6/22/25 Sermon

I had a very different sermon planned for this morning.

All week, I’ve been meeting with civic and religious leaders in Highland Park and Deerfield to discuss the rise in antisemitism— and the threats our Jewish neighbors and their houses of worship have been receiving.

That conversation isn’t over. We’ll return to it next week.

But after what unfolded over the past 24 hours, I felt compelled to change course. I will say this right now, if you have Jewish friends and relatives, reach out to them, check on them, show them that you support them and their right to exist.  We may think it’s obvious but they really need to hear it and feel our love and care especially right now.

But this morning, I want to turn our attention to another piece of scripture.  Don’t worry about grabbing the pew bible and looking it up.  Just listen with me as we read.

Romans 12:9–21 (CEB)

Love should be shown without pretending. Hate evil, and hold on to what is good.
Love each other like the members of your family. Be the best at showing honor to each other.
Don’t hesitate to be enthusiastic—be on fire in the Spirit as you serve the Lord!
Be happy in your hope, stand your ground when you’re in trouble, and devote yourselves to prayer.

Contribute to the needs of God’s people, and welcome strangers into your home.
Bless people who harass you—bless and don’t curse them.

Be happy with those who are happy, and cry with those who are crying.

Consider everyone as equal, and don’t think that you’re better than anyone else. Instead, associate with people who have no status. Don’t think that you’re so smart.
Don’t pay back anyone for their evil actions with evil actions, but show respect for what everyone else believes is good.
If possible, to the best of your ability, live at peace with all people.
Don’t try to get revenge for yourselves, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath. It is written, “Revenge belongs to me; I will pay it back, says the Lord.”
Instead, If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him a drink. By doing this, you will pile burning coals of fire upon his head.
Don’t be defeated by evil, but defeat evil with good.

WORD OF LORD

This week, we’ve all watched the headlines shift from concern to crisis. As of yesterday, we began a military conflict with Iran and we’re holding our breath to see if it truly will escalate into all out open war. For some of us, those words land like a thunderclap. For others, it’s more like a slow-motion heartbreak—a dread that’s been building and now feels inescapable. Regardless of where we fall politically or emotionally, what’s clear is this: more lives are now in danger, and the world feels even more fragile than it did just 24 hours ago.

Some of us carry memories from past wars that never fully healed. Some of us are simply tired— weary of the endless cycle of violence, escalation, and grief. And as people of faith, we come together today not to escape that reality, but to ask what it means to live faithfully within it.

It’s a terrifying reality to live in a world where conflict erupts with such little warning and yet the stakes are so high. Even if we don't have a loved one in uniform, we aren’t untouched. We’re citizens, neighbors, and people of faith who care about human life—every human life. And we’re part of a nation once again at war. The discourse is growing sharper. The division deeper. And the temptation is even greater to choose a side and shout. The truth is, I don’t know what the best course of action is but I know what scripture calls us to believe and do. And I know I’m heartbroken—and that as Christians, we’re now called to wrestle yet again with what it means to be people of peace in a time of war.

We gather here worshipping in the face of this horrific reality and ask ourselves what to do about war. And because we are in church, we may ask ourselves what the Christian response to war is. Let’s be honest that some days it seems completely hopeless and that there’s no end in sight. We may find ourselves longing for escape—for divine intervention, for Christ to arrive and set all things right. We ask where the Kingdom of God is and when it will come. And in the meantime, it feels like we are stuck in the cold valley of the shadow of death.

We look back at better days, longing for peace and safety, yearning for a world where families are whole and the future feels steady. We ache for simplicity—for mornings untouched by breaking news, for conversations not shadowed by dread. And That longing is ancient. These questions aren’t new. They echo across generations of the faithful—who have faced war, loss, and fear and dared to speak the truth. In moments like these, we turn to voices who have walked this path before us—who name what we feel but struggle to say.

And so today, I’m reminded of the words of Franklin Roosevelt, who said plainly and without posturing: “I hate war.” That confession, that simple truth, still resonates.

And building on that, the preacher Henry Emerson Fosdick once said: “I renounce war because of what it compels us to do to our enemies, bombing their mothers and villages, starving their children by blockades, laughing over our coffee cups about every damnable thing we have been able to do to them.

I renounce war for its consequences, for the lies it lives on and propagates, for the undying hatreds it arouses, for the dictatorships it puts in the place of democracy, for the starvation that stalks after it.

I renounce war and never again, directly or indirectly, will I sanction or support another!”

