In the beginning, while starting in on the grandest of Ikea kits that ever will be, God stumbled upon the instruction manual for assembling wings. The boney-yet-pliable appendages turned out to be a small, yet important part of the whole.

When flapped just so wings, God discovered, could propel a creature into the air, enabling them to soar through the skies.

What a great feature, God concluded. I shall fill the air with this new creation as far as the eye can see. And it was so. Not content to make just one kind of anything, diversity became a cornerstone of God’s grand design.

Before long there were little birds, big birds, hairy birds, bald birds, skinny birds, fat birds. And redbirds, bluebirds, blackbirds, yellow, brown and white birds too. They lit up the sky in a gorgeous mosaic of motion.

The Creator looked around at the vibrant, colorful hues that flapped all around and smiled. It was good, God realized. The Maker hummed a happy tune and rummaged around the massive box for another set of instructions to try.

The birds, free to fly any which way the winds may lead, began to make friends.

Flamingos found their bright pink kin and gathered.
Cardinals started hanging with their own.
Peacocks, excited to show off their splendor, got together too.

Birds of a feather flocked together, time and time again.

Flocking, it turns out, had some advantages. When migrating from one place to the next there is safety in numbers. It’s harder for a predator to catch a flocked bird than when the bird is alone. And flocks help with finding food. With more eyes looking for their next meal, chances are better of finding it. When one discovers lunch, others share in the feast too.

Day 6
With the winged flight project now complete, God sifted through the remaining parts, excitedly considering what else could be made. Right at the bottom of the pile, below the head and the heart, the Creator found instructions for making feet. These small features turned out to be pretty special too.

When directed just so feet, God found, could move a creature across all sorts of terrain, up hills, down valleys, through plains.

God realized feet were a great, well, feat. The Maker then put them on all sorts of living things, happily singing a tune as construction moved along. When the Creator got to the final pieces in the kit, and found what would become humans, God knew just what to do. The Maker lovingly looked at the newly formed humans. From the top of their heads to the tips of their footed toes, they too were good.

Tired from the effort the Master Builder decided it was time for a nice, long nap.

Soon enough the diversity designed into people started to shine through. There were little people, big people, hairy people, bald people, skinny and fat people too. There were people in an assortment of colorful hues, from tan to brown to black, with countless shades between.

Groups
But people, it turned out were were much more complex than that. As languages developed so did beliefs, behaviors, certain ways of being. Humans also realized there was strength in numbers; that it was harder to be hurt when you weren’t alone. That it was easier to eat when more eyes looked for food.

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Birds of a feather flocked together, again.

Before you knew it some had settled in the hills, some the valleys, still others the plains. People learned that with effort they could get along with their own kind, sometimes. But outsiders? It was best to keep them out.

From this mindset came disagreements, arguments, bloodshed, war. God looked down at Creation, designed so precisely, so perfectly, and saw what humanity had become. God couldn’t help but feel sad.

Redo
Determined not to give up the Maker asked for help. Son, I need you to do something for me, God said. Go down to earth. While there show my people the way.

Point them to the birds of the air. Let them know I provide all the birds need, even though they are small. Make sure they know I value my children so much more than that. Make sure they know I value difference – for I created it all.

Find some of your own friends down there, Son. About twelve should do. Teach them to appreciate the beauty of the world around. Share the instructions I used with them in the beginning. For humans were designed to care for creation, and each other, along the way.

So Jesus went and dwelled among the people. Soon enough he’d found those dozen friends. With the two feet God had given each, they set out on a divine journey to set things straight, once again.

When the day came for Jesus to be baptized, God sent a flighted friend, a dove, down from heaven to mark the occasion. This is my Son, God reminded those gathered that day, with whom I am well pleased.

As Jesus went from town to town with his friends he healed, created, challenged others to love. When manmade borders appeared, be they defined by gender, status, country, race or creed, Jesus crossed them all.

