This, Our Valley: When you’re thirsty, go for the gusto

"He turned the desert into pools of water, and the parched ground into flowing springs."  Psalm 107:35

I am not a water drinker. I drink water if it has first been heated up and dribbled through coffee grounds and a filter. Sometimes I’ll change things up and drink boiling water that has been colored by a bag of Red Rose or Lipton. I am not a connoisseur of teas or coffees, but if I am to hydrate this carcass in which I reside and with which I perambulate, then that water had best be flavored with something more than hydrogen and oxygen!

That’s the rule of thumb by which I live and move and have my being, but I must admit that (if no one is looking) I will sneak a few sips of ice water at a restaurant when we go out to eat. I always do so feeling a bit like a fraud, because I don’t really like the taste of water. The problem is it has no taste, and that’s what I find so tasteless about it.

But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve discovered the benefits of drinking water and the need for staying hydrated. The water where we live is clean, fresh, and soft. It is still tasteless and odorless, but it can be made palatable. I discovered an outfit that sells little squirt bottles of fruit flavors. They have no artificial flavors or sugars or sugar substitutes. Just fruit concentrate in a bottle from which a quick spurt of juice is enough to both flavor and color the water, and that’s all I need. A hint of substance!

Interestingly, water has been growing on me. My wife and I traveled back to Indiana last month to visit our daughter, family, and grandkids. We boarded the train and I came down with either a summer cold or allergies, making for a miserable trip (schnozola-wise, anyway). I had no interest in coffee (an experience unparalleled in my lifetime), but I was parched. It was as if we were stumbling through the desert sands of Beau Geste with Gary Cooper. 

What I craved, during the trip, was water (evidence that I was beyond delirium). Fortunately, we were in a sleeper unit, the price of which included all the bottled water we could drink – for free. I am not one to ever take advantage of free stuff just because it is free, but I threw caution to the wind and enjoyed guzzling down water throughout our trips East and West. I don’t know if the air in the railroad coaches was just dry, or if it was my allergies and/or cold that were making me so thirsty, but I was thankful to the nth degree for the water onboard, and having permission to draw from the well as freely as I was able.

I thought about that this week as I observed the continuing disintegration of the world around us. I see a world struggling in many ways and in many areas. What I notice mostly is a world where people are thirsty for something they just haven’t been getting – waters of justice, mercy, and grace.

The world is out of balance, and as we age, doctors tell us we need to drink more water; losing one’s balance and falling down is often a sign of dehydration. I joke about my love of coffee, which is no joke, but I do recognize and appreciate the value of water, and its contribution to our health and well-being (no pun intended). 

I also appreciate justice and freedom, which brings to mind another portion of Psalm 107, “(The Lord) pours contempt on nobles and makes them lose their way in trackless deserts; but lifts the needy out of their affliction” (v. 34ff).

It’s important to not only drink plenty of fluids, but to also find oases where one can rest one’s soul, replenish one’s spirits, and heal one’s wounds. There are places where the grass is green, the air quiet, the waters still; we will find there One holding a stout staff, standing their watch. Find that spot, lay out your blanket, and be at peace, for pain is inevitable, but misery optional. So, drink up here in this, our valley, and stay balanced, my friends. 

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

This, Our Valley: When the train choo choos up the scenery

 

"Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it."  Proverbs 22:6

I like to travel the world. Sadly, my income is such that it is mostly limited to what I can see from my laptop or television. Where would I be without Nat Geo Wild? 

I do venture forth from the house, of course. I may not explore the world as such, but I do manage to get places I need to go, like the grocer’s or some of the local eateries. Sometimes I get brave and expand my horizons to a degree that surprises even me.

Last month my wife and I decided to visit our daughter and her family in Indiana. We flew back there a few years ago and then drove back two years ago, so this time we decided to change things up and make it a trifecta, making the journey this year by rail. Like John Candy and Steve Martin, we can now say we’ve gone by Planes, Trains, and Automobiles!

Outside of a small excursion a few years ago from our home to visit our son in Seattle via Amtrak, we’ve never gone anywhere by rail as a couple or family. 

