Pastor's Weekly Message
JOSEPH’S CHOICE
March 15, 2026
“Then Joseph said to his brothers, ‘Come closer to me.’ And they came closer. He said, ‘I am your brother, Joseph, whom you sold into Egypt. And now do not be distressed or angry with yourselves because you sold me here, for God sent me before you to preserve life.” – Genesis 45:4-5
Forgiveness is often rightly cited as a Christian value, but it is a pre-Christian theme as well, appearing prominently in the Old Testament. In the story of Joseph, we encounter one of the most powerful moments of forgiveness and reconciliation in Scripture. After years of betrayal, slavery, imprisonment, and loss, Joseph stands face to face with the brothers who sold him into bondage. They expect anger.
They expect punishment. Instead, Joseph says something remarkable:
“Do not be distressed, or angry with yourselves because you sold me here; for God sent me before you to preserve life.”
Joseph does not pretend that what happened to him was good. Betrayal is still betrayal. The years he lost were real. The suffering he endured was real. Yet Joseph sees something larger than the harm done to him. He recognizes that the story did not end with the evil act. But what matters most is what comes afterward.
Joseph chose not to let bitterness shape the rest of his life. Instead of becoming hardened by what had been done to him, he remained faithful to God and continued to act with integrity wherever he found himself, whether in a prison cell or a palace, doing the work set before him as faithfully as he could. In doing so, Joseph discovered something many of us slowly learn in our own lives: the harm done to us does not have to define the meaning of our story.
Forgiveness is often misunderstood as excusing wrongdoing or pretending that wounds are insignificant. But true forgiveness is something different. It is the refusal to allow resentment to become the center of our lives. It is the decision to continue living in love, even when we have been given every reason to close our hearts.
For some wounds, forgiveness takes time. For some, it may feel nearly impossible. Scripture does not ask us to ignore pain or to minimize injustice. But the story of Joseph reminds us that even when evil has been done, goodness can still grow from the way we choose to respond. When we remain faithful to love, when we refuse to let bitterness define us, and when we continue to do the good work set before us, we open the possibility that something life-giving may yet emerge from the hardest chapters of our lives.
Many of us carry memories of wrongs done to us. Some are small, others are deeply painful. Yet if we allow those wrongs to become the center of our identity, they continue to hold power over us long after the moment has passed. Joseph shows us another path. A path where forgiveness loosens the grip of the past, where faith keeps our hearts open, and where love remains our guiding principle.
We cannot always control what happens to us. But we can decide the spirit with which we move forward. We can follow Jesus by continuing to love God and love the people around us. We can keep doing the work in front of us. And sometimes, by choosing love over resentment, we may discover that even the darkest parts of our story can still become part of something good.
“I keep the LORD always before me, because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved.” – Psalm 16:8
Rev. Brian J. Kelley
Executive Pastor, Unitarian Christian Church of America (UCCA)
THE LIGHT YOKE
March 8, 2026
“They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on the shoulders of others, but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them.” – Matthew 23:4
In many churches today, people carry complicated histories with religion. Some grew up hearing sermons about sin, judgment, and the fear of hell. Others were taught that salvation depended on believing the correct doctrines or following the right rituals or theological formula. Still others were told that disagreement with teachings placed them firmly outside the community of faith or even outside the very graces of God.
Because of these experiences, the modern Unitarian Christian perspective has often stepped away from traditional religious language such as repentance, salvation, redemption, saving grace, heaven, hell, justification, sanctification, and the afterlife.
This shift did not happen because such ideas are necessarily meaningless. For many Christians, these concepts remain rich and spiritually important ways of thinking about transformation, forgiveness, and hope.
Rather, the hesitation often comes from the way these ideas have sometimes been used. When doctrines become tools for judging others, dividing communities, or exerting control, something of the spirit of the Gospel is lost.
Jesus warned about this danger. In a sharp criticism of some contemporary religious leaders, he says that they “tie up heavy burdens” and place them on the shoulders of others. Faith becomes distorted when it turns into a system of expectations that weighs people down rather than lifting them up.
Jesus offered a very different vision of spiritual life. He said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30).
The invitation of Jesus is not to carry a heavier religious load, but to enter into a way of life shaped by humility, compassion, and trust in God. Jesus’ way is educational. “Learn from me,” he said. Learning, growing, and becoming more “gentle and humble in heart” is the responsibility we have. It’s a stark contrast from the endless strict requirements Jesus called “hard to bear.”
Jesus further criticized burdensome religion soon afterwards, warning that religious leaders can sometimes “lock people out of the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 23:13). This language is not about a faraway land in a faraway time, but much closer to home. The kingdom of heaven, in Jesus’ teaching, is a way of living under the guidance of God and in God’s presence here and now.
When faith becomes dominated by fear, control, or rigid requirements, it can close people off from that life, rather than opening them toward it.
For this reason, many Unitarian Christians approach theological concepts with greater humility and openness. Some explore ideas like repentance, redemption, and grace as meaningful ways to reflect on personal growth. Others find different language that speaks more clearly to their own spiritual experiences.
