A long time ago, I decided to tackle a repair project around the house. Now, I confess I am not very handy. You can ask Dan. Some people seem naturally gifted at DIY home repair projects. They own specialized tools. They know the difference between things found in the plumbing aisle and things found in the electrical aisle. They watch home improvement shows and think, "I could do that." I am not one of those people.

Still, there was a minor problem that needed fixing, and for one reason or another, I decided I would handle it myself. How hard could it be? Those words have launched many unfortunate adventures.

This project looked simple enough when I started. But I kept putting parts in backwards or upside down and having to redo it. And fixing that problem uncovered yet another problem. A quick trip to Lowe’s turned into multiple trips to Lowe’s. Several hours later, I found myself standing in the middle of a project that had somehow become much bigger than the one I had started.

I distinctly remember thinking, "It probably would’ve been better if I had just left this alone." Most of us know that feeling. Sometimes we create problems by doing the wrong thing. Sometimes we create problems by trying too hard to fix things. Sometimes our efforts to control a situation become the very thing that makes it worse.

And that's where Jacob comes in.

As we continue our Summer Sermon Road Trip through Genesis, we leave Abraham and Sarah behind and begin traveling with a new generation. Last week we met Rebekah, who trusted God enough to leave everything familiar behind and begin a new journey. Today we meet her twin sons, Jacob and Esau.

And unlike many of the stories we've encountered so far this summer, this one isn't primarily about hardship that comes from outside. It's about a mess that people create for themselves.

The story begins before the boys are even born. Rebekah feels them struggling within her and asks God what is happening. God's answer is unusual: two nations are within her womb, and the older will serve the younger. In other words, before Jacob ever does anything, God already has a plan. That's an important detail. Because if there's one thing Jacob never quite seems to grasp, it's that God is already at work.

When we finally meet the brothers as adults, Esau the hunter comes in from the field exhausted and hungry. Jacob is cooking a pot of stew. Esau demands some food. Jacob sees an opportunity and says, "Sure. I'll feed you. But first sell me your birthright."

Now let's be honest. Nobody comes off particularly well in this story. Esau treats something precious as though it has no value. Jacob takes advantage of his brother at a vulnerable moment. One is impulsive, the other is manipulative. It's a family mess. And it's only the beginning. If you've read ahead in Genesis, you know things are about to get worse.

One of the reasons I appreciate the Bible, and I’ve mentioned this before, is that it refuses to clean people up. If this were a public relations campaign, someone would have edited these stories. Abraham, Sarah, Jacob, Joseph, Moses—none of them are presented as flawless heroes. Scripture tells the truth about human beings.

And the truth is that we humans sometimes make a mess of things. We say things we shouldn't say. We make decisions we later regret. We let pride get the better of us. We try to control situations that cannot be controlled. We convince ourselves that everything depends on us.

That's where Jacob's story becomes surprisingly familiar. God has already spoken. God has already made promises to Abraham's family. God has already declared that the younger brother will somehow receive the blessing.

Yet Jacob behaves as though everything depends on Jacob. He can't wait. He can't trust. He can't leave things alone. He has to help God out with God’s plan.

See, the trouble is that whenever human beings decide to help God out, things often get complicated or messed up. Have you noticed that? I see a few of you squirming in your seats! Oh, I am one of you!

We think, "If I don't fix this, nobody will."  We think, "If I don't manage this situation, everything will fall apart."  We think, "If I can just pull a few strings, persuade a few people, arrange a few circumstances, then I’ll make everything work out."

And sometimes it does. And sometimes we discover that our efforts to control the situation have become part of the problem.

So, before we're too hard on Jacob, let's acknowledge that most of us have a little Jacob in us. Waiting is difficult. Trusting is difficult. Letting go is difficult. Especially when the future feels uncertain.

That's true in families. It's true in churches. It's true in our country. It's true in our own lives. We want to know how the story ends.

Jacob teaches us what happens when we become so focused on securing the future that we lose sight of the God who holds the future.

But here's the remarkable thing about this story. Jacob makes a mess. And God doesn't give up on him. In fact, if you read the rest of Genesis, you'll discover that Jacob spends much of his life dealing with consequences of his own actions.

Yet through all of it, God remains faithful. God continues working. God continues guiding. God continues blessing. Not because Jacob deserves it. Because that's who God is.
​
One of the most comforting truths in Scripture is that God's plans are not defeated by our mistakes.

Our mistakes have consequences, certainly. Jacob learns that. We learn that. But our failures are not the end of the story. God is still at work.

In many ways, the rest of Jacob's life becomes a long lesson in learning what he should have trusted from the beginning: that God's promises do not depend on our human manipulation.

God can be trusted. Even when we cannot see the outcome. Even when we are tempted to take shortcuts. Even when we have already made a mess of things. And I think that's good news for all of us.

