Trinity Methodist Church

July 20, 2025

Trinity Methodist Church, Eugene Oregon

Based on: Amos 8:1-12 and Psalm 52

Rebecca Wetmore-Cook

Sermon: “False Rulers and the King of Justice” 

In today’s scripture readings, we hear a distinct tone of rebuke from God. At first, this may seem a departure from God’s core message to us: that He has a profound love for His creation, for us. Yet, it is this very love that fuels the rebuke. God is calling out the small number of people who are attacking, destroying, the world that He intended for us—a world of peace and of justice. It is from these “plotters of destruction,” as our Psalm refers to them, that God seeks to reclaim His throne and restore His divine order.

Throughout the Bible, and indeed throughout history, these enemies of God have always existed. They have gone by different titles: Pharaoh, Caesar, Queen, Governor, etc, but they all follow the same playbook. They seek to establish their own power, their own will, often at the direct expense of the vulnerable and the voiceless. God, through his prophets, and later through Christ himself, out of love for us, has consistently denounced the behavior of these corrupt leaders. 

In our reading from the book of Amos, the shepherd prophet is relaying a message from God to the false rulers of Amos’ time. Amos, a humble shepherd, who had only ever ruled over a flock of animals, had somehow been chosen by God to rebuke those who had ruled over men. These leaders, the kings and elite of Israel, had ruled unjustly—a crime a shepherd like Amos would know nothing about. Amos knew how to care for his sheep, how to protect their lives, how to seek out the lost and bind up the injured. This stood in stark contrast to the way the kings had been ruling, not as shepherds but as wolves, preying on the very flock they were meant to protect.

Through Amos, God warns those who “trample the needy and bring ruin to the poor of the Lord.” He points out the insidious ways in which these leaders have chosen material wealth and selfish gain over God’s abundant love and the well-being of their own people. The prophet paints a stark picture of their greed: Amos 8:5 speaks of those who “make the ephah small and the shekel great, and cheat with dishonest scales,” ancient terminology describing inflation. They were eager for the Sabbath, for God’s day, to end so they could return to exploiting the poor, selling even the sweepings of the wheat, the garbage off the floor, to the hungry. They would “buy the poor for silver and the needy for a pair of sandals.” This isn’t just abstract injustice; it’s a visceral, heartbreaking picture of human dignity being traded for mere trifles. The imagery is strong. God is so incensed by the abuse of his people, by this profound distortion of justice, that he threatens to blot out the sun itself in the middle of the day. This is an apocalyptic warning, a sign of cosmic disruption, because when human rulers corrupt justice, they shake the very foundations of God’s created order.

Our Psalm reflects God’s vision of justice for the world. Psalm 52 contrasts the destructive arrogance of the so-called “mighty one” with the steadfast hope of the righteous. It paints a vivid picture of the false ruler, the “tyrant,” who “boasts in evil, mighty to do wrong,” whose “tongue plots destruction,” and who “loves evil more than good, falsehood more than speaking what is right.” This is the very playbook we’ve been talking about, isn’t it? The pursuit of power through deceit, the crushing of truth.

But then, the Psalm pivots, beautifully, powerfully. It lays out the future for those who take advantage of God’s people with that of the faithful toward him. Psalm 52:8-9 declares, “But I am like a flourishing olive tree in the house of God; I trust in God’s unfailing love forever and ever. I will praise you forever for what you have done; in your name I will hope, for it is good.” This isn’t just wishful thinking. It’s a profound statement of faith that even amidst the plots of the wicked, God’s justice will ultimately prevail. The flourishing olive tree represents vitality, longevity, and fruitfulness—a powerful image of God’s people thriving under His care, even as the wicked are uprooted. It is a promise that those who root themselves in God’s love and justice will endure and bear fruit, while those who boast in their own destructive power will wither and be cut down. The Psalm assures us that God’s justice will put an end to the destruction plotted by the false rulers of this world.

The justice of this world is so distorted that many of God’s people were not able to recognize Jesus when he came because they were waiting for a different kind of Messiah. Violent, earthly kings were all they knew, so they expected a warrior king. They looked for someone who would lead an armed rebellion against Rome, restore Israel’s earthly kingdom with military might, and sit on a physical throne in Jerusalem. They understood power in terms of swords and legions.