What matters most is not that every person uses the same vocabulary, but that our spiritual lives lead us toward the qualities Jesus consistently lifted up: love of neighbor, mercy, humility, and walking humbly with God.
The teachings of Jesus were never meant to become weights that burden others.
They were meant to help us walk more freely in love.
“Teach me your way, O LORD, and lead me on a level path.” – Psalm 27:11
Rev. Brian J. Kelley
Executive Pastor, Unitarian Christian Church of America (UCCA)
FB Page: https://www.facebook.com/groups/UnitarianChristian/
THE DUDE ABIDES
“Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as a branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me.” – John 15:4
The Gospel according to John often speaks in imagery rather than arguments. Light and darkness. Bread and hunger. Water and thirst. In John 15, Jesus turns to another everyday image: vines and branches.
For Unitarian Christians, Jesus is our teacher and example. When he speaks of abiding, we do not hear a call to mystical union or orthodox belief, but an invitation to formation, to let a teaching take root so deeply that it begins to guide how we live.
A branch does not bear fruit by trying harder. It bears fruit by remaining connected to what gives it life. When that connection is broken, the branch is not judged or punished; it simply stops being fruitful. It dries up. Disconnection is not a moral failure, it’s unsustainable.
To us, “abiding in Jesus” means remaining oriented toward his way of life: compassion over judgment, truth without domination, love that is practiced as well as proclaimed. To abide is to return to that way again and again, especially when we begin to grow astray. When Jesus “abides in us,” it means his teachings have moved from words we hear and admire into values that shape our instincts, choices, and very lives.
To some, this is a re-framing of how we think about spiritual growth. Fruit is not something we are required to produce in order to prove our worth to an all-loving God. Fruit is what appears naturally when a life is rooted in something life-giving. Love, patience, courage, generosity: these four outcomes, not requirements.
Even the image of pruning fits this understanding, and Jesus uses this imagery elsewhere in the passage. Pruning is not punishment to a fruit-bearer. It is discernment. For us, it is the careful letting go of unhelpful habits, commitments, or identities that tend to drain life without helping it grow. Growth often feels difficult, like loss, but it creates space for deeper vitality.
In a world that constantly pulls our attention in a dozen directions, the question John 15 asks is simple and demanding: What are you staying connected to? What abides in you and in what do you abide? Not everything that demands our attention is life-giving.
The vine does not demand belief or perfection; it invites connection. And when we remain, often imperfectly but still faithfully, something good will certainly begin to grow.
What teachings, what principles, shape you so deeply that they guide how you live when no one is watching?
Rev. Brian J. Kelley
Executive Pastor, Unitarian Christian Church of America (UCCA)
MOTHER TONGUES
February 22, 2026
“So they read from the book, from the law of God, with interpretation. They gave the sense, so that the people understood the reading.” – Nehemiah 8:8
This weekend marks International Mother Language Day, a relatively new celebration, recognized by the UN in 2002. The day was established to promote awareness of linguistic and cultural diversity and to promote multilingualism. As a minister and former linguist myself, observances like this often make me wonder how the mother tongues of both the writers of our scriptures and those whom the writings depict affected how they viewed the world and the messages they sought to convey, as well as whether our own interpretations in a very different mother tongue misses any of the nuances delivered in the original languages.
When we read scripture, it’s easy to forget how many times the words before us have already traveled. We meet these words in English, shaped by translation, interpretation, and long familiarity, not to mention our own cultures. These words often arrive to us already settled, already explained, already framed as religious language, through centuries of interpretation by people with their own narrow religious viewpoints. Yet the words in scripture were not born that way.
Our scripture is a multilingual and multicultural anthology. Its stories were spoken orally, remembered generationally, translated imperfectly, and written across centuries, communities, and empires. What we read today is often a translation of a translation of a translation, copied by hand by fallible men countless times. And while this does not make scripture any less useful for our edification, it does invite humility. Translation in particular is never perfect. As words move from one language to another, something of their original feel… their tone, rhythm, intimacy, or cultural weight… is inevitably altered or lost.
For this reason, it can be helpful to pause and ask not only what scripture says, but how it once sounded. To consider its words in their mother languages, the languages in which they were first spoken and heard, can draw us closer to the human experience out of which they emerged.
Scripture was also not written in a single language the way we often encounter it, nor does it imagine a single way only of speaking about God. The Torah reflects a world shaped by covenant, memory, and communal identity. Wisdom literature often speaks through contrast and tension, placing truths side by side rather than resolving them neatly. The writings of the early Jesus movement reflect Greek rhetorical habits, shaped by explanation, persuasion, and cultural translation. Even within scripture itself, different languages carry different assumptions about how meaning is held and shared.
I believe this matters, because the people depicted in scripture often speak in languages different even than those in which their stories were written and are preserved. The voices we hear are mediated voices. What we receive is memory, not unfiltered transcript.
Jesus lived and taught within this layered world. His everyday spoken language was probably Galilean Aramaic, which was an informal regional dialect and the language of home, work, and everyday village life. It was certainly not a formal, legislative, or literary language. It was oral, relational, and shaped by daily experience. Much like the spoken dialects of Arabic today, it existed alongside more formal written registers without aspiring to replace them. It was the language people used to live, not the language they used to codify.
