Keys to the Kingdom Do Not Stop Life From "Life-ing"; Jeremiah 29:11

 

Rev. George Miller

Aug 23, 2026

Jeremiah 29:11

 

Faith in Christ does not mean a carefree life.  In Matthew 16, Peter declares to Jesus “You are the Messiah…Son of the Living God!” 

 

To which Jesus says “Blessed are you Simon...You get the keys of the kingdom of heaven.”

 

Wow!  Could there be a cooler set of keys; sounds like life is now easy street!  Except, as Simon soon learns, holding the keys to heaven does not stop life from life-ing.  It does not prevent Peter from beatings or imprisonment.

 

What good are holding the keys if it doesn’t keep you crises free? 

 

Jeremiah 29:11 says “surely I know the plans I have for you, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.”  Did God have plans for Peter?  Why did he endure harm?

 

…I have a confession to make- being a person of Christian faith is not always easy.  There is the idea that if you are a person of faith, every day should be easy, every moment filled with joy, your trust in God unmovable  and assured whenever wherever whatever.

 

Sometimes we construct an idea that as a person of faith we should always be happy; our first waking words- “Glory be to the Highest!”   

 

But the truth is that people of faith are still people.  We get cold when it’s cold.  Hungry when we’re hungry.  Weather affects our moods.  Housekeeping can feel overwhelming.

 

Being a person of Christian faith does not mean every obstacle is easily averted or every ailment is instantly healed.  It does not mean if we prayed harder, believed more, martyred ourselves enough times that all things will be OK.

 

Sometimes being a Christian of faith is saying “Lord, I’m tired, I’m tired.”  Sometimes it’s admitting that our bodies are not what they used to be. 

 

Sometimes it’s standing still and saying “Jesus, God, Holy Spirit, is it Ok if I just rest in your arms?”

 

Because the chores will wait.  The need to sacrifice ourselves and please others is often an illusion… 

 

…Since March, I’ve been on path to  healing.  The past 2 years have been a time of pain and mortality. 

 

It breaks my heart that you have not truly met the George who wistfully goes everywhere, doing all things, dances easily, and is always tan from being in the sun.

 

Turns out that once your legs no longer “leg” your relationship with the world changes.  Is stepping onto the sidewalk worth the pain?  When did lawns become dangerous fields of tree roots?

 

My arthritis was so bad that going downstairs to do laundry or stepping into the shower felt like horror movies.  The pain so excruciating that I tried to avoid putting on socks; every act of sitting down and standing up hurt.

 

Thank God for health insurance.  For neighbors who looked after me.  For your support.

 

This time of healing has been an enriching one.  Instead of pushing my body beyond its limits by Superman-ing it, I opted to “listen”- rest when my body said “rest”, ice when it said “ice”.

 

It meant feeling sad when I was sad.  Annoyed when the bathroom called for the 4^th time in 40 minutes.  In other words- real.

 

Though trouble lasted the night, joy has come in the morning.

 

Sunday, I braved the stairs to do laundry and when I stepped on that first step-nothing.  No pain, hurt or  grimacing.  Just the feeling of my foot on a flat surface.

 

It was so unfamiliar.  For 2 years every single step down the stairs caused pain.  I had grown used to it, afraid of it, my mind always bracing my body for it.   Now I get to rewire my brain so that steps are no longer seen as a horror film.

 

Then Monday- stepping barefoot on the grass.  It’s been a year since I’ve walked barefoot outside.  Too dangerous, unstable.

 

But Monday I got to feel it- green lush Missouri grass kissing my soles.  I forgot how that felt.

 

Now, Jeremiah 29 has some truth- plans to unfold and hope to hold. Oh the places I can go!  Wine Country, Ozarks, Botanical Gardens, the steps of the St. Louis library…even just walking the campus of St. Lucas UCC.

 

The simple pleasures that healing can restore.  I can’t wait to dilly dally once again at Home Goods.

 

Valuable lessons have been learned. Such as- as bodies age and break down, every aspect of our lives is affected. 

 

No amount of positive thinking changes the fact that as our bodies change, so does our relationship with the world around us.  How do I minister to a congregation of bodies now that I know this?

 

I’ve learned that pain infiltrates every aspect of our lives, robs our joy, limits what we do, and changes who we are.

 

As a church, how do we faithfully address this?  When it hurts for folks to put on socks or take an hour to button a shirt, when attending a Council meeting means stairs or long, dark hallways?