But Jesus brings a profoundly different kind of kingdom. A kingdom of kindness, yes, but also of radical justice. His justice isn’t about violent overthrow but about a profound reordering of priorities, values, and power dynamics. Consider His teachings:

In Matthew 5:3-10, The Beatitudes, Jesus declares blessings upon the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, and those persecuted for righteousness. This is an upside-down kingdom where vulnerability and humility are elevated, and the pursuit of justice is a path to blessing. This directly confronts the self-serving power structures of the false rulers.

And in Matthew 25:31-46, Jesus makes it abundantly clear that our eternal destiny is tied to how we treat “the least of these”—the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the sick, the imprisoned. This isn’t just a suggestion for charity; it’s a litmus test for genuine faith and a blueprint for God’s justice. The King of Justice identifies Himself with the most vulnerable.

In Luke 4:18-19, during his inaugural sermon, Jesus proclaims His mission by quoting Isiah, saying: “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” This is a manifesto of justice, a declaration of liberation for all those crushed by physical, economic, or spiritual burdens.

Jesus didn’t wield a sword against Caesar; instead, He transformed hearts and exposed the emptiness of earthly power by demonstrating divine love and sacrificial service. He confronted the hypocrisy of religious leaders who burdened the people, and he consistently challenged the social norms that marginalized women, children, and the sick. His kingdom is one where the powerful are called to serve, where the marginalized are welcomed to the table, and where righteousness is not a set of rules but a way of living that reflects God’s own character. He shows us that true power lies not in domination, but in humble, compassionate service. He is the shepherd-king, unlike the wolf-rulers, who lays down his life for his sheep.

This is not a call to despair, but a call to action fueled by hope. God’s deep love for His creation means He will not abandon it to those who plot its destruction. He has set the stage for justice to come, and He invites us, His beloved people, to participate in bringing His kingdom of kindness and justice to fruition right here and right now. 

Remember, the true King of Justice has already come. He has shown us the way. His kingdom is not built on earthly power or human might, but on radical love, profound humility, and unwavering justice. We are called to be His hands and feet, His voice and His heart, bringing His reign to bear on every corner of our world.

Let us go forth, discerning the signs of injustice, and boldly living as subjects of the King of Justice, transforming our corner of the world, one act of truth and compassion at a time. Let us be the flourishing olive trees, rooted in God’s unfailing love, bearing the fruit of justice for all to see.

Amen.

Sermon: That Time When the Town Asked Jesus to Leave

Trinity Methodist Church of Eugene

June 22, 2025

Scripture: Luke 8:26-39

Preacher: Rebecca Wetmore-Cook

In today’s scripture reading, Jesus is chased out of town after performing a miracle. It reminds us that the Jesus we hold so dear, who we welcome into our hearts and lives with open arms, was not, and is not, welcome everywhere he goes. Jesus was, and continues to be, despised and driven out of places where he is desperately needed.

He goes to the city of Gerasenes, which the scripture says is “opposite” of Galilee. On a map, Gerasenes is east of the Sea of Galilee. The two cities were also spiritual opposites. Jesus crossed the Lake from his hometown, a place where the Hebrew God was openly worshiped, a place where Jewish law, customs, and religious practices were central to life. Up until this point Jesus’ ministry had existed within this context.

But now, he was headed to a town of Gentiles, whose religious beliefs were mostly pagan. A town under the authority and law of the Roman Empire. It is in this place that Jesus chooses to perform a profound miracle, in dramatic fashion, and takes his stand against Satan’s legion, an army of darkness.

The second that Jesus steps off the boat he is confronted by these forces. The moment our Savior’s sandaled foot touches the beachy shore a naked and wild houseless man approaches him. I imagine the feeling would be similar to when someone from a quiet, midwestern town arrives in downtown Eugene for the first time. The culture shock would have been immediate.

The naked man says to Jesus, “What have you to do with me?”

My first thought reading this was… excuse me? You approached him? This isn’t how you start a fight. But these demons hadn’t come to start a fight. This was a battle that had already been raging since the early days of God’s kingdom. Jesus had already declared war on the forces of darkness. And now he had come to confront them directly.

The fact that this encounter was part of a spiritual war becomes more apparent when Jesus asks the demon for its name, and it replies, “Legion.” A military term, used to describe an army prepared for battle.

