Jesus doesn't leave anyone for dead. Ever. - 5th after Pentecost

The other reading referenced is Galatians 3:23-29.

The holy gospel according to Luke (8:26-39)

²⁶Then Jesus and the disciples arrived at the country of the Gerasenes, which is opposite Galilee. ²⁷As Jesus stepped out on land, a man of the city who had demons met him. For a long time he had worn no clothes, and he did not live in a house but in the tombs.

²⁸When he saw Jesus, he fell down before him and shouted at the top of his voice, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me”— ²⁹for Jesus had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. (For many times it had seized him; he was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the wilds.)

³⁰Jesus then asked him, “What is your name?” He said, “Legion”; for many demons had entered him. ³¹The demons begged him not to order them to go back into the abyss.

³²Now there on the hillside a large herd of swine was feeding; and the demons begged Jesus to let them enter these. So Jesus gave them permission. ³³Then the demons came out of the man and entered the swine, and the herd rushed down the steep bank into the lake and was drowned.

³⁴When the swineherds saw what had happened, they ran off and told it in the city and in the country. ³⁵Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they were afraid. ³⁶Those who had seen it told them how the one who had been possessed by demons had been healed.

³⁷Then all the people of the surrounding country of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them; for they were seized with great fear. So he got into the boat and returned. ³⁸The man from whom the demons had gone begged that he might be with him; but Jesus sent him away, saying, ³⁹“Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.” So the man went away, proclaiming throughout the city how much Jesus had done for him.

The gospel of the Lord.

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This last week has been awful.  It is a hard week to be me and to preach.  This sermon is so hard and so complicated. 

47 years ago this month transgender women of color protested brutality and attacks on who they were in a gay bar called Stonewall and from that protest, a movement grew so that throughout the country and the world parades and marches are celebrating the lives and worth of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, intersex, asexual, pansexual, and Two Spirit people.

Last Sunday a man with weapons in his car was stopped before he could arrive at and attack the Los Angeles Pride Parade.  The night before, last Saturday during the night LGBTQ+ Latinxs were targeted and killed in one of few spaces that are supposed to be truly safe.  Bars and clubs like Pulse in Orlando are sanctuary for LGBTQ+ communities and that sanctuary was defiled as bullets rained down on beloved children of God.  Throughout the week, we have continued to hear of threats of violence and graffiti directed toward LGBTQ+ people.

This sermon is hard because in light of all of this, I don’t know who is who in today’s gospel.  It would be easy to preach on Galatians and proclaim us all united in Christ, that our differences aren’t as important.  But it’s not true.  Our differences are important.  Our diversity matters.  God cherishes our differences.  And difference matters because it is precisely the “difference” of being LGBTQ+; of being Latinx, that was targeted last week at Pulse in Orlando and that has been targeted over 200 times in the last six months with anti-LGBTQ+ legislation throughout this country.

But who in our gospel is the Gerasene man, possessed by so many demons that they are called “Legion”?  The one the rest of the community has chained up and left—literally as though he were already dead to them—in the tombs?  Are the demons the evil? Or is it the chains—the exile imposed? 

Chains of division and demonization, of othering,

            of claims about splinters in their eye, not seeing the planks in our own. 

Chains of silencing and refusing for so long

            to name homophobia, transphobia, and racism as sins. 

Chains of blame—

            to blame Muslims for this act of terror that is decidedly “American,”

bred by fundamentalist faiths and fearful and hateful rhetoric and policies,

            not by Islam. 

Or are we, the church, the one possessed by the demons of racism, homophobia, transphobia, and islamophobia? Are we the ones who are chained up, living in death possessed by these demons we don’t know how to banish?

Are we the community, terrified that Jesus has exposed our exclusion, the brokenness of a community that casts out those we don’t understand, those we are afraid of? Are LGBTQ+ communities that community?  Afraid of or rejecting the church that could tear us apart, in its possession by demons that lead not to life but to death?

I honestly don’t know who is who.  Maybe because I am both.  I am this church that struggles with our legacy of racism, homophobia, transphobia, sexism, islamophobia and so many other systems of discrimination.  And I am queer.

During my second year in seminary, in 2011, a group of ELCA bishops visited our seminary, as different ones do each seminary each year. 

