It's Complicated

It's Complicated

It’s Complicated: Family as a Means of Grace - Part 3
May 18, 2025
John 14:1-4, Romans 12:9-18

My Father’s house has room to spare. If that weren’t the case, would I have told you that I’m going to prepare a place for you?      

John 14:1-7

Love should be shown without pretending. Hate evil, and hold on to what is good.  Love each other like the members of your family. Be the best at showing honor to each other.

Romans 12:9-10

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In our Father’s house, there are many rooms — and together, we are learning how to live as one.

I grew up with a very different understanding of this passage. I was taught the King James Version, which says there are many “mansions.” I never thought to ask how multiple mansions could exist inside one house, but the image I held was highly individualistic and luxurious. Then I went to seminary and studied under Old Testament scholar and archaeologist Dr. Sandra Richter, who introduced us to the ancient 4-room pillared houses of ancient Israel known as the bet’ab — the “Father’s house.” This, it turns out, is the term Jesus uses when describing the place he is preparing.

The bet’ab was not a mansion, nor was it a space of private luxury. It included shared family living spaces, a combined reception room and kitchen, and small  sleeping areas often located on the upper level. In Israel’s patriarchal culture, the oldest living male was the head of the household, which included his sons, their wives, extended relatives, and sometimes servants. Much of the living and cooking took place outdoors, with rooms arranged around a central courtyard. Resources were shared, and everyone contributed to the needs of the household and wider community.

So what does this have to do with Jesus and his promise of heaven?

I’m glad you asked.

For Jesus, salvation is not some escapist dream of heavenly mansions and golden streets. It’s about a communal sense of belonging. In Christ, we are adopted into God's family, and we are given a place in the bet’ab — God’s household. 

But belonging to a household carries responsibilities. Children — biological or adopted — are expected to participate fully in the life of the family. Yes, they receive the blessings and love that come with being part of the family, knowing all their needs will be met. But they are also expected to contribute, to discover and use their gifts for the good of the entire household.

Family life, of course, is complicated. We don’t always get along, and sometimes those closest to us bear the brunt of our worst days. Siblings, in particular, can be highly competitive.

Life teaches us what it means to be part of a family — the human family, God’s family. As Paul writes to the Romans: “Love should be shown without pretending. Hate evil, and hold on to what is good. Love each other like the members of your family. Be the best at showing honor to each other.”

May this be our greatest competition in life: to outdo one another in showing honor and love. In a world that often rewards pride, power, or personal gain, what if we became known for something else entirely — a radical, joyful commitment to building each other up? That’s the kind of family Christ invites us to be.

Nurturing Faith

Nurturing Faith

It’s Complicated: Family as a Means of Grace - Part 2
May 11, 2025
2 Timothy 1:3-7

I’m reminded of your authentic faith, which first lived in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice. I’m sure that this faith is also inside you. Because of this, I’m reminding you to revive God’s gift that is in you… God didn’t give us a spirit that is timid but one that is powerful, loving, and self-controlled.                         

2 Timothy 1:5-7

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Let’s be honest — families can be complicated. While many experience love and support at home, others carry deep wounds from strained, broken, or absent relationships. Even strong families often have dynamics that are difficult or painful. Some, like my own, find deeper connection with adopted or chosen families who walk with us more closely than blood relatives.

Yet phrases like “blood is thicker than water” can still haunt us, often used to shame or guilt those whose biological ties fall short. But the original version of that phrase — dating back to 12th-century Germany —  actually reads: “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” It referred to bonds formed between soldiers in battle, calling for a loyalty  deeper than even that of a brother. Jesus suggests  a similar idea when he asked, “Who is my mother? Who are my brothers?” and answered his own question by pointing to those who do God’s will (Mark 3:33–35).

For Timothy, we see a beautiful legacy of faith passed down through his mother and grandmother. We give thanks for families like these who nurture faith and encourage the next generation. But for those who did not inherit such a legacy — or whose families have been a source of pain — the church must be a refuge, not a source of guilt or shame.

We also recognize that mothering is not limited to biology. Scripture is full of women who nurtured faith in others — Deborah, Ruth, Hannah, Mary, Priscilla — and countless unnamed women who formed and sustained the early church. Many in our own communities offer that same care: Sunday school teachers, youth mentors, spiritual directors, neighbors, and friends. To mother someone is to invest, to guide, to love sacrificially and that calling belongs to many.

