HOMILY: "Jesus Calling"

Sunday, February 15, 2026

Sunday of the Transfiguration

Mark 9

1.

I’m thinking this Transfiguration Sunday of a picture I saw this week—I think it was published in a Minneapolis paper—of a rather disheveled woman in an ordinary aqua blue bathrobe; and she’s using her phone to film ICE agents in the street, early one morning, as they aggressively detain immigrant neighbors and force them into unmarked vans. And it’s probably 5 degrees outside.

I imagine she’s been sitting at her breakfast table four or five floors up, enjoying a perfect cup of dark roast coffee with a warm English muffin, and closing her eyes with gratitude for the simplicity of a day to herself. And I imagine she’s been listening to a little music in the background, maybe a little morning jazz on her favorite radio station. Something easy and sweet.

Photo by Leila Navidi, Minnesota Star Tribune

But then her phone buzzes, a notice comes in on a Signal channel, and she dashes four flights down, into the street, without wasting even a moment to get dressed. ICE agents masked up and wound up. Whole families traumatized. And the robed woman shows up for her neighbors exactly as she is, precisely as she is, human and heartbroken, her whole self. In her aqua blue bathrobe. Because this moment in our history is not about heroism or saviorism or any of that; it’s about showing up. As we are. As she is. Just showing up. For our neighbors.

The irrepressible Alan Watts once said: “The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.” And it may well be that this is the message, the invitation, even the gospel this Transfiguration Sunday. “The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.” She is something like an icon. The woman in her bathrobe. Without brushing the hair from her eyes. Leaving the radio on. Down four flights and into the street. Her phone ready to roll. Showing up for her neighbors.

And I’m reminded, then, of these lines in Beverly Tatum’s psalm:

And what does God’s Love require of us?
Throughout the ages it is the same:
to act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with our God.
Let us listen and follow directions.
Let our actions be our song of praise.

Isn’t that the line for 2026? “Let our actions be our song of praise.”

2.

We might say that Transfiguration Sunday is something of a “liminal” moment in liturgical time. Which is to say it’s not yet Lent; that begins on Wednesday, this week, with the tracing of ashes and dust into our skin and skulls. Not Lent, but not Epiphany either. In liturgical time, we’re between seasons, off of one well-worn path, but not yet onto the other. And that’s what liminality is, right? A space where old paths no longer track, and new trails have yet to reveal themselves. A longtime relationship unravels. Graduation beckons. A partner dies. A new calling arrives. Liminal seasons. And in these liminal seasons, we wander a little, or even a lot. We have to. Once trusted truths seem less certain. Trails once loved don’t work. The world seems both bigger and stranger.

I imagine this is something our friends in Minneapolis and Portland have lived with this past month. The world seeming both bigger and stranger. Their streets seeming dangerous and cruel, and yet, and yet, holy ground just the same. Holy ground. Where old paths no longer work, and new trails have yet to reveal themselves.

I don’t know why, exactly, but all those icicles out there, all those spikey, dripping icicles are signs to me of this liminality, this betweenness, today; not yet warming into spring, but not frigid, freezing winter either. Symbols of transformation, spiritual and communal and ecological. Change is in the air, and it’s in our bodies, and it’s in our communities, and it’s even in our eaves and gutters. And where all this change is going is anybody’s guess. But ambiguity need not be the enemy of faith; if we’re prayerful about it.

There are layers and layers of meaning and mystery in the story of Jesus’ transfiguration on that mountain in the countryside. The storyteller wants us to see Jesus, to imagine Jesus, to understand Jesus in the great tradition of the Hebrew prophets, prophets like Moses and Elijah. Like Moses and Elijah, Jesus comes to make a claim for God’s universal love, for God’s justice and mercy. And like Moses and Elijah, Jesus will insist on covenants of compassion and kindness. People of faith showing up.

And then, did you notice how the storyteller playfully mocks Peter’s fascination with permanence? Peter’s passion for memorializing this moment in sanctuaries that mark it forever as more precious, even more holy than others? It’s to be expected. Of course Peter wants to build a retreat, or a temple or maybe even a spa on that mountain. It’s a pretty cool spot.

But of course, Jesus quickly insists that they retrace their steps, that the summit is not their home, that the work of love awaits in the valleys and villages below. And as the disciples follow him down, stepping with him into the lives and heartache of human communities there, the disciples begin to wonder aloud and discuss among themselves what this resurrection business is really all about. When he says he will rise from the dead, what in the world is he meaning to say? It’s not all that obvious.

