June 28, 2026 Matthew 10:40–42 The Holy Ministry of Cold Water

Most of us imagine that if Jesus ever showed up at our door, we'd want to do something impressive. Perhaps we'd prepare a banquet, compose a hymn, or perhaps build a small cathedral in the backyard.

Jesus has a different idea in Matthew 10:40–42. He says that welcoming one of his followers is like welcoming him. Then he lowers the bar further and simultaneously raises it at the same time. He says that even giving a cup of cold water to one of "these little ones" matters to God.

A cup of cold water?

Not a theological dissertation. Not a miracle. Not a fundraising campaign honoring his most fervent followers.

Just water.

Jesus seems remarkably fond of ordinary things. Bread. Fish. Seeds. Lamps. Sparrows. And here, a cup of water.

Perhaps because most of life feels so ordinary. Few of us part seas or preach to thousands. Most of us spend our days answering emails, doing routine chores, washing dishes, holding doors, making phone calls, listening to friends, and offering small kindnesses that seem to disappear as quickly as they happen.

Yet Jesus insists they don't disappear.

The kingdom often arrives disguised as simple hospitality. A welcoming smile. A patient conversation. A casserole thoughtfully delivered to a grieving neighbor. A note of encouragement. A cup of cold water on a hot day.

The world celebrates many grand achievements. Jesus notices small acts of mercy, which is good news for us.

Because most of us have cold water available.

And according to Jesus, that's enough to begin changing the world.

Today, we may not encounter prophets or apostles. But we will almost certainly encounter thirsty people, people who are thirsty for kindness, attention, encouragement, dignity, or hope.

Jesus invites us to offer what we can and apparently, heaven keeps track of cups of water.

Perhaps the humor in this text is that while we worry about accomplishing great things for God, Jesus is standing by the water cooler saying, "Let's start here." Sometimes the smallest gestures become the clearest signs of God's presence.

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June 14, 2026 Romans 5:1–8 Matthew 9:35–10:8 - Both Humble and Vulnerable Locked in God's Image

Romans 5:1–8 and Matthew 9:35–10:8 come from different times and authors, yet they remain united by a remarkable theme: God acts first in love toward people who are vulnerable, lost, and unable to save themselves. 

Last week two foundational Hebrew words describing God: ḥesed (חֶסֶד) and shema (שְׁמַע) were introduced in our Wednesday group. This week, I personally started reading Pope Leo XIV's first encyclical, Magnifica Humanitas. His words offer a different historical and scriptural lens for evaluating headlines. This is particularly valuable in a period when people are tempted to forget that there is more to life than politics and tribes.

Pope Leo's encyclical repeatedly asks humanity to consider what kind of future we are building and whether our technological, economic, and political choices serve human dignity and the common good. The Pope argues that technology must remain at the service of the human person rather than reducing people to data, efficiency, or instruments of power.

In Romans, Paul reminds us that Christ died for us while we were still sinners. Obviously, God's love is not conditional. It is ḥesed, a steadfast and covenant-based love that refuses to abandon humanity.

In Matthew, Jesus looks upon the crowds and sees people who are weary and vulnerable. His first response is compassion. That may be one of the most important spiritual disciplines for our time: learning to see people as Jesus sees them.

Jesus sees human beings, and the Pope's encyclical emphasizes this. As technology grows more powerful, we must not lose sight of the dignity of actual persons. Human beings are not problems to be optimized or obstacles to be managed. They are persons created in the image of God.

How is Shema achieved in what has become an Age of Noise? The Shema begins: "Hear, O Israel..." Today, whose voice, besides Walt Whitman or Allen Ginsberg, would begin by proclaining "Hear, O America..."?

We are surrounded by news, social media feeds, advertising, targeted algorithms, and endless commentary. Yet shema is not achieved by merely hearing sounds. It is listening deeply enough to some content of worth that changes our core lives.

The question for the Church moves best from: "What are we saying?" to "What does God want?" Jesus tells the disciples to notice the harvest and pray for workers. Before they are sent, they must learn to see and hear.

Perhaps one of God's invitations today is for communities to recover practices of listening. Both Romans and Matthew push against fear. Paul writes that suffering can produce character when God's love has been poured into our hearts.

Jesus sees a troubled world but does not despair. Instead, he sends disciples into it. Likewise, Pope Leo's encyclical is not fundamentally anti-technology. Rather, it is a call for responsibility together with moral courage in shaping the future. The question is not whether change will come, but whether change will serve human flourishing and the common good.

