July 12, 2026 Ruth 2:1-23 and Luke 6:36-38 A Barley Field Where Grace Waits

There are moments when life appears to have cast people outside the gates of abundance. Naomi and Ruth now find themselves strangers in a landscape once familiar, carrying little besides memory and hope. Yet it is often there, in a barley field rather than some promised palace, that eternity can whisper our name, and so it is with Ruth.

She asks for nothing extraordinary. She seeks only permission to gather what others have left behind. She stoops to receive scattered grains.  A humble soul understands that greatness may be concealed in fragments. Every life is not built from abundance but from the remnants faithfully gathered.

Nature has long taught this lesson. The forest wastes no fallen leaf. The river refuses no drop of rain. The earth fashions kingdoms from forgotten seeds. Ruth discovers that what appears to be loss is often the beginning of a deeper economy, one governed not by possession but by participation.

Ruth enters the field believing she is searching for bread. She discovers instead that she is entering providence. The remarkable truth is that grace rarely announces itself with thunder. It arrives disguised as coincidence. "She happened to come to the part of the field belonging to Boaz." We are tempted to believe this is an accident, but the awakened heart recognizes another order. 

The universe possesses a moral architecture invisible to our often hurried eyes. There are meetings prepared before this story unfolds. There are fields awaiting footsteps that have not yet chosen the road.

The soul that walks honestly will often discover that what seemed chance was invitation. Boaz himself is not merely a generous man but a living reminder that character is the highest form of wealth. Before he notices Ruth's beauty, he notices her faithfulness. Before he offers protection, he offers recognition. Every human being hungers to be seen not for achievement but for devotion. Ruth is not judged for appearance but for integrity.

There is a profound law here. We become rich not when we accumulate but when we recognize. Boaz sees in Ruth what the world overlooks. In that seeing, both lives are enlarged.

So it is with us. Eyes trained upon appearances behold only poverty. Eyes trained upon the soul behold immeasurable treasure.

Ruth labors through the heat of the day. There is no complaint in the narrative, only persistence. Work, when joined to hope, becomes prayer without words. Every gathered stalk becomes an affirmation that tomorrow is possible. We often seek revelation in mountaintop visions while Heaven waits for us among the ordinary tasks we have neglected.

The Divine speaks fluently through faithful labor. In the evening, Ruth returns to Naomi, carrying enough grain for many days. Yet she brings something greater than barley. She brings evidence that despair is not destiny.

Naomi had left the land believing herself emptied. Ruth returns, proving that emptiness is not the final condition of a life surrendered to love. Hope enters the house quietly, carried in an apron full of grain.

This is the way of the Eternal. Great transformations seldom begin with spectacle. They begin with one faithful act, one courageous morning, one field entered despite uncertainty.

Perhaps each of us stands today at the edge of such a field. We may not recognize its significance. We may believe we are merely surviving, gathering enough strength for another day. Yet unseen purposes accompany every honest step. The future often approaches wearing the clothing of ordinary work.

The lesson of Ruth is not merely that God provides. It is that the universe itself bends toward those who refuse bitterness, who meet uncertainty with courage, and who choose steadfast love over self-preservation.

Luke 6:36-38 enriches Ruth's story because the imagery of the "good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over" naturally echoes a harvest scene. Boaz becomes an embodiment of Jesus' teaching long before those words are spoken, showing that divine mercy is always more generous than strict justice and that abundance is created through compassion rather than accumulation. 

When I reflect on this passage, I marvel at the fields the Lord has ready for harvest and how we can gather what goodness always remains. I long to mirror kindness and compassion before certainty that comes through accumulation. I want to believe that through faithful acts we participate in an abundant harvest that is poured on all our laps.

We may discover what Ruth found among the barley: that grace has been waiting there all along.

July 5, 2026 - A Ruth Reading: Love and Loyalty Effect Change

Today's Gathering Hymn was "God, We Gather as Your People (For All the Children)," which appears in All Creation Sings, the 2020 worship supplement to Evangelical Lutheran Worship by David Lohman. Lohman wrote both the text and the tune, WELCOME BE OUR SONG, making it one of the relatively few hymns in the collection created entirely by a single author-composer.

David Lohman is an American composer, hymn writer, and church musician whose work has become increasingly influential in mainline Protestant worship, particularly in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. He is especially known for writing music that is highly singable by congregations while expressing themes of hospitality, inclusion, justice, and community.

This was both an open and welcoming song for Bree Theilacker as Creator Lutheran Church's new Music Minister. The setting was what Creator calls the African American setting. Bree accompanied the congregation confidently and robustly, today portending a great future of collaborative worship through Creator.