During their visit, when asked how they would support women, LGBTQ+ people, and people of color as new pastors in their synods,

            the bishops were so bound in chains from fear

                        that they had no words of comfort, support, or encouragement for us—

            they could only defend a need to “protect” congregations

                        from queer people like me. 

I was devastated. We were devastated.

That weekend, a group of us went to SideTrack, a gay bar in boystown in Chicago, for Show Tunes night.  It was there that I found sanctuary.  It was there that my whole being was affirmed.  It was there that I was supported as a queer person.  Last week that sanctuary was attacked.

So, I don’t know who we are or where we fit             in this story, except that Jesus shows up anyway.  Jesus comes to Gerasene on purpose.  Jesus meets the one possessed by demons.  Jesus goes to the one left out, rejected, sent to live in the place of the dead.

Jesus was at Pulse last week, telling people to leave and run and then staying with those who could not leave, holding them in his arms, crying with them, being crucified again and again and again.

Jesus was at Mother Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston last year.  Sitting in Bible study and sending people running when shots rang out, and then staying with those who could not leave, holding them in his arms, crying with them, being crucified again and again and again.

And Jesus is with those who brave the Rio Grande, the Straights of Florida, and the Sonoran Desert of Arizona for a better life, hope, a chance to live.  Jesus is swimming and walking with them, urging them to safety, and then staying with those who can go no farther, holding them in his arms, crying with them, being crucified again and again and again.

Jesus shows up in those places where people and communities, like the man from Gerasene, are bound by chains and where we bind each other with chains.  Where we claim demon possession and where we are possessed.  Jesus shows up and exposes the injustice and names the evil. 

And Jesus begins the scary process of healing, because the whole community is broken when one person is bound by chains,

            when one person is sent away,

                        when one person does not belong.

We are all broken. 

And yet Jesus comes to our brokenness and recognizes us. 

Jesus claims us as beloved and as we work to follow Jesus,

            Jesus sends us to Proclaim the healing and wholeness,

                        to glorify God even in our new and scary reality.

Jesus breaks the chains that bind the Gerasene man possessed by demons

            and the chains that bind us. 

Jesus shows up at gay bars and Bible studies;

            in deserts and rivers;

                        in bread broken and parades marched;

            with rainbows and love and hope for a new way

                        and a new world where all live,

                                    claimed as family. 

Because Jesus doesn’t leave anyone beyond hope. 

            Jesus doesn’t leave anyone for dead. Ever.

Thanks be to God.

heartbreak

My heart broke twice today.  Once before worship and once on the way home and it is still broken.  Before worship, I learned of an act of domestic terrorism on my people.  A gunman killed over 50 people and wounded more in the largest mass shooting in this country last night.  What some people didn’t say is that Pulse, the club the man opened fire at is a queer club in Orlando, Florida.  My heart broke.  And yet, from the start, this has been labeled an act of domestic terror. 

Before worship I had no news of the attacker.  It was weird to not hear any details apart from gender about this man and yet to know that it was being considered domestic terrorism.  During worship we prayed for the victims of the domestic terrorism last night and we prayed for the victims of domestic terrorism almost a year ago at Mother Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, South Carolina.  June 17th of last year a terrorist who is a member of mydenomination opened fire on a Bible Study.  This was not called domestic terrorism by much of the media and much of the country, but that is what it was.  In Charleston, the shooter was white.

After worship, as I looked at the reports, I found out that the shooter was Muslim and claimed to be attacking for ISIS.  My heart broke again.  That is why it was called domestic terrorism from the start.  It is an act of domestic terrorism.  Not because the shooter was Muslim, but because that’s what the act was.  The attack on Mother Emanuel was an act of domestic terrorism also.

My heart is broken.  This is terrible and yet our own community is not allowed to donate blood for those who were injured.  Our own community is still barred from donating blood to the Red Cross even as we are bleeding ourselves. 

Our own community is killed all the time.  Trans women of color, the originatorsof Pride Marches, the reason we celebrate Pride this month, face this threat in their own lives ALL. THE. TIME.  Now it is also hitting the places we go to be free, the mainstream.  To be ourselves and let our guard down.  This is not a new reality.  Maybe for some, but for many this is one more thing in a daily reality of fear for LGBTQ lives, especially for trans women of color everywhere.

