21 September 2025: Ordinary 25 Year C
Lectionary Texts: Jeremiah 8:18-9:1; Psalm 79:1-9; 1 Timothy 2:1-7; Luke 16:1-13
Below, you will find a story and a shorter version (less than 300 words) that could be used as a newsletter reflection. Some sermon topics and ideas based on the Sunday lectionary readings are also included.
The story will be based on one of the topics, which will be identified, and my sermon topic will also be identified.
When the Rubble Speaks
Based on Psalm 79:1-9 – Ruins testify to injustice and the consequences of human choices.
Warning: This story draws on real events from the author’s life during wartime. The narrative depicts bombings, injury, and the aftermath of destruction, which may be distressing for some readers. While based on true experiences, the timeline has been rearranged to express the themes of lament, resilience, and communal action reflected in the Psalm reading and the story’s topic.
I was nine years old. Rockets screamed overhead, rattling windows and shaking concrete walls. Dust filled the apartment as we crouched behind whatever we could, hearts pounding, counting each thump. Then, suddenly, silence.
My father grabbed my hand. “Come on!” he yelled. I ran after him through streets thick with dust and rubble. Smoke curled from a building hit just moments before, chunks of brick and concrete scattered across the asphalt. Neighbours were already running toward it, lifting slabs, sweeping shattered glass, checking if anyone was trapped. I followed immediately, barely thinking, only acting.
We worked fast. Concrete beams were dragged aside with grunts and heaves, broken bricks swept into piles, windows patched with nylon stretched taut over jagged frames. A plank jammed under a leaning wall held it upright temporarily. Someone held up a half-fixed cabinet, screws spilling onto the street, and a neighbour laughed: “Factory leftovers! Keep them out here for coffee breaks!” We laughed too. Absurdity amidst chaos made our hands lighter, our hearts steadier.
Kids ran around us, turning chunks of rubble into wickets, balancing beams like bats, tossing stones as balls. Shouts, laughter, and dust swirled around them. One kid missed the stone entirely, sending it skimming into a pile of bricks, and the others collapsed laughing. Even in the middle of danger, play went on.
When the Rubble Speaks
Based on Psalm 79:1-9 – Ruins testify to injustice and the consequences of human choices.
Warning: This story draws on real events from the author’s life during wartime. The narrative depicts bombings, injury, and the aftermath of destruction, which may be distressing for some readers. While based on true experiences, the timeline has been rearranged to express the themes of lament, resilience, and communal action reflected in the Psalm reading and the story’s topic.
I was nine years old. Rockets screamed overhead, rattling windows and shaking concrete walls. Dust filled the apartment as we crouched behind whatever we could, hearts pounding, counting each thump. Then, suddenly, silence.
My father grabbed my hand. “Come on!” he yelled. I ran after him through streets thick with dust and rubble. Smoke curled from a building hit just moments before, chunks of brick and concrete scattered across the asphalt. Neighbours were already running toward it, lifting slabs, sweeping shattered glass, checking if anyone was trapped. I followed immediately, barely thinking, only acting.
We worked fast. Concrete beams were dragged aside with grunts and heaves, broken bricks swept into piles, windows patched with nylon stretched taut over jagged frames. A plank jammed under a leaning wall held it upright temporarily. Someone held up a half-fixed cabinet, screws spilling onto the street, and a neighbour laughed: “Factory leftovers! Keep them out here for coffee breaks!” We laughed too. Absurdity amidst chaos made our hands lighter, our hearts steadier.
Kids ran around us, turning chunks of rubble into wickets, balancing beams like bats, tossing stones as balls. Shouts, laughter, and dust swirled around them. One kid missed the stone entirely, sending it skimming into a pile of bricks, and the others collapsed laughing. Even in the middle of danger, play went on.
As I grew older, I stopped following my father so closely. I had to make my own decisions. There were no sirens, no announcements. Only sudden blasts, and you either ran or stayed. Once, I froze over a half-patched window, hand on a stray bolt, when a distant thud jolted me. I grabbed what I could and sprinted, dodging fallen concrete, while my father’s voice shouted instructions over the dust.
Not every street moved as we did. Some areas lay untouched, rubble left to linger. People there had every right to mourn, to lament the destruction. We didn’t have that luxury; there was too much to do, too little time. We patched walls, cleared debris, and carried what we could. We let those who had lost homes cry while we fixed them. When the next bombardment returned, we were in shelters, safe enough to grieve later. There was a rhythm: a time to cry, a time to act.
