- November 2, 2025 Sermon
The Sovereignty of God in the Midst of Chaos
My dear friends in Christ, we stand this day before a passage from the Gospel of Luke that is not merely comforting poetry, but a sharp, uncompromising mirror held up to our very souls. Jesus stands on level ground and delivers what we call the Beatitudes—and the accompanying woes. Listen again to this radical proclamation from Luke 6:20-31.
What do you hear in these words? “Blessed are you who are poor… who are hungry… who weep now…” This is a complete reversal of the world’s values, isn’t it? Jesus is not praising poverty for its own sake, no, but he is looking directly into the faces of the suffering, the overlooked, the dispossessed—those among us right now who are weeping, who are hungry, who are struggling with fear for their health and their security—and he is telling them, “Your reality is not God’s last word.” Their very vulnerability makes them the primary recipients of God’s Kingdom, which is at hand, and in the future.
The Divine Flip of the Woes
But Jesus, he doesn’t mince his words. He pivots immediately from the blessing to the woe: “Woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation… Woe to you who are full now… Woe to you who are laughing now.” This “woe” is a profound warning. It is not a curse on wealth itself, but on the spiritual danger of comfort—of being so full and so satisfied that you cannot see the empty hands and empty stomachs right in front of you. It is a terrifying judgment on those who have the power to make it easy on others but choose to make it hard; on those whose ego blinds them, whose grandstanding uses a twisted ‘rule of law’ to mask bigotry and indifference. When we use our privilege, our security, our full stomachs, to oppress, ignore, or justify the suffering of the poor, we have effectively received our full and final reward right here on earth. We have consumed our consolation, leaving nothing for the life of the Kingdom.
Faith is Action, Not Just Words
This brings us to the core of what it means to be a Christian. It is not about preaching the faith; it is about living the faith. It’s about being so completely filled with the Kingdom of God that it pours out of you in acts of justice and mercy. We must heed the ancient prophets. The prophet Amos, long ago, thundered against the hypocrites of his time, those who offered sacrifices in the temple while trampling the poor. He cries out with a voice that cuts through the centuries: “But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” (Amos 5:24)
My friends, that stream of justice is meant to flow in and through us. St. James, makes this point with devastating clarity: “If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace, be warmed and filled,’ without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that?” (James 2:15-16). You see, faith—the very life of the Kingdom—is dead if it does not translate into a warm coat and a meal for the hungry.
The Beatitudes are directly connected to Matthew 25, the last judgment. Jesus tells us that on that day, the King will say, “I was hungry and you gave me food…” (Matt. 25:35). The Beatitudes are the living practice; the Last Judgment is the final accounting. We are not called to live out this radical love for the sake of a heavenly reward, but for the sake of the moment now, for the life and dignity of our neighbor. It is an intentional act of today, which becomes the unintentional reward of tomorrow.
Living Into the Moment Now
The real Kingdom of God is alive within us when we can see the suffering of others, even when we can do little. But even when we can do little, we must still do what we can—to enable the best for others. This call to action, this radical love for the marginalized, has been echoed by those who truly know what it means to live in the margins. The great Puerto Rican poet, Martín Espada, once wrote a line that pierces the heart of our reflection: “The body has its own light, the heart a stubborn torch.”
That stubborn torch is the Kingdom of God within you. It must light the way to your enemy, as Jesus commands: “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.” This is the ultimate, impossible demand, because it means we refuse to be consumed by the world’s cycle of hatred and revenge.
The Beatitude is a wake-up call to see what is truly important while we are living on earth. If we are blessed, it is not for our comfort, but for our commission. Let us be the ones whose faith is not merely a polite greeting but a full, active, and life-giving response to the hunger, the weeping, and the injustice of our world. Amen.
Bishop Jos Tharakan
- October 26, 2025 Sermon
The Rev. Joseph Farnes
All Saints, Boise
Proper 25C
The prophet Jeremiah is one of the most fleshed-out people in the Old Testament. We get so many biographical details of what he went through as a prophet – the suffering and persecution he endured to try to speak the truth to an unhearing government and a callous nation. Very memorable is the time when Jeremiah was thrown into a cistern and abandoned until rescued by a Cushite eunuch named Ebed-Melek[1]. Being a prophet was a thankless job, and it did not bear apparent fruit in Jeremiah’s lifetime. The government was still destroyed, Jerusalem was taken into exile, and the land lay waste.