This helps explain the shape of Jesus’ teachings. He spoke in parables. He relied on contrast and reversal. “So the last will be first, and the first will be last” (Matthew 20:16), and “Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it” (Matthew 10:39) are two examples. These are not contradictions to be resolved but tensions to be held. This way of speaking is deeply at home in Semitic oral and literary traditions, where meaning is often carried through parallelism, contrast, and lived paradox rather than linear argument. Wisdom is not always stated outright; it is drawn out through attention.
Jesus’ language reflects this orientation. When he speaks of God, he often uses Abba, an Aramaic word of intimacy and closeness. It is not formal; it is not liturgical. It is not the language of temple address. It is the language of relationship, of love. This doesn’t redefine God in abstract terms, but reshapes how people stand in relation to God. Jesus’ listeners would have understood this implicitly.
Similarly, when Jesus begins his saying with a word often translated as “truly,” as in “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me” (Matthew 25:40), is actually “Amen” in the Greek. “Amen” is an Aramaic word related to the Hebrew word of the same pronunciation. In Hebrew usage, “amen” often comes at the end of a statement as a response or affirmation, much the way we typically use the term to end prayers. In true Aramaic style, though, Jesus did not place it at the end, but at the beginning. He is not saying, “What I am about to say is factually correct,” which the translation “truly” may imply;” he is saying, “What I am about to say is trustworthy; you can rely on it.” The difference is subtle but important. One appeals to legal correctness, the other to experiential or lived reliability.
Alongside spoken Aramaic, the trained Rabbi Jesus was also immersed in Hebrew, the language of scripture and prayer. Hebrew and Aramaic were closely related, but in the first century Middle East, they served different purposes. Hebrew functioned primarily as a liturgical and scriptural language, carrying sacred memory and communal identity. It was heard regularly, revered deeply, and associated with authority, even when it was not spoken conversationally. For an imperfect English analogy, think something in between the King James Bible and the Latin Mass. Jesus, though, would have known Hebrew well enough to read and interpret scripture; yet his work was not simply to repeat sacred words. It was to bring them into living speech, translating memory in to meaning for those who needed to hear the messages in Galilean Aramaic, the language of the day.
By the time the Gospels (and the rest of the writings we call the New Testament) were written, Greek had entered decisively into the picture, not only because more people in the area understood Greek in addition to Aramaic, but because the writings were intended for a wider audience and Greek was the most widely spoken language in the world at the time. It was the shared language of the Mediterranean world. It allowed stories to travel beyond local communities and cultural boundaries. And Jewish scripture already existed in Greek form, with Jewish communities accustomed to navigating meaning across Greek and Semitic languages. Writing the Gospels in Greek was an act of transmission.
Yet translation always shapes what it carries. Greek excels at explanation and structure. Spoken Aramaic, by contrast, excels at immediacy and relationship. As Jesus’ words moved into Greek, some of their original texture was inevitably altered. But something else was gained as a trade-off: reach, continuity, and endurance. What was once spoken to a small crowd became available to people far removed in time and place.
Jesus, then, stands between languages. He spoke in Aramaic, the language of lived experience. He drew from Hebrew, the language of sacred memory. And he was remembered in Greek, the language that allowed the story to travel. This layered reality reminds us that meaning is not born fully formed in words. It emerges through relationship, context, and attention.
For us, this may offer a gentle invitation. We inherit religious language that can sometimes feel rigid, settled, elevated, and distant from everyday life. But Jesus’s teaching suggests another way. He never spoke from above. He spoke from among. He trusted that meaning would take root not through perfect phrasing, but through honest engagement with lived reality.
Perhaps listening remains our foremost task. Listening for the voice between words. Listening for meaning that is not always resolved but held in tension. And remembering that before Jesus was written, before he was translated, before he was explained, he was heard. Next time we sit with the words of Jesus, let’s put ourselves in the shoes of his immediate listening audience and think about what his words may have meant from a lived experience point of view, rather than the point of view of rigid religion or Platonic argument.
“The purposes in the human mind are like deep water, but the intelligent will draw them out.” – Proverbs 20:5
Rev. Brian J. Kelley
Director of Ministry Resources, Unitarian Christian Church of America (UCCA)
HIGH GROUNDS AND LOGS
February 15, 2026
“The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector.’ But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even lift up his eyes to heaven but was beating his breast and saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’ I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other, for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.” – Luke 18:11, 13-14
We live in an unprecedented time in which much of our lives (and the lives of others) is plainly visible online, on social media, and through countless other public avenues. In such a world, it has also become easier and more common than ever for people to share their opinions, which often take the form of judgments about those visible lives. Ours is a time of heightened moral awareness, even as moral opinions themselves become more and more deeply divided.
Much of this moral concern surely arises from a place of genuine care. Yet it can quietly drift into something else. Moral opinions become moral clarity; moral clarity becomes moral comparison; moral comparison becomes moral elevation. From the outset, I want to be clear: I do not suggest that anyone lower their moral standards, but that we all examine our moral postures. Jesus’ teaching here is less about what we believe and more about how we stand in relation to others.
