Sermon on Luke 6:17-26

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

This is one of those teachings of Jesus where what’s Good News to one person might not seem like Good News to someone else.

Jesus came down the mountain with his disciples to a level place among the people.He took his time and healed everyone.

Then, he began to speak. And what he said was surprising.

The Beatitudes—or these “blessed are yous”—have become familiar, even cliché.We’re most familiar with the Beatitudes in the Gospel of Matthew, which are similar to the ones we read today, but Luke adds “woes” to the “blesseds.”

Even with this slightly less familiar version, it’s hard to imagine what it was like to hear those words for the first time.

When Jesus opened his mouth and said, “Blessed are you,” his audience probably expected to hear something like what we read in Jeremiah today: “Blessed are those who trust in the Lord.”

But what he said was, “Blessed are you who are poor.”

In what universe, Jesus?

How is it blessed to not be able to feed your family? To be constantly worried about money?

Surely those who have enough and more are the ones who are blessed? Surely God has shown favor to them.

And blessed are you who are hungry, who weep, and who are hated?

How is that blessed?

Nobody aspires to any of these things.

And then, Jesus went on to the “woes”: woe to you who are rich, full, laughing, and spoken well of.

Surely those are the things to aspire to. Surely those are the indications that God has blessed you.

If Jesus hadn’t just healed a bunch of people, I suspect he would have lost most of his audience at this point.

But instead, this has become one of Jesus’ most famous teachings.Why?

Because this is Good News to a lot of folks who haven’t had much of that.

This teaching says that God is attentive and caring to those who are suffering and who have been pushed to the margins of society.

God hasn’t forgotten the poor, the hungry, those who weep, or those who are hated for following Jesus—and remember that Jesus was hated enough by those in power that they had him executed, so Jesus followers could expect the same treatment.

That’s not to say that anyone should aspire to be poor, hungry, weeping, or hated.

God’s still with rich and reputable people too, but they probably don’t need the reminder as much as those who are excluded by society.

This isn’t about excluding those with power and privilege; it’s about including those without.

The Beloved Community that Jesus came to bring about seems upside down—after all, the first shall be last and the last shall be first—but it’s about inclusion, not exclusion.It’s about centering those who have been excluded.

And those who are used to being centered?

They’re not being excluded, but their attachment to the status quo and their own power causes them to exclude themselves from Beloved Community.

When we’re centered by society, we tend to trust ourselves, our resources, and our power to save us and keep us safe instead of leaning on God. We can forget who we are and Whose we are.

But when we’re barely scraping by or are in dangerwe often have nowhere to turn but to God and our community. We’re under no illusion that we can make it by ourselves.

That’s not to glorify or romanticize poverty. Again, the “blesseds” aren’t things to aspire to—they’re reminders that God is in the margins. And the “woes” are reminders of ways we can turn inward and ignore the invitation to Beloved Community.

This famous teaching can sound like Good News or bad news, depending on where you’re located in society.

It’s a little scary to identify with the “woes.” What do we do with that?

Middle class people in the US are wildly rich compared with much of the world.

I’ve never had to worry where my next meal was coming from, and perhaps it’s the same for you.

I laugh more than I cry. God became human and experienced the full spectrum of human emotion. There are no good or bad emotions—God created us with the capacity for all of it and is present with us no matter what we’re feeling.But as the movie Inside Out illustrated, sadness can help us connect with other people. If we don’t weep with people who are suffering and oppressed, maybe it’s a sign that we’re so insulated fromour neighbors that we’re excluding ourselves from the Beloved Community.

And it feels nice to have a good reputation. It seems like that would be a good thing for bringing a positive image to Christianity in a time when many are understandably suspicious and even hostile toward religion in general and Christianity in particular.

But, seeking a good reputation at the expense of our values, mission, and calling from Godmight suggest that we’re veering into “woe” territory.

Avoiding that requires being grounded in who we are and Whose we are. Studying the Bible can help us figure out what God values. Jesus announced his mission in our reading from a few weeks ago:

1.    To bring good news to the poor, (like the Beatitudes)

2.    Proclaim release to the captivesand recovery of sight to the blind,

3.    Set free those who are oppressed,

4.    And proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor

And plenty of other passages and stories help us see what God is up to in the world.

Praying and other spiritual practices can help us discern what God is calling us to and how to participate in the Beloved Community in our daily lives.

