Resolution: Restoration

Jeremiah 31:7-14

Ephesians 1:3-6,15-19a

Matthew 2:13-15,19-23

Psalm 84 or 84:1-8

 

©2025 The Rev. Seth Olson

Emmanual, God with us, may my words be your words and when my words are not your words may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen. 

 

Good morning, beloved Apostles! As we gather on this first Sunday in the year of Our Lord 2025, our readings and prayers lead us into a profoundly important theme: restoration. We heard it in Jeremiah's prophecy of God gathering and reconciling with His people. It was proclaimed in Matthew's Gospel of God's protective presence amid political violence. And, we prayed it in the collect that began our service: “O God, who wonderfully created, and yet more wonderfully restored, the dignity of human nature.”

 

Today, I want to reflect on that phrase: “and yet more wonderfully restored, the dignity of human nature.”

 

Several years ago, my uncle Bill decided to restore my grandmother’s 1965 Ford Mustang in beautiful teal. For seasons of my life that car looked like a lost cause—it was hidden under a cover in my grandparents’ basement, the white leather seats were cracked, and the engine barely functional. But my uncle saw its potential. Slowly, with a lot of love and even more sweat, he began to bring it back to life. Yet there came a point where his tools and knowledge weren’t enough. He needed to reach out for help from others who had restored this make and model before.

 

That’s the thing about restoration: it’s both exhilarating and humbling. Whether it’s a car, a house, or even a relationship, the process reminds us of two truths. First, restoration requires work. Second, we can’t do it alone.

 

The same is true for us. Look around, and it’s clear that we live in a broken world. Jeremiah’s words about the scattered people of Israel feel just as relevant today. We see the cracks and fractures—in our personal lives, in our local communities, and across the globe.

 

This week alone, we’ve grieved over terrorist attacks in New Orleans and Las Vegas. The despair and depravity of such violence weighs heavily on us. In our Gospel lesson, we were reminded of another horrific event: King Herod’s massacre of the innocents. If you are unfamiliar with this gruesome part of the Christmas story, it was when in an attempt to murder the Christ child, the despot Herod killed all the first-born sons of Bethlehem. These stories—past and present—confront us with the depth of human brokenness.

 

But brokenness isn’t the final word. Jeremiah’s prophecy reminds us that God is not distant. Instead, God is intimate. God is with us in the messiness. And God is in the business of restoration, gathering the scattered, turning mourning into joy, and sorrow into dancing.

 

Sometimes, though, we believe things must work on our timeline. We “wrestle” control away from God. That it’s all got to be okay RIGHT NOW! At other times, we think restoration means we need to meet God halfway—that we must pull ourselves together and only then approach God. But that’s not the Gospel. That’s not good news at all—that’s conditional, quid pro quo, you scratch my back I’ll scratch yours—that’s the way of the world. That’s not the Gospel, for God’s grace—favor unearned and undeserved—meets us where we are, even in our most hopeless moments.

 

Consider the Holy Family’s flight to Egypt. From a worldly perspective, they weren’t safe. They weren’t secure. They were running for their lives, fleeing from a murderous madman. And yet, God’s presence was with them, guiding them to safety and eventually to a new home. This is the surprising truth of grace: it finds us in the wilderness, in the broken places, and begins the work of restoration. As Max Lucado wrote and former Presiding Bishop Michael Curry was fond of quoting, “God will love you where you are, but God will never leave you where you are!”

 

And here’s an amazing truth—God invites us to be part of this work. Like my uncle restoring that car, we’re called to roll up our sleeves and participate in God’s mission of healing, renewal, and sharing unearned-undeserved favor. Sometimes that looks like repairing a relationship. Sometimes it’s working for justice in our community. Sometimes it’s simply showing kindness to someone in need.

 

But just as my uncle needed help to finish the restoration, we must remember that we’re not doing this alone. God’s power is what ultimately transforms and restores. We do our part, but God’s grace both initiates and completes the work. Speaking of starting and finishing work.

 

At this time of year, many of us are thinking about resolutions. Maybe you’ve resolved to eat healthier, exercise more, or spend more time with family. These are good goals, but what if we thought about resolutions as part of God’s restoration process? What if we resolved to align our lives more fully with God’s vision for us and the world? What would it look like if restoration was our resolution for this year?

 

Restoration in our resolutions could look like this:

 

• Repairing Relationships: Commit to forgiving someone or seeking forgiveness where it is needed.
• Creating Space for God: Resolve to set aside time for prayer, Scripture reading, or worship.
• Caring for Creation: Take small steps to live more sustainably, recognizing that the restoration of the Earth is part of God’s mission.
• Building Community: Volunteer your time, support local ministries, or simply be present with those who need encouragement.
• Fostering Personal Wholeness: Instead of focusing only on self-improvement, consider how your growth contributes to the well-being of others.

