For many, church is a place of guilt and shame.

Not so here. We tried that, and folks didn’t stick around. Over my eight years here, I’ve tried to let a combination of joy and justice be the engine. I learned this from Emmaus UCC in Vienna, Virginia. Right after we married and moved to the D.C. area, Kate wanted to check out churches. I thought I was done with church. Then we found the UCC. Ironically, it was named after the Easter story in the Gospel of Luke.

Two disciples are dejected and walking away from Jerusalem. They’re headed to a town called Emmaus when Jesus appears. The disciples only recognize him when he breaks the bread. They get up, return to Jerusalem, and tell the other disciples.

That feels like my story. I was done with church. Then a small group showed me Jesus again. It was how they broke bread with folks at soup kitchens and homeless shelters. It was how they broke bread across generations. It was how they shared meals with people of other faiths. It was—and still is—a place of vibrant faith. They taught me how a life of faith can be based on joy and not guilt, on human dignity and not shame.

In today’s reading from Acts, Peter and the apostles stand before the Sanhedrin—the leaders of the temple. The leaders pretty much say, “Stop making us look bad. We’re feeling guilty.” And the apostles reply, “We are about God’s work.”

When true faith shows up, it exposes those who are only using their faith as camouflage. For too long, bad actors have used religious institutions to grift the poor and elderly, abuse children, and seek to add a blessing to their partisan slant.

We saw this in the reaction to the ministry of the late Pope Francis, who died on Easter. I’ve admired Pope Francis for many things. His quote, “First you pray, and then you do. That’s how prayer works” is hanging in our teen room downstairs.

Francis angered many when he washed the feet of a Muslim woman. He angered many when he declared that LGBTQ+ people are made in the image of God. Echoing St. Francis, he called for care for the environment and challenged world leaders to take climate change seriously. Some American political figures accused him of “meddling in politics” and veering too far into progressive territory. And then, Pope Francis wrote that atheists can be saved if they follow their conscience and seek good—a major theological departure from the classic “outside the Church there is no salvation” doctrine. He emphasized that God’s mercy is wider than human understanding.

These are the things we stand for here at Medina UCC. These are the things we share in common with our Catholic siblings. We believe: Everyone is made in the image of God. We must care for the earth and the plants and animals we share this planet with. We are not in charge of who goes to heaven or hell. Our job is to make it “on earth as it is in heaven,” as much as we are able.

This means advocating for public education and school lunch programs, as well as providing meals for struggling families. It means urging our representatives to protect the environment, even as we reduce, reuse, recycle, and pick up litter in our own neighborhoods. It means treating everyone with kindness and fairness—and if someone says, “Ouch,” we stop and listen, instead of trying to justify our actions.

Bright Eyes sings that we should, “Set fire to the preacher who is promising us Hell
Into the ear of every anarchist that sleeps but doesn’t dream
We must sing, we must sing, we must sing…”

For me, these lyrics say: Totally ignore those who are completely certain—as well as those nihilists with no vision. I hear something similar in Pope Francis’s words:

“I appeal to all those in positions of political responsibility in our world not to yield to the logic of fear, which only leads to isolation from others, but rather to use the resources available to help the needy, to fight hunger, and to encourage initiatives that promote development. These are the ‘weapons’ of peace—weapons that build the future, instead of sowing seeds of death.”[1]

Friends, that is a faithful vision and one we align with. It’s not certain. That’s why we talk so much about faith. Faith is the hope for things unseen. Nor are we without hope. As Paul writes in Romans 8:24–26: “For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait patiently for it.”

We are waiting and working for the beloved community of God. We are working and waiting for a world where all are valued and welcomed: the citizen and the immigrant, the rich and the poor, Jew and Gentile, trafficked or free, male, female, nonbinary—all are one in Christ.

That kind of openness angers the religious. And it’s ultimately what got Jesus killed.

Love is our goal. And we can’t do this alone. That’s why we are a community that welcomes, loves, and serves. Nothing beats fear like a face. If there are people out there you fear as I once did, I invite you to break bread with them. I was marinated in fear: Fear of my Black and brown neighbors. Fear of my gay neighbors. Fear of my neighbor who struggles with mental health. Then I met them. We broke bread. And I saw Christ in them. And you can, too. I don’t have many hard and fast answers. But I can promise you this: the longer you break bread and listen, the more Jesus you will find.

For many, church is a place of guilt and shame. Not so here. Here, we are a radical community that welcomes, loves, and serves—because that’s what Jesus did.

And that is our best witness to our Lord and Savior, our God who is still speaking words of loving kindness. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Works Cited

[1] Diana Butler Bass, The Cottage (Substack), April 21, 2025, “Pope Francis” https://thecottage.substack.com (accessed April 22, 2025).