Sunday, August 23, 2026

Today's Worship Service - Sunday, August 23, 2026

 

Worship Service for August 23, 2026

Prelude

Announcements:

Call to Worship

L:      What joy we feel when we are called together to celebrate God’s love.

P:      God’s love flows through our lives!

L:      Looking around, this is what it means to be the body of Christ.

P:      This is what it means to be faithful witnesses to God.

L:      Let us rejoice this day!

P:      Lord, we thank You for the blessings You pour on us.  AMEN

 

Opening Hymn –  How Firm a Foundation            #361/408

Prayer of Confession

God of infinite mercy and love, we come before You this day, knowing that we have not always been faithful to what You would have us do.  We have often turned our backs on those in need, choosing not to hear their cries.  Forgive us, O Lord.  We know that You do not want us to behave this way.  Your love and mercy, so generously showered over us, should be a beacon to guide our own actions.  We make no excuses, for none would suffice.  We only ask Your forgiveness and at the same time, blessings, turning us around again and placing us on the path of compassion and peace toward one another.  We offer this prayer in Jesus’ name.  (Silent prayers are offered)  AMEN.

Assurance of Pardon

L:      God’s love is greater than our understanding and even our comprehension.  That love is continually given to each and every one of us every single moment. 

P:      In knowing this, we rejoice!  God’s forgiving love is poured out for us now and always.  AMEN!

 

Gloria Patri

Affirmation of Faith/Apostles’ Creed

I believe in God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth; And in Jesus Christ His only Son our Lord; who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried; He descended into hell; the third day He rose again from the dead; He ascended into heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of God the Father Almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the quick and the dead.

I believe in the Holy Ghost, the holy catholic Church; the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins; the resurrection of the body; and the life everlasting.  AMEN

 

Pastoral Prayer and Lord’s Prayer

Gracious and loving God,

On this late August morning, we come before you carrying all that has filled the week behind us and all that awaits us in the days ahead.  We bring our gratitude and our weariness, our hopes and our disappointments, our certainty and our questions, trusting that you receive us just as we are and hold us within a love that will never let us go.

We thank you for the gifts that surround us—the beauty of creation, the companionship of family and friends, the kindness of strangers, the laughter of children, and the quiet moments when we recognize your presence in the ordinary rhythms of life. Teach us not to hurry past these blessings, but to receive them with grateful hearts and to share them generously with others.

We pray for those who are suffering today: those who are ill, awaiting test results, recovering from surgery, or living with chronic pain; those who are grieving someone they love; those who feel lonely, anxious, or uncertain about the future; and those who carry burdens that remain hidden from everyone around them.  Draw near to each one, O God, and make us attentive to the ways we may become instruments of your comfort and care.

As children, teachers, administrators, and families prepare for a new school year, grant them patience, courage, curiosity, and joy.  Protect those who enter classrooms with trepidation, encourage those who feel overwhelmed, and help every school become a place where children are safe, valued, and given the opportunity to flourish.

We pray for our community and for all who struggle to find adequate food, secure housing, meaningful work, affordable healthcare, or a place where they feel they belong.  Keep us from offering only kind words when faithful action is required.  Give us the wisdom to recognize injustice, the courage to challenge it, and the compassion to stand beside those whose voices have too often been ignored.

We pray for our nation and for the nations of the world.  Where there is war, bring peace; where there is hatred, awaken understanding; where there is division, create paths toward reconciliation; and where leaders are tempted by power, remind them that true leadership is found in service, humility, and concern for the most vulnerable.

Today, we lift up to you…

And now, in the silence of this moment, we place before you the names, needs, and concerns that rest most heavily upon our hearts.

 

Holy God, receive these prayers, including those we cannot yet put into words.  We ask all of this in the name of your son, Jesus Christ, the teacher and rabbi who taught us to pray saying…Our Father who art in heaven, Hallowed by Thy name.  Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.  Give us this day our daily bread.  Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.  And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.  For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever.  AMEN.

 

Hymn –  Just As I Am         #370/488

Scripture Reading(s): 

First Scripture Reading – Psalm 138

Second Scripture Reading – Romans 12:1-8

Sermon –

Knowing and Doing God’s Will

Romans 12:1–8

Wouldn’t it be nice if we all got a letter in the mail with the words “God’s Will for Your Life” printed across the envelope?  I think we would really like it if God told us which job to take, whom to trust, how to spend our money, and what decision to make.  Yet most of us have discovered that God rarely works that way.  The heavens do not usually open showing the way, the path that we need to choose is not always obvious, and even our sincere prayers do not guarantee that every uncertainty will immediately disappear.

