Dear Friends,

So, as a child I really wanted to be a ballerina (probably still do, if I’m honest), even though my body type, right down to the structure of my feet, has worked against me all my life. I’m one of those people who lumbers along; even when I have less girth, I do not move gracefully.

Right about the time I was finally ready to step out of ballet slippers and into toe shoes, I expect my teacher had an honesty sidebar with my Mother. And my ballet career ended before those coveted toe shoes were ever purchased. So now it’s Jesus who keeps me on my toes.

Luke 20:27-40 is on deck for this coming Sunday. And it’s one of the texts a preacher sorta has to tiptoe through: There are SOOO many rabbit trails, SOOO many history-laden aspects to the story and SOOO many ways to miss the point (ha! pun not intended, but I’ll take it!).

Lemme introduce three areas where I was longing for toe shoes in order to tiptoe around challenges in this text:

1) In verse 35, I wish Jesus hadn’t said something that would be translated “those who are considered worthy.” (emphasis mine) Ay ay ay ay ay! I spend so much pastoral energy reminding people that grace is ours even though we most definitely are not worthy. So, when you read that line, try it this way, “those who are considered worthy.” I think that’s where the real point is. (Intended it that time!)

2) The plain meaning of verse 37 is rather elusive. (Ask me if you’re curious; I can sorta see the explanation in my mind’s eye, but I’m not sure I can articulate it clearly!) Suffice it to say, I wish Jesus hadn’t proof-texted Exodus 3:6, which has nothing to do with the matter at hand (resurrection) and, IMHO, results in a rather flimsy argument. (Yup. Just said that I think Jesus missed the point! or at least confused it)

3) Apart from daring to criticize Jesus’ teaching, it’s really the Saducees who are most irksome in this passage. (One wonders whether Jesus intentionally mirrors their irksomeness with an irksomeness of his own?) Who cares whose wife that blessed woman will be when she finally enters into her eternal rest?! So, please tiptoe right past that clever-sounding question. There’s simply no need in wasting time with it. Which is exactly the point Jesus ends up making about the whole encounter. (And that’s three-for-three, in case you’re counting!)

Having played with that word point for way too many words now, I’m asking myself what the point is in this blog entry. Maybe this is it: I’d hope that disciples would worry less about tiptoeing around scripture and instead bring real questions to it. Cuz I’m convinced that there’s more faithfulness in stomping around in scripture than in tiptoeing through it.

What do you wish Jesus never said (or what do you wish he’d said differently)?

See you Sunday.

Peace,

Lisa

Photo by Nihal Demirci on Unsplash

Dear Friends,

Lately it seems I’m glad to have been rendered mostly invisible.

Which is probably a passive-aggressive way of saying “I’m soooo frustrated that I seem to have been rendered invisible!” So, let me try to be a little more honest than that first line suggests.

Trying again: Don’t know about you, but on occasion, it’s a gift to feel invisible. For example, I can dash in and out of the grocery store in my “definitely-not-fit-for-prime-time” attire and I no longer feel like people are looking my way with a “what’s she thinking?!” expression on their face. There’s similar invisibility when I’ve been waiting patiently for the clerk but someone whose time is apparently more important than mine “really needs help and now!” And don’t get me started on the lacking common courtesy (in traffic, on sidewalks, at doors, you name it) that seems to be a veritable epidemic of choosing not to see one’s neighbor. I’ve also learned that my opinions on things have never really mattered to many people, so I now see that form of invisibility as freedom to keep my thoughts to myself until and unless they really matter. And after a lifetime of accumulated experience, I’ve realized that our culture wants what’s new and fresh rather than what’s been learned through hard work and a mixed bag of success and failure, so I’m trying to step back at least some of the time and simply let go. (I know. Keep working at that one, Lisa!) Being rendered invisible is hard.

For all of the invisibility that I’m either trying to enjoy or surrender to, I can at least recognize that once-upon-a-time I was not invisible. I had a voice that mattered, a contribution that mattered, opinions that mattered, experience that mattered.

