6th Sunday after Trinity sermon – 12th of July, 2026

 

You Are Chosen. Now Act Like It.
Text: Deuteronomy 7:6-12 (ESV)

6^th Sunday after Trinity – 12^th of July, 2026

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Introduction: The Mirror of the Word

Grace, mercy, and peace be to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

There is a story told of a man who looked into a mirror. He saw the dirt on his face, the knots in his hair, the stain on his shirt. He acknowledged the mess, nodded his head in agreement with the mirror, and then walked away. He did absolutely nothing about it. He saw the truth, agreed with it, but went on living as if he hadn't seen it at all.

Today, we look into the mirror of God’s Word. We look at a text that shows us who we are, who God is, and what we are to do about it. And, unlike the man in the story, we are not meant to walk away unchanged.

Our text for this Sixth Sunday after Trinity is from the book of Deuteronomy, chapter 7, verses 6 through 12. It is a text that crashes against us with the force of an ocean wave. It is a text of profound comfort and terrifying responsibility. It is a text that shows us the unconditional love of God, and then immediately hands us a list of commands. This is the rhythm of the Christian life: Law, Gospel, and then the Imperative.

Let us hear the Word of the Lord.

“For you are a people holy to the Lord your God. The Lord your God has chosen you to be a people for his treasured possession, out of all the peoples who are on the face of the earth. It was not because you were more in number than any other people that the Lord set his love on you and chose you, for you were the fewest of all peoples, but it is because the Lord loves you and is keeping the oath that he swore to your fathers, that the Lord has brought you out with a mighty hand and redeemed you from the house of slavery, from the hand of Pharaoh king of Egypt. Know therefore that the Lord your God is God, the faithful God who keeps covenant and steadfast love with those who love him and keep his commandments, to a thousand generations, and repays to their face those who hate him, by destroying them. He will not be slack with the one who hates him. He will repay him to his face. You shall therefore be careful to do the commandment and the statutes and the rules that I command you today.”

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Part 1: The Law – The Mirror of Our Reality

We begin with the Law. First, we must ask: What is a "holy" people? What does it mean to be “treasured”?

In the ancient world, when a king conquered a nation, he would take the best treasures—the gold, the jewels, the skilled artisans—for himself. They were his prized possessions.

In this text, God says, “You are my treasured possession.” But wait. This is where the Law hits us hard. Because when we look at ourselves, do we feel like gold? Do we feel like precious jewels? Not usually. We feel like clay jars, cracked and brittle.

If this passage were only Law, it would crush us. Because if God only loves the holy, if God only keeps company with the perfect, we are doomed. We look at ourselves and we see our sins. We see the way we snap at our children, the way we hoard our money, the way we ignore the beggar on the street, the way we nurse our grudges. We are not holy. We have failed.

The Law is the mirror that shows us our dirt. It shows us our condition. We are not the "fewest" in number in the sense of being humble; we are the least in terms of merit. We have no claim on God. If we were standing before God on our own merits, we would not be His treasured possession; we would be His condemned prisoners.

That is the Law. It strips us of our pride. It smashes our illusions of self-righteousness. It says: “You are not chosen because you are good. You are not saved because you are strong. Look at the mirror. You are a sinner.”

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Part 2: The Gospel – The Mystery of Grace

But we do not stop at the mirror. Thank God, we do not stop at the mirror.

Look at verse 7. Why did God choose Israel? He says, “It was not because you were more in number... but it is because the Lord loves you.”

That is the most irrational, beautiful, and profound thing ever written. Why does God love? Because He chooses to love. His love is not a reaction to our beauty; His love is the source of our beauty. The reason God loves you is found in God, not in you. The reason He saves you is because He promised He would.

He made an oath to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. He made a promise to a dead man (Abraham) that he would have descendants as numerous as the stars. He made a covenant with a liar (Jacob) that he would be blessed. And God keeps His promises.

This is the Gospel: God loves you because He is a faithful God. He does not love you because you are impressive. He loves you because He has sworn to love you. He set His affection on you before the foundations of the world.

And this Gospel is fully revealed in Jesus Christ. Where do we see this most clearly? On the Cross.

Israel was redeemed from slavery in Egypt by a mighty hand. But we—you and I—are redeemed from the slavery of sin, death, and the devil by the pierced hand of Jesus.

When Jesus died on the cross, He fulfilled the Law perfectly. He was the Holy One. He was the truly “treasured possession” of the Father. And yet, He was treated like the worst sinner. He was cast out so that we could be brought in. The oath God swore to Abraham was fulfilled in Christ. Paul tells us in Galatians, “If you are Christ’s, then you are Abraham’s offspring, heirs according to promise.”

Because of Jesus, the Law’s mirror is shattered. The dirt is washed away. You are no longer a slave. You are a child. You are chosen. Not because of your works, but because of His work. This is the pure Gospel: You are forgiven. You are loved. You belong to God.

When I preach this, I am not telling you to do anything to be saved. I am telling you that you ARE saved. You ARE holy in Christ. The robe of righteousness is draped over your shoulders, even now. That is the foundation. That is the rock. That is the Gospel.

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Part 3: The Imperative – The Fruit of Faith

Now, if that is the Gospel, why does the text immediately turn around in verse 11 and say, “You shall therefore be careful to do the commandment and the statutes and the rules that I command you today”?

Isn’t that a contradiction? No. It is the rhythm of grace. It is what we call the Imperative.

In the Bible, this is the pattern: First, Indicative (who you are in Christ), then Imperative (how you shall live because of who you are).

The Law says, “Do this and live.”
The Gospel says, “Christ lived and died, therefore you live.”
The Imperative says, “Because you are alive, now live like it.”

Look at the phrase in verse 12: “And because you listen to these rules and keep and do them...”

Many people read this and think, “Ah, see? If I do good, God will bless me. It’s a transaction.” But that is a misunderstanding of the Law. In the Old Testament, these laws were given to a people already redeemed. God saved them from Egypt first, and then He gave them the Law at Sinai. The Law was never meant to be the ladder to heaven; it was meant to be the fence around the garden to keep them safe.

And for us, the Imperative is the grateful response of a redeemed heart.

Imagine you are drowning in the ocean. You are going under for the third time. Suddenly, a lifeguard jumps in, fights the waves, and drags you to shore. You are gasping on the sand, alive. He saved you. You didn’t pay him. You didn’t earn it. He did it because he was good.

Now, while you are lying on the sand, he looks at you and says, “Okay, now get up. I need you to help me look for other people in the water. I need you to go tell people about the rocks near the jetty.”

Is that a requirement to pay back your debt? No! You could never pay him back for your life. But because he gave you life, because you love him, you get up. You say, “Yes, sir!” The imperative—the command to obey—flows from the gratitude of the rescue.