It’s also important not to do this entirely alone. There’s certainly a place for silence and solitude in spiritual practice and study, but God also made us for community. That’s why we meet to worship and do life together as a congregation.

Our church council did some great work together at our council retreat last weekend. We spent time discerning our values as a congregation. We narrowed it down to the top three we felt God calling us to: service, compassion, and inclusion.

And we updated our mission statement to reflect these values: “Called to be the heart of Christ caring for our neighbors through service, compassion, and inclusion.”

Don’t worry: we’ll still use our tagline of “the church that feeds people body and soul.” But our mission statement goes deeper into the specifics of how we do that.

Service, compassion, and inclusion all point us to community—not just giving charity to those people over there, but recognizing the image of God in every person, serving our neighbors as we would serve Jesus himself, entering deeply into life with our neighbors, and committing to creating a community where everyone belongs just as they are and not expecting them to conform to a certain mold.

That’s difficult and noble work. It’s work worthy of the Beloved Community, which Jesus is inviting everyone into in his teaching today.

Beloved Community is Good News for the impoverished, hungry, hurting, and excluded parts of ourselves. And it’s challenging news for the rich, full, comfortable, and reputable parts of ourselves.

There’s a saying that originally referred to newspapers but is often used about preaching: that it’s to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. Jesus exemplifies that in this teaching.

He reminds those who are hurting and excluded in this world of the Good News that God is with them, and he warns those who are comfortable and privileged in this life of the bad news that they might be missing out on the Beloved Community. And for most of us, we might fall somewhere in between.

So receive the Good News that God is with you, Beloved, and God will always be with us as we figure out how to embody the Beloved Community through service, compassion, and inclusion—together.

Sermon on Luke 5:1-11

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

I’ve never really connected with the call stories of Jesus’ disciples. It seems like they met Jesus and immediately dropped everything to follow him.

Who can just drop everything and change their life in an instant?

But I noticed this time that in the Gospel of Luke, Simon had already met Jesus. He had stayed at Simon’s house earlier and had even healed his mother-in-law. He had been around Jesus and had probably heard him speak in the synagogue. Jesus probably asked Simon for the use of his boat because he already knew him.

This wasn’t necessarily a lightning-bolt moment of deciding to throw his lot in with a complete stranger. It was still a big leap of faith, but not quite as out of the blue as the Gospels sometimes make it seem.

But there was a lightning-bolt moment when Simon went from calling Jesus “Master” in verse 5, which was a term for a tutors and teachers, to calling Jesus “Lord” in verse 8, when he realized that this wasn’t just any rabbi.

The overabundant catch of fish changed Simon’s understanding of who Jesus is. Suddenly, he felt that he was unworthy of even being in Jesus’ presence: “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!”

But Jesus not only didn’t go away from Simon—he called him. He invited Simon into his mission and his inner circle. He turned Simon’s shame into belonging.

The Gospel of Luke was written by the same person who wrote the book of Acts. They’re so closely related that they’re sometimes referred to as a unit, hyphenated as “Luke-Acts.”Simon Peter has a prominent role in the book of Acts and is one of the foremost of Jesus’ first disciples. This is the beginning of the story of a faithful apostle.

The story of the early Church would be very different without Simon Peter.

And Simon’s ministry began when he decided to follow Jesus even though he felt unworthy.

My own call story took a lot longer than even the Gospel of Luke’s more extended version of Simon’s call story, and I too was afraid I was unworthy.

As most of you know, I grew up at St. Paul Lutheran up Harbor Blvd. a few miles. We had several interns at our congregation over the years, and when one was ordained while I was in junior high, Pastor Tom leaned over to me and said, “That could be you someday.”

I decided, though, that ordained ministry wasn’t for me.Surely I couldn’t be a pastor.I was content with that decision and didn’t think much of it for many years.

Then, I went on a New Year’s retreat at the end of 2012 when I was in my twenties. One of the retreat leaders asked me at one point if I had ever considered the ministry. I figured since it was coming up again, I should probably think about it some more, though I still didn’t think ordained ministry could possibly be for me.

I didn’t really talk about it to anyone, because I didn’t think it would amount to anything. But over the next several months, people kept bringing up the idea of professional ministry: people I had known for a long time and people I had barely met. We even had a series that year where the local pastors shared their call stories for our midweek Lenten services.

So, I started praying about it, and one day I felt God saying to me, “I might ask you to do this someday.” I burst into tears, because that sounded terrifying.I felt totally unworthy and inadequate.