These resolutions remind us that restoration is not just about fixing what is broken but about participating in God’s greater work of renewal.

 

As a church, we’re called to be a community of restoration. This means grieving with those who grieve, standing with those who are broken, and offering hope to a world in need. It means being a place where people can encounter the grace of God—the grace that meets us where we are and invites us into something new.

 

Speaking of hope and encountering the grace of God, at the end of today’s service, I will be passing out “Star Words.” You may remember this practice from a couple years ago when the Rev. Emily Collette was here as an Associate Rector. Each star bears a word—a single point of focus for the coming year. These words invite us to reflect and center our intentions. Much like the star that guided the Magi to Jesus, a Star Word can offer us a sense of direction, encouraging us to seek God’s presence and purpose as we step into the restorative work God calls us to do.

 

Having an intentional point, like a Star Word, reminds us that restoration isn’t aimless. It’s a journey with God, guided by grace and anchored in hope. Let your word guide you as you consider how you might participate in God’s renewing and restoring work this year.

 

Beloved Apostles, restoration is hard work. It’s humbling work. But it’s holy work. And the good news is that God is with us every step of the way. God’s grace meets us in our brokenness, restores our dignity, and calls us to join in the healing of the world.

 

So, as we step into this New Year, let us trust in God’s promise of restoration. Let us do the work we can, lean on God for what we cannot, and together, let us reflect the glory of a broken world being wonderfully restored by God’s grace. Amen.

  

What’s Written On Your Heart?

What has God written on your heart?

Jeremiah 31:31-34

Hebrews 5:5-10

John 12:20-33

Psalm 51:1-13

 

 

©2024 The Rev. Seth Olson

 

Holy God, let my words be your words and when my words are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

 

Good morning! Thank you to our musicians for this service. I am grateful for our wonderful choir, Toni Leo, David Mize, and Randolph Horn for leading our melodic praise of God today. What a joy to sing songs from the Avocado Three Hymnal. That’s not what it’s called, you say? Well, we’re in Lent, so I cannot say the real name of that yellow songbook. 

 

I’m grateful Randolph is here because it seems that whenever we take part in leading worship together something strange happens. I thought it was only confined to All Saints, but it’s happening here too. At All Saints, every Sunday evening that I would preach and preside at the 5:30 service, the lessons were almost always difficult in nature. At first, I thought it was my rector—now our bishop—I thought it was Bishop G breaking me in by giving me some tough readings. Now, I know that it is God’s way of punishing me… okay, not punishing as much as making me sweat a bit.

 

Still, our passages as we get closer to Holy Week are clearly pushing us more and more. Jesus doesn’t say “Save us from the time of trial,” like the way he taught us to pray. No, today we hear Jesus saying, don’t save me from this hour, for this I have come into the world. It will get even more intense next week. So, come back to learn about Jesus’ counter-protest procession that directly opposed the oppressive powers and principalities of his day. This week though, Jeremiah’s prophetic witness, especially here in Chapter 31 cries out. Even though it was written over 2,500 years ago, it still resonates.

 

If you have never read the book of Jeremiah, I highly recommend it. If you do not have time to pour over every detail, look up the Bible Project (linked here) and spend about 8 minutes watching their illustrated description of what happened in this prophetic text. Jeremiah, which was written by the scribe Baruch, is an anthology of the prophet’s sermons, poems, and essays. They all revolve around a basic idea: The Nation of Israel went astray breaking their covenant with God—they did this by worshipping other gods—God’s judgment was to come from Babylon—and yet, despite any unfaithfulness, God’s hope for God’s People within and beyond Israel remained. Follow me a little deeper.

 

There had been rampant social injustice in Israel. Those whom God had commanded the people to tend to and care for the most—widows, orphans, and immigrants—were being abused even right outside the Temple, as some were adopting the Canaanite practice of sacrificing children. According to Jeremiah, God, in the form of a nation to the north, was going to exact justice upon those who were committing these abominations, and Israel would be in exile for 70 years as a result. 

 

In the middle part of this collection, we discover two stories which point to Jeremiah pronouncing God’s judgment on the faulty leadership and having to suffer consequences—even being kidnapped and taken to Egypt. Sandwiched between these stories is this kernel of hopefulness, which we read today! God will make a new covenant—listen to how beautiful this promise is:

 

I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. No longer shall they teach one another, or say to each other, “Know the Lord,” for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, says the Lord; for I will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sin no more.