 

How does one faithfully lead worship when pews are low to the ground and invitations to stand up hurts?  When the Chancel isn’t easy to navigate if you are unsteady on your feet? 

 

Today’s scripture says “…I know the plans I have for you… plans for your welfare…to give you a future with hope.”

 

Hope.  Not perfection.  Not pain free, scar free, or the way it once was.  But hope.

 

Hope for anyone who knows what it is like to live day by day. 

 

Hope for those living with chronic pain or cancer, dealing with depression or bodies that aren’t as they used to be.

 

Hope for those whose dreams have been dashed or detoured.

 

Hope for those in North St. Louis still recovering from the tornado.  Hope for those in Colombia who have a lifetime of loss to deal with.

 

Being a person of Christian faith does not mean every day we are filled with delight and the keys to the kingdom jingle jangle with joy.

 

Maybe being a person of Christian faith is not  that we don’t fall, but that we get back up. 

 

It’s not that we must try harder but that we try.

 

Maybe faith is carrying the lessons learned  so that we can be true neighbors, brothers, and partners.

 

Maybe being a person of faith is simply saying “I don’t know what Monday will bring, but I know that God will be there, somehow, some way and in that I can find hope.”

 

Amen.

For Colombia; Jeremiah 14:1-6

 

Rev. George Miller

Aug 16, 2026

Jeremiah 14:1-6

 

“Faith isn’t faith until that is all you have left.”  These are the words spoken by a Holocaust survivor that have stayed with me for 25 years.

 

“Faith isn’t faith until that is all you have left.”

 

Words that got me through Search and Calls when churches were too scared to call me; when the eye of a hurricane spun over my home.

 

And now, as Viktor’s family in Colombia keeps vigil for a niece named Catalina who is trapped in the basement rubble of her apartment 3 days after the earthquake.

 

To be so far away, on another continent, concerned about a person I never met, knowing how it is hurting an entire family, and all one can do is listen, pray, reach out via WhatsApp and an AI translator.

 

It’s one thing to preach about Jesus walking on water towards the disciples 2,000 years ago; it’s another when you want that same Jesus to be clearing the rubble for a young woman who is scared, hungry, and trapped.

 

Faith.

 

“Faith is not faith until it’s all you have left.”

 

The words of this message are being written during a time when a woman a world away awaits to be saved…

 

This morning’s scripture has held a special place in my heart since 2024 when someone submitted it, saying “Isn’t it amazing that life keeps repeating itself…but why?”

 

Why indeed?  Why natural disasters and droughts?  Why cities full of people dismayed?  Why farmers worried about their livelihood and crops wellbeing?

 

If God cares about the sparrow and Jesus seeks out the lost lamb, why are there deer and donkeys hungry, panting, suffering? 

 

What has happened to the green pastures and still waters?

 

“Faith isn’t faith until it’s all you have left.”

 

This week, the suggested Gospel in the Revised Common Lectionary is Matthew 15: 10- 28.

 

In it, Jesus explains to the disciples that it’s not what we eat that defiles us, but what we say.  Jesus connects our words to the contents of our heart. 

 

This includes slandering a person’s reputation, stealing, telling lies about others, and intent to harm.

 

Think of how words and actions can bring about mini-deaths and deserts of ill will.  How words can create a drought or a sense of stagnation in the life of a person, a family, a community.

 

Then think of the opposite, how words of goodwill, empowerment, words of sharing, truth, uplifting has an opposite effect. 

 

How words, instead of defiling, can bring about the rains of well intentions, flourishing, new life, and overcoming of obstacles.

 

If defiling words create a dessert, uplifting words create an oasis.

 

After this lesson, Jesus encounters a foreign woman with an ill child.  She asks for mercy; the disciples only want to send her away.

 

This distraught mother kneels before Jesus asking for help.  At first, he resists. She holds her own, argues her case, and astounds Jesus, who says “Woman, great is your faith.”  Her daughter is healed and the family is restored.

 

Faith is not faith until it is all you have left; our words have a way to bring forth life.

 

So why are there deserts and droughts?  Why, after thousands of years, do we still hear how the land, animals and people suffer?

 

It’s like Ecclesiastes again and again- vanity of vanities, all is vanity, the sun rises, the sun goes down.  

 

But it is not vanity, and it is not hopeless, if we hold onto our faith and we hold onto one another.