I slowly came around to the idea, though, but I thought maybe it would be a long time in the future and God was just telling me so I could start taking classes or something.

Then, I got elected as a voting member for Synod Assembly in 2014, and who did I meet in the opening session in the bathroom, but a representative of Pacific Lutheran Theological Seminary (where I eventually went) who immediately asked me if I had ever considered the ministry.

That was also the year that PLTS and Cal Lutheran University merged, so they did a big presentation on the candidacy process for Synod Assembly. I think everyone from St. Paul who was with me on the trip asked if I was considering becoming a pastor.

I had to admit to myself that God might have been calling me to do this sooner than I had expected.

I didn’t want to end up in the belly of a whale, so I started looking at seminaries when I got home. I still didn’t start seminary for another two and a half years, so I can’t say I followed in Simon, James, and John’s footsteps and “left everything and followed [Jesus].”

My call story took decades, not moments or even weeks like the call stories in the Gospels.And I, like Simon, felt totally unworthy and wanted God to go away from me with that ridiculous idea.

But God was patient and kept calling me in different ways through different people over the years. My call story unfolded, layer by layer.

God closed some doors and opened others, and now I have the enormous privilege of serving this congregation and my hometown.

When I was attending FullertonHigh School, sitting about there, frantically doing English homework and waiting for my turn to perform in the parish hall for our arts program fundraiser, I never dreamed I would be a pastor someday, let alone the pastor of this congregation.

God had better dreams for me than I did. Thank God!And God is still calling me and using me in all my messy humanness.

God is calling you, too, whether to ordained ministry, church council, a political office, a relationship, a profession, a volunteer position, or something completely different.

Your call story (or stories—we’re not limited to one) may look very different from mine or Simon’s or Isaiah’s or Paul’s or anyone else’s. There is no one way to be called nor is there a limited timeframe in which to accept. God has an unlimited imagination. I do hope you’ll eventually say yes to whatever God has in mind for you.

Sometimes when we feel unworthy, it’s because God is calling us to something we need to grow into, and God will be with us every step of the way.

God already loves you unconditionally. There is nothing you can do that can make God love you any more or any less. Calling is not about earning salvation or getting right with God. But I can tell you that God’s dreams for me were better than what I dreamed for myself, and that might be the case for you too.

And I do know that God has called this congregation to be the church that feeds people body and soul.

We’ve been feeding our neighbors for more than 20 years, and God willing, we will do it for many, many more.

God uses us individually and collectively to show God’s love to our community and our world. Let your light shine, beloved!

Sermon on Luke 2:22-40

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

Today’s Gospel reading is all about endings and beginnings.

Mary and Joseph were observing the rituals that came with the beginning of their baby’s life.

Simeon was waiting for an end to his waiting. He was looking forward to the consolation of Israel and the fulfillment of the Holy Spirit’s promise that he would see the Messiah before he died. And, though the Bible doesn’t actually say how old Simeon was, perhaps his life was coming to an end with the completion of God’s promise to him. There’s at least a sense of an end to his task of watching as he sings, “now you are dismissing your servant in peace.”

Anna was continuing her faithful practices in the Temple until she encountered the baby Jesus and then began to speak about the child and this new beginning to everyone around her, spreading joy and hope.

Endings and beginnings can be hard. And waiting is also hard. God’s people had been waiting for a long time for the fulfillment of God’s promise of a Messiah.

But with the endings and beginnings in this story, the waiting was over. God’s promised Messiah was here!

Mary and Joseph were setting out on the journey of parenthood.

Simeon had received God’s promise and had seen the Messiah with his own eyes and held him in his arms.

Anna became one of the first preachers of Jesus as she shared her encounter with him with those around her.

The waiting was over.

It’s what we celebrate at Christmas—that God’s promises were fulfilled and heaven and nature sang theirjoy to the world.

The day we remember Jesus’ presentation at the Temple is called Candlemas. It’s the final holiday in the Christmasy season cycle, and the candles in the church would be blessed as a reminder that Jesus is the light of the world.

Candlemas involves endings and beginnings for us too, not just the characters in today’s Gospel. We’re ending the cycle of reading about Jesus’ birth. Other than one when he was twelve, there are only stories about the grown-up Jesus from now on. We’re beginning the rest of his life and ministry.