That is what this text is calling us to. We have been rescued from the house of slavery—our slavery to sin, our slavery to fear, our slavery to death. God has brought us out with a mighty hand through the resurrection of Jesus.

So, how do we live?

We keep the commandments. We love our neighbors. We forgive the unforgivable. We give generously. We speak kindly. We live purely.

But be careful! When I say this, I am not pointing you back to the Law to save you. I am pointing you to the Law as a guide. The Law tells us how to love God and love neighbor. It is the map for the journey. If you love the One who saved you, you will want to follow the map.

This Imperative is the "good works" we are called to do. And here is a deep truth: God promises to keep His covenant with those who love Him and keep His commandments, to a thousand generations.

Does God’s love for you depend on your obedience? No. But your experience of His love, and the overflow of His blessings into your life, often do. When you obey, you are walking in the flow of His blessing. Disobedience is not losing your salvation; it is stepping out of the stream of life. It is choosing to eat junk food when you are a child of the King who has a feast prepared for you.

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Conclusion: The Happy Conclusion

So, beloved congregation, where does this leave us?

1. Law: We are sinners. We deserve nothing. The mirror shows us our filth.
2. Gospel: Christ came to the filthy. He washed us. He chose us. Not because of us, but because of His oath, His promise, His love. We are His treasured possession.
3. Imperative: Because we are His treasured possession, we are to act like it. We are to be careful to do what He says. Not to earn His favor, but because we already have it.

Let me give you a simple image to remember for this week:

You are a rescued drowning victim standing on the shore.

• The Law is the rope that pulled you in—it showed you that you were drowning.
• The Gospel is the Lifeguard—Jesus Christ—who grabbed you and pulled you to safety.
• The Imperative is the new life you live on the shore. You don't sit there waiting to drown again. You get up. You help. You love. You obey.

God has set His love upon you. He has sworn an oath to you. He will not break it. So, go into this week with confidence. You are secure. But let that security make you brave. Let it make you loving. Let it make you obedient.

May we live as the treasured possession we are, to the glory of God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

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The peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.

 

O PECADO QUE A BENÇÃO NÃO LAVA

“Ele é corrupto, mas é evangélico.”

Quantas vezes você já ouviu essa frase — ou alguma variação dela — em rodas de conversa, comentários de redes sociais ou até mesmo em justificativas públicas?

A frase é curta, mas carrega um peso teológico, político e moral gigantesco. Ela revela muito mais sobre nós do que sobre o político em questão. Ela denuncia uma crise de valores que não é apenas administrativa, mas espiritual.

A lógica do "mas"

O "mas" nessa sentença é a chave do problema. Ele tenta transformar o que é exceção em atenuante. Como se a filiação religiosa — ou a autodeclaração de fé — funcionasse como um crédito de boa conduta que pode ser descontado quando o caráter falha.

"Ele desviou dinheiro da merenda, mas é irmão na fé."
"Ele fraudou licitações, mas batiza no Espírito Santo."
"Ele usou o cargo para enriquecer, mas louva no altar."

É como se a corrupção fosse um pecado "menor" desde que coberto pelo manto da liturgia. E aqui mora o perigo: quando a identidade religiosa se torna escudo moral para o crime público, a fé deixa de ser transformadora e passa a ser instrumentalizada. O templo vira QG. A oração vira lobby. O pastor vira laranja.

O que a Bíblia diz sobre isso?

Se formos às Escrituras — já que a frase apela para elas —, o Antigo Testamento é implacável com os líderes que oprimem o povo, vendem a justiça e torcem o direito dos pobres. Amós, Miqueias e Isaías não cansaram de denunciar exatamente isso: rituais vazios enquanto o sangue dos inocentes corria pelas ruas.

O Novo Testamento, por sua vez, vai direto ao ponto: a fé sem obras é morta. E obras, aqui, não são apenas caridade individual, mas justiça social.

O que Jesus fez com os vendilhões no templo? Ele não disse: "continuem, mas orem mais". Ele expulsou.
Por que? Porque a casa de Deus não pode ser mercado — e o Estado, gerido por cristãos, muito menos.

A inversão perigosa

Há um fenômeno contemporâneo que precisa ser nomeado: a inversão moral. Nela, a honestidade se torna suspeita e a corrupção se torna perdoável, desde que o corrupto "tema a Deus". Essa lógica é o avesso do Evangelho.

O Evangelho não é sobre quem você diz ser, mas sobre aquilo que você faz com o poder que recebeu. O domínio público é uma extensão do domínio espiritual. Não há "separação" que justifique roubar dos cofres públicos e, no domingo, erguer as mãos no louvor.

O salário do professor, o remédio do doente, a merenda da criança, o asfalto do periférico — tudo isso é matéria de fé. Quando um político evangélico desvia recursos públicos, ele não está apenas cometendo um crime administrativo. Ele está profanando o nome de Deus diante dos que não creem.

E é isso que mais dói: o escândalo não é só político. É missiológico. Ele faz o Evangelho ser visto como hipocrisia.

O que falta? Arrependimento — e não apenas retórica.

Não basta "pedir perdão" em rede nacional.
Não basta citar Salmo 91 na campanha.
É preciso devolver o dinheiro.
É preciso renunciar ao mandato.
É preciso aceitar a investigação e a punição — sim, prisão também.

Porque a graça de Deus não anula a lei dos homens. Ela a cumpre. O cristão deve ser o primeiro a exigir transparência, justiça e retidão — não apenas para si, mas para toda a sociedade.

Conclusão: o "mas" que destrói

Quando dizemos "ele é corrupto, mas é evangélico", estamos dizendo, no fundo, que a fé não exige caráter. Estamos reduzindo o cristianismo a um clube de sócios, e não a um caminho de cruz e verdade.

O profeta Miqueias já resumiu o que Deus realmente pede:

"Ele te declarou, ó homem, o que é bom; e que é o que o Senhor pede de ti, senão que pratiques a justiça, ames a misericórdia e andes humildemente com o teu Deus?" (Miqueias 6:8).

Justiça. Misericórdia. Humildade.
Sem "mas". Sem atenuantes. Sem escudo.

Que possamos, como sociedade e como igreja, parar de normalizar a corrupção em nome da fé. Pois o pior cego é aquele que louva com os olhos fechados para o que o irmão faz com o dinheiro público.

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"Ser evangélico não é atestado de honestidade. É compromisso com a verdade. E a verdade não negocia com a corrupção." ⚖️

#Corrupção #Evangélicos #Política #Ética #FéPública 

A night blessing for the overthinkes and the fisher of men - in English and Portuguese

 

A Night Blessing for the Overthinker and the Fishers of Men

May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you tonight. But more importantly, may the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you specifically while you are trying to fall asleep, so He can gently rebuke your inner monologue.