I did travel cross-country by rail one time, but it was as a young teen in the 1960s when our family visited relatives in the Chicago area. That was before Amtrak; we traveled by coach, and aside from the sheer tedium of the trips to and fro, I remember nothing about them beyond the rhythmic clackety-clack as we rolled over rail joints every one or two seconds. 

Those clacks are gone now as the trains glide along on “continuous welded rails,” but they still rock and roll side to side, so sometimes we felt like we were riding a  crabbing boat off the coast of Alaska. In fact, the best way to get to the dining car was to walk crab-like down the narrow aisles. My well-cushioned tush came in handy a number of times, I’ll tell you!

I also confess this trip involved our securing a roomette in a Sleeper car. The seats fold down into a single bed for one, whilst a bunk drops down from the ceiling, making space for the second guest. 

The chief advantage of a roomette is additional privacy, as well as meals in the dining car, which are included in the price of the sleeper unit. The main disadvantage is that the seats aren’t as comfortable as Coach seats, nor do they recline significantly (as they face each other). But the meals in the dining car were hot and delicious and varied enough we didn’t have to repeat any culinary options over the course of our two three-day trips as we traversed the country back and forth.

While Amtrak may not have high speed bullet trains as one might find in places like Japan and Europe, they did manage to zip along at just under eighty miles per hour for much of the trip.

I liked being able to walk around, stretch my legs, and chat with total strangers (as diners sat four to a table). We met people from England, Australia and the Far East, as well as the four corners of our own country. Each was pleasant. Each was polite. Like us, some were traveling to visit family while others were traveling to catch cruises to Alaska or the Panama Canal.

In every case, we were fellow travelers, making our way to destinations, none of which would materially impact the journey of the other. All we needed to do at mealtime was take our seats, break bread together, share a little bit about ourselves – whatever felt appropriate – and then depart in peace to tend to whatever needed tending. 

We were living in the moment, and that was a very civilizing experience for each of us; we were safe and secure from the cares and concerns of the world for those few days and, I think, just a little closer to heaven. At least that’s what I enjoyed about the trip.

I hope you, too, will enjoy civilizing experiences here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

What on earth is faith?

Proper 14 – What on earth is faith?

Genesis 15:1-6 The Lord makes a promise, Abram believes; it’s counted as righteousness

Psalm 33:12-22 The Lord is our help and our shield; in their Name we put our trust

Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-18 Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, evidence of things unseen

Luke 12:32-40 It is your Father’s pleasure to give you the kingdom

Collect: Grant to us, Lord, we pray, the spirit to think and do always those things that are right, that we, who cannot exist without you, may by you be enabled to live according to your will; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Give ear O heavens and I will speak; let the earth hear the words of my mouth, for I will proclaim the Name of the Lord, and ascribe greatness to our God.

I want to talk with you this morning about faith. Faith is one of those words we use a lot, but I’m not sure we always know what we mean by it.

In our reading from HEBREWS (11:1) we read: “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”

What is “faith” though? What exactly do we mean?

We say we are members of the Christian faith. When we say that, we mean we are Christians, and if push comes to shove, if we’re asked what that means, we may point to the Nicene Creed or the Apostles’ Creed and say, “That. That’s what we mean.”

But that really doesn’t clarify things, does it? 

When Jesus says, “If you have faith as a mustard seed you can move mountains,” does that mean we can toss a copy of the prayer book at a mountain and it will be moved? Now, I find the creeds quite moving, but I don't think mountains do.

In Hebrews, the writer says, “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” or as we have it in the King James version, which is the verse I memorized a century ago, “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

I like those two words better: Substance and Evidence.

Assurance sounds like something a parent does when a child is scared: “Now, now, now, everything’s going to be OK.”

As human beings, there are times we need assurance. One of the things we look for in our elected leaders when there is a catastrophe or major, bad, scary event, is for them to reach out and say, “We see what’s happening, and we’re on top of it. We’re going to be right there.”

