Before we begin, I invite you to name—silently or aloud—something in our world or community that breaks your heart.

Beloved in Christ, today’s readings bring us face to face with grief, with injustice, and with the uncomfortable truth that faithfulness is not always tidy. Jeremiah weeps. The psalmist pleads. Paul instructs. And Jesus tells a story that leaves us scratching our heads. What do these texts have to say to us—here, now—in our own time of lament and longing?

Jeremiah cries out: “My joy is gone, grief is upon me, my heart is sick.” He speaks not only for himself but for a people who have lost their way. The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and still, they are not saved. And then comes that haunting line: “Is there no balm in Gilead?”

It’s a question we’ve all asked. When the world feels broken—when violence, division, and despair seem to have the final word—we wonder: Is healing even possible?

Psalm 79 echoes this lament. Jerusalem lies in ruins. The people are mocked. The psalmist doesn’t sugarcoat it. He pleads: “Do not remember against us the iniquities of our ancestors… Help us, O God of our salvation.”

This is not polite prayer. It’s raw, honest, desperate. And it reminds us that lament is not a failure of faith—it’s a faithful response to suffering. It’s what we do when we refuse to pretend that all is well.

Into this grief, Paul speaks a word of instruction: “I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for everyone.” Everyone. Even kings. Even those in authority. Even those we struggle to understand or trust.

Why? “So that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and dignity.” Paul isn’t naïve. He knows the world is messy. But he believes that prayer is a way of participating in God’s reconciling work. It’s not passive—it’s powerful.

And Paul reminds us that God desires everyone to be saved. Not just the righteous. Not just the insiders. Everyone. That’s the wideness of God’s mercy. That’s the balm Jeremiah longed for.

And then we come to Luke. Jesus tells a story about a dishonest manager who, facing termination, cuts deals to secure his future. It’s a strange parable. Is Jesus praising dishonesty?

Not quite. He’s pointing to something deeper: the urgency of the moment. The manager acts decisively. He uses what he has—however imperfectly—to prepare for what’s coming.

Jesus says, “The children of this age are more shrewd… than the children of light.” It’s a challenge. Are we using our resources—our time, our money, our influence—for the sake of the kingdom? Or are we clinging to comfort?

And then comes the punchline: “You cannot serve God and wealth.” The Greek word is mammon—more than money, it’s the seductive pull of security, status, control. Jesus isn’t condemning wealth itself. He’s warning us about misplaced trust.

So what do we do with all this?

• We start with lament. We name the grief. We refuse to look away. We join Jeremiah and the psalmist in crying out for healing.

• We move to intercession. We pray for our leaders, our neighbors, our enemies. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s holy.

• And we live with urgency. We use what we have—our gifts, our resources, our voice—for the sake of love. We refuse to serve mammon. We choose God.

Because there is a balm in Gilead. It’s not always instant. It’s not always obvious. But it’s real. And it flows through the tears of prophets, the prayers of the faithful, and the choices we make every day.

So, beloved, let us lament boldly. Let us pray deeply. And let us live shrewdly—not for ourselves, but for the kingdom. For there is healing. There is hope. And there is One who gave Himself as a ransom for all. Thanks be to God. Amen.