He names what we often feel but struggle to say aloud: war distorts our common life. It deforms the soul of a nation.

So we cry out, with Isaiah, and we wonder when his vision will finally come to pass: "He shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more."

We wonder when the wolf will lie down with the lamb—when the peace of God won’t just feel like a dream, but like our shared daily reality.

And yet… we live in a world where cruelty and terror are commonplace. Where the term “collateral damage” gets tossed around like it's not talking about real people. Where families are torn apart, unable even to locate one another, much less hold each other close.

And so the words echo again in my soul: I hate war.

We wonder: were Christ’s words about peace just poetry? Were Gandhi’s nonviolence and King’s dream only visions for a different kind of people in a different kind of time?

But friends, if peace is only ever a dream, we risk treating it like a lullaby—something to comfort us while the world burns. If we leave it as just an ideal, we lose the urgency of now.

We can’t afford that luxury.

But even in our wondering, the Spirit doesn’t call us to retreat, but to respond. Even in doubt, there is a way forward—a way already walked by those who followed Christ with their whole lives.

The Christian peacemaker A.J. Muste, who marched and prayed and worked tirelessly for justice, once said: “There is no way to peace; peace is the way.”

That’s not just clever phrasing. That’s gospel truth. Peace isn’t the reward. Peace is the discipline. The practice. The path.

We have to choose daily to live the reality of peace, actively walking the path toward God's Kingdom.

And it isn’t the flashy way. It isn’t the easy way. It isn’t the way that wins popularity contests or secures power or prestige. But it's the way of the cross. And it’s the way of life.

Because peace and the Kingdom of God are not separate things. They are one and the same. To walk toward peace is to walk toward God.

Living for peace doesn’t mean we all have to go overseas and hand over our lives to the mission field. It doesn’t mean joining a monastery or giving up everything. It means waking up every day and making the decision to be a person of peace right where we are. In our homes. In our neighborhoods. In our politics. In our relationships.

It means living as if God’s presence is already among us.

It means being Christ to someone in quiet, unexpected ways. It means loving one another as we have been loved by Christ, and forgiving as we have been forgiven. It means living for something greater.

It is the narrow gate.

So today, let’s not just hope for peace—let us choose it. Let us choose to live for peace, right here, right now, in the firm belief that it may begin to spread.

Let it start today.

We are the children of the living God—the God whose light triumphs even in the deepest darkness of death.

We know that injustice anywhere threatens justice everywhere—not just because Dr. King said it, but because it’s written into the very bones of scripture and the beating heart of Christ’s gospel.

Let us become a living witness of that peace in Highland Park. If peace is the discipline, then our daily lives are the training ground. This is where resurrection gets real—not just in sermons or statements, but in mustard seeds, phone calls, and acts of stubborn hope.

Let us be Christ’s presence to one another—comforting the suffering, building up the brokenhearted, and welcoming the lonely.

Let’s show them the God of love—not by shouting louder, but by living deeper.

We remember that no act is insignificant. No kindness too small. No life unworthy. Our God is the God of mustard seeds and hidden treasure, of small beginnings and impossible transformations.

So when they tell us it can’t be done—that peace is unrealistic, that justice is naïve, that love is weak—we will not be deterred.

Because we follow a God of resurrection.

We follow a God who brings life where there was death, hope where there was despair, wholeness where there was brokenness.

And we will not rest until the world is changed—until swords are beaten into plowshares, and war becomes something we no longer remember how to do.

Let our way of life testify to that hope.

Let our lives proclaim what the world forgets: that peace isn’t just the way — it’s the only way.

And though the goals are lofty, and we go like sheep among wolves—yes, there will be those who call us foolish, who call us naive dreamers, who roll their eyes at our hope—we go forward anyway.

Because we believe love can still win.

Because we believe God is not finished with this world.

Because, as William Cullen Bryant said, and I believe with all my heart: “Truth crushed to earth will rise again.”

We declare with Amos: “Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”

We cry out with Dr. King: ‘We are now faced with the fact that tomorrow is today. We are confronted with the fierce urgency of now.”

We remember Christ—our light, our peace, our savior—who was born into a broken world, suffered with us, and was raised in glory.

And we remember his words: “You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid.”

God, may we live into this calling—not with fear, but with faith; not with despair, but with your defiant hope.

Refuse to hide your light. Choose peace. Embody love. Dare to live toward the world God dreams of.

And Let it begin again today. Amen.