I wonder if Zacchaeus ever felt anything but invisible? I mean, “wee little man” that he was and all. Then, there’s his role/reputation as both a rich man and chief tax collector - did that station in life render him invisible because people reviled him to the point that they looked straight through him? Or was that part of his presence so “big” that you didn’t see him because was sorta everywhere all the time? When I lean into his story - at Luke 19:1, by the way - I even wonder if climbing that tree might’ve contributed to his further invisibility just as much as it helped Z see Jesus? Gotta wonder, at least.

Which makes me think about all the people who’ve always been invisible for one reason or another.

Jesus seems to have seen right through Zacchaeus’ invisibility cloak. He saw, acknowledged, and had supper with Zacchaeus-the-invisible - Jesus sought him out! So, I wonder how I, as one of Jesus’ disciples, need to think a little less about my own invisibility and work a little harder at seeing the people I look past every day.

Who’s invisible to you?

See you Sunday.

Peace,

Lisa

Photo by David DINTSH on Unsplash

Dear Friends,

So, I’ve never been a open hands/palms up pray-er. As a kid I learned to “fix my hands” before we “said the blessing”. (Listen back to last week’s sermon if “saying/asking the blessing” confounds you.) And I suppose that what’s now an almost ritual part of our Time with the Younger Church - the clap hands together over the head, then “bring it on down” gesture I do with the children - comes from that lifelong habit of a hands closed/palms together prayer posture.

Then there’s my general state of body-consciousness: unless it’s to fetch something from an upper shelf, my elbows are rarely above my shoulders; even when “I’ve got the beat,” I tend not to sway or dance to the music; and, though I might talk your ear off (!), I’m not so likely to holler, clap or whistle to get attention from anyone other than our Dachshunds. Demonstrative postures just aren’t natural for me.

And yet.

There is something compelling about the open hands/palms up posture for prayer (maybe “so long as elbows remain in check”?). It is an expectant posture, one that I can imagine the tax collector in Luke 18:9-14 might adopt - after he’s beaten his chest, anyway. His prayer is for God’s mercy, so he seems to trust that divine mercy is available to him. I can imagine him opening his hands to receive the very grace of God.

I also wonder (or maybe I hope) that those same opened hands then become generous ones. Does he return any funds he might once have extorted? Does receiving God’s mercy make him a more generous neighbor? Do those open hands remain open?

Perhaps I’ll try the open hands/palms up posture during prayer sometime soon. I suppose if I keep my hands gently upturned in my lap my elbows won’t be too terribly out of control.

See you Sunday.

Peace, 

Lisa

Photo by Jeremy Yap on Unsplash

Dear Friends,

Some weeks I have an instinct about where a sermon focus might land. This week - and even after lively discussion of Luke 18:1-8 with the Thursday Morning Bible Study - I’m still a little bit stumped.

Looking for an image for this week’s pledge season focus confirmed my “stumpification.” I plugged in “grace” on the website where I often source free photos. Most of the images were of landscapes with sunshine breaking through clouds. Then there a couple of photos with people: one focused on upturned palms, another emphasized hands folded in prayer on top of an open book that’ probably a bible. Then there were a couple of grace-fully arced plant specimens - wheat in one and maybe larkspur in the other. Little bit of word-art (including a cross ornament with the word grace across it), a stack of books, and one photo that stumpifies me even more than this week’s text.

Then, finding the “Come as you are” doormat image opened a door for me! (Pun definitely intended!) That one brought my focus to verse 7: “Will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night?” Wonder if “Come as you are” might well point in the same direction that the verse is pointing?

What image comes to you when you try to visualize grace? I’ve got a couple that I’ll probably share on Sunday. See you then.

Peace, 

Lisa

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

Dear Friends,

So, “pledge season” is just around the corner. (Note for anyone new to this blog: Since stewardship is a way of life for Jesus’ disciples, our season for making financial commitments to next year’s ministry at NRPC is “pledge season” instead of “stewardship season.”)

My friend and former colleague, Gary Fulton, will be our preacher on Sunday as pledge season gets underway. If that name’s familiar, you might recall that Gary was here back in June as a liturgist on the Sunday when Pastor Leon Dorleans from Haiti was our preacher. Gary will put Jeremiah 29:1, 4-7 before us and help us contemplate our pledges from a place of gratitude.

