"Two Hands are Better than One"--The Compassionate Father and the Prodigal Son (Luke 15 and Psalm 103)

A Sermon for Father's Day at St. Timothy Lutheran Church (June 21, 2026)

There was a man who had two sons…” These two sons also had a mother. If it were Mother’s Day, I would preach on the motherhood of God — reflected in that remarkable image of Jesus weeping over Jerusalem, longing to gather her children like a hen gathers her chicks under her wings. (Luke 13:34) But since it’s Father’s Day, I want to focus on the Compassionate Father in the parable of the Prodigal Son.

One note as we begin. Martin Luther — who gave us the Reformation — famously struggled to pray the words Our Father who art in heaven. His own father was demanding and severe, and Luther carried that wound for years, seeing God more as judge and accuser than as father. Many people share that experience. If your father was harsh, absent, or frightening, the phrase Our Father can feel like a closed door. I want you to know: the father in this parable is not that father. And the God of Psalm 103, which we read together this morning, is not that God. 

The compassionate father depicted in the Psalm and in the Parable has been captured in one of the greatest paintings ever made. Take a look at the screen. I. Rembrandt’s Painting The Return of the Prodigal Son was painted in the 17th century, in the final years of Rembrandt’s life. (He died at 63). It hangs on a full wall of the Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg, Russia — nearly life-sized, so you feel you are stepping into the scene rather than viewing it from a distance. You can see it here on the screen and printed in your bulletin. 

The canvas holds five figures. Which one do you most identify with? The younger son who went off to the far country? The older son who stayed home? The witness sitting nearby? The shadowed figures in the background? Or the compassionate father himself? 

The spotlight is on a humbled, kneeling son with broken shoes and a shaved head. He’s been through a lot in the far country— he no longer feels like he belongs. And yet he is still wearing his sword — the last sign of who he truly is. He is still his father’s son. And bending over him: the old man, the father. Eyes nearly blind from years of scanning the horizon, waiting. His massive red cloak spread around his son like the wing of a bird. Hands resting on his shoulders. Welcome home. 

To understand the painting, you need to understand the painter. As a young man, Rembrandt was wild and reckless — arrogant, extravagant, nearly impossible to live with. Over 63 years, he had squandered his wealth and lost his family: the beloved wife of his youth, three young sons, two daughters, a second partner… Lost… The masterpiece of his old age is a self-portrait — Rembrandt painted his own weathered face onto the compassionate father. It is the face of a man who has reached the end of his own pride, and who now understands something about grace he could not have understood in his youth. Finally, he has become the compassionate father. 

II. The Compassionate Father of Pslam 103

Psalm 103 presents a portrait of the Compassionate Father in three phrases: Our God is slow to anger, eager to forgive, deeply compassionate. 

Slow to anger — “The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.” That Hebrew word for steadfast love is hesed — lovingkindness, mercy that doesn’t quit. When you stumble, when you fail, when you disappear, the first movement in the heart of God is not fury and judgment. It is Love and Mercy. 

Eager to forgive — “As far as the east is from the west, so far he removes our transgressions from us.” “Buried in the deepest sea, yes that’s good enough for me…” — as some of us learned to sing in Sunday School. Too good to believe. But it is the gospel. 

Deeply compassionate — “As a father has compassion for his children, so the Lord has compassion for those who fear him. For he knows how we were made; he remembers that we are dust.” He knows our frame. He knows our limitations, our wounds, our need. His authority is always expressed by tenderness and love. 

And in the parable we watch all three qualities move through the story: The wayward son has come to his senses. He rehearsed his speech — Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Make me like one of your hired servants. But the father has been watching and waiting. 

And when he sees his son on the road— still far off— he doesn’t wait for the speech. He is filled with splanchnizomai — gut-level, visceral compassion, the kind that moves through your whole body before your mind catches up. And he runs out to meet him. He throws his arms around his child. He kisses him. And before the speech is given, he is calling out: the best robe, a ring on his finger, sandals on his feet, the fatted calf. Music. Dancing. Feasting. What was lost is found. What was dead has come back to life. 

No probation. No conditions. Rather, radical grace; and unconditional love, acceptance and forgiveness. Like the song we sometimes sing to God in worship? “You’re a good, good father. It's who You are, it's who You are, it's who You are. And I'm loved by You...” 

 

III. Two Hands 

Now look again at the painting —look closely at the father’s hands. They are not the same. The right hand is broad, strong, thick — you can see the pressure, the weight of it on the son’s shoulder. The left hand is smaller, softer, lighter — more tender. 

What I learned from my teacher, Fr. Henri Nouwen, is that the great Rembrandt, who knew grief and failure, dissapation and redemption, painted his masterpiece as a father with two kinds of touch. 

One hand is firm. It says: I believe in you. You can do this. You got this! The proverbial thumb in the back. The other hand is tender — lighter, open. It says: I’ve got you. You don’t have to earn this. Rest. 

A compassionate parent needs both. A marriage needs both. A family needs both. What I’m describing is a love that holds us in two ways at once: with enough strength to give us confidence, and enough tenderness to give us peace. When only one hand is raised, something essential goes missing. 

Illustration I — One Hand: Jack Lewis 

Last week I was in northern France, near the WWI battlegrounds where C. S. Lewis, author of The Chronicles of Narnia, fought on the front lines. I presented a paper at a Lewis conference there and shared a story about his father. 

A certain man in Ireland had two sons: Warnie and Jack (Clive Staples Lewis). Their mother died of cancer when Jack was nine years old — shattering their world. Their father Albert, an attorney in Belfast, raised his boys alone, with the help of a nanny and notoriously hard English boarding schools and regular visits home. Albert loved his sons, for sure. But he was emotionally limited — a man with one hand of blessing. He could provide. He could advocate. He could get things done. But the warmer hand — the hand of empathy, of emotional presence, of simply showing up — that hand was rarely raised. 