In Christ, the Spirit forms a new family — a covenant community where belonging is not based on DNA but on grace. Biological families can be a beautiful part of that, but so can those formed by friendship, faith, or shared struggle. The so-called “ideal family” of mid-20th-century America was always more myth than reality. Today’s families are as diverse as the people who form them: single parents, co-parents, blended households, chosen families, and those who are single by choice or circumstance. All of them matter.

The church is called to be a the kind of family people may have missed elsewhere — a place of welcome, healing, and hope. When we show up for each other in times of loss and celebration, when we speak truth in love, when we pass on wisdom or offer a listening ear, we become spiritual kin. In a world that often isolates, the family of God is meant to embrace.

On this Mother’s Day, we honor the women who lead and love — mothers, grandmothers, mentors, spiritual mothers, and faithful friends. And we reaffirm our calling as the household of God, where every family has a place, and no one walks alone. In our Father’s house, there are many rooms—and together, we are learning how to live as one.

Thank you for following my sermon blog here at “Echo”. For deeper reflections on God and faith in everyday life, be sure to subscribe to my new Substack - “Reflections of Something”. Hope to see you there!

Life as a Musical: Tuning our Hearts to Sing God's Grace

Life as a Musical: Tuning Our Hearts to Sing God’s Grace

April 27, 2025 - Hymn Sing Sunday
Colossians 3:15-17

The word of Christ must live in you richly. Teach and warn each other with all wisdom by singing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs. Sing to God with gratitude in your hearts.  Whatever you do, whether in speech or action, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus and give thanks to God the Father through him.                

 Colossians 3:16-17

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John Wesley and his brother Charles were prolific hymn writers who believed singing was central to the ministry of the gospel. They produced multiple hymn collections, including Wesley Hymns and the Collection of Psalms and Hymns, which were widely distributed among early Methodists. Wesley strongly encouraged every home to have a hymnal, envisioning singing not just as part of Sunday worship, but as a way to maintain a spiritual rhythm throughout the week.

“Sing all, sing heartily and with good courage,” Wesley wrote. “Lift up your voice with strength. Be no more afraid of your voice now, nor more ashamed of its being heard, than when you sang the songs of Satan” (first published in Sacred Harmony, 1781). For Wesley, music was not about performance, but about presence — offering one’s whole self to God through song.

A worship leader I knew in college once told a story about a piano that had one horribly out-of-tune key. It drove him crazy, until he sensed God asking, “What if that note is the only one in tune, and the rest of the piano is off?” Of course, the whole piano wasn’t out of tune, but the question lingered. What if what we assume to be “off” is actually the voice of the Spirit, trying to get our attention?

Sometimes, our lives of faith can drift out of tune, off key from God’s purposes, out of rhythm with God’s grace. Singing together helps bring us back, grounding us in truth and harmony with the Spirit. As Paul wrote to the Colossians, we are called to “teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit… and whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus.”

Life is a bit like a musical — one person starts singing, and somehow, everyone else joins in, singing and dancing as if they’ve always known the song. It defies logic but reveals something deeply true: music has the power to draw us into something larger than ourselves. In the same way, as we join our voices with others in worship, we are drawn into something greater,  becoming more fully part of one another and the body of Christ. Music weaves our individual stories into a shared narrative of grace, hope, and redemption.

“Above all, sing spiritually,” Wesley urged. “Have an eye to God in every word you sing… see that your heart is not carried away with the sound, but offered to God continually.”  May our singing today not only fill this space, but draw us more fully into the Spirit’s harmony, tuning our lives to God and to one another.

Come Thou fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace
Streams of mercy never ceasing
Call for songs of loudest praise!

Feel free to join us in our Celebration of Music below:

Everything [in] between Grief & Hope

Everything [in] between Grief & Hope

Everything [in] between: Part 7
Series based on the Narrative Lectionary & Sanctified Art
April 13, 2025 - Easter Sunday
John 20:11-18, Luke 24:1-12

Very early in the morning on the first day of the week, the women went to the tomb, bringing the fragrant spices they had prepared.  They found the stone rolled away from the tomb,  but when they went in, they didn’t find the body of the Lord Jesus.  They didn’t know what to make of this. Suddenly, two men were standing beside them in gleaming bright clothing.  The women were frightened and bowed their faces toward the ground, but the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?  He isn’t here, but has been raised. Remember what he told you while he was still in Galilee,  that the Human One must be handed over to sinners, be crucified, and on the third day rise again.”  Then they remembered his words.  When they returned from the tomb, they reported all these things to the eleven and all the others.  It was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told these things to the apostles.  Their words struck the apostles as nonsense, and they didn’t believe the women.  But Peter ran to the tomb. When he bent over to look inside, he saw only the linen cloth. Then he returned home, wondering what had happened.

