Sermon on John 12:20-33

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

We’ve been talking throughout Lent about God’s love for this worldand our broken relationship with creation. We’ve started learning about lament, we’ve talked about microplastics, and we’re taking a trip to the landfill this week to learn about waste and what can be done with it.

We’ve dipped our toes into some heavytopics. Climate change is scary. It’s challenging to figure out what’s true. And it’s even harder to figure out what to do about it. It’s daunting as an individual faced with such enormous, global issues.

It would be easier to go onwith our lives pretending that nothing’s happening. Ignorance is bliss, as they say.

But when we find that we can’t ignore what we’ve learned, our stomachs can ache or our hearts can beat uncomfortably fast. It can be hard to get out of bed. Despair threatens to immobilize us.

In The Lord of the Rings, the character Denethor, steward of the kingdom of Gondor, gave in to despair.

Grieved by the death of one son and the grave injuries of his other son, he started looking more and more into a magic orb that gave him visions of the future.

He saw enemy ships arriving to a battle of already overwhelming odds and decided that killing himself was preferable to being killed by the enemy.

Too late, it’s revealed that the enemy ships were captured, and it was actually allies that sailed toward them. The reinforcements turned the tide on the battle, and Denethor’s death was in vain.

We have to be careful of the narratives we tell ourselves. Despair is powerful and destructive.

In our Gospel reading, Jesus’ disciples could easily fall into despair at the excruciating and humiliating public execution of their beloved rabbi.

And we know that to at least a certain extent, they did despair. Many of them ran away instead of keeping Jesus company in his last hours. Peter denied even knowing him in order to protect his own safety. Judas, haunted by what he had done, took his own life. In the following days, disciples huddled in the locked upper room, hiding from the authorities so that they might escape execution themselves.

We humans are understandably afraid of death and prone to despair.

But in our Gospel reading, Jesus offered us a different, more hopeful, perspective on death.

In this last of his public teachings, he was trying to reassure his followers that his death wouldn’t be in vain.Some Greek people (people outside the Jewish and even Samaritan communities) had come to see Jesus. Word had spread, and his mission was expanding.

He knew the religious authorities were suspicious of his popularity and wouldn’t let him upset the status quo for much longer. He knew his death was coming, but that wouldn’t put an end to his mission. It would grow beyond the control of those in power.

He drew on the natural world to illustrate his point: just like a seed dies to its current form when it’s buried in the ground but grows into something much bigger, Jesus’ death would create life abundant beyond anything they had yet seen.

Jesus promised to “draw all people to [himself],” drawing the circle of the Beloved Community ever wider.

What looks like death can actually be a form of new life. But we have to wait long enough to see it.

Denethor was wrong. He saw a glimpse of the future, buthis interpretationcaused him to give in to despair. He didn’t wait long enough to see the life that would emerge from what looked like death.

When researching climate change, it’s easy to fall into despair.I’m not a stranger to being overwhelmed and demoralized by it. Good news is challenging to find. So much is beyond our individual control, and the whole thing feels like a group project where no one’s cooperating, and so we’re all getting a failing grade.

Still, we don’t know what the future holds. Scientists can make educated guesses, but no one knows for sure.

In our reading from Ezekiel, God asks the prophet, “can these bones live?” and he replies, “O Lord God, you know.”That’s a good response to our situation:

“Will the planet be okay?” “O Lord God, you know.”

“Will climate change get worse?” “O Lord God, you know.”

“Will humanity do enough to make a difference?” “O Lord God, you know.”

And then, after remembering that only God knows the answer to what the future holds, start living like that answer doesn’t matter.Martin Luther is rumored to have said, when asked what he would do if the world were ending tomorrow, that he would plant a tree today. We can live in defiant hope for a better tomorrow, even if we don’t expect it.

Whether or not it’s possible to save the world as we know it, let’s live in a way we can be proud of, that our descendants can be proud of.

As of Friday, spring has just started, even though it feels like summer already. Let’s live in this season when new life emerges from what appeared dead.