Jesus was keenly aware of how easily moral concern can distort vision through perceptions of moral superiority. In the words we know as the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus asked, “Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye but do not notice the log in your own eye? Or how can you say to your neighbor, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ while the log is in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your neighbor’s eye.”
When Jesus says that we should first take the logs out of our own eyes so that we can see clearly, he is not offering a formula for moral advancement. He is not suggesting that, with enough effort, we will eventually reach a place where we are qualified to stand above others and judge them. The work he describes is never a step toward superiority, but a lifelong discipline to attention.
The log in our own eye is not something easily removed and set aside (so that we can get back to the work of judging others, as some seem to interpret it). It represents the accumulated habits, assumptions, fears, biases, and blind spots that shape how we see the world and interact with it. These are not obstacles we overcome once and thereby become irrevocably perfect. These are realities we must continually attend to. And because they belong to us, they are the hardest for us to see.
Jesus did not want us to lack moral awareness; he was concerned that we often misunderstand the purpose of moral awareness. The work of faith is not to position ourselves as clearer or cleaner than others, but to remain engaged in the slow, humble task of self-examination. Jesus constantly reminded us to walk humbly. As long as our humble work of self-examination continues, we can be guarded against the illusion of moral high ground.
Jesus was always warning against the stance of moral superiority, which rarely announces itself loudly, instead often settling quietly into the heart, reshaping how we see without our noticing. Such an attitude may seem to promise clarity and confidence, but over time it narrows our vision. When we begin to see ourselves as standing above others, curiosity gives way to inflexible certainty, and godly humility is replaced by harsh defensiveness. We stop asking what we might still need to learn and start assuming we already know, at least better than those other people.
This posture may even feel stable, especially in a divided and uncertain world, but it comes at a cost. Moral superiority hardens the heart. It weakens empathy, not because we no longer care, but because we believe our caring has reached its proper end. For the morally superior, care becomes conditional, expressed primarily through correction (pointing out specks), and when others do not respond as we hope, we may feel justified in withdrawing concern altogether.
Jesus’ concern was never that we would care too much about what is and is not godly, but that we would allow moral concern to close us off from further formation and even push others away from us. Moral superiority seems to promise righteousness, but it quietly erodes the very humility that makes faithfulness possible.
With the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector, Jesus brought this dynamic into sharp focus. The Pharisee was not portrayed as careless or insincere. He was very attentive to his own moral life and earnest in his own devotion. Yet Jesus told us that he stood by himself and his prayer quickly turned into comparison. His own sense of righteousness was framed not by self-examination, but by contrast. He was not thankful for God’s mercy or goodness, but for his distance from others. I wonder why he bothered praying in the first place.
The tax collector, by contrast, did not attempt to justify himself or measure himself against anyone else. He stood honestly before God, aware of his own need and unshielded by comparison to anyone else. His posture was not one of utter despair, though he beat his breast in his fervency, but of openness and dependence. He did not claim moral clarity; he relied on God’s mercy.
Jesus did not commend the tax collector on the basis of moral superiority, nor did he condemn the Pharisee for caring too much about living a godly life. Instead, Jesus told the story to draw our attention to the difference between standing apart and standing honestly and humbly. One posture closes the heart while the other leaves it open. In Jesus’ telling, it is openness, not elevation, that allows room for grace.
Jesus’ toughest teachings are often tough not because they are unclear, but because they refuse to let us elevate ourselves above our peers. Again and again, Jesus turned our attention away from comparison and back toward inner formation. He invited us to tend our own hearts, to notice the logs we carry, and to remain honest about the ways our vision is shaped and limited. This work is never finished, and that is not a failure, but the shape of faithfulness itself.
If humility is the posture Jesus taught and commended, then faith is not something we ever truly complete, but something we continue to practice. It is learned slowly, through attention, self-examination, and willingness to keep working with the logs in our own eyes rather than fixating on the specks we may notice elsewhere. We are not asked to see perfectly, but to keep seeking clearer vision without claiming the moral high ground. And perhaps that is where grace does its best work: not in elevating us above others, but in keeping us grounded, human, and open to becoming more humble, loving, and open to teaching that we were before.
“For the LORD takes pleasure in His people; He adorns the humble with victory.” – Psalm 149:4
Rev. Brian J. Kelley
Director of Ministry Resources, Unitarian Christian Church of America (UCCA)
THE HARDEST TEACHING
February 8, 2026
“Instead, love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, for He Himself is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked.” – Luke 6:35
People have asked me what I find to be the hardest of Jesus’ teachings. My answer is drawn from the above passage, and from related sayings like Matthew 5:44, “But I say to you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” It’s easy enough to quote these words. It’s even possible, in the abstract, to nod along approvingly or to imagine a world in which everyone lived this way. It can also be tempting to turn this teaching outward, toward others, and think, If only those people would learn to love their enemies, the world would be better.
And perhaps the world would be better. But that temptation points to why this is, for me, the hardest of Jesus’ teachings. Jesus did not offer these words as a tool for self-righteousness or as another standard by which to measure the perceived moral failures of others. He spoke to them to the people who were listening to him, people very much like us. This teaching is not an invitation to evaluate the hearts of others, but a demand from those who would follow Jesus to attend to our own hearts. Jesus calls us to examine our attitudes, and the actions that flow from them, rather than to wait for someone else to change first and lament when they do not.
