Learning to Talk like Jesus: How to have a hard conversation ~ Luke 7:36-50

 

I love reality TV shows—especially the ones that showcase skill. Cooking competitions. Talent shows. Home renovations. Survivalists contests. There’s something compelling about watching someone who really knows what they’re doing.

If you watch closely enough, you start to learn. You notice patterns. You see instincts. You realize that skill isn’t just explained—it’s modeled. Over time, you discover that what seemed mysterious can actually be practiced.

That matters today, because we are about to step into a series that deals with a sensitive, difficult, and deeply spiritual topic - immigration. And many of us might feel anxious about that—not because we don’t care, but because we don’t know how to talk without things falling apart. As a broader society, we feel less comfortable being able to hold space for friction, disagreement, or challenge.

So before we discuss ideas, Jesus invites us to learn a skill. Our first value, “Grounded in Jesus” means that Jesus is not only our Savior; he is our teacher, as well. And he promises that “the student who is fully trained will become like the teacher” (Luke 6:40). If that’s true, then one of the most faithful things we can do is watch how Jesus handles hard conversations. When we do that, Luke 7 seems to address a pressing question for our time: How do we speak to one another in a polarized world without tearing each other apart?

Let’s be clear. Jesus does not offer a technique for winning arguments. He offers a way of seeing people—and that way of seeing seeks healing, dignity, and restored relationship for everyone involved. Jesus modeled what many now refer to as nonviolent communication: a spiritual commitment to express oneself honestly, to listen emphatically, and foster compassion and collaboration with God for others—even when conflict is real. I would like to speak about four things that Jesus does that will help us also talk and heal the world [Caveat: this isn’t all we can say on the topic but it’s a good start].

Step One: Presence Before Persuasion

The story begins with something surprisingly hopeful. A Pharisee named Simon invites Jesus to dinner—and Jesus accepts. That detail matters.

Pharisees and Jesus often clash in the Gospels, but here Simon does something courageous. He opens his home to someone he disagrees with. He doesn’t cancel Jesus. He doesn’t caricature him. He believes that Jesus is worth a conversation and a meal. This takes place in a world full of political unrest, religious tension, and social division—sound familiar? And yet the first move is not debate. It’s presence.

This is the first principle of Jesus-talk or nonviolent gospel communication: Transformation begins with conversation. Jesus teaches us that transformation starts not with arguments, but with showing up, sitting down, and staying at the table – even ones that feel tense or fraught. Friends, we must be realistic about what’s happening in our technological world. The internet, cell phones, and AI basically remove every friction possible. And that means that we are losing the social skills and muscle of sitting with challenge, uncertainty, conflict, and disagreement. Jesus reminds us, you cannot connect with hearts you refuse to sit beside.

If we are going to talk like Jesus, we must be willing to eat with people we struggle to understand, people who think differently than we do, even people who frustrate or unsettle us. We need to resist the culture of shame and destruction that has taken hold in so many of our conversations. We no longer merely disagree; we despise. We no longer seek understanding; we seek victory. We no longer hope for transformation; we imagine cancellation. Our culture trains us to destroy our opponents. Jesus trains us to eat with them.

Friends, dinner and open discussion are not distractions from discipleship; they are demonstrations of it. Jesus shows us that even those we disagree with are capable of kindness, hospitality, and genuine curiosity. Even our perceived opponents can extend grace and are worth a meal.

Step Two: Curiosity before judgment

As the meal unfolds, a woman enters the room—one known as a “sinner.” She approaches Jesus with raw vulnerability, washing his feet with her tears and anointing them with perfume.

And Simon watches—and Luke tells us something crucial: Simon says nothing out loud. Instead, he “said to himself. ‘If this man were a prophet, he would know who is touching him.’” (vs. 39)

Simon doesn’t address Jesus or the woman. He retreats inward. This is where so many conversations break down—not because of what we say, but because of what we silently rehearse. We assume motives. We finish sentences. We assign intentions without checking them. We interpret actions through the lens of past wounds, unspoken fears, made up stories. And while someone is right in front of us, we are no longer actually present with them we are talking to ourselves.

In the language of Nonviolent Communication, this is when observation turns into judgment. We stop naming what we see and start telling ourselves stories about what it means. And here is the danger: You cannot listen to another person while arguing with them in your head.

Jesus interrupts Simon’s inner spiral: “Simon, I have something to tell you.” He refuses to let Simon disappear into his assumptions. And then he asks the question that becomes the turning point of the story and the key element of Jesus-talk: “Do you see this woman?”

That question is not about eyesight. It’s about attention. It reveals something crucial. What we see shapes how we speak. And what we fail to see can distort everything we say. To talk like Jesus, we must learn to stop talking to ourselves long enough to truly see the person in front of us. And that’s truly one of the skills of Jesus to never talk about issues but always about real people – real lives – flesh and blood realities and not abstract concepts. It’s a challenge of empathy – to imagine what another’s life is like. That requires mindfulness, patience, and a willingness to remain present to a person —even when it feels uncomfortable or challenging.

