Sermon preached by Rev. Wesley King, July 20, 2025
My iPad is updating right now. As we wait on my iPad to update, would you join me in prayer this morning?
Gracious God, may the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart—and all of the beautiful hearts that are gathered here this morning—be acceptable in your sight. In the name of your Son, we pray. Amen.
Friends, it is good to see you.
This past week, I spent a full seven days in Memphis, Tennessee, for the General Assembly of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), which is—if you don't know—the denomination that Vine Street belongs to. And it's one of those things that I look forward to with both excitement and dread every two years. Excitement, because there are always amazing preachers, amazing worship, amazing music, workshops, and the chance to see so many people—friends and colleagues that I rarely get to see. And dread, because it is a long time. It is early mornings, long days, and often late nights. And while it can be so invigorating and life-giving, it is draining. So, I was happy to come home on Wednesday.
This year was kind of bittersweet because we recently changed our governing document so that we will no longer meet every other year—we will now meet every three years. And though we don't know what it will look like in three years’ time, it was still a good time together. It was amazing to see people that I love and adore, a church that I believe in, and to see how the Spirit is moving despite how sobering our world—or the news—can be sometimes.
This year, I did something I’ve never done before. I introduced a resolution to our General Assembly on behalf of the work that I do for our denomination—my day job. A resolution is kind of like a piece of legislation, though not mandatory. It announces the direction that the denomination is going. My resolution was GA-2515, opposing Project 2025 and other policies that are inconsistent with our commitment to justice, mercy, and compassion for our neighbors.
Signed onto this resolution were New Church Ministry (which is my day job), Open Hearts Gathering Christian Church in Charlotte, North Carolina, St. Andrew Christian Church in Olathe, Kansas, and Independence Boulevard Christian Church in Kansas City, Missouri. I spoke on the resolution in front of thousands of people, along with about six or so others. And when the vote was called, the General Assembly of this denomination overwhelmingly voted in favor of adopting this resolution.
But this process unveiled two conversations that I think our text today supports—and that we, as a little "c" church (Vine Street), and as a big "C" Church, need to have.
The first conversation is this: when I floated the idea of this resolution in a Disciples clergy Facebook group back in January, I was asked, “Wouldn't it be better for us to just get involved in our community rather than working on a piece of paper that won't do anything?” And this person is not completely wrong.
These resolutions, as I mentioned, are not mandatory in our polity—which is a word that means how we govern ourselves. These resolutions do not force any Disciples congregations to believe, affirm, or follow them. In fact, you as an individual are not mandated to believe, affirm, or follow any of the resolutions that we adopt in our denomination. While it is an indication of where and how our denomination is moving in the world, we remain a big tent people who can and will disagree and still gather at the same table.
But I do want to have a conversation about this idea that it has to be either/or. This person had good intentions. Responding to the policies of Project 2025 will immediately affect our neighbors. And I've been having this conversation a lot, actually. But I believe that it has to be both—both the immediacy of need and the longevity of change.
And this is the example I often give: each fall and winter, our church—along with many, many others—participates in Room in the Inn. This amazing ministry seeks to take individuals experiencing homelessness off the street for a night, give them a warm meal, a place to take a shower, and a warm and safe place to sleep. The next morning, we drop them off back wherever they would like to go. Vine Street participates in this wonderful ministry, and it’s a beautiful way to care for our neighbors. If you're interested in helping out with this, speak to Lydia Grub—I know she’d be happy to talk with you about it.
But I want to suggest that it can’t just be the immediacy of need without the longevity of change. If we feed, clothe, and provide shelter for these folks, but never work with the city or other charities or the state or federal government to eradicate homelessness, then we are just putting Band-Aids over bullet holes. It’s charity, yes—but it’s not justice.
Similarly, if we’re only working toward long-lasting systemic change and not meeting the immediate needs of our neighbors, that isn’t justice either. We can't tell our neighbors who need a meal, a shower, a roof tonight to “come back later—we’re instituting a three-year strategic plan to end homelessness.”