Assurance is something we look for at every level of life. We look for it on a national and international level; on a state and local level; at work and at home.

We live in anxious times, and we worry. We worry about inflation. We worry about the economy. We worry about our neighbors getting dragged away by masked agents. We worry about our kids going to school and wonder if we will see them again.

The world we live in is no more scary that the world Jesus lived in or the one who wrote the book of Hebrews. People were scared. You had construction accidents where towers fell down and killed construction workers. You had the Romans standing on the necks of the local population with their hobnailed boots – disappearing people then, just like they are today.

You had children suffering from diseases, the mentally ill living among tombs, scaring people like wild boogey-men. You had tax-collectors beating folks for taxes, more taxes, and even more taxes after that – getting rich off the sweat of YOUR brow, the blood, sweat, and tears of YOUR labor.

The world hasn’t changed; it’s a scary place; it’s a dangerous place; it’s a challenging place, so the author of Hebrews wants to encourage his readers, encourage his listeners – to assure them that everything is going to be OK.

How do we know? Because God is with us. Not in the sense of affirming everything we say and do. There’s a lot of stuff we say and do that’s not so good, not so healthy. But that’s no different from everyone else in the list of saints Hebrews is talking about here.

So what does faith look like? Whether it’s substance or assurance, what does faith look like? 

For Abraham, it was to set out on a journey, trusting that God had a place for him and Sarah – a place for them and for their children and for their children’s children – even though they were childless at the time.

 Faith is moving out, moving out in trust – like Abram who had a vision that God was leading him, leading them to some place that would be theirs.

They had no idea where God was leading them, but they trusted God was with them. They stumbled and fell at times on this journey. They had their struggles; they feared for their lives at times; they lived in tents rather than homes. God promised to make a mighty nation of them, which seemed pretty silly as they couldn’t seem to bring even one child into the world.  

But God said, “Don’t worry about that; that’s my department, not yours. You do what you need to, I’ll do what I need to!”

And that’s the second thing about faith I want to talk about. Not only is it the substance of things hoped for – a home, a family – but it is “the evidence of things not seen.”

Faith is understanding that we are accepted by God. Not that we have accepted God, but that God has accepted us.

God said to Abram, “I’ve got a place for you.” Abram believed God, and God counted his faith as righteousness. In other words, “Abram, you’ve got it.”

Jesus takes the same approach in the Gospel today, doesn’t he?

“Do not be afraid, little flock,” he says, “for it is God’s great pleasure to give you the kingdom. 

“Empty yourselves; be generous. Make purses that don’t wear out; an unfailing treasure in heaven where you don’t have to fret over moths coming in and destroying it or thieves breaking in and stealing it.”

What is that treasure that never wears out? 

I’d like to suggest it’s joy, happiness, peace, and trust in God. “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

Some years ago Barb and I and the family were returning home from visiting her sister in Fairfield (CA), and as we pulled up to the house, it was surrounded by police cars and flashing lights, and helicopters flying overhead.

“What’s going on here,” I wondered. As it turned out, police driving by had noticed a couple of men carrying things out of our house, and when they stopped to ask them who they were and what they were doing, the men dropped the goods and fled.

All the activity was about US! We were being burgled, and it’s amazing the trauma that comes with that; the violation of our space and security. I’m not overly materialistic; I try to be generous in time and treasure; I want to forgive 70 times 7 times, but this was like a dagger to my soul.

Even today I can’t go on vacation without wondering in the back of the mind just how safe our house will be. Will it be broken into? Will the water break and flood the house for weeks on end?

Jesus understands the trauma and says, “Rest assured, that’s important, but better yet, I’ve got you. I’ve got your back. I’ve got your soul. YOU are my treasure. You are my pearl of great price.”

And you know, when you know that deep down in your heart, that you’re loved, even when you don’t feel it 24/7 (because our hearts and minds just can’t do that 24/7) – but you’re  loved – we’re loved – and what we can do is realize, like with Abram and Sarai, that God has a place for us, and our only responsibility is to believe it, and act like it.