Here in Southern California, we don’t have the dramatic shift from winter to spring that other places have, but some of you have lived in snow. You know the thrill of hope that comes from the first splash of red and pink and purple tulips and the sunny faces of daffodils—reminders that the ice won’t last forever.

Just as God breathed into the dry bones in Ezekiel’s vision, God still breathes life into our world.

Will this world live? God knows. As Presiding Bishop Yehiel Curry said, reminding us about God’s time, kairos time: “It is not too late to protect our climate. With God, it is never too late. Kairos means that this is an opportune and urgent time to address earth’s climate crisis.”

Beloved children of God, Beloved Body of Christ, we humans don’t know for sure what the future holds. Do not give in to despair. How you live makes a difference. It may not save the world. But it reflects the love and grace God has shown you. That matters.

Even if you see ships with enemy flags sailing toward you, don’t give up the fight.

Even if the world is going to end tomorrow, plant a tree.

What looks like death may be the seed that flowers into Beloved Community.

Even a cross can turn into a tree of life. Thanks be to God.

Sermon on John 9:1-41

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

You’d think people would just let Jesus perform miracles in peace. But no, the religious leaders were nitpicking the details: Jesus shouldn’t have healed this guy on the Sabbath, so obviously he’s not from God, and the whole thing is suspect.

The religious leaders were determined to misunderstand Jesus and to oppose the Beloved Community he was expanding.

I realize they were trying to protect the people in their care in the sensitive political situation of occupation by the Roman Empire. But they were so busy trying to discredit Jesus that they didn’t appreciate the literal miracle.

They weren’t willing to tell the truth about what had happened. And so, they were missing out on the healing and restoration of the Beloved Community.

Jesus came to reconcile the world with God in a way we could grasp. We humans connect with the physical world. We connect better to God when we can see God in human form, hear Jesus’ voice, touch his hand or the hem of his clothes.

When Jesus healed the man, he mixed his saliva with the dust of the earth and smeared it on his face. It sounds a little gross, but I’m reminded of the children’s rhyme: “God made dirt, and dirt don’t hurt.”

This healing wasn’t dissimilar to God creating Adam out of the dust of the earth and blowing God’s breath into his nostrils.

Jesus was reenacting the creation of humanity, showing us we have a God who still creates and wants to be in relationship with us and the world.

And this story isn’t just a healing story; it’s a call story. After the miracle, the religious leaders were so committed to opposing Jesus that they refused to believe the healed man was who he said he was, then they interrogated his parents, then they interrogated him again, and when they didn’t like what they heard, they kicked him out.

After all this, Jesus came back to the man and had a conversation in which he revealed his identity as the Messiah. It’s similar to (though shorter than) the conversation Jesus had with the Samaritan woman at the well that we read last week.

Jesus was revealing his identity to surprising people, who told others about their encounters with Jesus, spreading the good news of the Beloved Community. Many people believed in Jesus because of the Samaritan woman’s testimony. The man in today’s story found a much more resistant audience. But they both told the truth about their encounters with Jesus, which is what followers of Jesus do.

The truth can be hard to hear, though, and even harder to tell.

It’s often the case for our relationship with creation.

When I was in seminary, one of my professors was a big advocate for climate justice. So, as I procrastinated on papers for her class, I found myself going down various rabbit trails online to learn more about climate change and things I could do to live a less wasteful life.

I learned about recycling and composting, found some low-waste swaps for various household items like shampoo bars and safety razors, and educated myself on how damaging the fashion industry is to the planet.

I found myself getting overwhelmed, though, when I learned about microplastics: pieces of plastic less than 5 millimeters.[1]

They might be from larger pieces of plastic that have degraded into smaller pieces, or they could be from things like body washes and toothpaste that have plastic microbeads for exfoliation. They can come from our clothes when we wash fabrics like polyester.

When they wash out to our oceans, marine life can swallow them, thinkingthey’re food. Then, we eat fish that have microplastics built up in their systems. Plus, it impacts our drinking water and even the air we breathe.

