Quandaries

Sermon by Pr. Craig Mueller on the Sixth Sunday after Pentecost + Sunday, July 5, 2026

I love the word quandary. It expresses so much about life.

As humans we have to make choices. Yet we are limited by our cognitive capacity. Which often leads to information overload. The result: quandaries.

Saint Paul faces a quandary. The bondage he describes is part of the human condition. Greed and prejudice. Hatred and violence. Selfishness and despair. Paul has the will to do good. Yet he ends up doing the very thing he hates. He feels helpless and cries out for deliverance.

We’ve been there, too. How often have you wanted to be patient, generous, and loving but instead you found yourself anything but?

Jesus is in a quandary as well. He laments that the people reject both John the Baptist and him. Jesus eats and drinks and hangs around with undesirables. And he is called a friend of tax collectors and sinners. He can’t seem to win. The people are hardheaded. Divine wisdom, though, upends the conventions of this world.

Jesus, the gentle and humble one, as one writer puts it, “points us toward a better way of being human. The power of God appears not in domination but in humility, not in coercion but in love, not in crushing enemies, but in carrying burdens.”

Speaking of quandaries, I’ve been in a quandary about the semiquincentennial this year. I remember our nation’s bicentennial in 1976. It seemed like such a big deal. I was living in Colorado and it was also the state’s centennial the same year. In fact, my church named a newly formed youth choir the Centennials.

Maybe you’ve been in a quandary and wonder what the balance is between lament and celebration this year. Especially as it relates to your faith.

There are so many reasons to give thanks for the ways God’s grace has been shed on our nation. In many ways the Great American Experiment—government through a democratic republic—has been a gift to the world.

I hear Jesus’ words “come unto me and I will give you rest” and I think of the poem by Emma Lazarus on the Statue of Liberty. So many of our ancestors, and maybe some of us, came to this country aware of this gracious invitation and wide welcome to all:

Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!

Yet we are in a political moment when the Christian faith has been wedded to authoritarianism and a hyper and even violent masculinity. Outspoken national Christian leaders demonize empathy and the welcome of immigrants and strangers. Love of neighbor is narrowly defined as those with the same cultural and ethnic background.

Nadia Bolz-Weber names her patriotism and love of country. The beautiful state and national parks that belong to all of us. The many languages we speak. The many places we come from and the many ways we pray. Then she goes on: “love of country is not the same thing as uncritical loyalty. Sometimes it looks more like grief. Sometimes more like argument. Sometimes more like refusing to let a beautiful thing be used to bless our worst instincts.”¹

Having just returned from Germany, I continue to reflect on the events there nearly a century ago. Mass rallies channeled individual anger into collective rage. Critical voices were silenced. A supreme leader demanded absolute loyalty. He even posed in front of churches and claimed divine providence. An Aryan Christ was stripped of his Jewish heritage. Nostalgia for the past gave people belonging and purpose.²

On a walk this past week I saw this poem on a sign in someone’s yard. It was written in 2007. And could be said of any nation, but worth our reflection.

Pity the nation whose people are sheep
And whose shepherds mislead them

Pity the nation whose leaders are liars
Whose sages are silenced
And whose bigots haunt the airwaves

Pity the nation that raises not its voice
Except to praise conquerors
And acclaim the bully as hero
And aims to rule the world
By force and by torture

Pity the nation that knows
No other language but its own
And no other culture but its own

Pity the nation whose breath is money
And sleeps the sleep of the too well fed

Pity the nation oh pity the people
who allow their rights to erode
and their freedoms to be washed away

My country, tears of thee
Sweet land of liberty!³

A quandary, indeed. Truth spoken out of love for one’s country.

In our quandaries, it is natural to turn to politics as the antidote to society’s ills. Yet human history has taught us that we dare not give ultimate allegiance to any earthly ruler or dominion. As children we learned the pledge of allegiance to the flag. Yet we gather on this day to affirm our ultimate allegiance not to a political party. Or a charismatic leader. Or even to a country we love. But to the God of all nations. The God of all people.

Jesus turns things around and pledges allegiance to us. Come to me, he says. Come to me all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens. I will give you rest. I will fill you with the peace that surpasses human understanding. I will uphold you with a strength to meet the challenges of these times.

Do we celebrate or do we lament this semiquincentennial?  Both, of course. Always the Lutheran both. A history filled with greatness and unspeakable evils. Let’s be clear. The same could be said of most nations and human institutions.

When we consider our nation’s treatment of native and enslaved peoples, we don’t whitewash history. Like Paul in his quandary, we throw ourselves on God’s mercy. We turn to Christ who promises rest for the weary, forgiveness for the sinner, hope for the despairing.

Rather than decrying quandaries, we welcome them for what we can learn. How they might humble us and soften our hearts.

And sometimes we come to the end of our rope. Weary of the struggle. Out of patience. Wracked by cynicism. And we hear again the words that call us back to life. Come to me. Come to me. All you who are weary and carrying heavy burdens. And I will give you rest.

¹Nadia Bolz Weber, “Why I Spent 90 Minutes Steaming an American Flag”

²Hanna Reichel, For a Time Such as This: An Emergency Devotional

³Lawrence Ferlinghetti (after Kahil Gibran)