Sermon on Matthew20:1-16

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

“I didn’t get what I deserved.” His voice rang through the warehouse that had been filled with folding tables and chairs and decked out with orange tablecloths and paper turkey decorations.

On the day before the Thanksgiving holiday at the Orange County Conservation Corps, the nonprofit I worked for before going to seminary, program participants would scramble out of the vans from their work sites, ignoring sore muscles and sweaty brows, eager for an early dinner of turkey, mashed potatoes, and Costco-sized pumpkin pies.

But silence fell over the warehouse when one of the field supervisors stood up and said, “I didn’t get what I deserved.”

Some of the people in our parable today didn’t feel like they got what they deserved.

There’s a way the world works, you know. That’s how it is now and how it was back in the first century.

People who are rich are powerful, and things in the world go their way. People don’t say no to people like that.

Except Jesus.

Right before Jesus told this parable, he had had an encounter with a young man who asked him what he needed to do to have eternal life. Jesus told him to keep the commandments, and the man said he did. Okay, sure.

So, Jesus told him

·       to sell his possessions,

·       give the money to the poor,

·       and then follow Jesus.

And the young man left sadly because he had a lot of possessions.

Then, Jesus told his disciples the infamous, difficult statement that it’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for rich people to enter the kingdom of God.

The disciples knew how the world worked: people don’t say no to rich people. So, they were stressed out, worried that if this rich guy couldn’t be part of the Beloved Community, “then who can be saved?”

Jesus reassured them that all things are possible with God and that those who make sacrifices for Jesus’ sake will be part of the abundance of the Beloved Community.

Then, Jesus told the parable we just read, which closes with “the last will be first, and the first will be last.” There’s a reversal here, an upending of expectations.

The disciples had expectations about what people deserved based on how the world generally operates.

And the first workers in the story had expectations about what they and their fellow workers deserved. It wasn’t just that they thought they should get more. They were offended that they were made the same as the workers who had only worked for an hour, saying, “You have made them equal to us.”

They didn’t just want more than they were given. They wanted others to be treated as less than them.

It had become an “us” vs. “them” situation. The issue was that those lazy people over there are not like “us” and shouldn’t be equal to “us.”

But in the Reign of God, there is no “us” and “them.” There isinstead unity and wholeness.

In this parable, the landowner kept going out to find more people. The people who didn’t get hired the first or second or third time.

It wasn’t their fault that they hadn’t been hired. They had been sitting there since the early morning. When the landowner finally hired them, I’m sure they expected to earn what they “deserved”: about an eight of a denarius, because they had worked one hour instead of eight like the other workers.

But the landowner did something surprising and upside down: making sure that they also had enough to feed themselves and their families regardless of how long they had a chance to work. The landowner collected workers throughout the day, including those who had been left out and gave them more than they “deserved.”

God, too, collects people who have been left out.

And so does the Orange County Conservation Corps.Participants in the program were called “at-risk” young adults: 18-25-year-olds who had dropped out of high school, or had been incarcerated, or were unhoused, or had gotten into unhealthy relationships with drugs, or were young parents, or were emancipated foster youth—any combination of circumstances and choices that kept them from the futures we hoped for them.

This motley assortment of young people held their breaths as the supervisor started giving a speech before the Thanksgiving meal was served.

“I didn’t get what I deserved,” he began. “I thank God that I didn’t get what I deserved.”

He went on to say that he had deserved more time in prison, that he didn’t deserve the opportunities that had been given to him. He had been a program participant—one of those who had been left out—before being hired as a staff member.

He could have been hardened and embittered by all that had happened in his life. Instead, he responded to incredibly challenging circumstances with gratitude.

God gives each of us more than we deserve.

None of us live 100% in the life-giving way God wants for humanity. We hurt ourselves, each other, and the world around us—often grievously.

But God gives us grace, forgiving us every time, journeying with us as we learn to reconcile with and love our neighbors better. God invites us into the Beloved Community, full of left out misfits like us, where we get to love and be loved, regardless of whether we deserve it.

None of us gets what we deserve—thank God!