Both sons grew up and went to war in France. During the Battle of Arras on April 15, 1918, an artillery shell exploded beside Jack. Shrapnel tore into his chest, his leg, his wrist — one fragment piercing his lung. The sergeant standing next to him, a man [named Ayres,] who had become something of a father figure to Jack in the trenches, was killed instantly. 

At nineteen years of age, Jack believed he was dying too. He later wrote about that NDE experience with an eerie calm: “Just after I had been hit, I found — or thought I found — that I was not breathing and concluded that this was death. I felt no fear and certainly no courage. It did not seem to be an occasion for either.” No panic. No prayer. Just a young man observing himself from somewhere strangely outside the moment, taking note of the facts. 

Jack survived. Stretcher-bearers carried him off the field — not far from where I stood last week. He was eventually transferred to a hospital in Bristol, England to recover. And from that hospital bed he wrote his father a tender letter: I’m alive. I’m being cared for. I miss you. “I know that you will come and see me,” he wrote. “I was never before so eager to cling to every bit of our old home life and see you… Come and see me.” 

Albert wrote back promptly. He was relieved his son was alive. He assured Jack he was doing everything in his power to keep him from being sent back to the front — and as an attorney, he made good on that promise. He worked the system, he got things done. 

But he did not come. He did not come to visit. 

Weeks passed. Then months. After four months of requests, Jack wrote: “It is four months now since I returned from France, and my friends laughingly say that ‘my father in Ireland’ is a mythical creation.” 

I feel sad and sorry for young Jack. I wish his father had found a way to visit him. 

One hand. A strong hand, a caring hand. But one hand is not enough. Jack found the second hand he needed in a mother figure. One of his army buddies, (his name was Paddy Moore), had a mother who was warm, present, and emotionally attentive. 

The two young soldiers made a pact: if either of them died in battle, the survivor would care for the other’s parent. Paddy was killed in action. Jack kept his word, moved in with Mrs. Jane Moore and her daughter, Maureen, and they became the family he needed. The lighter touch. The second hand. 

Illustration II — Two Hands: Bill Presnell 

A more recent example — two hands of blessing, fully used. My friend and colleague Bill Presenll died last week at 91, after a long, good, and fruitful life as a minister, therapist, and family man. He was the best to work with — a mentor, and in many ways a father figure to me. His daughter posted a beautiful tribute this week: “Dad was a quietly intelligent, thoughtful, steady, calm and loving force in the lives of all who knew him. He was a beloved husband, father, stepfather, brother, Grandpa, great-grandpa, uncle, minister, mentor, and counselor who touched so many lives… And now we will all strive to walk forward in his way in love, just as he taught us.” 

And she named the quality at the center of all his relationships: He had an indelible gift for truly ‘seeing’ people and responding from the heart. Rest in sweet peace, Pop. We just love you to pieces.” 

Both hands. The steady, firm presence of a man who showed up — and the tender gift of someone who truly saw you and responded from the heart. Albert Lewis had one hand. Bill Presnell had two. And their children needed both. 

Conclusion:  Two Hands are Better than One

Listen. Most fathers fall short (including myself). Most of us have given more of one hand than the other — and most sons and daughters have needed more than their parents could give. Father’s Day is complicated. Not everyone here has easy memories, and not everyone had a father who showed up. That is real, and it belongs in this room. 

But what the parable and the painting together tell us is this: 

There is a Heart of Compassion at the center of the universe. A good, good Father; 

• who is slow to anger, eager to forgive, and deeply compassionate 
• who waits and watches the road, sees you coming from afar, and runs to meet you on the road. 
• who looks into your eyes, hold your face in his hands, listens deeply, and sees you for who you truly are. 

His invitation is simply to come home. To kneel and receive the blessing of both hands. 

 

And to hear, in the silence of that embrace, the inner Voice of Love: "You are my son, you are my daughter. With you I am well pleased." 

May we hear that inner voice today, and learn to say with Henri Nouwen:    

“Here, I can kneel before my Father, put my ear against his chest and listen, 

without interruption, to the heartbeat of God.”—Henri Nouwen

Three Cowboys Walk Into a Bar...

Three Cowboys Walk Into a Bar…

Shawn is tipsy. John is not.

I had seen them both earlier that evening at the Red Dog Saloon and Bowling Alley on Mane Street while I was eating a brick-oven pizza made by cowboy Chris. Now we’ve crossed paths again down the street at Pappy & Harriet’s.

Pappy & Harriet’s is a legendary Western club where more than 200 people pack in most nights for music and special events. Over the years artists like Paul McCartney and Robert Plant have made surprise appearances on its small desert stage. Tonight there’s no live band—just a DJ spinning a playlist—but the place is still sold out.

Unable to get a table near the stage, I settle for a free bar seat in front of a television screen streaming the DJ at his turntable.

I’m glancing up at the screen and scrolling on my phone, minding my own business, when a voice behind me says:

“Hey—I met you at the bowling alley. You said you’re from San Diego. I’m from Rancho Peñasquitos.”

He introduces himself as John. He’s out tonight with his best friend Shawn. Both are locals.

After some small talk John tells me he lives on fifteen acres in the desert in an old house his grandfather built. His grandparents had filed for the land back in the early 1960s under a homesteading claim—fifty dollars and some paperwork.

“I love it out here,” he says. “I’ll never go back to San Diego.”

“How old are you?” I ask.

“Twenty-eight.”

Shawn is twenty-five.

“I’m seventy-three,” I tell them. “Old enough to be your grandfather.”

John studies me for a moment.

“You seem like a solid, stable guy,” he says. “What advice would you have for us?”

Shawn orders another drink and leans in, trying to follow along.

I pause and think: What do these guys actually need from me?

“Well,” I begin, “how’s your 401(k) retirement plan?”

Neither of them has one.