In preparation for our creation care Lent and Easter, I read a book called Total Garbage: How We can Fix our Waste and Heal our World by Edward Humes, and it says,“we each consume somewhere between five grams of plastic a year, and five grams a week,” which is about a credit-card-sized amount of plastic. There’s a big difference between eating a credit card a week and a credit card a year, but neither sounds good.

There’s a lot we don’t know about the full impacts of microplastics, but I think it’s safe to say they’re not ideal.

So, when I was sitting in my little apartment, reading about things you can add to your washing machine to catch microplastics, I was hyperventilating and starting to panic.

I know it doesn’t help to hide from the truth, but there are some truths I don’t want to know.

And yet, in the chapter right before our Gospel reading today, Jesus said, “the truth will make you free.”[2]

I still find the concept of microplastics overwhelming, but I recognize that in order for there to be free and abundant life for all, we have to tell the truth about what’s going on with our planet and the impact we’re having on it.

We can’t change what we don’t know about.

When my nervous system calmed down after reading about microplastics, I decided that I wasn’t going to let the fact that I couldn’t do everything perfectly keep me from doing something. I try not to shame myself for ways I’m still growing.

Yes, I still buy salad kits that come with numerous plastic bags, but I also try to buy as many personal items as I can that have compostable packaging.

No, I haven’t bought any of those microplastic-catching devices for my washing machine, but I do try to thrift and buy clothes in natural materials when I can.

“Don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good” is a quote attributed to Voltaire.

It’s impossible to live a perfectly eco-friendly life. We can’t let that stop us from making small, gradual changes toward simpler, more conscious lives.

The most important word in that sentence is “we.” We’re not in this alone. That’s why we’re doing this theme for Lent and Easter. We’re not just individuals. We’re part of the Body of Christ, who came to create Beloved Community and bring a more abundant life for all.

We can tell the truth:

1.    The truth that plastic is an incredible material that has amazing life-giving possibilities and also takes hundreds and hundreds of years to break down and can have harmful effects on us and our environment.

2.    The truth that we can’t fix our environment without massive global changes.

3.    The truth that God created this world and called it very good.

4.    The truth that God still loves this world.

5.    The truth that God invites us to cocreate a healthier relationship with creation.

Like the Samaritan woman at the well, we can tell the truth to people who are hearing it for the first time.

Like the man who had been blind, we can tell the truth to people who are actively resistant to it.

Either way, we can follow Jesus, who came to heal, reconcile, and bring life abundant.

Don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good.

Do what you can to love the earth.

Tell the truth.

Build life-giving community wherever you go.

Share God’s love with the world.

[1]https://oceanservice.noaa.gov/facts/microplastics.html

[2] John 8:32

Sermon on John 4:5-42

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

Many of the people in our readings from Exodus and John were concerned with their immediate needs when God was inviting them into something greater.

The Israelites in Exodus were worried about where they would get water to the point that Moses was afraid that they would turn to violence against him.

Then the Samaritan woman thought Jesus was offering literal water that wouldn’t run out so that she wouldn’t have to keep drawing water from the well.

And Jesus’ disciples completely misinterpreted Jesus’ response to them reminding him to eat. Again, they were thinking about literal food when Jesus was metaphorically talking about expanding the Beloved Community.

But it’s hard to think about spiritual things when we’re worried about our physical needs. Maslow’s hierarchy is all about this: that our most basic needs like food and water have to be met before we can address our needs in higher tiers like belonging and self-esteem.

That’s why the Israelites were like, “we can’t worry about God right now, because we will literally die without drinking water,” and why the woman at the well was like, “I’d have so much more bandwidth to think about spiritual things if I didn’t have to keep lugging water around,” and the disciples were like, “Jesus, we’re showing you that we care about you by making sure you eat literal food.”

So, God gave the Israelites water in the wilderness.

And Jesus taught the woman at the well and his disciples, none of which were in a state of dehydration or starvation, that he would provide what they truly needed—something beyond the basic needs of food and water.

