Holy Trinity Ankeny

Scripture does not tell us much about Lydia, but we have enough to know that she begins the story as one who is always the outsider. A woman in a man’s world, a person of wealth and means, an immigrant, a gentile among Jews. Then she hears the gospel and is baptized, and all these identities are replaced. She becomes a child of God, “marked by the cross of Christ and sealed by the Holy Spirit.” She becomes the leader of the church at Philippi. How does this transformation happen? How does it happen for us?

The Book of Revelation reveals the gift of a New Jerusalem as a symbol of the fulfillment of God’s reign of peace, justice, and love. In that gentle reign there will be no more tears. That is good news in a world where there is much to make us weep. The struggle is that God’s new Jerusalem transforms and redeems the old one. What if we like the old one, the old ways, the old ideas? The tears will continue to flow if everything stays the same; if we long for what once was. How do we imagine and allow ourselves to live in a city where there are no more tears?

They stood in silence and whispered a risk: “Jesus is Lord.” Not a slogan. Not a ritual. A choice that could cost everything. What kind of faith dares to speak when power says to stay quiet? This week, Revelation doesn’t give us dragons or end times charts. It gives us a vision—a multitude, a Shepherd, and a God who sees every tear. Acts 9:36–43 | Revelation 7:9–17 | John 10:22–30

Ever been on the wrong road, headed the wrong way? Worse yet, even been on the on the wrong road and not know it? Peter and Paul are on the wrong road in the scriptures for this day. No map, GPS, or self-help will straighten them out, turn them around or get them headed in the right direction. Only an act of resurrection can do that. Thankfully Jesus intervenes to alter their courses – as he does with us, every day.

Last week was Easter — but the story isn’t over. For resurrection people, Easter never ends. After the crowds thin and the music fades, a quieter question remains: Is it still true? Is resurrection still real… even now? Like Thomas, we find ourselves reaching out — hoping to touch what our hearts dare to believe. Acts 5:27–32 | Revelation 1:4–8 | John 20:19–31

Christians have come to worship not on the seventh day (Sabbath) but on the eighth day, a day that signifies new creation. When the women came to the tomb of Jesus, they were prepared to anoint a dead body. They expected nothing new, so they brought spices and cloth, grief and despair. They had no expectation that a new creation had dawned in the resurrection of Christ. The eighth day brought hope and is a day we celebrate every week as we gather, hear the bread, share the meal, and send the risen people of God back into the world to be the risen Christ.  

They laid their cloaks on the road—not just as a gesture of welcome, but as a sign of surrender. A letting go. That moment asked something of them. And it asks something of us too. So here's the question: What are you still holding onto? What stays wrapped around your shoulders, even as Jesus passes by? Luke 19:28-40 

Soren Kierkegaard, Danish theologian and philosopher, said that Christ did not come to make admirers. He came to make followers. You can admire Abraham Lincoln, but you can’t become him. You can admire Michael Jordon or Caitlin Clark, but you can’t become them. To admire Christ is to live a life untransformed by his grace. To follow him is to become like him. May this be our Lenten journey.

A lost son in a distant country. A loyal son who never left. Both lost more than they realized. What if being found isn’t about where you are—but about who knows you?   Joshua 5:9-12 | 2 Corinthians 5:16-21 | Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

Repentance is not one of our favorite topics of discussion. In the Season of Lent, and in the Gospel of Luke, the subject is unavoidable. If we believe that we have faith and repent so that we can earn God’s favor and avoid God’s punishment, repentance is like a bad report card. Luke’s message today unflinchingly declares that we cannot avoid the tragedy of life. We cannot assume that our prosperity means God loves us more than others. The day of death and judgment will come to all. Jesus' parable of the fig tree declares that though unavoidable, today is an opportunity for grace to turn us around and help us bear fruit.