Jeremiah is not a happy prophet; truly, none of the prophets really are happy people, even though they remain hopeful; they remain hopeful that God’s goodness will prevail, heal, and restore in the long run. Prophets like Jeremiah are called to speak truth in a time when a comfortable, satisfying lie is preferable. Prophets are stuck being the “Debbie Downers” of their generation because they peel back the façade and reveal the decay and slime that’s been plastered over. They are not the fun people at parties. Stretching from the earliest prophets down to John the Baptist, prophets in the Bible lead a lonely, frustrating life.
And the prophets are also looking to God and even there they find themselves frustrated and alone: frustrated that God does not swoop in to act decisively for justice and to act swiftly in mercy; lonely that the prophet is in a social wilderness, rejected by people and yet compelled to proclaim God’s word to them.
Prophets are not ultimately popular in their lifetime, and in their deaths their words are often sanitized. Take a look at our prophet Martin Luther King, Jr. – derided and rejected by whites because he was impatient for freedom and refused to just “go slow”, derided and rejected by the comfortable middle and upper classes because he was impatient for economic justice for all God’s children, derided and rejected by so-called patriots because he dared question the inhumanity of the Vietnam War. But now? His words have been warped into “Why can’t everyone get along and never upset anyone ever and never mention race ever again?”
Prophets like Jeremiah are also sanitized – for so many Christians, the role of the prophets is simply to predict the future. The prophets are relegated to being little more than holy fortune tellers who cryptically predict the fall of Jerusalem, the coming of Jesus, and the spooky stuff in the Book of Revelation. Thus, the real power of the prophets – the indwelling of the Holy Spirit that drives them to see more deeply and speak more boldly – that real power gets relegated to the past. Remember, in the Nicene Creed we proclaim that the Holy Spirit has spoken through the prophets – is the Holy Spirit silent now?
No! The Holy Spirit is not silent and passive. The Holy Spirit is not relegated to the past. The work of the prophets is a ministry of the Holy Spirit, and the Holy Spirit speaks not only through the words of ancient prophets but the Holy Spirit speaks to us still today.
And so we find ourselves in a moment much like Jeremiah. The chaos in government and the economy, the upheavals and splits in our social fabric, the upwelling of callousness, contempt and cruelty … and it’s hard to stay hopeful and courageous in the face of it all. We find ourselves tempted to withdraw from the world, but the world needs us. We find ourselves wanting to be distracted by some kind of happiness and delight, but the world needs us to pay attention.
The world needs us to pay attention because we can bring the insight of the Holy Spirit to the complexities of our crises. We look at the big picture and see a world that is so fixated on accumulating money and power, and we proclaim the name of Jesus who took the lowest place and proclaimed that love and humility are the way of God, the way we are meant to follow. We look at the small picture, and we see sacred children of God, made in God’s very image, no matter who they are.
We, like the prophets, have to see with the eyes of the Holy Spirit and speak with the tongue of the Holy Spirit. If we say we are the heart and hands of Jesus in the world, then we must also be instruments of the Holy Spirit, too.
We have to look deeper than the surface level. Social media has made it easy to keep it surface level or even to downright lie – but the Spirit is a spirit of truth. We have to look deeper. Ask questions. Face difficult truth.
We have to speak more clearly. It has amazed me in the last few years how much even words of mercy and compassion are lambasted by so-called Christians because mercy and compassion are rejected by their favored political leaders. And notice right now whether you feel I’m speaking for or against your own political sensibilities; right now, our barometer on truth, our measurement of whether to listen to someone is based solely on whether they agree with us politically, or say the right words that we already want to hear. If we’re not listening with the power of the Holy Spirit, who is Wisdom and Discernment, then we are going to be misled and manipulated.