When Paul writes about discerning the will of God, however, he does not begin with a secret message, a miraculous sign, or a detailed plan for the future.  He begins with the mercy of God: “I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God.”  Everything Paul is about to say rests upon those words.  Before he tells us what we should do, he reminds us of what God has already done.  Before he speaks about commitment, transformation, service, or spiritual gifts, he points us toward mercy.

The first eleven chapters of Romans have been Paul’s long and careful reflection about the grace of God revealed in Jesus Christ.  He has spoken about sin and forgiveness, faith and hope, suffering and redemption, the work of the Spirit, and God’s promise that nothing in all creation can separate us from divine love.  Then, when he begins to write chapter twelve, Paul says, in effect, “Because all of this other stuff is true—because God has met us with grace, because Christ has embraced us in love, because the Spirit is at work within us—this is how we are invited to live.”

Our Christian faith never begins with what we must do for God.  It begins with what God has done for us.  Our lives of faith are not an attempt to purchase God’s love, earn God’s approval, or prove that we deserve a place in God’s family.  They are our response to God’s mercy, God’s grace, God’s love.  We love because we have been loved.  We forgive because we have been forgiven.  We serve because Christ has served us.  We offer our lives to God, not because God is demanding a payment, but because grace has awakened some gratitude within us.

Paul continues, “Present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.”  To present our bodies as a living sacrifice means that faith cannot be confined to our thoughts, our feelings, or the hour we spend in worship on Sunday morning.  It involves not just our physical bodies but our time, our possessions, our relationships, our work, our words, our choices, and the ways we move in the world.  We worship God not only when we sing a hymn or pray a prayer, but also when we prepare a meal for someone who is grieving, listen patiently to a lonely neighbor, speak up when another person is being mistreated, teach a child, visit someone who is sick, give generously, repair what is broken, and offer our abilities for the good of the community.  That is presenting our whole selves as a living sacrifice to God.

Sometimes we imagine that discovering God’s will must involve doing something dramatic, heroic, or extraordinary, but Paul’s image of a living sacrifice suggests that God’s will is often found in ordinary faithfulness.  It’s found in choosing kindness when cruelty would be easier, telling the truth when dishonesty would be more convenient, remaining present when we would rather walk away, and making room for those whom the world has pushed aside.  This living sacrifice is not one spectacular moment of devotion; it is the daily offering of who we are and what we have.

Of course, there is something difficult about being a living sacrifice, because it’s a continuing practice of offering ourselves to God again and again.  Every morning gives us another opportunity to say, “God, take my life as it is today—my strength and my weariness, my confidence and my uncertainty, my gifts and my limitations—and use it for Your work of love.”

Paul then tells us, “Do not be conformed to this age.”  Don’t allow the fears, divisions, and distorted values of our current culture to determine who you will become.  Instead, “be transformed by the renewing of your minds.”  The Greek word Paul uses for “transformed” is metamorphoo, which is where we get our English word “metamorphosis.”  It describes a profound change, like the transformation of a caterpillar into a butterfly. Paul is speaking about something deeper than learning a few new religious ideas.  He is describing a life gradually reshaped by the grace of God. 

This transformation does not happen all at once.  It unfolds through prayer, worship, Scripture, service, community, honest reflection, and our willingness to listen to people whose experiences differ from our own.  It happens when we allow God to challenge not only the beliefs of those with whom we disagree, but also our own assumptions and prejudices.  A renewed mind is not a mind that believes it already knows everything.  It is a humble, curious, compassionate mind that remains open to the movement of the Holy Spirit.

It is only through this long, gradual process that we begin to “discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect.”  Paul doesn’t say that we’ll receive a detailed schedule of everything that is going to happen.  He says we will develop the capacity to discern.  Discernment is not fortune-telling.  It is the spiritual wisdom to recognize what reflects the character of God.

If a choice moves us toward love, justice, mercy, truth, reconciliation, and the flourishing of our neighbors, then it bears the marks of God’s will.  

When we ask, “What is God’s will?” perhaps we should begin with questions such as these: Does this decision help me love God and my neighbor more fully?  Does it honor the dignity of the people affected by it? Does it create healing or deepen harm?  Does it allow me to use my gifts faithfully?  Does it arise from courage and trust, or merely from fear and self-protection?  Can I make this choice with integrity, humility, and compassion?

To be honest, even if we are being fully transformed, we will not always answer those questions perfectly.  Faithful people may pray sincerely and still reach different conclusions.  Sometimes we will make the best decision we can with the information available and later realize that we were mistaken.  Discernment does not make us infallible.  But it does keeps us humble enough to listen, wise enough to reconsider, and trusting enough to believe that God’s grace is larger than our errors.