Jesus encountered and cast out demons on a regular basis, but this was no everyday encounter. Jesus dealt primarily with single demons, other than in the case of Mary Magdalene, where he is said to have cast out seven at once. But this was no lone demon, no straggler. This was an unknown number, perhaps several, perhaps a multitude, and they had come to fight.

Like every battle, Jesus won. But he casts the demons out in a different manner this time. An unusual manner.

Now, there are parts of today’s scripture that are uncomfortable- to read, to think about, to preach on. I read today’s verses to my friend Paula and her response? “That’s awful!” I said, what do you mean that’s awful. Jesus healed a man, and he caused some ruckus doing it. He got into the good kind of trouble. This is the type of stuff that I’m here for. 

But I knew what she was referring to before she even said it: “What about the pigs?” And, once she said it, I too couldn’t get past the fate of the pigs. Why would Jesus do that? Those poor pigs. Couldn’t Jesus have just cast the demons into, I don’t know, wherever he sent all the other ones? 

This wasn’t Jesus’ first exorcism, but it was the first one involving an animal sacrifice. I’m embarrassed to say this, but I found myself questioning the choices of the king of kings himself. 

Look, Pigs are one of my favorite animals. If I go to a petting zoo it’s the first animal I’m looking for. I once snuck into an enclosure to comfort a sad-looking sow, and even got in a few good minutes with her before being asked to leave.

I tried modifying the lectionary reading. It’s a great story if you cut out the part about the pigs, right? But the story didn’t make sense without it. We have a man with demons, then suddenly he is healed, and Jesus is being driven out of town once again. It took me a while to realize that the pigs are an integral part of the story. And to realize that Jesus is not to blame for the suffering of those pigs, but that the demons are responsible.

We often question God, even blame God, for acts that He does not commit. We see the destruction caused by the enemy and wrongly attribute it to God. The death of the pigs showed the destructive nature, not of Jesus, but of Satan’s demons. It demonstrates what the demons would have eventually done to the man had Jesus not intervened.

Jesus performed a miracle that day, but was still asked to leave, why? Why do our communities chase out Jesus, shoo away churches, turn away from God? Because all they see is the death and destruction of this world, and not the way that God intervenes. Yes, the world is a dark place, but Jesus was sent to make it better. To bring light into the darkness.

And yet, the reaction of the townspeople was less than positive. While the once-possessed man, now clothed and in his right mind, begged to follow Jesus, the crowd was filled with fear, not joy, and they begged Jesus to leave them. Think about that. They saw a man utterly transformed, reclaimed from the depths of despair and demonic torment, and their response was to dismiss the source of that healing. Their fear, perhaps of economic loss, or of a power too great to comprehend, overshadowed their capacity for wonder and gratitude.

The reaction of the man who had been possessed was exactly what we, as followers of Christ, might expect. He was overwhelmed with gratitude and love for his deliverer. We too, when truly touched by Jesus, desire to follow him, to be with him always. We beg to walk beside him, to learn at his feet, to remain in his comforting presence.

But notice Jesus’ response to the man: “Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.”

This is not a “Not yet” in the sense of a denial, but a commission. It’s a powerful redirection. Jesus isn’t saying, “You can’t follow me.” He’s saying, “Your immediate calling is to be my witness right here, in the place where I have just been asked to leave. You are to be the living proof of my power and my compassion in a community that has just turned its back on me.”

And the man, in an act of beautiful obedience and burning testimony, went away, proclaiming throughout the city, in that very pagan and fearful place, how much Jesus had done for him. He became a living, breathing sermon in a land that wanted nothing to do with the Preacher. He became the light in the deepest part of the darkness, commissioned by Jesus Himself.

Friends, there are many people, many communities, many forces in our world who want to drive out Jesus. They may not say it explicitly, but their actions, their policies, their priorities, effectively tell God, “Depart from us.” They focus on the perceived “cost” or “disruption” of God’s presence – whether it’s the cost of loving the unlovable, the disruption of challenging comfortable norms, or the perceived loss of control when we truly surrender to divine will.

But we, the church, the followers of Jesus, are called to be like that man from the Gerasenes. We have experienced transformation. We have been touched by the liberating power of Christ. 