Instead, God lavishes us with more than we could ever hope for.God provides for us above and beyond what we deserve.

And out of gratitude and the assurance of our belonging to God, we get to share that love and abundance with those around us. We get to love other people more than they deserve. We get to forgive as we have been forgiven. We get to feed people body and soul. Thanks be to God!

Stitched Together

Rev. Jaz Bowen-Waring

September 12, 2026

I want to start with Dolly Parton. Specifically, I want to start with a coat. “Coat of Many Colors” is one of Dolly's most beloved songs. She tells the story of a coat her mother made for her when the family didn't have much money. Her mother took scraps of fabric and stitched them together into something beautiful. Dolly wore that coat to school, and the other children laughed at her because they could see what she couldn't afford. But Dolly saw something different. She saw her mother's love. I think it is interesting that Dolly Parton's story about a coat is, in some ways, the same story we find in Genesis. Because Joseph also has a coat. His father Jacob gives him a special coat, and his brothers see it. But they don't see love. They see favoritism. They see inequality. They see everything they believe they have been denied. And that coat becomes a symbol of the resentment they already carry toward Joseph. Eventually, they strip the coat from him, throw him into a pit, and sell him into slavery. Dolly's coat becomes a symbol of love. Joseph's coat becomes a symbol of betrayal. Same image, two stories. And maybe that's what happens with the things we carry through our lives. The same kind of thing can become a symbol of shame or a symbol of love. A wound can become the story that defines us—or it can become one piece of a much larger story. That's where Joseph's story gets really interesting. Because years later, those brothers are standing in front of Joseph again. The coat is long gone, but the betrayal is not. They remember what they did, and they are afraid that Joseph remembers, too. They are right. Joseph does remember. And Joseph says: “You intended to do harm to me, but God intended it for good.” Notice what Joseph does not say. He doesn't say, “It wasn't really that bad.” or “I forgot.” or “You didn't mean it.” He names the harm: You intended to do harm to me. Joseph remembers, and yet the harm does not get to determine what happens next. That's an important distinction when we talk about forgiveness. Because sometimes Christianity has taught us that forgiveness means forgetting. Forgive and forget. But Joseph doesn't forget. He remembers the coat, the pit, the betrayal. And still, somehow, he refuses to let his brothers' actions have the final word about who he will become. That's what I think forgiveness can sometimes mean. Not pretending trust has been restored, but refusing to let someone else's harm become the final chapter of your story. And notice something else about Joseph: It took time. Years passed between the harm and this moment. Joseph had a whole life in between. He had time to survive, grieve. Time to grow. Time to become someone beyond what his brothers had done to him. Forgiveness is not a deadline. Paul's words in Romans give us another piece of this. He's talking about a community where people don't agree. They have different convictions, different practices, different ideas about what faithfulness looks like. And Paul's response is: Stop judging one another. Make room. Don't assume that your experience is everybody else's experience. That matters when we're talking about forgiveness, because people heal at different speeds. Some people are ready to forgive, some aren’t. Some people want reconciliation, some need distance. Some people can sit at the same table again. Some people need an empty chair between themselves and the person who hurt them. And the church has to make room for that. Because the person who caused the harm doesn't get to set the timeline for healing. Neither does the rest of the community. Sometimes the most loving thing we can say to someone who has been hurt is: You don't have to be ready yet. And then Peter asks Jesus: “How often should I forgive?” Peter wants a number. Seven times? And Jesus says: Seventy-seven (or seventy times seven). Stop counting. But Jesus is not telling people to accept unlimited harm. The parable that follows is about mercy that actually changes us. The servant receives extraordinary mercy and then turns around and refuses to extend mercy to someone else. The problem isn't that he was forgiven. The problem is that nothing changed. That gives us something important to remember: Forgiveness is not the same thing as repair. Repair requires truth. It requires accountability. It requires change. And it takes time. An apology can happen in a moment. Trust cannot. Which brings me back to Dolly's coat. Because Joseph's coat was originally a symbol of his father's favoritism and his brothers' resentment. Dolly's coat was made out of scraps that other people might have considered worthless. But her mother stitched those scraps together and made something beautiful. And I wonder if that's part of what God does with our lives. God doesn't ask us to pretend the scraps aren't there. God doesn't ask survivors to hurry up and forgive so everyone else can feel comfortable. God doesn't ask us to call harm good. God takes what is real—the beautiful pieces and the painful pieces, the things we chose and the things that were done to us—and keeps stitching. Grace upon grace. Truth upon truth. Mercy upon mercy. Until, slowly, we discover that the things we thought would always be sources of shame or pain no longer have the power to define the whole story. Joseph's brothers tried to make his coat a symbol of division. But Joseph's life became a testimony that their violence would not have the final word. Dolly's classmates saw a poor child's coat. Dolly saw love. Two coats, two stories. And perhaps the question of faith is not whether we will have scraps. We all will. The question is: Who gets to decide what they mean? Will the people who hurt us get to write the final chapter? Will shame and resentment get the final word? Or will we trust that God is still stitching us together? And maybe that's what forgiveness looks like. Not becoming okay with what happened, or rushing toward reconciliation. But, over time, becoming free enough to decide what happens next. Because forgiveness is not a deadline. Healing is not a race. And God's love is patient enough to let us become whole. The coat may still have its scars and seams and scraps. But it can still be beautiful. And the story can still become something new.