Tonight, we hold two truths in our tired hands, and we try not to drop them.

First, the wisdom of the Preacher: “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might, for in the realm of the dead, where you are going, there is neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom” (Ecclesiastes 9:10).

So, you gave it your all today. You worked. You planned. You adulted with a ferocity that would make a caffeinated squirrel proud. And now? The work is done. The emails have been sent, the dishes are (mostly) washed, and the existential dread has been professionally filed away until tomorrow. So take a deep breath, because the grave does not have a performance review, and your to-do list will not follow you there. You are off the clock. Rest is not laziness; it is a dress rehearsal for the ultimate Sabbath.

Second, the command of the Apostle: “And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him” (Colossians 3:17).

Yes, even that thing you said to your coworker. Even the prayer you mumbled while brushing your teeth. Even the awkward silence when you couldn't remember your neighbor's name. It all counts. It’s not about perfection; it’s about direction. Your life is less about a flawless performance and more like a rock concert where you're just trying to keep the right song playing, even if you miss a few notes. So, tonight, your snoring, your drooling, and your tossing and turning? Yep, do all that in His name, too.

Now, let’s look at the sermon from Sunday. Jesus told Simon Peter to launch out into the deep. “Put out into deep water, and let down the nets for a catch” (Luke 5:4).

Peter, the professional, the guy who had been up all night catching nothing, basically said, "Master, we've worked hard all night and haven't caught a thing. But because you say so..." (v. 5).

There it is. The great cosmic irony. The "deep water" isn't just a metaphor for radical trust; it’s a metaphor for doing the same thing you did yesterday, but this time, doing it with Jesus in the boat. It is the humble audacity to say, "I am exhausted, I am empty, and my best efforts yielded a big, fat zero. But fine, Lord, we'll do it Your way."

And here is the kicker: He didn't just give them a few fish. He gave them so many that the nets began to break, and the boats began to sink.

So, what is your blessing tonight?

May you be brave enough to launch into the deep water of trust, even when your arms are tired and your logic says "stay shallow."

May you have the sarchasm to laugh at your own failures—because remember, Peter’s greatest catch came right after his greatest professional failure. Your "nothing" is often His "something."

And may you have the ironic peace that your value doesn't rest in what you pull out of the water, but in Who is sitting in the boat with you.

So close your eyes. Let go of the oars. The catch is His problem now. You just showed up. And that, my friend, is more than enough.

Sleep well. And if the nets break tomorrow? At least you’ll have a good story and a boatload of fish.

Amen. And goodnight.

Uma Bênção Noturna para o Intrigado e os Pescadores de Gente

Que a graça do Senhor Jesus Cristo, o amor de Deus e a comunhão do Espírito Santo estejam com você esta noite. Mas, mais importante, que a comunhão do Espírito Santo esteja com você especificamente enquanto você tenta pegar no sono, para que Ele possa, com gentileza, repreender o seu monólogo interior.

Esta noite, seguramos duas verdades em nossas mãos cansadas e tentamos não derrubar nenhuma delas.

Primeiro, a sabedoria do Pregador: "Tudo o que você tiver para fazer, faça-o com toda a sua força, pois no reino dos mortos, para onde você vai, não há trabalho, nem planejamento, nem conhecimento, nem sabedoria" (Eclesiastes 9:10).

Então, você deu o seu melhor hoje. Você trabalhou. Planejou. Foi adulto com uma ferocidade que faria um esquilo cafeinado sentir inveja. E agora? O trabalho acabou. Os e-mails foram enviados, a louça está (quase toda) lavada e a angústia existencial foi arquivada profissionalmente até amanhã. Então respire fundo, porque o túmulo não tem avaliação de desempenho, e a sua lista de tarefas não vai te seguir até lá. Você está fora do expediente. Descansar não é preguiça; é um ensaio geral para o Sabbath definitivo.

Segundo, o mandamento do Apóstolo: "E tudo o que fizerem, seja em palavra ou em ação, façam em nome do Senhor Jesus, dando por meio dele graças a Deus Pai" (Colossenses 3:17).

Sim, até aquilo que você disse para o seu colega de trabalho. Até a oração que você murmurou escovando os dentes. Até o silêncio constrangedor quando você não conseguiu lembrar o nome do seu vizinho. Tudo conta. Não se trata de perfeição; se trata de direção. A sua vida é menos uma performance impecável e mais como um show de rock onde você só está tentando manter a música certa tocando, mesmo que erre algumas notas. Então, nesta noite, o seu ronco, a sua baba e os seus reviravoltas na cama? É, faça tudo isso em nome dEle também.

Agora, vamos dar uma olhada no sermão de domingo. Jesus disse a Simão Pedro para lançar-se ao fundo. "Lançai-vos ao fundo, e lançai as vossas redes para pescar" (Lucas 5:4).

Pedro, o profissional, o cara que tinha passado a noite toda pescando nada, basicamente disse: "Mestre, trabalhamos duro a noite toda e não pegamos nada. Mas, porque tu dizes..." (v. 5).

Aí está. A grande ironia cósmica. A "águas profundas" não é apenas uma metáfora para confiança radical; é uma metáfora para fazer a mesma coisa que você fez ontem, mas desta vez, com Jesus no barco. É a audácia humilde de dizer: "Estou exausto, estou vazio, e meus melhores esforços renderam um grande, enorme zero. Mas tudo bem, Senhor, vamos fazer do Seu jeito."

E aqui está o detalhe: Ele não deu a eles apenas alguns peixes. Ele deu tantos que as redes começaram a se romper e os barcos começaram a afundar.

Então, qual é a sua bênção esta noite?

Que você seja corajoso o suficiente para se lançar nas águas profundas da confiança, mesmo quando seus braços estiverem cansados e sua lógica disser "fique no raso".

Que você tenha o sarcasmo para rir das suas próprias falhas — porque lembre-se, a maior pescaria de Pedro veio logo após seu maior fracasso profissional. O seu "nada" é frequentemente o "algo" dEle.

E que você tenha a paz irônica de que seu valor não está no que você puxa para fora da água, mas em Quem está sentado no barco com você.

Então feche os olhos. Solte os remos. A pescaria é problema dEle agora. Você só apareceu. E isso, meu amigo, é mais do que suficiente.

Durma bem. E se as redes se romperem amanhã? Pelo menos você vai ter uma boa história e um barco cheio de peixes.

Amém. E boa noite.

A night blessing for the souls that think they have nothing - in English and Portuguese

 

A Night Blessing for the Deep-Water Soul

Beloved, as the shadows of this day stretch out and the noise finally quiets, listen to the gentle whisper of the One who knows all secrets.