And instead of keeping that experience to ourselves, or retreating to our safe, comfortable spaces, we are commissioned. We are sent. We are called to return to our homes, to our workplaces, to our neighborhoods, to our communities – even those places that seem resistant or hostile to the message of Christ – and declare what God has done for us.

Our testimony, our changed lives, our acts of compassion and justice, become the very presence of Jesus in a world that might otherwise ignore or actively reject Him. We become the continuing proof that God intervenes, that God brings light into darkness, that God makes things better.

May we never be a church that simply waits for Jesus to arrive, but rather, a people who, having been touched by His grace, eagerly go forth to be His presence. May we be brave enough to share our stories, to live out our faith, and to proclaim the mighty works of God, even in the “opposite” places, even when it feels uncomfortable, even when the world around us would prefer that Jesus just leave.

Let us be the ones who ensure that Jesus, and His message of hope and healing, is never truly driven out.

Sermon: The Kingdom of Heaven 

Trinity Methodist Church of Eugene 

July 6, 2025 

Scripture: Matthew 5:1-10; John 14:1-3; and Luke 23:32, 39-43 

Rebecca Wetmore-Cook

The Kingdom of Heaven is a topic we often overlook in our adult church discussions, yet it is a vibrant subject for children’s Bible study. Children possess an innate ability to imagine and understand heaven. 

Their minds, not yet clouded by the complexities of the world, seem naturally attuned to this kingdom, and their faith in it often appears unshakable.

It’s curious, isn’t it? The older we get, the closer we are to potentially entering God’s kingdom, and yet we seem to contemplate it less. Why might that be?

On the cover of your bulletin, you’ll find one artistic depiction of the city of Heaven. This image seems to draw inspiration from the Book of Revelation, portraying a place known as the “New Jerusalem”

 – a city of gold, often depicted suspended on clouds, with rivers of crystal. And at its heart, the Tree of Life, perpetually drawing us closer to the God we love.

As a child, I devoured these descriptions, but they never felt like enough. I yearned to know more about this mysterious place. I would pepper my grandmother with endless questions about Heaven, and she, with loving patience, would do her best to guess the answers.

“Will there be animals there?” I’d ask. Her answer: “Yes, every animal that has ever lived, and yes, they will all be tame and cuddly.”

“Will I have endless access to chocolate there?” This question gave Grandma pause. She was what many today would call a “health nut.” “There will be carob,” she’d offer, “Can’t you just eat that?” For those unfamiliar, carob, while pleasant on its own, is often touted as a healthy substitute for chocolate. But for us chocolate lovers, we know there is no true substitute.

“But Grandma, will there be real chocolate?” With a sigh, she conceded that all the plants would be there, and I was welcome to pick some cacao and make it myself. That sounded perfectly fine to me. 

With an eternity stretching before me, I could build an entire chocolate chip factory! She simply reminded me that in heaven, I would never be hungry, so I wouldn’t need it. To which I, with the undeniable logic of a child, replied, “I don’t need to be hungry to eat chocolate!”

It’s certainly fun to imagine what Heaven might look like. Yet, Jesus seemed less concerned with the physical descriptions of God’s kingdom than he was with who is going. Jesus spoke extensively about the Kingdom of Heaven, and today’s scripture verses capture three of the main points he made about it during his earthly ministry.

First, in Matthew 5:1-10, we find the Beatitudes. This profound section begins and ends with bold statements about the Kingdom of Heaven and who will inherit it. We are told, first and foremost, that the poor in spirit will enter the kingdom.

To be “poor in spirit” is to recognize our utter lack of merit before God. It’s an honest admission of our spiritual emptiness, our inherent sinfulness, and our complete inability to earn God’s favor or salvation through our efforts alone. It stands in direct opposition to spiritual self-sufficiency or pride.

This poverty of spirit leads us to genuine humility. When we truly grasp our own inadequacy, we become completely dependent on God for everything – for forgiveness, grace, guidance, and ultimately, for entrance into His eternal kingdom. It is a surrender of self-reliance and a trusting in God’s boundless grace alone.

Jesus is essentially proclaiming that those who acknowledge their deep need for God are the very ones who are ready to receive all that He so freely offers. Only those who recognize their spiritual poverty will seek and find the immeasurable spiritual riches of the kingdom of heaven.

