Friends, this sermon will be more narrative than the others in the series. I’m having trouble defining kindness. It’s the same trouble I had trying to define love. We know it when we experience it, yet trying to define what it is would take more time and attention than either of us could muster. Instead, I’ll provide some vignettes, to help illustrate what kindness is. Here we go.

Each summer, we’d drive Route 18 up to America’s roller coast. On the way, somewhere after Clarksfield, there was a motorcycle club. On the black door that faced the road, in big yellow letters, it read: “Don’t mistake kindness for weakness.”

I always looked for that sign. It was a mile marker. It meant a turn was coming up. But that phrase puzzled me. I still see it even now, even though the door was long replaced and the club is now a private residence.  What a thing for a group of bikers to put on their door. And yet… it rings true.

When I think of kindness, I think of Mr. Rogers. Growing up, my mom often had him on. I loved the factory tours. The Neighborhood of Make-Believe with King Friday and Daniel Tiger. But let’s be honest, he wasn’t as exciting He-Man or G.I. Joe.

I got back into him after Eve was born. I saw something I had missed as a child. He had backbone. This wasn’t soft kindness. This was structured, intentional, grounded.

I watched an episode where he and Officer Clemmons take off their shoes and cool their feet together in a kiddie pool. Just a simple, neighborly act. There were layers to this act. It was 1969. At the height of segregation and backlash against the Civil Rights Movement. A white man and a Black man sharing a pool on national television. That was kindness. Not nice. Subversive. Courageous. Deliberate.

This act causes us to draw a distinction. Kindness is not the same thing as niceness. Niceness avoids tension. Niceness changes the subject. Niceness keeps the peace by keeping quiet. Niceness is often fear in a mask. But kindness tells the truth. Kindness has boundaries. Kindness risks something.

We live in a nice world. We don’t live in a kind world. I can best illustrate this with Martin Niemoller’s poem from WWII. “First they came for the communists and I did not speak up because I was not a communist.” You know the one. It ends with, “When they came for me, there was no one left to speak up.” That illustrates a nice world. No one spoke up. They didn’t want to rock the boat. Yet in a kind world, the poem would read, “First they came for the communists, but we said no. The end.”

Don’t mistake kindness for weakness.

Often, being nice is just a way to maintain the status quo, to sidestep hard conversations, to leave injustice unchallenged. Kindness is different. Kindness is active. Kindness is strong. Kindness is something you can do even when you don’t feel particularly warm or compassionate. It is a choice to act for the good of another person.

We see this kind of strength in unexpected places. The Dalai Lama once said, “My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness.” And Pope Francis, speaking at a conference, had a young boy wander onto the stage, climb onto his chair, and cling to him while he spoke. While the cardinals tried to pull the boy away, even offering candy; the Pope didn’t push him off. He simply rested his hand on the boy’s head and continued.

Kindness. Not control. Not embarrassment. Presence.

I once witnessed a profound act of kindness that was not nice.

The Rev. Nancy Dahlberg, my mentor during seminary, was a strong, no-nonsense leader. She was not interested in being liked. But she was deeply kind.

She once told me, “The natural enemy of the pastor is often the church organist.” Now, that hasn’t been my experience. I’ve been blessed. But the warning stayed with me. This is because an organist with a bad attitude can often outlast many pastors. That was the case in this church.

In that church, the organist was struggling. Everything was played at half-time. Every hymn sounded like a funeral. But the deeper issue wasn’t musical. It was personal.

Pastor Nancy met with her. Told her the truth. Asked her to take time off. The council approved two months of paid leave. That’s not nice. That’s kind. Clear expectations. Honest feedback. Space to heal. But then the story twisted.

The organist, overwhelmed, told others she had been pushed out. That she was fired unjustly. Her nephew, the moderator, brought this accusation to council. Pastor Nancy didn’t flinch. She said, “We didn’t vote to fire her. We voted to give her leave. You were there. It’s in the minutes.”

Kindness doesn’t bend to falsehood. Kindness doesn’t surrender to manipulation. The organist had hoped for niceness. For a quiet return. For things to stay the same. What she received instead was kindness: truth, boundaries, and accountability. When she couldn’t meet those expectations, she was let go.  It was a self-fulling prophecy on the organists behalf. After all this, Pastor Nancy still visited her. Still cared for her. Still forgave. But she never went alone.

Kindness is not naïve.

The word “kind” comes from the same root as “kin.” It originally meant treating others as family. Which raises a question: Who counts as family? Because in our world, kindness is often reserved for “our people.” Our tribe. Our party. Our group. And everyone else? They get suspicion, distance, or dismissal.

There’s an old logical trap called the “No True Scotsman” fallacy. It goes like this:

“No true Scotsman would do that.”
“Well, I’m a Scotsman and I do.”
“Well… no true Scotsman would.”

The circle tightens. The definition changes. The goalposts move. We do this all the time.

“If they were really one of us…”
“If they really belonged…”
“If they really shared our values…”

And just like that, kindness gets rationed. Reserved for the approved. Withheld from the rest. This is how excuses for meanness multiply until the world is just angry and small. People are dehumanized for tribal reasons, and those reasons are malleable when it’s convenient.

But those kind heroes like Mr. Rogers or Pastor Nancy, they expand the circle. They treat strangers as kin. They act for the good of others, even when it costs them.

Kindness is not a cover. Kindness is an action. Niceness stops at comfort. Kindness moves toward need. Niceness avoids enemies. Kindness even considers them. Not sentimentally. Not foolishly. But with a deep, steady commitment to the good.

Don’t mistake kindness for weakness.

Kindness is one of the toughest things you can do. It requires courage. It requires clarity. It requires strength. And in a world that confuses politeness with goodness, kindness might just be one of the most subversive acts of all.

Church, the call to kindness is not soft. The prophet in Book of Zechariah says it plainly: “Administer true justice. Show mercy and compassion to one another.”

Not think about it. Not agree with it. Do it.

And Epistle to the Ephesians raises the bar even higher: “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” That’s the measure. Not how they treat you. Not what they deserve. But what God has already given you.

And then Jesus in Gospel of Luke doesn’t leave us any escape routes: Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who mistreat you.

That’s not nice. That’s kindness with teeth. That’s strength under control. That’s a life rooted so deeply in God that it can give without needing to get.

So here’s the question: Who in your life is hardest to be kind to?

Not in theory. Not in general. A name. A face. The person who drains you. The person who wronged you. The person you’ve quietly written off.

This week, you don’t have to fix everything. We might consider taking a step. Tell the truth. Set a boundary. Offer forgiveness. Pray when you don’t feel like it. Do one concrete act of good.

My therapist Melanie recently told me that setting boundaries require everything of the person setting them and nothing of the one it’s being set for. The one setting the boundary must be clear, concise, thoughtful, and kind. Because kindness is not an idea. It’s a decision. And every time you choose it, you push back the darkness just a little more.

Don’t mistake kindness for weakness.

It is the strength of God, alive in you. Go and live it. Because this mean old world needs more kind people in it. And what are we doing here, if not becoming a people formed in mercy, sent out to practice it?

Church, kindness is not an idea we admire. It’s a life we receive… and then give away.

Here at Christ’s table, we are reminded who we are. We are people who have been forgiven. People who have been met with mercy we did not earn. People who have been fed, not because we deserved it, but because God is kind.

This is the covenant. Not perfection. Not performance. Forgiveness.

We come to this Table to be forgiven. And we leave it to become forgiveness for others. That is how kindness is modeled, taught, and spread to an unsuspecting world. Thanks be to God. Amen.