The prophet Daniel reminds us that “there is a God in heaven who reveals mysteries” (Daniel 2:28). And isn't that just like Him? He holds the blueprint of kings and empires, the schedule of the stars, and yet—in a twist of divine irony—He chooses to reveal His greatest secret not in a palace or a throne room, but in the most ordinary, dusty places of your heart.

That secret, Paul declares, is this: “Christ in you, the hope of glory” (Colossians 1:27). Think about that for a moment. The Creator of the cosmos has taken up residence in your soul. Not in a museum, not in a vault, but in the cluttered, beautiful, sometimes messy house of you. It’s a bit like God deciding to store His most priceless treasure in a clay pot that occasionally chipped or cracked. And yet, He looks at that pot and says, “Perfect. That’s where I want to be.”

Now, let’s be honest. You’ve spent a good part of today trying to stay in the shallows, haven't you? Where your feet can touch the bottom, where you can control the variables, where the water is warm and predictable. But last Sunday, we heard Jesus say to Simon, “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch” (Luke 5:4).

And bless Simon’s heart, he did exactly what we all do. He gave Jesus a polite, exhausted, and ever-so-slightly sarcastic reality check: “Master, we worked hard all night and caught nothing.”

Oh, how the Lord must have smiled at that. He loves our honest, salty complaints. Because He knows that our “nothing” is the very raw material He uses to create “something” beyond our wildest imagination. He takes our empty nets, our tired arms, and our skeptical minds—and then He says, “Now, launch out. Trust me, even when the math doesn’t add up.”

So tonight, as you lay your head down, He is inviting you to the Deep Water of Trust. This isn’t a trust that pretends to see the bottom. This is a trust that says, “I can’t see the bottom, but I know the One who made the ocean.”

He is not surprised by your exhaustion. He is not offended by your doubt. He is simply asking you to let down your nets one more time—not in frantic effort, but in quiet hope.

So, here is your blessing for the night:

• May you rest in the irony that while you were trying so hard to figure everything out, the God of all mysteries was already working out His perfect plan within you.
• May you sleep soundly in the paradox that the hope of all glory is not a distant star, but a very present, very patient Guest who shares your pillow and your dreams.
• And may you wake with a gentle smirk, knowing that tomorrow, if the fish still seem scarce and your nets feel empty, you can simply look up and say, “Lord, I worked hard and caught nothing—again.” And He will reply, with that twinkle in His eye, “Good. Now watch what I do with your nothing.”

You are loved, not because your nets are full, but because He calls you from the shore. Rest deep, dear one. The Captain of your soul is wide awake, so you can finally drift off to sleep.

Amen.

Uma Bênção Noturna para a Alma das Águas Profundas

Amado(a), enquanto as sombras deste dia se alongam e o barulho finalmente se aquieta, escute o sussurro suave Daquele que conhece todos os segredos.

O profeta Daniel nos lembra que “há um Deus no céu que revela mistérios” (Daniel 2:28). E não é tão típico d'Ele? Ele segura o projeto de reis e impérios, a agenda das estrelas e, ainda assim – numa reviravolta de ironia divina – Ele escolhe revelar Seu maior segredo não num palácio ou num trono, mas nos lugares mais comuns e empoeirados do seu coração.

Esse segredo, Paulo declara, é este: “Cristo em vocês, a esperança da glória” (Colossenses 1:27). Pense nisso por um momento. O Criador do cosmos resolveu se instalar dentro da sua alma. Não num museu, não num cofre, mas na casa bagunçada, bonita e, às vezes, caótica que é você. É como se Deus decidisse guardar Seu tesouro mais precioso num pote de barro que, de vez em quando, lasca ou trinca. E ainda assim, Ele olha para esse pote e diz: “Perfeito. É ali que quero estar”.

Agora, sejamos sinceros. Você passou boa parte do dia tentando ficar nas águas rasas, não foi? Onde seus pés tocam o fundo, onde você controla as variáveis, onde a água é morna e previsível. Mas no domingo passado, ouvimos Jesus dizer a Simão: “Faça-se ao largo, e lançai as vossas redes para a pesca” (Lucas 5:4).

E bendito seja o coração de Simão, porque ele fez exatamente o que todos nós fazemos. Ele deu a Jesus uma resposta educada, exausta e levemente sarcástica: “Mestre, nós trabalhamos a noite inteira e não pegamos nada”.

Ah, como o Senhor deve ter sorrido com isso. Ele ama nossas reclamações honestas e salgadas. Porque Ele sabe que o nosso “nada” é exatamente a matéria-prima que Ele usa para criar um “algo” além da nossa imaginação. Ele pega nossas redes vazias, nossos braços cansados e nossas mentes céticas – e então diz: “Agora, vai para o fundo. Confia em mim, mesmo quando a conta não fecha”.

Então, nesta noite, enquanto você deita a cabeça no travesseiro, Ele te convida para as Águas Profundas da Confiança. Esta não é uma confiança que finge ver o fundo. Esta é uma confiança que diz: “Eu não consigo ver o fundo, mas conheço Aquele que fez o oceano”.

Ele não está surpreso com a sua exaustão. Ele não se ofende com a sua dúvida. Ele está simplesmente pedindo que você lance as redes mais uma vez – não num esforço frenético, mas numa esperança tranquila.

Então, aqui está a sua bênção para a noite:

• Que você descanse na ironia de que, enquanto você se esforçava tanto para entender tudo, o Deus de todos os mistérios já estava trabalhando no Seu plano perfeito dentro de você.
• Que você durma tranquilo(a) no paradoxo de que a esperança de toda a glória não é uma estrela distante, mas um Hóspede muito presente e muito paciente, que divide o seu travesseiro e os seus sonhos.
• E que você acorde com um sorrisinho de canto de boca, sabendo que amanhã, se os peixes ainda parecerem escassos e suas redes vazias, você pode simplesmente olhar para cima e dizer: “Senhor, trabalhei duro e não peguei nada – de novo”. E Ele responderá, com aquele brilho nos olhos: “Ótimo. Agora veja o que eu faço com o seu nada”.

Você é amado(a), não porque suas redes estão cheias, mas porque Ele te chama da margem. Descanse fundo, querido(a). O Capitão da sua alma está bem acordado, para que você finalmente possa dormir.

Amém.