And again, we’re in a liminal space, a liminal season. A season for conversation and discussion, a season for bewilderment and wonder. Only when we let go sometimes, only when we peel away old habits and certainties, does grace reveal herself anew. Ambiguity is hardly the enemy of faith; it can indeed be faith’s good friend. If we’re prayerful about it.

3.

The most compelling message in all this may be hidden in plain sight. And that’s simply this: that Jesus matters. Jesus matters. You do not have to be a literalist to find that Jesus and the stories of his life awaken in us a spirit of courage that defies complacency and despair. You do not have to be a fundamentalist to find that Jesus and the traditions around his story inspire among us practices that make our hearts tender for service and resistance. And you do not have to be a zealot to find that Jesus walks with you, a source of wisdom in seasons of unrest, a companion and friend along roads once deserted.

Not the fundamentalist version of Jesus, the Jesus who aims to supersede all other teachers and saviors; and not the orthodox version of Jesus, the Jesus who threatens the world with judgment lest we wander from his side.

No, Jesus matters, because in his company we awaken to awe and wonder at the heart of biblical faith. Jesus matters, because in his company we awaken to the holy gifts discovered in neighborliness and solidarity. Jesus matters, because in his company we find mercy in transgressing boundaries and crossing borders and embracing God’s call to unity and communion. We break the rules that need to be broken, as he does, in order to reveal God’s love in human form and ordinary time.

APARTHEID-FREE: "A Moment of Truth"

HOMILY: "Hold On, Hold On"

Sunday, February 8, 2026

The Fifth Sunday after Epiphany
Matthew 5:1-12 (The Beatitudes)

1.

I mentioned last Sunday that I was recently introduced to a wonderful book by Rob Hopkins, a British pioneer in permaculture and sustainability. And it’s the book’s title that fluttered in my heart for days after: “How to Fall in Love with the Future.” “How to Fall in Love with the Future.”

UNH Marchers with Church Friends

I confess that I then had to look up permaculture—which (as you probably know) is a regenerative design system, based on observing natural ecosystems, to create sustainable, self-sufficient human habitats. A world made whole and holy. By care and partnership within watersheds and localities. And I was thrilled then to discover that, right here on the Seacoast, there is a thriving network of permaculture farmers, practitioners and visionaries—who are showing us how, right here in frosty New England, to make it happen. One of these is my friend Amy Antonucci with whom I was arrested at Congressman Pappas’ office in Dover two years ago. A brave, nonviolent and peace-loving perma-culturalist. Amy might even say that permaculture is something like her religion these days. And I wouldn’t talk her out of that.

But back to that title, to Rob Hopkins’ book: “How to Fall in Love with the Future.” The idea is that we’re living in an era of constant and deliberate dread. But human communities are capable, truly capable, of overcoming dread with imagination, and overwhelming anxiety with creativity and compassion. Why not fall in love with the future? See where that takes us? Step bravely into a world worthy of the two-year-olds among us?

Of course, authoritarian bosses sow fear and dread into the ground of our common life: fear of scarcity and financial ruin; fear of the colored immigrant coming for our jobs; fear of the religion we don’t understand; and dread around the waterfall of bad news that hits our screens, souls and spirits every morning. It’s this dread that fuels a fascist agenda of wealth consolidation, resource extraction and ecocide in the name of security and nationalism. From Ukraine to Minneapolis. From Gaza to the front pages of our papers. Dread drives the conversation. But it doesn’t have to be so, says Rob Hopkins. Within us, within all of us—is a river of wisdom wide enough and deep enough to reveal a future of shared prosperity, mutual blessing and wonder.

And Jesus loves a good river. But this morning he climbs a mountain, probably his favorite mountain, trails of childhood wonder, views of the lake where he learned to swim and then fish; and he climbs this dear and beloved mountain to meet this crippling dread head on and offer us a practice, a future we can love. A practice, a future we can embrace. A practice, a future we need not fear—but must nurture in daily choices and cultivate in backyard gardens and indeed claim as our dear and precious human birthright. To be clear: that practice is fully articulated in the whole of the Sermon on the Mount (which we find in the fifth, sixth and seventh chapters of Matthew). What we read this morning—these Beatitudes—is just the preface, just his introduction. But it’s a pretty fair place to start. The first steps on a trail that leads perhaps to a future we can love. And build together.

2.

For starters, we fall in love with the future when we are honest with our pain, our grief, our loss. And this runs against the cultural grain in a lot of ways, even mainstream spiritual memes that prioritize confidence and positivity. “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” Jesus says. “Blessed are those who mourn,” he says. For theirs is the kin-dom; for they will be comforted. The biblical tradition here, the practice, is sometimes known as lamentation. Lamentation. And it’s absolutely critical to distinguish between lamentation and dread. Lamentation invites God into the heart of our heartbreak. Lamentation dares even to challenge or question God; but calls on God just the same. Dread—on the other hand—presupposes God’s indifference; and so often yields to despair.