“My advice is to start a Roth IRA and max it out every year.”

They shrug. Neither seems particularly invested in the system. Maybe gold. Maybe silver. Definitely guns. Shawn tells me everyone has to watch out for themselves.

“What else you got?” John asks.

I pause again.

Then I click into pastor mode.

“Listen, guys. I’m going to leave in about fifteen minutes. So here’s my best counsel: Love your neighbor as you love yourself. That’s what the Good Book says.”

John leans forward.

“Who’s your neighbor?” he asks, almost like he’s testing me.

“Your neighbor is the person next door,” I say. “And also the person who ends up right in your path.”

John nods. He likes this.

Shawn does not.

“You gotta look after Number One,” he says. “If you don’t look after yourself, nobody will. I mean, I’d take a bullet for John here. But you can’t rely on other people.”

He sounds like he’s speaking from experience.

“Let me give you an example,” I say.

“When you fly on an airplane, the flight attendant tells you that if there’s an emergency, oxygen masks will drop from the ceiling. First put your own mask on before helping others.”

They both nod—they’ve heard this before.

“But the point isn’t to save only yourself,” I say. “You put your mask on first so you’re able to help the person next to you who might not be able to do it.”

John immediately agrees.

Shawn still looks unconvinced.

“You need to go to church,” I tell him. “Go with John.”

John admits he was raised Christian and used to go to church.

“Any good churches around here?” I ask.

“Not on Sundays,” he says, “but there’s a Bible study on Wednesday nights that seems pretty good.”

He turns to Shawn.

“Come with me?”

Shawn hesitates.

He tells me he wasn’t raised believing in God. It’s hard for him to believe. He’s not that interested.

Then he adds something honest.

“I’d love to believe in God,” he says. “But I wouldn’t want to give up drinkin’.”

I laugh softly.

“Don’t worry about giving up drinkin' right now,” I tell him. “Just take one small step in the right direction. Open your heart a little. Go with John this week. See what happens.”

John seems pleased.

Shawn remains skeptical.

“Three minutes,” John reminds me, keeping track of the advice clock I set earlier.

So I stand up to leave. I remind Shawn that my name is Michael, and I was named after the angel Michael.  Your dear friend John is named after a disciple of Jesus named John.  Your name--Shawn--literally means: "God is gracious" or "Gift from God" and is the Irish derivative of the Hebrew name John. So you too are named after a disciple of Jesus!

I place my hands on Shawn’s shoulders, look him in the eyes, and pronounce a blessing over him:

“The Lord bless you and keep you, Shawn.
The Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you, Shawn.
The Lord lift up His countenance upon you, Shawn, and give you peace.”

“Amen?”

I have no idea whether Shawn will remember this conversation or blessing in the morning.

But John stands up, smiles, and gives me a big bear hug.

As he leans close he whispers in my ear:

“Thank you. I got this.”

At 11 p.m. I walk back to my van and settle in for the night, stealth-camping under the desert sky in Pioneertown.

A Sermon for Pentecost and Call for Action

Sermon for Pentecost 2025

Text: Mark 3:27

“No one can enter a strong man’s house and plunder his goods unless he first binds the strong man.”

Introduction: Season of Pentecost

Here we are gathered in the liturgical season of Pentecost—a time when the Church remembers the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the disciples and the unleashing of the apostles to bear witness to the Prince of Peace, Justice and Truth in the world. It is the season that celebrates the mightly acts of the apostles and the bold activism of those who follow their witness.  

Pentecost 2025 is a good season for Christian activism. A good season for holy boldndess. A good season to tell the truth. And a good season to remember what happens when the Spirit of God fills people with courage in a time of crisis.

A Prophetic Parable

The short parable about the strong man Jesus told in the Gospel of Mark is a little unsettling:

“No one can enter a strong man’s house and plunder his goods unless he first binds the strong man.”

Traditionally, this has been interpreted spiritually. The strongman is the devil, and Jesus is the one who binds him. While that is true, it’s not the only layer of truth. As scholars like Walter Wink and Ched Myers have shown, the “strongman” can also represent the "powers and principalities" of this world—spiritual evil clothed in political power.

Coded in a parable, Jesus was confronting the power of the empire—the Roman Empire—and the religious system that had made peace with it. He came to set captives free, but first, He had to bind the strongman in his house.

Three Signs of the Times

I want to name three converging trends in the present moment that call for binding the strongman.

1. The growing resurgence of Christian nationalism. We are seeing a new form of militant Christianity fused with authoritarian politics, where political leaders are being cast not just as presidents, but as messianic figures—anointed by God, above the law, and surrounded by religious theater.
2. The manipulation of religion to legitimize power. We are witnessing the same pattern seen in church history—when emperors converted for convenience, and when the church exchanged its prophetic voice for political favor. This is not new—but it is dangerous.
3. The growing threat of state-sponsored oppression. Most recently, the administration has prepared mass immigration raids—intimidating municipalities, separating families, and framing immigrants as “invaders” and protestors as insurrectionists.  These are not isolated events but elements of a broader authoritarian agenda—and the church must not be silent.

History’s Warning: From Tolerance to Theocracy

I recently returned from an academic tour of historical church sites in Turkey, where the early ecumenical councils met in the 4th, 5th, and 6th centuries. We studied how Christianity was first persecuted, then tolerated, then legalized, then preferred—and finally made the official and required religion of the empire. The church first accepted the protection of the state, then courted its favor, and ultimately surrendered its independent authority to the rule of the Holy Roman Empire.

We are witnessing a similar slide today.

We are watching as religious leaders kneel in allegiance to political power, as scripture is used to justify domination, and as spiritual language is weaponized to impose control.

Binding the Strongman Today

 “No one can plunder the strongman’s house unless he first binds the strongman.”