 

O Domínio da Fé: Guerra Fria, Neopentecostalismo e a Geopolítica da Direita Radical no Brasil

 

Introdução

A ascensão meteórica das igrejas pentecostais e neopentecostais no Brasil, acompanhada por seu crescente alinhamento com pautas ideológicas de ultradireita, constitui um dos fenômenos sociopolíticos mais marcantes das últimas décadas. Longe de ser um movimento puramente espontâneo ou apolítico, este processo encontra raízes profundas na geopolítica da Guerra Fria. Este ensaio argumenta que a influência de agências de inteligência dos Estados Unidos, como a CIA, e a estratégia mais ampla de "guerra psicológica" anticomunista foram cruciais para fomentar o crescimento do pentecostalismo no Brasil, criando as bases teológicas e institucionais que, posteriormente, se converteriam em um poderoso e conservador capital político.

A Guerra Fria e a "Fé Capitalista" como Instrumento Geopolítico

No contexto da Guerra Fria, o governo dos Estados Unidos desenvolveu uma sofisticada estratégia de "guerra psicológica" para conter a expansão da influência soviética na América Latina, vista como seu "quintal". O objetivo era conquistar "corações e mentes" através da promoção de uma visão de mundo anticomunista, capitalista e subserviente aos interesses americanos . Para isso, não bastavam ações militares ou diplomáticas; era necessário atuar no campo ideológico e religioso.

A religião foi instrumentalizada como uma arma. Acreditava-se que o "ateísmo comunista" só poderia ser combatido por uma fé militante que promovesse "valores morais e espirituais" antagônicos ao ideário soviético . Nesse cenário, organizações religiosas, notadamente igrejas pentecostais e movimentos católicos conservadores, foram recrutadas ou incentivadas a se tornar "aparelhos privados de hegemonia", atuando como força partidária de fato na sociedade civil para difundir o proselitismo pró-capitalista e o ferrenho anticomunismo . O historiador Rodrigo de Sá Netto documenta essa coligação ecumênica, revelando o financiamento e apoio logístico de agências como a CIA e a USIA (United States Information Agency) a missões religiosas no Brasil a partir da década de 1950 .

A Semeadura do Pentecostalismo: Da Missão ao Império Midiático

Foi nesse caldo de cultura que diversas igrejas pentecostais encontraram terreno fértil para se estabelecer e crescer no Brasil. A Igreja do Evangelho Quadrangular, por exemplo, foi trazida ao país em 1951 por missionários americanos . Igrejas como a Deus é Amor e Brasil para Cristo, embora fundadas por brasileiros, tinham forte ligação com matrizes norte-americanas . O próprio neopentecostalismo, com sua ênfase na Teologia da Prosperidade e na batalha espiritual contra o comunismo, chegou ao Brasil através de pastores como o canadense Robert McAlister, fundador da Igreja de Nova Vida, que influenciou diretamente líderes como Edir Macedo, da Igreja Universal do Reino de Deus (IURD) .

A IURD tornou-se o exemplo mais bem-sucedido dessa "franquia" adaptada ao contexto brasileiro. Sua ascensão foi observada com interesse pela CIA, especialmente durante a eleição de 1989, quando foi vista como um valioso aliado para impedir a vitória de um presidente de esquerda . A igreja utilizou sua poderosa rede de comunicação, principalmente a TV, para construir um império midiático e político . Essa aliança entre a fé, o dinheiro e a mídia, conforme documentado no filme "Apocalypse in the Tropics", criou as condições para que líderes como o bispo Silas Malafaia se tornassem figuras centrais na política, capazes de mobilizar milhões de eleitores em torno de uma agenda conservadora .

Teologia do Domínio, Guerra Espiritual e a Política da Extrema Direita

O projeto de dominação política dos neopentecostais não é acidental, mas está enraizado em conceitos teológicos como a "Teologia do Domínio" . Essa doutrina, de matriz estadunidense, postula que os cristãos têm a missão bíblica de conquistar todos os aspectos da sociedade – incluindo a política, a economia e a cultura – para estabelecer o Reino de Deus na Terra . Isso legitima a atuação política direta e a busca pelo poder como um dever espiritual.

Esse arcabouço ideológico alimenta uma visão maniqueísta e polarizadora, onde a política é percebida como uma "guerra espiritual" . Nessa batalha, opositores não são meros adversários políticos, mas forças do mal a serem combatidas . Durante as eleições de 2018 e 2022, líderes neopentecostais empregaram estratégias discursivas de "embrigadamento" (recrutamento), utilizando ameaças, obrigações, proibições e recompensas para direcionar o voto de seus fiéis para Jair Bolsonaro, construído como o herói que defenderia a nação cristã contra o "inimigo" representado por Lula e a esquerda . Essa retórica, que condena o aborto, a "ideologia de gênero" e a legalização das drogas, encontra eco direto na atuação da Frente Parlamentar Evangélica, criando um ciclo discursivo que reforça o alinhamento ideológico entre púlpito e parlamento .

Essa influência se estende para além do legislativo, infiltrando-se em instituições como as polícias militares. A fusão entre moral religiosa, militarismo e política de segurança pública criou um caldo de cultura onde policiais se veem como "escolhidos" para uma guerra espiritual contra o crime, e opositores ideológicos são tratados como inimigos a serem aniquilados, subvertendo os princípios do Estado laico e da legalidade democrática .

Conclusão

A influência da CIA e do imperialismo cultural estadunidense no surgimento e consolidação do pentecostalismo e neopentecostalismo no Brasil é um capítulo fundamental para compreender a guinada conservadora do país. O que começou como uma estratégia da Guerra Fria para combater o comunismo com "armas espirituais" evoluiu para um fenômeno político autônomo e poderoso. A Teologia da Prosperidade e a Teologia do Domínio, importadas e adaptadas, forneceram a base ideológica para a criação de impérios midiáticos e a mobilização de um eleitorado fiel. Ao converter a política em uma guerra espiritual e o Estado em um instrumento de uma cruzada moral, esses grupos consolidaram um projeto de poder que, embora enraizado na geopolítica do século XX, define os contornos do debate democrático e da agenda conservadora no Brasil contemporâneo, levantando questões profundas sobre a laicidade do Estado e o futuro da democracia brasileira.

Sermon for the 5th Sunday after Trinity - St John's Lutheran, King Williams Town

 

The Deep Water of Trust

Text: Luke 5:1-11

Introduction: The Ordinary and the Extraordinary

Grace, mercy, and peace be to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

Imagine for a moment the scene. It is a morning much like any other. The sun is rising over the Sea of Galilee, casting a golden light across the water. The air is cool and fresh. And down by the shore, there is a flurry of activity.

There are fishermen there. Not romantic figures from a storybook, but hard-working, tired men. Simon Peter, James, and John. They have been out all night. All night they have cast their nets into the dark water. All night they have waited, hoping, pulling, straining. And what did they get? Absolutely nothing. Their bodies ache. Their spirits are low. They are not just tired; they are empty. They are washing their nets, not in celebration of a great catch, but in the resignation of a failed night.

