a mouse a cookie or llamas in pajamas.

 Happily, there are other joys.  We spent much of the week-end helping the oldest teenager in the house with a project she envisioned:  letters made of fabric scraps, sewed on a sweatshirt.  When my cousin wrote me in advance and told me what she had in mind, I brought all my fabric scraps with me.

 

 

The project became a bit bigger than we first thought it would be.  She chose small squares, and we made them into larger squares of four patches; then we made took the template she’d made of paper letters and cut out the fabric.  We used the Steam-a-seam product to make sure the letters didn’t move around.

 

 

And what do you know—it worked!  It looked very much like the picture that had provided the inspiration, and she was very happy with it.  The whole family had a great spirit going in, and they assured my spouse and me (mostly me) that whatever happened would be fine.  I was worried about a ruined sweatshirt and the crushing of creative dreams—I’m so happy that didn’t happen.  The oldest teenager was so happy with her creation that she wore it on the long car trip home.  I wish we had had more time to sew the letters to the sweatshirt, but she knows how to do it, and her mom knows some folks who will help, and in the meantime, they won’t wash the sweatshirt.

In a way, that’s a metaphor for the whole holiday time together—the worry that the experience won’t live up to expectations, the happiness of time together, the realization that it’s all going to be O.K., even if not exactly perfect.

                                                                                                           

Thanksgiving Morning

Thanksgiving morning, in a house with no wi-fi, and a writer determined not to use her hot spot until the last possible minute because she, unlike much of the U.S.A. does not want to pay for unlimited data on her cell phone. But she knows what to do. And so she writes the old-fashioned way, typed in a Word document that will be uploaded later.

You thought the writer might use a pen? She’s not that old-fashioned—she still has electricity! And she’s willing to pay for the version of Microsoft Office that’s always available, regardless of Internet access.

That writer, of course, is me. I’m being cautious with my cell phone usage because one past Thanksgiving of reckless abandon showed me how much data can cost, when I left the hot spot function on overnight. I am educable.

But I’m also delighting in disconnecting. I’ve gotten a sermon written in the past hour since I got up. If I’d had connectivity, I’d have spent that hour looking at stuff on the Internet, and likely feeling dispirited. Now I am feeling virtuous!

Long ago, I did write with a pen and paper, and I do remember that I had to fend off distractions then, too. Back in those days, I might be tempted to read the newspaper before I started—the old-fashioned kind, that arrived on the doorstep, not on my computer screen. The world is always trying to pull us away or lull us into complacency or sedate us—or terrify us or make us feel inadequate.

Let me take a moment before Thanksgiving starts in earnest, a moment to remember some of the wonderful events that have already happened:

--We have managed to gather at the ramshackle house at Lutheridge where we have gathered almost every year since 1992.

--Not everyone could come. But we had new participants—yesterday my mom and uncle’s cousin’s wife came over for a wonderful afternoon of talking and reminiscing.

--The babies that I once read to are now teenagers. They are grown but not gone yet. They have interests (fabric! Cooking! Getting ready for Christmas!) that intersect with mine. What a delight.

--We did not gather at this house last year because of hurricane damage from Helene. I have not looked out of these windows at Thanksgiving until this year, although I was in the house in September. In September, the view was obscured by the trees still in full leaf. Now that the leaves are down, I’m sobered by how few trees are actually there.

--It is also sobering to think about how much older we all are. On the other side of the spectrum from babies grown into teenagers are the rest of the family, with a variety of health challenges.

But for today, we are here, the house is still here, and we will celebrate that fact with food, my favorite meal of the whole year.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, November 30, 2025:

First Reading: Isaiah 2:1-5

Psalm: Psalm 122

Second Reading: Romans 13:11-14

Gospel: Matthew 24:36-44

Some years, the apocalyptic tone of the Advent texts feel more appropriate than other years. This is one of those years when the images of the end of days resonate with me.

The images in the Gospel for the first Sunday of Advent have found their way into popular culture lately--the idea of one being taken up to Heaven while the other is left behind (see the Left Behind book series which was made into other forms of popular culture and the more recent show The Leftovers).  But most scholars agree that those ideas of a Judgment Day are fairly recent in Christian thought and interpretation, fostered in the heat of 19th century Revival meetings. If Christ isn’t talking about the Rapture, then what do those passages mean?

