Student Reflections

 

Theological Concept(s): Sources of Authority & Liberation

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After coming home from the Philippines, I was asked to preach at Eastwood Christian Church here in Nashville! I chose to preach on Matthew 13: 10-17, which is the passage between the Parable of the Sower and the Parable of the Mustard Seed, discussing why Jesus taught through parables. In this sermon and worship service, I used my time in the Philippines and the stories of those we met as a theological basis for sources of authority! This is something that we can learn from Womanist Theologians and Ethicists, who center the experiences of Black women as lived truth, history, and communal authority. The following is my sermon on such topics! 

 

Parables, Stories, and Herstories/ Herstory

Matthew 13: 10-17

Eastwood Christian Church

June 2026

 

“Magandang umaga! Good morning, Eastwood.

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I love a good ole parable. A parable, or a short, memorable story, is used to communicate a deeper spiritual, moral, or theological truth. The word parable comes from the Greek word parabolē, meaning "to place alongside" or "to compare." A parable places an everyday situation alongside a spiritual reality so that one sheds light on the other. Jesus frequently used parables because they drew on ordinary experiences familiar to his audience—farming, fishing, weddings, family life, business, and travel—to reveal truths about God's kingdom and the living world around them. Matthew chapter 13 holds between 7 and 9 parables, depending on the scholar you talk to; famously, the parable of the Sower and the parable of the mustard seed. But our verses today sit right in between these teachings and offer us a look into why exactly Christ taught his disciples through stories or metaphors. Many of Jesus' parables begin, "The kingdom of God is like..." But notice here what he often doesn't say. He doesn't define the kingdom as a philosopher might define a concept. Instead:

The kingdom is like a tiny mustard seed that becomes enormous.

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Like yeast hidden in dough.

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Like a treasure hidden in a field.

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Like a pearl sought out by merchants.

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Like a banquet of celebration.

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These images invite imagination because God's kingdom is not merely an idea. It is a reality to inhabit. Stories communicate experiences that definitions simply cannot and they are one of the primary ways human beings make meaning of the crazy world around us. Long before people wrote books or developed formal philosophy, they told stories around fires, at family tables, and in places of worship. We don't simply remember facts- but rather we remember narratives, names, and humble beginnings. We remember stories long after we forget outlines, and that is one reason Jesus' parables have endured for two thousand years. When we listen to someone’s stories, we are bearing witness to their vulnerability, identity, and lineage. Stories are the relational threads that stretch beyond binaries and boundaries and are what invite us to live within these narratives. They are what conjure in us to recall our origins and the things that shaped us into who we are. 

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As many of you know, I recently got back from the Philippines! I was traveling with a ministry of the larger Disciples of Christ denomination, collaborating with international partners such as the National Council of Churches in the PH and the United Church of Christ in the PH.We spent a week combing through the history of the land and its people, speaking to the UCC about recent developments after the measured 7.8 earthquake that took place a couple of days before we arrived, and we met with so many communities outside of the Manila city limits. Two of our days were spent in varying farming communities: one day at a pineapple farming village, and another at an oyster farming community. Because of the long-standing legacy of colonization that the Philippines was once forced into by Western countries, many of the people we spoke to explained their current struggles in their respective industries. From the threats of occupation to land theft or demolition, to an impossible cost of living- each of these communities poured out their stories for us. For more than 4 generations, these families have lived, planted, maintained, tilled, and protected their land despite the continuous threat and danger posed by the local and national government. In both of these communities, many things were apparent. The passion and dedication for their generational craft were apparent. Their faith was deep-rooted and abundant. Their praise of the rain and the soil and its life-giving nutrients was breathtaking. Their hospitality was Christ-like and beyond generous. And their ancestral connection was earth-shattering. In every home we entered, a woman was the leader or matriarch of the community. While speaking with these women, one of the global fellows would ask, “Why do you keep fighting for this farm, for this land?” “What significant tie keeps you here, even when you are being threatened, if your fields are being set ablaze, if you are being red-tagged and criminalized, and if you are facing dangerous occupations?

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Their answer? “Because this is the fight of our ancestors. Because this is the land I was born on/ that my parents were born and raised on, and this is the land that feeds my children. Because this is the only thing my family has ever known, and to do anything different is foreign to us.” 

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These families did not know us. They did not speak English, and we did not speak Tagalog. For many of them, we were the living faces of the history of colonization from the US that continues to globally impact their daily lives, and yet in each village and community we entered, we were greeted with kind faces, coffee, bread, fruit, warm food, and stories/ testimonies that bonded us in ways a picture in a history book or words on a page would never have the chance to. 

