Sermon given by Laurel Oberstadt-Petrik on Reconciling in Christ Sunday, January 25, 2026 at University Lutheran Church, Cambridge, Massachusetts. Texts for the service were:
This recording begins with Laurel’s reading from the Gospel of Matthew.
Text of the sermon
In seminary I took a homiletics class that was divided into 2 parts: the first half was about textual exegesis, mining the text for the gospel for these people in this time. The second half was about what our professor called “elephant in the roomˮ sermons—those sermons you must preach because there isnʼt a choice not to.
In class it felt like these two parts were worlds away from each other. But now, standing before you on this Reconciling in Christ Sunday, I know that the world of the text and the world that we live in now are so closely aligned they appear as two sides of a single sheet of paper. Because the world that Jesus lived in? It was a world beset by the evils of empire. And we too are in a world beset by the evils of empire. Everyday it kills people. In the time of Christ that empire killed Jesus. Yesterday, the American Empire in which we reside killed Alex Pretti. And before that it killed Renee Good, and before that Keith Porter, and before that 32 lives were extinguished in ICE custody last year. We live in an empire of death.
Jesus, too, lived in an empire of death. But in our gospel text for today we read that when John the Baptizer was arrested, he withdrew to Galilee, left Nazareth where he had grown up, and made his home in Capernaum by the Sea. He left home. And from that time on, Jesus began to proclaim the kingdom of heaven come near.
The gospel writer, Matthew, then quotes Isaiah: “the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death light has dawned.ˮ
Beloved church, how many of you feel like we sit in the region and shadow of death right now?
With a massive winter storm bearing down on us and legal protections shriveling up. With the progress we made towards marriage equality and justice for trans folks being rapidly rolled back. With the extrajudicial killing of a man in the streets of Minneapolis.
Friends, we sit in a land of great darkness. A land that is in the shadow of death. It is the shadow of empire, and it kills.
(beat)
This Sunday we celebrate what it means to be a Reconciling in Christ congregation, a fact that has been true for 37 years. But what does it mean to celebrate this fact when protections for young transpeople are being stripped away, and in fact politicians are implementing measures of cruelty against them? What does it mean to celebrate the diversity of all of us as Godʼs children when those who have more melanin than I do are being rounded up, detained, and deported?
I must confess to you, church, that the fingers of despondency had a grip on my heart as I turned to write this sermon. But I turned once again to the text. To Isaiah, and Psalm 27 and Matthew 4. Because that homiletics professor I had in seminary was right about one thing, if nothing else: in order to preach the good news of Jesus Christ and his kingdom, we must attend to the texts. We must brood on what is troubling in them, and look for the gospel where we can find it.
And this week, this troublesome week, I could not get Psalm 27 out of my head.
“The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom then shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? One thing I ask of the Lord and one thing I seek; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to seek God in the temple. For in the day of trouble God will give me shelter, hide me in the hidden places of the sanctuary and raise me high upon a rock.ˮ
Donʼ t you want to be raised high upon a rock right now?
Doesnʼt it sound nice to be hidden in the sanctuary?;
But the author of this Psalm doesnʼt actually use the Hebrew word for temple here. The writer uses the word Sukkoth, meaning shelter, and ohel, meaning tent. In other words, God does not hide us in the sanctuary in safe territory. But God is with us in the wilderness, in the Tabernacle where God dwelt among the people.
And beloved, I want that to sink in. In the wilderness, God dwells among the people. God is with us in the midst of the empire of death. Emmanuel, God with us, Christ dwells with us.
This is the gospel this frigid morning, friends. God is on the side of the oppressed, of those with their backs against the wall. God is on the side of life, of emotion and grief and rejoicing. And yes, God is on the side of love, for God is love Godself.
Christ said he came so that we may have life, and life abundant.
That life is in defiance of empire, in defiance of death.
It is the life that I see in the eyes of my trans siblings when they laugh in the face of their healthcare being stripped away and their rights being decimated.
It is the life I see in the queer and trans weddings I have witnessed, where folks promise to love each other regardless of whether the state will recognize their marriage.
It is the life I see in the created world around me, in the beauty of a child playing the snow.
It is the life I see in Minneapolis, where thousands of people have banded together so that their neighbors can be fed though they are in hiding. The unity in Minneapolis is palpable. Unity against injustice and oppression. In Minnesota, where so many of our Lutheran siblings reside, people have stepped up.
So what are we celebrating, exactly, this RIC Sunday? We are celebrating what it means to live into the Gospel of Christ: the gospel of life and life abundant, for all people, no matter what.
If you had gone to another church this morning you might have heard a sermon where you might have been told that this isnʼt about politics. Well, beloved, this morning I am here to tell you the opposite. The gospel is a message about Godʼs kingdom drawing near. That is inherently a political statement, just as much now as it was when Jesus first proclaimed it over two thousand years ago. Because Christʼs kingdom is a kingdom of life: a topsy turvy kingdom where power relations are turned on their heads and the least are the greatest.
What does it mean to answer the call to live into the kingdom of life, the kingdom of Christ in this moment? I can tell you with confidence that it does not look like choosing the path of security and comfort. Beloved church, to be a congregation that Reconciles in Christ, we must answer Christʼs call to love, with abandon, to take risks, to proclaim the gospel of the kingdom of heaven.
A dear friend of mine answered the call for clergy and religious leaders to go to Minneapolis this past Friday. They are a queer mother of two, and a minister of children and families at a UCC congregation here in the Boston area. I invite you to listen to her words now, as you consider what the gospel requires of you:
“The organizers of this gathering were very clear that simply being present here is a risk. ICE agents arrest and detain whoever they want, and use tear gas indiscriminately. Since the murder of Renee Good, ICE agents have been repeatedly pointing their guns at civilians’ heads.
“I didnʼt answer this call because I felt brave. I didnʼt answer this call recklessly. I was scared and I am scared. But I am at peace with the fear. My faith compels me to love my neighbor, and for all the fear I am holding in my body I am also holding an extraordinary and extravagant love, which is the love of God through Christ and through all of those people who are carrying me here with their support and their prayers. I answered the call because I know that we are all connected-from Natick to Milton to Boston to Minneapolis, every creature and every person is a neighbor. More than that, I know that we are relatives in the family of creation, and what is happening here is hurting our family. I also know without a shadow of a doubt that this is a pivotal moment in history. This is the time to take risks, even risks that we never imagined ourselves taking. The people here believe that Minnesota is a testing ground and that this level of repression will come to other cities. And they also believe that what they are doing to resist, to save peoples lives and to take care of each other is absolutely replicable…Everybody is doing something. Everybody has something to offer. In six days, Minnesotans pulled together a gathering for 600 clergy, fed us, housed us, gave us warm clothes for the frigid weather. One day this occupation will end, but the relationships built on love and care and trust will not. We can be scared and still choose to move toward love. And we must choose to move toward love today.ˮ
And so, dear friends, this Sunday, this very cold Sunday, consider carefully the path you tread. May it be a path towards God, towards life, towards becoming more and more the hands and feet of love in this world.
And may God, creator, sustainer, redeemer and friend, keep us and be with us as we walk this path. Amen.