 

Wow! This is powerful. It can also be taken out of context. We, Christians, overlay on Jeremiah’s word the coming of Christ in the form of Jesus. Maybe, this is what he was saying! However, Jeremiah was a faithful Israelite. And, this Prophet of Israel was directing God’s People, in much the same way Jesus would. They both were convinced of a new understanding that the Divine One, the Lord Our God, is as close to us as our very hearts. 

 

This deserves pausing to let this truth sink into our souls. Can you feel your heart beating in your chest? Maybe check your pulse. Take a deep breath. Closer than your heartbeat is to your heart that’s God’s nearness to you. Now that you know how close God is to you, let’s circle back to an important and somewhat confusing phrase from the lesson. “I will write [my new covenant] on their hearts.” On, not in. Hmm? I wonder about that. 

 

During my theological studies at the Seminary of the Southwest we once welcomed a brother from the Society of St. John the Evangelist, an Anglican/Episcopal monastic community up in Boston, Massachusetts. During a beautifully contemplative lecture, this priest and monastic spoke about a young monk with a question about this very thing. The novice asked a more experienced brother, “Why does it say in Holy Scripture that God will write his law on our hearts and not in them?” The elder responded, “God writes on our hearts, so that when our hearts break, the Word of God can fall inside and mend our brokenness.” I have been mulling over this profound statement since around 2012. 

 

God writes God’s law of love on your heart. We heard the summary of the law before we confessed our sins this morning: Love God with everything. Love your neighbor as yourself and as they want to be loved. Loving your neighbor as yourself implies you love yourself. This is no small feat. It requires unpacking the harmful or hateful messages we internalize in a society obsessed with bigger, faster, stronger!

 

Once we explore our own internal reality, allowing God’s Word and loving law to seep into our brokenness. Then, and only then, can we begin to bring that love to others. Who is God calling you to reach out to in love? As I have heard more of your stories, I believe we would be wise to start here—within this congregation. 

 

I am hopeful, like Jeremiah was, about the future of God’s People here! Still we must acknowledge the need for God’s Word to fall into our hearts—healing the collective broken-heartedness at Holy Apostles. Words from our Marriage Rite arise as I think about the wounds of this congregation, may “unity may overcome estrangement, forgiveness heal guilt, and joy conquer despair” (BCP, 429). As we heal from broken-heartedness, as we allow God’s Word to mend our woundedness, we will experience new life, new energy, and new freedom. Then, we may look beyond this community.

 

We are collectively called to embody God’s love, as we care for the last, the least, and the left out. As Jeremiah put it, the People of God are to care for the widow, the orphan, and the immigrant. As I am new here, I want to hear your voice about where we might focus our reaching out. By the way, “The last, the least, and the left out,” is a phrase from the Rt. Rev. Barbara Harris, late, great bishop of the Diocese of Massachusetts—there’s a lot of love for Massachusetts in today’s sermon! 

 

There is a survey in the Narthex. If you took it last week, thank you! If you did not take it last week, please fill it out today. The Outreach Committee is asking for your perspective. We will not be able to pursue every passion we possess. We will have to start somewhere and grow. Where we will grow best God only knows; however, I have a hunch it might strangely be in the shade.

 

As we culminate our Lenten journey with the beauty and challenge of Holy Week, Jesus draws us ever closer. Standing in the shadow of the Cross, we will see the Holy One lifted high. His glorification was not accompanied by pride, pomp, nor patriotism—not by military might, nor stage effects, nor a fearless flock of followers. Christ Jesus knew that the flourishing of his mission and ministry meant mimicking the journey of a grain of wheat. His death because of our human sinfulness—because he objected to an empire of domination, because Jesus stood up for widows, orphans, immigrants; the last, the least, and the left out; the poor, the oppressed, and the imprisoned, because Jesus loved the un-loveable, and led others to do the same, systems of power killed him. 

 

In our woundedness, during our day, do we do the same thing? Do we persecute others, hold grudges, or dislike people because of what was done or left undone, because of past mistakes, or a myriad of other offenses? Do we only associate with others when they can do something for us? 

 

What’s written on your heart? If it’s God’s law of love are you ready to allow the Word to mend your brokenness caused by your sinfulness and that of others? Are you open to allowing for God’s word to fall inside? Are you prepared for God to mend you and us collectively? God’s law of love is written on your heart—isn’t it time to let it in?

 

How Do We Preach Division?

Preaching on the weather (and James Spann) would be much easier than preaching on this set of readings.