I trust Gary will be way more creative than I am, but today I’m wondering if there’s any pledge/promise/covenant/vow/commitment we can make that doesn’t somehow come out of a place of gratitude. Could a Brownie Scout say “On my honor, I will try...” except that she is glad to be a part of the troop? Can someone promise to “tell the truth, the whole truth...” without having at least an inkling of gratitude for a robust and fair justice system? Would anyone say “I do” to someone without being grateful to have them in their life? And would you pledge support to a church’s ministry if you weren’t thankful for what the good Lord has done for you?

Having written that last line, I can practically see a parade of faces - faces of people who’ve made NRPC’s ministry happen and faces of people who’ve benefitted from NRPC’s ministry. There are also names I know from NRPC’s past, but names that go so far back that there aren’t faces attached to them - at least not in my mind’s eye. I’m grateful for each one - the seen and the unseen ones - even as I’m grateful for you, dear reader, because you, too, are part of what we’re doing here at NRPC. Thank you, one and all.

I wonder, for whom or what will you give thanks as you contemplate your pledge?

See you Sunday.

Peace, 

Lisa

Photo by Alise Storsul on Unsplash

Dear Friends,

Of course, I can’t speak for you, but the recent string of readings from Luke has been, well, a tough go. I’m a bit weary, which probably means blog-readers and sermon-hearers are weary as well.

I realize that I contribute to that “toughness.” For example, I could’ve taken a gentler “found” approach when we read Luke 15 a few weeks ago instead of the “lost” approach I ended up taking in that sermon. No regrets, mind you; I’m just owning the fact that I do have some control over how a particular text gets emphasized.

The last two weeks’ texts have been tough because they have challenged the place wealth stacks up in our “pseudo-pantheon of so-called gods”.* I don’t like having my pocketbook - or my attitudes about my pocketbook - challenged any more than the next person. So those sermons have been as tough on me as they maybe have been on any listeners.

If I were to boil this week’s text down into one theme/focus/direction, it might be “there is no rest for the weary.” In short, the apostles seem to want Jesus to do their work of faith for them: “Increase our faith, Jesus!” they say. And Jesus essentially says “Talk to the hand.” He first does that by saying that just a little bit of faith can accomplish so very much. (He says this using the image of the mustard seed. Which strangely gets interpreted as encouragement even though it’s really a slam along the lines of “Oh, ye of little faith.”) Then he tells ’em that servants are meant to serve, not be served. Ouch.

Gonna have to think long and hard about whether to add to the string of tough love we’ve had for the last several weeks. In case I decide to find a softer path - it is World Communion Sunday after all, and we will be welcoming youngsters to the Lord’s Table! - at least readers of this blog will know that there’s a lot more to Luke 17:5-10 than a little mustard seed encouragement.

See you Sunday.

Peace, 

Lisa

* If you’ve been in worship recently, you probably get my meaning with that “pseudo-pantheon of so-called gods” phrase. If you haven’t heard the last few sermons, this comes out of Jesus’ having taught, “You cannot serve God and wealth.” For disciples, the triune God is sovereign - above all other allegiances that vie for our attention. Yet we are guilty of letting a whole lot of other things - some really good things and some pretty awful things - edge out God’s claim on first place in our lives. Those “other things” - wealth being one - are what I mean as a sort of pantheon of other lower-case-g gods.

Photo by Georg Eiermann on Unsplash

Dear Friends,

So this week we take up a story about a rich man in hell and a poor man in heaven and “never the twain shall meet.” Kinda like last week the text includes some head-scratchers, but clarity comes at the very last when Father Abraham says to the man stuck in hell, “If your kin folks won’t listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.” Of course, the one telling the story is none other than the soon-to-be-crucified-and-risen One.

