Text: Luke 10:25-37Speaker: Joel Miller

When the days drew near for Jesus to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem.And he sent messengers ahead of him. On their way they entered a village of the Samaritans to make ready for him; but they did not receive him, because his face was set toward Jerusalem. When his disciples James and John saw it, they said, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” But Jesus turned and rebuked them. Thenl they went on to another village.

This passage takes place at the end of Luke chapter 9.  In the way Luke structures his gospel, this is the pivotal moment when Jesus resolves to go from his home area of Galilee, in the north, with its quiet villages of Nazareth and Capernaum, to Jerusalem, down south – the religious and political center of his people.  For the next 10 chapters Jesus will be making his way to the holy city.  Toward the end of the journey he’ll pass through Jericho.  That’s where he heals a blind man begging by the side of the road. That’s where he meets up with Zacchaeus, the tax collector, who invites Jesus to his house.  Jericho to Jerusalem was the last leg of this route.  About 18 winding miles, a half mile vertical climb, mostly desert.  It wasn’t an easy route. 

It also wasn’t the only route from Galilee to Jerusalem, and definitely not the shortest.  The shortest route was the one Jesus started to take, through Samaria.  That’s where, earlier, in John, Jesus met up with the woman at the well, where they discussed living water, and whether Jerusalem in Judea, or Mt Gerizim in Samaria was the true place of worship. 

This was not exactly friendly territory.  There were age-old hostilities…

Today’s Scripture passage is often referred to as “the transfiguration.” What is it to transfigure? The word implies a change in form, a movement from what is, into something perhaps even more profound. In our Anabaptist Community Bible, which uses the Common English Bible translation, the heading of this passage reads, “Jesus Transformed.” What is this transformation, this transfiguration? Is it merely a change in appearance, or is it something deeper, more profound, a shift that evades words?

As we enter the text, Jesus, Peter, John and James have retreated up, into the mountain for rest and prayer. I can imagine it is quiet, contemplative, the air peaceful, cool, yet charged. As Jesus prays, before his disciples’ sleepy eyes, he undergoes a transformation. The change is physical: his face changes, his clothes become white, electric like lightning. And yet, there is more to this change. Suddenly present are Moses and Elijah, in “heavenly splendor” (Luke 9:30) talking with Jesus, affirming the fulfillment of Jewish prophecy that will be realized through Jesus, in Jerusalem. This is a profound depiction: Moses and Elijah, revered figureheads in the Jewish tradition, have made a post-mortem appearance to affirm Jesus as Messiah. Their very presence validates the person and divinity of Jesus of Nazareth, weaving him into Israel’s ancestral line. Not only do the ancestors declare Jesus’ divinity, but God’s voice speaks into the cloud-covered moment: “‘This is my Son, my chosen one. Listen to him!’” (9:35). As the voice speaks, Jesus is once again alone, in the company of “speechless” (9: 36) disciples. A shocking, radiant transformation has occurred.

Our transformations are not often as radiant as this one. Transformations imply change, and change can be confusing, painful and grief-filled. Even when out of change arises something new and beautiful, it is likely accompanied by the…

Text: Luke 7:18-35Speaker: Amanda Gross

In 1989, I was the first Mennonite to graduate from Kindergarten at Anne E West Elementary. This marked both the first of my 13 years of studies in the Atlanta Public School System and also the start of my defining Mennonite for non-Anabaptist audiences. When my brother was old enough for school, I was no longer the only kid educating my classmates and teachers about Mennonite identity.

Later in high school, a third Mennonite enrolled just in time for the fear and patriotic fervor that followed the 9/11 attacks. Out of 900 students, three Mennonites felt like critical mass. Or at least emboldened me enough to pen an op-ed for the school paper explaining my faith-based conviction for nonviolence, the only voice in the school paper against U.S. military retaliation.