Just like the religious expert sought to justify himself by asking, “Who is my neighbor?” we may find ourselves asking a parallel question: “Who, exactly, are my enemies?” Sometimes that question can function less as a search for understanding and more as a quiet attempt at self-exemption. After all, if someone falls outside the categories of “neighbor” and “enemy,” maybe we can justify not living them at all, right?
Jesus taught something different, though. His response to the original question ("Who is my neighbor?") was the familiar Parable of the Good Samaritan. To many who heard it, Samaritans were not simply strangers; they were outsiders, people who believed wrongly, lived wrongly, and stood on the far side of religious and cultural boundaries… the enemy! And yet Jesus held the Samaritan up as the example of faithful love.
Our own society has no shortage of modern equivalents. We divide ourselves by religion, culture, politics, and countless markers of identity. We are often encouraged to preserve these divisions, to see “those people” not as equals or fellow human beings (themselves bearing the divine image), but as threats, abstractions, enemies. In doing so, we can easily slip into dehumanization. And dehumanization, when left unchecked, leads to real harm: erasure, domination, and fear.
The people listening to Jesus knew this dynamic well, especially under Roman occupation. And still, Jesus looked at them and said, “Love your enemies.” For Jesus, love was not mere sentiment. It was a reorientation of the heart, a deliberate refusal to reduce others to something less than human, even when others might do so to us or to those we wish to protect.
Even as Jesus explicitly taught us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us, I know a lot of us feel strongly called to stand up for those who face persecution, those who are harmed or marginalized. Loving enemies does not require abandoning that call for those called to it. It does not mean excusing harm, abandoning the vulnerable, or being unable to name injustice. Jesus himself confronted, resisted, and named wrongdoing. What Jesus did address in this teaching was something different: the way opposition can harden into contempt, and the way that even the pursuit of justice can become fueled by hatred rather than care and compassion. His call to love is not a retreat from moral callings, but a safeguard for the heart.
This is the heart of what Jesus was teaching. Contempt is a spiritual poison. It does not foster empathy but corrodes it. It does not strengthen morality but narrows moral imagination. It does not deepen compassion but trains us to see people as symbols instead of valuable human beings. I know that when others show contempt, it can be tempting to return it. But even when contempt feels justified, it reshapes us. Jesus’ warning is protective, not permissive. He was not teaching us how to change “them,” but how to guard our own hearts and to be conduits of love rather than hate.
One of the most enduring spiritual disciplines in our tradition is prayer. Prayer has often been framed as supplication, an attempt to influence God toward certain outcomes we desire. Yet prayer’s deepest effects are internal. As a discipline, prayer can reorient the heart, interrupting the reflexive anger or hatred that can take hold of us. When Jesus teaches us to pray for our enemies, he is not asking us to wish them success in their wrongdoing, nor to pray cynically for their downfall. He is inviting us to hold them in prayer as human beings, no less valuable than ourselves. In doing so, we refuse to reduce them to monsters, and we resist allowing our anger to become our identity or to shape how we see others. Because it is a discipline, this kind of prayer is slow and often uncomfortable work. Still, Jesus offers it as a path toward love and following Jesus means learning how to walk that path.
Jesus did not ground his teaching in some sort of fleeing idealism, but in the very character of God. “Love your enemies,” Jesus says, “for He Himself is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked.” This is an invitation to imitation. God’s kindness is not reserved for the seemingly deserving; it is given freely, even where gratitude is absent and behavior falls short (or is downright harmful). When our teacher Jesus calls us to love our enemies, he is asking us to let the generosity of God shape our hearts. Jesus invites us to order our inner lives according to divine kindness, so that resentment and contempt toward our enemies (political, social, or otherwise) do not become the lenses through which we see the world and the people in it, all of whom bear the divine image.
If this teaching feels difficult, I fully agree with you. Maybe this is because the teaching reaches into places we would rather leave unexamined. Loving enemies is not a lesson easily mastered, but a discipline we must return to again and again. It asks us, daily, what is taking shape within us? Are we giving kindness room to grow, or contempt? Jesus does not ask us to personally solve all the world’s divisions, but to attend faithfully to the condition of our own hearts. That is where love, real love, must always begin.
“Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is strong as death, passion fierce as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, a raging flame. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it. If one offered for love all the wealth of one’s house, it would be utterly scorned.” – Song of Solomon 8:6-7
Rev. Brian J. Kelley
Director of Ministry Resources, Unitarian Christian Church of America (UCCA)
OUR CANDLE
February 1, 2026
"A light for revelation to the gentiles and for glory to your people Israel” – Luke 2:32
Today is the Sunday nearest February 2nd, which is traditionally known as Candlemas, a celebration of dedication, of purification, and of light. Occurring 40 days after Christmas, the day marks a threshold moment. The last remnants of the Christmas season are passed, and the new year is now fully underway; yet its direction may still be unclear to many of us.