As Jesus tells the story, hell is a place of torment for a man whose life was spent serving his own needs while heaven is a place of respite for the sufferer who wasn’t served by the man who’s landed himself in hell. “And there’s a chasm between the two places,” Jesus says. Most interestingly, the chasm prevents the hell-ions from leaving; same chasm prevents any who “might want to pass” from heaven to hell from doing so. Somebody might want to leave heaven?

I suppose if heaven is heaven at all, anyone who’d deserve to be there would be longing to leap the chasm in order to show compassion - even to the very ones who never helped them while they both yet drew breath.

That brought to mind the oft-told “parable of the long spoons.” (I’ll leave you to Google that one for yourself.) Which then sent me on a photo-chase. Above is a road sign from Hell, Norway; “Light rain and 44 degrees” when curiosity led me to map the place.

Upshot: except for the temperature and how you landed there (and maybe the length of the spoon handles), heaven and hell might not be all that different after all. It’s the residents who are rather distinctive in each place. Distinctive from each other to the point that inhabitants in both eternal destinations are longing to leap the chasm to the other side, even if for starkly opposite purposes.

Should be another interesting Sunday! See you then.

Peace, 

Lisa

Photo by Peter Leong on Unsplash

Dear Friends,

A book titled The Christian Wallet: Spending, Giving, and Living with a Conscience has been floating around on my desk for a while now. That's part of getting myself ready for the upcoming emphasis on pledge season. (You'll note I didn't write “stewardship season.” Stewardship is a way of life for Jesus-followers. And “pledge season” is a time for making financial commitments for the next fiscal year at NRPC.) Since Sunday's focus text is one of Jesus' money-related parables, lemme share the first paragraph The Christian Wallet.

“Every Christian knows that we are called to love God with all our heart, mind, soul, and strength. But what about our wallet? We get asked to open it every Sunday when the offering basket comes by and are told that's being a “good steward.” Jesus' definition of stewardship, however, is far more encompassing and radical. Almost 40 percent of his parables… deal with true faith and faith's relationship to our money and possessions.”

That's not a typo: Forty percent.

I've long heard it said that “Jesus talks about money more than anything else,” but I haven't done my own research to corroborate that anecdotal observation. I actually set out to do that research today and quickly became overwhelmed by the number of distinct words I'd have to study/count in order to get a full picture: Money and Wealth (obviously), but then Coin, Trade, Buy, Sell, Wage… you get the picture. Since The Christian Wallet was here on my desk, I decided to see if the author might quantify Jesus' money money money talk. And I was surprised to find it would reach 40 percent! Mercy.

At the very end of our Luke reading this coming Sunday, Jesus says, “You cannot serve God and wealth.” And the question that statement triggers for me is this one: How would I recognize that tipping point when my wealth has stopped being a resource that serves me and has instead become something I serve? I recognize that even by asking that question, I'm probably already trying to sneak out from under the hard lesson Jesus has for me. But six days out from my next sermon, that's what's on my mind.

How does your wealth serve you? And when does it get the upper hand?

Should be an interesting Sunday! See you then.

Peace, 

Lisa

PS: If the title of this post doesn't make sense to you, here's some help: ABBA's Money, Money, Money

PPS: Pledge season officially begins October 12. I suppose this Sunday might be a bit of a warmup?

Dear Friends,

So, this week we're in Luke 15, otherwise known as the Lost and Found Department. Lost sheep, lost coin, lost son - no matter the loss, losing something can cause quite a panic, huh?

Then there's being lost.

Rene' and I were talking just last week about our Thomas Guide memories. I remember my first Thomas Guide from when I lived in Atlanta; the pre-GPS days, so the Thomas Guide was often spread out on top of my steering wheel… while I was driving… and steering with my knees. Sometimes the map was helpful, but then there were the times when I'd be so desperately lost that I couldn't even figure out where I was enough to get myself back on track for where I wanted to be! (The close GPS equivalent is when that voice says “Head north on Such-and-Such Street” and I yell back, “I'm lost! Don't know which one is Such-and-Such Street and I definitely don't know which way is north!”) Lost is no fun. At all.

More often than not, though, I expect “lost” isn't about geography at all.

No matter the sort of “lost” are you experiencing these days, I hope Luke 15 will reassure you that you've been found.

