Loved First

One of the most fundamental questions we can ask is this: Who are we? Our readings today offer the beautiful answer that we are God’s people.

In Exodus, the Israelites have just been liberated from slavery in Egypt. They haven’t yet become a great nation. They haven’t accomplished anything remarkable. They haven’t earned anything. They are simply a people who have been loved and rescued. God says to them, “You shall be my treasured possession out of all the peoples.” At first glance, that can sound exclusive, as if God loves one group and not another. But the passage immediately reminds us, “Indeed, the whole earth is mine.” The whole earth belongs to God.

Israel is not chosen because they are better than anyone else. They are chosen for a purpose. They are called to reflect God’s character and to make God’s love visible in the world. They are blessed so that they can become a blessing. The same is true for us. We are not God’s people because we are special. We are God’s people because God is special. We belong to God because God is faithful. We are loved because God’s nature is steadfast love.

That word “steadfast” appears again and again throughout Scripture. We explored it alongside mercy last Sunday. Steadfast love means loyal, devoted, enduring love. A love that doesn’t disappear when we fail. A love that doesn’t evaporate when life becomes messy. A love that remains. Psalm 100 celebrates exactly that reality: “For the Lord is good; his steadfast love endures forever.” Not for a season. Not when we’re having a good week. Not when we’ve finally gotten our act together. Forever.

Paul says something similar in Romans. He reminds us that through Christ we stand in grace. Notice that phrase: we stand in grace. We don’t occasionally visit grace. We don’t earn grace and then lose it and then earn it back again. We stand in it. Paul also writes that Christ died for us while we were still weak. Not after we became strong. Not after we became holy. Not after we finally deserved it. While we were weak. That tells us something important about God. God does not wait for us to become lovable before loving us. God’s love comes first.

One of my ongoing conversations with Paul concerns his language of justification. True to the historical and religious context he was raised in, Paul often speaks as though humanity stands before God in a courtroom, awaiting judgment. For many Christians, that image has become the dominant way of understanding life. But I wonder if there is a better metaphor.

Recently I heard someone say, “Earth is a classroom, not a courtroom.” That resonates deeply with me. What if we are not here to pass a test? What if we are here to learn? What if the purpose of life is not perfection but transformation? What if we are here to learn how to love—to learn compassion, forgiveness, generosity, and trust? To learn how to open our hearts to God, to one another, and even to ourselves?

When I look at Jesus, that seems much closer to what I see. In our Gospel reading, Jesus looks upon the crowds and has compassion for them because they are “harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” Notice what Jesus sees. He does not see failures. He does not see people who need to be condemned. He does not see people who deserve punishment. He sees people who are struggling. He sees wounded people. Lost people. Exhausted people. People trying to navigate a difficult world.

And his response is compassion. That is how God sees us. The truth is that being human is hard. We all carry burdens. We all make mistakes. We all struggle. We often try to navigate life entirely through our separate ego selves, relying on our own strength and wisdom, instead of living in conscious union with God. But Jesus came to show us another way entirely.

Through his teachings, through his healings, through his compassion, Jesus demonstrated what divine love looks like in human form. He showed his disciples how to love as God loves. And then he did something surprising. He sent them out to do the same.

Pastor Melody Eastman notes that this Gospel illustrates an uncomfortable transition: the movement from student to proclaimer. Most of us would prefer to stay at Jesus’ feet, learning and growing. We often feel unqualified to be sent. We tell ourselves we don’t know enough. We aren’t spiritual enough. We aren’t prepared enough. But Jesus never says that expertise is the requirement.

As Pastor Eastman writes, “The thing that matters is this: Jesus sends us.” The good news is that God does not call the equipped. God equips the called. We do not have to manufacture wisdom, compassion, or courage on our own. Jesus tells his disciples that the Spirit will speak through them. God’s life will flow through them. But that raises an important question: Are we willing to let it?

Are we willing to become transparent to God’s light? Are we willing to let divine love flow through us? Are we willing to get our ego selves out of the way so that something larger, wiser, and more loving can work through us? The answer begins not with what we do but with what we trust.

Before we are sent, we are loved. Before we serve, we belong. Before we proclaim, we are embraced. For me, that is the heart of today’s message. We are God’s children. We belong to God. Nothing can change that.

And when we begin to trust that truth—not merely believe it intellectually, but trust it in our bones—something changes. The fear begins to loosen its grip. The ego doesn’t have to work so hard. The heart begins to open. Then the love of God can move through us.

As Paul says elsewhere, God’s love is poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit—the living presence of God within us and within all creation—is continually pouring divine love into our hearts. Our task is not to create that love. Our task is simply to receive it. And having received it, to share it.

For this world is filled with people who are harassed and helpless, weary and wounded, longing to know that they are loved. They may not need our expertise. They may not need our certainty. But they do need our compassion. They do need our kindness. They do need someone who can remind them that they belong to God.

May we be those people. And may we never forget that before we are sent into the world, we are loved. We are God’s beloved people. Amen.