I’ve said here before that “believe” has its root in the Old German “belieben” or beloved. Belief isn’t what goes on up here between our ears, but down here within our hearts, so when we say We Believe (like in the Nicene Creed), what we’re saying is we embrace the One who created us (who creates us), we embrace the One who redeemed us (who redeems us), we believe the One who spoke to us through the prophets (who speaks to us to this day through the prophets).

As we believe God, as we embrace God, we do the things we are called to do. We are called to “act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with our God” (Micah 6:8).

As Jesus says, “Be dressed for action; have your lamps lit. Be ready to open the door and welcome home the lord of the house.” 

You and I, you see, are the substance of God’s hope, the evidence of what God has not seen! Faith isn’t just what we’re about, but what God is looking for, too. 

When we look at the scriptures, when we read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, we see that God never acts alone; the saints never act alone. God and the people of God always work together to discern the will of God, to catch a vision of what God is saying, to catch a glimpse of where God is leading. 

Our visions may not always be perfectly clear, but Jesus invites us to try it. There’s an old saying: we’re not called to be successful, but to be faithful. 

So we open our eyes, open our ears, open our hearts, and open our hands, and trust God will have something of value for us to do and to be:

The people of God, in Jesus’ Name.

AMEN.

The Rev. Keith Axberg, Retired

Sermon delivered 08/10/2025 to Christ Episcopal Church, Anacortes, WA

Proper 13 Year C – Inheritance

 

The Collect: Let your continual mercy, O Lord, cleanse and defend your Church; and, because it cannot continue in safety without your help, protect and govern it always by your goodness; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Hosea 11:1-11 The sad, parental God, (or Ecclesiastes 1:1-2, 12-14, 2:18-23) All is vanity

Psalm 107:1-9, 43 God satisfies the thirsty, fills the hungry, (or Psalm 49:1-11) We cannot ransom ourselves or deliver to God our price

Colossians 3:1-11 If you are in Christ, seek things from above

Luke 12:13-21 The foolishness of bigger barns

INHERITANCE

I am here to talk about inheritance. The Gospel today involves some sort of dispute between a couple of brothers over their inheritance. A few weeks ago we heard a lawyer ask Jesus, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” (Luke 10:25ff, Proper 10) 

During Lent in Year C we hear the story of the Prodigal Son who wants his inheritance before his father has even had the courtesy of dying (Luke 15:11ff, Lent 4C). 

In Luke 18 we have the story of the rich young ruler who wants to know what HE must do to inherit eternal life, and Jesus tells him it’s easy-peasy – “ … just give away everything you have and give to the poor, and follow me.” 

In Luke 20 we have the story of the wicked vine-growers, the wicked tenants who refuse to pay their rent at harvest time, mistreat the rent-collectors, and conspire to kill the son of the landowner in some misguided hopes they will inherit the estate – after all, possession is nine points of the law, right?

Inheritance. 

The laws and customs surrounding inheritance vary from place to place, but they all boil down to who gets what, how much, and when.

When my grandmother turned 80, she figured it was time to update her last will and testament. She found an attorney to write it up and had him send a letter to each of her children. It was short, sweet, and came right to the point.

“I am preparing to write up my last will and testament. If anyone feels I owe them anything, you have 30 days to contact me so we can settle up. Otherwise, I’m dividing up my estate the way I want.”

She was not a rich woman. She lived in a home-made shack with tar paper siding. But she also knew her children, and she knew human nature, and she knew her scriptures, and so she did everything she could to keep her family from squabbling over her bones like a pack of hyenas.

“Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.” (Luke 12:13)

The point about inheritance we sometimes overlook is someone has to die. In Jesus’ day, inheritance had less to do with money and more to do with property. 

When Israel came into the promised land after the Exodus, the land was divided up amongst the 12 tribes. That was their inheritance. That was God’s gift to them, and the land was handed down from generation to generation to work, to take care of.

It wasn’t theirs to own, as much as it was theirs to take care of and pass along to future generations. 

It was sort of that Native American sense that "We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children."

