Sermon on Matthew 5:13-20

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

There’s some harsh stuff in our scripture readings today:Isaiah saying God doesn’t want fasting from people who oppress their workers and Jesus saying entering the kingdom of heaven requires being more righteous than the religious leaders.

Even these tough words, though, can help us understand God better.

Our readings show that God is dissatisfied with religious practice that’s solely individual and doesn’t address the needs of the larger community.

In Isaiah, God’s people had recently returned from exile in Babylon, and God was reminding them of how to show their devotion to God.

Fasting as an individual practice wasn’t what God was looking for.Fasting while exploiting others wasn’t what God was looking for. Fasting without letting that spiritual practice moveone into collective acts of justice, mercy, and love wasn’t what God was looking for.

Then, our Gospel reading picks up right after the Beatitudes, which we read last week. Jesus had named the surprising people God favored. The Beloved Community was to be composed of people brought low by life’s circumstances and people who sought peace in a world of violence and domination. The Beatitudes answer the question of “who” was part of the Beloved Community.

Then, Jesus encouraged those blessed people to be public about the Beloved Community: to be salt and light. They were to bring their unique flavor and shine so that others would understand what the Beloved Community is about and join in.

This wasn’t about undoing the way of life God haddescribed in the Law. It was about living out that way of life in their current reality. Jesus was fond of reinterpreting the Law with his formula of “you have heard it said…but I say to you…”

Jesus wasn’t replacing those laws but leaning into them.He was inviting his hearers to live out not just the letter of the Law but its spirit. They would need to live out the way of Jesus in a way that the scribes and the Pharisees—the religious leaders invested in the status quo—weren’t prepared to. Not just their actions mattered, but the attitudes of their hearts. It’s a tall order, but no one said Beloved Community was going to be easy.

If the Beatitudes answer the question of “who,” then our Gospel reading today answers the question of “how” people in the Beloved Community are supposed to be in the world. The bulk of the rest of the Sermon on the Mount is about “what” people in the Beloved Community are supposed to do: loving enemies, being exceedingly generous, not judging others, etc.

So, between our Isaiah and Matthew readings, we can see that God is concerned not just with individual piety but justice and how God’s people treat others.

As Lutherans, that’s a little challenging to hear, because we’re really concerned with not trying to earn God’s love or salvation.

But what our readings are talking about isn’t works righteousness; it’s about living in community.

Being a follower of Jesus isn’t about a checklist of individual spiritual practices or a pass/fail test about getting into heaven. We can’t earn God’s love, and we can’t save ourselves.Jesus took care of that.

At the same time, Jesus was working to make heaven here on earth, and if we want to, we can be part of that. Both our Isaiah and our Matthew readings talk about how to do just that: to live together as a community of God’s people.

The English word “economics” comes from the Greek “oikonomia,” which has to do with the household. And our word “politics” comes from the Greek “polis,” which has to do with a city. Both have to do with how we agree to live together as humans.

The founders of this country decided (wisely, in my opinion) not to establish a national religion. We talk often about the “separation of church and state,” and that’s a good thing for a lot of reasons.

It has, however, resulted in religion in the US becoming something personal that we largely practice in private. Religion is something we do as individuals or maybe as small groups for an hour on Sunday mornings.

So, we’ve lost the communal aspect of religion. I’m certainly not in favor of shoving religion down our neighbors’ throats or enforcing practices from one religion onto people who subscribe to another. But we’re missing important aspects of our readings today if we read them as commands directed toward individuals instead of as a recipe for building Beloved Community.

God throughout scripture talksdirectly or through prophetsto groups of people.

God is concerned not just with individuals but with the “polis” and the “oikonomia”—the city and the household of God’s people, which is everyone.

We’ve lost that when we insist that there shouldn’t be politics in church.

Don’t get me wrong—I will never endorse a candidate from the pulpit. And you’ve probably noticed that I’m not the best at preaching “with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other,” as Karl Barth recommended. It takes me a while to process what’s going on and feel like I have something to say.

But I am deeply troubled by the events of the past few weeks in Minneapolis and, to be honest, with many events over the past months.

I’ve watched videos of the deaths of Renee Good and Alex Pretti.

I’ve seen with my own eyes an ICE agent sitting in the back of an immigration courtroom, waiting to take people away the moment they step out of the room.

I’ve heard accounts from colleagues in Chicago of being arrested for protesting after they were denied permission to bring communion to people in a detention center.

I know a Fullerton resident—a US citizen who happens to be Latina—who won’t take her kids to the grocery store with her in case she gets racially profiled and detained, because she doesn’t want her kids to witness that.

We have neighbors—documented and undocumented—who are afraid right now.

We as Christians, as salt and light, are called to love our neighbors publicly. If immigration is where your heart is right now, do what you can to love our neighbors in that way.

But immigration doesn’t have to be what you’re passionate about—it’swhat’s on my mind right now, and it certainly has to do with how we live together as humans.

But maybe you’re passionate about education or the environment or disability advocacy or LGBTQ rights or cancer research.I know you care about feeding our neighbors body and soul.