But knowing the will of God is only half of Paul’s message in today’s text.  The other half is doing it.  We can spend so much time waiting for absolute certainty that we never take the next faithful step.  We may want God to show us the entire road, while God gives us enough light for only the next few feet.  There are moments when discernment requires patience, but there are also moments when continued hesitation becomes a way of avoiding obedience.

We do not need a special revelation to know that feeding hungry people is consistent with God’s will.  We do not need a miraculous sign before welcoming a stranger, defending someone who is being treated unjustly, forgiving an old injury, or checking on a neighbor who lives alone. We already know enough of God’s will to begin doing something.

I am reminded of the familiar story of a person walking along a beach after a storm.  Thousands of starfish had been washed onto the sand and were beginning to dry beneath the sun.  The person bent down, picked up one starfish, and tossed it back into the water.  A passerby looked at the endless shoreline and said, “There are thousands of them.  You cannot possibly make a difference.”  The person picked up another starfish and replied, “It made a difference to that one.”

That story can sound overly simple when placed beside the enormous problems of our world; hunger, poverty, racism, violence, climate change, loneliness, and war cannot be solved by one small act.  Yet Paul never tells us that we must solve everything.  He asks each of us to offer ourselves—to do the good that is within our reach and to join our gifts with the gifts of others.

Paul describes the church as one body with many members.  Every member has a different function, yet all belong to one another.  This is one of Paul’s most powerful images for Christian community.  We do not merely attend the same church or occupy the same building for an hour each week.  In Christ, we belong to one another.  Your well-being is connected to mine, and mine is connected to yours.

We were raised, taught, encouraged, corrected, protected, and supported by countless others.  Someone grew the food we ate this morning.  Someone maintained the road on which we traveled.  Someone taught us to read.  Someone preserved the stories of faith before we were born.  Even our most personal accomplishments rest upon gifts we did not create for ourselves.

The church is meant to be a place where we acknowledge this interdependence and receive it as a gift.  A hand does not criticize a foot for being unable to see, and an eye does not dismiss an ear for being unable to walk.  Each part has its purpose, and the body flourishes when every part is valued and every gift is shared.

Paul then goes on to name several gifts: prophecy, ministry, teaching, encouragement, generosity, leadership, and compassion.  His list is not meant to be exhaustive.  Some people have the gift of speaking a necessary truth, while others know how to sit quietly with someone whose heart is breaking.  Some can organize a complicated project, while others notice the person standing alone at the edge of the room.  Some teach, some repair, some cook, some sing, some give, some advocate, some pray, and some possess the holy gift of helping anxious people feel safe.

We sometimes overlook our gifts because they seem ordinary to us.  A person who listens well may not recognize listening as a spiritual gift because it comes naturally.  Someone who can bring order to a chaotic situation may think, “I am only making a few phone calls.”  Someone who offers warmth and hospitality may say, “I am only putting on another pot of coffee.”  What seems ordinary for one person to do, might seem extraordinary to another who couldn’t possibly do that, because that just isn’t their gift.  And to the person who receives a gift, it is an expression of immense grace.

Frederick Buechner famously described vocation as the place where our deep gladness meets the world’s deep need.  That does not mean every act of service will be easy or enjoyable, but it reminds us that God’s will is often discovered where the gifts God has placed within us encounter the needs God places before us.  We do not have to imitate someone else’s calling.  We do not have to possess every gift, respond to every need, or carry every burden.  We only have to ask, “What has God entrusted to me, and how might I offer it in love?”

This is the central message of Romans 12:1–8: God’s will is not primarily a hidden puzzle that only a few spiritually gifted people will ever solve.  God’s will is a way of life formed by mercy, accessible to all.  It is the offering of our whole selves, the renewal of our minds, the humble recognition of our limitations, and the faithful use of our gifts for the good of others.

Knowing God’s will begins by remembering God’s mercy.  Doing God’s will begins by offering what we have.  And this is how we do the will of God together; as one body, many members, and every one of us held within the mercy of God.

Thanks be to God.

Amen.

Offertory –

Doxology –

Prayer of Dedication –

         God of abundance and joy, we thank You for the many blessings You have poured on our lives.  Receive these gifts, lovingly given, and bless them for Your service among us and in the world.  AMEN.

Closing Hymn –  God Be With You                        #232  Brown Hymnal

Benediction

Go now as living offerings of God’s grace, renewed in mind, humble in spirit, and ready to use your gifts for the good of all.  May the love of God guide you, the grace of Christ sustain you, and the Holy Spirit empower you to serve.  Amen.

