The Gift of Awe and the Awe of Giving

The Gift of Awe and the Awe of Giving

Luke 17:11-19

Our gospel lesson today picks up right where we left off last week, when Jesus told his apostles that even the smallest amount of faith is enough, because, as one of you so succinctly summarized the sermon, faith is not a noun; it’s a verb. This moment marks a turning point in Luke’s gospel. Jesus has set his face toward Jerusalem, toward the Temple, the seat of power, and ultimately, the cross. And on the way, he passes through the borderlands between Galilee and Samaria. It’s a deliberate choice. Most Jewish travelers of Jesus’ day would have gone the long way around, a lengthier, twistier route east of the Jordan, just to avoid setting foot in Samaria.

For centuries, Samaritans had been viewed as outsiders, descendants of those who intermarried with foreign settlers in the northern kingdom of Israel. They had their own Scriptures, their own priests, their own temple, and, in the eyes of many, their own kind of impurity. But Jesus has never been one to honor the boundaries that divide us. And today, once again, he crosses every social, religious, and physical barrier, entering a region that most would avoid, and drawing near to those whom society has cast aside—lepers, Samaritans, the unclean, the forgotten.

And what happens in that unlikely meeting is nothing short of awe-inspiring. For it’s there, in the borderlands, that awe leads to gratitude, gratitude gives birth to faith, and faith opens the way to wholeness. Hear the words from Luke’s gospel, the 17th chapter verses 11 through 19. The Greek is translated into English this way. Listen for God’s word for you this morning.

On the way to Jerusalem Jesus was going through the region between Samaria and Galilee. As he entered a village, ten men with a skin disease approached him. Keeping their distance, they called out, saying, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” When he saw them, he said to them, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” And as they went, they were made clean. Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice. He prostrated himself at Jesus’s feet and thanked him. And he was a Samaritan. Then Jesus asked, “Were not ten made clean? So where are the other nine? Did none of them return to give glory to God except this foreigner?” Then he said to him, “Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.”

We knew just how close we could get to the gate without being chased off, close enough to catch someone’s attention, maybe even their pity. There wasn’t much more we could do. With open sores, you’re unclean. You can’t work. You can’t live with your family. You can’t even enter the city. You’re cast aside, forgotten, except by those who share your suffering. That’s where we were when we saw him.

From a distance, you could tell something was different. You couldn’t miss the crowd that followed him, the hum of expectation that seemed to travel ahead of him like wind before a storm. Even from far away, I knew it was Jesus. The stories about the healing rabbi had spread across Galilee, even out here in the borderlands. We’d heard how he once touched a leper near Capernaum, how he spoke a word and a man was made clean. So when he came near, we cried out together: “Jesus! Master! Have mercy on us!”

He stopped. He looked at us. And then he said, simply, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” That was it. No touch. No balm. No ritual. Just go. I didn’t even know where to go. For my friends, it was clear—they would go to Jerusalem. But for me, a Samaritan, our holy mountain is Gerizim, not Zion. Still, I walked with them, uncertain, wondering what might happen.

After a while, our conversation turned from hope to doubt. What if nothing had changed? What if we showed up and were turned away again—rejected, humiliated, condemned? But as we walked, one of us noticed. A hand that had been white and raw was suddenly pink and smooth. Another rubbed his face and gasped. We looked at one another, and the truth dawned. We were clean. We shouted, we laughed, we cried, we hugged each other. They took off running toward Jerusalem, eager to be declared clean, to return home, to hold their families again.

But I stopped. I stood still on that dusty road, in awe of what had just happened. As I looked at my hands, I realized this wasn’t just a cure. It was a gift. And somehow, I knew that it had come from God. And if God’s power had moved through this man Jesus, then surely, God was with him. Before I knew what I was doing, I was running—back toward the village, back through the gate that once shut me out, shouting, “Praise God! Praise God!” I fell at his feet, tears streaming, and all I could say was, “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” And he looked at me, right into me, and said, “Get up. Go. Your faith has saved you.”

Sometimes awe does that to us. It stops us in our tracks. It turns us around. It opens our eyes to what God has already done and moves us toward gratitude—a gratitude that becomes faith, a faith that makes us whole. That’s the kind of awe the prophet Samuel spoke of when he said, “Only stand in awe of the Lord and serve faithfully with all your heart, for consider what great things God has done for you.”

I commend our Stewardship Committee for this bold choice of scripture. And I’m glad they weren’t scared off by the translation of the Hebrew word yirah as “fear.” In Hebrew, this word isn’t about being frightened; it’s about being awestruck. The prophet Samuel reminds the people gathered then and now of all the great things God has done for God’s beloved people: the blessings of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; the liberation from bondage in Egypt; the raising up of leaders to guide and protect them in the promised land. He’s calling them and us to remember God’s work in our lives and to look upon these things with awe and wonder. Because awe is the soil of faithfulness.