 

For just as Eve walked beside Adam, and Ruth stayed beside Naomi, and Paul was intertwined with the Philippian church,

 

we were never made to walk alone, nor meant to face droughts and damaged basement by ourselves, but with one another.

 

The ministry of Jesus was rarely just him; the prophetic work of Moses included his sister and brother, even Elijah had the ravens that fed him.

 

Droughts and deserts and nieces who are trapped and daughters who are sick will always take place as long as humans are alive.

 

The difference is being united and not alone, working together and not apart, speaking humanely with and not defiling to.

 

That’s why it is fitting this week that the world is acknowledging Humanitarian Day on August 19, a  day set aside to honor aid workers and those who risk their lives to help people in crises, facing disaster, and caught up in conflicts.

 

Begun as a response to people killed at a UN headquarter in Baghdad, Humanitarium Day advocates for the safety of civilians and aid workers who come to care for people in chaos.

 

Since 2008, it’s a day to say that no one assisting in aid should have to worry about being killed, abducted, injured, or have food and medical supplies blocked.

 

It is a means to support life even in the face of the uncertain and death.

 

I wonder- how Jesus would feel about Humanitarian Day? 

 

Can we discern where Christ would be when it comes to allowing caregivers to give care without worry of death or threat?

 

Can we wonder where hope and faith would be for those who are doing what they can to provide life and medicine, breathe and food to those in scary times?

 

How does Jesus and the church stand in solidarity with those who step into deserts and droughts, into earthquakes and rubble?

 

Right now, a continent away is a young woman we have never met, who’s family is praying for her. 

 

How is Christ manifesting in the hands and feet, the tools and the machines of the rescuers, medics, fire fighters, neighbors, and ordinary volunteers who are racing against time brick by brick?

 

Jeremiah asks us to think about a land in pain, a city crying out, animals that are panting, and a God who seems to be a stranger, confused (Jeremiah 14:8-9).

 

The person who submitted today’s readings states in amazement how life keeps repeating, and why?

 

There is no satisfying answer to give at this moment, as my heart is swollen up and tears are in my eyes, but momentarily comfort comes in this-

 

That through Jesus, empowered by the Holy Spirit, none of these events have to be faced alone.

 

There are the actions of our hands and feet; there are the gifts of our wallets and pocketbooks.

 

There are the life-giving breaths in our words and prayers.

 

At the very least, there is our faith.

 

And often times, it is when we have nothing left to cling to, and nothing left to offer, it is our faith, and it is our words, that can make even the dryest desert a bit easier to navigate.

 

It is our faith in Christ that brings us calm.

 

Amen.

Seas May Be Rough; Jesus Will Get Us to the Shore; Isaiah 12:2

 

Rev. George Miller

August 9, 2026

Isaiah 12:2

 

One of the most assuring scriptures for the early church is Matthew 14:22-33.

 

After feeding the 5,000 with five loaves and two fish, the disciples get into a boat and sail across the waters.  A storm descends at night, ravaging the vessel with battering waves and tormenting winds. 

 

By morning’s light, the disciples see Jesus coming towards them, the chaotic waves under his feet.  He says “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” 

 

Eventually the storm subsides, the disciples get to the other side, ready to face whatever awaits.

 

Jesus brings calm to rough storms.  Jesus is like that Mother Hen who gathers her brood and watches over them; Jesus is a mighty eagle who ensures the fledglings can lift up on their wings and fly.

 

Matthew is a beloved Gospel of the universal church, speaking to each spiritual sanctuary in a way that empowers them to see Christ as their focus and salvation, and a way to operate in a chaotic world.

 

Matthew was written sometime around the 80’s when the church was still trying to figure out who they were, what they were about. 

 

Being a Christian wasn’t easy or  acceptable. They were the new kids on the block, dealing with outside threats of persecution. 

 

So the story of the disciples facing rough waters became a way for the church to power ahead.  The boat represented the church.  Disciples represent the members.  Waves and wind are the challenges a church in motion faces.

 

When those difficulties take place, it is Jesus who is there.  It is Jesus who becomes their focus, walking towards them with the “water” of turmoil under his feet, reaching out, saying “Take heart; be brave.”

 

It is Jesus who calms the storms and gets them to the other side.

 

This is one way of reading Matthew 14- placing focus on the church as one body.  There are other ways, like hearing this as a personal testimony to our own relationship with Jesus and the salvation we find in Christ.