 

Postlude

Sunday, August 16, 2026

Sermon for Today - Sunday, August 16, 2026

 Today our churches meet for our annual picnic.  Due to the heavy rain, we will meet at First Presbyterian Church, Elizabeth at 11am instead of Round Hill Park.  Same plan; informal, bring a dish to share, etc... just a different location due to the weather.

I'm preaching, but do not have a worship outline to share, so here is today's sermon.

Crumbs Are Enough

Matthew 15:21–28

There are some passages of Scripture that we love because they reassure us, passages we return to because they sound exactly like the Jesus we have come to know and trust: passages like Jesus welcoming children, Jesus touching and healing lepers, Jesus feeding hungry crowds, Jesus forgiving sinners, Jesus telling frightened disciples not to be afraid. And then there are passages like this one, passages we might prefer to hurry past because Jesus does not behave the way we expect Jesus to behave.  In fact, Jesus sounds harsh, dismissive, and even cruel.

A Canaanite woman comes to him because her daughter is suffering, and she cries out, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David.”  She is not asking for wealth or privilege.  She is not trying to get ahead.  She is a mother asking for mercy for her child, and Matthew tells us that Jesus doesn’t answer her at all.  He doesn’t say a word to her.

And when the disciples become irritated by her persistence and ask Jesus to send her away, he finally speaks, but what he says doesn’t make the story any easier: “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”  In other words, you are not one of them. You are outside the circle. My mission, my mercy, my healing, is not for you or for your daughter.

But she refuses to leave.  Instead, she comes closer, kneels before him, and says perhaps the simplest prayer anyone can ever pray: “Lord, help me.”  And Jesus responds, “It’s not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

There really is no comfortable way around examining those words.  We can explain the cultural setting, we can soften the translation, we can point out that the word Jesus uses may refer to household dogs rather than wild dogs, but when a desperate mother asks for help for her suffering child and the response compares her to a dog, the distinction doesn’t help very much.  This may be “the cruelest comment Jesus makes in all of scripture.” 

Matthew has given us plenty of reason to imagine that Jesus is tired. His hometown has rejected him.  Religious leaders continually challenge him.  His disciples repeatedly misunderstand him.  Crowds follow him everywhere, wanting to be healed, wanting to be fed, wanting something from him.  Jesus had reached that painfully human place where everyone seems to want his time, his gifts, and his energy, while very few seem interested in who he really is.

Most of us know something about that feeling.  It may be the one parent who realizes that everyone in the family needs something from them at exactly the same time.  It may be the caregiver whose telephone never seems to stop ringing.  It may be the teacher who has finished a long day only to open an inbox filled with messages from parents and students.  It may be the person who volunteers at church and discovers that once you have demonstrated that you are willing to do something, everyone assumes you will be willing to do everything.  Or it may simply be any of us scrolling through the news on our phones, seeing war and hunger and refugees and floods and fires and poverty and violence, until eventually compassion itself begins to feel exhausting.

There is a phrase for that now; it’s called: compassion fatigue.  We see so much suffering that eventually something inside us begins to shut down.  We know we should care, but there is only so much emotional energy available, and eventually we draw a line.  We have to draw lines, don't we?  We can’t answer every request.  We can’t solve every problem.  We can’t give money to every organization.  We can’t carry every burden.  We can’t personally heal everything that is broken in this world.

The problem comes when the lines we draw to protect our limited resources become lines that determine whose life matters.  Because we are very good at drawing lines.  We draw lines between citizen and immigrant, Republican and Democrat, conservative and progressive, Christian and Muslim, rich and poor, rural and urban, straight and gay, housed and homeless, educated and uneducated.  We draw lines around neighborhoods and churches and social circles, sometimes without ever consciously deciding to do so, and eventually we can begin to believe that the people on our side of the line deserve the bread while the people on the other side should be grateful for whatever crumbs happen to fall their way.  And then, like this Canaanite woman, someone crosses the line.

She has everything working against her.  She is a woman approaching a male religious teacher in a culture where that alone could be problematic.  She is a Gentile.  Matthew deliberately calls her a Canaanite, reaching back into Israel's oldest memories of enemies and outsiders.  She belongs to the wrong people, comes from the wrong place, and worships within the wrong tradition.

Yet she recognizes something in Jesus that many insiders have failed to recognize.  “Lord, Son of David.”  The outsider, not the insider, not the ones that Jesus has been speaking to all these months, knows who he is.  And there is something wonderfully disruptive about that, because throughout Scripture God – I say this often to my own congregation – that throughout the story of Scripture God has an irritating habit of allowing outsiders to see things insiders miss.

Sometimes the person who teaches the church what grace looks like is the person the church assumed needed to be taught about grace.  Sometimes the person who teaches us about generosity is the person we assumed had nothing to give.  Sometimes the person who teaches us about courage is the person whose life we never bothered to understand.  And sometimes the person standing on the other side of the boundary is the one God uses to show us that the boundary never belonged there in the first place.