When I look back on my own life, I’m filled with that same awe—not just because I somehow made it through the questionable decisions of my twenties relatively unscathed—but because, at every step, doors have opened, opportunities have appeared, generosity has shown up when things were dire, and people have come into my life at just the right time. All of this has led me here this morning. And when I look back on all of it, I can only say I am in awe. And I am filled with gratitude for all that God has done.

I hope you can look back on your own life in the same way—recognizing those moments when God was active and present in your life, recognizing those times and places where the Spirit was at work in the ministry and mission of this church, looking back with awe on all the blessings that brought you here today, and in awe of the life and legacy of this congregation.

In gratitude, let us all take a moment to bask in that awe, breathing in with the awe of all we’ve been given, and breathing out thanksgiving for all God has done. Breathe in awe. Breathe out thanksgiving. Breathe in awe. Breathe out thanksgiving. And let’s all give thanks together with a big “thank you!”

A member of our congregation shared a story with me recently from his time serving with our Good Neighbor mission team. Their group was out helping folks in need—doing yard work, small repairs, simple acts of kindness around town. He confessed, there were days when it was discouraging—when no one would come to the door, no one would say hello or even offer a word of thanks. But then he told me about one particular woman. When the team arrived at her home, she came out into the yard and insisted on praying for them. She didn’t just thank them—she praised God in awe for the work that was being done, for the kindness of strangers she didn’t know but whose faith she shared.

He was awestruck by the gift he had received from her—the gift of gratitude that opened into praise. She was in awe of his generosity. And both of them saw God in it all and gave thanks. Because that’s what awe does. It changes us. It draws us together in wonder at what God is doing in and through us. And it reminds us that every act of generosity, every offering of time or talent or treasure, is a prayer of thanksgiving—a moment when awe becomes gratitude, and gratitude becomes faith made visible.

Medieval theologian and Christian mystic Meister Eckhart once wrote, “If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is ‘Thank you,’ it will be enough.” And one of my favorite living theologians, Anne Lamott, says she has only two favorite prayers: “In the morning: Help me, help me, help me. In the evening: Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Maybe that’s what faith really looks like—a life that moves from Help me to Thank you, from need to awe, from awe to gratitude, from gratitude to giving. As we begin this season of stewardship—New Beginnings: Serving in Faith—we’re invited to do the same. To look back with awe at all that God has done, to give thanks for the grace that has carried us, and to offer our gifts—our time, our talents, our treasure—as acts of worship and faith. Because every act of giving, no matter how small, is a way of saying what that healed Samaritan once said: “Thank you. Praise God. My faith has made me whole.”

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The Secret to Strengthening Your Faith

Rev. Kevin Ireland – Grace Presbyterian Church (PCUSA) October 5, 2025

Luke 17:1–6
Our gospel lesson this morning directly follows Jesus’ parable of the rich man and Lazarus.
Jesus is no longer addressing the crowds or the Pharisees. He is with his disciples. And he
continues his hard teaching with two proverbs that prompt the Apostles to exclaim,
“Increase our faith!”

Hear now Jesus’ words as recorded in the Gospel of Luke, chapter seventeen verses one
through six. The Greek is translated into English this way. Listen for God’s word for you.
Luke 17:1–6

Jesus said to his disciples, “Occasions for sin are bound to come, but woe to anyone
through whom they come! It would be better for you if a millstone were hung around your
neck and you were thrown into the sea than for you to cause one of these little ones to sin.
Be on your guard! If a brother or sister sins, you must rebuke the offender, and if there is
repentance, you must forgive. And if the same person sins against you seven times a day
and turns back to you seven times and says, ‘I repent,’ you must forgive.”
The apostles said to the Lord, “Increase our faith!” The Lord replied, “If you had faith the size
of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’
and it would obey you.”

This is the Word of our Lord. Thanks be to God.

I can imagine the Apostles, those who will spread Jesus’ message, thinking, “Are you
serious?” How could anyone meet this standard? There are so many occasions for sin
(Jesus admits as much) and we are all bound to be caught up in it. What’s up with the
millstone and being thrown in the sea? I thought we were about love.

Then Jesus ups the ante, calling them to call each other to account. And I can see them all
nodding, “Sure, sure, rebuke others. Ok, we can do that.” But then comes the hard part. If
they sin against you again and again and again, you must forgive and forgive and forgive for
as many times as it takes. Really? Maybe once, maybe twice, but every time?
Jesus is being dramatic, hyperbolic, grabbing our attention with intentional exaggeration to
make his teachings more memorable and meaningful. The vivid imagery sparks the
imagination and shocks us into recognizing the severity and consequence of our own sin,
our need for forgiveness, and our need to forgive others.
Rev. Kevin Ireland – Grace Presbyterian Church (PCUSA) October 5, 2025 2
It is not surprising that when faced with this daunting challenge, the disciples implore their
spiritual teacher, “Increase our faith!” Add to our faith, grow our faith.
Have you ever prayed, “Lord, increase my faith”? I have.