And with the gift of the Holy Spirit we also find ourselves with the gift of self-reflection, the gift of contrition, to be able to face our own shadow side, our own unhealed side. If we are going to look outward, we must also look inward. What is it within me that pulls me away from loving God and loving my neighbor as myself? Will I acknowledge it, will I ask God to heal it, will I ask God to nudge me forward even if I’ll still struggle? How will I join with God in making me more like who I am called to be? Would I dare to let myself be called as a prophet of God?
Prophets are not the most cheerful bunch, as I said, but neither are they a hopeless, defeated bunch. Prophets are empowered by the Holy Spirit to see and speak more clearly. They are coworkers of the Spirit, called to this ministry to proclaim truth out of deep, abiding hope in God.
Are we willing to be coworkers of the Holy Spirit in our day and time? Are we willing to do what is right, to speak the truth, to love our neighbors near and far in thought, word, and deed?
May the God of such prophetic hope fill us with all joy and peace in believing through the power of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
[1] Jeremiah 38
- October 19, 2025 Sermon
I speak to you in the name of Source, God, Father, Son, Holy Spirit, mother of us all.
I am going to take you on a trip down memory lane.
One of my many gigs before becoming a Deacon was working with women state legislators in Washington, DC. I was fresh out of college at this time, so about 20 years ago. We would train these women to expand their portfolio of talking points and get them comfortable debating on topics other than “maternal topics”, such as healthcare & education. We taught them how to run for Congress and which earrings not to wear that could be distracting in front of the camera or during debates.
In January 2007, when President Bush, Jr opened his State of the Union address, he shared, “It is my distinct honor to introduce you to Madame Speaker Nancy Pelosi.” There was a bipartisan standing ovation from President Bush, Vice President Dick Cheney, and the entire US Congress & Supreme Court Justices,stood proudly. Earlier that month, I attended a reception honoring this historical moment in our nation’s history. Madame Speaker shared a story. You see, typically, every week, the minority and majority leaders of both Chambers of Congress go to the White House to meet. When she sat at the table, she shared that her chair felt crowded from all the women sitting with her at the table of power.
Part of my job was overseeing operations of a conference held every two years, where these women advocated on issues crucial not only to their district but to the country as a whole. We had to pick a new theme, and it dawned on me that we should choose “women at the tables of power” and give out chair pins.
We hear this quote quite a bit. How can we take” our seat at the tables of power? Are we to be given a seat at the tables of power, or are we to be kindly invited? And once we get into those positions of power, are they given back or taken away? This reminds me of my favorite day in the liturgical year, Maundy Thursday, when Jesus washes the feet of his disciples. The teacher demonstrated to the student, that there is no power at the table, there is no one less or more than anyone else at Jesus‘s table.
Today’s from Pauls letter, and the reading in the gospel of Luke is about the persistent widow, who begs for justice from a judge —really, she is seeking vengeance— from an adversary. And the judge only gave in because, quite frankly, he was exhausted from hearing this widow beg time & time again. I am sure some of us can relate. But Jesus clearly states, in the beginning of the reading, have faith, and pray, be persistent in your pursuit of justice.
It got me thinking about women’s ordination. It’s very timely since I was ordained a Deacon last week, and we are also showing the documentary on the Philadelphia 11 later this afternoon. Think about all the times that men, women, and any of God’s children did not have a voice at the so-called tables of power?
We know of the stories of those who were persistent and kept showing up to those tables, kindly asking and trudging the road to gain access to those tables of power. So many stories throughout our history remind us of these so-called people who fought so hard to gain access to sit at that table, whatever table that might be.
Congresswoman Shirley Chisholm famously said, “If they don’t give you a seat at the table, bring a folding chair”. This quote from the first African American Congresswoman, and presidential candidate, got me thinking….what if we have authority at the tables of power, do we invite others to be at our table? And what if we don’t have access to those tables of power? How do we have the patience and persistence to ensure all of God’s children’s voices are heard?
How much patience do we need to get through each day when witnessing so much injustice in the world? Or how much patience do we need when loving our neighbors? How much patience do you think we should have to gain the wisdom necessary to walk forward in our faith? I know that this, too, shall pass. God will show us the way; there is hope, and the sunlight of the spirit is all around us. Patience is a virtue, they say.