See you Sunday!

Peace,

Lisa

Dear Friends,

So, Luke 11:1-13 this weekend: The Lord’s Prayer; Ask, Seek, Knock; and the fish-or-snake/egg-or-scorpion conundrum.

Sitting down with the text today I wondered, “How does Eugene Peterson translate the Lord’s Prayer in The Message?” Here’s what I found (NRSV for each line is in parentheses):

Father,
Reveal who you are. (Hallowed be your name.)
Set the world right. (Your kingdom come.)
Keep us alive with three square meals. (Give us each day our daily bread.)
Keep us forgiven with you and forgiving others. (And forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.)
Keep us safe from ourselves and the Devil. (And do not bring us to the time of trial.)

Toward the end of the passage, Jesus relies on human parenting instincts as a way to encourage us to ask God specifically and directly for what we need. In the NRSV Jesus follows up with, “If you who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!” And it strikes me that those three “Keep us...” lines in Peterson’s version of the prayer are exactly the core of our best prayers for children: sufficient provisions, reconciled relationships, and security enough to thrive. All good gifts!

NRPC gave good gifts to Becca, Bennett, Cameron, Henry, Jack, Lillian and Stella last week. One Sunday next month, I’ll ask some of those young people and their trip leaders to reflect on the good gifts they received during last week’s Charleston mission trip. This Sunday I’ll share some of my reflections even as I wonder out loud about other good gifts NRPC might need to offer the youngest members of our community.

In the meantime, what good gifts do you suppose we’re meant to give the children of Christ’s church?

See you Sunday!

Peace,

Lisa

Dear Friends,

This Sunday we'll take up Luke's story of the Good Samaritan.

Several years prior to my arrival at Princeton Theological Seminary, Princeton University psychologists conducted a Good Samaritan experiment on the Seminary campus. The study was legendary by the time I was a student; it made me think - and still makes me think - about who I am as a person and pastor.

Malcom Gladwell wrote about the experiment in his book, The Tipping Point: The study's leaders "met with a group of seminarians, individually, and asked each one to prepare a short, extemporaneous talk on a given biblical theme, then walk over to a nearby building to present it. Along the way to the presentation, each student ran into a man slumped in an alley, head down, eyes closed, coughing and groaning. The question was, who would stop and help?" Several variables were introduced to the experiment: 1) participants' motivations for being in seminary, 2) the focus of the talk the student was asked to give (e.g., some had the parable as their subject, some were asked to reflection on ministry as a profession), and 3) the urgency with which the students were sent to give their talks (e.g., "you're running late" or "you have a few minutes").

The results of the experiment are startling. “On several occasions, a seminary student going to give his talk on the parable of the Good Samaritan literally stepped over the victim as he hurried on his way.” It turns out ”the only thing that really mattered was whether the student was in a rush. Of the group that was [rushing], 10 percent stopped to help. Of the group who knew they had a few minutes to spare, 63 percent stopped." In the final analysis, the experimenters suggest “that the convictions of your heart and the actual contents of your thoughts are less important, in the end, in guiding your actions than the immediate context of your behavior.” In other words, we tend to react to circumstances (I have time vs. I'm late) rather than follow our heart or mind. Startling, indeed.

Except, there is this: I remember driving to one of my last final exams on a dreadfully rainy day; probably was running late as well. I could see up ahead two drenched students walking toward campus (maybe 2 miles away). The experiment flashed through my mind and triggered the thought, “I don't want to be the one to pass them by.” Of course there were some mental gymnastics: “Is this another experiment?” “Surely there be a shuttle soon?” “They don't look like axe murderers.” “Will I be able to sit my exam if I'm late?” I stopped, rolled down the window and said, “I'm headed to the Seminary. Need a ride?”

I share that, not as a way to toot my own horn (though I guess I just did!), but to say that the call to be intentional can overcome hurdles. The experiment itself planted “I don't want to be the one to pass them by” and that intention won out over all the "Nope"s that emerged. Wonder if any of the participants would say that their first intention was to stop, but then they talked themselves out of that instinct?