Pastor Emillie preached on Ruth, one of her favorite books of the Old Testament. She loves the story of Ruth because it  upends expectations. Mother and daughter-in-law love each other and are loyal to each other despite the normal stereotype assumption. Pastor Emillie also identified with what Ruth defined as home, which was not  tied to geography but with the people that matter to you.

This was an auspicious beginning in many ways. I'm looking forward to where this summer series and Bree will take Creator as a community in the coming weeks. 

Sermon 

 

Is this a church or a farm?. The answer is YES!

 The Wild Web: Stories Across the Synod highlighted Creator's partnership with Ally Oredi and FPRP this week. 

As you pull into Creator Lutheran’s parking lot on a Sunday morning you might ask yourself: is this a church or a farm? And, the answer would be: YES!

Located along SE Sunnyside Road in unincorporated Clackamas County, the former church lawn, nearly .5 acres, is now home to rows of lovingly tended greens and roots of all kinds - cabbage, kale, cassava and collards, foods that are familiar and nourishing to African immigrants and refugees and Ally Oredi, the lead farmer stewarding the garden. You may also catch our Synod Vice President, Paul Stromberg, a member of Creator, out in the field with him, checking on the irrigation system they installed together.. 

 

  

Welcome, Bree Theilacker and her family!

                      

With great joy and gratitude, we welcome Bree Theilacker as Creator Lutheran Church's new Music Minister.

Music has always been a vital part of Creator's worship. It gives voice to our prayers, strengthens our faith, comforts us in times of sorrow, and fills our celebrations with joy. Through music, we are reminded that God gathers us into one beloved community, united in praise.

Bree brings her gifts, experience, and passion for ministry to this new role, and we are excited to begin this journey together. We look forward to the ways she will help lead our congregation in song, nurture our choir and musicians, and enrich the worship life of our community.

As we welcome Bree, we also give thanks for everyone who has faithfully shared their musical gifts over the years and helped sustain this important ministry. We pray that this new chapter will be one of creativity, collaboration, and joyful worship.

Please join us in offering Bree a warm Creator welcome. Introduce yourself, share your favorite hymn, and keep her in your prayers as she begins this ministry among us.

May God bless Bree with wisdom, joy, and inspiration, and may the Holy Spirit continue to fill our worship with songs of hope, grace, and love.

July 5, 2026 Ruth 1: Finding Home by Following Ruth's and Odysseus' Stories

Bearden:  A Black Odyssey

In our first summer series reading, Ruth arrives in Bethlehem with nothing. She is a foreign widow carrying no promise except the one she makes to Naomi. Yet in giving herself away, she receives what she never sought: a family, a community, and a place in the lineage of David and ultimately in the genealogy of Jesus.

She begins her journey not by returning to her homeland but by leaving it. Every practical reason tells her to stay in Moab. Her future would be safer there. Her culture and family are there. Bethlehem holds only poverty and the possibility of rejection.

Unlike Oprah, Naomi's other daughter-in-law, Ruth follows Naomi and promises, "Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people and your God my God. Naomi responds by giving the following blessing:

"May the LORD deal kindly with you, as you have dealt with the dead and with me."

The word translated "kindly" is ḥesed, which we've encountered before and is sometimes translated as lovingkindness. Naomi recognizes that Ruth and Orpah have already shown extraordinary covenant loyalty. Those words are often heard as her declaration of loyalty, but they are also a radical redefinition of home. Ruth understands that home is not first a geography. It is a relationship. Home is found wherever faithful love, hesed, is practiced.

Naomi's name means "Pleasant" or "Delightful,". When she returns to Bethlehem, she says, "Do not call me Naomi; call me Mara." She believes pleasantness has become bitterness. Yet the narrative never adopts "Mara." It continues calling her Naomi, hinting that God is not finished restoring her joy. Ruth is to be part of that restoration.  

For several weeks now, I have been rereading The Odyssey to prepare to watch Christopher Nolan's upcoming film this month. Today I am imagining Odysseus' journey if he had shared Ruth's understanding of hesed throughout his travels in Homer's epic poem.

In The Odyssey, Odysseus measures every place against Ithaca. Even the paradise of Calypso cannot satisfy him because it is not home. The Lotus-Eaters threaten him because they erase the memory of home. Every adventure is judged by whether it delays or advances his return.

Ruth would ask a different question regarding her destination. Not "How do I get back to where I once belonged?" Instead, she would have redirected to: "With whom and where will I practice faithful love?"  Her compass is not nostalgia but covenant. This difference changes everything.

Odysseus spends years trying to recover the life he once had. Greek society sought ἀρετή (aretē) in life to build their reputations. In the end, he is like Ruth walking toward a life that cannot yet be imagined. At the beginning, Odysseus is pulled by memory. Ruth is primarily drawn by faith. Ironically, both stories end in restoration, but by different roads.