In the darkness of sleepless nights as a young parent, wondering if things are going to work
out, praying, “Lord, increase my faith.” In the midst of discerning difficult choices about
schools, careers, buying a new house, or knowing when it is time to leave your beloved
home, “Lord, increase my faith.” In the turmoil of unreconciled relationships with those we
love, “Lord, increase my faith.” After receiving news of the loss of a loved one or hearing a
diXicult prognosis, “Lord, increase my faith.”
As we confront the growing needs in our community, with our Federal government
shuttered and rancor and divisiveness expanding, “Lord, increase my faith.” As people of
faith, challenged to continue to work in hopeful expectation of the coming kingdom, “Lord,
increase my faith.”
Jesus responds to this plea with, “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed.” Now, that “if”
in Greek can mean, “Suppose you did have faith—even the tiniest bit.” It is not about
measuring how much faith you have. It is about knowing you have enough. Faith is not a
commodity to be tallied or stored up like coins in a jar.
Now a warning before we go any further. These can be dangerous words. Dangerous,
because Christians have been tempted to think:
If I just have enough faith I will be healed.
If I just have enough faith relationships will be reconciled.
If I only have enough faith, I will get that job, house, or child.
But that is not how faith works. Faith is not something that can be commodified, banked, or
tallied on a score card. It is not something you increase. It is something you strengthen.
The secret to strengthening your faith is understanding that faith is not something you have,
it is something you do. Faith is a choice when you are in the miry pit of doubt. Faith is an
action when it is risky and the stakes are high. Faith is a way of life that trusts in God’s
abundance, mercy, and justice.
Rev. Kevin Ireland – Grace Presbyterian Church (PCUSA) October 5, 2025 3
Jesus did not choose the mustard seed simply because it was small, but because it was
everywhere. People used its tender greens in stews and its sharp little seeds to spice their
meals. Hardy and stubborn, mustard thrived where other plants failed, its deep roots and
countless seeds spreading almost anywhere.
Mustard shows up all through history. It was cultivated in the Indus Valley more than four
thousand years ago. Egyptians placed seeds in tombs for the afterlife. Roman soldiers
carried them in their packs, planting them as they marched across Europe. In India today,
the seeds still crackle in hot oil to begin a curry. In Africa, mustard greens simmer with
garlic and onions, filling kitchens with their earthy aroma.
A seed so small, yet spread so wide. Faith, Jesus says, works the same way.
On this World Communion Sunday, we celebrate how the faith that Jesus shared in his
teaching, his living, and his loving has spread across the world. Like the mustard plant, the
way faith is cultivated, used, and celebrated looks diXerent around the world. It is the same
source, the same seed, the same faith.
Last year, I was blessed with the opportunity to travel with pastors from Zambia and
Zimbabwe, visiting schools, seminaries, and community organizations in the two countries.
The theme of our time together was “one in Christ.” At the end of our day we would gather
around a large table, taking turns reading scripture and sharing devotionals about what
being “one in Christ” looked like in our lives, our congregations, our communities, and our
countries. We did not always agree and sometimes we struggled to understand, but we
were made one around that table by God’s Spirit and united in Christ.
What struck me most was the strength and character of the faith: pastors who continued to
teach and preach even when they could not be paid, church elders planting new
worshiping communities and building prayer houses with little more than the promise that
God would provide, community leaders organizing through drought and power outages, and
PC(USA) liaisons working to connect communities of faith despite shrinking staX and
budgets. Amidst dwindling resources and scarcity, faith continues to spread.
Faith is not something that you collect and increase. It is something that you exercise and
strengthen. Faith is strengthened when we live into it, in the choices we make with our
time, our talents, and our money. Faith is strengthened when we choose compassion for
others and for ourselves. Faith is strengthened when we are connected in community,
Rev. Kevin Ireland – Grace Presbyterian Church (PCUSA) October 5, 2025 4
when we share the times and places that God has been working in our lives and in our
world.
Because faith is meant to be shared, passed from person to person, from generation to
generation. We see this in the first Christian community at Ephesus, where women like
Eunice and Lois handed their faith down, shaping new leaders for the gospel.
And we see it here at Grace. I am grateful for the stories many of you have shared—of
growing up in this church, of how this community formed your faith, of how grandmothers
and great-grandmothers, some still among us today, made sure that faith was planted in
the next generation.
Last week I had a lovely visit with Ralph and Lois Fairman. Lois shared memories of some
of you running through these halls as children. And when I asked what first brought them to
Grace, I heard the same answer I have heard from so many of you: a simple invitation from
a friend, a neighbor, a colleague. That is how faith spreads, through example, through
witness.
This week I joined Tricia, our new Director of Operations, and Cheryl, our Preschool
Chaplain, to help judge the Halloween door decorating contest. The competition was
spook-tacular, each door creative and colorful, filled with student artwork. What struck me
most was how every display included the children’s faces and drawings, a daily reminder
that this is a place where they belong.
And here is the best part: as I met the teachers, I discovered that several of them had once
been students at Jacob’s Learning Ladder, one now teaching in the very room where she
was taught. What a joy to see faith and community come full circle, seeds planted long ago
now bearing fruit in a new generation of teachers and children. It reminds us that faith
grows not just in big moments, but in the small daily acts of love and belonging we share.
Often it is in the smallest of things: the words we choose, the welcome we extend, the
kindness and empathy we offer. These are the seeds of faith that take root and grow.
So what would it look like if we truly lived as though we are one in Christ? Would it change
the way we speak to one another, the way we listen to one another, the way we forgive one
another? Would it change how we share our resources, how we welcome strangers, how
we embody compassion?
At this Table, we catch a glimpse of that vision. Here there is no male or female, slave or
free, insider or outsider, no red or blue, no citizen or immigrant. Here the barriers come
Rev. Kevin Ireland – Grace Presbyterian Church (PCUSA) October 5, 2025 5
down. Here the divisions lose their power. Here all are welcomed, all are fed, all are made
one.
And perhaps you are thinking, even now: Lord, increase my faith.
So hear the good news: Christ tells us that even the smallest seed of faith is enough.
Enough to forgive. Enough to heal. Enough to reconcile. Enough to change a heart, a
household, a community, even a world. Because faith is not measured by size, but by trust.
Not stored away, but lived out. It is strengthened each time we choose hope over despair,
compassion over indiXerence, love over fear.
So come to the Table. Be nourished. Be strengthened. Be made one in Christ. For in Christ,
even a mustard seed is more than enough.
May it be so in your lives, in the life of your family, in the life of this congregation, and in the
life of Christ’s church.