The Hebrew scriptures put it this way: “All things come of thee, O Lord, and of thine own have we given thee.” (1 Chronicles 29:14)

That’s a biblical understanding of the land and our relationship to the land.

But in the days of Jesus, the world has changed. The ideal of stewardship had shifted to a focus on ownership. Land was less inheritance and more of an asset. It could be bought and sold like fishes or figs, wheat or wine, sheep or oxen.

The land tied you down, but gold and silver freed you up, so you could leave and go places (like the younger brother in the parable of the prodigal son, who said, “I want my money and I want it NOW!”).

Inheritance requires death, and in all our stories about inheritance in the Gospel of Luke, we find a common theme, a common element: Death. 

But not just death of the father (who, in the parable of the prodigal son hasn’t even died yet) , but death between brethren.

In the Prodigal son, the kid says, “Dad, you and my brother are dead to me. Give me what’s mine; I’m leaving.”

When he comes home, he is shocked by his father who runs out, embraces him, protects him, and restores him to the family. Life after death!

The older son says, “Dad, now you’re dead to me. You never treated me like that. Your other son is also still dead to me. That hasn’t changed.”

In some ways, they’re replaying the story of Jacob and Esau from the book of Genesis, aren’t they? 

Jacob cheated his brother Esau out of his birthright, his blessing. Jacob had to flee for his life to a far country, worked 14 years for his uncle Laban (who also cheated him by switching daughters – Rachel and Leah), stole the Laban family gods, and finally returned home where he had sort of this half-hearted reunion with his brother Esau, after which they went their separate ways. (Genesis 28-30)

In the Gospel today, we see nothing has changed. Not only is the father dead (apparently), but the surviving brothers are also now dead to one another. 

This is the tragedy Jesus sees and points out. “Who made me a judge and arbiter over you?” he asked.

It’s not about what we have, but what has us.

As Jesus says, “Beware, and be on your guard against EVERY form of greed; for not even when one has an abundance does their life consist of their possessions.” (12:15)

The question we have to face is this: Who’s doing the dying, and who’s doing the killing? 

“Thou shalt do no murder,” says the Commandment. But isn’t that what’s happening in this story?  

God has given us hearts with which to love and heal, but fear and greed have freeze-dried those hearts, turning them into stone cold blocks of ice. 

Look at Gaza. People aren’t starving; they’re being starved. People aren’t dying. They’re being killed. Palestinians are dead to the Israelis, and Israelis are dead to the Palestinians.

Before we point fingers, though, we also have to ask how we’re doing. 

Are we doing any better in these days of heightened outrage between left and right, rich and poor, gender fluidity and gender rigidity, and all the other polar opposites with which we struggle to live and move and have our being?

Is that how you want to live? Is that how we want to live?

“You may think you’re building barns,” says Jesus, “but in reality, you’re only building mausoleums into which God will lay your body and soul for all eternity. Is that what you want?”

In the Gospel of John, Jesus says, “I have come that you might have life and have it in abundance.”

Abundant life has nothing to do with our possessions, but with our relationships. 

In our Mission Statement here, we say that we believe that “God is healing and restoring the world, and that we are recipients of and participants in that healing and restoration.”

That comes from the mind of God, that comes from the heart of Jesus, that comes from the breath of God’s life-giving Spirit.

Jesus begs us to step out of ourselves long enough to see what we are doing to one another and asking, “Is this what God wants? Is this leading us towards the light, or into darkness? towards life or death? towards healing or destruction? towards wisdom or towards foolishness?

As Jesus says, we can’t control whether we will live or die, but we can choose how we shall live until we die. 

That choice is our inheritance.  So let’s choose wisely, in Jesus’ Name. Amen. 

Sermon delivered to St. Paul’s, Mount Vernon, WA 08/03/2025

This, Our Valley: When the warranty runs out

 

"Show me your ways, O Lord, and teach me your paths.” Psalm 25:3

Legend has it that when Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone, he rang up his assistant and said, “Mr. Watson, come here, I want to see you.” That was in 1876. What was never recorded was the second call,”We’re calling to inform you that your car’s warranty has expired.” To which Watson asked, “What’s a car?”