Their boat, which should be full of fish, is empty. And their hearts, perhaps, are starting to feel a little empty, too.

This is the stage upon which Jesus steps. He comes to these ordinary men, in the middle of their ordinary, and somewhat disappointing, day. He doesn't come to them in the Temple. He doesn't come to them in a grand cathedral. He comes to them where they work. He meets them in the middle of their failure.

That, my friends, is the first profound truth of this Gospel reading. Jesus comes to us in the middle of our ordinary lives. He finds us in our routine, in our struggles, in our disappointments. He doesn't wait for us to get our act together. He comes to us while we are still washing our empty nets.

Part 1: The Lesson of the Boat

What does Jesus do? He sees the boats. He sees Simon’s boat. He asks to step into it. He asks Simon to push out a little from the shore. It’s a simple request. A small act of service. Simon had just spent a fruitless night fishing, a night of heavy labor. Now, this Teacher, this Rabbi, is asking him to use his boat as a floating pulpit.

Simon says yes. He does what Jesus asks. He pushes out from the shore. And Jesus sits down and teaches the people.

Now, this might seem like a small detail. But think about it. By letting Jesus use his boat, Simon is letting Jesus borrow his space. He is letting Jesus intrude on his territory. His boat, his livelihood, his little place of work—he gives it over to Jesus.

And Jesus uses it. He uses Simon’s boat to bring the Word of God to the people on the shore.

We have a boat. Our lives are that boat. We have our own space, our own routines, our own plans. And Jesus often asks for permission to step into them. He doesn’t barge in. He waits. He asks. "May I use this? May I step into your day?" He asks to use our time, our talents, our homes, our hearts.

When we say yes, He fills them with His presence and His Word. He doesn’t just take from us. He gives back. He transforms our ordinary little boat into a vessel of His grace.

Part 2: The Command to Launch Out

But then, the lesson is over. Jesus stops teaching. He turns to Simon and says something that, on the surface, sounds almost insensitive. He says, "Put out into the deep and let down your nets for a catch."

Imagine what Simon is thinking. He is an expert. He is a professional fisherman. He knows this lake better than anyone. This Rabbi is a teacher. He knows about scripture and God and parables. What does He know about fishing?

Simon’s reply is so honest, so human. He says, "Master, we toiled all night and took nothing!" He's saying, "We worked harder than you can imagine. We used our best skills. We did everything right. And it was a total failure. The fish aren’t there."

This is the voice of our own experience, isn't it? "I've tried everything, Lord. I've prayed, I've worked, I've tried to be a better person, and it’s all just… empty. I’m tired. I’m discouraged. What’s the point?"

It's the voice of the doctor who has tried every treatment and has to deliver bad news. It's the voice of the parent who is exhausted from trying to reach a wayward child. It's the voice of the person who has been trying to break an addiction and keeps falling. "All night! Nothing!"

This is the moment of decision. This is where faith meets reality. And this is where Simon gives us the most beautiful and simple example of faith. He says, "But at your word I will let down the nets."

He doesn’t say, "This makes sense to me." He doesn’t say, "I think I’ll get a good result this time." He says, "At your word. Because you said so. I will do it."

That is what faith is. It is trusting in the Word of Jesus more than we trust in our own experience, more than we trust in our own wisdom, and more than we trust in our own strength. It's putting our nets down one more time, not because we can see the fish, but because Jesus said so.

Part 3: The Miracle of Abundance

And what happens when they obey? The catch is so enormous that the nets begin to break. There are so many fish that both boats are filled to the brim, so full that they begin to sink. The very thing they had failed to do all night by their own effort is accomplished in a single moment by the command of Jesus.

Simon, James, and John didn't just get enough to pay their bills. They got more than they could handle. They got an abundance. An overflowing, sinking-the-boat kind of abundance.

This is what happens when we trust Jesus. It doesn't mean we will always get rich. But He offers an abundance that is more than just money. He offers a fullness of joy, a peace that passes all understanding, a purpose, and a hope that the world cannot give. When we do things our way, we often end up empty. But when we do things His way, we find we are filled to overflowing.

And this moment of abundance—this miracle—does something to Peter. It’s not just about the fish anymore.

Part 4: The Reaction

Peter falls at Jesus’ knees and says, "Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord."

This is a shocking reaction, isn’t it? The nets are bursting. The boats are sinking. Everyone is looking at the miracle. But Peter looks past the miracle to the Miracle Worker. And in the presence of Jesus' pure holiness, Peter sees himself. He sees all his flaws, his doubts, his arrogance for questioning Jesus just moments before. He is overwhelmed by his own unworthiness.

And that, too, is part of our walk with the Lord. Sometimes, when we experience His goodness, we are humbled. We realize just how much we need Him. We realize that we don't deserve the goodness He pours out on us. It makes us shrink back.

But look at what Jesus does. He doesn't say, "Yeah, you're right. You are a sinner. Get away from me." No. He doesn't even address Peter's confession of sin directly. He says, "Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching men."

He lifts Peter up. He forgives him. He cleanses him. And He doesn't just send him back to his old life. He gives him a new purpose. "From now on, your life will be different. Your failures are not the end of your story; they are the beginning of it." He takes a fisherman who fails and makes him a fisher of men. He takes an ordinary, tired, empty man and gives him a new mission.

Conclusion: The Journey into the Deep

So, what does this mean for us today, here and now, on this 5th Sunday after Trinity?

First, it means that Jesus is with you in the ordinary. He is with you in your workplace, in your kitchen, in your routine. He sees your exhaustion and your empty nets. He wants to come aboard your boat.

Second, it means He calls you to do something you might not understand. He says, "Launch out into the deep." He may not be asking you to make a dramatic, radical change. Perhaps He is simply asking you to be a little more patient, a little more forgiving. Perhaps He is asking you to say yes to a task you feel unqualified for. Perhaps He is asking you to trust Him with a worry you’ve been carrying alone. Maybe you need to launch out into the deep by speaking a word of truth and love to a family member. Maybe you need to launch out by offering your time to help someone in need, even when you are tired. He says, "Do it, because I said so. Trust me."

Third, when we obey, even in a small way, we will find that Jesus provides. He doesn’t give us a little; He gives us a full measure, pressed down and shaking together. He fills our lives with His presence in ways that we could never manufacture on our own.

Finally, when we see His goodness and power, it will humble us. We will realize we are unworthy. But He will gently say, "Do not be afraid." He will not push us away. He will call us deeper. He will call us to a new life. He will say, "Follow Me," and He will promise to make us fishers of men.

Today, in this service, Jesus is stepping into our boat. His Word is preached. His body and blood are given. He asks us to trust Him. He sees our empty nets—our regrets, our sins, our failures. And He says, "Let's try it again. This time, on My word."