Today, the strongman wears a suit, holds a Bible, and sit in the highest office of the land. But the fruit of his rule is fear, division, corruption, and cruelty. He has plundered the house—our democracy, our decency, our shared moral vision.

We must bind the strongman:

• Legally—through the courts, through the Constitution, through accountability.
• Politically—through protest, grassroots organizing, and the defense of democratic institutions.
• Spiritually—through truth-telling, courage, repentance, and prophetic witness.

Call to Activism: 

The early church did not wait for permission to speak truth. On Pentecost, the Spirit came—and the Church was empowered.

We need a new Pentecost today:

• Not one that is silent or safe.
• But one that is bold and public.
• A church that says no to fascism, no to fear, no to the worship of power.

If we wait until theocracy is official, it will be too late.

The Spirit is moving. The fire is falling. And the house is shaking.

Let us not be found among the fearful—but among the faithful.

Let us not bless the strongman—but spiritually bind him.

It's time to plunder the house—spiritually and politically-- to set the captives free.

An Easter Warning

Bind the Strongman before its too late!

There’s a strange and sobering feel to his Holy Week, borne of a convergence of sacred observance and civic unrest. Across the country, new rounds of protest are planned for Saturday, April 19. Here in San Diego, demonstrators will gather at Waterfront Park and march to the Gaslamp District to protest a wave of executive orders consolidating power in the hands of a single leader. The event is being organized by 5050california.org, under the banner “Not on our watch--because silence is compliance.” 

 Last Sunday was Palm Sunday—a day marking Jesus’s entry into Jerusalem amid cries of “Hosanna!” (save us!) and the waving of palm branches under Roman rule. Historically, it was not just a parade, but a protest march that led to his execution by the occupying empire. 

 This Sunday, April 20, is Easter—a day when Christians celebrate Christ’s resurrection. It is also the final day of Passover, when Jews recall the liberation of an oppressed people. But April 20 is also Hitler’s birthday, still marked by white supremacist and neo-fascist groups. This troubling convergence of symbols—resurrection, liberation, fascist memory—aligns with another political calendar milestone. 

 “On Day One”, January 20, 2025, President Trump signed an executive order declaring a national emergency at the southern border. That action triggered a 90-day period for the Secretaries of Defense and Homeland Security to assess the danger and submit recommendations on invoking the Insurrection Act of 1807, which allows the president to deploy military forces within the United States. That 90-day window ends on Easter Sunday. 

 No one can predict what Trump will do. But his followers interpret his actions through the optics and symbolism of power and providence. His movement has shown repeated disdain for democratic norms—denying due process, undermining free speech, and threatening judicial independence. If the military were activated against immigrants, protestors, or other “enemies,” it would mark not just an abuse of executive power, but a dangerous transition toward authoritarianism backed a military state. 

In San Diego—so close to the border and home to many immigrant and refugee communities—the implications are immediate. Many vulnerable residents are living in fear. Others are watching their retirement savings erode under the pressure of punitive tariffs. People of conscience are rightly alarmed by a torrent of executive actions concentrating power in the hands of a so-called strongman. 

 As a retired pastor, theology professor, and church historian, I believe a political reading of one of Jesus’s most poignant parables is warranted: “No one can enter a strongman’s house and plunder his goods unless he first binds the strongman.” (Mark 3:27) This Holy Week, we must ask: Who is the strongman now? And what powers must we resist in Jesus’s name? In context, to “plunder” is to take back by force what has been stolen. The strongman’s “goods” represent lives and resources captured by systems of domination and fear. 

Traditionally, the strongman is interpreted as Satan. But theologians like Walter Wink (Engaging the Powers) and biblical scholar Ched Myers (Binding the Strong Man) interpret the strongman as a political figure—a metaphor for imperial authority, embodied in emperors like Caesar. 

 Today, the strongman sits in the White House, surrounded by a weaponized team. As David Brooks recently wrote in The Atlantic, the Trump administration is “destroying any institution or arrangement that might check the strongman’s power.” The time has come to bind the strongman—legally in the courts, politically in Congress, socially through protest, and spiritually through prayer. 

 As a resident of Point Loma and church member in Ocean Beach, I feel bo th the tension and the hope of this crisis moment. On Good Friday, the Peninsula Faith Leaders will lead a peaceful, prayerful Pilgrim Walk along historic “Church Row” between St. Peter’s By the Sea and Resurrection Church OB (from Noon and 2pm on Sunset Cliffs Blvd.) —not as a protest or a parade, but as a demonstration of spiritual unity, community, and presence. 

 For me, Palm Sunday’s praise leads to Good Friday’s prayer walk, and into Saturday’s protest. Before I celebrate the resurrection on Easter Sunday, I will march with fellow San Diegans downtown. I will carry a sign that reads: 

 “Bind the strongman before it’s too late — Mark 3:27.” 

Michael J. Christensen, Ph.D. is a church historian, practical theologian, and clergy member of the Point Loma/Ocean Beach Peninsula Faith Leaders. He is the author of C.S. Lewis on Scripture; co-editor of Spiritual Direction: Wisdom for the Long Walk of Faith by Henri Nouwen; and other books on spirituality and social concern.

“The Violent Take It By Force; Kingdom People Seek Shalom” (Matt. 11:12; Jeremiah 29:1-12)

Shalom Series Sermon #3

'The Violent Take It By Force'; Kingdom People Seek Shalom (Matt. 11:12; Jeremiah 29:1-12) 

Advent Reflection at the John Wesley Fellows Christmas Conference 2024 for Advent III (December 15, 2024) 

By Michael J. Christensen, Ph.D. 

Intro: Advent III 

Traditionally, the Prophecy Candle of Hope, Bethlehem Candle of Peace, Shepherd's Candle of Joy, and Angel's Candle of Love each point to different parts of the story Christ during the four weeks of Advent. 