This lack of rule following ruffled feathers to say the least, even among the twelve. Once, after seeing a healing performed by another, done in the name of Christ, John complained. He was not following us, John reasoned.

Yes, Jesus replied, but he was following me. Anyone who so much as gives a cup of water to another is on God’s side. For it is care of each other, despite the differences we use that harm, that matters most of all.

Today
So often we use difference to divide. And that simply need not be. Christ-followers become Catholics, Lutherans, Baptists, a seemingly endless splintering of what God intends to unite. While it’s fun to celebrate a particular team – Go ELCA Lutherans – when it comes to how we serve our neighbor none of that matters much.

So give water to the thirsty. Feed the hungry. Welcome the stranger. Clothe those without. Care for all of God’s beloved, without exception. Do so as a follower of the Son of God. Nothing less, nothing more. Do so with a brilliant tapestry of fellow Christ-followers at your side. Do so with fellow Christ-followers who may not look like, believe like or always act like you.

With that you become part of a much larger flock, just as God intends. For that, my friend, is when our faith, as guided by the winds of the Spirit, begins to truly take flight.

On February 25, 1964, in Miami Beach, a young 22-year-old boxer did the seemingly impossible, against 7-1 odds, he dramatically beat the heavily favored Sonny Liston to claim the heavyweight boxing title. After the fight the boxer confidently proclaimed, “I am the greatest!”

In that moment he certainly was. Named Cassius Clay at birth, he later changed his name to Muhammad Ali. Ali’s brazen prediction stood the test of time; he boxed professionally for over two decades, winning 56 bouts and claiming the heavyweight title three different times.

History has proven he just may be right; fans consistently rank him as the greatest boxer of all time.

Over the past two decades a new acronym has become popular to describe someone like Ali: GOAT. And no, we’re not talking about the scrappy two-horned livestock that gives us phenomenal milk and cheese.

G.O.A.T., or the Greatest Of All Time, refers to the most accomplished and successful individual in history for a particular activity.

The sports world in particular has latched on to the term. Fans love to argue who is the greatest, and why.

Who is the GOAT in basketball, this guy?

He has more championships – two threepeats with the Bulls – and more points per game than anyone. Or is it this guy?

Lebron has won championships with three different teams, not too shabby. And has more rebounds and assists than Air Jordan. Ultimately who you call the greatest depends on what stats you value most.

While I’ll always love Jordan, the conversation is shifting some; Lebron’s career keeps on humming along. I’ll say this –

– for anyone that has seen the Space Jam movies, Jordan is a much better actor than Lebron on the silver screen. Hands down. End of story ?

How about the greatest quarterback of all time, is it this guy?

Or perhaps this guy?

As much as I love Joe Montana – he was so fun to watch – and never deflated footballs on gameday. Not even once ?. Yet Tom Brady’s seven Super Bowl wins speak for themselves.

During the summer Olympics this year there was all sorts of conversation about the women’s gymnastics greatest of all time. Here’s one option:

Nadia Comanechi was the first woman to score a perfect 10 in Olympic competition. She pulled that feat off an amazing seven times in 1976, earning 5 gold medals along the way.

Or is it her?

While Simone has fewer Olympics golds, when you include world championship medals she’s the most decorated gymnast in history, with four, count em, different skills named after her. Nadia’s performances were known as pure art, Simone’s pure power.

The debate on who is the greatest among these two likely isn’t ending any time soon.

As you might imagine, how we compare greatness extends far beyond sports. One of the questions in the Bethesda staff performance surveys asks our members to rate our preaching, anywhere from –

Needs improvement, to
Meets expectations, to
Exceeds expectations.

So when survey results came back earlier this summer, and showed 57% of you rated me as exceeds expectations,

I gushed. That’s great! I must have won! Total victory achieved!

That is until I looked again and noticed Pastor Bryan’s preaching scores…

…were 1% higher. Ah well. Which is good for some humility. And, I might add, a 1% difference is within the sampling margin of error. ?

