The more one reads the Gospels, the more one sees that Jesus had issue with folks like us.

I don’t think anyone is going to like this sermon. I didn’t like writing it. Now that I have to preach it, I’m regretting it. Yet teach it we must. Let me give you some context for what I’m about to say.

In seminary, we read a book called The Dishonest Church by Jack Good. The idea behind the book is that many preachers learn what they learn in seminary and then get into the church and don’t teach what they know. My best friend in seminary, the Rev. Steve Hummel, and I made a covenant not to be those pastors.

Which brings me back to Jesus. Of all the parties in Judaism of his day, he took most issue with the Pharisees. He belonged to them, it would seem. He was more closely aligned with them than, say, the Zealots—fiery militants, or the Sadducees—the temple priests, or the monastic Essenes who retreated entirely from the world. The Pharisees believed God could be worshipped anywhere, not just the temple, and believed in the Resurrection. Much like Jesus. Yet with them, Jesus had the sharpest conflicts—much like how the hardest differences arise between those we are most like.

The conflict lay in how the Pharisees used their social clout. “They love the chief place at the feasts…” This pride of social position, Jesus could not abide. Scholars agree Jesus was aligned with the Pharisees theologically. He even said, “Whatever they teach, do. But don’t do as they do…” Their clout made them proud. It built walls instead of bridges. On this point, Jesus was completely incensed.

“Whoever shall exalt himself shall be humbled, and whoever shall humble himself… Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!”

Today we read, “Jesus sat down opposite the place where the offerings were put and watched the crowd putting their money into the temple treasury.” A critique is coming. Mark has been doing this all chapter long. “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others.”

What’s Jesus’ problem? I think Jesus saw through the lip service of the religious of his day. They were Instagram gold. They spoke in media-friendly terms, but didn’t back up their talk with action. The widow didn’t have any of that. Yet she did more than her fair share. She was all in. Jesus saw what we often miss.

Jesus recognized that when someone finds themselves in a favored position, it is almost irresistible to believe they are good because of that—regardless of what type of person they are inside. It’s extraordinarily difficult for those with social clout to see themselves and their effect on others. A favored place gives us standing and a show window of sorts. To post our best moments on social media—moments not representative of where we often are.

The Pharisees had honor and prestige but couldn’t see themselves. This is why Jesus called them hypocrites—not because they consciously tried to deceive others but because they were deceived about themselves. All dressed up in the trappings, and here comes Jesus to call them out—again and again. And in doing so, we are called out.

Lent is that yearly reflection. That time to look at ourselves as we truly are. This year, I feel like I’m going through a sea-change. I have been raised with a high anthropology. I see the UCC steeped in this, as is much of our culture.

High anthropology is a high view of humans. If we believe, we can achieve. We can manifest our destinies. Set a goal, grind out the 10,000 hours to achieve mastery. If we fail, it’s our fault for choosing wrong or not grinding hard enough. I’m a naturally ambitious person. There’s a lot to hang your hat on here. If you practice, you will get better. That’s true. Yet the shadow side is anxiety, isolation, burnout. We’re seeing this in our society. We see this in our kids. Jonathan Haidt’s The Anxious Generation highlights how adolescent mental health plunged in the early 2010s. Depression, anxiety, self-harm, suicide—all doubled. He covers everything from sleep deprivation to attention fragmentation, addiction, loneliness, social comparison, and perfectionism.

Haidt is excellent. Yet another book better defines my sea-change. The opposite of a high anthropology is a low anthropology. A low anthropology recognizes that you are a person with limits and needs. We all need food, sleep, and bathroom breaks. There are things we can’t learn—whether by choice or genetics. I can’t seem to get good at math or music. This stance is detailed in David Zahl’s Low Anthropology: The Unlikely Key to a Gracious View of Others (and Yourself). Awareness of limits creates good boundaries. Knowing we can’t do everything drives us into community and collaboration with folks who are different.

Of course, this has been taken too far. If we are shamed, called worms or totally depraved, that’s too far. Jesus had a higher view of us: “These things I can do, you can do…” Yet Jesus also took naps. One occasion, he was asleep during a storm while the disciples freaked out. He constantly went off into the wilderness to pray. He rested.

A low anthropology paves the way for grace. If we acknowledge our limitations, we open ourselves to God’s love that meets us as we are—not as we pretend to be. It fosters justice, for we understand our neighbor has limits, too, and needs support. It nurtures love, because real love is not contingent on perfection, but on presence and mutual care.