Again and again, our holy scriptures remind us that we need to stay alert and watchful. Again and again, our holy scriptures warn us that God is coming and that God won't always take on the shape we expect. Sometimes, our spiritual ancestors are lucky, as Abraham was, when he invited the strangers into his tent and found out he was having dinner with God. Sometimes our ancestors aren't as lucky. Think of all those contemporaries of Jesus, many of them good, observant Jews, who were on the lookout for a different kind of Messiah. They wanted someone to deliver them from oppressive Roman rule. What did they get? A baby in a manger.

We think that we wouldn't have been so stupid. We would have recognized the Divine, as Christ moved among us.

But think of our own lives. Many of us are so busy that we can't even adopt traditional practices that move us closer to God, practices like fixed-hour prayer or tithing.  We can't find 10 minutes in our busy lives to slow down at all.  If Jesus shows up, will we really notice?

We usually think of Lent as the season of discipline and denial, but Advent cries out for a similar rigor, especially in our culture that goes into hyper-consumer-overdrive this time of year. This year, practice seeing the Divine in difficult people. It's easy to look at a little baby and to see God looking back out of that face. But for a few weeks, practice treating difficult people as if they are the embodiment of God:  your critical relative, your unreasonable boss, your difficult teenager, the homeless guy at the corner who won't take no for an answer when he asks for money, on and on the list could go.  How might things change if we treat these difficult people as the embodiment of God, as Christ incarnate?

Think about the larger world that bombards us with messages that are designed to move us to anger, not compassion.  Let's pray for those national figures who usually move us to anger.  Let's remember that they, too, are chosen children of God whom God loves.

We could do something more radical.  We could try seeing God in them.

If we approach everyone as God moving in the world, our attitudes will likely change. Maybe people will wonder how we achieve our peace and equilibrium.  Maybe they will ask us for our secret.  Maybe they will simply try to emulate us.

In this way, we can sow the seeds of peace into our troubled time.  Maybe they will take root and grow into a sturdy orchard.

Sermon for Sunday, November 23, 2025, Christ the King Sunday

November 23, 2025, Christ the King Sunday

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott




Luke 23:33-43



Last week we had a hint of Advent, and today we’re in full-blown Good Friday mode—and it’s Christ the King Sunday? Where is our story of final victory? Maybe something like Jesus coming back to earth, splitting the sky in splendor and glory, coming to judge us all, and give faithful folks their one-way ticket to eternity. But this festival day reminds us that if we get our expectations too focused on one aspect of Jesus, we’re likely to miss the signs of God at work in the world. If we’re expecting one kind of king, we will miss something essential about the essence of Jesus.


Certainly many first century folks would define a king as having splendor and glory, even going as far as to see the ruler as being divine. Not just godlike—divine. Historian Mary Beard notes that Roman emperors were often deified, with elaborate cults and temples dedicated to worshipping them. This religious aspect of their role further consolidated their authority, as they were seen as intermediaries between the people and the gods. To question their authority was seen as heresy beyond free speech or disrespect.


Throughout his ministry, we see people assessing Jesus as to how big a threat he might be to the Roman ruler and all the people like Pilate and Herod that are ruling on behalf of the emperor. We probably remember the question about taxes and Jesus’ clever answer involving a coin. Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem on a donkey can be seen as threatening or mocking; the emperor or his emissary would often enter cities on a majestic horse. It’s this kind of behavior on the part of Jesus that made many Galileans think he might just be the Messiah.


Of course, Galileans would not expect the Messiah to wind up on a cross, executed by the ruling authorities of Rome. The Jewish people had been looking for a Messiah for generations, always with the hope of deliverance from whatever empire oppressed them at the time: the Egyptian pharoah, the Assyrians, the Babylonians, and in the time of Jesus, the Romans. Centuries of prophecy, like the kind we see in today’s reading from Jeremiah, kept that hope for deliverance alive. Clearly, if Jesus was killed by the oppressing empire of his time, he wasn’t the Messiah the Jews had been yearning for.