Sermon on Matthew16:21-28

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

It would be so nice if Jesus had come, taught us to live well together, died, rose again, sent the Holy Spirit, and then no Jesus followers ever fought about anything ever again.

Unfortunately, that wouldn’t happen, and Jesus knew it.

It’s not long into the book of Acts before Peter and Paul started loudly disputing about whether followers of Jesus should be required to be circumcised or not.

Paul’s letters are full of advice and heartfelt pleas for early churches to settle their disputes.

The first quite a few centuries of the Church involved people declaring people heretics and excommunicating each other.

Jesus knew conflict would happen in the Church.

It would also be nice if that were all ancient history, and the Church had resolved all of its disagreements, and now we could just focus on loving God and our neighbor in peace.

But the Church is made up of humans, and humans have conflict.

It’s not just the Church. Society’s having a hard time discerning how to address conflict. I’ve heard it said that we live in the most politically polarized time in US history other than the Civil War.

How do we have constructive conversations and respectful disagreements when everyone from journalists to politicians calls each other names? That’s behavior we were discouraged from when we were still on the playground!

We’re also trying to figure out how to hold people, especially powerful people, accountable for abuse and misconduct.Where’s the line between holding people accountable and cancel culture, blacklisting people based on the court of social media?

And conflict in the Church is rarely handled better than outside of it. I hear constant stories from colleagues around the country dealing with bullying behavior from parishioners, the aftermath of bad conduct from previous clergy, and factions tearing congregations apart.

Jesus had advice for conflict as we read in our Gospel reading, but even that gets misused.For instance, ifwe follow the letter of these instructions, it requires someone who has been abused to confront their abuser alone before bringing witnesses along. That’s a terrible way to handle an already terrible situation.

And getting the whole congregation involved in the final step can be used as a way topublicly shame someone who doesn’t fit into a congregation’s culture. Plenty of LGBTQ folks have experienced this “biblical” way of handling “sin.”

This is a situation where we have to look not just at the letter of Jesus’ teachings but the spirit of them. Let’s look at four principles we can draw from the spirit of this teaching.

First, address conflict. “Turning the other cheek” doesn’t mean ignoring wrongs and letting resentment fester.

Priya Parker, whose book The Art of Fighting will come out on Tuesday, said, “in twenty-five years as a conflict dialogue facilitator, I’ve learned something deeply counterintuitive: long-term communities need love, and they also need conflict.The relationships that last aren’t the ones that never fight. They’re the ones that learn how to fight well.”

This can be challenging for some of us who come from families or cultures that tend to be conflict averse. There’s no singular “right” way to handle conflict. Some people bring big emotions to conflicts. Others may be more reserved.