Jesus then continues, listing others who will find a place in His kingdom: the meek, the merciful, the pure in heart, and the peacemakers. The list culminates with “those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake,” assuring them they too will inherit the kingdom. This promises a reward for those who make personal sacrifices in God’s name.

These verses from Matthew offer an extensive, though still incomplete, portrait of those Jesus intends to welcome into Heaven. But how vast is this kingdom?

In our verse from John 14:1-3, Jesus describes the expansive nature of Heaven, assuring us that his Father’s house has many rooms, many dwelling places. 

This means there is indeed room in Heaven for everyone who desires to go, and profoundly, that Jesus himself is actively preparing a specific space there for each of us. Not only that, but he promises to personally come and take us there so that we can be with him forever.

In these verses, Jesus unequivocally confirms that Heaven exists as a real, physical space, and that he will personally ensure our passage there. It’s a truly beautiful and comforting passage that we can return to any time we feel doubt or uncertainty.

It reads: “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go and prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and I will take you to myself, so that where I am you may be also.”

I recall my grandma reading these very verses to me from her King James Bible. Though the language was a bit more archaic, the powerful message remained the same. 

And it brings to mind another question I once posed to her about Heaven: “Grandma, are the people I don’t like going to be there?” This question elicited an even deeper sigh than the chocolate inquiry.

Her short answer was, “Yes, but the ‘bad parts’ of them, and the part of us that dislikes others, will all stay behind.”

Her longer answer was a retelling of one of her favorite stories, the one where the thief on the cross is forgiven – the very one we read today from Luke 23. Grandma would often remind me how often we only see one cross in pictures of Easter, but that there were two other crosses there as well.

Crucifixion was a common and brutal punishment for crimes in the Roman Empire – a hideous public spectacle designed to display the empire’s cruelty. These death sentences were so commonplace that multiple executions often occurred simultaneously. And the day of Jesus’ death was no different.

And once again, even in this most harrowing of circumstances, Jesus was given a profound opportunity to contrast the nature of God’s kingdom with the one created by men.

The story from Luke tells us: “Two others, criminals, were led away to be executed with him… One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, ‘Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!’ 

But the other rebuked him, saying, ‘Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are receiving the due reward of our deeds. But this man has done nothing wrong.’ Then he said, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ He replied, ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.’”

This man, in his dying moments, recognizes Jesus. He acknowledges his own sinfulness  and, with a flicker of faith, turns to Jesus, asking to be remembered in His kingdom.

This “poor in spirit” moment from a dying criminal offers us a profound glimpse into the vastness and accessibility of God’s grace. This man, with no time for good works, no opportunity to join a church, no chance to earn his way, simply recognized Jesus for who He was and, in his humility, asked for mercy. And Jesus, in His limitless love, granted it immediately: “Today you will be with me in Paradise.”

This thief, with his last breath, models the very essence of true spiritual poverty. He had nothing to offer but his desperate plea, and Jesus offered him everything. 

This story utterly shattered my childhood question to my grandma: “Are the people I don’t like going to be there?” Because who among us can judge another’s heart in their final moments? Who are we to say who is truly “unworthy” when God’s grace extends even to a dying criminal who, at the very last moment, turns to Him?

The Kingdom of Heaven is not just a distant, gold-paved city for the perfectly righteous. It is a reality that begins now, in hearts that are poor in spirit, humble, merciful, and peacemaking.

 It is a promise of vastness and welcome, with many rooms for all who turn to Jesus. And it is a testament to God’s incredible, undeserved grace, extended even to those who, like the thief on the cross, have nothing to offer but a cry for mercy.

So, as we leave this place today, let us carry these truths with us. Let us not be so preoccupied with the fleeting things of this world that we forget the eternal kingdom. 

Let us strive to live as the “poor in spirit,” recognizing our dependence on God. Let us trust in Jesus’ promise to prepare a place for us and to welcome us into His Father’s house. And let us embrace the astounding truth that God’s grace is so immense, so encompassing, that there is indeed room for all who truly seek Him, even in their final hour.

May we live with the confident hope of the Kingdom of Heaven, a hope that shapes our lives today and comforts us with the promise of eternity with our loving God. Amen.