 Matthew 11: 2-5; 11-12 reads:

"2When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples 3 and said to [Jesus] him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” 4 Jesus answered them [by pointing to the signs of the Kingdom]: “Go and tell John what you hear and see: 5 the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, those with a skin disease are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them…” 

Then the Gospel writer adds this dark note in vs 12: "From the days of John the Baptist until now, the kingdom of heaven has suffered violence, and violent people take it by force…” A disturbing verse (some say it doesn’t belong there but was added later). “The kingdom of heaven suffers violence, when violent people take it by force.” 

The phrase is the title of a new book by Matthew Taylor on the rise of American Christian nationalism in its extreme and violent forms. Most notably in the rise of ‘God’s Army’ and the so-called New Apostolic Reformation willing to advance God’s Kingdom by force and violence. 

• Not unlike the Zealots in Jesus’s time wanting to force his hand to overthrow Roman occupation 

• Not unlike Palestinians in our time who have endured displacement and oppression and are fighting back with violent means...to destroy the State of Israel. 

• Not unlike the message in the new Bonhoeffer film about the moral clarity between good and evil that justifies an assassination plot to destroy an evil dictator or empire. 

In contrast to taking the kingdom by force is Jeremiah’s letter to the exiles from Jerusalem to Babylon. After the downfall of Judah in 597 BC, the leaders in Jerusalem are carried away into captivity in Babylon. Deposed, displaced, deported to a foreign land. 

 • Should they rebel, revolt, seek to overthrow their oppressors? 

 • Should they curse the Babylonians in their prayers? 

 • Should they hope for a quick deliverance and restoration? 

The displaced Judeans were in denial…. They wanted to believe the new prophets who said their time in bondage will be short-lived? They wanted to resist, refuse, rebel, and try to overcome their oppressors. These where Judah’s enemies who destroyed their city of Jerusalem, looted and burned their temple, and dragged them away as captives. In their anger, the exiles refused to sing their songs of joy for the amusement of their conquerors. “How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?” Instead, they cursed their enemies and prayed that God would kill their offspring: “Blessed is the one who takes your little ones and bashes them on the rocks," many prayed.  (Psalm 137} 

The pastoral Letter from Jeremiah to the exiles provides clear guidance on how to surivive in Babylon:

 • Don’t believe the false prophets who claim a quick deliverance. 

 • It not the time to fight and overthrow Babylon. 

• Instead, buckle up for a long ride… Settle in for a long stay in Babylon. (70 years. 2 generations) 

• Yet, do not despair, the Lord has not abandoned you… 

• The Lord will keep his promise—to return you to your homeland. 

• In the meantime: Trust, Hope, Love, Seek Shalom… right where you are. 

Not everyone believes in seeking shalom in times of oppression and domination… Some seek to use the sword, to use any necessary means to overthrow the enemy. Rather than seeking shalom in a repressive regime, some believe God has called us to take up the sword to fight a holy war and help usher in the kingdom of God. “Fight, fight, fight!” the violent chant in their desire to usher in God’s kingdom of Hope, Peace, Joy, and Love by force. 

As the former International Director of Communities of Shalom for the UMC, I have taught Shalom Principles around the world for many years.  Jeremiah provides practical, concrete instructions for exiles and pilgrims in a foreign land; and for us who feel the weight of oppression in times of displacement, domination and despair. 

Four Shalom Mandates/Imperatives for Survival and Shared Prosperity

Jeremiah instructs the Exiles to take four non-violent actions in Babylon:

 1. Build Houses and live in them. Settle down for a long stay in a new land. Change your perspective. Accept the situation for what it is. In God’s providence, you have been sent into exile… Learn to cope with the new reality. Consider your stay in Babylon as a learning season. Try not to stay in a temporary shelter but build a house and live there. Become more stable and secure if you can. 

 2. Plant Gardens and eat their fruit. In the back yard of your house, plant a garden and eat its produce. Don’t focus on what you used to eat back in your old country (the olives and the pomegranates). Eat local. Cultivate the new land. Rebuild your life through farming. Become self-sustaining and not dependent on the food of others. 

 3. Raise Families. Mandate to marry and have children and grandchildren. Focus on the next generation. Do not decrease in numbers but multiple to ensure that a future generation of children will survive the exile and return home. Love your family. Invest in the hope that they have. 

 4. Seek Shalom. This mandate is the hardest one. How to seek the shalom of your enemy and oppressor in the land that is not your own? To seek shalom and pray on its behalf? Praying for the peace of Jerusalem was good and right, but not for Babylon. I think this is the only place in the OT where prayer for one’s enemies is commanded… 

The word Shalom is a key word in book of Jeremiah. Used 26 times. [Often negatively in reference to a false sense of peace or the false prophets who use the word falsely. E.G. “They have healed my people’s wound superficially, saying ‘shalom, shalom, when there is no shalom.” (Jer. 6:14). ]. Shalom is used 3 times positively in Jer. 29:7. “Seek the shalom… [quote]. 

Shalom, of course, means more than peace or absence of conflict. Big word with rich meanings: welfare…. Let the city of Babylon become a place of shalom. Let it temporarily become the new Jerusalem—the place of Yahweh’s blessing. If Babylon prospers, you will prosper too. The people of Judah can experience the blessings of land, and home, and gardens, and offspring, and peace—if you seek the shalom of the community where you have been sent, and pray to the Lord on its behalf. Knowing that in its shalom, you will find your shalom. 

 Conclusion: 

Using violence to advance the Kingdom of God is a contradiction to the message of Jeremiah to seek Shalom among one’s enemies… And a contradiction to the gospel of Jesus who said to put away the sword and don’t pay back evil for evil… 

Seeking shalom is a fruit of the Spirit…in all its fullness and meanings---health, healing, harmony, wholeness, welfare, shared prosperity, human flourishing—is the way to live with love, joy, peace, and hope. To give you a future with hope (vs 12)—quote 

You may not see God’s deliverance and return home in your lifetime, but your grandchildren will….[two generations, 70 years, before the exile ends and the promise fulfilled] The day will surely come for the promised Return. When the tribe of Judah will return home and rebuild their temple in Jerusalem. A longing and a hope... 