I think about the way many congregations have discovered this over the years.  A church may say, “Everyone is welcome,” and sincerely believe it, until someone actually arrives who does not look like the people already sitting in the pews, does not know when to stand or sit, does not know the words to the Lord's Prayer, brings children who make noise, asks uncomfortable questions, has a complicated history, or sees the world differently.  Suddenly we discover that there is a difference between welcoming people into our church and allowing their presence to change what our church looks like.

This Canaanite woman doesn’t simply enter Jesus' space.  She changes the conversation.  Jesus says, “It’s not fair to take the children's food and throw it to the dogs.”  And this remarkable woman does not walk away.  But she does not insult Jesus in return.  She does something far more powerful.  She takes his own metaphor and turns it around.

“Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters' table.”  In other words, You say I am outside the circle?  Fine.  But surely God's mercy is bigger than your circle.  You say the bread belongs to the children?  Fine.  I am not asking you to take away anyone's bread.  I'm asking for a crumb.

Perhaps she understands something about grace that we are always forgetting: when God's love is given to someone else, there is not less left for us.  Grace is not a pie.  Mercy is not a bank account.  Love is not diminished by being shared.  But we live in a culture that teaches us to think in terms of scarcity.  If somebody else gets ahead, we must be falling behind.  If another group gains something, my group must be losing something.  If someone else's voice is heard, mine must somehow be silenced.  We have been trained to imagine life as a table with too little bread and too many hungry people, so naturally we begin guarding what is ours.

But the gospel keeps asking us a different question: What if there is enough?  What if God's table is bigger than we imagined?  What if God's mercy is bigger than our categories?  What if God's love is bigger than the bread box in which we keep trying to contain it?

For anyone who has been paying attention to Matthew's Gospel, Matthew has been offering a paradigm shift in our understanding.  Jesus has recently fed thousands of people with five loaves of bread and two fish, and when everyone had eaten their fill, there was food left over.  This is not a God of crumbs.  This is a God of abundance.

I think that her words bring Jesus back to his Divine self, away from the tired human self and suddenly Jesus sees her.  Not a category.  Not a Canaanite.  Not a Gentile.  Not an interruption.  A woman.  A mother.  A person of extraordinary faith.

“Woman, great is your faith!  Let it be done for you as you wish.”  And her daughter is healed.  The line that the human Jesus had drawn disappears, the limits expand, and God's purpose becomes larger than the boundaries that had previously contained it. 

I realize that some Christians are uncomfortable saying that Jesus learned something from this woman.  They would rather say that Jesus knew what he was doing all along and was merely testing her faith.  That interpretation is certainly possible.  But I’m not sure it is necessary to protect Jesus from his humanity.  Luke even tells us that Jesus “increased in wisdom.”  Hebrews 5:8 tells us that Jesus, “Although he was a son, he learned obedience through what he suffered.”  Our faith confesses that Jesus was not pretending to be human.  He was human.

And if Jesus could encounter another person and allow that encounter to enlarge the way he understood his mission, perhaps that is not a weakness.  Perhaps that is part of the divine miracle.  Because if Jesus can listen and be brought to compassion, surely we can listen, too.

If Jesus can cross a boundary, surely the church can cross a boundary.  If Jesus can allow another human being to enlarge his understanding of God's work, surely we can admit that we do not yet understand everything God is doing. 

That may be one of the most important lessons the church can learn right now.  We live in a time when everybody seems absolutely certain.  We choose our news sources and social media feeds, gather around people who already agree with us, and then gradually become convinced that people who see the world differently must either be ignorant or malicious. Algorithms are very good at giving us more of what we already believe. Every click becomes another brick in the wall around our certainty.

And then the gospel places a Canaanite woman in our path.  Someone we did not expect to teach us anything.  Someone whose story does not fit our assumptions.  Someone from the other side of whatever line we have drawn.  And she says, in effect, Your understanding of God is too small.

I wonder who those people are for us.  Who are the people we have stopped listening to because we already think we know what they will say?  Who are the people we talk about but rarely talk with?  Who are the people whose experiences challenge our understanding of what justice, mercy, welcome, or faithfulness actually require?

Perhaps they are younger people who have walked away from the church and are trying to tell us why.  Perhaps they are immigrants trying to tell us what it is like to live for years with uncertainty hanging over their families.  Perhaps they are people who have been wounded by the church and whose anger makes us defensive.  Perhaps they are those who spent years being told that there was no place for them at the table.  Perhaps they are people struggling economically whom we discuss as statistics without ever sitting across a table and hearing their stories.  Perhaps they are people whose politics are completely different from ours, whom we have reduced to labels rather than seeing as complicated human beings.