Because if we're honest, most of us have our own bowl-of-stew stories. Decisions we rushed. Opportunities we mishandled. Relationships we complicated. Repairs we bungled. Moments we wish we could revisit and do differently.

Yet God is not finished with us. God was not finished with Jacob. And God is not finished with you or me.

Looking back, my home repair project eventually got done. Not quickly. Not elegantly. Not without a few lessons learned along the way. But it got finished. And yes, I had to ask for help!

And perhaps that's the good news in Jacob's story as well. Jacob makes a mess of things. A serious mess. Yet God's purposes continue. God's grace continues. God's promises continue.

The story moves forward not because Jacob gets everything right, but because God remains faithful even when Jacob does not.

Which is fortunate, because if God's plans depended on human perfection, none of us would get very far down the road!

Thanks be to God that the journey continues anyway, and God is always with us, step by step. Amen.

ALOHA! Hard to believe, but we are nearing the halfway point of our Summer Sermon Road Trip: Following God in Real Life, and this Sunday we officially enter the wonderfully messy world of Jacob. In Genesis 25:19-34, we meet twin brothers Jacob and Esau, whose relationship gets complicated almost immediately. Esau comes in hungry from the field, Jacob has a pot of stew boiling, and before long a family birthright is being traded for dinner. It is not exactly a shining moment for either brother—which is probably why it feels so human. This week’s sermon, “When We Make a Mess of Things,” explores how God continues working in our lives even when we complicate the story ourselves. Please join us this Sunday at 9 a.m. in the Chapel, or on Facebook Live as we continue this journey of faith together!

​LAST SUNDAY in worship, we focused on Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67. In the sermon "When Faith Is About Letting Go" we witnessed Rebekah leaving everything familiar to begin a new chapter in her life, and we considered what it means to trust God when the future is uncertain. Have you been able to say “yes” to God before you know exactly where the road will lead?

Many thanks to our wonderful St. Timothy’s choir and our gifted musician, Zachary Hamada, for last Sunday’s inspiring American Jazzikapila concert! It was a joyful and creative celebration of music, faith, and community, bringing together familiar American songs, rich harmonies, and the warm spirit of St. Timothy’s. We are blessed by the dedication, talent, and enthusiasm of our Music Ministry, and especially grateful for the ways Zach and the choir help lift our hearts in worship and fellowship. Mahalo to all who shared their gifts and to everyone who stayed to enjoy this special time together.

DEAR SIBLINGS IN CHRIST, I am grateful for the many ways you share in the life and ministry of St. Timothy’s. Please continue to pray for our leaders and ministers, for me as your vicar, and for every member of our St. Timothy’s ʻohana. May God grant us faith for the journey, hope for the road ahead, and the assurance that God’s presence is always with us.

Aloha Ke Akua!
Rev. Pete+

I’ve heard several stories recently from folks here about flight problems. For instance, one family had a vacation, everything had been carefully arranged. Flights were booked, connections were set, the itinerary seemed straightforward enough. Then reality ensued. Right off the bat, their flight out of Honolulu was delayed from taking off for four hours. By the time they finally got airborne, they’d already missed their connecting flight. That led to more delays, more waiting, and all the frustrations familiar to anyone who has spent time in airports.

And we’re glad that Betty Smith is back from her sojourn in her beloved Virginia, although her return flight also was delayed, forcing her to spend a night in Detroit!

Most of us know something about that sort of experience. Maybe not in an airport, but certainly in life. We make plans. We imagine how life will unfold. Then something changes. A move happens. A door opens. A door closes. We lose a loved one, or we gain one. Suddenly the journey looks very different from the one we thought we were taking.

This Fourth of July weekend, as our nation marks the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, I suspect many Americans are feeling something similar. We celebrate our remarkable ideals (like “All men are created equal”) and freedoms (“life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness”). We gather for fireworks (they better be legal!), parades, and inspiring music (including our Jazzikapila after worship today!)

Even so, many of us also carry concerns about the future of our country. We see deep divisions, anger, distrust, and a level of polarization that can feel discouraging. We love our country, but we worry about it. It feels like our carefully arranged plans have gone awry.

​Loving something does not mean pretending it is perfect. Sometimes love means continuing to hope even when the journey is not unfolding the way we expected. Which brings us to today’s story from Genesis….

Our summertime road trip through Genesis now shifts from Abraham’s generation to the next. During June we traveled with Abraham and Sarah. Now we begin moving toward Jacob and Joseph. But before we meet Jacob himself, we encounter a remarkable woman named Rebekah. Abraham’s servant is seeking a wife from Abe’s kinsmen for Isaac, and meets Laban, Rebekah’s brother. The servant tells him how Rebekah was surely the answer to his prayers for a wife for Isaac.

And Rebekah’s story turns on one question: “Will you go with this man?” And with surprising simplicity, Rebekah answers, “I will.”