Not unlike… 

• Syrian refugees finally able to return to their land after 50 years of Assad family domination and oppression. • Not unlike Somalian refugees in Africa longing to return home… 

• Not unlike Palestinians awaiting the day that they can return and rebuild the land of Gaza. 

• And not unlike our hard times in this present darkness. 

The Letter from Jeremiah is a clarion call for eschatological living in the land where God’s people have been sent for the allotted time. 

“Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God…” (Ps. 20: 7) 

“Rejoice in the Lord, always. Again I say, rejoice.” (Philippians 2 ] Time to light the third Candle. Let us pray…. 

 [Light the Third Candle]—Shepherd's Candle of Joy 

Let us pray…. Today, we light the rose-colored candle, a symbol of joy in the face of adversity. We know that You, O Rose of Sharon and Lily of the Valley, are our source of beauty, truth, hope, and joy. Just as the shepherds rejoiced at the birth of our Savior, may we too embrace this moment with hearts full of gratitude and praise. We remember Your promises— that echo in our souls and invite us to find delight in the simplest of moments. May we be "Surprised by Joy"— In the midst of our ordinary lives, Let Your otherworldly joy break forth, brightening our days and lifting our hearts… AMEN.

C. S. Lewis's 61st anniversary day of death and graduation to Glory

Today, November 22, 2024, is the 61st anniversary of death of C. S. Lewis in Oxford and his graduation to Glory. On this same day, President John F. Kennedy was shot and killed in Dallas. And English philosopher Aldous Huxley, author of Brave New World, died in Los Angeles. Peter Kreeft wrote a fiction book—Between Heaven and Hell—about an imagined conversation between Lewis, Kennedy and Huxley, on Christian faith the morning after they died. I remember where I was and how I felt on November 22, 1963, when I heard the shocking news about the assassination of President Kennedy. During our lunch break at Longfellow Elementary School in Pasadena, CA, word began to spread. Our teachers seemed worried. Earlier in the month we had practiced in an air-raid drill what we must do if the “Russians were coming…”. We must drop to the floor, get under our desks, protect our necks with our hands, and possibly kiss our butt goodbye…. The 1960’s was an anxious time, and frightening in the face of war, assassinations, and civil unrest. Nov. 22 was one of those frightening days. At the Kilns in Oxford, C.S. Lewis was dying. He had said his goodbyes to his dear friend JRR Tolkien, childhood friend Arthur Greeves, and many others. “I have done all I wanted to and I’m ready to go,” Jack told his brother, Warnie Lewis. “Friday, 22 November 1963, began much as other days”, Warnie wrote in his diary: “there was breakfast, then letters, and the crossword puzzle. After lunch he feel asleep in his chair: I suggested he that he would be more comfortable in bed, and he went there. At four I took in his tea and found him drowsy but comfortable. Our few words then were the last: at five-thirty I heard a crash and ran in, to find him lying unconscious at the foot of his bed…” As a C.S. Lewis enthusiast, I almost always remember Nov. 22 each year. We were discussing Lewis’s death today in class before our ZOOM Room was hacked in a cyber-attack by young anarchist who spewed forth vile messages, bullying, hate-filled words, racial slurs and violent threats. Unable to mute them or kick them out of the room (the hack was unstoppable), so we canceled the session, grabbed our necks, protected our heads, and got out of the room—rather shaken. It reminded me of the nuclear air-raid drills and we endured in elementary school, and what I imagine happens today in schools during active-shooter drills and evacuations. 61 years ago today, the author of A Brave New World, the President of the United States, and one of the most influential Christian apologists and famous teachers in the world—fell out of bed and died. I look forward to that Day of Resurrection when the good Lord says to Jack, and to others whose souls are at rest: “Get up, Jack, wake up. Time to rise and shine. It’s that great gettin’ up morning!”

The Prophetic Witness of Clarence Kinzler (1935-2023)

Tribute at the Memorial Service of Clarence J. Kinzler

“The boy is more important than the rule.”  

The prophetic witness of Clarence “Clari” Kinzler (1935-2023) 

By Rev. Michael J. Christensen, Ph.D. 

Nampa College Church of the Nazarne, Nampa, Idaho 

November 3, 2023 

What kind of man would ask his son to invite a United Methodist, a former Nazarene pastor, a current General Superintendent, and a long-time friend in Nampa to speak at his funeral service in his former Church? CJ Kinzler—the Great Includer –that’s who! 

I visited my mentor and friend a week before he died on October 15, 2023. Knowing his heart was weak, I asked him about his health. He didn’t want to talk about his health. He wanted to talk about his church. His heart was burdened about the future of the Church of the Nazarene, and he wanted to do something. Call the General Superintendents? Write a bunch of letters? Tell his story of the challenges back when he was a District Superintendent? He wanted to strategize with me as we used to do, for such a time as this… His sweet wife Sue poured us a glass of cold water…and wanted to take our picture. 

Beyond strategizing with my friend and former District Superintendent, I had the chance to tell Clari what he had meant to me over the years. I thanked him for his years of pastoral mentoring, for co-officiating Rebecca and my wedding, for loaning us his get-away-cabin in McCall for week of heavy discernment and decision-making, for being at my father’s bedside a day or two before he passed. 

Clari told me revealing stories, some of which I had not heard before. Like the time in seminary when he felt like quitting. Clari’s father had died when the boy was only five. Growing up in Nampa, Clari became an athlete and felt a call to the ministry. He went to seminary in KC to learn how to preach and pastor a local church. He was better at basketball than most of the preacher boys but not as good at preaching as others. He was tall and handsome, but he didn’t fit the ministerial norm. Discouraged, he needed some fatherly advice. Maybe he wasn’t called to be a pastor? 