 

This can become a testimony for anyone who has fought depth and height, scarcity and roadblocks, suffering and pain.

 

Matthew 14 is a story for every person who knows what it is like to struggle, what it is like to be afraid, what it’s like to feel hopeless, battered by waves that will not stop and winds that threaten to blow everything away.

 

Matthew 14 is for anyone who has endured long dark nights in which they see no way out; a story for anyone who has felt like God is far away, Jesus is asleep and your life will never get better.

 

Matthew doesn’t dismiss the storms of life, turmoil we face, or ignore the dark of night.  Matthew 14 says that in the storms and darkness Jesus is indeed there. 

 

Jesus is there and he is not pulled down by the chaos or blocked by the burdens.  Jesus walks above the chaos, stands firmly above all things, and Jesus is unbothered.

 

Not just unbothered, Jesus is reaching out, and saying above the waves “Take heart.  Don’t be afraid.  I will get you to the other side.”

 

It may not be simple.  Life’s storms have a way of leaving permanent damage.  We may not leave the winds unscathed.  It may take longer to get to the other side than we want.

 

But when the storms do decrease, when the chaotic becomes more like a breeze, when we make it to the other side, we can look back and see how Jesus was there.

 

Jesus was always there, and we survived to see another day.

 

That’s where the words of Isaiah 12:2 come in.  “Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid for the Lord is my strength and my might; he has become my salvation.”

 

Salvation- the act of being saved.  Saved from the storms, saved from the waves, saved from the winds.

 

These are words that the prophet wrote nearly 700 years before Jesus’s ministry.  But oh how they can apply to all the disciples after that mighty storm.

 

Isaiah 12 is written nearly 2,750 years before right now, but oh how these words can be shared today.

 

Words reminding us not only how God is our salvation and might, but how we receive streams of abundance, blessings poured out.

 

Isaiah 12 reminds us that we may travel seas of pain and darkness, but in God we experience fonts of blessing and seas of mercy.

 

Isaiah 12 lets us know that no matter the depth or height, we belong to God alone, who is our strength and might and salvation.

 

Salvation can mean the knowledge that whatever is happening in the world around us does not have the final say about who we are and who we belong to.

 

Salvation can mean that our souls find rest in the Lord who is our nest and foundational rock.

 

Isaiah was not writing during a peaceful time in which trust and hope are easy to come by.  He wrote  during an era in which the whole nation feels unsettled.

 

There’s financial, social instability, people losing their land, taxes are expanding, and war with Assyria seems right around the corner.

 

God’s people are living during a storm full of every kind of wave.  Without ignoring those waves, Isaiah takes a break from their woes and points to a future day when things will be calmer.

 

He doesn’t give them a concrete date or set time, but Isaiah gives them the gift of assurance and a peak into a better future. 

 

He says to them “Don’t stop, don’t quit, don’t give in to the storms.  Trust that one day you will reach the other side, and when you do, we can say ‘Thank you Lord.  You are my salvation, my strength, my steady shore. I trust you.’”

 

It takes a lot to trust in God during difficult times.  It take a lot to look beyond the wind and waves and see yourself on the other side.

 

It takes a whole lot of faith to even imagine what you would say, and to think that you could say “Thank you.  You are my saving grace.”

 

This is what Isaiah dared his neighbors to do nearly 2,800 years ago.  This is also what Isaiah dares us to do today.

 

This is one reason Matthew wrote chapter 14- to remind the church universal, to remind St. Lucas UCC, to remind you that when we are scared, when things feel uncertain and the other side feels so far away,

 

Jesus is with us, Jesus is reaching out to us, calling us to take heart, be brave, and let Christ be the calm upon which we can stand.

 

For that let us say “Amen.”

Sermon for Aug 2 2026; The Nests of God

 

Rev. George Miller

August 2, 2026

Isaiah 10:1-19

 

If you are the kind of person who enjoys a rainy morning, then Friday was for you.  The day began relaxingly overcast.  Gentle drops began to fall, their rhythm increasing as the world became the sound of heavenly water atop the roof.

 

Friday’s rain felt like it was saying “Relax.  Be calm.  Nestle into your nest, to find shelter, to sleep, to rest, to know that you don’t have to do a single thing and the world will go on.”

 

If you like the rain and have no place to go, the chance to nestle to the sound of gentle thunder and restorative rain is bliss.  Sabbath.  Sanctuary.

