The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost – September 6, 2025

There’s something holy about watching a potter at work. Hands covered in clay, eyes focused, the wheel spinning steadily. The potter leans in, not just to shape, but to listen. To feel the resistance. To respond to the imperfections. And when the vessel collapses or cracks, the potter doesn’t throw it away. The potter begins again.

This is the image God gives Jeremiah: “Can I not do with you as this potter has done?” It’s not a threat – it’s an invitation. To be reshaped. To be reformed. To be included in the work of love.

Today’s readings take us on a journey: from formation to intimacy, from reconciliation to discipleship. And at the heart of it all is this truth: God’s love is not passive. It’s active. It shapes, it knows, it reconciles, and it calls us to include others, even when it costs us something.

Jeremiah stands in the potter’s house and watches clay become form. But the clay resists. It’s marred. And so the potter begins again, not discarding, but reshaping.

This is God’s posture toward us. Not one of condemnation, but of creativity. God sees our brokenness, our resistance, our missed turns, and still chooses to begin again.

This is the foundation of inclusion. No one is too far gone. No community is beyond reform. God’s love is not a one-time offer, it’s a lifelong shaping.

And if we are clay in God’s hands, then we must also be willing to see others as clay – not finished products, not labels, not threats – but works in progress, held by the same hands of grace.

If Jeremiah shows us God’s hands, Psalm 139 shows us God’s heart.

“You have searched me, Lord, and you know me.” Not just our actions, but our thoughts. Not just our words, but the ones we haven’t spoken yet.

This is radical intimacy. God sees us fully…and still calls us “wonderfully made.”

Inclusion begins here: not with programs or policies, but with the conviction that every person is known and loved by God. Every story matters. Every life bears the imprint of divine design.

Even the darkness is not dark to God. Even the places we hide – out of shame, fear, or exhaustion – are places God enters with light.

So when we talk about inclusion, we’re not talking about charity. We’re talking about recognition. Seeing others as God sees them: fearfully and wonderfully made.

And then we meet Paul, writing to Philemon about Onesimus—a runaway slave who has become a brother in Christ. Paul doesn’t demand. He appeals “on the basis of love.” He asks Philemon to receive Onesimus not as property, but as family.

This is gospel-shaped inclusion. It doesn’t just welcome, it redefines. It breaks down hierarchies. It rewrites relationships.

Imagine what this meant for the early church: a slave and a master sitting side by side at the Lord’s table. No longer divided by status, but united by grace. Imagine what this looks like in our lives today… who would be sitting side by side?

Paul’s letter is short, but its implications are vast. Inclusion means reconciliation. It means seeing the person we once excluded as a sibling. It means letting love rewrite the story.

And then Jesus turns to the crowd and says something that stops us in our tracks: “Whoever does not hate father and mother… cannot be my disciple.”

It’s jarring. But Jesus isn’t calling us to despise our families… Jesus is calling us to re-order our loves.

To follow Jesus means placing him above every other loyalty. Even the ones that feel sacred. Even the ones that feel safe.

Inclusion is not sentimental. It’s sacrificial. It means letting go of comfort, control, and sometimes reputation.

Jesus tells us to count the cost. Because discipleship isn’t just about being shaped…it’s about being sent. It’s about choosing love even when it’s inconvenient. Even when it disrupts our categories. Even when it stretches our hearts.

So what does this mean for us?

It means we are clay – being shaped by love. It means we are known – intimately, fully, and still called wonderful. It means we are reconciled – not just to God, but to one another. And it means we are called – to a costly, inclusive discipleship that reflects the heart of Jesus.

May we be a community that welcomes like the potter, sees like the psalmist, reconciles like Paul, and follows like the disciples.

Because love is not just a feeling – it’s a formation. And inclusion is not just a value – it’s a vocation.
Amen.