If these readings and teachings are heard together, several invitations emerge that I see this congregation involved in. We have practiced tangible acts of mercy and cared for the elderly and marginalized. I've seen members who have built relationships that resist isolation and instead form people who can discern truth amid confusion.  

As Christians I've witnessed those who receive God's love before trying to fix the world and become workers in Christ's harvest. They practice shema by listening for and following God's voice.

Can we pray for God to continue to challenge us to teach and model ḥesed? To help us learn shema, that we may hear God's call amid the noise of our age. To give us eyes to see the crowds as Jesus saw them: not as strangers or adversaries, but as beloved people in need of hope. 

May God continue to form all of us into a beloved community.

June 7, 2026 Romans 4: Matthew 9: Learning the Hebrew word ḥesed (חֶסֶד)

The great theme that links Romans 4, Matthew 9, and the Hebrew word ḥesed (חֶסֶד) is this:

God remains faithful when circumstances suggest otherwise.

In Romans 4, Paul points to Abraham, who "hoped against hope." Abraham looked at his aging body and Sarah's barrenness and saw every reason to conclude that God's promise was impossible. Yet he trusted not in the evidence before him but in the character of the One who made the promise.

In Matthew 9, we encounter the same pattern. Matthew the tax collector receives a call he does not deserve. A woman suffering for twelve years reaches for healing when all conventional hope has failed. A grieving father comes to Jesus after his daughter has died. In every case, Jesus acts where others see impossibility, impurity, failure, or finality.

I learned the thread connecting these stories is ḥesed, one of the richest words in Scripture.

There is no single English equivalent. It means steadfast love, covenant faithfulness, lovingkindness, mercy, loyalty, and enduring commitment all at once. It is God's refusal to abandon the relationship God has established. It is love that keeps showing up through action.

When Jesus tells the Pharisees, "Go and learn what this means, 'I desire mercy, not sacrifice,'" he is echoing the prophet Hosea's use of ḥesed. God is not primarily looking for religious performance. God seeks hearts shaped by covenant love. It is like the Hebrew word for hear, shema (שְׁמַע), which incorporates what is being heard by the listener into what the listener does. There, again, is no English-language equivalent.

That word has particular relevance as Americans watch the ongoing tensions involving Iran. News reports this week describe a fragile and uncertain situation marked by military exchanges, cease-fire negotiations, diplomatic efforts, and fears of wider escalation throughout the region. At the same time, there are signs that diplomatic channels remain active and that leaders continue searching for a path away from prolonged conflict.

In moments like this, the public conversation often swings between fear and certainty. Some voices predict disaster; others promise easy solutions. Scripture offers neither. Instead, Abraham teaches faith. Matthew teaches mercy. Ḥesed teaches faithfulness.

Faith does not require pretending dangers are unreal. Abraham acknowledged reality. The woman with the hemorrhage knew her suffering. The ruler knew his daughter had died. Yet none of them believed that present circumstances had the final word.

Likewise, Christians are called neither to panic nor complacency. We are called to hope responsibly, pray earnestly, and remember that every Iranian civilian, every American service member, every Israeli family, and every innocent person caught in the shadow of conflict bears the image of God.

Romans 4 reminds us that God's future is often born in situations that appear hopeless. Matthew 9 reminds us that mercy is stronger than exclusion. Ḥesed reminds us that God's covenant love does not fail when human wisdom reaches its limits. Perhaps the question before the church today is not simply, "What will happen with Iran?" but "What kind of people will we become while facing uncertainty?"

Will we become people of fear, suspicion, and vengeance, or will we become people formed by ḥesed, people who pray for peace, seek truth rather than propaganda, refuse to dehumanize enemies, care for those who suffer, and trust that God is still at work even when the future is unclear?

Abraham's story says that hope can survive impossible circumstances. Matthew's Gospel says that mercy can cross every boundary. Ḥesed says that God's faithfulness endures even through war, anxiety, political division, and international crises.

And that may be the deepest promise of all: not that history will unfold exactly as we wish, but that the God who called Abraham, healed the woman, raised the girl, and welcomed Matthew still accompanies humanity through every uncertain chapter. In a season of geopolitical tension, the church's vocation is to bear witness to that steadfast love and to embody it.