There are multiple healthy ways to handle conflict. But not acknowledging that there’s a conflict in the first place is not healthy. Our emotions can only be ignored for so long before they start coming out sideways in passive aggressive behavior or misplaced anger or internalized distress.

Time doesn’t necessarily heal all wounds. Sometimes wounds need to breathe and be cleaned out before they can heal.

Second, communicate directly. If you have an issue with someone, talk to them about it instead of complaining to other people.

There’s an important caveat, though: only do this if it’s safe. There are situations where it’s imperative to get outside help, mediation, or protection. In a situation of abuse or if there’s a big power differential between you and the person who wronged you, it may not be safe to confront them directly. That’s when it’s important to seek outside help.

But in less serious situations or where the power dynamic is more equal, try to talk with the other person instead of grumbling about the situation to others andtrying to get them on your side.

This is a tough line to navigate. When are we seeking advice orletting off steam and when are we gossiping?

I don’t have an easy answer. I think that’s something we constantly have to discern in conversation with the Holy Spirit.

But, as Brene Brown says, “clear is kind.” Addressing an issue directly can often prevent deeper hurt.

Third, sometimes we need outside help.In situations where it’s safe to confront the other person, sometimes we can get gridlocked, unable to solve the issue ourselves. Bringing in someone else can be helpful for mediation, witnessing, accountability, or coaching.

Fourth and finally, bring in the smallest number of people possible. If safe, begin with just the other person, then one or two witnesses. Bring it to the whole congregation only if it’s absolutely necessary.

This last step in Jesus’ instructions is tough. We want church to be a welcoming, forgiving, loving place, so Jesus sounds harsh saying to “let such a one [who refuses to listen even to the church] be to you as a gentile and a tax collector.”

This is the absolute last resort. It’s not to be undertaken lightly. But sometimes there are cases where someone is actively harming vulnerable people in the congregation and refuses to change that behavior. Sometimes the whole community does need to be made aware of a situation. Again, “clear is kind.” Congregations need to grieve together when there’s a situation like fiscal or sexual misconduct from a leader, or else the wound festers from secrecy and gossiping.

Throughout this teaching about conflict, Jesus’ ultimate concern is caring for the vulnerable. He talks through the whole of chapter 18 up to this point about protecting “little ones.” There are situations where the most vulnerable are protected by just a few people working out the conflict and others where the most vulnerable are protected by the compassion of the whole community.

And still, Jesus’ words about treating people like gentiles and tax collectors sound harsh. But remember also that Jesus was consistently being criticized for hanging out with tax collectors, and his mission was to the whole world, including gentiles. So, it’s not a slammed door. There may be situations where someone’s harmful behavior means they can’t be a part of the community, but that doesn’t have to last forever. Jesus forgives, redeems, and loves all people.

To sum up, these are four of the principles we can take from the spirit of Jesus’ teaching:

1.    Address conflict.

2.    Communicate directly.

3.    Seek outside help if necessary.

4.    And bring in the smallest number of people possible.

Maybe we can add “protect the vulnerable” and “allow people to change” to that list.

Jesus knew there would be conflict among his followers, and there continues to be.We’re human. There will be conflict.

But that just means we care about things. It means God created us in beautiful variety. We’re not carbon copies or robots. We’re unique with different ideas about what to prioritize, how to do things, and what values to uphold.

I know this congregation has experienced conflict. I have heard the hurt around people disagreeing about the ELCA’s decision to ordain LGBTQ folks and bless LGBTQ relationships in 2009. I know that’s still tender for some of you who were part of this congregation during that time.

I’m sure there have been plenty of other disagreements over the years. A congregation doesn’t last this long without some conflict.And we’re still here, feeding our neighbors body and soul.

When we fight, let’s fight well, facing the conflict directly, seeking to understand, receiving disagreement compassionately.Let’s try to forgive each other and forgive ourselves as God forgives us.

Above all, let’s strive to protect the most vulnerable within this congregation and in the greater community, as Jesus did.

Whenever we gather, even if it’s in conflict, Jesus is here among us. Thanks be to God!