 

The Bible has a few places that have this kind of nest imagery.

 

Psalm 91 says “You who live in the shelter of the Most High…God will cover you with God’s pinions, and under his wings you will find refuge; God’s faithfulness is a shield and defense.”

 

Deuteronomy 32 portrays God as an eagle that stir up the nest, hovers over the young, spreads its wings and takes them up, guiding their flight.

 

In Matthew 23, Jesus looks upon the city of Jerusalem, with all its violence and unfairness, and says “How often I’ve yearned to gather you as a Mother Hen and keep you under my wings.”

 

How different these nest images are from what we just heard.

 

Isaiah 10:1-19 is a complex reading, with 3 separate parts.  First, we hear how disappointed God is with Isreal. 

 

Here they are, a nation founded on the 10 Commandments, with it’s love for God and love for neighbor, and they have descended into an unrecognizable place where they enforce unjust laws, rob the poor of their rights, abuse widows, orphans and rule with greedy sin.

 

Because of this the nation has become weak and easy to attack, which Assyria does, taking over the land and humiliating her citizens.

 

The second part has God berating the Assyrians, saying “Yes, my people were nasty and inhumane, but you didn’t have to plunder and annihilate them the way you did.”

 

The third part features the foreign King of Assyria who has zero regrets and total delight in what he has done.  The enemy King says, “The people of Isreal were like birds in a nest, so I took my hands and grabbed them, destroyed them and made it so that not even their eggs, their babies, their nestlings could take flight.”

 

Jesus talks of wanting to gather the people like a Mother Hen.  God talks of creating safe nest where the vulnerable are protected, an eagle who lifts the fledglings up so they can learn how to fly.

 

But the King of Assyria?  He finds delight and purpose by reaching into the nest with bare hands and destroying each and every bird.

 

If you want to know the power of calling Jesus “King” and God “Lord” as compared to the kings and lords of the earth, here it is.

 

God gives shelter and sanctuary; Jesus gathers us and creates a community based on love.

 

What strikes me most about the Assyrian’s actions is how they not just affect the immediate present, they forever alter the future.

 

Those fledglings, those nestlings in the nest weren’t just noisy hungry creatures with wide open beaks unable to fly, they were the ones who would have developed feathers and muscles for flight, and play their part in creation by eating insects, pollinating, and singing their song.

 

Think of all the future voices the King of Assyria forever silenced when he ravaged those nests.

 

Those who would never grow to become prophets or priests, artisans and architects, traders and teachers, heads of government and new business starters, moms and dads.

 

I think of Marty, OKS and our participation.  Marty one said that OKS matters because the child who receives nutrition may grow up to be the next Nelson Mandela.

 

Think of how that can apply to our Mission guests today- Habitat For Humanity, and our hands-on relationship with them.

 

What a rich Mission Statement they have- “Seeking to put God’s love into action, Habitat for Humanity brings people together to build homes, community and hope.”

 

Sooo far away from the destruction of Assyria and much more aligned with the ways of Heaven.

 

How Habitat offers affordable, safe homes, asking their families to engage in partnership and sweat equity, so they can build a notable, maintainable nest together.

 

How Habitat, the members of St. Lucas UCC, and the community get to play a role in building those nests, putting God’s restorative and protective love into action with each hammer, tape measure and level.

 

How Habitat is building a nest not only for the “now” but for the future.  When the nestlings and fledglings of these nests can sleep knowing they are safe and have a place to call “home”, they are free to dream, to play, to take chances, to learn, to go out into the world with their gifts.

 

The King of Assyria found delight in destroying all hope for the future, but Habitat lays the foundation for a future of flight.

 

Who knows what difference we can make in the life of a child and a youth.  Who may become the next William Danforth or Maya Angelou.  Who may become the next William Eliot or Josephine Baker.  Who may start the next foundation or hospital or center for the arts or become future Senior Pastor of St. Lucas UCC.

 

While the unjust kings of the world want to upend, take away, and make weak, we have a savior in Jesus who wants to establish, bring together, and make strong.

 

While human rulers crush orphans and widows, the God of All Creation hovers over, watching.

 

The nests of Jesus, the places built in the name of Christ, are here to be a place of sanctuary, a place of calm, a place where we can say “Lead Us On Eternal Sovereign”, lift us up, on eagle’s wings. 

 

Amen.