Disciples
Not surprisingly, arguments about who is the greatest have been going on for years. While on the road passing through Galilee the disciples had just this debate. We don’t know exactly what criteria they used. We do, however, know enough about the twelve from other passages that their conversation just might have gone something like this…
Who’s the greatest? “I am,” Peter said, excitedly.

“I walked on the water with Jesus. Top that!” he bragged. “Whatever,” retorted John. “But then you got scared and began to sink. Jesus had to save you from yourself. I bet that’s going to happen again,” he mused, somewhat prophetically. The disciples laughed, remembering that boat moment well.

“Besides,” John continued, puffing up his chest “I’m the fastest of this crew.”

He was at least faster than Peter. John knew this. He could even prove it. John resolved, right then and there, to make sure someone wrote of a race between the two of them. That way others would know it too.

Judas then took his turn at staking a claim. “Guys, guys, guys, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m the man, and always will be,” he gloated.
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“I’m the treasurer for this crew. Money equals power. Everybody knows that. Clearly Jesus trusts me, more than any of you,” he reasoned. “And that,” Judas concluded is what makes *me* the greatest.

At this point the disciples arrived at their destination. “What were you arguing about?” Jesus asks. The twelve were silent. They withdrew eye contact, instead looking down at their sandals, dusty from their walk. No one said a word.

Knowing perfectly well what their verbal spat was about, Christ gathered them around.

Whoever wants to be first must be last, he said.
Whoever wants to be first must serve all.

To drive home the point Jesus called a little child over and took them into his arms.

“See this kid?” Jesus said. Whoever welcomes a child like this, in my name, welcomes me. And whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.

Jesus then looked up, making it clear who he spoke of.

The disciples kept their eyes on their dusty sandals. They had tried to showcase their best personal achievements in an attempt to prove who was the best.

And here Jesus is saying greatness is about something entirely different.

Greatness isn’t about what you can claim for yourself.
Greatness is instead about who you serve.
And how you welcome those you serve into your care.

In biblical times children were viewed as socially inferior, the lowest of the low. Because of that children were often ridiculed, marginalized, largely left invisible. Jesus had made this child visible to the twelve, as he had with so many before. They could see this child with their own two eyes.

Even more, Christ had told the disciples that greatness comes from serving people others deem low.

No wonder Jesus was always talking to –
women,
children,
foreigners,
the sick,
the homeless,
the hungry.

Jesus connected with practically everyone that didn’t look like, act like, or believe like him. And he didn’t just talk to them. He –

Embraced,
Healed,
Fed,
Forgave,
Welcomed them back into the groups that had actively kept these people out.

Close
We love to talk about what it to be great, don’t we. We love to rank, and debate, and argue about who exactly that may be. Often we give status to the people with the most –

Power

Money

Or Speed

But in matters of our faith none of that makes much difference.

So you want to be a great Christian? Do this one thing: step up your service game. And no, we’re not talking tennis. To be great in God’s kingdom is all about serving others we far too often condemn, welcoming people like –

this:

and this:

and this:

and this:

For when you serve those our society likes to judge, marginalize and exclude, you take a step towards true greatness. For when you welcome others that don’t look, act, or believe as you do something else happens. You begin to mirror the greatest server, healer, and champion of all, one who loves each of us more than any other.

He is the greatest person to walk the earth of all time, after all. Aspire for greatness, sure. But be great in a certain kind of way. Be like Christ. Amen.

The cards were stacked against Malala Yousafzai, and had been, from the start. Born in Pakistan, growing from little girl to teen to adult is an uphill battle, fraught with peril. Life for females in this country is hard. The rights they have and roles they can play are few. But Malala’s father, a teacher who ran a girls’ school in their village, was determined to give her every opportunity a boy would have.

