May 3, 2026 Sermon

As part of this series, it feels important to me that we don’t only hear my voice answering these questions, but also hear from others who may have different opinions and experiences than I do. Today, after my reflections, we will also hear from Don Fitzkee, the 2026 COB Moderator.

“The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.” — Alan Watts

“The secret of change is to focus all your energy not on fighting the old, but on building the new.” — often attributed to Socrates

“Change rarely arrives with comfort. It arrives with truth.” — Unknown

“By changing nothing, nothing changes.” — Tony Robbins

“The changes we dread most may contain our salvation.” — Barbara Kingsolver

And maybe the most famous one: “The only constant is change,” usually attributed to Heraclitus, though apparently the internet now debates that too.

We hear all the time that change can be good. We are encouraged to change. We make New Year’s resolutions about changing ourselves into better people. “Change is good” shows up on billboards and in self-help books and in our collective consciousness.

And yet, we fight it.

We want routine — until we don’t.

We want our comfort TV shows and movies — until four friends promise us the new one won’t disappoint us.

And why in the world do grocery stores think we ever want products moved to different shelves or aisles?

I’m not entirely sure whether we want God to change or not.

But it seems that much of pop-culture Christianity says that while the world changes, God doesn’t. God is the steady, everlasting, ever-present one who never changes.

But… does God change?

That is today’s question in our series, Curious Hearts, Honest Questions.

While this may sound like an academic or philosophical question, it is also deeply practical. It is a question people ask at funerals, after heartbreak, after prayers go unanswered, after systems fail, after people we trusted disappoint us, and after the world changes so dramatically we barely recognize it anymore.

At this week’s ILWI District clergy gathering, we were talking about change in the church. Dennis Webb, a retired pastor from Neighborhood Church, reminded us that in Malachi, God says, “I the Lord do not change,” and yet in Revelation God says, “Behold, I make all things new.” Dennis pointed out that this could be interpreted to mean that God is always creating something new.

Scripture, then, does not give us a simple answer.

Partly because the Bible tells stories about God responding, grieving, relenting, listening, weeping, forgiving, becoming angry at injustice, and moving toward suffering people.

Could that be understood as responsive change?

In 1 Samuel 8, the people of Israel are desperate for change.

Samuel is old, and things are slipping through the cracks with his sons. The current leadership can no longer be trusted. So the people look around and notice that every other nation seems to have something that works: a king.

So they tell Samuel, essentially, “Change our system.”

But I want us to notice why they asked for this change. They were looking for stability. They wanted security. They wanted to understand the system they lived under. They wanted clear lines of authority, and a king seemed like the answer to all their problems.

Honestly, I feel this desire in my bones.

I cannot tell you how many times I have said, “Can’t God just give everyone a billboard? And when you have a question, you go find your billboard and the answer is there.” Stable. Secure. Clear. And as a bonus, you know you are following God correctly.

I imagine many of us want at least parts of our lives to feel stable, secure, and free from chaos. So it makes sense that Israel tries to solve the discomfort of uncertainty by replacing trust with control.

They no longer want the vulnerability of relational covenant with God.

They want the predictability of a monarchy.

Samuel is not thrilled with this development. He goes to God to tell on Israel. God essentially takes Samuel through some emotional co-regulation and then, in the words of Mel Robbins, says, “Let them.”

But not before warning them about what kings do.

Samuel tells the people the honest truth: kings are not all stability and glory. Kings will use the people, the land, and their labor — all at the cost of freedom.

And yet the people still decide they want a king, no matter the cost.

And God allows the change.

Does that mean God changed?

After all, it was God who established the system of judges. But now God allows the people to move toward monarchy, even while warning them about it.

I don’t know.

What I appreciate about Liberation Theology is that it asks a different kind of question:

What kind of God is present in the struggle of oppressed people?

I like that because it pulls us back into practical living. We can stay in abstract theological debates all day long, but for most of us — and for the people in scripture — the practical experience of God matters deeply.

Womanist theologians ask another powerful question:

How is God encountered differently by those forced to survive systems of injustice?

I appreciate this too because it reminds us that perspective matters. Faithful people can encounter God differently depending on their lived experiences.

Maybe some people asking this question really are asking, “Can the divine essence undergo metaphysical transformation?” But I suspect most people are asking something more personal:

Why does God’s interaction with people seem different now than it did then?

Why does God seem different in different seasons of life?

As I was thinking about these questions, I started thinking about parenthood.

Before we had foster kids, before Ben, before Javeon, I was still Krista. I had hobbies, a job I worked too much at, and Jim and I spent way too much money on fun. If you had met me then, I probably would have talked about Jim, scavenger hunts in Chicago, or whatever cooking experiment I was trying.

Then we had foster kids and grandkids. I was still Krista. But now I usually had a two- or three-year-old in the car with me. I became less focused on fun and more focused on home. I became more stylish because I lived with a teenager. If you had met me then, I would have talked about the foster care system, sibling relationships, and cooking experiments.

Then I had a baby. I was still Krista. But now I was sleep-deprived. I sometimes forgot to brush my teeth. I learned how to change diapers while pinching my nose. If you had met me then, I would have talked about the baby, the books I read while holding the baby, and probably asked you to hold the baby so I could go cook.

Then came school-age kids. I was still Krista. I became the owner of a two-seater bike so I could do school drop-offs. I crammed as much work as possible into six hours. If you met me then, I would have told you funny stories about school and about helping kids learn to read.

Now I have teenagers. I am still Krista. I have become a short-order cook. I get to have deep conversations, lose badly at board games, and get roasted regularly just for being mom. Now I talk about how much I unexpectedly love this stage of parenting, how wonderful it is to go on dates without a babysitter, and, of course, what I’m cooking these days.

In every phase, people met me differently.

But maybe more importantly, parenting changed me.

And yet, I am still Krista.

So I wonder if God is somehow similar — the same, yet relationally changing like a parent does with their children.

I like to believe there are things about God that remain constant:

A love that is centered.

A love that delights.

A love that holds accountable.

A weary love.

A love that keeps showing up over and over again.

For God and for us.

Yes, our understanding changes. Our perspective changes. But I wonder if God’s relational engagement changes too. Maybe there are moments when God looks at humanity and thinks, “That is a good point.”

And yet there is still steadfastness. God is still God.

The Dalai Lama once said:

“Open your arms to change, but don’t let go of your values.”

I don’t know if God works like that, but I wonder.

What I do know is that we are living through enormous change right now — in the church, nationally, technologically, environmentally. Sometimes the world feels like it changes by the hour.

We may long for the steadiness of a king. We may want guarantees. We may want someone to take responsibility and tell us exactly how to fix everything.

And at other times, we may want to dance in the winds of change with God.

Maybe that is the Holy Spirit moving in us and among us.

So:

Does God change?

Again, I don’t know.

But I believe God’s character remains steady.

And I believe God is relational, responsive, and active in history.

And I also believe that part of perceiving God faithfully is recognizing that our understanding of God is always growing and changing too.