We do not have to agree with everything another person believes, in order to listen.  But we do have to remain open to the possibility that God may speak through someone we never expected God to use.  Because the Canaanite woman is still showing up.  And she is still refusing to stay behind the lines we draw.

We draw the line.  God rubs it out.  We draw another.  God makes the circle larger.  We say, “These people belong.”  God says, “What about them?”  We say, “Surely there must be a limit.”  And somewhere from the other side of the boundary comes the voice of a persistent woman saying, “Even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the table.”

And suddenly we discover that what we thought was the edge of God's grace was only the edge of our imagination.  Maybe that is the good news of this strange and difficult story.  We are all still learning how big God's table really is.  The disciples were learning.  The early church was learning.  Matthew's community was learning.  Even Jesus, perhaps, was still learning.  We are all still learning.

Every generation of Christians inherits some lines from the generation before it, boundaries that seem perfectly obvious until someone has the courage to cross them.  Again and again, the Holy Spirit pushes the church beyond those boundaries, sometimes gently and sometimes through the persistent voice of someone who refuses to go away. 

So perhaps the question this passage leaves with us is not simply whether we have enough faith.  Perhaps the question is whether our faith is large enough to be changed.  Can we believe that God may still surprise us?  Can we believe that someone outside our familiar circle may have something to teach us about God?  Can we believe that God's grace might extend farther than our theology, our politics, our traditions, or even our imagination?  Can we believe that there is enough bread?  Because the woman was willing to settle for crumbs.

Even Jesus realized that there was something much greater than crumbs available.  There was mercy.  There was healing.  There was grace.  And there was a place at the table, even for her.  The invitation of the gospel is to stop guarding the crumbs and start trusting the abundance.  To listen when someone crosses one of our carefully drawn lines.  To look into the face of the person we have called an outsider and wonder whether God might already be there.

And when God rubs out another one of our boundaries—and God will—perhaps instead of rushing to draw it again, we might have enough faith to step across it or welcome them in.  By doing so, we may discover something about our neighbor.  We may discover something about ourselves.  And, most of all, we may discover that God has been there all along.

Thanks be to God.  Amen.

 

Sunday, August 9, 2026

Worship Service for Sunday, August 9, 2026

 

Worship Service for August 9, 2026

Prelude

Announcements:

Call to Worship

L:      In faith, Abraham and Sarah, set out for a new land.  And in faith, Jacob raised a family.

P:      In faith, we seek to follow God in our lives.

L:      In faith, the church seeks to discern the future to which God calls us in our age.

P:      In faith, we gather now to worship, seeking new life in Christ.

L:      God of present, past and future, guide us now in this time of promise.

 

Opening Hymn – Seek Ye First            #333/713 Blue/Brown

Prayer of Confession

God of Abraham and Sarah, God of Jacob, Leah, Rachel, Bilhah, and Zilpah, God of Peter and Salome, God of our mothers and fathers; You are a God who acts in history.  Yet we confess that we are too busy with our own lives to perceive You at work in our time.  We fall into fear and despair about our troubled world, as if You had no care for us.  Forgive our lack of faith and help us to join You as You labor to bring new life, new hope, and new plans on the earth; in the name of Jesus Christ we pray.  (Silent prayers are offered)  AMEN.

Assurance of Pardon

L:      Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.  People of faith, God is not ashamed to be called your God. 

P:      By God’s grace we are forgiven.  AMEN!

 

Gloria Patri

Affirmation of Faith/Apostles’ Creed

I believe in God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth; And in Jesus Christ His only Son our Lord; who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried; He descended into hell; the third day He rose again from the dead; He ascended into heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of God the Father Almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the quick and the dead.

I believe in the Holy Ghost, the holy catholic Church; the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins; the resurrection of the body; and the life everlasting.  AMEN

 

Pastoral Prayer and Lord’s Prayer

Holy and precious Lord, you have given us so many blessings that they are difficult to count.  So many moments of grace, of beauty, of love.  So many moments of peace, joy, laughter.  These moments are punctuated, of course, by sorrow and trials and sufferings.  They come in the midst of pain and illness to help us carry on, to give us strength and courage for the journey.

This morning we pray for a stronger faith to see those moments of victory more clearly, we pray for a stronger faith that does not doubt but sees the miraculous.  We pray this morning for a stronger faith that allows us to fail but to not be defined by our failures.

Loving God, in whom we have the strength and ability to fulfill your will, give us the grace to claim your blessings upon us.  Help us to understand your will for us and to step out in faith to fulfill it. 