As I was reading this story this week, I found myself thinking, “Haven’t I preached on this before?” Oh yeah, a few weeks ago, at the beginning of our Summer Sermon Road Trip, we heard God say to Abram, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you.” And Abram said, “I will.”

Now here we are again. Different person. Different generation. Different circumstances. Yet somehow the invitation is very familiar. Will you leave what is familiar? Will you trust what you cannot yet see? Will you go into an unknown future? And Rebekah, says “I will.”

At some point, you begin to wonder, is God trying to tell me something? Well, I’ve found that the spiritual life often involves having to learn the same lesson over and over again, each time at a deeper level.

We learn to trust when we are young. Then we learn it again after disappointment or loss. We learn it again when life changes and the future becomes uncertain. Apparently God is patient enough to keep teaching it.

Beloved, most of life consists of ordinary people making faithful decisions without knowing exactly where those decisions will lead. And that is what Rebekah does. Her faith is not flashy. It’s not accompanied by thunder or miracles. It is simply a willingness to trust God enough to take the next step. And there’s that lesson again.

This may be one of the most overlooked truths in the spiritual life. Faith is often less about certainty than availability. Not “I understand everything.” Not “I know exactly how this will turn out.” But simply, “I am willing.” That may be why this story feels so relevant now.
​
Because we live in a culture that prizes certainty. We want data, guarantees, plans, and measurable outcomes. We want to know where we’re headed before we agree to leave where we are. Yet life stubbornly refuses to cooperate with our desire for control.

We cannot control elections, as much as we’d like to. We cannot control the economy or international events or natural disasters. We cannot control what other people say or do, it seems, including our political leaders. Most of us have discovered that we cannot even control the people we love most.

What we can offer is our response. We can choose whether we will live in fear or hope. We can choose whether we will become cynical or remain open to possibility. We can choose whether we will cling tightly to our own plans or remain willing to follow where God may be leading. And that willingness matters more than we realize.

Rebekah has no idea what her decision will mean. She does not know she will become one of the great matriarchs of Israel. She doesn’t know she’ll become the mother of Jacob and Esau. She doesn’t know people like us will still be telling her story thousands of years later. She simply says yes to the next step. And God does the rest.

​Beloved, that is often how God’s work unfolds in the world. Rarely through grand gestures. More often through ordinary acts of faithfulness: a parent showing up for a child, a volunteer serving meals, a teacher encouraging a struggling student, a friend making a phone call, a congregation choosing generosity, a citizen choosing hope instead of cynicism.

Most of the time, God’s kingdom advances through people who are simply willing. Like the 14 Sailors here at HPH for Rimpac who came to St. Tim’s on Tuesday to volunteer at Outreach and clean up some spaces!...

Well, at the end of today’s story, Rebekah arrives, and Isaac sees her approaching across the field. Scripture says: “She became his wife, and he loved her.” A new chapter begins. Neither of them knows what lies ahead. If you have read the rest of Genesis, you know there will be family conflict, misunderstandings, disappointments, and heartbreaks.

But there will also be blessing, growth, and grace they cannot yet imagine. For now, the journey simply continues.

Which brings me back to our friends who have been traveling by airplane. Eventually they arrived. Maybe not on the schedule they expected. Not by the route they had planned. Not without frustration and unexpected detours. But they got there. And isn’t that often how life works?

Like Rebekah, we may not know exactly where the road leads.

We may not understand what lies ahead for our families, our church, our nation, or ourselves.

But we know who travels with us. And that, dear ones, is enough.
Amen.

ALOHA! This weekend our nation celebrates the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, a milestone that invites both gratitude for the blessings of liberty and thoughtful reflection on the work that still lies before us. Here at St. Timothys, we'll continue the celebration after worship as Zach and our choir members present An American Jazzikapila, tracing our nation’s history with a joyful blend of familiar favorites. I hope you'll plan to stay and enjoy this special musical offering of our Music Ministry.

THIS SUNDAY in worship, we'll continue our Summer Sermon Road Trip through Genesis with a message on Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67 titled "When Faith Is About Letting Go." As Rebekah leaves everything familiar to begin a new chapter in her life, we'll consider what it means to trust God when the future is uncertain and to say "yes" before we know exactly where the road will lead. I look forward to sharing the journey with you. Please join us this Sunday at 9 a.m. in the Chapel, or on Facebook Live as we continue this journey of faith together!

LAST SUNDAY we heard one of the most challenging and thought-provoking stories in all of Scripture: Abraham and Isaac on Mount Moriah (Genesis 22:1-14). We found that faith can require trust when the future is unclear, courage when the road is difficult, and perseverance when we would rather turn back. I hope that this past week you’ve been able to experience the kind of trust Abraham did!