All of this has to do with how we live together as groups of people—a polis. We’re called to love our neighbors publicly. Andwhen we bring our salt and light to these collective efforts, we are building Beloved Community.

Jesus said to those who were considered by society to be disposable and undesirable that they are favored by God.

He then said, “You are the salt of the earth…You are the light of the world.”

They were what was needed, as they were, to do the work of building Beloved Community together.

You, too, are the salt of the earth.

You, too, are the light of the world.

You are what is needed to build Beloved Community here on earth—not by yourself, but together with your siblings in Christ.

God isn’t impressed by individual spiritual practices if they don’t lead you to joining in making earth a little more as it is in heaven.

You are needed to join in caring for your neighbors who are afraid.

You are needed to join in providing for your neighbors who don’t have enough.

You are needed to join in speaking up until every human being is treated like the image of God they are.

So, yes, do spiritual practices—they help ground you and help you listen to God’s voice. But don’t stop there. We’re not meant to do life alone. Join with your siblings in Christ to build Beloved Community by being the salt and light you are.

The world needs your flavor.The world needs your glow.

By the power of the Holy Spirit, let’s build Beloved Community together.

Sermon on Matthew 5:1-12

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

A lot of people in the first century were considered undesirable.

Those the Bible calls “lepers” had various skin diseases that were contagious, and society made them live apart from people without those diseases. They were made to yell out “unclean” to keep people from approaching them. Can you imagine what it must have felt like to have to do that?

There was also a big gulf between those who were citizens and those who weren’t. Roman citizens (who were, of course, only men) had a lot of rights that those who weren’t citizens didn’t. Non-citizens weren’t allowed to participate in public life in the same way. They didn’t have a voice or protection from those who governed. We’re largely accustomed to a lot of rights that haven’t been so broadly given throughout a lot of history.

Some folks were enslaved, making them property of another. They weren’t “undesirable,” but they were disposable—a resource to be used up instead of a human being.

Women were desirable, but also only for what they could do—bear children, household labor. Women’s testimony wasn’t even considered valid in court. Women were property too, and it was ideal if they silently acted as such.

And there was a large class gap in the first century. The majority of the population lived at subsistence level or below, scraping by with nothing left over. The elites had plenty while most people could scarcely fill their stomachs.

Many people of different circumstances were considered undesirable, disposable, or for whatever other reason less than fully realized human beings.

We’re not much better today.

I had to delete the Nextdoor app, because I was exhausted and demoralized seeing my neighbors post suspicious things about unhoused people and teenagers hanging out.

The news is full of narratives that make us fearful of groups of people.

We still have a large class gap today. Billionaire CEOs are so removed from the people who clean their offices that they might as well live on different planets.

We indicate to people with disabilities that they’re undesirable when we don’t provide accommodations that would allow them to participate.

During COVID, we indicated to seniors, people with diabetes, and others who were especially vulnerable that they were disposable when people resisted getting vaccinated or taking other measures to protect them.

Having worked with at-risk young adults before I went to seminary, I saw how challenging it is for people with a criminal record to get a job or be eligible for services that would help them break the cycle of poverty that got them locked up in the first place.

A lot of people today are considered undesirable or disposable.

Who else can you think of that’s considered undesirable or disposable today? Take a moment to think about it while I get a pad of paper set up.

That’s quite a list. Thank you for your thoughts.

When Jesus went up the mountain, the first thing he did was list people who were undesirable and disposable and say that they were favored by God:

1.    “The poor in spirit”—those crushed by life’s circumstances

2.    “Those who mourn”—those grieved by life’s circumstances

3.    “The meek,” “the merciful,” “the peacemakers”—those who went against the “might is right,” violent, dominating common sense of the world, especially the Roman Empire

We’ve gotten desensitized to how radical that sounded because we’re so familiar with the words of the Sermon on the Mount.

But what if Jesus stood in front of us today and said, “Blessed are the [items from our list]”?

It’s jarring, isn’t it?

What Jesus said was shocking. It wasn’t feel-good embroidery on a pillow. It was unsettling for those who thought they were blessed and earth-shakingly hope-filled for those who thought they were undesirable and disposable.

These were the people Jesus was collecting into the Beloved Community—people who had been told they were worthless, unimportant, undeserving, even less than human.As Paul put it: “God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, things that are not, to abolish things that are.” Jesus was turning the world upside down.

People who found hope in Jesus’ words were indeed blessed—blessed by getting to follow Jesus and being part of the Good News he was spreading.

We’re in the season after Epiphany, when we reflect on how God reveals Godself to the world.

How do the Beatitudes—so well-known, but so surprising when we really hear them—how do the Beatitudes change how we understand God?

How do they change how we understand the world?

How do they change how we understand each other?

How do we best honor a God who looks at the least, the last, and the lost and says “I favor you”?

How might we treat the neighbors we don’t normally think about and maybe don’t want to be around, remembering they’re blessed by God?