I was thinking about that the other day when I picked up my cell phone to take a picture of some lilies that have bloomed ever so prettily on our back deck this past week, but the cell phone’s display was all out of focus. I checked to confirm I had on my glasses as my peepers aren’t what they once were (in terms of visual acuity). My specs were fine, as was the cell phone display screen. It turned out the problem was the glass that covers the camera’s lens on my phone was broken.

What a pane in the glass, I exclaimed to no one but myself. I bought a repair kit online but couldn’t remove the broken glass or dissolve the glue that holds it in. I called a local cell phone repair shop and left messages, but they never returned my call. I assume they were on hold waiting to hear back about their own extended car warranty matters.

So I bit the bullet and went down to my local cellular service provider to see what they could do. I shared my tale of woes with the customer service representative who greeted me warmly upon my entering their fine establishment. “We don’t do phone repairs,” he confessed, “but let’s see what we can do.” 

He checked my plan and noted that I was due for an upgrade anyway, and that between trading in the old phone and applying current rebates and cancelling my old plan for a better unlimited (and cheaper) plan, that I could, at the end of everything, pay about twenty dollars a month less than I had been currently paying. I could see it was a great deal, even if I hadn’t been wearing my eyeglasses!

I gave him my go-ahead and we got the process underway of not only buying the new phone, but transferring all my apps and files from the old phone to the new one. This was all done wirelessly: no cables, computer interfaces, or other assorted gizmos. Just two devices talking to one another quietly, silently and, perhaps, lovingly as siblings – children of Mother Pixel.

I did have the cellular whiz install both a screen protector as well as camera lens-glass protection while we waited. When we were finished, the fine young man thanked me warmly for my time and business, and I went home to begin the arduous process of applying all the updates, user-names, passwords, and PINs that had not been transferred between devices (for the sake of security).

Life throws us curves. I make every effort to take things as they come, take them in stride, and not let those curves fuzz up my day like the image of a lily through the crinkled lens of some coal-fired antique of a cell phone. 

Why let mechanical failure or accidental damage send me off in a tiff or a huff? Stuff happens, as any cattle rancher will tell you. You either watch where you step, or you wear boots. Either way, you do what you need to do and move on.

“Show me your ways, O Lord,” prays the psalmist. That line is a standard part of my daily devotions. It doesn’t matter if that “way” takes me to still waters, green pastures, or even the valley of the shadow of death (or cracked glass). “Thou art with me,” says the psalmist a few psalms earlier.

I like to think God works as seamlessly alongside us as those two mobile units there in the cellular showroom – one broken, in need of repair, and one ready to receive everything the other had to offer, without judgment, without prejudice, without fear.

Better yet, God comes with no spam, no dropped calls, and no being put on hold. Just being held closely in the palm of God’s hand with a message clear as day, “I love you.” Not in text, but in Person – who’s warranty never expires here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Proper 10 – Who is not my neighbor?

Proper 10 – Who is not my neighbor?

Amos 7:7-17, Psalm 82, Deut. 30:9-14, Psalm 25:1-9, Col. 1:1-14, Luke 10:25-37

O Lord, mercifully receive the prayers of your people who call upon you, and grant that they may know and understand what things they ought to do, and also may have grace and power faithfully to accomplish them; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Some years ago I was driving along the east shore of Ennis Lake in Montana. There’s a gravel road that runs past our little church in Jeffers where I was serving, and I think I was heading out to do a home visit on one of our elderly shut-ins. It was summertime and warm and I was just bumping along; I came around a shallow corner and saw a bicyclist walking her bike. 

She had on one of those bright red racing helmets cyclists like to wear, along with a nice sleek spandex racing suit – sort of looked out of place on the gravelly roads of the woodsy wilds of Western Montana.

I didn’t think too much of it; I slowed down and moved over to give her plenty of room and suddenly wondered if she had a flat tire or some other problem.