There’s a whole lot in this week’s readings worth noting: Jeremiah sounding off against false prophets, God striking down false gods in the council of heaven, the writer of Hebrews challenging readers to run the race of perseverance, and Jesus revealing his pyromaniac side. Given we encounter a feisty and fiery Jesus what’s a preacher to do? I believe a helpful place to start is Jesus’ last question.

“You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time?” Everyone can talk about the weather—it’s a universally acceptable topic of conversation. I particularly love conversing about clouds, storm systems, and barometric pressure, but I’m the guy who has four weather apps on my phone. My sweet sister gifted me a couple of the expensive ones because she wanted to make sure I’m weather aware—and boy am I! I’ve got the same radar that James Spann uses, and I can carry it around with me everywhere I go. I know which way the wind is blowing, have alerts for all types of severe weather, and even know when it’s going to start raining minutes before it happens. So, I feel pretty good about answering Jesus, “Yes I know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky—or at least my app developers do.” But, the trouble comes in the second part of his question (I can’t seem to escape an impassioned Jesus). Why do you not know how to interpret the present time?

Why do I not know how to interpret the present time? Good question! The more I think about the present moment though, the more confused I get. It’s not to say that it wasn’t complicated 2,000 years ago. Especially since Jesus turned his face toward Jerusalem in Luke 9:51 the drama has heightened but the world around Jesus became more delineate, more black and white. And, this Sunday we hear Jesus drawing or perhaps burning a line in the sand. Those listening were challenged to make a decision, but it wasn’t turn or burn like we might be thinking (more on the type of fire in a moment).

The early followers of Jesus would have offended their parents or children or neighbors, as they sided with Jesus instead of other worldviews. Those times were certainly divisive, and with hindsight and bias we judge which side we would choose to join. What about today though? A good sermon this week might highlight the challenges we face in our current divisive age.

Right now appears even more divided than any other time—including Jesus' own. We can see people’s opinions instantaneously on social media. When we do we can simply unfriend or unfollow those people with whom we disagree. We can watch our chosen brand of 24-hour news to further hammer home how right we are—and how wrong everyone else is. People can even quit going to a church if someone in the pulpit or the pew says something they don’t like. But, take any hot-button issue and try to interpret a peaceable solution and life will get quite complicated quite quickly. I don’t mean that people cannot figure out what they think about given issue—or what side to choose. No, I mean that all of us are struggling to coalesce and find consensus. It feels impossible to arrive at solutions where all are heard, respected, and satisfied with the result.

Experiencing the log-jammed nature of today helps me to understand Jesus’ frustration in this week’s Gospel lesson. A helpful sermon might speak of fire (told you I'd come back to it). Fire not as a way to scare people into choosing heaven over hell, but rather as a way to burn away that which does not fall in line with God’s will. Jesus used this image of fire to illuminate how God refines us. Jesus was rifting on the same image that Jeremiah used several centuries earlier. This might be another good jumping off spot for a sermon.

Jeremiah was tired of hearing the false prophets of his own day. These errant teachers were claiming that they had dreams from God, so that they could benefit themselves. This is not unlike some infamous televangelists who use hapless viewer’s charity to buy private jets or mansions. Jeremiah could not condone any of these nightmarish dreams which led God’s people astray.

A compelling dream and a flashy sales pitch can make people fall for just about anything. In this case it could even make God’s people forget God’s name. However, even more powerful than the false prophet’s dream is the Word of God. The Word of God can burn like a dividing fire and split open like a rock hammer. Still in both the Gospel lesson and here in Jeremiah we may not understand what is at stake along these dividing lines, as we experience the fiery word of God, which is where this week’s Psalm comes in handy. Again, another good sermon departure point.

Often I overlook the Psalmody in my sermon prep. They’re just old songs, right? Yes, but even though we often read them and move on these hymns cover the gamut of human experience from lamentation to ecstasy, from birth to death, from history to the end times. And, this week's psalm has a direct way of depicting who God truly is.

In Psalm 82, we are placed in the council of heaven, a common concept in the Ancient Near East—including ancient Israel and Judah. Here, YHWH or the Most High God was holding all others that were not the Most High God accountable. God took a stand against all forces not God. God took this stand because these other forces were judging unjustly. We might wonder what is the most important characteristic that makes God… well… God. Is it omnipotence? Is it infinite power? Is it immortality? What is it?