Jesus told his followers not to make spectacles of their prayers—not to stand on street corners, but to pray in secret. The more we read the Gospels, the more we realize Jesus had the harshest words—not for outsiders, not for sinners—but for people like us. People with options, influence, resources. People with religious credentials. People who knew better.

Today, I hear a lot of noise about religious persecution. Christians under attack? That narrative disgusts me. I don’t see humility. I see power being abused. Hypocrisy. You are statistically safer with a trans person or a drag queen than you are with clergy.[1]

In the 90s, DC Talk[2] had a spoken word intro: “The greatest single cause of atheism in the world today is Christians who acknowledge Jesus with their lips, then walk out the door and deny him by their lifestyle. That is what an unbelieving world simply finds unbelievable.” That line haunts me. Too often, Christians have become the very people Jesus couldn’t stand.

There’s a group now wanting to teach the Bible in public schools. It might sound good. But this group—Lifewise—pulls children off campus to teach a rigid, fundamentalist version of Scripture. They claim public schools are demonic. They want to strip funding from public education. I’m not against private schools—I went to one. But I am against public tax dollars being diverted in ways that harm the vulnerable. This version of Christianity wants to hang the Ten Commandments on classroom walls but take away free lunches for kids. That’s not worship of Jesus. That’s worship of power. When these same leaders condemn all the people they don’t like but later get charged with abuse themselves—what exactly are they following? It doesn’t look like Jesus.

It’s easy to say, “Well, our church isn’t doing that.” But let’s be real: the average person doesn’t make those distinctions. They see “Christian,” and that’s it. In many cases, they see Christians who aren’t caring for the least of these. Who are not living out love. They see long-winded prayers, public piety—while widows are exploited, LGBTQ folk demonized, racism and sexism run rampant, human need skyrockets, and the least of these become left behind.

This may seem dour and melancholy. I think you’re right. Thus is the great pull of Christ. I’m convicted to attend to the log in my own eye. And the log in the eye of the institution I represent. So what shall we do?

When someone starts talking about the harm organized religion has done, we can listen and commiserate instead of jumping to defend. We can consider and call out how often we Christians have claimed Jesus as sponsor of partisanships he never would have sponsored. May we stand against such hypocritical faith as our ancestors did as the Congregationalists fought for equal education for all of our citizens.

May we notice not the billboards with the partisan stances and instead look like Jesus toward the widow. Those who will give what they can, even though it might go unnoticed by us, but who is all in. May we see those who never miss a Sunday. May we encourage those who pray for their pastors in secret. Those who show up at bible studies, game nights, youth group lock ins and more. Those who listen and consider and give all they have. While others might look past them, God sees. And God rejoices.

May we see. May we rejoice. May we then go and do likewise. We feed others, not because they are Christian; but because we are. We help folks with hotel stays, not because they are Christian; but because we are. We call our representatives for public education, not because it is Christian but because we are. We make sure elementary students are fed, not because they are Christian; but because we are. We seek justice, because Christ loved justice. We offer grace, because Christ gives grace. We live love, because Christ is love.

I’ll leave you with this story of hope. I tell this story because the man who mentioned it might be too humble to repeat it. At our annual meeting in January and in our narrative budget, our financial director Pete Metzloff stated that he was surprised at his favorite part of the job. His favorite part is helping people. Taking calls just like Jeff and Kelly and others before him.

Pete takes these calls. Someone calls the office looking for help. We have the shepherd’s fund. It might be utility bills or a hotel stay or food assistance. They call up and they’ll ask for help.

“I can give you $200,” Pete often tells them.

Silence. Then, through tears: “You don’t know what this means to me.”

To some, $200 is a casual dinner. To our neighbors, it is hope. Aaron Collier reflects on it this way, “This is when numbers stop mattering—because the landscape of a life has been changed.”

You do that in your quiet way church. How you gather. How you give. How you pray, all of that matters. It’s truly Christ-like. I take my lead from you. I try to follow and learn and keep open. Thank you for your patience and mentorship. I’ll try to keep doing the same for you. And between us, we form a community that is stronger and goes beyond what either of us are capable of on our own. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Works Cited

[1] “Transgender People Over Four Times More Likely than Cisgender People to be Victims of Violent Crime.” Williams Institute, UCLA School of Law. Accessed March 31, 2025. https://williamsinstitute.law.ucla.edu/press/ncvs-trans-press-release/.​

[2] DC Talk. What If I Stumble. Jesus Freak. ForeFront Records, 1995. CD liner notes.