What injustices are going on right now that we need not turn a blind eye to, that we need to rise up like the widow?
We are taught, by Job, Daniel, and other Prophets in the Old Testament, not to try to figure out God‘s plan. That requires patience and a great deal of heart-centered faith. Yet, while we are patiently awaiting, there are thousands of children dying of starvation; a child dies every 10 seconds from going hungry. Thousands are dying because they’re being poisoned either by their food, the air that they breath, or the water that they are consuming in their communities. In the U.S. alone, 2.2 million Americans live in homes without running water or basic plumbing. Which leads me to my last stark fact, that over 40% of Americans have medical debt.
None of these souls asked for this life of despair and trauma. Luck of the draw, huh? Then I think, how lucky am I… To be born in a first-world country, with my needs being met, and I go to bed feeling safe. You would think that I have patience & faith since I am so blessed. We are called to have faith and to have hope. To show mercy to our neighbors. Fighting for justice and centering our ministries on the most vulnerable is our mission.
Yet, there is so much suffering in the world. Must we have patience waiting for someone else to take care of these human sufferings? Should I stand by and do nothing? Do we stand by and watch as the suffering continues? How do we trust that God will take care of us, take care of them, take care of the world?
It is overwhelming at times. But then I remember the parable of the persistent widow. I remember that moment in our country’s history, where there was bipartisan efforts made by the judicial, executive and legislative branches celebrated the leveling of tables of power.
In Paul’s letters, and at the beginning of our reading today from Luke, Jesus tells his disciples to pray and not to lose hope in prayer. To not dim the light of justice by disconnecting with God in some of the most challenging times. To not let our ego get in the way, to allow ourselves to be vulnerable, and to ask for help from, yes, God, but maybe also from others that alleviate chains of suffering. We are called to pray for justice and focus our attention outwardly, rather than living in worry, fear, and anxiety that shades us from God’s love. We are called to invite everyone to our table and the tables of power.
In these times, I have to remember that there have been many King Herods, there have been plagues, World Wars, civil wars, slavery, the holocaust, and the world survived. God’s Kingdom survives only when we learn from one another, lean on God, and patiently pray with one another for justice to prevail.
The widow was not only persistent in her call for justice against her adversary, but she also had to step out of her place in the world to ensure justice was served. She, a widow, was left behind in society, an afterthought. The widow gained enough courage to ask the judge for help, support, and a kind gesture to spare her more anguish, pain, and suffering. He denied her over and over again, yet she persisted.
We are called to find faith in the darkest of circumstances. We are called not to lose hope. We are called to find hope in our siblings who do not have faith themselves or believe in God. To shine our light so bright that all will see the love, grace, and compassion we have to share with the world.
As we reflect on how we can empower one another to sit at the tables of power, offer up a seat at the table, or even to bring a folding chair, I ask, how can we step it up a bit offering up a seat?
How can we continue to lean into prayer, lean on others, work towards justice, show mercy, and share grace in all bountiful gifts, so all know the love of the Kingdom of God?
Rev. Christina Cernansky
- October 12, 2025 Sermon
The Rev. Joseph Farnes
All Saints, Boise
Proper 23C
When the one leper, the Samaritan, saw that he was healed, he turned back to give thanks to Jesus. An important detail in the story: he saw that he was healed. All ten of the people afflicted with leprosy had been healed, and they were sent off to show themselves to the priests who were in charge of declaring whether they were free of the disease. The other nine, it seems, were focused on the next step of the mission, but this Samaritan took a moment to look at himself; when he looked, he saw that he was healed. He turned – perhaps he wasn’t sure which priests he was supposed to turn to, the priests in Jerusalem or the priests on Mt Gerazim where the Samaritans worshipped. (I’m glad that dermatology is no longer a subject expected of priests.) But he knew that Jesus had done this healing, and so he turned back to show his gratitude.