LAST SUNDAY we launched our Ministry Minutes series for this year, and you can read David Caldwell’s remarks about serving on the Bishop’s Committee below. This Sunday, Bette Kalohi will share with us about our Music Ministry. Each week through August during the announcements time, we’ll be hearing from a leader of one of our various St. Timothy’s ministries to let you know what’s happening and how you can participate.

BELOVED SIBLINGS IN CHRIST, I am grateful for the many ways you share in the life and ministry of St. Timothy’s. Please continue to pray for our leaders and ministers, for me as your vicar, and for every member of our St. Timothy’s ʻohana. May God grant us faith for the journey, hope for the road ahead, and the assurance that God’s presence is always with us.

Aloha Ke Akua!
Rev. Pete+

Last Sunday I talked about the Kona Low Storms. Now we’re hearing about dangerous El Nino weather coming later this year. Seems like there are plenty disasters to go around!

As you well know, the Lahaina fire happened on Maui 3 years ago this August, just half a year before Dan and I moved here—we watched news reports about the devastation and prayed from afar.

It was hard for all of us to see the images that almost did not seem real. Front Street reduced to ash. The entire town gone. Families standing in silence where homes and businesses and memories had once been.

Heartbreaking! And for many people, the deepest shock was not only the loss of buildings, but the loss of what those places meant. History. Identity. Belonging.

Among the buildings destroyed, as you know, was Holy Innocents, the beloved Episcopal parish that had stood in Lahaina for generations. Its beautiful mural of the Madonna and Child was lost in the flames. We have a copy of it over on the St. Francis Garden side.

In the months afterward, Holy Innocents members began gathering again in borrowed worship spaces, carrying bells and crosses and fragments of memory with them. Some parishioners had lost nearly everything. Still they came together to pray, to sing, to begin again.

I remember reading one account in the Diocesan newsletter from a member of the congregation who said that, after the fire, people were simply trying to restore "homes and hearts."

Restoring homes and hearts. Because when disaster strikes, what hurts most is not only what we lose, but what those losses represent. A home represents security, memories, family, and hopes for the future. When something precious is suddenly lost like that, it can feel as though the ground beneath us has fallen away.

And that brings us closer to the emotional world of today's reading in Genesis. Because Isaac is more than Abraham's son. Isaac represents God's promise, Abraham's future, and everything he holds dear.

Beloved, this is one of the most difficult stories in all Scripture: The passage starts by saying “God tested Abraham”! I don’t know about you, but I don’t like being tested! Abraham climbs a mountain with the son he loves, the son through whom all of God's promises were supposed to come, in order to sacrifice him.

If this story troubles you, that’s probably a sign you are hearing it right. Because once again, we read a story that is not comfortable.

Over these summer weeks, we’re traveling together through Genesis on our “Summer Sermon Road Trip: Following God in Real Life.”

In the first week, Abraham was called into the unknown. Then Sarah laughed because the promise seemed impossible. Last week, Hagar discovered that even in the wilderness, God still sees and hears us.

And now this week, the journey reaches its most painful point. Because sometimes faith becomes costly. Sometimes life leads us into places we never would have chosen. Just as it did in Lahaina.

The story begins almost gently. God says: “Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love…” The tenderness of that phrase almost makes it harder to hear what follows.

But Abraham starts off for Moriah. And the text seems very straight-forward. There’s no discussion, no explanation. Just the long silence of the journey. Which, honestly, feels real. Because when people go through deep grief or fear or confusion, there’s often a kind of silence around it. Words seem inadequate. You just keep walking because there’s nothing else to do.

I imagine many survivors in Lahaina experienced something like that in the days afterward. Not fully understanding what had happened yet. Carrying shock and heartbreak and exhaustion all at once. Trying to move forward one step at a time because the future itself had suddenly become unrecognizable. That’s partly why this Genesis story is so enduring. It speaks honestly about moments when life no longer makes sense. Moments when what is happening seems completely at odds with what we thought God had promised. It’s a feeling that seems to echo through these stories
in Genesis, doesn’t it?

Many of us know something about this feeling. A future changes. A prayer remains unanswered. A family suffers. A tragedy occurs that no theology can neatly explain. And suddenly the road ahead looks very different than the one we thought we were traveling.

Now before we go further, I think it’s important to say clearly what this story is not saying. This is not permission for violence in God’s name. This is not a model for harming children. This is not a lesson that suffering itself pleases God. In fact, one of the central points of the story is that God stops the sacrifice.

You see, Abraham lived in a world where surrounding cultures sacrificed children. But at the decisive moment, God says: “No.” The knife is lowered. The boy lives. A ram is provided instead. God is making his will clear; you are to be different than the rest of the world.

So the story moves away from death and toward mercy. But it still leaves us wrestling. Why would Abraham think this was what God wanted? Why does God sometimes seem so bewildering? Why does faith sometimes lead us through painful territory? Those are real questions. And Scripture does not pretend otherwise.

