Pentecost 8 Readings

What is the Revised Common Lectionary?

The Revised Common Lectionary grew out of late‑20th‑century ecumenical work, especially the Consultation on Common Texts, which wanted churches to share a common, three‑year rhythm of Scripture shaped by the seasons of the church year. Each Sunday’s readings are meant to speak to one another: the Old Testament reading sets the theme, the psalm responds to that reading, the epistle widens the theological frame, and the Gospel anchors the day. The RCL also offers alternative first readings — usually a choice between a semi‑continuous Old Testament track that moves through major narratives and a thematic track that ties more directly to the Gospel. In the ELW, you see this in the paired options for the first reading and psalm, giving congregations the flexibility to follow the unfolding Old Testament story or lean into the Sunday’s central theme. You will note I am including an alternative reading this week.

Five-Minute Homily

Spanish philosopher Ortega y Gasset once wrote, “Tell me the landscape in which you live, and I will tell you who you are.” I suspect many reading this feel that truth in the upper Great Lakes region where we live, where the scenery can stop you mid‑stride. This week’s story of Jacob’s dream brought that quote back to me — and with it the power of sacred spaces in our lives. One of mine came far from here: a late‑1970s hike over the Continental Divide on a cool Colorado morning. Out of nowhere, my father — ever the romantic — recited Psalm 121. The moment stunned me. The air, the mountains, the cadence of the psalm — it all felt charged. I honestly sensed God’s presence. Landscapes shape us. Sacred spaces shape us. They become part of our spiritual autobiography.

I’ve been thinking about this especially after reading Heidi Haverkamp’s reflection on the Genesis 28 text in the July edition of The Christian Century (page 26). She reminds us that we have relationships with places — just as we do with people. Certain landscapes, certain buildings, certain corners of the world carry a weight for us not because they are universally holier, but because they are woven into our story. They are where we encountered God, or hope, or grief, or calling. They are where something in us shifted. Jacob marks his encounter with God by naming the place Beth‑El — the house of God. Later in life, after wrestling with the mysterious figure who renames him Israel, he doesn’t mark that ground at all. Not every encounter becomes a monument. But some do. Some need to.

And that brings me to our own worship space at ELC in Black River Falls. When you look up at the carved structure above the altar, it’s easy to see why so many have called it Jacob’s Ladder — a visual echo of that Genesis story. The whole front piece draws the eye upward. Its tiered panels, haloed figures, and words like “ADORATION” and “PRAY” create a sense of movement from earth toward heaven, a kind of worship rising toward God. Whether the artist intended Jacob’s Ladder, the heavenly liturgy, or something else entirely, the effect is the same: the space feels sacred. Not because wood, brick, or stained glass are holier than other materials, but because of what has happened here. Baptisms. Funerals. Communion. Singing. Silence. Prayer. Community. As with so many places of worship, this place has shaped thousands of people.

Haverkamp reminds us that sacred places can become idols if we cling too tightly. But she also says they can be portals to the Spirit — “gates of heaven and houses of the holy.” Not because God is confined here, but because we are. We’re embodied creatures. We live in landscapes. Like our spiritual ancestors, we need places that help us remember who we are and whose we are.

So this week, as we read Jacob’s story again, I invite you to consider the landscapes that have shaped your faith. The places — wild or ordinary, ancient or recent — where you have sensed God’s presence. And I invite you to give thanks for this place, too. Not as the only gate of heaven, but as one of the gates through which God has chosen to meet us. May we honor these places without owning them. May we cherish them without clinging. And may we continue to discover, in the landscapes of our lives, the God who still speaks, still blesses, and still calls us by name.

Soli Deo Gloria.

I am indebted to Heidi Haverkamp for her insights into the Genesis text this week! She helped me reflect on this text. She is an Episcopal priest, spiritual director, and author whose work focuses on helping people notice the sacred in everyday life. A graduate of Seabury-Western Theological Seminary, she has served parishes in Illinois and Indiana and writes regularly for publications such as The Christian Century, Forward Movement, and Living Lutheran. She is also the author of Everyday Connections, a series of devotional books shaped around the Revised Common Lectionary.

Image of the Week

Musical Reflection

ELCA Commemorations

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.

Monday 6 July: Bartolome de Las Casas, missionary to the Indies (d. 1566)

Bartolomé de Las Casas (1484–1566) was a Spanish Dominican friar who became one of the earliest and most forceful Christian advocates for the rights and dignity of Indigenous peoples in the Americas. Originally a participant in the colonial system, he experienced a profound conversion of conscience that led him to renounce his encomienda, enter the Dominican Order, and devote his life to exposing the brutality of Spanish conquest. Through writings such as A Short Account of the Destruction of the Indies and persistent petitions to the Spanish crown, he argued that Indigenous peoples were fully human, capable of reason and faith, and entitled to justice — positions that challenged both political power and prevailing theological assumptions. The ELCA commemorates him because his witness embodies a Lutheran commitment to neighbor‑love, justice, and repentance, and because his voice continues to call the church toward solidarity with oppressed peoples and honest reckoning with the legacy of colonization.

The accompanying painting is “Fray Bartolomé de las Casas” (1875) by the Mexican artist Félix Parra, and it hangs in the Museo Nacional de Arte in Mexico City. Parra created it during a period when Mexican intellectuals were re‑examining the legacy of Spanish colonization, and the work reflects that historical moment. Las Casas is shown as a solemn, compassionate defender of Indigenous peoples, a visual interpretation of his lifelong struggle against the violence of the conquest. Parra’s style blends academic realism with moral drama: the friar stands at the center, often depicted shielding or advocating for Indigenous victims, making the painting both a tribute and a critique of the complex nature of colonial history.

Going Beyond