My heart is broken.  It has been for a long time.  

To those of you who are straight, cis folks, you get to be heartbroken with us and pray with us, but I also expect you to do something: Change the gun laws. Preach from the pulpit. Educate people about Islam and LGBTQ folks, especially those in the BTQ category. Be present at TDOR in November. Change blood donation laws. Give money to LGBTQ organizations (especially organizations from/for communities of color and BTQ folks). Confess, repent, receive forgiveness.

God is faithful until death and gives the crown of life.

We're going off the lectionary for the rest of the summer and I'm preaching on people's favorite bible passages.  This week's favorite bible passage was from Revelation 2, specifically verse 10b: "Be faithful until death and I will give you the crown of life."

The first reading was Job 19:1-12.

The gospel was Luke 12:22-31. 

A reading from Revelation (2:8-11).

God says,

⁸“And to the angel of the church in Smyrna write:

       These are the words of the first and the last,

              who was dead and came to life:

                     ⁹“I know your affliction and your poverty,

                            even though you are rich.

                     I know the slander on the part of those

                            who say that they are Jews and are not,

                                   but are a synagogue of Satan.

                     ¹⁰Do not fear what you are about to suffer.

                            Beware, the devil is about to throw some of you into prison

                                   so that you may be tested,

                                   and for ten days you will have affliction.

                     Be faithful until death,

                            and I will give you the crown of life.

                     ¹¹Let anyone who has an ear listen

                            to what the Spirit is saying to the churches.

                                   Whoever conquers will not be harmed by the second death.

The word of the Lord.

-----

Today’s readings are a bit of a mixed bag.  Job complains about the treatment and poor advice of his friends toward his trials and tribulations while in Revelation we hear God’s words to the church in Smyrna, a community of faith that is afflicted even in its affluence, facing persecution.  And into the midst of that fear God speaks words of encouragement. “Be faithful until death, and I will give you the crown of life.”

God is saying, “No matter what may come, I am with you.  I have chosen you as my own.”  God does not promise an easy life.  God does not even promise survival.  These words are spoken into the midst of suffering and persecution.  I wonder how those who gathered for Bible Study at Mother Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston would hear these words.  "Be faithful until death, and I will give you the crown of life."  Or those whose church buildings have been set ablaze.  What would they hear in these assurances from God? 

But God is the only one who can speak encouragement into persecution and into suffering because God is speaking as one who suffered the deepest depths of torture and death on the cross.  God knows the pain and the sorrow of each community and still speaks words of promise and assurance.

God knows Job’s complaints as he confronts his friends and laments that “God breaks me down on every side, and I am gone, God has uprooted my hope like a tree.”  Job is in the full throes of his despair and yet God knows them and knows it is not the full story.

The ravens have food enough, the lilies are clothed in splendor and Jesus declares, “Of how much more value are you than the birds!”  Job’s worth and yours is so immense that it is immeasurable to God.

Claimed in the waters of baptism, God put our sinful selves to death with Christ, bringing us to new life in the crucified and risen one, giving us “the crown of life.”  We have been put to death and yet are alive, poor even in richness.

As Lutherans especially, we live into the paradox of things that appear to be opposites—dead yet alive, sinner and saint, living into God’s reign on earth, even as it has yet to be fully realized.  Even our language about God is paradoxical!  Jesus is both fully human and fully divine.  God is the alpha and the omega, or as in Revelation, “the first and the last, who was dead and came to life.”  God is a paradox, a mysterious mix of unknown and knowable.

Right now we have many people trying to win the crown to rule our country.  Ok, it might not be an actual crown, but sometimes it seems like that with all the pageantry and pontificating.

Political campaigns are the perfect place to examine human hypocrisy, human paradox.  Each campaign works overtime to root out opponents’ hypocrisies—flip flop positions, suspect donors, and actions that don’t match up with stated values.