What strikes me most in this story is that Abraham walks up the mountain carrying trust and confusion at the same time. We often imagine biblical faith as unwavering certainty. But most mature faith is not certainty. It is continuing the relationship with God even when we do not fully understand.

That may be one of the hardest spiritual lessons of all. Because we want explanations. We want clarity. We want assurance that everything will make sense beforehand. But often faith looks more like Abraham walking the road without knowing how the story will end.

There is a heartbreaking moment when Isaac asks: “Father?” And Abraham replies: “Here I am.” Then Isaac says: “The fire and the wood are here… but where is the lamb?” And Abraham answers: “God will provide.”

At that moment, Abraham himself cannot yet see how true those words will become. But eventually, on that mountain, provision appears.

A ram caught in a thicket. And Abraham names the place “The Lord will provide.” Not before the journey. Afterward. Which is so often how life works.

We rarely see grace clearly ahead of time. Usually we recognize it looking backward. Looking back, we realize: Oh! There were people who carried us. There was strength we didn’t know we had. There were moments of mercy hidden inside terrible seasons. There was enough grace for the next step. Not always all at once. But enough.

I think that’s part of what the people of Lahaina continue to teach the rest of us. After unimaginable loss, communities still gather. Worship still happens. Meals are shared. People continue helping one another restore homes and hearts.

Not because the suffering was good. Not because the grief has disappeared. But because even in devastating loss, human beings keep discovering that they are not abandoned. Banyan trees regrow.

Perhaps this is the deepest truth inside this difficult story, a truth we hear repeatedly in Genesis: Not that God explains everything. Not that suffering suddenly becomes easy. But that mercy has the final word. That even on hard roads, God walks with us.

As we continue this summer journey together, the stories ahead are still going to be messy. Which is good news, really. Because the Bible is not a book about perfect people who always understand what God is doing.

It is the story of ordinary human beings learning, slowly and imperfectly, that God remains faithful even on the hardest roads.

And if your road feels steep… If life feels uncertain… If faith itself feels costly…
               Keep walking. Not because you understand everything.
               But because somewhere along the journey,
               often when we least expect it--
               God provides. Amen.

ALOHA! This Sunday we continue our Summer Sermon Road Trip through Genesis with one of the most challenging and thought-provoking stories in all of Scripture: Abraham and Isaac on Mount Moriah (Genesis 22:1-14). We often speak of God's grace as a free gift, and it is. But following God sometimes asks something of us. Faith can require trust when the future is unclear, courage when the road is difficult, and perseverance when we would rather turn back. In this week's story, Abraham faces a test that has troubled and inspired believers for generations. Together we’ll explore what
costly faith really means, what this story does—and does not—say about God, and how God's mercy ultimately has the final say. Please join us this Sunday at 9 a.m. in the Chapel, or on Facebook Live as we continue this journey of faith together!

LAST SUNDAY we heard the story of Hagar and Ishmael (Genesis 21:8-21), another challenging story that tells us that life does not always unfold according to our plans. “This wasn’t supposed to happen!” we hear people say. Families face challenges, relationships become complicated, and sometimes the road ahead seems uncertain. And that certainly can sound familiar! This powerful story reminds us that God sees us, hears us, and remains present even in life's wilderness places. Have you reminded yourself of that this week?

LAST SUNDAY we also celebrated Father’s Day with a fabulous Hot Dog Feast with all the trimmings! Our thanks go to all who brought side dishes, set up, cooked, and cleaned up—we fathers and father-figures are grateful!

BELOVED SIBLINGS IN CHRIST, I am grateful for the many ways you share in the life and ministry of St. Timothy’s. Please continue to pray for our leaders and ministers, for me as your vicar, and for every member of our St. Timothy’s ʻohana. May God grant us faith for the journey, hope for the road ahead, and the assurance that God’s presence is always with us.

Aloha Ke Akua!
Rev. Pete+

Several weeks ago, we all watched as the Kona Low storms drenched the islands. Streets flooded. Cars stalled. Homes were inundated. Neighborhoods dealt with water where water wasn't supposed to be. Lots of people found their lives upended, and wondering what the next day would bring. They’re still trying to figure out how or whether they will rebuild.

Most of us weren’t really affected. We experienced inconvenience more than catastrophe. But even so, these kinds of storms remind us how quickly life can change. One day things seem normal. The next day familiar routines are disrupted and the future suddenly feels uncertain. Grace and Logan can tell us what that feels like, after their building caught fire a couple of weeks ago!

After major fires, floods, hurricanes, or wildfires, reporters often interview people standing amid the aftermath. Logan was interviewed by Hawaii News Now! But years ago, after one such disaster, a woman stood in front of what had been her home, looking completely stunned, and said something very simple:

"I just keep thinking... this was not supposed to happen."

That line has stayed with me. Because at some point, almost everyone says it.
This was not supposed to happen.

