The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 17), August 24, 2025 ~ Vince Brackett

Throughout the letter to the Hebrews, Jesus is related to the Jewish legacy that preceded him, and the writer moves between compare and contrast, embrace and departure. Jesus and Jesus’ ministry is of-a-piece with ancient Hebrew tradition, and yet, in some ways, Jesus is different. Unfortunately, Hebrews has been used to support anti-semitism, over-emphasizing the departures of the early Jesus movement from its Jewish beginnings, and as a result demonizing Judaism. This must be condemned in favor of a more responsible read that sees the early Jesus movement building upon its Jewish beginnings.
As today’s passage in Hebrews 12 suggests, Jesus’ mountain is similar to Moses’ mountain, but, for the writer, more approachable. Jesus’ blood speaks a similar word to Abel’s blood, but, for the writer, even stronger. From a process-relational perspective, we read here a testimony to a suffering God, rather than an impassible God.
There is such power in God speaking through blood-stained land. The relationship between God and the world that is often represented in process-relational thought is “panentheism” — God in the world and the world in God. A panentheistic view helps us to perceive: Of course the land can speak to us God’s word! Even more so land that has known violence!
The exhortation “see that you do not refuse the (suffering) one who is speaking” hits home. We do indeed, in every moment, have the freedom to refuse the (suffering) one who is speaking. We must choose to listen.
Along Jesus’ way toward contributing himself to the collective voice of “the (suffering) one who is speaking”, we get many experiences that formed him in this direction, like today’s Gospel passage from Luke 13. Sometimes, the temptation to refuse the (suffering) one who is speaking — like the woman who is unable to stand up straight — comes cloaked in good tradition we’ve inherited — like sabbath rules about not working on the seventh day. Jesus is able to confidently re-interpret his tradition in a more life-giving way than the leaders of the synagogue because he chooses to listen to the woman’s pain calling out to him, and, presumably in turn, because he hears God’s voice in that act of listening.
To the end of helping our congregations learn to listen, I love praying Psalm 103 over my congregation, because it sings to the God who listens to suffering at the very same time as speaking through it. A process-relational prayer to its core, Psalm 103 never entertains omnipotence; the benefits it extols are about God’s faithfulness to vulnerably come alongside people in give-and-take compassion and mercy.
Psalm 103 accepts the reality of evil and sin and pointless pain and death, and presents God as the one who consoles and heals and comforts and redeems, not the one who is mysteriously behind all things. Psalm 103 reminds us God makes God’s ways known to Moses and the children of Israel, not Pharaoh and mighty Egypt.
Speaking to one’s own soul, as the Psalms so often model, is required to hold to hope in a good God and find renewal in the midst of pointless pain. This is as true as ever today, when omnipotence reigns in popular images of the divine. We must remind our souls: Forget not all the benefits of the God who speaks through Abel’s and Jesus’ blood, through the experience of the oppressed, through a woman’s pain and marginalization. Forget not all the benefits of the God who also listens whenever we are those representing the voice of the (suffering) one.
Perhaps even more appropriate than praying Psalm 103 over a congregation is having a congregation of people pray this over each other all at once (Bless the Lord, O our souls…), because we are not isolated subjects; we are what becomes from our relations. I love the way today’s Isaiah passage meditates on this. Our self-isolating protectionist tendencies are a yoke we need not carry, says Isaiah 58. If we can embrace our relational interconnectedness, we will find ourselves guided and delighted and fed.
Importantly, to say that “we are what becomes from our relations” doesn’t mean others wholly define us any more than it means we wholly define ourselves. Implied here is both what others bring to us and how we receive what others bring to us (how we “prehend”, to use the Whiteheadian term). We are an ever-unfolding dance between others and our selves, not one or the other. People know this intuitively. We don’t always have the language or concepts to express it, but Isaiah 58 feels true to people.

Vince Brackett pastors Brown Line Church, a progressive Christian community with a healthy sense of humor and humility, named for Chicago’s Northside “L” train. His background is in education and he is especially interested in the intersection of theology and sociology. Things that bring him joy include: playing guitar and singing with his wife, following the NBA and English Premier League, diving deep into “hero’s journey” stories, and working with audio/visual technology. He and his wife (and their four kids) have enjoyed living communally with housemates for the last 12 years.