In today’s Gospel, we see people still trying to figure out who Jesus is. King of the Jews? Ruler of the world? Messiah? What kind of Messiah? A messiah who will save us all or a messiah who is only sent for some?


Christ the King Sunday shows us that the way of Christ as King is not the way that the world sees a king. The way of Christ the Messiah is not the way we would expect Christ to come as a Messiah. In today’s Gospel, we see how Jesus uses his power, and its not in the earthly ways of leadership. Jesus shapes his leadership as one of service and love, from his earliest days of ministry through his death on the cross and during his time after resurrection. Love and service—that’s the power that Jesus wields.


Jesus spent much of his ministry cautioning against the expectations we have about what a Messiah looks like. Our readings for today, taken in their totality, show us a multi-dimensional savior. Maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise. We confess belief in a triune God, after all, the kind of God that our reading from Colossians tries to describe. And yet, it’s hard to remember that fullness, especially in the busyness of our lives.


I admit to being partial towards the aspect of Jesus that we see in our Gospel reading. Here’s Jesus up on the cross, in the process of dying one of the most agonizing forms of death, and he’s still fulfilling his purpose, forgiving those who don’t know what they’re doing and saving those who repent. Here’s Jesus, showing concern for the very lowest on the rungs of society, the criminal on the cross beside him, while at the same time, continuing to feel pity for those in power who are not living up to God’s vision for creation.


Some days, though, I long for the savior I sense in our reading from Jeremiah, the one who says, “ Woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture!” We don’t have to look far to see sheep destroying behavior and shepherds who should know better. The prophets who came before Jesus have a warning for those who practice this kind of behavior—the days are surely coming when God will punish those that act this way. Jesus, too, issues this warning periodically, although this part of Jesus’ personality doesn’t surface as often as the Jesus we see on the cross. A King of vengeance Jesus—yes, that’s what we want! We often feel powerless in the face of those who would scatter the flock. Maybe we want Christ the King to be more like a modern superhero, dispatched to save us, with no effort required on our part.


Today’s Gospel reminds us, however, that our vision of vengeance, even if it’s on behalf of the oppressed, isn’t the way God operates. God sends prophets and messengers to remind humanity of our obligations, of what we’ve promised and what God expects. God goes so far as to come to earth to live with us, not to deliver the last blow of vengeance but to teach us by way of example. Jesus comes to us in a spirit of mercy and a yearning for connection.


And it’s not just in today’s Gospel. Throughout our Scripture, we see God acting mercifully, especially in the face of repentance. Think of God’s forgiveness each time people choose a different god, from the Golden Calf in Exodus to more modern examples of people worshipping anyone and everything else instead of God.


But when people repent, God forgives. Think of all the pillars of the faith who have needed forgiveness, like King David, who behaved badly as many times as he executed justice and righteousness. Consider Peter who denied Jesus, and Jesus not only forgave him but gave him a leadership position in the church that was to come. Jesus not only tells the disciples that they must forgive more times than they think possible, but Jesus models this behavior too. Like any good teacher, Jesus doesn’t ask us to do what he’s not willing to do himself.


As we think about Jesus the teacher who through the centuries has been transformed into Christ the King, it’s helpful to think about what we want from Jesus and why. It’s also helpful to think about which aspects of Jesus make us uncomfortable and why. We may think that we would never make a golden calf and worship it, but it’s all too easy to focus on the aspect of Jesus that makes us most comfortable and leaves us feeling championed, not challenged. But we know that Jesus came to earth not only to be a way that God is revealed to us, but also to challenge us and move us out of our complacency. Sometimes shaking us out of our complacency takes righteous indignation on the part of Jesus. Sometimes, it takes mercy and forgiveness. Always it takes love and compassion. Luckily, unlike earthly rulers, Jesus has a bottomless supply of love and compassion.


This festival day has an important reminder to us, as we think about Christ as both human, king, and God. Like any human, Jesus is more than the sum of his parts—and to understand this fully, we need to know all of the parts. Luckily, we have many paths to know Jesus. There’s scripture of course. There’s the larger religious community, whom Luther reminds us we need to help us come to an honest understanding of the scripture. We have the larger creation; many a theologian and mystic would tell us that we can gain an important understanding of our creator by observing creation.


