The Riverside Gathering Posts

“You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?” [Matthew 3:7b]. Not exactly the warm-up act for Christmas we were hoping for. It’s the Second Sunday of Advent, the season when we're supposed to be lighting candles and singing carols, and the lectionary (RCL, Year A) gives us John the Baptist in full prophetic fury. He’s wearing camel hair held together with a leather belt, eating locusts and wild honey, looking like Elijah come back from the grave. And he’s calling the religious leaders snakes. This is the voice crying in the wilderness, preparing the way of the Lord. This is how we get ready…

“But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father…. Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour” [Matthew 24:36, 44]. The First Sunday of Advent always catches us off guard. Many of us expect Bethlehem, shepherds, angels announcing good news. Instead, the Lectionary (Year A) hands us Matthew 24:36-44—Jesus speaking not about his first coming but his second. No manger here, no gentle Mary cradling an infant. Just stark apocalyptic warning: the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour. Keep awake. Be ready. It’s jarring, especially when…

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” [Luke 23:42–43, a portion of the Gospel lesson appointed for this Sunday, The Reign of Christ, RCL, Year C]. I deserve this. Let’s be clear about that from the start. What I did—I did it— earned me these nails, this wood, this slow drowning in open air. There were four of us condemned. Me, him on my left, Barabbas, and the One between us now. But Barabbas walks free today. The crowd chose him over Jesus. Shouted his name until Pilate relented. I knew…

When some were speaking about the temple, how it was adorned with beautiful stones and gifts dedicated to God, He said, “As for these things that you see, the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.” (Luke 21:5–6; Gospel reading Luke 21:5–19, RCL Year C) You stand there admiring me. Beautiful stone, you say. Gifts dedicated to God. Look at the craftsmanship. Look at the permanence. I’ve been here a long time. Long enough to know that permanence is what you call a thing until it falls. I was here when the widow came— remember her?— dropping two coins in…

”O that my words were written down! O that they were inscribed in a book!O that with an iron pen and with lead they were engraved on a rock forever!”– Job 19:23-24, a portion of the Alternate OT reading appointed for this upcoming Sunday, the Twenty-second Sunday after Pentecost The Longing for Record/Witness Job’s cry cuts through the centuries with startling immediacy. As most of us recall, by chapter 19, Job has been stripped of everything. Not just his possessions, his children, his health—but also his identity. His good name is destroyed. His ties to family and friends have dissolved. His body is “dis-integrating,” being taken apart, reduced to bones…

Luke 19:1-10 – Zacchaeus, the short tax collector who climbed a sycamore tree to see Jesus. Yes, I’m short. Can we get that out of the way? Short and rich and despised— The triple crown of Jericho’s outcasts. I took taxes for Rome. More than taxes, actually. Let’s be honest—I took whatever I could, Called it “fees” and “surcharges,” Built my beautiful house on other people’s bread. The righteous crossed the street when they saw me coming. Parents used my name to frighten children: “Eat your dinner or Zacchaeus will get you!” As if I were some kind of monster. Maybe I was. Maybe when you squeeze people for Rome’s…

He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector [Luke 18:9-10, a portion of the the Gospel lesson appointed for this upcoming Sunday, the Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost, RCL, Year C (Luke 18:9-14)]. We’ve likely heard the parable contained in this week’s Gospel lesson many times. In fact, we’ve maybe heard it too many times. In it, the Pharisee and the tax collector go up to the Temple to pray, and we know—before Jesus even finishes the story—how it’s going to…

Genesis 32:22–31 I’ve been waiting by this river. Watching him send everything across— the flocks, the wives, the children, all the wealth he bargained for. Everything he owns goes ahead to meet the brother he betrayed. He thinks he’s being clever, sending gifts in waves to soften Esau’s anger. He thinks he’s buying safety with his sheep. But I see what he doesn’t see yet— he’s been stripping himself down, sending away every shield, every distraction, until finally, there’s nothing left between him and what he fears most. He thinks he knows what’s coming. Twenty years he’s rehearsed it— what he’ll say to Esau, how he’ll bow, how he’ll beg,…

Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice. He prostrated himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him. And he was a Samaritan. Then Jesus asked, “Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?” — Luke 17:15–18 Jesus speaks these words—part of the Gospel reading (Luke 17:11–19) assigned for this upcoming Sunday, the Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost, RCL Year C—with a peculiar edge. Not quite anger—more like astonished disappointment. Ten men healed. One returns. And Jesus doesn’t speak to the Samaritan…

The righteous live by their faithfulness — Habakkuk 2:4b The Present Grief On August 27, during a morning mass attended by students at a parochial school adjacent to Annunciation Catholic Church in Minneapolis, a 29-year-old shooter killed two children and wounded others as they prayed. On September 10, Charlie Kirk was assassinated at Utah Valley University. Last Sunday, a man attacked a Mormon church in Michigan, killing four, wounding others, and bombing the building itself. We watch the news footage—shattered glass, police tape, grieving families—and the questions rise unbidden: How long, O Lord? Where were you? Why didn’t you stop this? We’ve become almost numb to such headlines, haven’t we?…