So I stopped and backed up to where she had come to a halt and asked if she was OK, or if she needed any help. She smiled, said she was fine, just stretching her legs, so I gave her a polite wave and continued on my way.

The question I want to ask you is, Why did I stop?

You’re probably going to say, “You’re a nice guy. She looked like she might need some help, and that’s what Christians do; we help people.”

You’re right, of course. I am a nice person and I do like being helpful. But there was something else going on. It wasn’t chivalry. As I passed her by, I knew the Gospel for that Sunday was the gospel lesson we just read a moment ago: The Parable of the Good Samaritan, and there was no way I was going to be like the priest in THAT story and pass by without at least asking if she needed help.

In other words, my ego put its thumb on the scale as I weighed whether I should pass on by and mind my own business, or stop and help!

The point is, as human beings, our motivations are always mixed. Most of the time we do the right thing simply because that’s mostly who we are and what we are. We know right from wrong. We pay our taxes. We pause and let others cut in line if they have two items to buy and we’ve got a grocery cart full. If someone says something really stupid or dumb we just let it go.

We may groan inside; we may have to bite our tongue, but we mostly don’t fight fire with fire unless the issue reaches that tipping point which kind of moves around a bit, but it’s there. We go along to get along and try not to make waves.

In many ways, we’re like the lawyer who comes up to Jesus and asks him, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” 

Jesus says, “You know the Law. What does it say?”

He answered, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself." 

And Jesus said to him, "You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live."

We all know that, don’t we? We know we’re supposed to love God, love neighbor, love self. We also know there’s exceptions to the rule, don’t we? I mean, we’re not fools; we’re not naive. There are bad people out there who do bad things. Each of us has our own list of Public Enemy Number One. 

Yes Lord, I am called to love all people, but there are exceptions. Do we have time to write them all down?

We have our reasons for disliking some people; we have our reason for hating some people; we have our reasons for detesting some people. We’re like the lawyer who at least has the good sense to ask the question: Who is my neighbor? Aren’t there some people I can just box out of my life?

I can’t criticize the lawyer for asking the question. I need to take a moment and stand in his sandals and ask: Who am I trying to push far enough away that they are no longer my neighbor?

He’s not being bad; he’s really asking this question on behalf of all of us. Where can we draw the line? 

Jesus answers the question with a story. We know it so well we don’t even need to read it or hear it. The moment I say The Parable of the Good Samaritan, we jump right to the end – to the moral of the story: “Who proved to be neighbor? Go and do likewise.”

We don’t have a lot of time, but I’d like to unpack that a little while we’re here. The question is, Who is my neighbor? And Jesus introduces us to several characters, and along each step of the way we need to ask: Is this our neighbor.

There’s a man going down to Jericho. Is he our neighbor? We don’t know. At this point he is a complete stranger. We don’t know if he’s single or married, Jew or Gentile, slave or free, young or old. So we give this guy a question mark. We don’t actually know if he is a neighbor. At this point he’s not NOT a neighbor.

Then there is a band of bandits who attack the man, beat him half to death, steal his valuables, strip him naked, and run away. Are they neighbors? Of course not! 

Then there is the priest (and they were among the 1% by the way, among the wealthy elite of the day) who passes on by. Our victim is invisible to them. Are they neighbor? No, they’re certainly not acting neighborly or caring, so no.

Then there is the Levite, a temple worker who sees our victim; he draws near to look, to gawk, but not to touch, not to help, not to render aid. Is he a neighbor? No, once again we can see they’re not.

Then there is the Samaritan. Now remember, this is one you would rather be dead than have them touch you. We’re not talking about political or religious differences. 

We’re really talking about gut-churning, get your filthy ape paws off of me kind of animosity. But here’s the shocker: He undoes all the evil of the other three. He sees the victim. He draws near and touches him. He binds up the wounds, picks him up, lays him on his own beast and finishes the journey to Jericho where he pays for our victim’s continuing care.

Who proves to be neighbor?

The one who doesn’t abuse, beat, kill, maim, or hurt others; the one who doesn’t turn a blind eye, the one who dares to get involved, the one who chooses to see people, not walls. 