On this Christ the King Sunday, may we find in Christ the ruler that challenges us to be the best version of ourselves, the merciful and loving version. May we follow the model of Jesus, as we find our best ways to be of use to others. Let us always remember that the best way to glorify Jesus is to be of service to the world, this world that Jesus loves so deeply.

Technology and Other Various Orthodoxies

On Saturday I listened to an interview/discussion, between Ross Douthat and Paul Kingsnorth.  It was an interesting take on technology, and I find my brain coming back to it periodically.

Even though Kingsnorth seemed to say that he's making a living writing books and with his Substack, which is reliant on the Internet, he painted the Internet as a portal and asked us to think what we're inviting in.  He thinks that most people are inviting evil into their lives, by way of the Internet.

Here are his exact words:  "Sometimes I think the internet is a giant Ouija board and we use it to summon things. And things appear through it. So if you want to be supernaturalist about it, if you want to be Christian about it, the world is inhabited by powers and principalities and demonic forces, which have it in for us, and which want to turn us away from God. That’s their purpose. I think if C.S. Lewis was writing 'The Screwtape Letters' today, there would be a good few letters about how the demons can use the internet, how they can use the phones, how they can use this to completely delude us and distract us and take us away from our true purpose."

Kingsnorth converted to Orthodox Christianity 12 years ago, so he's got a very different perspective than many writers who talk about AI.  This morning, I read an article in The New York Times about how young men are increasingly attracted to the Orthodox branch of faith.  I'm remembering when I, too, wanted something more rigorous, but I was attracted to monasticism, but a bit too late, being already married, with a host of other commitments.

I don't have an elegant way to close this post other than to say that my writing time has run out.  Off I go to move away from my screen and go for a walk.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The Readings for Sunday, November 23, 2025:

First Reading: Jeremiah 23:1-6

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Jeremiah 23:1-6

Psalm: Psalm 46

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Luke 1:68-79

Second Reading: Colossians 1:11-20

Gospel: Luke 23:33-43

This Sunday we celebrate Christ the King Sunday, which is the last day of our liturgical calendar. The readings are familiar: we're back in the land of Good Friday, with our king crucified on a cross. Perhaps not the image we'd expect for Christ the King Sunday, but those of us who have been reading through this cycle, either for the first time or for the umpteenth time, will be familiar with these strange twists of imagery, with the upheaval of all our expectations.

I have always loved the cyclical nature of the lectionary, with its readings that loop around and remind us that all of life is cyclical. When I'm having a bad day (or week or month), it's important to remember that everything can change. When I'm having a good day (or week or month), it's important to express profound gratitude and to try not to dread the next downturn too much. With every downturn comes an upturn. The life of Christ shows us this.

Christ's life shows us that being king requires something different for a believer. It's not the worldly experience of kings, who are venerated and obeyed. Being a Christian king requires humbling ourselves and thinking of others before we think of ourselves. But our rewards are great. If we could emulate Christ's behavior, we'd have a wonderful community here on earth, and whatever we might experience in the afterlife would just be icing on the cake. We'd have already had a taste of heaven right here on earth.

I do realize that living the way that Christ taught us is often easier in theory than in practice. Maybe we feel grumpy as the holiday season approaches. Maybe we've had a season of sorrow, and we can't quite manage to feel festive. Maybe we're tired of humbling ourselves and we'd like someone to humble themselves for us.

Well, here's some good news. Someone already has. Maybe in this season of thankfulness, we can concentrate on our good fortune, even if we don't feel it. We're alive to see the sunrise and the sunset, some of the best shows on earth, and they're free! Even if we don't have as much money as we wish we had, we probably have enough to share. If we give some of our money away, we won't feel as constricted about money. If we are having trouble keeping everything in perspective, maybe it's time to volunteer at a food bank or an animal shelter--or if we're not into organizational activities, we could do our part to pick up litter. We could smile at the janitorial staff. We could thank them for cleaning the communal bathrooms in the places where we work and shop.

If we start working on our spirit of gratitude, the gift of generosity often follows. If we pray for those who need our prayers, our hearts start to open. If we work on forgiveness, our spirit soars. And soon we realize what it means to celebrate Christ the King Sunday.