Psalm 82 responds to those questions in an unexpected way to me. All those forces in the council of heaven were cast down out of the realm of the immortal because they were... wait for it... unjust. God's most critical component here is not omnipotence, power, or immortality. It's justice! These others were showing favor to the wicked, not saving the weak and the orphan nor defending the humble and needy. They were not rescuing the weak and the poor, nor delivering them from the power of the wicked. And in a great cosmic aside, God said, “They do not know, neither do they understand; they go about in darkness; all the foundations of the earth are shaken.” In other words, these others go about in ignorance and haphazardly shake the very foundation of creation with their injustice. As a result of not living into the justice that God intended, they were cast out of this celestial realm.

Now my fellow preacher, justice is a powerful word to throw around from the pulpit. When I say justice everyone can nod their head and in other parts of the Jesus Movement people might even say “Amen!” to such a profound word. However, there’s a problem with this word. When I say justice there are as many different concepts of what that looks like as there are people in the pews. So, let me elaborate on this term using the vision that God sets forth here in Psalm 82 and also in Luke’s Gospel account.

Justice sides not with the wicked—i.e. anyone who takes advantage of the poor—but rather God’s vision of justice saves the weak and the orphan, defends the humble and needy, rescues the weak and the poor, and delivers them from those who would exploit them. And this theme, this vision of justice isn’t simply present here in Psalm 82, it’s also what Luke has been building towards throughout his entire story of Jesus.

Three canticles at the start of Luke portray this vision. Zechariah, John the Baptizer’s father, sang of this justice when he spoke of being delivered out of the hands of enemies and into freedom by God’s mercy. Simeon shared of this justice through the release for all of God’s people that he saw in the coming of the Christ child. And Mary most pointedly praised God’s justice as she sang, “He has shown the strength of his arm, he has scattered the proud in their conceit. He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty.” This is the vision of justice that God makes known to us, but what does this mean to us? And how can we preach when we and our congregations are often proud, mighty, and rich? I don't have a good answer for this, which is why I'm still working on my sermon.

There is a dilemma set forth in this week’s texts. Jesus touches on a nerve that Jeremiah experienced in his day, and we feel in our own. Jesus points to divisions that arise when we have to choose something paramount over something important. What happens when the stakes are raised to this level?

I believe we find the most profound truth in the psalmist's words. God is not God if God is unjust. And we in turn are not God’s people if we are perpetuating injustice. We are called to persevere just like that great cloud of witnesses persevered in the letter to the Hebrews. Our perseverance as preachers is difficult. For calling out injustice in our congregations and in our world must be done with a pastoral heart. And first Jesus’ fiery, cutting language must convict us as followers of Christ, so that all which does not fall in line with God’s will burns away. How do we preach division? First, we must allow God's refining fire to unite our true selves with Christ.

The Days Are Coming

Album art from My Morning Jacket's Circuital 

During seminary my friend CJ Meaders kept on raving about this band My Morning Jacket (MMJ). I could not for the life of me get into them. Often CJ's recommendations quickly became new favorite bands, but as hard as I tried I could not get into MMJ. I listened to their albums, watched old concerts, and even read positive reviews, but none of this did the trick. I had to experience a concert in person.

In the fall of 2011, I went to hear MMJ perform at the Austin City Limits (ACL) Music Festival at Zilker Park in ATX. Standing among many thousands of people and actually being in the presence of these performers made all the difference in the world. Their music sprang to life in a new way. They brought up the Preservation Hall Jazz Band from New Orleans to help with a few numbers. I left the concert a convert. Soon I was playing MMJ's sixth album "Circuital" on repeat.

Some of the songs on that album like "Victory Dance" and "First Light," pushed me beyond the point of liking MMJ's music and into a place in which I wondered, "Is this band writing prophetic rock music for the 21st Century?" There is a fancy word that gets thrown around in seminary to talk about God's return and our ultimate fulfillment in that moment, and that word is eschatology. If I had to classify MMJ, I might categorize them as an Eschatalogical Rock Band.

"The Day is Coming" the second track on the aforementioned album links so fittingly with Jeremiah 31:31-34 that I have a hard time not hearing it when I start reading, "The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah." We all have different ways of approaching that day when all things will be fulfilled. My hope as a Christian stems from my belief that Jesus initiated this new covenant and that we get to take part in it not teaching one another to "Know the Lord," but that we already know God.

What will the end look like? What music will be playing? Can we know any of this ahead of time? I am not so sure. We can certainly have hope in the all encompassing love and redemption of God through Christ. Yet, I think that it is like a really good band that you cannot quite get into by just listening online or reading reviews. To truly know the fulfilling of all things we have to experience it. The days are coming, but rest assured in the New Covenant the law is written on our hearts and we are God's people!