Today’s readings offer a rich and layered invitation—to trust in restoration, to walk humbly, to endure faithfully, and to receive mercy. They speak to seasons of drought and abundance, to moments of defeat and triumph, and to the quiet transformation that happens when we stop performing and start praying.

Let’s begin with the prophet Joel. The writer speaks to a people who have known devastation. The locusts have stripped the land bare. The fields are empty. The joy has withered. And into that desolation, God speaks: “Do not fear, O soil… be glad and rejoice, for the Lord has done great things” (Joel 2:21). The promise is not just survival… it’s restoration. “I will repay you for the years that the swarming locust has eaten” (v.25).

And then comes the promise that echoes through Pentecost and into our own lives: “I will pour out my spirit on all flesh… your sons and your daughters shall prophesy… even on the male and female slaves, in those days, I will pour out my spirit” (vv.28–29).

This is radical inclusion. It’s divine generosity. God’s Spirit is not reserved for the elite—it is poured out on all flesh. On the young and the old, the powerful and the powerless, the insiders and the outsiders.

Psalm 65 sings in harmony with this promise. “You visit the earth and water it… you crown the year with your bounty” (Ps 65:9,11). The psalmist sees God’s hand in the rhythms of creation—in the softening of soil, the filling of rivers, the overflowing of meadows. It’s a vision of abundance, but also of attentiveness. God does not forget the earth. God does not forget us.

And yet, abundance alone is not enough. Restoration is not just about rain – it’s about repentance.

And THAT is where Luke’s parable comes in.

Jesus tells of two men who go to the temple to pray. One is a Pharisee, the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stands tall, listing his virtues: “I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income” (Luke 18:12). He’s not really praying, he’s performing. He’s not seeking mercy; rather, he’s seeking validation.

But the tax collector stands far off. He won’t even lift his eyes. He beats his chest and says, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” (v.13). And Jesus says, “This man went down to his home justified rather than the other” (v.14).

It’s a reversal. The one who seemed righteous is not. The one who seemed unworthy is lifted up.

This parable is not just about prayer… it’s about posture. It’s about the difference between self-congratulation and surrender. Between pride and repentance. Between performance and presence.

And then we hear Paul’s voice.

In 2 Timothy, Paul is nearing the end. “I am already being poured out as a libation,” he writes, “and the time of my departure has come” (2 Tim 4:6). He’s not bitter—he’s resolute. “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith” (v.7).

But Paul also names his loneliness. “At my first defense no one came to my support… but the Lord stood by me and gave me strength” (v.16–17). Even in abandonment, Paul finds presence. Even in weakness, he finds grace.

So what do these texts say to us today? They say: God restores. Even the years the locusts have eaten. They say: God Spirit is poured out … on all flesh, not just the favored few. They say: God crowns the year with bounty, softens the soil, fills the rivers. They say: God lifts up the humble, justifies the repentant, and hears the prayers that come not from pride, but from brokenness. And they say: God stands by us—even when others don’t. God strengthens us—even when we feel poured out.

So let us be people of humility, not performance. Let us be people of prayer, not pretense. Let us be people who trust in restoration, who endure with grace, and who receive mercy with open hands.

And let us be people of grateful living and faithful giving. Grateful living begins with the tax collector’s prayer—“God, be merciful to me”—and continues with a life shaped by that mercy. It’s the posture of the heart that says, “All I have is gift.” It’s the awareness that the rain, the Spirit, the strength to endure—all of it flows from God’s generosity.

Faithful giving is our response. It’s not just about money—it’s about offering ourselves. Like Paul, poured out as a libation. Like the psalmist, singing of abundance. Like the widow, showing up again and again, trusting that justice will come.

When we live gratefully, we give faithfully. We give our time, our resources, our prayers, our presence—not to earn favor, but to reflect it. Not to perform, but to participate in God’s restoring work.

Because, beloved, the Spirit is still being poured out. The soil is still being softened. And the God who justifies the humble is still lifting up those who dare to say, “God, be merciful to me.”

So let us live with gratitude. Let us give with faith. And let us be the kind of community where restoration is not just preached—but practiced. Amen.