None of us is perfectly like that. There are times we hurt others. There are times we are blind to others. There are times we may be entertained to see what’s happening, but fail to act on what we see. And that’s the point. There are times we do NOT love God, neighbor, or self the way we know we should. 

Jesus invites us to reflect on that and give thanks that we have a God who chose not to kill us, turn a blind eye, or ignore us, but chose to kneel down with us, bind us up, and carry us all the way to our Jericho so that we can continue with our healing.

God chose to be our neighbor, in Christ, so it doesn’t matter who MY neighbor is, it matters that I BE a neighbor wherever I go, just like Jesus – In Jesus’ Name. Amen

Sermon delivered to Chandler Square, Anacortes, WA 07/13/2025

By the Rev. Keith Axberg, retired.

This our Valley: The safety belt that wasn’t!

 

"My boundaries enclose a pleasant land; indeed, I have a goodly heritage” Psalm 16:6

I did something the other day I haven’t done in decades. I put something together over the course of several hours … and I didn’t bleed!

That may not sound all that amazing to most of you, but I confess that while I possess a fair amount of skill and coordination – enough to do many of the little things that need doing around the house – when it comes to working with sheet metal and other sharp objects, I make Freddy Krueger look like a rank amateur and a pacifist rolled into one. I’ve even been known to suffer paper cuts while sending email! Anyway …

I received a new barbecue grill for Father’s Day. The old one had served its purpose faithfully for almost twenty years, but earth, wind, fire, rain, and ice had taken their toll. So off she went, and in came the box from an online retailer that shall remain nameless (I don’t know how the owner of the website had time to ship it as he was so busy planning his wedding in Venice, but I digress).

The new charcoal grill was well-packed in its carton. Usually opening a box is where I begin my blood-letting, but I was able to open the box, remove its contents, and toss all the packing material off to the garage without opening any wounds. So far so good!

I then began to assemble the new grill, despite horrible instructions written in either sanskrit or cuneiform (it was hard to tell as the print and illustrations were possibly drafted by an ink-squirting octopus). Nevertheless, due to my superior intellect and aforementioned skills and coordination, the barbecue grill went together with nary a scratch, bruise, or loss of limb. 

I DO believe in miracles!

What’s funny (as in strange or weird) is that a few days later as I was getting ready for bed, I took off my shirt and noticed a two to three inch slash across my stomach. Now, my shirts are cloth (as opposed to steel wool or chain-mail), and I wash them in soft water and my laundry detergent is infused with a fabric softener; my fingernails are trimmed neatly, and I’m really a gentle spirit when preparing for the time of lullabies in the land of snores, so how on earth did I injure myself?

I could not have cut my tummy while assembling the barbecue, for I worked fully clothed, and as slow as I can sometimes be in my advancing dotage, my wounds are never days late in developing or showing themselves. 

So, it’s a mystery, and that’s OK. I didn’t bleed out, and it honestly was barely more than a finger-length scratch. It was just bizarre that it had happened, and I had no recollection of when or how it might have happened. 

Life is like that. Things happen to us and we don’t always know how or why. Sometimes there simply is no reason why. In hindsight, it could very well have been done by the seatbelt on my truck, for the strap that goes across the stomach is worn and does have a bit of a toothy edge to it that can (and does) rub me the wrong way occasionally.

Well, I do believe that’s another mystery solved, which creates a new mystery, of course. 

How might I prevent myself from being sliced and diced in the future? I do so little driving anymore, it really isn’t necessary or cost-effective to replace the seatbelt. Perhaps I could purchase a knee-length chain-mail hauberk for use when driving. I’ll wait and see if Jeff B. has any in stock, but only after he gets back from his honeymoon. 

After all, I wouldn’t want to order a hauberk just to have him go berserk. I’m afraid that could fold, spindle, or mutilate our relationship beyond repair. 

Speaking of spindles and other sharp objects, it’s time to restock the band aids. I just got an ash vacuum cleaner for the barbecue and need to open the box now here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)