06/07/2026
Here's my sermon for tomorrow. I look forward to being with you then. Sending blessings, Mother Barbara
The context of our story from the Old Testament, or the Hebrew Scriptures, is essential to understanding how our lives fit into the larger salvation history of humankind.
As you remember from last week, when we heard the poetic account of the creation of Gods’ world, and words that seem to always grab at my heart, and most likely yours, after the account of humankind, “and it was very good.”
However, as we all know, sin creeped into God’s glorious creation and God yearned to bring humankind back into loving relationship with all of creation, especially into God’s heart and flow of love.
So, the story of God’s call to Abraham is the beginning of our salvation story, designed to reverse the effects of human sin, and to bring blessing upon all of humankind. This is an important element to consider – God’s blessing is not just to Abraham and his family, as he faithfully obeys God’s command, to all humankind, because of Abraham’s faithful “yes”.
Now as Christians, we believe the invitation God offered to Abraham, to restore all of humankind and creation to our Creator, came to fulfillment in the person of Jesus, and is now lived out in us, through Jesus’s gift of the Holy Spirit.
God asked Abraham to leave behind all that he knew, (his land, his clan, his kin), and go to an unnamed and unknown country, to march out of his comfort zone, with merely a promise of blessing for the family he would yet have (although he was already 75 years old and with a wife who struggled to conceive) and to trust that he could indeed offer himself to a God who desired restoration and healing of the world, and that it all began in him.
Abraham’s yes, is as Mary’s “yes” to bear the holy into our world, as is Matthew’s “yes” to follow Jesus, and Jesus’ “yes” to the cross, and our “yes” to live out our gifts and talents for the healing of this world. Your “yes”, my “yes”, are no less significant in the salvation story of humankind, than Abraham’s “yes”. Our “yeses” are for the same purpose – to bring in the Kingdom of Love.
I know your stories well enough to know that you have faithfully said “yes” to the King of Love, that you have obediently shared your gifts and talents with our parish and our neighborhood, that you have formed healthy and whole relationships, which is at the root of the restoration of humankind to our Creator, and at times, removed yourself from unhealthy relationships too, for that is part of restoration as well, that you have fought for social justice for all people, and you have made decisions that have taken you out of your comfort zone, into places unknown and with the outcome clear – for you are righteous people. And I thank God for the opportunity to serve among you.
And perhaps most importantly, I have seen you understand exactly what Abraham understood, which is why he left his home and journey in faith – that the blessing promised by God was not just for him, but for all of us. As soon as we understand that God’s call to us is always bigger than us – always more than what may fulfill our lives, is always a reach into the future we cannot see or control, and is always a promise for all of humankind, then we have entered the salvation story of all time. Abraham’s story, Jesus’ story, becomes our story.
Abraham, his wife Sarah and his nephew Lot travel toward Canaan, and as we know the story, the journey is difficult, the land is already occupied, and there are struggles along the way. But when the Lord appeared to Abraham and said his offspring would inherit the land, Abraham stopped and built an altar, to signify the presence of the Lord, a meeting place with the holy, a place set apart, made sacred, to honor the presence. Perhaps Abraham built it also as a reminder to himself that he is not traveling alone, or perhaps he left the altar as a guidepost to those who would yet follow.
We know of other times in the scriptures, when an altar is used to denote an encounter with God, such as when Jacob had his dream of the angels going up and down the ladder, and he woke the next morning, built an altar, and said, “surely God is in this place.”
Having been in the Holy Land and knowing the desolate nature of the landscape, I can only imagine for his altar, Abraham was able to find but a few stones to pile together, then kneeling to offer a prayer and a full self-offering of his heart to God’s continued call birth a new nation, whose hearts could restore humankind to our Creator. It must have been a time of utter release, of gathering strength and resolve, and renewed commitment, for I imagine the altar not only represented Abraham’s awareness of God being there, but him being there for God also – perhaps his heart uttered, “Here I am Lord.”
