Something to think about this week . . . .

“Many claim to have been born again, but the evidence for mature Christian discipleship is slim. In our kind of culture anything, even news about God, can be sold if it is packaged freshly; but when it loses its novelty, it goes on the garbage heap. There is a great market for religious experience in our world; there is little enthusiasm for the patient acquisition of virtue, little inclination to sign up for a long apprenticeship in what earlier generations of Christians called holiness.” (Eugene H. Peterson)

Source: I drew this quote from Tish Harrison Warren’s book, What Grows in Weary Lands: On Christian Resilience, (2026).

RCL Calendar and Sunday’s Readings

Three-Minute Homily: “The Antidote to Despair”

“Harassed and helpless.” Matthew’s phrase catches my attention this week — and, like so many of these episodes in the story of those first Christians, is remarkably timely. You can hear it in our public conversations, in the brittle tone of our politics, in the fatigue that hangs over so many people. Scroll social media for five minutes and you’ll see it: a culture running on fumes, anxious, cynical, and often despairing. Harassed and helpless.

As a Christian, I feel two things at once. First, a kind of shame. We live with abundance, freedom, and opportunity that most of the world can only imagine. My parents’ generation knew real deprivation; they carried that memory with them throughout their lives. They understood how fortunate we are. Our complaints, by comparison, are small. May God give us the humility to see that clearly. But second, I’m not surprised by the despair and much of it is entirely warranted. These currents run deep. They’re ancient. What we’re witnessing now is not just political exhaustion — it’s spiritual emptiness. A hollowing out. Many have stepped away from the practices and communities that once gave them meaning. They’re adrift, and the result is exactly what Matthew describes: harassed and helpless.

That’s why today’s reading from Exodus matters. Israel stands at the foot of Sinai, newly freed but not yet formed. God reminds them who they are and what they’re for: “You shall be my treasured possession… a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.” Before they receive a single commandment, they receive a calling. Their identity comes first. Their mission flows from it. And that’s our story too. In a moment when the world feels frayed, God gathers us again — like those Israelites at the mountain — and reminds us who we are. Not spectators. Not cynics. Not consumers of outrage. A people set apart for mercy, justice, and hope.

Jesus sent his disciples into a world every bit as troubled as ours. He tells them to be wise as serpents and innocent as doves. He equips them with compassion, not contempt. He sends them not to win arguments but to heal wounds, to announce good news, to make God credible in the world. Will it be easy? Of course not. But Paul offers that marvelous roadmap: affliction produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces hope. And hope — real hope, not the thin optimism of the moment — is the antidote to despair. That’s our gift. That’s our calling. In a culture that feels harassed and helpless, we carry a hope that does not disappoint. So let’s share it — boldly, humbly, and with the compassion of the One who sends us. The world needs our voice.

Soli Deo Gloria!

Image of the Week: “Head of Christ”

Musical Reflection: Hymn to the Eternal Flame (Stephen Paulus)

Every so often I stumble on a piece of music that stops me in my tracks, and that happened this week when I revisited Stephen Paulus’ Hymn to the Eternal Flame. The timing felt uncanny, because we just observed the 82nd anniversary of the D‑Day landings — 6 June 1944 — a day when the world pivoted toward liberation and the long, brutal work of stopping the Nazi war machine. Paulus’ piece, written for To Be Certain of the Dawn, sits right inside that moral landscape, carrying the memory of the millions of Jewish people (and others) who were annihilated in the Holocaust. Its quiet opening feels like a single candle being lit in a dark room, and the repeated line “Each small candle lights a corner of the dark” becomes a kind of vow. By the time the voices swell together, the music feels like an act of remembrance and resistance — an echo of the same courage that pushed ashore at Normandy.

I hope you enjoy this powerful interpretation from “The Singers,” a Minnesota based group under the direction of Matthew Culloton (who now directs the Concordia Choir in Moorhead).

ELCA Commemorations This Week

Note: The ELCA commemorates a wide range of Christians throughout the year as a way of remembering that God has worked through ordinary people in every age. These commemorations — drawn from Scripture, the early church, the Reformation, and more recent history — invite us to see faith lived out in many different vocations and cultures. They aren’t about elevating “heroes,” but about widening our sense of the communion of saints and letting their witness encourage our own. In marking these days, the church pauses to give thanks, to learn, and to be reminded that the Holy Spirit continues to shape faithful lives in every generation. You will find the full listing of them in the front of the ELW. Explore any via the links provided.

Going Beyond: In Person and Digital Resources