I said what I had to say, but inside I felt sick.

I felt a little sick on Sunday morning. Physically, I was fine. But I was like the gorilla at the zoo who throws her own feces at the glass, just to let those who are watching on the other side know exactly what she thinks of them. But the thing was, for me, these were people I truly care about. This was not even remotely what I thought of them. And yet, I threw it anyway. What kind of jerk does something like that?

This wasn’t the first time I’ve felt this way, but I don’t remember ever feeling it like I did this past week. It happened while I was preaching the sermon. In my defense, the text was Luke 6:20-26.
Then he (Jesus) looked up at his disciples and said:
“Blessed are you who are poor,
for yours is the kingdom of God.
“Blessed are you who are hungry now,
for you will be filled.
“Blessed are you who weep now,
for you will laugh.
“Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets.

If Luke had stopped with the blessings, like Matthew did, all would be well, but Luke had to go on with the part about the woes. And that was the problem.
“But woe to you who are rich,
for you have received your consolation.
“Woe to you who are full now,
for you will be hungry.
“Woe to you who are laughing now,
for you will mourn and weep.
“Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets.

(In my faith tradition, we have a schedule of readings that we go through every three years called the Revised Common Lectionary. I can deviate from it if I want to, but then I would always be preaching on my favorite passages and that’s not exactly an honest way to preach God’s word to folks. So, the lectionary forces me to preach on texts that challenge me. And that’s a good thing. Good for me, and good for those who are on the receiving end of my sermons.)

 
Now, it’s not that I have a problem with Luke’s version of the Beatitudes. I’ve preached on them before without an issue. But this time was different. Although I've always been a preacher who tends to challenge people, during the pandemic, I’ve been trying hard to be more comforting than confronting. In a time when people are feeling so beaten down every day, they don’t need to be beaten down by their pastor. So, over the past two years, I’ve been emphasizing Biblical themes like compassion, trust, and hope whenever I can. But Luke 6:20-26 wouldn’t let me go there.

 
Before the pandemic, I had occasionally been criticized because I didn’t preach in a way that left everyone feeling good, like Joel Osteen. I figured that the scriptures don't always leave everyone feeling good, so I didn’t allow their feedback to change the way I preached. And really, even my challenging sermons were always infused with grace, I thought. (Of course, grace may be the most challenging theological concept of all.)

Then last week, I received an email from a member I hadn’t seen during the entire pandemic and it rattled me. She told me she could no longer attend worship because it left her feeling bad about herself, even though she knows she’s a good person. I tried to reassure myself that I wasn’t responsible for how she feels, but a part of me wondered if maybe I was. Maybe my confrontational sermons had been too much. And then, on Sunday, here I was, doing it again.

We are entering a time when people who have been away from the church for the last few years are deciding whether they want to return. It is the “Great Reset.” We don’t know who will be among us when we come out on the other side. The majority of our Ascension members continue to worship online, and we don’t know exactly who they are. Some of our members are going to other churches now. We also have welcomed new people to Ascension. In some cases, we have swapped members with neighboring churches. And then there are those who no longer have an interest in any church at all.

Somehow, politics have crept into this Great Reset. While we figured out how to coexist during the Trump years, we haven’t fared as well during the pandemic. A few people left Ascension when we put “Black Lives Matter” signs in our front yard, which was enough to encourage others to join us. Some disagree with the cautious way we have asked people to worship with us during the pandemic, which is perceived as politically motivated. I’ve struggled with this much in the same way that I struggle to be faithful to Biblical preaching. What does it mean to be faithful to Jesus in this time? It’s not so much about a need to be right as a need to be faithful to the Jesus I’ve come to know and love, the Jesus revealed in the scriptures, the Jesus who taught us, “By this everyone will know that you’re my disciples, if you have love for one another.” Sometimes I get it wrong, but this is always what I’m trying to do.

On Sunday, when I stood in the pulpit and said what I had to say, inside I felt sick. I didn’t want to beat people up. Heck, I’m getting ready to retire, and I’d prefer that there be a congregation to leave for the next pastor. And yet, I was telling my overwhelmingly white, affluent congregation that God has a bias that favors the poor, the hungry, the oppressed. I shared with them that Luke’s gospel celebrates the Great Reversal as a sign of God’s Reign here on Earth. Where the hungry are filled with good things and the ones who are full are sent away empty. Where the rich are brought low, and the poor are lifted up. And here we go again with the politics. Except it isn’t politics. It’s Jesus. So, I said what I had to say. But inside I felt sick.

And why am I telling you this? Because I want you to know that I don’t take the things I say from the pulpit lightly. That when I was ordained, I promised to faithfully preach the word of God and that means doing my best to not preach the word of Nancy. That sometimes the scriptures compel me to say things I really don’t want to say. That as a human being, I don’t want other people to dislike me. I don’t want to come across like a jerk. I don’t want to be a gorilla flinging my feces at people. I want you to know that I'm human, and sometimes I feel sick when I say what I say in a sermon. But I’m a pastor, so I need to say it.