Pentecost 11C 2025

THE REV. E. WAYNE ROLLINS

From time-to-time it’s important to step back and reflect on some important questions. I’ll begin by stating them, then try to provide some possible answers. 

The first one was asked by Jesus. “What are you looking for?” This is how the NRSV translates John 1:38. The question is somewhat related to another. “Why are we here?” But the answer to each can be very different from the other. I’ll take them in reverse order. 
When it comes to gathering for worship, our answer might be “this is what we do at this time on Sunday morning, and this is where we do it.” Another might be, “I’m a member here, so here I am.” We might even claim (or assume) certain rights and privileges in our answer, or point to some responsibilities that come along with physical presence. 

When Jesus asks the question, those near him look for the promised Messiah, and they follow John the Baptist’s teaching. In particular, these folks ask where Jesus is staying. Perhaps they want to learn more, but a mind influenced by current events might wonder if there’s an ulterior motive or a more nefarious reason. 

Jesus answers them by saying “come and see.” He expects them to commit to spending some time in conversation and witness so they can discern for themselves whether he is the one they seek. That is going to take more than an hour one morning each week, assuming they stick around at all. 

A second question seems to rise from our culture. We operate in a works righteousness economy, where you get paid for the work you do. At least, that’s what it is on the surface. Discrepancies occur (still) that relate to differences of gender, race, and other factors not really related to ability. The question is also more personal. “What do I get out of it?” 

For several decades I’ve received materials and comments that focus on what’s referred to as a “worship experience.” I heard it once in an ecumenical clergy gathering, and said that I always thought that it was God who was supposed to have a good worship experience. One older priest nodded, while most of the others didn’t seem to have considered my point. Another time I was accused of “not making us feel good about ourselves.” I don’t remember if it was that Advent Sunday where John calls the Pharisees a brood of vipers, but there are occasional reminders of that verse. And sometimes there are those who seem to follow the wine of communion with the whine of disappointment. 


My third question is, I believe, most important, yet is one that doesn’t get a lot of discussion. “What have we got?” 

​I’m not talking about buildings and programs or financial resources. I’m taking my cue from today’s Epistle lesson, which follows up on those from the last two Sundays. It’s helpful to take some time and read from the beginning of chapter eleven of Hebrews through today’s chapter. To answer this question, we also have to admit what we don’t have.

When Israel stood before Mt. Sinai, the earth trembled, the heavens roared, and smoke rose from the mountain. It must have felt like getting an up close and personal view of an active volcano just before it erupts. They were rightly afraid of getting closer, and they begged Moses to intercede for them so they might continue living. The rest of Hebrew scripture is a chronicle and commentary on how that relationship worked out once the mountain was in the rearview mirror.

With the incarnation of Jesus, things take a different turn. Now, instead of a law book and threats of punishment, God decides to draw us in by becoming one of us. Instead of a long slog toward a city in which God dwells, that spiritual place of our lives—God’s dwelling—is given to us, to be an intimate part of who we are. It not only becomes where we live, it in itself becomes incarnate as the source of our very lives.

You see, what we have is a God who loves us enough to share life with us. We have a God who is content to sit back and watch us enjoy the abundance of life that reminds us of God’s presence surrounding us. We also have a God who shows up and often speaks to us in times of trouble and chaos, sometimes whispering “peace, be still,” and sometimes asking “what are you doing here?”

We have a God whom we can approach with our worries and pains and scars, and who can reach out and fill us with new life despite the frailties of our self-offerings. And, we have a God who often does many of these things, and much more, through those who approach in fear and trembling, but have found the very things we seek becoming true for themselves.

And so, to answer a previous question, we are here to somehow embody this transcendent God who chooses to be one of us so that we might finally approach the mercy and grace that reaches out to us. We are here to faithfully do what God has done by reaching out to offer that same mercy and grace that transcends fear of oppression or rejection, because the blood shed on the cross flows through the veins and arteries of our life together as God’s people.
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In this way, our lives join together to proclaim the only words that have given life to the church for two millennia. Alleluia. Christ is risen. All the rest is commentary. Keep in mind—an individual, or a parish, that fears its own death might have difficulty proclaiming those words. But like the first time they were heard, God gives us strength to do more than just say them. God gives us the strength, God’s own presence, found in their truth so we might live them.