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Turning Gates into Fences

Rev. Kevin Ireland

September 28, 2025

1 Luke 16:19-31

Jesus’ parable for us this morning is so scathing, so confrontational, literally, so incendiary
that interpreters have speculated it may have led to Jesus being cancelled. It is another
parable about a rich man, and this one hits home—challenging good church folks, like us,
to confront the blindness caused by our wealth and privilege. Jesus is speaking with his
brothers, the Pharisees. Let me pause here and tell you what I mean when I call them
brothers. In Luke’s gospel, the Pharisees aren’t always villains—they listen to Jesus, invite
him to dinner, they even warn him about Herod. But after he says, “You cannot serve God
and wealth,” those who love money sneer and look down their noses at him. So, he tells
them this parable.

Hear now Jesus’ words as recorded in the gospel of Luke 16:19-31. The Greek is translated
into English this way. Listen to God’s word for you.

19 “There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted
sumptuously every day. 20 And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with
sores, 21 who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the
dogs would come and lick his sores. 22 The poor man died and was carried away by the
angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. 23 In Hades, where he
was being tormented, he lifted up his eyes and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his
side.

24 He called out, ‘Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of
his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am in agony in these flames.’ 25 But Abraham
said, ‘Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things and Lazarus
in like manner evil things, but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. 26 Besides
all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to
pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.’

27 He said, ‘Then I beg you, father, to send him to my father’s house— 28 for I have five
brothers—that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of
torment.’ 29 Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to
them.’ 30 He said, ‘No, father Abraham, but if someone from the dead goes to them, they
will repent.’ 31 He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will
they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’”

This is the Word of our Lord. Thanks be to God.

There was a Rich Man who was dressed in purple robes made with Tyrian dye derived from
the mucus of Murex snails. It took about 10,000 snails to make just a single gram of dye,
making it the most expensive product in the ancient Near East—worth more than three
times its weight in gold. And believe it or not, this proprietary process has been lost to the
ages. We don’t know how to make the dye today. This rich man also had the finest
underwear you could buy—not Calvin’s or Fruit of the Loom, but a finely woven linen
under-tunic worn next to the skin, below the regal robes. Such finery was reserved for
emperors, aristocrats, and the Chief Priest of the Temple. Not only is this rich man welldressed,
but he enjoys living large—feasting sumptuously, not just on holidays, not just on
the weekend. He parties every day, even on the Sabbath.

Outside the Gate lays a man. We do not know the circumstances or hardships that have
befallen him. We know nothing of his character—only that he has nothing and no one, only
the dogs to lick his wounds. He waits outside the gate, longing to satisfy his hunger with the
crumbs from the sumptuous feast inside. In Hebrew his name is Elazar, which means “God
helps.” He is the only character that Jesus names in his parables. And I can’t help but
recall God’s words to Isaiah, “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by
name; you are mine” (Isaiah 43:1). God knows us all by name—even the one, especially the
one, lying and longing outside of the gate.