So Jesus-talk, nonviolent communication, insists that we resist the temptation to label people as enemies. Jesus does that here. He pulls Simon back into presence. He teaches him—and us—that the first step toward peace is actually seeing the person in front of you, not the judgment you’ve created about them.

Step Three: Speak Truth Without Shame [OR, Hold people, especially the powerful, accountable.]

Jesus then tells a short parable—not to shame Simon, but to tell the truth and invite change. This is another key nonviolent practice: challenge without contempt. You can’t get someone to see while poking them in the eye.

Jesus does not attack Simon’s character. He does not ridicule his theology or question his motives. He does not embarrass him publicly with name calling. Instead, he tells a story and names the personal impact of Simon’s actions. He does not dismiss Simon as a lost cause. He invites him to see again.

Turning toward the woman, Jesus speaks to Simon: “Do you see this woman? I entered your house, and you gave me no water for my feet, no kiss of greeting, no oil for my head.” (vs. 44) The issue Jesus raises is not about theological correctness, but relational neglect. Simon invited Jesus into his home, but failed to treat him with basic courtesy and care and Jesus says so directly.

This is one of the great ironies of the passage. What seems at first to be a debate about theology turns out to be a lesson about love. Jesus reminds Simon—and us—that we cannot separate content from courtesy or theology from hospitality. Courtesy, attentiveness, and generosity are not optional extras; they are expressions of faith.

Jesus models a powerful sequence:

• He observes behavior without exaggeration and assuming intent.
• He names his personal experience.
• He connects it to love and relationship.

This is crucial: Jesus-talk, a holy conversation, nonviolent communication, does not mean avoiding hard truth. It means speaking truth in a way that leaves room for recognition, growth, and dignity. That’s the goal. Jesus confronts Simon, but he does not discard him. The goal is not to defeat the opponent, but to win their friendship and understanding. Jesus-talk means that we must “hold people accountable” for what they say or do. We must tell the truth. We must talk about harm. We must move toward justice. We must help heal and that always requires truth. The activist Kazu Haga says it best: 

“If our goal is simply to punish someone for the sake of punishment, if our goal is to banish someone from the web of humanity, if our goal is to simply let the person know how horrible they are and shame them for their actions, then responding to harm with more harm is perfectly effective. But if our goal is accountability and the healing of relationships, we need to create space for people to be held.” 

When people talk about “holding someone accountable,” perhaps the key word should not be “accountable,” but “holding.” What does it mean to hold someone? At the very least, it must always mean that even perpetrators need healing; and the awful truth that “hurt people hurt people.” It’s the holding – much more so than accountable – that leads to people being able to see and heal. That is exactly what Jesus is doing.

Step Four: Let Love be the Evidence

Jesus always questions the powerful. But the woman, the marginalized, meanwhile, is not interrogated. She is not asked to justify herself. She is not required to prove her worth. Her love speaks. And Jesus calls it “faith.”

“Your faith has saved you. Go in peace.” This is a radical redefinition of religious belief. Love—not might or correctness, not status or control—is the measure of faithfulness. And that should raise a final, uncomfortable question for us: If love is the evidence of forgiveness, how are our conversations going?

Are our words creating peace—or just winning points?
Are we leaving people more human—or more hardened?
Are we practicing the way of Jesus—or the habits of our culture?

This story does not tell us that agreement is required. Jesus clearly disagrees with Simon. But it shows us that disagreement does not require dehumanization.

Sin pulls us inward—into fear, defensiveness, and isolation. Jesus moves us outward—toward curiosity, listening, and courageous love. So Jesus leaves Simon and us with a question that echoes into the present: Do you see?

Do you see the person in front of you?

Do you see your own inner monologue when it takes over?

Do you see that learning to talk like Jesus may be one of the most faithful practices we can take up right now?

Do you see that the courtesy of our love is considered the character of our faith?

As we enter difficult conversations together, may we commit ourselves to the way of Christ:

• Presence before persuasion
• Curiosity before judgment
• Speak truth without shame
• Demonstrate love as the goal

Because the goal is not to win arguments. The goal is to heal a world that is breaking, through a loving faith that saves. And that kind of conversation is not only possible—it is teachable. Amen.

A Stranger Manger ~ Matthew 2:1-12

 

One of the things Matthew does best is keep Christmas strange. We tend to make the birth of Jesus cozy and familiar—soft lighting, silent nights, everyone knowing their lines. But Matthew refuses to let us settle into something comfortable. He tells the story in a way that unsettles us, because God’s work often begins by unsettling us.

Right near the beginning of the story, Matthew introduces us to strangers—foreigners—outsiders—who somehow see what others miss. They come asking a question that drives the whole passage: “Where is the child who has been born king?”

That question—Where?—is not just about geography. It’s about recognition.
Where is God at work?
Where is hope being born?
Where should we be paying attention?

The Magi: Unexpected Guests

Matthew tells us that “Magi from the East” arrive in Jerusalem. We’ve heard this story so many times that we may miss how shocking it is.

This is no easy road nor Middle Eastern vacation.