        

Hear our prayers this day for our loved ones….We pray for…

 

Hear also our prayers that we cannot speak aloud in these moments of silence…

 

We ask all of this in the name of your son, Jesus Christ, the teacher and rabbi who taught us to prayer saying…Our Father who art in heaven, Hallowed by Thy name.  Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.  Give us this day our daily bread.  Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.  And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.  For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever.  AMEN.

 

Hymn –  Near to the Heart of God        #527/617         Blue/Brown

Scripture Reading(s): 

First Scripture Reading – Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28

Second Scripture Reading – Romans 9:1-5

Sermon –

The Long Story of Redemption

Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28; Romans 9:1-5

 

You know this story well.  You probably read it countless times in Sunday School, heard it read in church, maybe you’ve even seen the musical version of it many times.  The story of Joseph, the extra attention he received from his father and the special robe he was given.  Perhaps Jacob thought he was simply expressing affection.  Perhaps he believed he was recognizing Joseph's gifts.  Every extra glance, every special privilege, every unequal gift becomes another thread woven into resentment.  Before long, Joseph's brothers were unable to speak peacefully to him.  The coat was only cloth, but everyone knew what it meant; Joseph was Dad’s favorite.

What makes this story fascinating regarding family dysfunction is that it did not begin with Joseph and his brothers.  If you remember, Jacob himself had been the favored son of Rebekah.  And Jacob had deceived his brother for his father’s blessing.  Jacob then spent years competing for the affection of Rachel while Leah lived with the pain of being overlooked. Bilhah and Zilpah became part of the family as secondary wives or as the Bible translates it – concubines; creating a complicated household.  At the time, this was culturally acceptable.  Due to all of these dynamics, Joseph grows up in a family where competition is normal.  Where love is measured.  Where children are compared.  Where mothers are rivals.  And where no one fully belongs.

The remarkable thing is not that conflict emerges.  Conflict emerges in every family, but the remarkable thing here is that God somehow uses all of that.  God does not abandon them as hopeless, or useless.  No, instead, God uses it for God’s own purposes.  Most of us know families that are less than perfect.  (Maybe even our own?)  Some of us carry wounds from favoritism, misunderstandings, old resentments, or conversations that ended years ago but still echo in our hearts.  Scripture never pretends that faith eliminates those realities. Instead, it shows us that God's promises continue even through people who continually fail one another.  Jacob's household is held together less by healthy relationships than by God's persistent grace. 

Looking at the long span of history the way God might, it’s easy to forget that Egypt and Israel are already quietly becoming part of God's plan long before they become the center of attention in the story of Moses, then centuries later when Israel is led by a tyrant and Mary and Joseph have to flee back to Egypt with infant Jesus as refugees, seeking asylum from genocide.  It’s all woven together. 

But the story actually begins with God’s promise to Abraham and Sarah that their descendants would be numbered greater than the stars in the sky.  And in Jacob's marriages that promise is being fulfilled.  Each of Jacob’s wives; Leah, Rachel, Bilhah, and Zilpah all bear sons who become extremely important to the story.  The twelve sons who emerge from these four women become the foundation of Israel itself.  Without Leah there is no Judah.  Without Rachel there is no Joseph.  Without Bilhah and Zilpah there are none of the other tribes.  God builds the covenant people not through an ideal family but through a blended, broken, and complicated household.  Then comes Joseph.

And if we follow the story, if Joseph never reaches Egypt, Jacob's family never survives the famine.  If Jacob's family never settles in Egypt, Israel never grows from a small clan into a great people.  If Israel never grows into a nation, there is no Moses and the Exodus of the Israelite people. 

The irony in all of it is striking.  The very place that will later enslave Israel first becomes the place that preserves Israel.  Egypt becomes both refuge and prison, then refuge again.  Salvation and suffering are intertwined long before the Messiah is born.  That tension is part of faith.

I think about families that immigrated to America generations ago.  My own family included.  Perhaps they arrived with little more than a suitcase and hope.  The city where they settled may have been dangerous.  The jobs were exhausting.  They experienced prejudice and uncertainty.  Yet those same neighborhoods became places where children received educations, grandchildren built businesses, and entire generations found opportunities that never existed before.  The place that first felt foreign eventually became home.  The hardship became part of the blessing.  Not because suffering is good.  But because God has a remarkable ability to bring life out of circumstances we would never choose.

Joseph's journey to Egypt is like that.  His brothers intend violence, but instead God prepares for their salvation.  The brothers look at Joseph coming across the fields.  They see an arrogant younger brother.  God sees the future administrator of Egypt.  They see someone wearing an expensive robe, a special gift from their father.  God sees someone who will save thousands from starvation.  They see an opportunity to eliminate a rival.  God sees an opportunity to preserve a covenant. 