When did you notice you were healed? What was the moment that you took notice of what God had been doing in your life? Was it a flash, a moment of change in your life when you decided to follow Jesus – or was it a slow burn where you were able to look back and see how Jesus had been walking alongside you and your heart burned with gratitude? When did you, like the leper, notice what Jesus had been doing in your life and you turned with gratitude?
That gratitude flows into our spiritual life and animates it. We are grateful and thankful. We thank God for creating us, for restoring us, for healing us, for guiding us, for renewing and transforming us. And as we ponder those things that God had done for us, our heart flows with love enough to share.
What are you thankful for?
I’m thankful for God’s ongoing faithfulness in my life, even when I’ve struggled in return. Some of you know I grew up in a religious tradition that talks about Jesus but has some very interesting ideas about God, heaven, and the institutional church. My family wasn’t the most active, but I’m thankful that my parents instilled in me a love for reading the Bible and a belief that what Jesus said in the Gospels was at the heart of following him. So as I got older and asked more questions, that faith in Jesus was the foundation that let me stand firm in something bigger than myself. I didn’t know how to articulate my frustrations with how that church interpreted the Bible, and I didn’t know how to speak the right words to say how the church’s refusal to ordain women was wrong, but I knew that the Jesus I met when I read the Bible thought bigger and more clearly than what that church was teaching. I knew that the Bible was not just a collection of little proofs for obscure and strange doctrine. I knew that God was not first and foremost concerned about gender in whether someone was called to ministry within the church. I’m grateful that God set me on such a foundation in Jesus.
And I’m thankful, too, for God’s lovingkindness toward me in the years after I left that church. I’d been wrestling and frustrated for so long, that when I finally got the nerve to leave I didn’t have the strength to find a new church, and so as a teenager I wandered around spiritually. I didn’t want to go through the heartbreak of finding a new community – because I also knew that spiritual community is hard. I knew expecting perfection is only disappointment, and I’m hardly perfect myself. But God was with me in those wandering days, too. I learned a lot. I asked better questions. I wandered in a wilderness; in the wilderness I might feel alone, yet in the wandering I had a silent companion in Jesus. I’m thankful that Jesus knew the healing I needed.
And then when I “came back” to Jesus, in a sense I’d never left, and Jesus certainly had never left me. Jesus is faithful – remember, he healed all ten of the lepers because it is Jesus’ desire to heal us; the nine that kept on going were still healed. But there was a rejoicing in my heart to come back to Jesus more fully, and Jesus rejoiced to have me back. As he said to the Samaritan leper who turned back to give thanks, so he says to me: “your faith makes you well.”
Faith – it’s not what we know or think, but it’s our turning to Jesus in word and deed, faith in sharing in love what God does for all of us, how Jesus heals not just the one who turns to him but the nine who kept on walking. And it makes us well – we continue to fall down and make mistakes and hurt ourselves and one another, we still sometimes find our love for God frozen in a cold shadow – but we can keep turning to Jesus in word and deed and prayer, and share our thankfulness and find ourselves rekindled and healed. Faith makes us well, not because we get fixed once for all, and not because nice pious thoughts make us special – faith makes us well because it keeps us turning to Jesus who loves us beyond measure, who has already been at work healing us, whether or not we’ve seen it. That is simply who Jesus is, and Jesus is delighted to heal us and have compassion on us. And Jesus rejoices when he sees us turn in gratitude, even if we think ourselves as outsiders, or if others say we don’t belong. When did you notice Jesus had been healing you – in body, in mind, in spirit, in heart? Jesus shows you love, and he delights in you. What would you say to Jesus to thank him – in thought, in word, in deed? And imagine the love in his eyes seeing you turn toward him like the Samaritan leper, knowing that you noticed the healing and were burning with love in return. Amen.
- October 5, 2025 Sermon
The Rev. Joseph Farnes
All Saints, Boise
Proper 22C
“Increase our faith!” cry out the disciples. We might be finding ourselves saying the same thing. If only we had more faith, we think, then we’d have the power to uproot mulberry trees, move mountains, handle snakes, do monumental works! But, alas, our faith is not even as big as a teensy, tiny mustard seed.