How might we treat the parts of ourselves we try to hide because they’re undesirable? If you feel comfortable with it, close your eyes for a moment. Take a deep breath. Imagine those parts of yourself you want to ignore. Then, imagine Jesus in front of you. He looks at you with kind eyes and a gentle smile. And he says, “You are blessed—all of you, every part.”

When you’re ready, you can open your eyes.

Check in with yourself: how did that feel?

Might you be able to love your neighbors differently if you could really internalize your own blessedness too?

God created you, loves you, and became human to show you that love.

No human is undesirable. No human is disposable.

Feel the fire of God’s love for you in your heart and let that belovedness overflow into doing justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly with our God.

Come and See

Pr. Jaz Bowen-Waring |

Epiphany 2 January 18, 2026

“Who are you looking for?” This is the first question Jesus asks in the Gospel of John (John 1:38). Before he calls disciples, before he performs signs, before he offers teaching or healing, Jesus asks a question about desire. Not What do you believe? Not What do you know? But What are you seeking? It’s a question that assumes we are all already searching. It invites honesty. Because the truth is, we never come to Jesus empty-handed—we come carrying hopes, expectations, disappointments, and longings shaped by our lives and the world around us. The two disciples respond by calling him Rabbi, which means teacher. This tells us something important: they are looking for guidance, for wisdom, for someone whose life they can study and imitate. In the ancient world, to follow a rabbi meant more than listening to lectures. It meant watching how he prayed, how he ate, how he treated people, how he suffered. They are searching for a way of life. But what they find is more than a teacher. John tells us that Jesus is the Word made flesh—God dwelling among us (John 1:14). They come seeking instruction, and they leave having encountered incarnation. They come hoping to learn, and they find themselves standing in the presence of God. That tension still lives with us. We, too, come searching—but what we’re searching for often reveals more about us than about Jesus. Some of us are looking for a Jesus who will fix things quickly. A Jesus who functions like a divine superhero—stronger than us, braver than us, capable of swooping in to solve the world’s problems in a single episode. Others are looking for a healer, a doctor who can restore our bodies, soothe our minds, and make us whole again. And sometimes, honestly, we’re looking for a Jesus who will affirm our comfort and leave our lives mostly unchanged. But again and again, scripture tells us that Christ refuses to conform to our expectations. We look for a conquering lion, but John points and says, “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world” (John 1:29). We expect domination, but God chooses self-giving love. We imagine power that crushes enemies, yet Philippians tells us Christ empties himself, taking the form of a servant (Philippians 2:6–7). We look for glory, and instead we are shown a cross. We look for strength, and Paul reminds us that God’s power is made perfect in weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9). Even the Spirit arrives not in fire and spectacle here, but as a dove—gentle, vulnerable, easily overlooked (John 1:32). So Jesus’ question presses us still: Who are you looking for? Because the Christ we seek is often not the Christ who comes. And yet, the Christ who comes is always the Christ we need. When the disciples ask Jesus, “Where are you staying?” or “Where are you abiding?” (John 1:38), they are asking more than for an address. The word abide echoes throughout John’s Gospel. It is the same word used when we are told that the Word dwelt among us (John 1:14), and later when Jesus says, “Abide in me as I abide in you” (John 15:4). To ask where Jesus abides is to ask where God has chosen to make a home. Where does Christ put down roots? Where does divine life take shape in the world? Scripture gives us a consistent answer. Jesus abides where suffering is present. He abides with those pushed to the edges. He abides with the poor, the sick, the imprisoned, the grieving, and the forgotten. When Jesus describes the final judgment in Matthew 25, he does not point to correct belief, but to presence: I was hungry, I was a stranger, I was in prison—and you visited me. Wherever the least are found, Christ is already there. That means Christ is not distant from the pain of our world today. He is dwelling with refugees searching for safety. He is abiding with families shattered by gun violence. He is present with immigrants living under constant fear, with communities crushed by poverty, with those whose grief never makes the news. And for those of us who live with relative comfort and privilege, the call of discipleship is not simply to admire Jesus from afar, but to follow him—to go where he abides and to stay there. To dwell long enough to be changed. Not all of us can be on the front lines of protest. But all of us can practice presence. We can share meals. Learn names. Build relationships. Create spaces of safety and belonging. The kingdom of God does not descend only through grand gestures—it takes root in ordinary acts of love that resist isolation and dehumanization. And still Jesus says, “Come and see” (John 1:39). This is not an argument—it’s an invitation. Some truths cannot be explained; they must be witnessed. Like love. Like grief. Like grace. You don’t explain the birth of a child— you show up and see. You don’t theologize your way through loss—you sit beside one another in silence. John is not interested in proving Jesus. He is interested in testimony. John the Baptist doesn’t analyze the Spirit; he points and says, Look. Behold. Come and see. And that is still our calling. Not to have all the answers, but to bear witness. To notice Christ in our shared life together—in joy and in sorrow, in righteous anger at injustice, in quiet acts of care, in the fragile beauty of human connection. So once more, Jesus asks: Who are you looking for? And once more, he answers our searching with grace: Come and see. Come and abide. Come and discover that God is already here—dwelling among us, making all things new.