Luke 24:1-12 (CEB)

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Reflections written by Rev. Jeff Chu

Grief is liminal, not terminal

What makes an ember of hope flare up into a revivifying fire?

Sometimes it’s a memory.

Then they remembered his words, Luke says of the women who had brought burial spices to Jesus’ tomb. It took outside help, in the form of two angels, and it wasn’t instantaneous. First there was terror, because it’s not every day that otherworldly visitors come calling. But then they received a gentle word: Remember.

Sometimes it’s a testimony.

The spark of the women’s story gave Peter just enough hope to get up, run to the tomb, and seek more for himself.

Sometimes neither memory nor testimony will feel sufficient. The cold cloak of grief may still be too thick, as it was for Jesus’ other friends. To them, the women’s story was λῆρος (leros). My Bible translates that Greek word as “an idle tale,” but I think that lacks oomph. Really, it might be better rendered “nonsense” or “the mutterings of the delirious.”

The other apostles’ incredulity feels so relatable to me, especially in the context of our contemporary lives. In a world beset by so much sorrow, so much suffering, and so much heartbreak, a glimmer of good news can have such a hard time breaking my gloom. A glimpse of beauty, a flash of loveliness, can feel like foolishness amidst so much bad news.

This isn’t to say, of course, that it’s wrong to sit with grief. Our grief deserves our attention, because mourning is a bittersweet memento of love. We need not rank our griefs either. Even when it comes to the pettiest, tiniest things, we need to grieve so that we can make room for the better.

There’s the key, though: our grief cannot become our everything. With memory, testimony, and time, we can recognize that grief is liminal, not terminal. And it need not crowd out other truths: that we have loved and been loved. That we are not alone. That there is still hope in the land of the living. 

Everything [in] between Shouting & Silence

Everything [in] between Shouting & Silence

Everything [in] between: Part 6
Series based on the Narrative Lectionary & Sanctified Art
April 13, 2025
Luke 19:29-40

As Jesus approached the road leading down from the Mount of Olives, the whole throng of his disciples began rejoicing. They praised God with a loud voice because of all the mighty things they had seen.  They said,

“Blessings on the king who comes in the name of the Lord.
    Peace in heaven and glory in the highest heavens.”

Some of the Pharisees from the crowd said to Jesus, “Teacher, scold your disciples! Tell them to stop!”

He answered, “I tell you, if they were silent, the stones would shout.”

Luke 19:37-40 (CEB)

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Reflections written by Dr. Mindy McGarrah Sharp

Stones have seen a thing or two. Grabbed in rage, they’ve absorbed the shock of violence. Balanced in meditative towers, they’ve marked graves and birthed centering peace.

In an Arizona courthouse, I wasn’t thinking about stones. I was thinking about students’ passionate shouts and silent death stares. We had traveled to the borderlands to listen in a place about which there is much shouting and even more silencing. A most progressive student and a most conservative student grudgingly traveled together, carrying histories of screams and silences into that courthouse.

In the pre-trial explanation, we heard that doors would open, and we would all rise. But this would be no triumphal entry, no cloak-lined path, no donkey willingly lent from a neighbor, no rejoicing. Just hand sanitizer and instructions: Silence! No photography!

We were entering Operation Streamline’s public gallery, the daily hearing where up to eighty humans are tried en-masse for immigration violations. Since 2005, this has continued through Democratic and Republican administrations. Chained by ankle, wrist, and waist, human beings walk to a judge six-by-six, clanging, pleading. It would be over in under an hour, and then we'd go on about our day.

Unexpectedly, the polarized students joined voices: This cannot be! One quoted scripture: the Imago Dei, neighbor love, caring for strangers, remembering Jesus’ own journey as a migrant. The other quoted law: due process, presumption of innocence, amnesty, constitutional rights. Between stony silences and snarky shouts arose some solidarity. Together, they witnessed what we humans can do to each other and the lengths we go to make it all make sense.

Bearing witness complicates things. Divisive soundbites crumble, north and south get confused. But, stones certainly know the violence, graves, and peace prayers held in this sacred, desecrated land.

On a borrowed donkey from a gracious neighbor, on crowd-sourced paths accompanied by loud rejoicing, Jesus wept on arrival, knowing full well what we humans are capable of doing to each other. He rode right into what stones have seen: criminalization and death -dealing decisions, dehumanization and denial of dignity, disregard for expansive beauty.

     What would stones shout?

     What do you shout?

     What do you silence?