Lesson learned:            everyone is a hypocrite:                        you, me, every one of the many candidates for president on all sides;            we’re all hypocrites.  In theological language we could say that “we have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” (Romans 3:23) 

The hypocrisy is not that we fall short, but that we pretend we do not.  We put on a face of perfection, we do our best to appear to all the world as beings without fault, totally put together, without sin, without any complicity in injustice, completely unbroken and unwavering in our faith.

But we proclaim Christ crucified.  The cross, an instrument of political torture used to keep Jesus in his place, has become the symbol of life.  It is our theology based precisely on this cross            that compels us to name reality as it is.   

We mess up.  We are complicit in injustice.  We do not do everything we can to stop the killing of children of God of African descent, we shy away from tough conversations even as we know their importance.  We harm ourselves and we harm others.  We doubt and we worry.  We are slowly being put to death by the subtle ways our culture undermines all of our humanity.

But lest you preemptively despair, joining Job in his lament that “God has stripped my glory from me, and taken the crown from my head,” remember God’s words in Revelation, “Be faithful until death, and I will give you the crown of life.”

God comes in to save us.  Putting us to death with Christ in our baptism, making us “faithful until death” in order to “give [us] the crown of life.”  God makes us alive again with Christ.

God gives the crown of life to the whole body of Christ, not just you or me or Christ the King or even the whole ELCA, but the whole body of Christ, the whole church.  The crown of life empowers us to live into our new identities as saints in Christ and empowers us to name the ways we are still sinners, the ways we don’t measure up, because no one ever does.  No one can measure up.  And no one has to. 

God doesn’t ask us to be perfect.  God doesn’t ask us to do better than everyone else.  God’s hope is that we will be ourselves, that we will live into our identities as beloved children of God.  God bestows love and blessing on us.  “Be faithful until death,” death at the hands of a racist man with a gun in bible study or at the end of a long life, and even death in the waters of baptism, whether those waters poured over you last year or decades ago.  God’s faithfulness in death brings us to the death of Christ in the waters of baptism so that God may “give [us] the crown of life.”

In our baptism we are crowned with the crown of life, that whatever may come, whatever our mess ups and triumphs may be, our God who loves us is the God of new life.  The God of hope.  The God of our future, with us now and always.

Thanks be to God.

Jesus heals: 5th after pentecost

The holy gospel according to Mark (5:21-43)

²¹When Jesus had crossed again in the boat to the other side,

       a great crowd gathered around him;

              and he was by the sea.

       ²²Then one of the leaders of the synagogue named Jairus came

              and, when he saw Jesus, fell at his feet

              ²³and begged him repeatedly,

                     “My little daughter is at the point of death.

                            Come and lay your hands on her,

                                   so that she may be made well,

                                          and live.”

²⁴So Jesus went with him.

And a large crowd followed him

        and pressed in on him.

       ²⁵Now there was a woman

              who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years.

              ²⁶She had endured much under many physicians,

                     and had spent all that she had;

                            and she was no better,

                                   but rather grew worse.

              ²⁷She had heard about Jesus,

                     and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak,

                            ²⁸for she said,

                                   “If I but touch his clothes,

                                          I will be made well.”

                            ²⁹Immediately her hemorrhage stopped;

                                   and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease.

                            ³⁰Immediately aware that power had gone forth from him,

                                   Jesus turned about in the crowd and said,

                                          “Who touched my clothes?”

                                   ³¹And his disciples said to him,

                                          “You see the crowd pressing in on you;

                                                 how can you say, ‘Who touched me?’”

                                   ³²Jesus looked all around to see who had done it.

                                          ³³But the woman,

                                                 knowing what had happened to her,

                                                        came in fear and trembling,

                                                        fell down before him,

                                                        and told him the whole truth.

                                   ³⁴He said to her,

                                          “Daughter, your faith has made you well;

                                                 go in peace,

                                                 and be healed of your disease.”

³⁵While he was still speaking,

       some people came from the leader’s house to say,

              “Your daughter is dead.

                     Why trouble the teacher any further?”

       ³⁶But overhearing what they said,

              Jesus said to the leader of the synagogue,

                     “Do not fear,

                            only believe.”

              ³⁷Jesus allowed no one to follow him

                     except Peter, James, and John, the brother of James.