The President of NTS at the time was the same Dr. L.T. Corlett (1952-1966)—formerly president of NNU—who Clari knew and respected growing up. When he heard that Clari was considering dropping out, Dr. Corlett came to visit him: “Son, take courage. You have gifts and graces. You are called and chosen… I don’t want you to drop out; I want you to be who you are in Christ.” 

 Dr. Corlett told Clari about an earlier time when a Nazarene college kid got in trouble for breaking a campus rule. Instead of expelling him, the College President offered grace: “The boy is more important than the rule.” Clari thought that was a pretty good precept--The boy is more important than the rule—and it stuck with him throughout his life and ministry, he said. That’s why he was so concerned (“angry” in fact, he told me) about what was happening in the Church. 

Greatly encouraged, Clari persevered, graduated, became the founding pastor of the Shawnee (KS) Mission Church of the Nazarene. He preached grace and gratitude as pastor of Arlington Avenue Church of the Nazarene in Riverside, CA, and then as Senior Pastor of Nampa (ID) College Church. In 1984 he became District Superintendent of the Northern California District where he served for 17 years. He served on the Board of Regents at NNU while pastoring College Church and on the Board of Trustees for PLNU while serving in Northern California. In 1992, Point Loma Nazarene University conferred on him the honorary degree, Doctor of Divinity. 

 In retirement, Clari served various interim roles including Senior Pastor of San Diego First Church of the Nazarene, President of the Nazarene Strengths Institute, District Superintendent of the Northwest Oklahoma District, and pastor of the McCall (ID) Church of the Nazarene. In 2009, Clari was honored as the first recipient of NNU’s Wesley Order of Servant Leader’s award. 

Golden Gate Community and the Oak Street House 

As the founding Pastor/Director of Golden Gate Community (an Urban Mission of the Church of the Nazarene) in the Haight Ashbury neighborhood of SF, Clari Kinzler was my District Superintendent. I was "one of his boys”, as he used to call us, “one of his guys/girls in the inner city.” 

 Young and brash at 30, I remember trying to ‘splain to my new DS (straight outta Nampa) that there was a difference between a local church and a mission center. Quoting Robert Schuller: “A mission center for JC puts the needs of the unsaved a notch or two above the needs of the saved.” 

“That’s why Golden Gate Community only has 30 church members,” I tried to explain, “but we have over 1,000 registered community members on our responsibility list—poor, homeless, addicted, mentally ill, door people, van people, street people—all who visit our Oak Street House for coffee and bagels, hospitality and social services every week or month.” 

Clari challenged me: “So, Michael, can you do both? Grow the church and direct the mission? That would be a Win/Win.” (Clari liked to use sports metaphors when strategizing about the church in the city). “Both may not be possible,” I said, “but we’ll try.” 

To draw a distinction: A local Nazarene church is required to uphold certain standards of belief and practices for its members. A mission center can accept and include folks who don’t look like, talk like, dress like, think like, or act like most church people. A local church is expected to meet the needs of its members. A mission center is supposed to put the needs of the unsaved a notch or two above the needs of the saved. However, both a local church and a mission station for Jesus Christ can love, accept, forgive, bless, and include people just as they are—each of us uniquely on a spiritual journey, in the process of becoming all that God’s wants us to be. 

Clari appreciated the distinction between a local church and an urban mission. He looked at the cigarette butts on the front porch of the Oak Street House and the empty bottles on the street. And he said: “When I come back, I want to see this place packed with all kinds of people … and if I don’t see cigarette butts and bottles outside the church doors… then I’ll know that you’re not doing your job.” 

That’s all I needed to hear to trust my District Superintendent. He was not going to make us require more to join our church than Jesus required to join his. The gospel of love, acceptance, and forgiveness—with a commitment to become all that God wants us to be—would be enough. And meeting people’s basic needs for food, clothing, and shelter—in Jesus’s name—could be our priority. Clari had a broad view of the Church’s mission in the world, and an expansive vision for cross-cultural ministry in the cities. “Thrust to Cities” directed by Rev. Mike Davis, was one of his legacies as District Superintendent of Nor Cal District Church of the Nazarene. 

AIDS in the City 

 When HIV/AIDS plagued the city of SF in the 1980s, Clari was with us on the front lines of the crisis. Though controversial, he supported Golden Gate Community’s ministry to people with AIDS, as well as our ministry in the gay community in SF. 

I intentionally preached a gospel of radical grace and inclusive love for all God’s children. Some local pastors and denominational leaders objected to my “soft and liberal” theology and practice and called for church discipline. The General Superintendent in jurisdiction required me to change my view of homosexuality to conform to the statement in the Nazarene Manual. But Clari protected me, interpreted me to others, loved, affirmed, and even joined me at times in calling for changes in church polity. 

Rather than bringing me up on charges, asking me to file my credentials, or withdraw church support, my District Superintendent was a pastors’ pastor. Even when I knew I had to leave the church of my birth, and join the Methodists, he kept me “dually aligned” for as long as he could…and blessed me on my way. Clari followed the example of John Wesley who said to those with whom he disagreed: “If your heart is right, as my heart is right, then give me your hand.” 

 That’s how he saw his job as District Pastor. Extend the right hand of fellowship. Protect the shepherds. Guide the sheep. When they’re hurt, lift them up. If they’re wrong, gently admonish. “In essentials, unity. In non-essentials, liberty. In all things charity.” 