So, let us not be afraid. Let us launch out into the deep. It is only in the deep water that you catch the big fish. It is only by trusting in His Word that we find our true purpose and our lasting joy.

He who calls you is faithful. He will do it.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon for the 4th Sunday after Trinity St Crucis - 28th June 2026

 The way to freedom passes through the Cross

Text: Romans 12:17-21

"Repay no one evil for evil, but give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all. If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.’ To the contrary, ‘if your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink; for by so doing you will heap burning coals on his head.’ Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good."

---

Grace, mercy, and peace be to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

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Part I: The Law – The Mirror

Beloved in Christ, we are halfway through the year. Easter is behind us. The green season of the Church stretches ahead—a time for growth. And in this ordinary time, the Holy Spirit gives us a very ordinary, yet excruciatingly hard, assignment: Other people.

Listen to Saint Paul. "Repay no one evil for evil." "Live peaceably with all." "Never avenge yourselves." "Overcome evil with good."

When you hear those words, what happens inside you? If you're honest, your heart doesn't leap with joy. It groans. It resists. Because the world is not peaceful. People cut you off. People gossip about you. People you trusted break your heart. Even in the Church, there are harsh words and wounded feelings.

The Law holds up a mirror. Look into it. What do you see?

You see someone who wants justice. You see someone who likes to be right. You see someone who, deep down, enjoys the thought of the other person finally getting what they deserve.

The Law demands: "Do not be overcome by evil." And we must confess: Lord, I am overcome. I am overcome by anger. By resentment. By the secret desire for revenge.

We are stuck. We cannot lift ourselves out of this mire by our own strength.

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Part II: The Gospel – The Freedom

But when we are at our lowest, when we admit we cannot live peaceably, the text pivots. It shifts from what we do to what God does.

Saint Paul writes: "Leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.’"

At first, that sounds like a threat. But for the poor sinner drowning in the desire for revenge, this is a life raft. God is saying: "You are not the Judge. You are not the Savior of the world. You are not the one who has to balance the scales. That job belongs to Me."

And here is the Gospel in the darkness: If God holds the right to vengeance, that is terrifying—until you realize that God poured out that vengeance upon His own Son.

On the cross, Jesus was betrayed with a kiss, mocked by His creatures, and nailed to a tree. And He said, "Father, forgive them." He was overcome by the ultimate evil—the sin of the whole world—and He absorbed it. He consumed it in His own body.

And then He rose from the dead. He overcame that evil with the ultimate good: Resurrection and the forgiveness of sins.

Do you see? The command is a mirror, but the cross is the medicine.

When Paul says, "Never avenge yourselves," he is not just giving you a rule to grit your teeth and follow. He is giving you a promise. He is saying: Because of Jesus, your name is written in the Book of Life. The wrath of God no longer hangs over your head. It was poured out on Christ. Therefore, you don't have to defend your reputation. You don't have to avenge your honor. You are already honored. You are already loved. You are already declared righteous in My sight.

You are free. You are free from the exhausting burden of being God's avenging angel. You are free to let go of the grudge because the one who hurt you will answer to a higher court—a court that is both just and merciful. You can hand it to the Father and leave it there.

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Part III: The Imperative – The Freedom to Love

Now we come to the fruit of the Gospel. Because you are saved by grace, because you are free from wrath, you are now free to do the impossible: "If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink."

This is the Imperative. It is not a law to earn salvation. It is the oxygen that proves you are alive in Christ.

Notice Paul's careful wording: "If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all." This is important. The peace of the world is not a guarantee. You cannot force someone to stop hating you. You cannot make peace if the other person wants war.

God does not demand that you be a doormat. He does not require you to place yourself in harm's way. He simply says: "As far as it depends on you... do the loving thing."

"Heap burning coals on his head." This is not a sneaky way to get revenge by being nice. In ancient times, a poor person carried a small fire in a clay pot on their head to keep warm. If a neighbor gave them burning coals, it was an act of profound kindness that shamed the neighbor for their cold heart.

Paul is telling you: "Overcome evil with good." And the Good is not just niceness. The Good is Jesus. The Good is forgiveness.

How does this look in a mid-year life?

You have a colleague who took credit for your work. The Law says, "You deserve vindication." The Gospel says, "You are already vindicated in Christ." The Imperative says, "Next time that person needs help, help them. Let them take the credit. They might see Jesus in your selflessness."

You have a family member who wounded you deeply. The Law says, "They don't deserve your love." The Gospel says, "You didn't deserve Christ's love, but He gave it anyway." The Imperative says, "Send the card. Make the phone call. Not because they deserve it, but because Christ is alive in you."

When you do this, you are not just being "nice." You are acting as an ambassador of the Kingdom. You are showing the world that there is a different way to live. The world says, "Hit back, get even, maintain your honor." The Church says, "Let go, forgive, and overcome evil with good."

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Conclusion

Dear brothers and sisters, this is the life of the Trinity season. It is a long season of growth. You will fail at this. Tomorrow, you will probably fail at this. The anger will rise. The desire for revenge will burn in your gut.

When it does, don't run from the text. Run to the Cross. Confess your anger. Let go of your vengeance. And let Christ—who was wounded for your transgressions and bruised for your iniquities—fill you again with His peace.

Because He has overcome the world. And because He has overcome your sin, you are free to walk out of this sanctuary and, as far as it depends on you, live at peace.

And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.

 

A Night Blessing on God's strange Hobby– In English and Portuguese

The Strange Hobby of Mercy

Tonight, before you shut your eyes, consider this: the God who fits inside a cradle is the same God who drowns sins in the deeps of the sea. Not because He must. Not because He owes us. But because He likes it. That is the strange, quiet hobby of the Almighty—to take the heavy things we carry and make them heavier for Himself, so we might sleep light.

Micah said it first, to a people who had forgotten how to breathe: “He will again have compassion on us; He will tread our iniquities underfoot. You will cast all our sins into the depths of the sea.” Not a chore. Not a duty. A hobby. Like a gardener who cannot stop pruning, or a painter who cannot leave a canvas blank—God cannot stop forgiving. It is His peculiar joy. His absurd preference. While we are still rehearsing our mistakes, He is already rehearsing His mercy.

And where does this mercy begin? In a village too small to be called a city. Bethlehem, says Micah—little among the thousands of Judah. From there, the One who will rule in Israel, whose goings forth are from ancient days. Not in a palace. Not in a temple. In a feeding trough, because that is where the strange God likes to start: small, vulnerable, almost invisible. So that no one would mistake His power for the world’s power. So that we would learn to look low, to look lost, to look for the light in the least likely place.