These are not insiders.
They are not Jews.
They are not part of Israel’s story—or so everyone thinks. [Magi characters making their way toward the manger – every year our Magi make a long perilous journey through our living room; navigating large piles of books, climbing mounds of Christmas decorations, and stealthily trying to avoid large, curious, cats]

 

They come from far away. They speak differently. They practice a different religion. They study the stars. The truth is that much of what they do would have been viewed with deep suspicion by faithful Jews. Spiritually and culturally their practice of astrology was expressly forbidden by the Torah (e.g. Leviticus 19:26, 31; 20:6, 27; Deut. 18:9-13).

And yet—they are the ones who notice that something world-changing is happening. They are the ones who truly recognize God at work - not the religious establishment, not the powerful, not the people who “should have known,” but foreigners – outsiders - strangers.

That should slow us down. Are you willing to slow down?

Because Matthew is already telling us something essential about who this child is for. From the very beginning, Jesus draws in people who are far off—geographically, culturally, socially, spiritually. People who don’t quite fit, don’t measure up, don’t present as faithful.

And these strangers don’t come empty-handed. They come bearing gifts. Gifts that will sustain, honor, and prepare this child for the life ahead. Strangers often do that in Scripture. They are the ones who show up with unexpected gifts.

Fear Inside the Palace

Now contrast the Magi with King Herod.

When Herod hears the same news—a king has been born—his response is not curiosity but fear. Matthew tells us Herod is “disturbed,” and so is all of Jerusalem with him. That’s what fear does. It spreads like a sickness and we will see how far this fear goes – a willingness to murder children.

Herod has power, wealth, status. He knows the Scriptures well enough to ask the right people the right questions. But fear keeps him from rejoicing. Fear keeps him from going to see. Fear turns the news of a newborn child into a threat.

And here’s the uncomfortable truth: fear often shapes how we respond to strangers. We see it happening now. That same disease is plaguing us again.

The Magi come with wonder and openness.
Herod responds with anxiety and control.

In Matthew’s account, Herod’s question is the same—Where is this child?—but the posture could not be more different.

Fear says:
What will this cost me?
What will I lose?
Who’s in charge?

Curiosity says:
What might God be doing?
Who might God be sending?
What gift might foreigners be bringing?

The Scriptures Know the Answer

When Herod asks the religious leaders where the Messiah is to be born, they answer easily: Bethlehem. The Scriptures have been clear all along. But here’s the irony: the people who know the Scriptures best never go to Bethlehem. The foreigners do.

Knowing the right answers is not the same as following the light – the starry twinkle of hope, truth, and love.

And Matthew wants us to notice something else. The Scriptures these leaders quote are not just about where the Messiah will be born, but about what kind of king he will be.

This is a shepherd king.
A king who brings peace.
A king whose reign reaches beyond borders.

A king of kings. (Isaiah 60:3; Psalm 72 which reinforce the idea that Jesus conquers other nations through welcome and NOT military might).

 

In other words, the coming of this child was always meant to widen the circle. Why are we always so eager to close it?

God’s Pattern: Strangers as Blessings

Throughout the Bible, God repeatedly uses outsiders to move the story forward. They become the main actors, the heroes, the ones who provide care, shelter, and protection.

Abraham and Sarah were migrants.
Moses grows up as a refugee.
Ruth is a foreigner who becomes an ancestor of David and even Jesus.
Prophets hear God’s voice in unexpected places.

And here, at the very beginning of Jesus’ life, God invites foreigners to the cradle.

Not as a footnote.
Not as an afterthought.
But as witnesses and protectors of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. They save them from Herod’s violent wrath.

These Magi are not a problem to be solved. They are a gift to be received.

And that matters for us, because welcoming the stranger is not a side theme in Scripture—it is at the heart of God’s story.

Again and again, God says:
Remember that you were once strangers. Remember that you were once far off. Remember who welcomed you.

What About Us?

So let’s bring this closer to home.

We live in a time when strangers—especially foreigners—are often spoken about with suspicion. We hear stories designed to make us afraid. Afraid of losing control. Afraid of scarcity. Afraid of change. Afraid of what they bring.

But Matthew’s story invites us to ask courageous questions:
What if the stranger carries a gift?
What if God is already at work in the people we are tempted to fear?

What if they aren’t out to get us – but save us? What if we need them?

 

The Magi did not look like heroes.
They did not belong.
They did not check the right boxes.

And yet God trusted them with revelation.

 

Welcoming the stranger does not mean pretending differences don’t exist. It means believing that God is bigger than our boundaries—and that God’s grace often arrives from directions we didn’t expect.

An Invitation

At the end of the story, the Magi kneel. They offer their gifts. And then they go home changed—taking a different road.

That’s what an encounter with Christ does. It sends us home different. More open. More attentive. More willing to follow God’s leading rather than fear’s map.

So here is the invitation of this strange and beautiful story for a new year:

Be curious, not afraid.
Look up for starry twinkles of hope and promise.
Pay attention to who God is sending your way.

Because the love of God revealed in this child is wide enough to welcome strangers. Deep enough to receive their gifts. Strong enough to turn enemies into neighbors.

At this stranger manger, there is room for those who feel far off.
There is room for questions.
There is room for foreigners.
There is room for us.

O come, let us adore him.
Amen.