              ³⁸When they came to the house of the leader of the synagogue,

                     Jesus saw a commotion,

                            people weeping and wailing loudly.

                     ³⁹When he had entered, he said to them,

                            “Why do you make a commotion and weep?

                                   The child is not dead but sleeping.”

                     ⁴⁰And they laughed at him.

              Then he put them all outside,

                     and took the child’s father and mother

                     and those who were with him,

                            and went in where the child was.

                     ⁴¹Jesus took her by the hand and said to her,

                            “Talitha cum,”

                                   which means, “Little girl, get up!”

                            ⁴²And immediately the girl got up

                                   and began to walk about

                                          (she was twelve years of age).

                                                 At this they were overcome with amazement.

                     ⁴³Jesus strictly ordered them that no one should know this,

                            and told them to give her something to eat.

The gospel of the Lord.

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When I was living and going to school in Buenos Aires, Argentina during college, one of my favorite times of the week was when I would ride on the packed buses during rush hour on my way to my internship.  I loved being crowded in with so many others for those rides.

I loved it because one of the most comforting things in life for me is touch.  Physical contact with others—physical affirmation of life and reality.  In a country where I often felt alone and out of place, physical contact put me squarely in place—I was physically present with others.  It wasn’t just that squeezing in with others on a crowded rush hour bus was a delight—it was pretty smelly in the heat and as a young woman I also ran the risk of being the recipient of bad touch.

The gift of being squeezed in was precisely when I was feeling cast out—like I didn’t belong.  Not because I was trying not to belong, but simply because of who I was as a young, estadounidensa (United Statesian), whose first language was not Spanish.  I didn’t fit in and yet in our humanness—our physicality—I fit.

Today’s gospel reminds me a lot of my time in Argentina—of the crowded bus rides, of feeling out of place, and of a certain desperation for Jesus’ healing touch.

Today Jairus, a leader in the synagogue, comes to Jesus and even he is moved to touch as he falls at Jesus’ feet, begging for Jesus’ healing touch for his daughter.  He comes to Jesus and Jesus, who is for the healing and wholeness of all people and all of creation, joins Jairus and they head off.

But as they set out, this out of place, lowly woman—one who has no man to make a request for her and who literally touches his cloak and then when coming clean falls down before Jesus.  This lowly woman interrupts the trip to Jairus’ house.  Jesus stops.  He creates space for this woman who has no place.

In their shared contact, Jesus restores this woman to wholeness and to community that she has not had for 12 years.

This week many of us have rejoiced with the Supreme Court’s decision to strike down marriage bans in the remaining states, a decision in favor of marriage equality.  We have also rejoiced with the decision to uphold protections against racial discrimination with respect to housing, protection of our health care system, and a step against mandatory minimums and toward reform for the criminal justice system.  It is as if we are with the woman as the touch of Jesus’ cloak heals not us, necessarily, but some of the discrimination faced in this country.  For so many long years we have been bleeding and now we are beginning to heal.

There is certainly more work to be done: homelessness, bullying, and death among lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer people, especially people of color, mass incarceration, more affordability in health care, and other subtle forms of racism still need to be addressed, but we are one step closer.  Jesus assures us that our faith has made us well.

And then comes heartbreak.  On top of the stress and immediacy of heading off to Jairus’ house and the interruption by this woman, news comes of the fate of Jairus’ daughter. 

At our healing, Jairus’ daughter is declared dead.  Friday morning ELCA Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton, Bishop Herman Yoos of the South Carolina Synod, Judith Roberts the director for ELCA Racial Justice Ministries, and Rev. Albert Starr the director for ELCA Ethnic Specific and Multicultural Ministries, President Obama, and countless others gathered to pay their respects, say their goodbyes, and celebrate a well-lived life cut short.  The Honorable Reverend Clementa Pinckney was laid to rest in Marion County, South Carolina.

In addition to that, on Tuesday, June 23^rd, God’s Power Church of Christ, a predominately black church, in Macon, Georgia was deliberately set on fire.  Wednesday, June 24^th Briar Creek Baptist Church, a predominately black church, in Charlotte, North Carolina was deliberately set on fire.  Friday, June 26^th Glover Grove Missionary Baptist Church, a predominately black church, in Warrenville, South Carolina was engulfed in flames—the cause is still being investigated.   