The diagnosis was not supposed to happen. The marriage ending was not supposed to happen. The estrangement from a child was not supposed to happen. The betrayal. The loss. The grief. The future that suddenly looks nothing like the one we imagined.

And perhaps nowhere in Genesis does that feeling echo more painfully than in the story from Chapter 21 that we heard this morning.

Over these summer weeks, we’re traveling together through our "Summer Sermon Road Trip: Following God in Real Life." Two weeks ago Abraham heard God's call and stepped out into the unknown. Last week Sarah laughed because God's promise seemed impossible. And now this week, just as the promise finally begins to come true, everything falls apart.

What!? But isn’t that so often how real life works?

Today’s story is uncomfortable. Sarah sees Hagar and her son Ishmael—the servant woman and Abraham’s older son—and she wants them gone. Abraham is upset, but after some prayer and hesitation, he sends them away into the wilderness with only a little bread and a skin of water.

There are no real heroes in this story. Only wounded people making fearful decisions. And at the center of it all are Hagar and Ishmael, wandering in the desert until their water runs out. The future disappears. Hagar even places her son under a bush because she cannot bear to watch him die. It is one of the bleakest scenes in Scripture. And maybe one of the most honest.

Because sometimes life really does fall apart, doesn’t it? And not in ways that make any immediate sense.

Now today is also Father’s Day, which can be complicated in church. For some, like me, it is joyful. For others, painful. Some carry gratitude. Others carry grief, regret, anger, or absence.

And this morning’s reading certainly does not offer us a sentimental portrait of fatherhood. Abraham is one of the great figures of faith, yes—but he is also flawed and frightened and deeply human.
​
The Bible never really idealizes families, to be honest. Especially in Genesis. Genesis is full of sibling rivalry, favoritism, fractured relationships, deception, jealousy, and pain. Which means if your family has ever felt messy, you are officially biblical!

And then comes this beautiful detail: “God opened [Hagar’s] eyes, and she saw a well of water.” The well was apparently already there. She just couldn’t see it. And I think that may be one of the deepest spiritual truths in this story. When life falls apart, our vision narrows. Fear does that. Grief does that.

Exhaustion does that. All we can see is the wilderness. The absence. The loss. And yet sometimes, slowly and painfully, grace begins to appear—not because the suffering was unreal, but because God was present even there. Not always removing the wilderness immediately. But sustaining us, carrying us, within it.

In our Romans scripture this morning, Paul speaks about the gift of life in Christ. And that can sound abstract until you place it beside a story like this one. Because eternal life in Scripture is not simply about heaven someday. It is about the persistent life of God breaking into places that feel consumed by death. A wilderness. A failed future. A dried-up hope. And suddenly: water.

I think this story matters especially right now because we are living in a world where many people feel as though something is unraveling.

There is anxiety and anger everywhere. And underneath so much public anger is actually grief. A grief that quietly says: This was not supposed to happen.

But the witness of Scripture is that God does some of God’s deepest work precisely in wilderness places. Not because God causes suffering, but because no wilderness is godforsaken.

That may be the most important thing Hagar discovers. She is not invisible. In fact, earlier in Genesis, Hagar becomes the first person in Scripture to give God a name: El-roi — “the God who sees me.”

The God who sees me!

And now here again in the wilderness, God sees. God hears. God provides.

Not through easy triumph. Not through instant rescue. But through presence. I think many of us can look back on seasons of life that felt like wilderness. Times when we truly were not sure how we would keep going. Times when the future seemed frighteningly uncertain. And yet somehow, there we found water in the desert.

Maybe not literal water! But a friend who called at the right time. A community that carried us. A strength we did not know we possessed. A small grace that helped us make it through one more day. Not always dramatic. But enough. Enough for the next step.
​
And that is what faith often looks like. Not pretending everything is fine. Not denying heartbreak. But trusting that even here—even now—God is present. Even in the wilderness. Even when life falls apart. Even when the story has taken a turn we never would have chosen.

As we continue this summer journey together, the stories are not going to become tidier. Jacob is coming, and Jacob is a mess. Joseph’s family becomes spectacularly dysfunctional.

But that is exactly the point. The Bible is not a collection of polished success stories. It is the story of God remaining faithful to imperfect people in a complicated world.

Which means it is our story too. And perhaps today, if life feels uncertain or
broken or frighteningly dry, this is the word we most need to hear:
God sees you.
God hears you.

And even in the wilderness, there is water to refresh us just ahead.
Amen.

ALOHA! This Sunday we celebrate Father's Day, giving thanks for fathers, grandfathers, mentors, teachers, and all those who have helped guide us, encourage us, and shape our lives. We hope you'll also stay after worship for our Father’s Day Hot Dog Feast—a fun opportunity to enjoy fellowship and celebrate together as a church family.