You see, our human vision is always smaller than God's vision.  That remains true today.  Sometimes we write people off because of one prejudice or another.  We don’t like their personality or we don’t like the style of their hair, or some other silly reason; or even something more complex like the color of their skin, or their disability, or their gender, or who they love.  Yet God often sees possibilities that we cannot imagine.

Fred Rogers once said that every person longs to know they are lovable and capable of loving.  Mr. Rogers had an extraordinary gift for seeing beyond the surface.  He looked at children whom others dismissed and recognized sacred worth.  He believed transformation began when someone was finally seen.

That is something Joseph's brothers never managed to do.  They never saw Joseph beyond their resentment.  Envy narrows our vision until another person's blessing feels like our loss.  We should view them the way Mr. Rogers viewed them.  Love expands our vision until another person's success becomes part of everyone's joy.

Instead of killing Joseph, Reuben speaks up.  It is a small act.  It isn’t really heroic because he still allows Joseph to be sold.  But even imperfect compassion changes history.  One small decision interrupts greater violence.  I wonder how often history changes because someone chooses not to escalate violence or make one small imperfect compassionate choice.  One person decides not to post that angry comment.  One family member makes the difficult phone call instead of remaining silent.  One teacher refuses to give up on a struggling student.  Or one church that chooses welcome instead of suspicion.

The world changes not only through dramatic miracles but through ordinary moments when someone decides mercy is better than revenge.  Reuben does not know he is helping preserve God's covenant.  He simply makes one better choice than the alternative.  Sometimes faithfulness looks exactly like that.

Paul seems to understand this when he writes Romans 9.  His heart breaks for his own people.  He names Israel's extraordinary gifts: the covenants, the law, the worship, the promises, the patriarchs.  Yet Paul also recognizes that God's faithfulness has never depended upon flawless human beings.  The entire history of Israel proves exactly the opposite.  Abraham doubted God’s promises.  Sarah laughed at even the possibility that she could bear a child.  Jacob deceived his brother and was deceived in return into marriage to two daughters.  Joseph's brothers betrayed him.  Moses questioned whether God had chosen the right man.  David sinned morally and profoundly.  Yet God did not abandon any of them.  God continued to make promises to them not because people were consistently faithful.  But because God was.

Paul's grief over Israel comes from knowing that the story has always been larger than human success or failure.  God's covenant has always moved forward by grace.  That same grace continues through Christ, who comes from this very family line—a family filled with complicated marriages, sibling rivalry, jealousy, betrayal, reconciliation, and hope.  The Messiah does not emerge from a perfect family tree.  He emerges from this tree, from Abraham, Sarah, Jacob, Rachel, Leah, Bilhah, and Zilpah's family tree.  And if God can redeem all of that, God can certainly redeem you.

There is another image that comes to mind with this idea.  Japanese artists practice kintsugi, which is the art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer mixed with gold.  They don’t hide the cracks.  They highlight them.  The fractures then become part of the object's beauty because they tell the story of healing rather than pretending the break never happened.  Abraham and Jacob's family is a kind of biblical kintsugi.  Every crack remains visible.  Every failure is remembered.  Yet God keeps filling those fractures with grace until what once looked hopeless becomes the very story through which salvation comes.

Our own lives often resemble that pottery.  We carry visible cracks from grief, conflict, disappointment, and regret.  The gospel never asks us to pretend those cracks do not exist.  Instead, it proclaims that God's grace is strong enough to work through them.

God, who began with Abraham, continued through Jacob, worked through Leah and Rachel and Bilhah and Zilpah, accompanied Joseph into Egypt, sustained Israel through slavery, and fulfilled the promises in Christ remains the same faithful God today.  So perhaps the invitation of these passages is not simply to admire Joseph or condemn his brothers.  It’s to trust that even when our own stories seem tangled, when our families feel complicated, and when we cannot yet see how today's pain could ever become tomorrow's blessing, God is still weaving together a future that reaches far beyond what we can imagine.  God who works through imperfect people has never stopped writing the story of redemption, even with you, today.

Thanks be to God.  AMEN.

Offertory –

Doxology –

Prayer of Dedication –

         Gracious God, who provides in abundance and in many ways, thank you for your blessings and the gifts we bring to form community.   Give us the will and the ability to make the most of the riches you have showered upon us.   In our Savior’s name, we pray.  AMEN

Closing Hymn – Abide With Me            #543/642         Blue/Brown

Benediction

         Friends, leaning on the faithfulness of giants that we read about in Scripture, though flawed and imperfect, God used them for God’s own purposes.  May God use you, too.  Go in peace to serve the Lord.  AMEN.

Postlude