Candlemas has long been associated the lighting of candles, and the candle itself becomes a powerful image for the kind of life Jesus taught us to live. A candle is small, as we are called to be meek and to not elevate ourselves. It is steady, continuing to give light even if it sometimes flickers. It is illuminating, shedding a gentle light on everything around it without being overwhelming, as we are called to be a gentle witness. And a candle is ordinary, not rare or dramatic, just as Jesus called ordinary people into lives of service, thankfulness, and meaning.
In Luke’s gospel, the story begins with Mary and Joseph bringing their child to the temple in Jerusalem, acting “according to the law of Moses.” Luke repeats this phrase to emphasize that what unfolds here is grounded in the religious customs of the people, a prescribed communal practice. Jesus entered the story of the gospels not apart from first-century Jewish life, but fully within it.
The rituals Luke references come from long-standing traditions. Leviticus describes a period of purification following childbirth: not a moral judgment, but a restoration of ordinary communal religious life. Exodus speaks of the redemption of the firstborn, recalling Israel’s shared memory of deliverance and belonging. These practices are not done for their own sake but root communal faith in remembrance and responsibility.
Mary and Joseph appear simply as faithful participants, carrying out the traditions entrusted to them. Through their actions, we see that Jesus was formed within a living faith before he ever spoke in his own voice. Faith, the story says, is practiced more than it is proclaimed.
Luke adds an interesting detail that grounds the scene even further. The offering Mary and Joseph bring is not a lamb, the default offering, but two birds: the provision allowed for those who could not afford more. This isn’t explained, but it matters. It places Jesus’ family among the ordinary working people of their time: neither destitute nor wealthy, certainly without flocks of livestock or other excess. We do know, however, that Jesus later functions as a rabbi, which implies education, training, and communal support, yet nothing here suggests privilege or abundance. Even so, the act of faith is the same. The ritual is no less meaningful because the offering is more modest. Spiritual depth, Luke suggests, does not depend on abundance or advantage, but on faithfulness practiced as life allows.
Luke tells us that among those present in the temple that day was Simeon, a man shaped by years of devotion and attentiveness. He represents the voice of a lived faith, someone who has spent a lifetime reflecting on what God’s promises might look like when they take shape in an ordinary life. When Simeon speaks, he names what this moment, the dedication of Jesus, means to him. Drawing on the language of light, Simeon desires a hope made visible, a faith meant to be seen and shared: “a light for revelation to the gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.” These words affirm something meaningful has come into view, something that’s clearly seen, worthy of trust and attention.
The reason this event is remembered with a candle is because the image Simeon offers is not of a blazing sun or commanding light, but illumination itself. Candlelight does not force attention or demand agreement. It simply reveals what is already present, making the immediate world more visible and more navigable. In this way, light becomes a fitting image for the life Jesus would later embody. His teachings do not compel by force, nor coerce by rhetoric; they clarify how to live with integrity and compassion. The example of Jesus makes faithfulness visible in human terms: through care for others, attentiveness to the overlooked, and trust in the slow work of love. The newly dedicated light allows recognition, inviting people to see more clearly and to walk more carefully in the world they share. It also teaches us to shine our own lights gently but steadily. As the old saying goes, “Do not shout at the darkness; light a candle.”
The setting of this event at forty days after Jesus’ birth also matters. Forty days is a symbolic span in the biblical literature. It marks a span of time long enough for beginnings to become real, for novelty to give way to formation. Later in the gospels, Jesus fasted for forty days. The end of forty days is not really a moment of arrival, but of readiness. Faith often works this way as well. It takes time for meaning to settle, for hope to become visible, and for light to be recognized rather than merely proclaimed. Many of us live in this in-between space, on a kind of forty-day journey, carrying what has been given to us while still learning what it asks of us. Seen by the light of Jesus’ teachings and example, this season becomes an invitation to take that leap into readiness.
Candlemas, then, comes to us not as a declaration to be defended or an obligation to be fulfilled, but as an invitation we may receive. It reminds us that faith is lived through presence, care, and attention to the world around us. And we see that world by whatever light we choose to “turn on.” Not only that, if we shine a gentle, generous light, we can help others see the world in a positive way. We are not asked to overwhelm the world with blinding brightness, but to remain steady and faithful where we are placed. Like a candle, a life shaped by love does its work simply by being lit: by showing up, offering gentle clarity, and making space for others to take their own journeys toward seeing clearly. As we move forward from this threshold day, may we tend the light entrusted to us with patience and humility, allowing it to be nourished by the teachings and example of Jesus. Even a small flame, if we keep it faithfully, can illuminate the path ahead.
“The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?” – Psalm 27:1a
Rev. Brian J. Kelley
Director of Ministry Resources, Unitarian Christian Church of America (UCCA)
ASK YOURSELF WHY
January 25, 2025
Is the true purpose of life, and of “religion,” to help humanity “find God?” No, it is to the end that humanity will look within itself and find the “Essence of God” that gives life and being to our individual selves and all else. It is then that we begin to become what we are designed and created to be. It is then that the purpose of our being is revealed, not for ourselves but for all creation. For it is then that we realize we are but one tiny particle of the whole of creation that must come together in unity, peace, and compassion for all to ever be what we are designed and created to be. God knows we can’t truly “know God.” But God wants us to accept that “God is,” and has designed and created us to live as we are meant to.