When the Taliban took control of their town in 2008 all sorts of things were banned, including owning a tv and playing music. Punishments for rulebreakers were harsh. For Malala the news was particularly bad: girls could no longer go to school. Education, according to the Taliban, was only for males.

At just 11 years old – the same age as my daughter – Malala said goodbye to her classmates. She didn’t know when – if ever – she would see them again.
For most people that should have been that. The powers that be had spoken, after all. End of story.

Nevertheless, she persisted.

Malala simply couldn’t leave well enough alone. She chose to go back to school, opting instead to practice some civil disobedience. It broke the law, yes. For Malala, who just wanted to learn, it was the right thing to do.

Malala then began to speak out publicly on behalf of other girls and their right to learn too.

News of her courage and advocacy soon spread. One day, on the way home from school, a masked gunman boarded her school bus and asked, “Who is Malala?” He then shot her. The bullet travelled 18 inches from the side of her left eye, through her neck, and landed in her shoulder, causing her to immediately become unconscious.

Ten day later she awoke in a hospital in England. Malala was told of the attack, and that people from around the world were praying for her. Surgeries and rehabilitation took several slow, painful months. She persisted some more. Eventually her physical healing was complete.

Now able to rejoin her family at their new home in England, Malala faced a choice. She could live a quiet life in her new country, learning to her hearts content. Or she could shake things up some more. She could make the most of this new life, and public platform, she’d been given.

She chose the latter.
She chose to persist, once again.
She chose to speak out so other girls could go to school.

With the help of her father, she established the Malala Fund, a charity dedicated to giving every girl an opportunity to achieve a future she chooses. Word got out, funding came in, transformation began. Then, less than two years later came significant recognition.

In 2014, at age 16, she received the Nobel Peace Prize, becoming the youngest-ever Nobel laureate among the 962 people and organizations that have received the award to date.

Last year Malala completed a more manageable lifelong dream, graduating from Oxford University with a bachelor’s degree in Philosophy, Politics and Economics. She then returned to lead the organization full time.

With more than 130 million girls out of school globally due to poverty, war and discrimination, Malala’s dream of making education assessable for all girls is a big one. She plans to persist, once again, some more.

Healing
Today’s text from Mark 7 puts us face-to-face with a mother grappling with a significant obstacle. The woman has a young daughter who suffers from an unclean spirit. She has likely gone to local doctors, tried home remedies, listened to advice from friends. But none of it worked.

We can picture this mother hearing her daughter’s cries, cleaning up her messes, rocking her during fits until both finally fall fast asleep. We can envision she was running low on options, running out of hope. We can imagine her crying out to the heavens, asking how long, oh Lord, how long? For, despite the mother’s best efforts, the trouble with her daughter remains.

Nevertheless, she persisted.

Upon hearing a foreign-born healer was in town she immediately set out to find him.

The healer, a pious Jewish teacher, had already crossed one boundary and was now in the land of Greeks. Perhaps the man would cross a few more cultural barriers and speak with the Greek pagan woman too. Perhaps the healer could even make her beloved child whole once again.

She had to at least try. For the love of a mother for her ailing child knows no end.

The woman finds the healer, goes to him, bows down at his feet.
Please, the woman begs, cast the demon out. Make my child clean.

The healer responds not with action, but rather rebuke. “Let the children eat first,” he replies, almost dismissively. “For it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

Dogs. A term used to refer to opponents, enemies, anyone considered other.

Could this healer really be Jesus? Hearing those words, as a person of faith, is enough to make you squirm.

We’re reminded that Jesus is both fully God and fully man. Here his humanity, with all the challenges it presents, peeks through.

Perhaps he was exhausted after a long day of ministry.
Perhaps he responded from his own, deep-rooted Jewish tradition.
Perhaps, in that moment, he was not at his best.

Regardless of why, the woman, in that moment, had been shut down.

Request denied.
At least for now.
Try back later.

That hard stop could not have felt good. The woman could have just hung her head, turned around, headed home.