Strategically, Clari preferred working behind the scenes, indirectly dealing with a problem. He tended to talk around the edges of a conflict or controversial issue rather than shining a direct spotlight on it. He wanted to avoid an end-run and get a win/win if at all possible. I remember once--after I had preached and written something too controversial for the church—he wanted me to tone it down. He took me to lunch and wrote down a win/win strategy on a table napkin. He drew four boxes in a quadrant and suggested:

• Box #1 is stuff you can preach, teach, publish for all to hear, come what may. 
• Box #2 is hard stuff to share with just the people who have your best interests in mind—your friends and family and close community. 
• Box #3 is your private beliefs and doubts best kept to yourself. And… 
• Box 4 is stuff you might want to re-think and re-consider. Before speaking or writing something, ask what box of the quadrant it belongs in. 

He used other sports metaphors on me to change my course of action or to tone down the rhetoric. “Let the game come to you,” he often said. “Don’t go out of your way to stir things up… or call too much attention to yourself. If you let the game come to you, then you can act and say what you gotta say. At the right time and in the right way.” 

The Game Came to Clari 

The time came for Clari to say the right thing at the right time and in the right way--clearly and directly to his church. Over time he had earned the respect of General Superintendents and church theologians. In 1992, they invited him to give a keynote address to the Eighth Theology Conference for the USA/Canada Church of the Nazarene in Kansas City. The game had come to him. 

His paper on “Articulating and Living Christian Holiness in a Pluralistic World” asked hard questions: Who is my enemy? Who is my neighbor? Who is the one I so often exclude? The Mormon family in Nampa? The gay son in San Francisco? Those living and dying with AIDS? He applied the Nazarene doctrine of Holiness to how we actually treat people who are outsiders, who have different beliefs and practices and identities than what we consider acceptable. 

For example, in his paper Clari shared the moment when his attitude toward homosexuals in the church began to change. It was at an AIDS Healing and Communion Service at a gay church in SF on Thanksgiving Sunday. Led by two seminarians--Jim Mutulski, pastor of Metropolitan Community Church (the gay church in town) and my wife Rebecca Laird (seeking ordination in the Church of the Nazarene). Together, they stood at the front of the sanctuary to welcome--whosoever will-- come to the altar for communion and healing. And Clari and Sue were there! 

Here's how Clari described it 30+ years ago in his 1992 address to the leaders and theologians of the Church of the Nazarene: 

“Crazy wild kids! [Michael and Rebecca Laird Christensen]. They invited me to go along with them [to the gay church]. Sure, sure: we’ll all lose our credentials together! I didn’t answer them for several weeks. But, more or less kicking and screaming, I decided to join them. My wife, Sue, felt that she would like to go also. 

“We entered the church early and sat near the front. The sanctuary that seated several hundred became packed with people from the gay and lesbian community. The song service was led by a tremendous musician who had the congregation singing with great exuberance. They told me 60% of the congregation had AIDS. I looked around. Here were same sex married couples who had been together for many years. There were the young 18–24-year-olds who were in the gay or lesbian lifestyle… I asked the Lord why I was there. The still small voice of Jesus answered: ‘If I were in bodily form in San Francisco tonight, I would be exactly where you are.’ 

“And then something dramatic, unexpected, and life-changing occurred at the gay church: “They introduced the Golden Gate team, and then asked the District Superintendent of the Northern California Church of the Nazarene to please stand. When Sue and I stood, the crowd went crazy. They clapped and clapped until they clapped me to tears. They knew where the Church of the Nazarene stood on their practice of homosexuality, but that someone would value them as human beings and step across the dividing walls, was hope to them… My heart was broken as I saw young men, mere boys, jamming the middle isle, waiting for someone to pray for them a prayer for healing.” [And as I remember, some of them fell into the arms of Sue and Rebecca who stood there with communion elements to welcomed them home.] 

“I’m not sure that everyone would agree that we belong in the gay-lesbian arena,” Clari said, “but, if we are strong enough to trust the validity of our experience with God, we really have no choice but to be there with our powerful [Wesleyan] model of ‘wholeness.’ “It’s not easy, but we in leadership must give permission and blessing to these bright young people who have been raised in our parsonages and in our homes… 

Please, dear holiness church that I love: let’s not let our negative sectors define our mission and set our perimeters…” 

And Clari concluded his talk by saying that some of the people the church excludes are not just our neighbors but our own sons and daughters. 

My Last Visit with Clari at Grace Assisted Care 

Clari reminded me of this transformative event in his life when I visited him at Grace Assisted Care just a week before he died. Clearly, the opportunity to address the theologians and leaders of his church and tell this story was one of the highlights of his life and ministry. 

“After I read my paper and delivered my soul,” he told me, “there was a long, long silence. Nobody said a word. I wondered if I had crossed a line. Then, finally, from the back of the room, Nazarene Seminary Professor Kenneth Grider gave a shout: ‘Yeah! THAT’S MY BOY!’ And then the room warmed up, and they applauded what I had to say.” 

Whether Dr. Grider was thinking of his own son, who was gay; or thought that Clari was like a son to him, who can say? But Clari’s message were as clear as day: Love the excluded other as if they were your own son or daughter. 

In standing up and showing courage, supporting ministries of compassion, advocating for people with AIDS, withholding moral judgement in favor of acceptance, and speaking the truth in love… even if your voice shakes… you’re doing the right thing. By doing the good and right thing in a difficult and ambiguous situation, Clarence Kinzler, I predict, will have a powerful prophetic influence on the Church of the Nazarene even after his death. 

He's my elder by 20 years and he mentored me like a son or daughter. But what I want to say today about Clari is what Dr. Grider said of him back in the day: “Yeah! That’s my boy!”  He’s my man. Beloved mentor and friend. 

And I’m also grateful that Clari’s mentor back in the day, Dr. D. L. Corlett--didn’t expel that boy who broke a campus rule. But instead, channeled grace: “The boy is more important than the rule.” May the Church of the Nazarene live up to the values of its prophetic leaders. 

 Clarence Kinzler chose to be buried in the same grave plot as his father in Nampa. May you rest in peace, beloved Clari. And with your beloved father, rise in glory!