 

When we sit and watch the news, read headlines on our social media feeds, or briefly hear about the tragedies of our global and local neighbors in passing, we forget to humanize those in such struggles. And, where we see numbers on a graph or replace faces with percentages, God sees individual triumph and divine reflection. 

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So, the question today is not simply: "Why did Jesus speak to his pupils in parables?" The better question is: How am I listening? Or how have I become accustomed to a broad-stroked existence that I am not immediate to?  Jesus does not use parables because the truth is too difficult to explain. Rather, he uses parables because the kingdom of God cannot be grasped by information alone. It must be discerned with a heart that is willing to listen, trust, follow, and imagine unbound by limitations. The parables are less about hiding the truth than about inviting people into the kind of hearing that leads to transformation. And ultimately, Jesus doesn't merely tell stories; he becomes the story. And we know this because we repeat his story week after week at our communion table, remembering the sacrifice and dedication he laid before his disciples on that final night in the upper room. He became the story, just as the families on the pineapple, banana, and oyster farms became the living stories of their ancestors- the storytellers, the story keepers, and the stories lived out on a daily. 

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Living testimony is herstory. Beyond what we are taught in grade school, and despite the separation we are conditioned to believe is permanent, the living truth of those who have come before us is alive within and beyond us. Womanist theologians and scholars teach us that lived testimony is not secondary to theology or history—it is theology in embodied form, and it is history in its purest and honest existence. It centers the experiences, voices, and survival of Black women (and often other marginalized women of color) as sites where truth about God, justice, and human life is revealed. So when womanism speaks about lived testimony, it is saying something very specific and profound. Theologians like Delores Williams and Katie Cannon emphasize that Black women’s everyday experiences—labor, caregiving, resistance, faith under pressure—are not “background context” for theology. They are sources of theological knowledge.

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Lived testimony means:

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What has been preserved becomes a witness to truth.

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What has been endured becomes a form of knowledge.

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What has been spoken from experience carries authority. 

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And this is where herstory, parables, and stories become resistance. Because the first thing that is taken from communities when they are broad stroked by colonization and uniformity is their voice, individuality, and agency. To simply share the stories of survival is a form of spoken divinity that becomes a blessed assurance for all who come after.

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Stories connect us because they do what facts alone cannot: they engage our imagination, awaken our emotions, invite empathy, reveal identity, and draw us into intentional right relationship with those we have been told are “different,” or “weird,” or “beyond God’s love.” Jesus taught in parables because God is not merely interested in informing our minds—God is inviting us into a story that transforms our lives. Eastwood, my prayer for us this day is that we open our ears and our eyes to the transformative possibility that stands before us. Where the stories we share, and carry with us, add to the bounty of God’s Kindom and remind us we are not alone. 

Amen.”

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Reflection on Immersion Trip As it Relates to Ministry 

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Global travel expands my understanding of my ministry by reminding me that the Church is both deeply local and profoundly global. Encountering faith communities in different cultural, political, and social contexts challenges my assumptions about borders and ministry while revealing the many ways people embody the Gospel. Listening to diverse stories of worship, resilience, and justice broadens my theological imagination and teaches me to approach ministry with greater humility, curiosity, and cultural awareness. While on this trip, one of our leaders mentioned to us that some of our knee-jerk reactions may be to look at many of the communities we visited and think of the word “poverty;” however, we could not be further from the truth. We were each challenged to look at the world around us differently and beyond the traditional Western ideals of worth, material success, and happiness. What we witnessed was not poverty, but rather diversity in culture and commitment to communal living. Having been on this immersion trip, my commitment to spiritual accompaniment rather than spiritual tourism has driven my personal and theological reflections significantly. By learning from communities instead of arriving with predetermined answers, I gained a richer appreciation for mutual relationships, shared wisdom, and the importance of context in faithful ministry. These experiences encourage me to see God's work beyond my own cultural perspective and to recognize the gifts each community brings to the global Church. For me, global engagement is inseparable from my commitments to peacebuilding, interfaith dialogue, and social justice. It strengthens my understanding of how issues such as migration, conflict, economic inequality, and climate change shape the lives of faith communities around the world. As I seek ordination in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), I hope these experiences will continue to shape me into a minister who listens well, builds authentic relationships across differences, and serves with a spirit of solidarity, compassion, and reconciliation.

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