One street, just a few blocks from our apartment, bore a heavier weight. A friend had died there, steps from his home. I didn’t see him that day, but days later, I walked past. The street was alive again. Dust hung in the air, but broken bricks had been swept aside, walls patched with nylon, and concrete slabs carefully moved. Life resumed, relentless and quiet.
The work never lost its absurdities. One concrete plank, too heavy to move far, leaned against a wall while we paused for a sip of water. We joked it was our bench. Children launched imaginary cricket balls at us as we hammered, lifted, and dodged. Slabs of concrete and jagged bricks became wickets and bats in their games. Fear was real, but laughter carried us.
Even decades later, I remember the charcoal chicken shop at the end of one street, its smoke curling invitingly despite dust and rubble around it. We repaired the buildings around it, swept the streets, left scraps for laughter, play, and survival. That smell, ordinary, comforting, reminded us that small joys persist even in chaos.
The contrast between streets is still stark. Areas we moved through immediately, lifting heavy concrete, patching walls, and clearing debris, became streets of resilience. Buildings were repaired, doors replaced, windows patched, and laughter resumed. Nearby streets, left untouched in those first frantic hours, still bear their scars. Crumbling concrete, gaping windows, skeletal remains of buildings, markers of hesitation, fear, or circumstance frozen in time. One side shows ingenuity, courage, and shared effort. The other shows what happens when rubble is left to wait. Forty years later, the city still carries both the power of action and the weight of inaction.
Sermon Topics and Ideas
- Tears That Refuse to Dry
- Jeremiah 8:18–9:1 – Lamenting grief that refuses to be silenced.
- Jeremiah’s grief is raw and unfiltered — a reminder that faith is not about holding it all together.
- In a culture that often numbs pain with distraction, entertainment, or busyness, this passage invites us to stay present to sorrow.
- Our tears can become prophetic, naming what is broken and what is unjust.
- God does not look away from grief, but meets us in it — tears can be the place where healing begins.
- The Balm We Refuse
- Jeremiah 8:18–9:1 – God’s healing is available, but human hearts must choose it.
- The question is not whether God provides healing, but whether we are willing to apply it.
- We may prefer anger, resentment, or apathy over reconciliation and repair.
- Healing is costly — it may require us to forgive, to let go of advantage, or to risk vulnerability.
- God’s balm is available, but it works through human hands and hearts choosing compassion and justice.
- The Prophet Who Wept for Us
- Jeremiah 8:18–9:1 – God stands alongside those who suffer.
- Jeremiah does not stand above the people but alongside them, sharing their pain.
- God’s representatives are not immune from lament — they model solidarity.
- In the tears of the prophet we glimpse the heart of God, aching for God’s people.
- Leadership is not just teaching or guiding; it is also weeping with those who weep.
- God’s Heart in Our Tears ‡
- Jeremiah 8:18–9:1 – Our tears are holy and meet with divine compassion.
- Our tears are not wasted — they can be prayers too deep for words.
- God is present in grief, not absent from it.
- Tears connect us with the suffering of others, awakening compassion.
- Lament is not weakness but an act of faith, trusting that God hears and responds.
- When the Rubble Speaks †
- Psalm 79:1–9 – Ruins testify to injustice and the consequences of human choices.
- The psalm names destruction vividly — ruins themselves become witnesses.
- Injustice leaves a scar on the land, and creation itself bears the weight of human choices.
- What ruins around us testify to greed, neglect, or violence — environmental collapse, broken communities, abandoned relationships?
- Listening to the rubble forces us to reckon with what has been lost, not just move on quickly.
- Reputation vs. Repentance
- Psalm 79:1–9 – True change matters more than appearances.
- The psalm appeals to God’s reputation — “for the sake of your name.”
- We too can fall into caring about appearances over substance.
- Churches may be more concerned with looking healthy than with living faithfully.
- True repentance seeks transformation, not just saving face.
- God, Remember Not Our Past
- Psalm 79:1–9 – God’s mercy outweighs our regrets and failures.
- The psalm pleads for mercy against the weight of ancestral sin.
- Many carry shame or regret for the past — both personal and communal.