Odysseus finally reaches Ithaca only after he has been stripped of pride, certainty, and power. He arrives disguised as a beggar. He discovers that home cannot simply be reclaimed by force; it must be recognized and renewed through relationships with Telemachus, Penelope, and those who remained faithful.

Perhaps the deepest lesson both stories teach is that home is never exactly what we left behind. Time changes us, loss changes us, and the journey changes us. The home to which Odysseus returns must be rebuilt. The home Ruth enters must be created.

This is where Ruth's story speaks most powerfully. Many of us have spent years trying to get back, to a happier season, a healthier body, a thriving church, a beloved relationship, We might be yearning for a friendlier America and maybe a younger version of ourselves. Like Odysseus, we long for our own Ithacas of memory.

Ruth gently invites us to release that impossible task and recognize home is where we choose to love faithfully today.

It is found in keeping promises when the future is uncertain. It is discovered when you walk beside another person, rather than being intimidated or distrustful. It grows wherever strangers become neighbors, enemies become friends, and grief slowly gives way to hope.

The gospel deepens this vision still further. Jesus rarely speaks of home as a destination to be reclaimed. Instead, he creates homes wherever people gather in love, forgiveness, and welcome. He leaves heaven to dwell among strangers, making God's home with humanity. Through Christ, home becomes less about arriving at a place than participating in God's reconciling presence.

In that light, Ruth's journey becomes more than the story of one faithful woman. It becomes a parable for every disciple. Faith is not merely finding our way back. Instead, it is discovering that wherever God's steadfast love is lived, we already stand on holy ground. 

When we think of homecomings, let's not dwell on the life we once knew, but rather discover that God has been quietly building a home for us all along, not merely in a place, but in a people. Like Ruth, we may find that home is not behind us waiting to be recovered. It is before us, waiting to be created, one covenant of love at a time.

When we think of homecoming, our imaginations tend to turn to Odysseus. For twenty years, he longed for Ithaca. He survived storms, monsters, temptations, and wars, sustained by a single hope: to return to the place where he belongs. Home is  the fixed point by which he navigates every danger. Home is something lost and must be recovered.

Ruth offers us a profoundly different understanding of home, one that Odysseus ultimately learns through his adventures. We  can all urgently longing for a promised hesed, that northern star that guides each wanderer and then is found.

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.

Service 

June 21, 2026 A Reflection on Romans 6:1b–11 and Matthew 10:24–39 Dying to Fear, Rising to Hope

At first glance, today's readings seem to pull in opposite directions. Paul speaks of dying and rising with Christ. Jesus speaks of division, crosses, and losing one's life.

Neither text sounds particularly comforting. Yet beneath both readings lies a profound promise. We have God's promise to create a future that is not controlled by fear.

In Romans 6, Paul reminds believers that through baptism they have been united with Christ in both his death and resurrection. The old ways of living in violence and fear do not have the final word. "If we have died with Christ, we believe that we will also live with him." The resurrection is not merely something that happened to Jesus. We are assured it is God's ongoing declaration that new life is possible even where death seems to reign.

Jesus' words in Matthew are equally challenging. He tells his disciples not to be afraid of those who oppose them. He acknowledges that faithfulness may create conflict because the values of God's kingdom often challenge the world's assumptions. Yet at the heart of his teaching is a repeated invitation: "Do not be afraid."

That invitation feels especially relevant whenever we look at the headlines. The Middle East has long been a place where fear, grief, retaliation, and mistrust have shaped generations. Every new conflict seems to awaken old wounds. Yet whenever leaders choose dialogue over destruction, restraint over revenge, or negotiation over escalation, we catch a glimpse of something different. The possibility of cooperation among the United States, Israel, Arab nations, and others in the region reminds us that history is not locked into endless cycles of hostility. Peace remains fragile and imperfect, but even small steps toward understanding testify that another future is possible.

Neither Paul nor Jesus promises an easy path. Resurrection comes after crucifixion. Reconciliation requires courage. Peace demands sacrifices from all sides. Yet the gospel insists that fear is not destiny.

The world often teaches us to protect ourselves first, to cling tightly to what we have, and to view others as threats. Jesus points in another direction. Those who lose their lives for his sake discover a deeper life. Those who dare to love beyond fear find unexpected freedom. Those who refuse to surrender to hatred become witnesses to God's new creation.

This is why Christians can remain hopeful even amid uncertainty. Our confidence does not rest in political agreements, military strength, or human wisdom alone. It rests in the God who raised Jesus from the dead. The same God who brought life from a tomb continues to work in broken hearts, divided communities, and troubled nations.

Every act of reconciliation, every gesture of mercy, every choice to seek understanding rather than vengeance participates in that resurrection work. We may not see the final outcome, but we can live as people who already belong to God's future.

And God's future is not ruled by fear. It is shaped by the promise of new life.