We’re turning our focus from the Incarnation, when God became human and lived among us, to Jesus’ death and resurrection, when we killed God because we couldn’t stand someone upsetting the power structures and daring to preach that all people are beloved by God and are included in God’s mercy, justice, and freedom.

The Messiah was here, but he didn’t act the way people expected.

And while the waiting was over for Simeon and Anna and for all God’s people, because the Messiah was here, our waiting isn’t over yet.

We’re still waiting for the world to be as it should. We’re waiting for the completion of the Reign of God. We’re waiting for the fullness of God’s justice, mercy, and peace.

We’re in the middle of some endings and beginnings ourselves.

I know we’re a month into the new year, but it still feels like a new beginning to me.2025 still feels like a blank slate, full of opportunity and also uncertainty.

The wildfires have brought about endings and scary new beginnings for a lot of people, not to mention all the people affected by hurricanes and storms in other parts of the country last year who are still picking up the pieces of their lives and finding new normals.

There’s a new administration in our government. There are probably different feelings about that in this room and among those watching from home. For some of us, it may feel like a beginning, and for some of us, an ending. Regardless of our political leanings, let’s continue to follow Jesus, whose mission statement we read last week:

1.    to bring good news to the poor,

2.    to proclaim release to the captives

3.    and recovery of sight to the blind,

4.    to set free those who are oppressed,

5.    and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.

And as always, let’s continue to be the church that feeds people body and soul.

Last week, we also elected new council members who will meet to set a new vision for this congregation this Saturday at our council retreat. We need to set a new path because our world is changing, and we need to be responsive to the leading of the Holy Spirit.

But change is hard. Even good change is hard.

And the world still isn’t as it should be.

This is one of the paradoxes of our faith: “already and not yet.”

On the one hand, Jesus already came and lived and died and rose again to show us God’s love and bring reconciliation.

On the other hand, there’s still great need and war and tragedy and disasters and cruelty and selfishness in our world.

We’re still waiting for the completion of God’s promises, for the restoration of our world. And considering it’s been 2,000 years since Jesus’ earthly ministry, there’s a good chance that completion won’t happen in our lifetimes.

Sure, we spend every Advent preparing the way of the Lord and remembering that it could happen at any time, but we also have to live with the possibility that we won’t witness it on this side of life.

We have to decide how to respond to that.

Do we throw up our hands and give up because we won’t see the results?

Or do we resolve to do whatever we can by the leading of the Holy Spirit to make earth a little more as it is in heaven?

Simeon and Anna did the latter.

Sure, Simeon had the promise that he would see the Messiah before he died, but I wonder if, as the years wore on, he started to doubt or get weary of waiting.

And Anna lived faithfully for decades, fasting and praying in the Temple, waiting for God’s promises to be fulfilled with no assurance that she would live to see it.

And yet, both continued to listen to the Holy Spirit and live their lives centered on God.

I came across a poem this week that encapsulates that feeling of powerlessness to fix a world that’s not as it should be and what we can do even as we contend with that sense of frustration.

BECAUSE

by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

So I can’t save the world—

can’t save even myself,

can’t wrap my arms around

every frightened child, can’t

foster peace among nations,

can’t bring love to all who

feel unlovable.

So I practice opening my heart

right here in this room and being gentle

with my insufficiency. I practice

walking down the street heart first.

And if it is insufficient to share love,

I will practice loving anyway.

I want to converse about truth,

about trust. I want to invite compassion

into every interaction.

One willing heart can’t stop a war.

One willing heart can’t feed all the hungry.

And sometimes, daunted by a task too big,

I tell myself what’s the use of trying?

But today, the invitation is clear:

to be ridiculously courageous in love.

To open the heart like a lilac in May,

knowing freeze is possible

and opening anyway.

To take love seriously.

To give love wildly.

To race up to the world

as if I were a puppy,

adoring and unjaded,

stumbling on my own exuberance.

To feel the shock of indifference,

of anger, of cruelty, of fear,

and stay open. To love as if it matters,

as if the world depends on it.

So, this Candlemas, let’s remember that God will keep God’s promises, and while we wait for the fulfillment of the Reign of God, whether we see it on this side of life or the next, let’s walk around heart first, showing the love that God is always pouring into us.

God has already saved the world, and God will make all things right one day. As we live in the tension of the “already and not yet” paradox of our faith, let’s be ridiculously courageous in loving our neighbors with all our hearts and feeding them body and soul.