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!

Sermon on Matthew 16:21-28

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

This week’s Gospel reading continues right where last week’s left off. Peter had declared his belief that Jesus was “the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”He understood what the crowds who called Jesus a prophet did not. But his understanding only went so far.

When Jesus started trying to prepare his disciples that the religious leaders and the Roman overlords were going to find him so threatening that they would put him to death and that he would be raised on the third day, Peter wasn’t having it.

He was understandably upset that his beloved rabbi and the Messiah would even suggest his untimely death. If an important mentor or teacher in our lives said something like that, we would also be concerned and distressed.

For Jesus’ disciples, all they could see was that there was so much more for Jesus to accomplish. If he was the Messiah as he just confirmed, then certainly he would rescue them from the Romans, showing God’s power and protection of God’s people like God had done through Moses. Or maybe Jesus would be a powerful military leader like his ancestor David and show God’s power over their enemies.

God surely wouldn’t allow Jesus to be a victim of state violence like so many would-be revolutionaries against the Roman Empire. Jesus would triumph! He had to!

What they didn’t understand, of course, was that triumph could look different from what they expected. God isn’t a God of violence and war.God is a God of liberation and healing.

God liberated God’s people from Egypt. And God helped them heal from their enslavement.

And now God was going to heal the world through something that would look like utter defeat: the cross.

It would take much harder work than crafting a military strategy. It would take total self-emptying.

It would mean riding a donkey into Jerusalem instead of a warhorse.

It would mean being jabbed with a crown of thorns instead of wearing a crown of gold.

It would mean being mocked and insulted and lied about without defending himself.

It would mean submitting to the excruciating death of a criminal and enemy of the state.

Jesus went through all that because he loves us. Because he believes in God’s shalom, the Beloved Community, where the last will be first and the first will be last.

He came to bring God’s peace, not just the lack of war.

He came to bring God’s healing, not just the lack of sickness.

And because he didn’t match what people like Peter expected, we profoundly misunderstood what he was about.

Even those of us who have spent decades in church pews still get derailed sometimes in our understanding of Jesus when we get caught up in the way the world thinks.

Society cares about the size of our bellies instead of the size of our hearts.

About the number of dollars in our wallets instead of the number of kind words we say.

About thereach of our platform instead of the reach of our generosity.

If God is alluded to at all, it’s usually in a “God helps those who help themselves” sort of way, which discounts the way Jesus encourages us to support each other.

Or a #blessed message that correlates earthly possessions or good fortune with God’s blessing, which has troubling implications for any of us who take a financial hit or receive a difficult diagnosis or who are born into under-resourced circumstances.

Sometimes we’re fed an image of Jesus as strong, vengeful, powerful.

Other times, we’re fed an image of Jesus as so meek and mild that a breeze would blow him over.

But worldly power isn’t true strength, and self-emptying isn’t fragility.

As Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians about God’s response to his request to remove the “thorn in his flesh,”“’My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.’”[1]

This is so opposite of what the world says.

The world says, “Might is right.”

God says, “My might is in the cross.”

The world says, “The one with the most toys wins.”

God says, “How much can you give away in love for your neighbor?”

The world says, “Hustle.”

God says, “Abide.”

The world says, “You’re nothing if you’re not the richest, fittest, most powerful, most attractive, most influential.”

God says, “I loved you before I made you. I became human, lived, died, and rose again out of love for you. I love you exactly as you are right now, and that will always be the case.”

Jesus came to heal the world, and that healing looks very different from what the world sees as success.

Now, all that is easy to say and even believe in your head, but it can be hard to feel it in your heart, your gut, your bones.

So, today, we’re going to spend some time a little later in the service asking God for healing.You’ll be able to receive individual prayer, healing oil on your forehead, the laying on of hands—a gentle hand on your shoulder or head. Any or all of these things as they feel right and meaningful to you.

We’re going to need help setting our minds on divine things instead of passively accepting the way the world defines success.

The healing Jesus came to bring to the world may not look like success. It may not include curing us of our illnesses or disabilities. It may not remove our challenges.

But it does mean that Jesus is here with us in all our challenges. It means that we’re together in the Body of Christ to support each other. It means the Holy Spirit lives in your heart and brings you God’s peace and comfort.

Jesus, the Second Person of Almighty God, emptied himself, accepting humiliating execution by the state, in order to bring God’s surprising life and healing to a world that wouldn’t understand it.

We don’t have to understand it. We can let that healing sink into our bones togetherso that we carry that healing into ourhurting world.

[1] 2 Corinthians 12:9