So, what intention needs to rise to the top for you as you think about Good ol's Sam the Samaritan?

See you Sunday!

Peace,

Lisa

Dear Friends,

Oh, which rabbit trail to run?! This week's text from Luke is rife with opportunities for running rabbit trails. Among the potential trails is Jesus' admission, “I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves.” I've heard of a wolf in sheep's clothing, but how in the world are lambs meant to survive in a world filled with wolves? Mercy!

Evolutionary biology would answer with mimicry: “Certain harmless species imitate the aposematic [app-oh-suh-MAT-ik, aka stay away!] signals of dangerous species to protect themselves when confronted with their predators… For this type of mimicry to work, three different species are involved: the model, the mimic and the dupe. The model is the species that does all the work, by developing a defense mechanism feared by predators. The mimic is the species that imitates the model’s aposematic signal. Finally, the dupe is the species that perceives the mimic’s signal as a true aposematic signal: it’s duped! For instance, the hoverfly, a small harmless pollinating fly without a stinger, imitates the yellow and black colored patterns of wasps. Thanks to that dishonest aposematic signal, our predator [say, a bird] will avoid eating the hoverfly for fear of being stung, and without ever having tasted a hoverfly in its life!" Or, in a word, blend. Fly under the radar; be discrete; keep a low profile; stay inconspicuous. Yup: Blend.

Jesus' advice is practically opposite that. Rather than suggesting that his scouts should blend, Jesus instructs them to double down on who he's taught them they actually are. “Travel light. Stay focused. Offer peace. Accept hospitality. Serve in my name. Move on when rejected.” Very un-wolf-like.

This is all in preparation for a mission trip! Jesus is sending “the seventy” into the mission field. He will soon follow after them, so the thirty-five pairs of missionaries are meant to make connections, plant seeds, draw crowds, create anticipation. Anything but blend, huh?

I sat here sighing after that last line and thinking (almost praying), "Please, could we blend instead, Oh Lord?" Then again, the mimicry article concludes in this way: “Such mutations are extremely rare, and do not always increase the chance of survival. So imagine the number of generations and random mutations needed for the descendants of our striped hoverfly to become indiscernible copies of wasps… We’re talking about thousands, even millions of years!” Hmm. There goes that idea. I suppose it's time to lean on into who Jesus has decided we really are.

See you on Sunday!

Peace,

Lisa

Quotes from https://m.espacepourlavie.ca/blogue/en/a-sheep-wolf-s-clothing-batesian-mimicry-insects, accessed 7/2/2025; emphasis mine.

Dear Friends,

Late again. Apologies for that.

Many (most) of you won't recognize Ryana, the lovely bride-to-be in the headline photo. I actually introduced her to you in a12/10/2023 sermon:

NRPC has partnered with West Raleigh Presbyterian Church to support one family of ten Congolese refugees.

I don’t know that that’s a significant drop in the bucket for the ongoing atrocities in Congo, but for that one family of ten humans, it’s everything.

West Raleigh has provided a house; NRPC has turned that house into a home and you are continuing to support this family as they learn to navigate work and school, doctors and dentists, grocery stores and even family celebrations.

The family – Innocent and Berea, along with children Claire, Ryana, Eugene, Thomas, Elena and Hosana as well as sun-in-law Gendiddy and grandchild Ivan – this family of ten escaped from Congo over seventeen years ago. Their first stop was Uganda, where, along with millions of other people, they lived in camps waiting for official refugee status.

Yup. They waited for seventeen years, sleeping on the ground in tents, walking 6 miles to fetch water, cooking in open air, enjoying the luxury of electricity one day a week. They did this for seventeen years.

Next weekend, Ryana will say vows at her wedding and start a new life with her husband in Michigan!

You'll note that in the photo there are several people standing behind Ryana. Their hands are on Ryana's head as a sign of blessing. And you have no idea who they are or how determined those five women have been in supporting Ryana to this new chapter of her life.

Say a prayer of thanks today for the unseen ones. The quiet ones. The ones hard at work in the background in order for those in the foreground to thrive!

See you Sunday.

Peace,

Lisa