These predominately Black churches are burning and though no one died in any of these fires, we, with society say, “Your daughter is dead.”  Our daughter is dead.  Our siblings, the body of Christ in these places is dead.  There is only enough healing, only enough justice, for some of us, not for all of us and we’ve used it on this woman, we’ve used it on marriage equality.

But that is not how Jesus works!  This is not a zero-sum game with only so much justice, only so much healing, to go around.  So Jesus’ response is not “too late” but instead, “Do not fear, only believe.”

As we gather here, we crowd around and press in on each other, pressing in on Jesus.  We gather and can feel Jesus’ spirit—his presence with us.  Maybe we sense the healing we need and we are the ones who touch his cloak.  We are all in need of healing and our society is in need of deep healing.  If only we could separate it all out and make an orderly line.  Then we’d all have a chance and get the healing we needed one at a time.  But we are convinced that there is only so much Jesus, only so much healing to go around.  It must be now!  So we gather and we crowd in, brushing against each other, pushing up against Jesus, against others, and even against this woman who is receiving healing.

And that’s the key.  Jesus comes for our physicality.  God becomes incarnate, takes on our humanness, our fleshy nature, because God so desperately wants to be with us.  That is the God who comes to us in Jesus.  Not a God interested in orderly lines, but a God who draws crowds, whose touch brings healing, who assures us that death is not the final word and that we are not alone.

Jesus doesn’t ask us to keep the events going on in the world separate—to process only one at a time.  To deal with Mother Emanuel AME Church last week, the Supreme Court marriage decision this week, and then maybe next week get to the burning churches, the housing discrimination, and when will we even get to what is going on in our own faith community in our own lives??

But as with today’s Gospel, Jesus creates space for the many emotions and events that occur each day, overlapping and mixing in with each other.  So Jesus frees us to rejoice with Supreme Court decisions even as we mourn with Mother Emanuel AME Church and the congregations whose church buildings are covered in smoke and ash.  Jesus frees us to feel the heaviness of the approaching end of our time together as Christ the King and to commit ourselves to work for racial justice so that all of our siblings in Christ will be treated with the human dignity they deserve. 

Like the rush hour buses in Argentina, we are packed full with so many different emotions as we ride through life, and what a gift to be able to feel so much and so deeply.  What a gift for these emotions to squeeze in with each other, to bump against each other rather than trying to overtake each other.

Last week we wrestled together with the racism that has rocked our country and our consciences.  This last week three predominantly black churches were attacked—burned down in North Carolina, Georgia, and South Carolina.  Our work as the body of Christ is not done, even as we end our ministry as Christ the King.  Our work may not be done within our lifetimes, but it also is not dependent on us.  If it were, we’d be in big trouble. 

Our relationships, our reality in life together, our physicality come from God’s presence with us.  Jesus’ incarnation, physically coming to us lays the foundation and the steps on our path toward God’s ultimate reign here on earth.  Our presence with each other, making space even when we don’t fit anywhere else—being able to have honest conversations about things as difficult as racism, privilege, and oppression matters.

These relationships matter.  These conversations matter.  The joy of God’s love matters.  The gift of sharing it with others matters.  Jesus’ presence with and for us matters.  Touch and physicality matter.  Yes, all lives matter, and now especially, #BlackLivesMatter.  And Jesus’ healing touch matters most of all.  That is what gathers us together, what creates a space for us when we have no other place. 

Jesus comes to us and Jesus leads us on.  In the face of news that our daughter is dead, that churches are burning and people are dying and our congregation is closing, Jesus says “Do not fear, only believe.”  Jesus leads us on to healing, to wholeness, to justice.  Jesus takes us into Jairus’ house.  Jesus gathers us around this little girl’s bed and brings new life from her!  Jesus stops the bleeding for the woman on the road and brings life to this little girl. 

If we had given up after the woman was healed, or not even begun the journey, we would not know Jesus’ healing power.  But we did and Jesus keeps leading us down the road.  Jesus keeps showing us his way of love and justice.  Jesus heals us and the world, feeding us with himself—the Bread of Life, new chances and new life every week.

Thanks be to God.