So what are we to do? We feel like our miniscule faith is standing in the way. We need more faith, bigger faith, we think. If we had this, then we’d be able to do all these things. We feel like we need that supply of mustard seeds to pull from in order to do what we are called to do. We need to have a big bottle faith, like we have a bottle of mustard sitting in the fridge door, and without that mustard, it is simply impossible to make a sandwich.
That is not what faith is. Faith is not a “thing”.
Or we think of faith as a feeling. If I felt faithful, then I’d do all these things, but as it is, I don’t feel it, so I don’t feel like doing it. If I don’t have that feeling of faith, then it can’t be real. We encounter that in our daily lives in different ways. If I don’t have that warm tingle of love, then I don’t have love. (We all know that one isn’t true, because we can love someone and at the same time feel annoyed by them). If I don’t have a contented feeling that can withstand all the difficulties of life without ever feeling upset, then maybe I don’t have faith.
Faith isn’t a feeling, either. Notice the deep faith of the prophet Habakkuk we read today – he launches an indictment against God for all the violence and suffering of the world. He is not contented, he is not at peace, he is not shrugging his shoulders and saying with a pious voice, “Well, God must have a plan, and so I should accept this as God’s will” – Habakkuk the prophet is not quiet, he is not at peace, and yet he demonstrates the depth of his faith by throwing the suffering of the world back at God. Habakkuk’s faith says instead, “Look at this violence and evil, God! Do something!” Habakkuk has faith that he can face the suffering of the world AND he has faith that God is capable of helping AND he has faith that God can be yelled at, without God getting all smite-y.
Faith, like hope, is not so much a thing, or a feeling – faith, like hope, is a verb. Faith is active. Faith moves. Faith is not thinking the right things or feeling the right emotions – faith is action.
Faith is praying regardless of whether it gives us the warm fuzzies or not, because we know that prayer directs our hearts, minds, spirits, and bodies toward God, and that is important to do regardless.
Faith is working for justice and peace, regardless if we feel overwhelmed by the immense needs and pain of the world and unsure if things will change, because we know that we cannot give up. As Rabbi Tarfon says in the Jewish Mishnah, “It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you at liberty to neglect it.”[1] You are not expected to right every wrong and bring the world to perfect healing and justice, but neither are you exempt from being part of the solution. In this way, we are commanded to live out a life of faith. If we think it’s all on us, then we are prone to despair. If we think we can’t do anything, then we forget what God can do in us and through us.
However, if we keep going, doing our part with great love, then we have faith. We have faith that God will work through us to do great things. We have faith that love, peace, and justice are the way of the Kingdom of God, and that we humans were created to be loving, to be peaceful, to be just and fair, because we are made in the image of a loving God, a God who cherishes peace, a God of justice.
We have faith that even in the darkest times, even in the midst of our own pain and fear, we have faith that God is present. We have faith that evil does not triumph – that is the message of the cross and resurrection and the return of Christ. We have faith that nothing will ever separate us from the love of God – and so we have faith that living the way of love, peace, and justice is not only a commandment from God, but also that the way of love, peace, and justice are a day-to-day walking with God.
Jesus wants us to love His way of love with our whole hearts. That confusing part at the end of today’s Gospel reading – “We are worthless slaves, we have only done what we ought to have done!” – it calls us to do the right thing, to be faithful, not because we’re going to get a reward, but to do the right thing simply because it is the right thing to do. We’re not doing the right thing for praise. We’re not doing it because if we suffer for God, then God will get revenge on our enemies. No! We don’t love our enemies because we’re better than them but because we have faith that love is what will heal us all. We want to do the right thing because it’s the right thing – it’s the way of God. We show our faith by living faithfully to the way of God, as best as we can, with as much love as we can.
This is our faith, then. God so loved the world that all was made in love, for love, by love – and we are called to walk in this love, to trust in God’s love powerfully and mightily with all that we do that maybe the love of God might be known in us, through us, and by us, and that the world may be healed and set free. In this walk of faith, in this walk of trust in God and love in Christ, we are set free and healed – and we keep on walking to bring that trust and love to the whole world. Amen.
[1] Pirkei Avot, 2:16