It’s stunning, really, to watch what’s happening in Minneapolis these past several weeks: how the intensity of that community’s grief is now vocalized in community song circles and vibrant, colorful, loving protests. With so many neighbors seized from schools and playgrounds; and advocates killed in their streets—Minnesotans are leaning into lamentation, honest and raw lamentation; but not dread or anything like despair.

Which is not to say that their singing erases their pain, or that their efforts cancel so many excruciating losses—but a community of the brokenhearted sings a song of determination and love; a community of the angry organizes creatively, trains itself boldly, moves together toward a future they can taste now. Lamentation. Lamentation. God is in the midst of it all. Attentive to their pain, committed to their dream of freedom and justice for all. “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” Jesus says. “Blessed are those who mourn,” he says. For theirs is the kin-dom; for they will be comforted.

COVERAGE: "Let Them Stay!"

MUSIC: "Won't You Be My Neighbor?"

TRAINING: "Resistance and Nonviolence"

PRESS CONFERENCE: "ICE Out of NH!"

NH Faith Leaders Press Conference
Granite State Organizing Project (GSOP)
Thursday, January 29 @ 2 pm

Manchester, NH

Today among these beloved leaders, in this beloved place, in this beloved city: we stand on the traditional ancestral homeland of Pennacook, Abenaki and Wabanaki Peoples of past and present. We acknowledge and honor with gratitude the aki (land), nibi (water), and alnobak (people) who have stewarded the N’dakinna (homeland) throughout the generations and continue to be a vital voice for the good among us.

Opening/Framing:

Good afternoon. I am the Reverend Dave Grishaw-Jones and I am glad to stand today with clergy and leaders from many wonderful New Hampshire faith communities and the Granite State Organizing Project. I am myself the Pastor and Teacher of the Community Church of Durham, a Sanctuary Congregation of the United Church of Christ.

We stand together this afternoon just a stone’s throw from West High in Manchester to cry out for our children’s futures, for our families’ futures, for our teachers’ futures, and for our country’s soul. At its best, at our best, we Americans are as safe and as strong as a public high school. We are as confident as its students, and as dedicated as their parents and teachers. What makes America truly great are schools like West High where students from many cultures and nations study together and grow together and develop a sense of community and civic commitment together.

When ICE terrorizes our streets and schools, as they’ve done this year in Minneapolis and Manchester and a hundred other cities, ICE strikes violently at the heart of our American community and the spirit of our democracy. When students have to ask parents over dinner whether they’ll be ambushed next, or taken next, or even killed next, ICE has sown fear and panic in our children and their dreams.

We stand together—leaders, clergy, believers from many traditions—to speak to our elected officials and to our neighbors with one voice today. In our America, from Manchester to Minneapolis, there is a plumb line—straight and true—that falls clearly and unmistakably in our midst and holds us all to account. Who will we be? To terrorize our neighborhoods and deport neighbors and friends is to commit a kind of civil and moral blasphemy, a crime that diminishes our democracy and tears at the ties that bind us. Who will we be? To kill advocates for immigrants, champions of human rights, in our own city streets, is to pervert the cause of righteousness in plain sight. Who will we be? To sow fear and panic in our children is to abuse the power entrusted to our leaders by the will of the people. Who will we be?

Today we will bring our many traditions to bear on this American crisis. Today we will speak of ICE’s cruelty and crimes. Today we will insist on rigorous accountability for the madness our own government has set loose in our streets. Today we will insist on congressional oversight for everything ICE is doing and every dollar ICE is spending. Today we will call out the courage of communities resisting together, in solidarity, in Minneapolis, Manchester and across the country. And today we will speak with one voice of a plumb line—straight and true—that does not tolerate hatred, that does not accept state-sponsored violence and weaponized occupation, that does not in any way acquiesce to fascism and racism in this good land.

Because we love the children of New Hampshire, today we say “No more!” Because we love our cities, our neighborhoods and schools like West High in Manchester, today we say “No more!” Because we love this country and are committed to a better future, today we say “No more!”

And because we love one another, one people from many faiths and cultures and nations; because we love one another not only in word, but in deed, we say—with the Prophet Amos and the Prophet Martin and so many others throughout history—“Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”

CRY OUT: "No More Funding for ICE!"

SPEAK OUT: "ICE is Out of Control"

BE ALERT: "From Minneapolis to Palestine"

 

See more at www.uccmps.org.