Over those years, shaped by—not one, but two—Atlanta-area Mennonite church communities and by my Swiss German Mennonite family at home, I got plenty of practice providing context for my confused and often curious classmates and friends:

What’s a Mennonite? They would ask. I would respond from a drop-down list of options depending on my mood, the weather, and whether or not I thought they’d been to Pennsylvania. We’re like the Amish but with fewer horses and buggies. Or. We don’t believe in baptizing babies. Or. We’re pacifists, who don’t fight in wars and died for our beliefs. Or: We’re Christians from the Anabaptist movement in Europe that wanted to get back to Jesus’s Way.

Yet, as I got older, I began to learn some of the contradictions behind my educational talking points. For example, despite the emphasis on adult choice, in my home congregation young teens got baptized in clusters because it was the thing to do. Despite the ethic of nonviolence, there are Mennonite churches who have members…

Text: Luke 7:1-19Speaker: Joel Miller

Interwoven. 

Our banner for this month doesn’t have a name, but if it did, Interwoven would be a good one.  It was made for a different occasion by Connie B from Cincinnati Mennonite Fellowship.  We get to repurpose it for this series. 

The bottom panel shows two lines on a green and blue background, two intersecting lives within creation.  The next panel multiplies those lines.  It’s the interweaving of family, neighbors, community.  The third panel up shows lives so tightly interwoven they merge for a time.  In the top panel the green shows up again, then the golden sky, two lines now more vertical, reaching up to the heavens in a kind of mutual holy longing.  All of this is connected with three interwoven threads – a Trinity bottom to top, top to bottom, ever present throughout.  Even God is interwoven within Godself.   

This four week series is all about the interweaving of lives and communities and histories and God.       

The story of the healing of the centurion’s slave in Luke chapter 7 shows just how complicated this interweaving can be.  Consider the people involved.  There is the centurion who, as the title suggests, had charge of 100 soldiers.  These were Roman soldiers, the colonizing and occupying forces of the 1st century Mediterranean world.  There is the sick man close to death, who some translations call a servant and others a slave of the centurion.  There are the Jewish town elders who, perhaps surprisingly, advocate for the centurion who wishes that his slave be healed.  They say: “This centurioun, he is worthy.”  “He loves our people.”  “It is he who built the synagogue for us.”  There are the “friends,” other brokers sent by the centurion.  And there is Jesus, the indigenous Jew. Jesus the teacher.  Jesus the wandering…

Texts: Proverbs 8:1-4; Wisdom of Solomon 7:24-27; Ephesians 3:1-10Speaker: Joel Miller

I have, in my mind, a pastoral scenario I’m yet to act out. 

It would happen during one of those conversations where someone asks : So, what you do?  Usually, when I say I’m a pastor, there’s not much interest after that.  They may ask the name of the congregation, and, if they’re really brave, they may ask What’s a Mennonite?

But how, I wonder, would folks respond, if, rather than saying “I’m a pastor,” to the question “What do you do?” I would say something like this:      

I help lead a local chapter of a global, 2000-year-old nonprofit organization.  We are 100% member-owned and donor-supported, but open to all.  We have voluntary multigenerational weekly meetings where children are celebrated and adults share their gifts.  Our vision is the reconciliation of all things; our mission is to do justice, love mercy, walk humbly; and our bottom line is love.

I’m not sure if that would extend, or abruptly end the conversation, but maybe some brave day I’ll find out. 

Put that way, it does sound pretty sweet – or like the church PR department went a little overboard.  But it’s not too far from how the New Testament letter to the Ephesians talks about the church.

Ephesians is most likely a second-generation letter.  It opens in the voice of Paul the apostle, but the language and themes point to a disciple of Paul.  This need not be scandalous.  Writing in the name of a respected, recently deceased, mentor was a common practice in the ancient world.  Rather than a brand new gathering of believers, the recipients of this letter had probably been at it a while.  They’re the kids who grew up in Sunday school, now adults, rethinking what it is they’re part of.   

What they’re…