Then Matthew, years later, tells of wise men from the East—astronomers of the heart, people who read the sky like a love letter. They see a star, and they follow. Not because they have a map. Because they have a hunch. They arrive in Jerusalem, asking the wrong people the right question: “Where is He who has been born king of the Jews?” And the wrong people tremble. Herod trembles. All Jerusalem with him. Because power always trembles when humility appears.

But the star goes on, stubborn as grace, until it stops over the place where the Child is. And the wise men—these foreigners, these outsiders—they rejoice exceedingly with great joy. Not a polite joy. An excessive joy. The kind that spills over. They fall down and worship. They open their treasures. They give gold, frankincense, myrrh—gifts fit for a king, a priest, a corpse. Because this Child is all three. And they go home by another way, because that is what happens when you meet the drowning-God: you cannot return the same road.

Now bring that to tonight. The sermon said: God drowns sins. Not sweeps them under the rug. Not files them away. Drowns them. Like Pharaoh’s army in the Red Sea—only this time, the enemy is your own failure, your own shame, your own midnight regret. And God does not just defeat them; He submerges them. He makes them disappear into the abyss of His forgetfulness. As far as east is from west. As deep as the sea is deep. And He does it with the same tenderness with which He once lay in a manger—helpless, human, near.

So tonight, bless yourself with this: your sins are not held against you. They are held under. By a God who finds more pleasure in forgiving than you find in sinning. By a God who would rather be a baby than a judge. By a God who sends stars to guide pagans and prophets to comfort peasants—all so that you might know: you are not too small for Bethlehem. You are not too late for the star. You are not too heavy for the sea.

Sleep, then, as one who has been found. Not by a search party, but by a Shepherd who goes after the one sheep—and, finding it, rejoices. That is His hobby, remember? To find. To forgive. To drown. And to do it all over again tomorrow, because His mercies are new every morning—and His nights are never dark enough to hide from His delight.

May the Child of Bethlehem watch over your sleeping. May the star of Matthew lead your dreaming. May the sea of Micah swallow every ghost that visits you after midnight. And may you wake, not with the weight of the world, but with the lightness of one who has been drowned—and raised again—in the strange, relentless hobby of God.

Amen.

 

O Estranho Hobby de Misericordia.

Esta noite, antes de fechar os olhos, considere isto: o Deus que cabe num berço é o mesmo Deus que afoga pecados nas profundezas do mar. Não porque precise. Não porque nos deva algo. Mas porque gosta. Esse é o estranho e silencioso passatempo do Altíssimo — pegar as coisas pesadas que carregamos e torná-las ainda mais pesadas para Si mesmo, para que nós possamos dormir leves.

Miqueias disse primeiro, a um povo que já não sabia mais respirar: "Ele terá novamente compaixão de nós; pisará sob os pés as nossas iniquidades. Lançará todos os nossos pecados nas profundezas do mar." Não uma obrigação. Não um dever. Um passatempo. Como um jardineiro que não consegue parar de podar, ou um pintor que não deixa uma tela em branco — Deus não consegue parar de perdoar. É a sua alegria peculiar. Sua preferência absurda. Enquanto ainda ensaiamos os nossos erros, Ele já ensaia a sua misericórdia.

E onde começa essa misericórdia? Numa aldeia pequena demais para ser chamada de cidade. Belém, diz Miqueias — pequena entre os milhares de Judá. Dali virá Aquele que há de reinar em Israel, cujas origens são desde os tempos antigos. Não num palácio. Não num templo. Numa manjedoura, porque é assim que o Deus estranho gosta de começar: pequeno, vulnerável, quase invisível. Para que ninguém confunda o Seu poder com o poder do mundo. Para que aprendamos a olhar para baixo, a olhar para o perdido, a procurar a luz no lugar mais improvável.

Depois, Mateus, anos mais tarde, conta de sábios vindos do Oriente — astrônomos do coração, gente que lia o céu como uma carta de amor. Eles veem uma estrela e seguem. Não porque tenham um mapa. Mas porque têm um pressentimento. Chegam a Jerusalém, perguntando às pessoas erradas a pergunta certa: "Onde está Aquele que nasceu rei dos judeus?" E as pessoas erradas tremem. Herodes treme. Toda Jerusalém treme com ele. Porque o poder sempre treme quando a humildade aparece.

Mas a estrela segue adiante, teimosa como a graça, até parar sobre o lugar onde estava o Menino. E os sábios — esses estrangeiros, esses de fora — eles se alegram com grande e intenso júbilo. Não uma alegria educada. Uma alegria excessiva. Daquelas que transbordam. Prostram-se e adoram. Abrem os seus tesouros. Oferecem ouro, incenso e mirra — presentes dignos de um rei, de um sacerdote, de um cadáver. Porque esse Menino é os três ao mesmo tempo. E voltam para casa por outro caminho, porque é isso que acontece quando você encontra o Deus-que-afoga: não se pode voltar pela mesma estrada.

Agora traga isso para esta noite. O sermão disse: Deus afoga pecados. Não os varre para debaixo do tapete. Não os arquiva. Afoga. Como o exército de Faraó no Mar Vermelho — só que desta vez, o inimigo é o seu próprio fracasso, a sua própria vergonha, o seu próprio remorso da meia-noite. E Deus não apenas os derrota; Ele os submerge. Faz desaparecerem no abismo do Seu esquecimento. Tão longe quanto o Oriente está do Ocidente. Tão profundo quanto o mar é profundo. E faz isso com a mesma ternura com que um dia Se deitou numa manjedoura — humano, indefeso, perto.

Então, nesta noite, abençoe-se com isto: os seus pecados não são guardados contra você. Eles são guardados debaixo. Por um Deus que sente mais prazer em perdoar do que você sente em pecar. Por um Deus que preferiu ser um bebê a ser um juiz. Por um Deus que envia estrelas para guiar pagãos e profetas para consolar camponeses — tudo para que você saiba: você não é pequeno demais para Belém. Você não é tarde demais para a estrela. Você não é pesado demais para o mar.

Durma, então, como alguém que foi encontrado. Não por um time de busca, mas por um Pastor que vai atrás da única ovelha — e, ao encontrá-la, se alegra. Esse é o passatempo d'Ele, lembra-se? Encontrar. Perdoar. Afogar. E fazer tudo de novo amanhã, porque as Suas misericórdias se renovam a cada manhã — e as Suas noites nunca são escuras o bastante para esconder a Sua alegria.

Que o Menino de Belém vigie o seu sono. Que a estrela de Mateus conduza os seus sonhos. Que o mar de Miqueias engula todo fantasma que vier visitá-lo depois da meia-noite. E que você desperte, não com o peso do mundo, mas com a leveza de quem foi afogado — e ressuscitado — no estranho e incansável passatempo de Deus.

Amém.