IN WORSHIP, we’ll continue our Summer Sermon Road Trip through Genesis with a message titled "When Life Falls Apart." The story of Hagar and Ishmael (Genesis 21:8-21) reminds us that life does not always unfold according to our plans. Families face challenges, relationships become complicated, and sometimes the road ahead seems uncertain. Sound familiar? Perhaps too familiar! This powerful story reminds us that God sees us, hears us, and remains present even in life's wilderness places. Please join us this Sunday at 9 a.m. in the Chapel, or on Facebook Live as we
continue this journey of faith together!

LAST SUNDAY, we traveled with Abraham and Sarah in Genesis 18:1-15, which took place long after God first called them and promised them descendants, and what once seemed possible looked increasingly unlikely. When mysterious visitors arrived with news that Sarah would bear a son, her response was snarky laughter! We considered what happens when God's promises seem delayed, why faithful people sometimes struggle to believe, and how God continues to work even when hope feels distant. Have you been able to put this promise to work this week?

BELOVED SIBLINGS IN CHRIST, I am grateful for the many ways you share in the life and ministry of St. Timothy’s. This week, as we give thanks for fathers and father figures, and as we remember that God meets us even when life feels uncertain or broken in the story from Genesis, I invite your prayers for our parish, our ministries, and one another. Please continue to pray for me as your vicar, as I continue to pray for each of you, for our leaders, and for every member of our St. Timothy’s ʻohana. May God grant us faith for the journey, hope for the road ahead, and the assurance that wherever we travel, God’s presence goes with us. Amen.

Aloha Ke Akua!
Rev. Pete+

​Last Sunday, we began our summer journey through Genesis with a call. God said to Abram, “Go.” And Abram went. With no map. No certainty. Just trust enough to take the next step.

But if last week was about beginning the journey, this week is about what happens after you’ve been on the road awhile. Long enough for the excitement to wear off. Long enough for the promise to begin feeling delayed. Long enough for hope to become… complicated.

Because today we meet Abraham and Sarah years later. And honestly? They’re tired. I know you probably can’t relate, but hear me out…

God had promised Abram descendants. A future. A great nation. But time has passed. A lot of time. Abraham and Sarah are really old now—Scripture goes out of its way to emphasize this saying, rather bluntly, that the usual rhythms of women’s lives have ceased.

Then these mysterious visitors arrive by the oaks of Mamre and announce to Abraham something that seems absurd: Sarah will have a son. And, listening to this secretly from inside the tent, Sarah laughs. Not a joyful laugh, not yet. More like the snarky laugh that slips out when something is too impossible, too late, too far gone to take seriously anymore. Ha!

That laugh is one of the most human moments in the Bible. Because most of us know something about promises that seem to take too long to be fulfilled. Haven’t we all laughed like Sarah did?

Oh, we know what it’s like to wait for healing that does not come quickly. To pray for reconciliation that never quite happens. To hope for peace in a family, or a church, or a country, and instead wake up each morning to another round of division and bitterness and noise.

We know what it’s like to carry a promise for so long that eventually we stop expecting very much from it. And maybe that is where Sarah is. Not faithless exactly. Just worn out.

I love that the Bible includes this moment. Because more prim and proper storytelling would have cleaned this up. Sarah would smile serenely and say, “Of course, Lord. Your will be done.” Like an Old Testament version of Mary’s Magnificat!

No, overhearing this promise, she laughs. Which makes sense to us. The remarkable thing is that God does not strike her dead for it! God does not say, “Well, clearly you are disqualified from the life of faith.”

Instead, God stays in the conversation. “Why did Sarah laugh?” God asks. It’s almost tender. Almost amused. As though God understands perfectly well what long disappointment can do to a person.

Dear siblings, there is a kind of faith that exists only in the abstract—faith that works beautifully in inspirational quotes on embroidered pillows.

But biblical faith is different. Biblical faith includes exhaustion. Doubt. Confusion. Delay. Abraham and Sarah are not young idealists setting out on an adventurous journey anymore. They are old enough to know how life usually works. And that is precisely why the promise now seems impossible.

Sometimes age brings wisdom. Sometimes it also brings realism. We become experts in our limits. We know what bodies can and cannot do. We know which relationships probably won’t change. We know the odds. Sarah knows the odds. That’s why she laughs. Who can blame her?

Yes, the older I get, the more compassionate I become toward Sarah. Because there are different kinds of unbelief. There is cynical unbelief that closes itself off entirely. But there is also wounded unbelief—the kind that comes after years of hoping and praying, with no results. And many people carry that kind of unbelief very quietly.

People come to church every Sunday carrying prayers they have prayed for decades. Some have watched dreams collapse. Some are caring for aging spouses or grieving people they loved or wondering what the future of the world will look like for their grandchildren.

And in moments like these, faith can become less triumphant and more fragile. More like: “Lord, I want to believe. But this feels impossible.” That is Sarah’s territory. And maybe ours too.