So, I felt that it was important for our denomination to name and publicly oppose Project 2025—to call it out for what it is: policy violence. But we also named that, while this was a first step, it was not—and could not be—the final step. The end of the resolution reads as follows:
“Whereas the church has historically addressed policies and agendas of multiple administrations in a nonpartisan manner:
Therefore, be it resolved that the 2025 General Assembly of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in the U.S. and Canada, meeting in July of 2025 in Memphis, Tennessee, declares that Project 2025 is inconsistent with how we have discerned our call to follow Jesus Christ in our world—in word and deed, through prayer, and through the reading of scripture.
Be it further resolved that we encourage the General Assembly and all members of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) to get involved in local justice organizations, who will undoubtedly need our help in countering this document.
And be it further resolved that we call on Disciples of Christ—regardless of political affiliation—to be vigilant in opposing the policies listed in this document at the federal, state, and local level.
And finally, be it resolved that we call on Disciples to put their faith into action, to fight for justice for all of God’s children, and to stay steadfast in our mission to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with God.”
The second conversation is this: there was some opposition to my resolution—and that’s okay. Some said they didn’t think it was necessary because we had already made resolutions committed to justice, mercy, and compassion for our neighbors. And we have. They felt that naming Project 2025 was too political. Similarly, some folks didn’t think the resolution went far enough—and that’s okay too.
Disagreement is okay.
We Disciples, as I mentioned, consider ourselves a “big tent” people, meaning that we acknowledge that we will not always agree—and we acknowledge that that is okay. I shared with those who spoke to me and opposed this resolution that my end goal is not to be political. My end goal is not to admonish any political party or presidential administration. My end goal is to love, care for, and protect our neighbors—especially the most vulnerable among us.
I have always believed, unfortunately, that everything is political, because policies affect us and our neighbors. And thus, we are—like it or not—thrust into the political arena in order to love, care for, and protect those Jesus calls us to protect.
The problem is that when we say “politics,” most people hear “partisan.” But our end goal is theological—not partisan. Likewise, we are not disillusioned into thinking that any political party, always and without fail, has our best interests at heart.
One colleague at General Assembly this week reframed it for me this way. She said that in her mind, nothing is political—instead, everything is theological. She went on to say that she doesn’t oppose the reconciliation bill because it was introduced by a Republican. She opposes it because the Bible teaches us to care for the poor, the sick, the immigrant, the vulnerable—the very people this bill will disparage and disenfranchise. Likewise, she did not hold her tongue about the injustices happening to the people in Gaza while the former administration looked the other way, just because they happened to be a Democratic administration.
Our end goal is—and must be—the livelihood of our neighbors, those we are called to love as much as we love ourselves.
Later this morning, you’ll hear from Brian Zelic, an organizer for NOAH. NOAH stands for Nashville Organized for Action and Hope. NOAH is committed to things affecting our community—like affordable housing and transportation—things that affect our neighbors because they are instituted through policy. His work, though nonpartisan, is political. But NOAH’s end goal is theological: a community in which everyone has what they need to live the abundant life that God has called them to.
If you're interested in learning more about NOAH—and again, you are not committing to anything, you're just learning—we will have refreshments following the service in the South Meeting Room. Brian will be expanding upon his work with NOAH and how we at Vine Street might get involved. I hope you’ll join us.
But we aren’t doing this or talking about this because it’s trendy or because it’s hip. We’re doing it because we have been called by the prophets of old to do this work.
Our text today gives a prominent description of Israel’s economic sins. One commentary said this: “Like Jesus’s God, Amos’s God is a God of justice—a God who sides with the poor when no one else comes to their aid. This God refuses to do nothing while those in need suffer deeply—even if it means the death of Israel. God will take action against those who will harm the least of these.”
If you haven’t picked up on it, hospitality is huge in the biblical narrative. And I don’t mean how we understand the word hospitality—a warm welcome, refreshments, swag bags full of stuff that will live in your junk drawer until the end of time. I mean biblical hospitality: welcoming the stranger, like Abraham’s hospitality to the three strangers in Genesis 18; or sacrificing your own resources for others, like Rebekah’s hospitality in Genesis 24 or the widow of Zarephath in 1 Kings 17.