The Israelites were still trying to figure out whether God was worthy of their trust or if God would just be another Pharoah, using them for their labor and not truly caring about their well-being.

But God proves over and over again to be trustworthy, forgiving God’s people every time we let our worries and jealousies and egos get in the way of our memories of God’s character and love for us.

God knows what we need and will provide for us. And one of the ways God provides is by creating Beloved Community where people take care of each other.

It’s a community where resources are shared, not wasted, and where people are treasured, not taken advantage of.

It requires mutuality, where everyone’s contribution is honored, and there’s no sense of “we” are giving to “them,” those poor souls.

And there has to be trust. Trust in God and trust in each other that there’s enough for everyone. It’s an abundance mindset that’s not the default for many of us.

We live in a society where there’s a scarcity mindset, where if you’re thriving, it might be at my expense. And where it’s encouraged that we keep striving for more, because we’re worried there might not be enough to go around. And where our stuff tells a story about how important we are and that we deserve more than someone else who must not have worked as hard as we have.

And if that comes at the expense of a species’ habitat, that’s too bad, but it’s not my fault.

Or if someone’s water supply becomes undrinkable because of the mine that supplies the materials for the smart phone in my pocket, that’s too bad, but it’s not my problem.

Or if the exhaust from my car adds to the pollution that will exacerbate the asthma of my friends’ kids and grandkids, that’s too bad, but it’s not like getting one car off the road will make that big of a difference.

I’m just one person—I can’t make a difference by myself.

But that’s just it. If millions and billions of people have that attitude, nothing will change, and we’ll throw the massive amount of power that we have collectively out the window instead of using it to love our neighbors, human and nonhuman.

Author Madeleine L’Engle wrote this about separating ourselves from the whole of humanity and the kinship of creation: “Perhaps I may not personally cheat the government, consider the poor expendable, murder, steal, mug, or rape. Perhaps I may not use a knife with the intent to injure or kill. Perhaps I try to eat a diet suitable for a small planet. But can I separate my own health from the rest of the world? My own good nutrition from the poor nutrition of billions? My longing for peace from the warring in the Middle East or South America or Ireland or anywhere else at all? In a universe where the lifting of the wings of a butterfly is felt across galaxies, I cannot isolate myself, because my separation may add to the starvation and the anger and the violence. I am not burdening myself with a lot of guilts which are impossible for me to resolve. But to separate myself from the suffering of the world is dis-aster. If I call myself “good” is that not separation?”

Just as Jesus called the woman at the well and his disciples to something more, God is calling us to kinship with humanity and the world that doesn’t stop with our individual concerns.

Beloved Community reminds us that we’re not alone. We’re not alone in our needs, and we’re not alone in our desire for a better world.

The Holy Spirit binds us together and moves us to compassion and collective acts of justice and mercy.

God calls us not just as individuals, but as the Body of Christ, to draw living water for others, to partake in the food that is doing God’s will, feeding the world body and soul.

Part of that means preserving the abundance of creation for future generations.

We talked during our 2024 yearlong Sabbath theme about seven-generation thinking. It’s the idea present in some Indigenous cultures that whenever a tribe makes a decision, they consider how it will impact people seven generations into the future.

Many of us consider what the world will be like that we’re leaving to our kids and grandkids, but how many of us think beyond that?

Could seventh generation thinking help us keep our descendants from becoming climate refugees?

Could it help prevent future wars fought over water and other basic resources?

Could it preserve the waterfalls and lush forests and pristine beaches we enjoy on weekend hikes and family vacations for generations to come, so that they don’t just survive, but thrive in God’s beautiful creation?

It’s natural for us to worry about our own basic needs and those of our loved ones. And God invites us to expand our imaginations from basic survival to life abundant for everything that has breath.

Let’s recognize our kinship in the Beloved Community where God is madly in love with every being from the beginning of time to the end of the age.

As we learn to live into that kinship, enjoy creation, help preserve it for the next seven time seven generations, and remember that God created you and calls you good.