- God’s mercy is greater than memory; God’s love can cut through guilt.
- We are called to live as people forgiven, not chained to yesterday.
- The Mercy Bigger Than Ruins (Think of the movie Pay It Forward)
- Psalm 79:1–9 – Hope and mercy endure even when all seems lost.
- Even when everything is broken, the psalm turns to God for hope.
- Mercy is not limited by circumstances — it comes precisely where we are most powerless.
- The ruins are not the end of the story; God’s compassion can rebuild life.
- Hope is found not in our ability to repair but in God’s unfailing love.
- Praying for the Ones We Can’t Stand
- 1 Timothy 2:1–7 – Prayer reshapes hearts, even for those we dislike.
- The text calls us to pray for rulers, whether we agree with them or not.
- Prayer reshapes our attitude, freeing us from bitterness and cynicism.
- Refusing to pray for our enemies keeps us stuck in resentment.
- Prayer does not excuse wrongdoing but opens the door for transformation.
- One Mediator, Not Many Middlemen
- 1 Timothy 2:1–7 – Christ alone bridges humanity and God.
- Christ alone is mediator — we do not need others to stand between us and God.
- In practice, we can outsource faith to leaders, celebrities, or systems.
- This passage reminds us of direct access to God through Christ.
- Faith is not about finding the right “expert” but trusting the one mediator.
- The Prayer That Unites Enemies
- 1 Timothy 2:1–7 – Prayer binds humanity across divides.
- Prayer for all people includes those we would rather exclude.
- In lifting all people before God, we recognise a shared humanity.
- Prayer draws us into solidarity with those on the other side of divides.
- The act of praying for all is itself a witness to God’s inclusive love.
- The One Who Prays With Us
- 1 Timothy 2:1–7 – Christ intercedes alongside our prayers.
- Christ does not just mediate in theory but joins in our prayers.
- Our faltering words are carried by him into God’s presence.
- Prayer is not an individual act but a shared participation in Christ’s intercession.
- In praying with Christ, we are never alone in our longings or burdens.
- Crooked Wisdom
- Luke 16:1–13 – Boldness and imagination are part of faithful action.
- Jesus praises the shrewdness of the dishonest manager, not his dishonesty.
- Faith is not about passivity but about creative action in a broken world.
- Sometimes the “crooked” people expose more courage than the “righteous.”
- The challenge is whether we act with imagination and boldness for God’s purposes.
- When Dishonesty Becomes the Sermon
- Luke 16:1–13 – Exposing systemic injustice through flawed actions.
- The manager’s actions reveal the corruption of the system he works within.
- Survival often forces those on the margins into compromise.
- Jesus turns this upside down, showing that even flawed strategies can point to resilience.
- The parable asks us to see injustice not only in individuals but in the structures themselves.
- The God Who Writes Off Debts
- Luke 16:1–13 – Divine forgiveness liberates more than human repayment.
- The manager cancels debts to protect himself, but it benefits the debtors.
- God cancels our debts without self-interest, purely out of love.
- Forgiveness is an act of divine generosity that sets us free.
- The parable echoes the Jubilee vision — debts forgiven, captives freed.
- Treasures That Don’t Go Bust
- Luke 16:1–13 – Investing in God’s fellowship yields lasting security.
- Earthly wealth is fragile and fleeting, vulnerable to loss and corruption.
- God offers treasure that is secure, untouchable, and eternal.
- Investing in God’s fellowship creates relationships that endure beyond money.
- The parable contrasts the short-term gains of wealth with the lasting riches of God’s presence.
† The story above is based on this Topic
‡ My sermon will be based on these Topics/ideas
Other Lectionary Resources
These resources are based on the lectionary readings.
- A Sermon for every Sunday – FREE lectionary-based video sermons by America’s best preachers for use in worship, Bible study, small groups, Sunday school classes, or for individual use. All you do is push the button.
- Laughing Bird – a gift to the wider Church from the South Yarra Community Baptist Church in Melbourne, Australia. Has several sermons, prayers and the lectionary bible readings.
- The Lutheran Church of Australia – A worship planning resource that includes many parts of the service, including song selections, sermons, visual arts, children’s resources, and others.
- Lectionary Liturgies – A full liturgy for each Sunday based on the lectionary readings for the week. These are liturgies that I prepare for the congregation I serve and make available to others.
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