Upon His Death, “God helps” Lazarus and he is carried by angels to the bosom of
Abraham. Our modern translations soften the picture, rendering the Greek word kolpos as
“side.” I like the intimacy of the King James, which chooses “bosom,” referring to the
custom of reclining at a meal, where the honored guest rests closest to the host—in their
bosom. I love the imagery of that intimate embrace that awaits us all. And I’ve always loved
the song, Rocka My Soul in the Bosom of Abraham. In Hebrew scripture the “bosom of
Abraham” was the “good place” in the Land of the Dead, Sheol (or Hades).

The Rich Man, upon his death, finds himself in the “bad place.” In his torment he looks up
to see Abraham and Lazarus and cries out, “Father Abraham, have mercy on me, send
Lazarus to cool my tongue, for I am in agony.” The rich man asserts his relationship with
Abraham as his father, but he is blind to his kinship with the man whose name he suddenly
remembers. Both are sons of Abraham. Even in death the rich man is unrepentant,
unremorseful, unchanged—seeing Lazarus only as a servant and not as a brother, pleading
that Lazarus be sent to relieve his agony. Perhaps this is what creates the chasm
separating the rich man and Lazarus. Perhaps it is his failure to recognize that his selfcenteredness
has blinded him to the fact that Lazarus is his brother.

When the Rich Man’s Plea is denied, he makes a second request: “Send Lazarus to warn
my brothers so they don’t end up like me.” Abraham replies, “They have Moses and the
Rev. Kevin Ireland Grace Presbyterian Church (PCUSA) September 28, 2025 3
Prophets. Let them listen to them.” “But if someone from the dead goes to them, they will
change.” Abraham replies, “If they won’t listen to Moses and the Prophets, they’re not
going to be convinced by someone who rises from the dead.” And knowing the whole story
(spoiler—Jesus comes back in season two), we might chuckle at Jesus’ sardonic gallows
humor. And we might wonder if Jesus is speaking to us.

Because I Think that Jesus knew this parable could get him cancelled. His audience could
easily imagine Caiaphas, the Temple High Priest, in his purple robes and fine linens, in the
place of torment, calling up to Father Abraham, pleading that his brothers (the Pharisees)
be warned. Jesus is not pulling any punches. He is not only accusing the church of being
blind to the sujering of those at their gates. He’s warning them that their privilege and their
love of money have blinded them to the foundational teachings of Torah: to love your
neighbor as yourself, to care for the orphan and the widow, to welcome the stranger and
show hospitality to the refugee, to lift up the least and the last and the lost.

Jesus Is Challenging the Church—asking us, how do we treat the Lazarus in our lives? Who
is waiting outside of our gates? The addict needing a home, the immigrant family afraid of
being separated, those shackled by a system stacked against them, those who feel
rejected because of how they present or who they love, those who feel neglected and
unseen, those who know no one’s love. Those who live in places around the world where
any one of us would be considered wealthy—dining sumptuously three times a day. The
ones lying at our gate longing for the scraps from our table. If the wealthiest 10% of the
world shared even 10% of their income, hunger, homelessness, and preventable disease
could be eliminated.

Put Another Way—if we listened to Moses and the prophets, we could eliminate the
overwhelming needs of our brothers and sisters across Wichita and around the world.
Jesus begins his ministry proclaiming that he came “to bring good news to the poor … to
proclaim release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, to set free those who are
oppressed and proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” And that is what he does—gathering
in the folks who were outsiders at the gate, running to meet them like the father of the
prodigal son, carrying them on his shoulders like lost sheep, rejoicing and celebrating in
community when what was lost is found.

Jesus Breaks Open the Gate that separates us from our siblings in need and transforms
those gates into a table with room for us all—saints and sinners alike. As disciples of
Christ, and as the body of Christ in the world, we are called to continue the work of turning
gates into tables. One place where we can start is in the conversations hosted by Justice
Together. These are opportunities to help each other see those who are longing, those who
are lost, those who are still waiting. They can help us identify the gates that are barriers to healthcare, creation care, education, and employment. They can inspire us to work
together contributing time and talents to transform those gates into tables—into
opportunities to share God’s grace and our lives with those who have been left out and left
aside.

I Also Encourage You to take the insert for our special Peace and Justice offering home with
you this week and learn about the work that our church is doing, turning gates into bridges
around the world. Prayerfully consider how you are called to participate in this work. In this
hard teaching of Jesus, there is more than judgment, there is hope. Hope that hearts can
be changed, our eyes will be opened, that the gates we’ve built can be broken down by
grace. Hope that the One who rose from the dead is still calling us to rise—to rise above
apathy, above excuses, above the blindness of wealth and privilege. And this is not a
distant hope. It is a living hope.