Creation did not begin as the whole it is, nor as the pieces of that whole we see today or envision from ancient myths. In today’s world, we now know that all creation, all that exists within the known universe, began as tiny subatomic particles that were designed and created to come together in unity to become all that is, including you. We now know that the unification of those basic particles was the building block of all creation, and the perfection in that reality is testimony to the “Intelligent Design and Creation” of all that is the cosmos. This was the birth of all creation, and it continues to this day.
When we look with reason and intelligence at the creation we are part of, we often overlook the most important reality of all. It isn’t in the individual particle or in the elements or matter that eventually become us, but in the obvious purpose of it all. From the beginning, in its most elemental state, to the evidence of all existence we observe today, the one component that makes it all possible is “how these individual particles, different as they are, come together to become the wonderful thing that creation is.” From the entire cosmos itself to the newest just-created particle, creation is designed and created by a “Spirit, Power, Energy, Force” beyond our comprehension that began it all and continues to this moment and will for eternity.
We can never know the “Designer and Creator,” but the “Essence of God” is all around us. We dwell within that “Essence,” as does the entire cosmos, and that “Essence” dwells within all that lives and has being. Nothing exists without being created, and nothing is sustained without a “Spirit, Power, Energy, Force” that enables it to be. That source is known by many names, and none are truly sufficient; it has been observed by humankind since our beginning, and no one has ever found it, and never will. We are looking in all the wrong places for something beyond our comprehension, driven by a desire for unity with our Creator that is inherent in every fiber of our being. The “Spirit” within each of us, that “Lifeforce” that gives us being, longs for the “hand that created it.” That’s what we find in religious spirituality. Perhaps if we saw that unity as it can only be seen, we would find our way. Unity with our Creator is found when we unite with all creation, and that begins with one another. Imagine all that we can be and do when we come together as we were created to be.
When we, as a created species, wake up and accept the reality that our future, indeed the future of our species and planet, depends on our accepting the reality that we were designed and created to be, and on coming together as “One,” we will be on the right path. Just as there is only “One Creator,” we are to be the image of that Creator. That means accepting each other unconditionally, without judgment or condemnation, and being what we were designed and created to be. Until we do, we are climbing a hill, and if we don’t accept that reality, we will truly never be all we can be. Unity and peace are the foundation of humankind; they always have been and always will be the basis of who we truly are and the only things that will sustain us into the future.
Before each of us is the rest of our lives. What will you make of it? How will you spend it? Most will continue on the path of upward mobility they think they are on, continue to lust after more and more wealth and power. Thinking within themselves, this is life. When in reality, that isn’t life at all. It may be worldly success, which is temporary; it may bring fame and fortune, which is temporary; it may bring you to a place, such as now, where you ask yourself, "Why?" It is then that reality speaks to you. Will you listen?
We live in a time and place where morality is measured more by our wealth, social status, and position than it should be. We live in times that are trying and difficult and growing more so each day, but we refuse to stop long enough to give ourselves a "reality check." We struggle and complain, but the answer to our problems is always just outside our reach, and we wonder, "Why?" The answer to our problems is simple: when we accept that living a moral, united, accepting, and compassionate life is how we are designed and created to be, then we will stop fighting ourselves and become all God wants us to be. To do less will only lead to more suffering, more hatred and divisions, and eventually to our end if we continue as we are. A downward spiral will only last until it hits the bottom. Which way are you going?
All my past messages, in some way, address how we are living and how we should be living. That is the purpose of the ministry. We aren't called to support your hopes, dreams, wants, desires, or placate your politics or social status. All these things will be taken care of when we accept our responsibility to live as we were designed and created to live. As one species among many, all related and dependent on one another in some way, all part of a creation that, if united as it should be, would make all our dreams come true in one place. If we lived as we should, we would not need heaven, eternity, or paradise to look forward to; we would be living it in the here and now. It's a way of life, not something you think or believe, and no, most of us don't have it, so ask yourself, "Why?
Rev. Dr. Shannon Rogers, DDiv
WHAT GOD HAS FOR YOU
January 18, 2025
Matthew 4:4, But he answered, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’”
In this allegory about Jesus being tempted, we are too often caught up in the myth and awe of the story to do what Jesus and his followers would have done. They would have seen such a story for what it was, an example for all our lives as we face the temptations of evil and sin that surround us and fill our lives. Just as Jesus looked to God and his faith to guide his life, and, in the story, rebuked those temptations, we are to do the same. If Jesus can do it, so can we, if we don't see him as a supernatural "god-man" but instead as he was, just like any human being. He was an example for all to follow. Wasn't he?
In our story, we see Jesus tempted not just once but three times, and each time he stands on the teachings of righteousness that are the foundation of his message and should be ours as well. He faces the reality of what life is, or, if you prefer, how the story goes, as the devil offers it, and he sees it for what it is. He rejects it and replaces it with proper teachings, refocusing his direction to walk in "God's Way" rather than the temptations of the world. Do you?