Meanwhile, the world itself feels a little like Sarah’s laugh these days. We hear promises about peace, but wars continue. We hear promises about justice, but divisions deepen. We hear promises about truth, but trust itself feels increasingly fragile.

And in that kind of climate, cynicism becomes very tempting. It is easier to laugh cynically than to remain hopeful. Easier to assume nothing changes. Easier to stop expecting God’s grace.

But the strange witness of Scripture is that God keeps working in places where we humans have concluded that nothing new can happen. An elderly couple becomes the beginning of a people. A shepherd boy becomes king. Exiles return home. A crucified Messiah rises.

Again and again, the biblical story insists that God is not limited by what we think is realistic. Which does not mean that everything we want will happen exactly as we imagine. But it does mean that despair does not get the final word.

In the Romans reading this morning, Paul says something extraordinary: “But we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us.”

Now, if we’re honest, that sounds risky. Because most of us have experienced disappointment. But Paul is not talking about hope as optimism. He’s talking about a deeper kind of trust, a confidence not that life will always go smoothly but that God remains faithful within it.

And perhaps that is the shift Sarah slowly begins to make. The promise is no longer grounded in probability. It is grounded in relationship.

I think that may be one of the quiet lessons of the spiritual life. Eventually, faith matures from certainty into trust. When we are young, we often think faith means confidence. Having answers. Feeling sure.

But over time, faith becomes something gentler and deeper. It becomes the willingness to remain in relationship with God even when the future is unclear. Even when the promise feels delayed. Even when we laugh a little, well, snarkily….

There is one more detail in this story worth noticing. Sarah laughs privately. Quietly. To herself. And yet God hears it. Which means God is paying attention not only to our public prayers, but also to the hidden conversations of the heart. The doubts we never say aloud. The exhaustion we disguise. The hopes we barely dare admit anymore.

God hears all of it. And stays right with us in it.

Well, by the end of this story in Genesis 18, nothing has changed… yet. Sarah is not yet pregnant. The child has not arrived. The future is still unfolding.

But something important has happened. The promise has been spoken again. And maybe that is what some of us need this morning—not instant answers, not certainty, but simply the reminder that God has not forgotten us. That the story is not over yet.

That even now, for Sarah and maybe for you and me, in places that feel worn out or too late or beyond repair, God is still at work.

After all, this is the God who asks: “Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?”

Oh by the way, later, in Chapter 21, spoiler alert: Sarah will say: “God has brought laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh with me.” Because God does make good on the promise.

So the journey of our faith is learning, slowly, sometimes reluctantly, sometimes laughing all the way— to trust that the answer to that question, “Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?”… may be no.

Nothing… is too wonderful for the Lord. Amen.

ALOHA! As summer unfolds here in Hawai‘i, we continue our journey through Genesis in our Summer Sermon Road Trip series, “Following God in Real Life.” One of the gifts of these ancient stories is how honest they are about the realities of faith. The people we meet in Scripture are not superheroes. They experience uncertainty, disappointment, doubt, and hope much like we do.

This Sunday, we continue traveling with Abraham and Sarah. Genesis 18:1-15 takes place long after God first called them to set out in faith and promised them descendants, and what once seemed possible now appears increasingly unlikely. When mysterious visitors arrive with news that Sarah will bear a son, her response is not immediate confidence, it is snarky laughter! Together we will explore what happens when God's promises seem delayed, why faithful people sometimes struggle to believe, and how God continues to work even when hope feels distant. If you've ever wondered whether your prayers have gone unanswered or your hopes have taken longer than expected, this story just may have something to say to you. Please join us this Sunday at 9 a.m. in the Chapel, or on Facebook Live!

LAST SUNDAY our summer-long sermon journey began with Genesis 12:1-9: Abraham hears God’s call to “Go…” without even knowing exactly where he is headed. That resonates with me, because faith is rarely about having the whole map! More often, it is learning to trust God one step at a time. How have you been able to do that this week?

BELOVED SIBLINGS IN CHRIST, as we continue this summer journey together, I am grateful for the many ways you continue to share in the life and ministry of St. Timothy’s. Like Abraham and Sarah setting out in faith, we do not always know exactly where the road ahead will lead, but we trust the One who walks with us. Please keep our church, our ministries, and your vicar in your prayers, as I continue to pray for each of you, for our leaders, and for every member of our St. Timothy’s ʻohana. May God grant us faith for the journey, hope for the road ahead, and the assurance that wherever we travel, God’s presence goes with us. Amen.

Aloha Ke Akua!
Rev. Pete+ 

P.S. Our amazing church administrator Paul Mahuka is out on vacation and will return late next week. Thanks to the volunteers who are helping to staff the office in his absence (especially Andrea Casey and Jana Dove). Note that Friday, June 19, is the Juneteenth holiday.