For most people that should have been that. The one who held all the power in the moment had spoken. End of story.

Nevertheless, she persisted.

“But sir,” she replied, “even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.”

Give us a crumb, she pleaded.
A crumb from your table would be enough.
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The pleading, tenacity, advocacy for her daughter got Christ’s attention. Her response had been quick, witty, pointed. Something about it softened Jesus, changed him.

“For saying that you may go,” he replied. “The demon has left your daughter.”

The woman then went, found her daughter laying down, fully healed. Her persistence had paid off.

The woman had helped further a theme found throughout the gospels: salvation is not for one tribe, but for so many more. Jesus, with the healing had crossed yet another boundary, healing not just the Jews but the Gentiles too. For the Son of God came to save us all.

Safety
Life for Lucida began without much fuss. Born into a middle-class Honduran farming area, she gladly helped her family tend the fields.

Raised in the mountain town of Gracias, she enjoyed picturesque views most of us only see on vacation.

As an adult Lucida organized small farmers, helping to increase their productivity, following the footsteps of her father. She also developed women’s cooperatives, including one that taught women how to use micro loans to help their small businesses thrive.

She cared for her community, always wanting to give back in any way she could.

A lifelong Catholic, among her many church activities she was the Diocese treasurer, responsible for overseeing and transporting money from thirty parishes every week to the bank. Every time she went an older gentleman insisted he go along due to the risk of violence and harm. The country she claimed was changing, quickly it seemed, for the worse.

By the time she was a wife and mother the land she loved was overrun with gang violence. Statistics confirm this; today Honduras has the second highest homicide rate in the world.
When the federal government tried to take community forest lands – to give to large landowners – she became the community voice against the land grab. She could have switched vocations. For the powers that be, from a corrupt government, had spoken. For many that would be that. End of story.

Nevertheless, she persisted.

Speaking out against the injustice, Lucida was soon threatened and attacked by a member of one of the gangs believed to be supported by the government. Given the chance to testify against him in court she boldly agreed to. Without the aid of a lawyer, she helped secure his conviction.

For a woman in Latin America that’s downright exceptional.

When the man got out of prison he found Lucida, threatening to kill her, her seven-year-old son, (whose father had passed away) and all her close family members. This was not an idle threat.

On the advice from her father, she packed up what she could and immediately fled Honduras for the safety of her son and family. She had left behind practically everything but her faith.

She had to at least try to get to safety. For the love of a mother for her child knows no end.

While journeying through Guatemala she was robbed of everything she had, right in front of her son. Local Catholic Sisters took her in for several days, helping her get on her way to Mexico.

It was around then that the Sisters of St. Francis in Dubuque contacted David Hansen. They knew that David, who heads up ASIP, or Ames Interfaith Sanctuary Partners, was exploring sponsorship to help asylum seeking immigrants at our southern border.

David got to work finding a primary financial sponsor, a family who could offer housing. He encouraged St. Thomas Aquinas and the Ames Interfaith Refugee Alliance to sign on as sponsors alongside ASIP too.

Now Lucida and Francisco just needed to get to our border. That part would not be easy.

But Lucida had to keep her son safe. So she persisted some more.

She got to the border of Guatemala and Mexico but hit a snag. The Mexican immigration kept her at the border for over two months. Finally she was granted a special humanitarian visa allowing her to travel to the U.S. border by bus. Fortunately, a local asylum program had a paralegal there, who helped her secure a classification that would get her an immigration appointment at the US border.

Her persistence had paid off, and she found herself in Tijuana, just south of San Diego, and more than 3,000 miles away from where their trip began.

The morning of her appointment to cross the border she met with an immigration officer. He reviewed her papers, asked a few questions and pointed to a line of over 100 people nearby. He explained that she was the only one with the special request to enter. Lucida said she felt, in that moment the hand of God, nudging her along.