Every Time We Open our eyes to the Lazarus at our gate, every time we choose generosity
over greed, every time we make space at the table for one more, the chasm narrows, and
the kingdom of God breaks in. The writer of 1 Timothy warned the church that “the love of
money is a root of all kinds of evil, and in their eagerness to be rich some have wandered
away from faith and pierced themselves with many pains.” But they don’t stop there. The
author encourages the church to “pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance,
gentleness. Fight the good fight of faith; take hold of the eternal life to which you were
called.”

That’s the Invitation before us: to pursue a life marked not by greed but by love, not by
walls but by welcome, not by blindness but by vision. To fight the good fight of faith by
turning gates into tables—tables of mercy, justice, and abundant grace. May it be so in
your life, in the life of your families, in the life of this congregation, and in the life of Christ’s
church.

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Have I Got a Deal for You

Rev. Kevin Ireland, September 21, 2025

1 Luke 16:1-13

Our gospel lesson this morning is a continuation of Jesus’ response to those grumbling
about the company he is keeping, hanging out with “known sinners” and eating with tax
collectors. Jesus begins with three parables about lost things, a sheep, a coin, and a son.
The last two parables are both about rich men. I’ve gotta tell you, it’s a lot more fun
preaching about finding little lost lambs than it is to talk about money. But, if we just tell
the first three parables and skip the next two, we ignore the opportunity to confront the
value we place on our own money and the role that it plays in our lives. So, let’s hear the
words of Jesus as recounted in the gospel of Luke, chapter 16, verse 1-13. The Greek is
translated into English this way. Listen to God’s word for you.

Then Jesus said to the disciples, “There was a rich man who had a manager, and charges
were brought to him that this man was squandering his property. So, he summoned him
and said to him, ‘What is this that I hear about you? Give me an accounting of your
management because you cannot be my manager any longer.’ Then the manager said to
himself, ‘What will I do, now that my master is taking the position away from me? I am not
strong enough to dig, and I am ashamed to beg. I have decided what to do so that, when I
am dismissed as manager, people may welcome me into their homes.’ So, summoning his
master’s debtors one by one, he asked the first, ‘How much do you owe my master?’ He
answered, ‘A hundred jugs of olive oil.’ He said to him, ‘Take your bill, sit down quickly, and
make it fifty.’ Then he asked another, ‘And how much do you owe?’ He replied, ‘A hundred
containers of wheat.’ He said to him, ‘Take your bill and make it eighty.’ And his master
commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly, for the children of
this age are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light.
And I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is
gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes. Whoever is faithful in a very little is
faithful also in much, and whoever is dishonest in a very little is dishonest also in much. If
then, you have not been faithful with the dishonest wealth, who will entrust to you the true
riches? And if you have not been faithful with what belongs to another, who will give you
what is your own? No slave can serve two masters, for a slave will either hate the one and
love the other or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and
wealth.” This is the word of our Lord. Thanks be to God.

Author and theologian Brian MacLaren describes this passage as one of the most
important and liberating of Jesus’ parables. But in order to understand what Jesus is driving
at; it is necessary to know how things worked back in the day in ancient Israel. Imagine that
you are a farmer in the Galilee in Northern Israel. On this side of the room, you all are olive
producers. The groves of trees have been in your family for years. They’ve endured fire and
flood, always growing back stronger than before. Your grove has been passed down from
generation to generation, and your trees produce some of the richest, plumpest, most
sumptuous olives in all of Israel. On this side, we have our wheat farmers. You plant your
crops in the rainy winter months and meticulously harvest by hand in the early summer,
using sickles, gathering the stocks, threshing the grain, winnowing wheat from chaff, and
milling the grain into the flour used for Rome’s daily bread. Like your neighbor the olive
farmers, your family has owned this land for generations, surviving droughts, floods, and
locusts. It’s a good life, but not an easy one, as any farmer would tell you today. It would be
a lot easier without the ever-increasing taxes of your Roman oppressors. Not only do you
put food on Rome’s table, but the taxes also imposed on their sale support the garrisons of
Centurions charged with keeping the Pax Romana, Rome’s peace. Unfortunately, I have
some bad news for you both. Your farms and businesses are underwater. There’s no way
that you will be able to meet your tax obligations. Remember all those unpaid taxes from
last year’s harvest? The tax collectors are coming, and balances must be paid. But have I
got a deal for you. My wealthy friends down south in Judea have offered to settle your debt
in exchange for your land. Don’t worry, you can stay and farm, only now a portion of the
harvest will go to your new absentee landlord. We’ll take care of everything. I’ll come up
from Judea to your farm in the Galilee to collect the olive oil and grains for my master. This
was a common arrangement with Galilean farmers in Jesus’ time. Not unlike our own time,
the rich got richer at the expense of the less fortunate and less powerful. The steward in the
parable has presumably been participating in this system to his own benefit, but when he
is called to account by his master, he realizes three things: he’s too weak to engage in
manual labor, he’s too proud to ask for help, and his position is as tenuous as the farmers
indebted to his master. So, he tells the olive farmers, have I got a deal for you. Take your
bill. Cut it in half and we’ll call it even. And he goes to the wheat farmers and says, have I
got a deal for you. You owe one hundred bushels, let’s make it 80. Sounds like a good deal
for everyone, right? Well, except for the wealthy master.

