8/10/25 Sermon

By the time we get to this part of Luke’s Gospel, Jesus is speaking to a community that knows what it is to live with uncertainty. They’ve seen the power of Rome, they’ve watched religious leaders cozy up to that power, they’ve lived through seasons when the future seemed so fragile. In a world like that, fear isn’t an occasional visitor—it’s a daily companion.

And Luke writes to a church still living in that tension a generation later. A church waiting for Jesus’ return, but with no idea of when that’ll actually happen. A church learning that faithfulness isn’t about predicting the moment, but about living ready in every moment.

Throughout his Gospel, Luke has been building a picture of discipleship that holds two things together—how we handle what we’ve been given, and how we stay awake to what God is doing. This section of chapter 12 weaves those themes together. It’s about generosity that loosens our grip on fear, and watchfulness that keeps us attuned to God’s presence even in the long dark hours.

Listen now for the Word of God from the Gospel according to Luke, chapter 12, beginning at verse 32.

“Don’t be afraid, little flock, because your Father delights in giving you the kingdom. Sell your possessions and give to those in need. Make for yourselves wallets that don’t wear out—a treasure in heaven that never runs out. No thief comes near there, and no moth destroys. Where your treasure is, there your heart will be too.

“Be dressed for service and keep your lamps lit. Be like people waiting for their master to come home from a wedding celebration, who can immediately open the door for him when he arrives and knocks. Happy are those servants whom the master finds waiting up when he arrives. I assure you that he will dress himself to serve, seat them at the table as honored guests, and serve them. Happy are those whom he finds alert, even if he comes at midnight or just before dawn. But know this: if the homeowner had known what time the thief was coming, they wouldn’t have allowed their home to be broken into. You also must be ready, because the Human One is coming at a time when you don’t expect him.”

WORD OF THE LORD

When I was a kid I used to have these reoccurring nightmares. I’d be walking around the mall in my hometown in my underwear, and in one hand I’d have a bunch of money. Everyone would be pointing and whispering and laughing at me. I’d walk into stores, buy clothes, and put them on—but the moment I walked out of the store, they’d disappear. Over and over again I’d have that dream.

I thought that when I got older dreams like that would stop. But instead, they’ve just taken on a different form. Now, the dream I have like that involves me being fully clothed, but I get up to preach a sermon and my manuscript is blank. I look down and the scripture and the title are there, but the pages are empty. And I end up rambling so long that people in the congregation start walking out. I hate those dreams.

I’m afraid that one day it’ll come true. For that matter, I’d be afraid if either one of those dreams came true. But I don’t get to the mall much anymore, and when I do, I always double-check that I’m wearing my pants.

Fear is a powerful thing. And there seems to be a lot of things I’m afraid of.

I’m afraid of heights and snakes. I’m afraid of dropping my keys down a sewer drain again because I’ve done it before. Pointy things near my eyes make me anxious. I’m afraid that if someone throws up in front of me, I will in turn throw up with them. Zombies scare me—or maybe it’s just the idea of zombies that scares me.

I’m scared sometimes that my life won’t mean anything. I’m scared I don’t always practice what I preach, and that sometimes people see me as a hypocrite instead of someone who’s struggling like them on this journey of life. I’m scared I’m not always the best parent. I’m scared my kids might grow up to resent me. I’m scared of outliving them. I’m scared my parents will die before I’m ready—if you can ever really be ready for that. Sometimes I’m scared that maybe this is all there really is, and when I die, I just die. My doubts scare me. And sometimes I get scared that maybe my ministry doesn’t really benefit anyone but me.

And you see, these fears can be powerful motivators. Sometimes they keep me motivated to do better. Sometimes they keep me up at night. Sometimes they make me react to people and situations in less-than-helpful ways. But more importantly, these fears can decide for me how I live my life. I can choose to live into my fears and allow them to dictate how I respond. And I could live my entire life out of fear. That’s not uncommon—people do it all the time. And it’s sad to see when it happens. Because often, instead of motivating us to do better, our fears keep us from living fully.

It’s even sadder when you see entire groups or institutions live out of fear. I think about this a lot when I hear the latest public health scare, or another “terror threat,” or when the news runs a story like, “Cereal: What you don’t know may kill you.” I wonder what happened to the kind of boldness that could look at a Great Depression or the attack on Pearl Harbor and still hear a leader say, “We have nothing to fear but fear itself.”

We’re slipping into a culture of fear where news outlets profit from it and politicians build careers on it. And the church hasn’t been immune from it either. Too often we circle the wagons, tighten the belts, become suspicious of new programs and new people. The word “change” becomes the mother of all fears. Rather than trying something new, we keep doing the same thing, just harder, hoping it’ll eventually work. And that only kills things faster. Fear is powerful—and it can be crippling.

And that’s exactly the world Jesus is speaking into in Luke 12. He’s talking to a little community that feels powerless, surrounded by larger forces, unsure about the future. They know following him puts them at odds with the religious establishment, the empire, maybe even their own families. And right into that anxiety, Jesus says:

“Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.”

He tells them to sell their possessions, give to the poor, and store up treasure in heaven. And then he says, “Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit.” In other words—don’t just sit around paralyzed by fear. Live prepared, live awake, live ready.

And then comes the part that echoes that same image Paul will later use: he says the Son of Man will come at an unexpected hour, like a thief in the night. You can’t predict it, so stop trying. The question isn’t when it’s going to happen. The question is: Will you be ready? Will you be found living in hope, generosity, and faithfulness—or huddled in fear?

I’ll admit that, along with all my personal fears, there are times when I look out at the broad spectrum of the world and I get scared. It’s hard not to think the world is in darkness, maybe worse than it’s ever been. But the world has always seen darkness. We forget the roads we’ve already walked and the obstacles we’ve already overcome when we see the ones ahead. Struggle isn’t new. And if God has brought us through before, why wouldn’t God do it now?

We don’t need to fear the struggles we face—whether individually, as a church, or as a nation. Because the truth is, Jesus calls us children of the Kingdom, and tells us it’s God’s good pleasure to give us that Kingdom. And it’s precisely when the world seems dark that we need to keep our lamps lit. Precisely when fear is loudest, that’s when Christians are needed to stand up and say there’s a better way. We cannot live in fear when what’s needed is that we live out of love. And I know that’s possible—because I’ve seen it in you. I know its not just an ideal because it’s something I’ve seen lived out right here, in this very community.

I’ve seen it in the way you care for one another, in the way you welcome new faces into this community, in the way you rally around those who are hurting, and in the way you show up for the work of the Kingdom even when it isn’t easy. You’re a church that refuses to live in fear. You’re a church that acts out of love. You’re a church that will not be defined by struggle. You’re a church that lives into hope. You keep your lamps lit.

And if we take that love and hope and light we share here and carry it into our neighborhoods, our workplaces, our schools, and our homes—there’s no telling how far it will spread. If we keep our eyes fixed on what God has put in front of us—caring for our neighbors, lifting the weary, speaking truth, and living with grace—the world will change. Because what the world needs now is people living in love instead of fear, people living in hope instead of despair, people carrying light instead of darkness.

Right here in this room, we are building a glimpse of the Kingdom of God—what it looks like when Christ is at the center of a community.

I agree with Jesus—we have nothing to fear. It’s the Father’s good pleasure to give us the Kingdom. So be dressed for action, keep your lamps lit, and be ready—not because you’re afraid of what’s coming, but because you’re living for the One who’s coming.

So may you encourage one another and build each other up.

May you realize that through Jesus Christ there’s no fear you cannot overcome.

And may you live as children of the Kingdom, with lamps burning bright in the dark.

Amen.