In the US she was met by a Jewish agency, who provided free transport to a hotel, lodging, meals, and scheduled the required doctor visit for advanced Covid testing. Exams now complete, the two boarded the plane to Des Moines. When they arrived they were greeted by members of ASIP who brought them to their new home in Ames.

Now with legal council, they have the help and support of many, hoping and praying they might eventually win their appeal, and be able to stay here for good.
I share this story with you because it exemplifies what it is to be persistent.

In the face of injustice to her people she spoke out.
Amid threats of violence she did what she had to for her family to be safe.

And by the grace of God, she has been saved.

I also tell you this because is our story. Bethesda is a member of ASIP, and looking to better support our immigrant neighbors, refugees and asylum seekers. If that sounds like something you’d be interested in, talk to me, I’d love to connect you with the group.

Close
God cares deeply for each and every one of us. Amidst the violence of this world millions, daily, are faced with injustices we can only begin to imagine. These three stories exemplify women who challenged the unjust systems they encountered, helping countless others along the way.

In each challenge the kingdom of God expands, through the in-breaking of Christ. It is an inbreaking that brings life here one step closer to as it is, in heaven. It is an inbreaking not for one tribe or country or gender or skin color. It is salvation offered to the whole human race.

Martin Luther, reflecting on the woman who begs Christ to heal her daughter, says we should pay attention to her. For she teaches us how to pray. Boldly. With confidence. Approaching the throne brazenly, petitioning the almighty for our needs. No matter how difficult the trials of this world we may face.

For our maker wants the best for us.
Our maker wants us to give our best to each other.
And to do so unapologetically.

When we encounter injustice that is not of God, these three women show us Christ’s way. Speak up. Advocate. Persist. Amen.

A few days ago Senate Republicans and Democrats joined together, voting to take up a $1 trillion dollar bipartisan infrastructure bill. The step paves the way towards funding significant upgrades for roads, bridges, rails, transit, water. Better known for being bitter rivals in recent memory, the two parties set aside their differences, finding common cause they could both support. Many crossed an aisle that more often than not divides. What was separate had been united. Their shared efforts favor a greater good that benefits all. The two came together, almost magically it seems, as one.

This past week we watched as over 11,000 athletes from 206 countries came together at the Tokyo Olympics, joined by a shared passion of competitive sport. Setting aside differences in culture, ethnicity, religion, language and governance, it is a spectacle to behold. We naturally cheer for our country (go USA!) Yet there is so much more beauty to this must-see TV than merely rooting for lines drawn on a map. The Olympics represent a celebration of difference, amid a backdrop of jaw-dropping human achievements that constantly amaze. Billions worldwide, for these two inspiring weeks, become a global village, of one.

One of the biggest stories from Tokyo so far is that of Sunisa Lee. Sunisa’s family immigrated to the US from Southeast Asia in 2003 when she was a toddler. Part of the Hmong ethnic group, her family settled right up the road in St. Paul, Minnesota.

Sunisa’s past year was marked by multiple challenges that made her Olympic path more difficult than most. Sure, training during the unknowns of pandemic couldn’t have been easy. But there was more. Two close family members, an aunt and an uncle, died due to COVID. Her father suffered an accident, becoming paralyzed from the chest down. Then came increased anti-immigrant sentiment. Increased anti-Asian sentiment came too.

Nevertheless, Sunisa persisted, making history as the first-ever Hmong American Olympic gymnast. Earlier this week her lofty performance earned Sunisa the gold medal of the women’s all-around. With the achievement she entered rarified air.

We celebrate triumph, amid adversity.

We celebrate –
A woman,
A Minnesotan,
An Asian,
An American.
A recent immigrant.

Finally, we celebrate, most of all, a fellow child of God.

For out of the many groups Sunisa claims, it is that final identity that binds us together, into one.