Likewise, God often, in the Hebrew Bible, destroys—or threatens to destroy—entire communities because of their lack of hospitality. Despite what the street preachers may say, Ezekiel 16:49 says that the actual sin of Sodom and Gomorrah was their lack of hospitality—their violence toward the stranger and their greed over all else. God sends Jonah to Nineveh to warn them about their inhospitality and violence, and thankfully, they listen before it becomes too late.
In these stories, people tend to focus on the wrath of God. But I think it’s more important to focus on how much importance God places on hospitality—biblical hospitality. How we treat the stranger among us, the ones society has cast out, and how we give of ourselves for the betterment of others.
In verse 6, Amos accuses the powerful and the affluent of his day of bullying the poor for silver and the needy for a pair of sandals. In our day and age, “silver coins” might translate to tax cuts. A “pair of sandals” might translate to a $1 trillion requested military budget—meanwhile cutting SNAP for 42 million people and Medicaid for 71 million people.
I mentioned that we had amazing music and worship at General Assembly. We had amazing speakers, including the Rev. Dr. Bernice King, the daughter of the late Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. We had amazing fellowship, workshops, and business meetings.
But what I’m most proud of from our time in Memphis is when we—Pastor Margie and I—participated in a Moral Monday rally led by many of our denominational leaders, including the Rev. Dr. William Barber II. All to bring attention to how this reconciliation bill will harm the most vulnerable among us.
That means we left our beautifully air-conditioned convention center to march and rally for our neighbors in the very, very hot streets of Memphis—outside the walls of the temporary church we had designated. Calling attention to policy that will harm the very people Jesus calls us to care for, the very people Paul calls us to care for, the very people the prophets of old—Amos, Micah, Jeremiah—call us to care for.
And I know I keep bringing up the reconciliation bill because I know how dangerous it is. But if we think that this policy violence doesn’t really affect us, doesn’t really affect the middle class—think again.
As many have pointed out to me: yes, the bill includes some good things, like the new tax deduction for tips and overtime pay for workers making less than $150,000. And that does sound good—except that it’s capped at $25,000 each, and it expires in 2028. Meanwhile, the tax cuts for the wealthiest people in this nation, established back in 2017, are now extended permanently.
If you’re wondering what this has to do with our text—or what this has to do with God—I think it’s important to note that in our text today, while God is calling out Israel for their economic sins through the prophetic voice of Amos, they’re still having church. They’re still praising God. They’re still attending temple. They’re still following the law—all the while letting their neighbors suffer.
Meaning: they were having church, but they were not being church.
God says in verse 10, “I will turn your feasts into mourning and all of your songs into lamentation.”
I love gathering with you all every Sunday. Gathering in this beautiful space, seeing your lovely faces, hearing the beautiful words and melodies shared in this space. But unless we are being the church out there—we are not honoring God.
It has to be both.
One commentary said this: “Amos’s words continue to shape our personal identity. Amos calls each of us to expose injustice. For when we do so, we become beacons of hope for those caught in the web of violence, pain, and suffering.”
I know in my heart of hearts that this church is ready to burst at the seams with the potential to respond to this world of hate and suffering with the God of love and abundance. I see it in our history—in the ways that this church made it known in the 60s that any and everyone is welcome at the table, regardless of race, and thus is welcome at Vine Street Christian Church.
I see it in our present—in the ways this body of Christ responds to need and injustice in our community through Room in the Inn, through the community grants, through the school drive at West End Middle School, and potentially through NOAH, and so many other ways I don’t even have time to list.
I’m going to end this morning by asking you to grab your bulletin. And I want us to read our prayer that we heard earlier—but I want us to read it responsively, as one body. We do this to recommit ourselves to the work of God, the work of justice, and the work of being church outside of these walls.
We read together:
God of justice, we confess to you today that we have trampled on the needy, choosing greed.
We confess that we have brought ruin to the poor of the land, neglecting many parts of your creation.
We confess that far too often we choose busyness over the gift of your loving presence.
We mourn the harm we have caused—knowingly and unknowingly, individually and collectively.
We ask your forgiveness to envelop us, inspiring us to make amends with ourselves and with others.
Help us better love you by loving all of your creation. Amen.
Friends, may it be so. And may we make it so—with our living and with our loving.
Amen.