Jesus is focused on living a life pleasing and acceptable to God, and in doing so, he gains the strength and wisdom to know when to say, "Get thee behind me, Satan," or, more correctly, "that is not the Godly way I choose." He rejected material goods and wealth to walk with God. He turned the world he lived in, marked by greed, selfishness, and the lust for wealth and power, around and said, "There is something more precious than gold, more needed than things; the choice is yours." Have you made it?
When I look at the world we live in, I envision us all wandering in a wilderness. Lost in our mad rush to the top of the ladder, the best neighborhoods, the next promotion, and the ever-lustful desire to get more and more, we don't stop long enough to look around and see the reality of how truly pitiful our lives are. We let go of our humanity, morals, ethics, and God-given compassion for others to feed our egos, satisfy our “wants,” and walk away from Godliness. And we learn nothing from the stories of old or the lessons Jesus and others taught because we choose not to. What choice will you make?
Like Jesus in the wilderness, each of us is wandering, lost, tempted on every hand, and faced with decisions. As you face yours, what will you do? Will you feed your greed, selfishness, and lusts? Or will you remember a story from long ago about a man offered the world and its rule, who said, “I will choose God’s Way instead?” He set himself aside, took God’s hand, and walked forward as an example for you to follow. That is a choice we each face: God’s way or your way. What will your choice be?
Matthew 6:33, But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.
This is what Jesus did. Like others, he chose to live in a righteous way, in God's Way, rather than the way of the world. We spend our lives thinking that if we do this or that, we will have more, when all along, the first and most important possession a human can have is found within their heart. It's there from our birth, waiting for us to let it show us the way and awaken us into "God's Kingdom," into a life filled with unspeakable love and glory beyond our wildest dreams. If you want what God has for you, put that first and see what He has to offer. That's your choice to make. What will it be?
Romans 15:33, “May the God of peace be with all of you. Amen.”
Unless noted, Bible Quotes are from "New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition" (NRSVUE)
Rev. Dr. Shannon Rogers, DDiv
“THE RICH”
January 11, 2026
Hebrews 13:5, Keep your lives free from the love of money, and be content with what you have, for he himself has said, “I will never leave you or forsake you.”
As it was in the days of Jesus, so it is today: our lives are focused on our wealth. The rich are getting richer, the poor are getting poorer, and those in the middle are losing all around. Our financial portfolio will not bring us closer to God, and we must face that reality. You cannot buy your way into a right relationship with God, nor will it secure God’s salvation for you, not even if your church tells you otherwise. It isn’t a sin to have financial means, but how that wealth affects your witness of God’s love will always be a problem. If our God isn’t the "One True God" but is money instead, that will always lead to sin.
In the days of Jesus, wealthy Jews had sold out their nation, including family members, to the Romans. Jesus saw this as a problem and spoke against it. More than once, Jesus told his followers that a wealthy person has a problem “entering the Kingdom of God.” This means that wealthy people often struggle to live a Godly life. As it was then, so it remains today: the wealthy want more and more but refuse to contribute their fair share to the well-being of others. They refuse to recognize that they have the means, God’s blessings, that could make life better for others, yet they don’t care. Do you?
In first-century Palestine, the wealthy purchased a comfortable lifestyle, while those less fortunate were often cast aside, and too many paid with their lives. At that time, as it is today, there was more than enough wealth to provide for everyone, but the heart to do so was clouded by the lust for more of whatever makes the rich happy. They gladly paid the Romans their share because they had plenty left over for themselves. But the wealthy today don’t even want to do that; they want it all and buy political favors to assure it. They would rather pay a corrupt government and its politicians than use that money to help the less fortunate, out of their own fear and insecurity. Do you know anyone like this?
As it was in the time of Jesus, so it is today. We have blindly and selfishly chosen to follow the rich and powerful. Even as they move further away from the love of God and live lives filled with arrogant judgments, greed, selfishness, chaos, divisions, and hate, we who claim to be Christians seek to imitate their every move rather than those of Jesus. We buy the lies, as Israel did, and follow leaders who are ungodly and filled with sins and carnal lusts, seeking only dominion over others and to satisfy their greed for more wealth and power, and whatever they desire. It is truly the blind leading the blind. Whom are you following?
1 Timothy 6:9-10, 9 But those who want to be rich fall into temptation and are trapped by many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction. 10 For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil, and in their eagerness to be rich, some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pains.
The problem isn’t having wealth, it’s in your attitude toward that wealth and what you let it do to your relationship with God and your witness to the world. In this text, Paul presses Timothy and us to consider that even the desire to get rich is a sin to be avoided. We should instead cultivate godliness and contentment. But in today’s world, the lust for wealth dominates even the most moving sermon; it destroys one's faith in God and replaces it with faith in power and money; it takes you out of the hands of God and chokes you with the selfishness, greed, and wantonness that is never satisfied and never ends. Is this where you are? Have you stopped your mad dash through life long enough to ask yourself these questions? If not, will you do it now?
Romans 15:33, “May the God of peace be with all of you. Amen.”
Unless noted, Bible Quotes are from "New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition" (NRSVUE)
Rev. Dr. Shannon Rogers, DDiv