As I sat at the local library to prepare this message, I watched as a white woman approached a black man, and asked him to turn down the volume on his headphones. I could hear the sound of hip hop tunes being played ever-so-slightly, twenty feet away. Once corrected, he complied; the playful beats disappeared.

Noticing the environment we shared more now, I then heard several other conversations nearby. Each conversation was louder than the offending music. At least as best I could tell. If volume weren’t the criteria for his correction what was? As I looked over at the 6’3” black man with a head full of braided dreadlocks it was difficult not to wonder why he had been shushed. It was a reminder that the two, for far too long, have not been treated fairly, or consistently, as one.

On any given day 115,000 couples here on earth get married. Each member of the pair brings all they are to that moment, by way of DNA, family history, life experience. They share their strengths, their weaknesses, their everything. The sacred act of marriage is a public commitment to have and to hold, from this day forth, for better and for worse, in sickness and in health, to cherish and to love. To do all that, with any luck, for the rest of their lives. Still unique beings, differentiated in so many ways, a new creation in this joining has been formed. The two, in the eyes of God and all those assembled, have become one.

From those sacred unions the two are united, not just in Spirit, but in flesh. And when their union comes together just so, and the creative spark of life gestates to completion, it is a miracle we relish. A new life is born. And those news lives are so cute! The family of two has become three. Later they may become four, five, more. Regardless of size they share this common identity. As a family, the many still, God willing, are one.

For the 2.4 billion Christians in the world that claim the faith, in many settings there is an almost automatic next step, baptism.  We bring that adorable new life to the community, and by water and the Spirit they are reborn anew, joined to the body of Christ. Parents, Godparents, and all those gathered commit to bring, nurture, support this new life in their faith journey. When asked if we will do all this, the community replies, in unison, we do. With that vocal commitment we walk with the newly created one, their whole life long, for the sake of the One.

Every weekend Christians globally come together outdoors, in homes, in sanctuaries. We join, either in person, online, or thousands of miles away, alongside fellow believers in the holy catholic church. We stake claim to the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, the life everlasting. We eat the bread, broken for you, drink from the cup, shed for you, taking it into our innermost being. With that singular act Christians set aside differences large and small, joining their savior across time and space. With that singular act billions are united, together, as one.

And when our life here on earth is complete, and it is time to say goodbye, we gather, a final time, to celebrate the transition from one state of being to the next. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. We pray that rest eternal grant us, O Lord. We imagine light perpetual shining on us, now and forevermore. We look forward to reunions, and peace, becoming fully connected with our Creator and all of creation.
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In that moment of transition, from the here to the hereafter, all those various identities we claim fade away. In their place we are unified, once and for all time, into the One.

In just three verses from the opening of Ephesians 4, the author repeats this theme of oneness seven times:
One body,
One Spirit,
One hope,
One Lord,
One faith,
One baptism,
One God and Father of us all.

Seven.

A holy number.
A complete number.
A perfect number.

Repetition signals importance. The Ephesians writer must have sensed divisive energy in the faith communities of the early church. Divisive energy that exists still among us today. Divisive energy that far too often keeps us more apart, than together, as One.

At the library, the black man with muted headphones caught my glance. The two of us got to talking. Devante moved here from St. Louis recently. He appreciates his new town, in many ways, very much. But how he’s treated, I learned, based on the color of his skin, unfortunately follows him everywhere he goes.

We lamented this reality.

Devante then shared his vision of the future. “One day I hope a black man can pass a white man on the street and neither of them think twice about it. They just trust each other from the start. Why wouldn’t they? That’s the future I dream of.”

I found myself nodding along, also desiring this utopia.

While society slowly bends toward the long arc of justice, if we’re honest with ourselves, we must confess that we’re not quite there.

But we can be.

As we look to the future, let us stake claim to our faith. A faith that calls us, in no small way, to set aside our differences. To join together. To love, support, cherish, respect, honor and be, alongside all of God’s creation. Bringing creation together, once and for all, into the One.   Amen.