In Jesus’ parable the master praises him for acting shrewdly, which in Greek can also mean
wise, sensible, or discreet. Now, it’s important to know that God is not the master in this
story, and the master is not saying, “well done for cheating me,” but rather, “You were
clever, and resourceful.” He’s not praising the steward for being unjust. He is commending
him for his shrewdness, his resourcefulness, and perhaps his discretion. John Calvin
summarizes this interpretation saying, that “Christ does not approve of the fraud, but of
the cunning.” The steward “was not commended because he had cheated his master, but
because he had shrewdly provided for himself.” Calvin then applies it: if people use
ingenuity for earthly survival, how much more should Christians use their gifts wisely for
God’s service. Jesus calls his disciples to use “unrighteous wealth” in a way that builds
eternal relationships, investing in generosity, mercy, and justice, by any means necessary.
Just as the steward used money to secure a future, disciples are to use money faithfully to
serve God’s purposes. In his Church Dogmatics, Karl Barth notes that the steward’s
shrewdness highlights our own human freedom to act decisively, even in morally
compromised ways. According to Barth, Jesus uses the example to encourage his disciples
toward decisive faithfulness, to act with urgency and foresight for the kingdom, not
hesitancy or apathy. Jesus continues to encourage us to do the same.

Midwest farm incomes have plunged in the past year, due to a sharp reversal in commodity
crop prices, looming tariffs, less government support, and high borrowing and labor costs.
And our farmers’ economic pain is spreading from the fields to Main Street. Last year,
Reuters reported that farmers are facing the worst economic situation in over a decade,
and small cities are at risk of becoming ghost towns. Small town churches continue to
close as well. Our denomination has been discussing and discerning how ministries and
missions can continue even as buildings are closed or repurposed. Last week Grace
hosted the Trustees for the Presbytery of Southern Kansas, the stewards of our presbytery
resources. This is challenging work, Spirit led work. Work that requires cunning and
creativity. And it’s a great example of what Jesus is praising about the crafty manager.
Pastor and preaching professor, Ron Allen describes this parable as “a call to imaginative,
risk-taking use of wealth in ways that foster community and reveal God’s purposes.” This is
how we are called to be faithful with our resources, not to squander or to cheat, but to
employ them in the service of God’s kingdom even in the midst of change and chaos.
Jesus concludes this parable with a simple but piercing truth: No one can serve two
masters. You cannot serve God and wealth. The question is do you own your money or
does your money own you. It doesn’t just mean, “don’t be greedy.” It’s about loyalty, about
trust, about where our hearts rest. If we let money become our master, then it will shape
our choices, our priorities, even our sense of identity. We begin to measure worth by bank
accounts instead of relationships, by investments instead of integrity. We forget who we
were created to be. But when God is our master, everything else finds its place. Money
becomes a tool, not a tyrant. Wealth becomes an opportunity for generosity, not a weapon
for control. Our value is no longer tied to possessions but to the One who claims us as
beloved children. Serving God over wealth also frees us from scarcity thinking. We no
longer say, “we don’t have enough to make a difference,” because we trust the God who
multiplied loaves and fishes, the God who promises that faithfulness in little things leads
to abundance in much. We become a people who use our resources with creativity,
courage, and hope, investing not just in buildings or budgets but in the lives of others, in
relationships of mercy and justice that echo into eternity.

This week Grace is doing just that with our partnership with our brothers and sisters in
Christ at East Heights Methodist and Family Promise, helping families experiencing
homelessness find stability and a path toward permanent housing. And there’s still time to
donate food or help volunteer with set-up and break down. If you’d like to participate,
please contact Kimberley McDarty. So Jesus has a deal for you: to stop living like we are
bound by the debt collectors of this world, to stop living like problems like homelessness
are too big to solve, to stop living like our small towns and churches are slowly dying, and
start living like we are already free in Christ, to start living into the abundant life that is
offered, and to start living as builders of God’s kingdom on earth as it is in heaven. The
question is not whether we have enough, it’s whether we will trust God enough to use what
we’ve been given for the sake of the kingdom. That’s the deal Jesus is offering you.

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Too Bold For Boundaries

Luke 14:25-33

It is a joy and a blessing to be with you in worship this morning. It’s been a whirlwind few weeks—saying goodbye to our church and friends in Austin, moving into a new home, and dropping off our youngest at college. Joy, gratitude, some anxiety, and even grief have been our companions in this season of transition. All of this has had me thinking about family—the ones we are born into and the ones we choose, those ties that bind us together even when separated by distance, those bonds of love that connect us. Which makes Jesus’ words today all the more jarring: “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brother and sister … cannot be my disciple.”