As we follow the role of altars in the Jewish tradition, we remember them as places of the sacrifice of animals, offered as gifts to close that distance once again between the people and God. What Abraham began, later Israelites followed, with that desire to find a way of offering the best of themselves to find a path toward restoration into full union with the holy.
But in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus says to the Pharisees that he desires mercy, not sacrifice. So, we have an enormous shift. Suddenly now, the altar, that place of healing interchange between God and God’s people, is where love, compassion, and mercy abide, a whole different kind of sacrifice. Where life-giving energy is alive, where there is a transformation of our hearts, where we offer the depths of our hearts, and we are changed. Jesus illumines the truth that the reversing of the sinful break happens in our hearts. It is where we offer and receive great love. Suddenly, this faith has become very personal.
And as Christians, we can understand Jesus became that living altar. Jesus was where the great love of God met the human condition. In Jesus’ personhood, in Jesus’ heart, in Jesus’ healing, in Jesus’ miracles, that was where the altar of God resided. In each meal he shared with sinners, with each touch of his hand which healed, with each invitation he offered to follow him, in the tax collector booth where he saw Matthew in need of healing, in the synagogue leader’s daughter’s room when Jesus responded to the father’s urgent plea of the heart, and even in the fringe of his cloak, courageously reached for by the faithful woman desiring to be healed – in all the unknown, unnamed places, in all the places Jesus went out of anyone else’s comfort zone, Jesus, the living altar, abided.
And ultimately upon the cross, the living altar resided, that intersection of the great love of God with the human condition. Yet in the garden by the empty tomb, the new Eden, in Jesus’ words to Mary, where new life, new understanding emerged and erupted, the living altar was revealed. The living altar, which death cannot conquer, found itself behind locked doors, opening the eyes of those previously blind to the power of the living Christ, found wherever love, compassion, and mercy abide.
We correctly imagine the altar – the place of union with the God of love, compassion, and mercy, to be here in the church. It is where we celebrate the sacrament, which is what we enter to be restored to the God of love, to reverse the sinful nature of ourselves and all of humankind. It is the place where we sacrifice, or offer to God, our lives to be made whole by the love of Christ – and yet, I wonder, are we not also, in a profound way, a larger piece of the puzzle. I’m wondering what God’s call to us is to carry forward the salvation story.
Could it be, that through Jesus’ gift of the Holy Spirit, we are to be the altars in the world, a living sacrament, a way for people to enter the love, compassion, and mercy of God? By the way we live, by the way we give, by the way we love. By the way we reach beyond ourselves into a future that is unknown and beyond our control. Could it be that we are to recognize, honor, set apart and make sacred those places that we know “God is surely present here”? Are we to create the spaces for others to discover the truth of the living God, the Risen Christ, here in our midst? They may be spaces within our hearts, within our relationships, within our church family, or beyond.
I invite you to imagine all the places during your daily, oftentimes ordinary lives, when you are aware of the presence of God. How could you mark those places? Could there be a way that you set them apart so you can return to them again and again to soak in the glory and presence of the Lord?
I invite you to also imagine how you could create space, such as the serving tables at the community meal, or the pavilion at Grace Place, or your office at work, or the community garden where so much flourishes, where you could be the guidepost, where you could lead others to the holy. This is the deepest response to our call to be faithful to God. Always think bigger than us. Always imagine we are part of something more profound than our individual lives. Always knowing we have our part to play in the larger salvation story of all of humankind.
Abraham was called to be a father of a nation, who would know and love God, who would make right choices, who would be willing to bear the costs of just action, who would do their part, however large or small, to heal the rupture between humankind and God. Abraham knelt in the desert, gathered a few stones, said a few prayers, and taught us how to be faithful members of the household of God by acknowledging the presence of the Lord in his midst. Jesus was the presence of the Lord in our midst. And Jesus left us the gift of the Holy Spirit so that we can have that presence of the Lord in our hearts, so that we can be the presence of the Lord amid our daily lives. Abraham built an altar. Jesus was the altar. We now can build altars in our hearts and the hearts of all, and build altars all over the place, where we can live, and invite others to live, more fully as faithful members of the household of God. Let us with deep and faithful hearts respond to that call.
Amen.