Come on Jesus—surely, you’re not being serious. Why do you have to make it so hard? Can you imagine if Jesus were making our new website (which looks great by the way—check it out at mygpc.org)? Or if Jesus was making an Instagram reel, or TikTok post: “Wanna follow me? Hate your family. Give up your life. Oh, and give away all your stuff.” And remember to hit like and subscribe to follow. Not exactly a great pitch. I’ve been wrestling with these words for the past few weeks as we said goodbye to our oldest, Rowan, in Austin, and then our youngest, Kiran, at Mount Holyoke, and as Rachel and I settle into our new life as empty nesters. I’ll be honest. Jesus’ words make me wince. I imagine I’m not the only one.

So how do we reconcile this? Do we take Jesus literally even as his words seem to go against the spirit of his teaching: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” Remember, Jesus is preaching to a large crowd. This is not an intimate setting with his disciples. Perhaps he is being hyperbolic—employing a “click bait” strategy to capture the crowd’s attention with something sensational, something controversial, something that would cause his listeners to lean in. But he is not exaggerating the cost of discipleship. Some interpreters have sought to soften the text by noting that the Greek word miseō (from the Hebrew shanēʾ) can mean “to love less.” So perhaps Jesus is saying, “Don’t love family or even your own life more than God.” That helps, but we can’t dilute his point. Discipleship comes with a cost. So, let’s take Jesus seriously.

I think that Jesus is pushing us to think differently about family. Too often, family is seen as a boundary—who’s in and who’s out. But for Jesus, family is not a boundary; it’s an invitation. In Matthew’s gospel, when Jesus’ mother and brothers come to see him, he tells the crowd, “Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?” And pointing to his disciples, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother.” Jesus is challenging his followers to extend their love and loyalty beyond their own families—their own fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters. He calls us to stretch, widen, and expand our familial ties until they embrace the whole human family. Love the elders in your community as much as your own parents. Love the children in need as much as your own kids. Love the stranger, the addict, the lonely as much as your own sibling. Following Jesus is not about excluding your parents or children, it’s about treating every woman as your mother, every man as your father, every child as your brother or sister.

When Rachel and I dropped Kiran off at college, the college president extolled the new students to “Be too bold for boundaries.” I love that. And I think Jesus would too. Because that’s what being a disciple is—to be too bold for boundaries. Too bold for the boundaries of family. Too bold for the boundaries of culture. Too bold for the boundaries of party or nation. Too bold for the boundaries of race or religion. Too bold for the boundaries of orientation or gender. Think of the parable of the Good Samaritan—the boundary between Jew and Samaritan was strong, but Jesus showed that compassion makes neighbors out of strangers. Think of Paul’s vision of the church, where “there is no longer Jew or Greek, slave or free, male and female, for all are one in Christ.”

Y’all exemplify this boldness in the mission and ministries here at Grace: reaching out to folks across Wichita with the Good Neighbor Ministry, helping homeowners with yardwork, repairs, and maintenance; your partnership with Wichita International Rescue, helping refugees fleeing violence and oppression make a new home and a new life here in Wichita; the bus ticket ministry that not only helps folks access public transportation, but also welcomes them into our building, providing a place to rest, a snack, a hot cup of coffee, or a cold cup of water. With your partnership with the congregation of El Centro Presbyterian Church in Central Cuba, and your support of missionaries in Kenya and Uganda. This isn’t charity—it’s connection. It’s discipleship. It’s family. The same could be said for your partnership with Pastor Jacob’s congregation, or your work with Wyldlife—inviting middle schoolers to come and find friendship and fellowship. That’s what it looks like when a church is too bold for boundaries. When we invite everyone into God’s story. When we say, “Welcome! You belong. You are part of us. You are family.”

The prophet Jeremiah describes God as a potter, shaping and reshaping us as clay. We often think of this in terms of our individual lives, but the prophet’s vision is not about a person, it is about a people. We are shaped by the bonds of belonging, by the stories we share, by the burdens we carry for one another, by the joys we celebrate. God’s Spirit forms us not as isolated individuals but as a community—an expansive, inclusive, and affirming faith family. “Hate your mother and father” sounds harsh. But beneath the shock is an invitation—an invitation to expand the circle of family until it mirrors the love of God.

The church is that family. A family where there are no boundaries too strong for grace. A family where everyone is welcomed as beloved children of God. A family that I am grateful to be a part of. Thank you for welcoming me into your faith family. I look forward to joining you in welcoming others into this expansive, boundless family of God. Because in Christ, we are too bold for boundaries. May it be so in your life, in the life of your families, in the life of this congregation, and in the life of Christ’s church.

 

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