The Israelites harvested their fields but left edges uncut. Grapes fell to the ground, and God commanded them to leave these for the poor and foreigner. Farmers worked hard, yet intentionally left food for unseen neighbors. This wasn’t charity—it was justice. God built care for outsiders into the rhythm of daily labor. [11:59]
Jesus later called this “loving your neighbor.” The same God who told farmers to leave scraps also told stories about Good Samaritans. Every dropped grape became a bridge between “us” and “them.”
When you shop or cook this week, remember: your choices can leave space for others. What if you bought one extra can for the food pantry? Where could your “leftovers” become someone else’s lifeline? What harvest has God given you that’s meant to be shared?
“When you reap the harvest of your land, do not reap to the very edges of your field or gather the gleanings of your harvest. Leave them for the poor and for the foreigner residing among you. I am the Lord your God.”
(Leviticus 19:9-10, NIV)
Prayer: Ask God to show you one tangible way to leave “gleanings” for others today.
Challenge: Donate 3 non-perishable items to a food pantry or Epworth’s ministry.
Jesus walked through fields others considered barren. He found hope in tax collectors, healed foreigners, and praised widows’ tiny offerings. When religious leaders saw sinners, Jesus saw harvest. He quoted Leviticus 19:18 to redefine “neighbor” as anyone in need—even enemies. [55:26]
The Pharisees missed God’s heart because they stopped at rules. Jesus pushed deeper: love isn’t a calculation but a lifestyle. He treated outsiders as family because God’s grace has no borders.
Who have you labeled “unworthy” of your time or kindness? Jesus ate with those His culture rejected. Could you share a meal—or a conversation—with someone you’ve avoided? What walls is God asking you to tear down today?
“Love your neighbor as yourself. I am the Lord.”
(Leviticus 19:18b, NIV)
Prayer: Confess any prejudice quietly shaping your actions. Ask for eyes to see others as Jesus does.
Challenge: Text or call someone from a different background than yours this week.
A lost sailor in Tokyo muttered “sumimasen” (“help”). A stranger not only gave directions but followed to ensure he didn’t get lost. Decades later, that sailor—now a pastor—remembers how her kindness mirrored God’s heart: “You were foreigners once.” [59:38]
God repeats this command 36 times in Scripture: care for outsiders. Why? Because belonging heals shame. When we welcome others, we replay our own rescue—whether from Egypt, sin, or loneliness.
Who feels like a “foreigner” in your world? Maybe the new coworker, the quiet teen, or the neighbor with different politics. How could you intentionally include them this week? What simple act says, “You’re family here”?
“The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt. I am the Lord your God.”
(Leviticus 19:34, NIV)
Prayer: Thank God for someone who welcomed you when you felt like an outsider.
Challenge: Learn one person’s name and story at Epworth’s food ministry this week.
Ruth gathered barley stalks Boaz’s workers dropped. What looked like scraps became a feast—and she became King David’s ancestor. God turns overlooked people and places into lifelines. The pastor saw this at a Naval Academy gala: women once chained to toilets now leading nations. [01:06:31]
Jesus specializes in resurrection. He fed 5,000 with a boy’s lunch and built His church on a denied disciple. Our “not enough” becomes His “more than enough” when we offer it.
What barren place discourages you? A strained relationship? A seemingly fruitless ministry? What if you prayed, “God, show me the gleanings here”? How might He multiply your small obedience?
“Ruth the Moabite said to Naomi, ‘Let me go to the fields and pick up the leftover grain.’… She entered a field and began to glean behind the harvesters.”
(Ruth 2:2-3, NIV)
Prayer: Ask God to reveal hidden hope in an area where you feel defeated.
Challenge: Write down 3 “gleanings” (blessings) you’ve overlooked this week.
Early Methodists met in fields, mines, and pubs—places others avoided. Epworth continues this legacy, feeding thousands through “gleaned” groceries. The pastor recalled leaving a church conference furious, yet staying to fight for inclusion. [01:07:34]
Jesus sends us to glean in culture’s forgotten corners. Every food box packed, every LGBTQ+ teen welcomed, every addict hugged declares: “God still leaves grace in the field.”
Where is God calling you to glean? Maybe tutoring kids, visiting prisons, or simply refusing to gossip. Will you join the harvesters—or complain the field looks empty?
“You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.”
(Matthew 5:14-16, NIV)
Prayer: Pray for courage to shine hope in one dark place this week.
Challenge: Do one act of kindness for someone outside your usual circle today.
Leviticus 19 issues a concrete call to leave the edges of the harvest for those in need: do not strip the vineyard bare; leave the fallen grapes for the poor and the foreigner. That ancient law frames a larger theology of gleaning: God’s justice shows up in practices that invite generosity, mutual care, and communal responsibility. Jesus reads the same scriptures and acts as a master gleaner, finding mercy and hope even in passages that many treat as harsh or barren. Scripture, especially the shema and the command to love one’s neighbor, anchors a way of life that refuses scarcity thinking and contests zero-sum rivalries.
Contemporary anxieties—political division, environmental peril, and cultural ground-shifts—produce a hunger for hope. Those anxieties make common life fragile, and yet the text insists that hope grows where people intentionally leave resources for others. Personal stories of travel and dislocation—feeling foreign in another land, or returning to a nation where familiar authorities falter—illustrate how encountering strangers and vulnerability refines compassion and expands vision. Military and academy memories show how systems that once marginalized women slowly reveal latent abundance when inclusion takes root.
Gleaning moves quickly from metaphor to ministry. Food programs that reclaim surplus and share it widely embody the Levitical ethic. A congregation’s stewardship, organizational tools, and volunteer networks model how faith translates into structures that sustain ongoing generosity. Those structures matter: they carry the daily work of feeding bodies, forming community, and testifying that abundance multiplies when people refuse to hoard. The closing summons frames this life as mission: followers become salt and light by practicing gleaning, hospitality, and the costly discipline of loving neighbors without borders. The result reads less like nostalgic nostalgia and more like a practical, hopeful strategy for social renewal—one field, one vineyard, one neighbor at a time.
``This kind of hope where the first harvesters come along and realize that this is not a zero sum game where there's gonna be a winner, and that means there has to be a loser. That's the way we've been playing the game here, especially in politics in America. There might be another way. Another way to think, no, maybe there's a way we could all win. Maybe there's a way we could share. Maybe there's enough and more besides. We could get all that we want and there'd be plenty left over for others. And what are those who come along to glean those who were bereft of hope? There has to be a sense when you look at that empty field that there's more here than meets the eye.
[01:00:08]
(47 seconds)
#SharedHarvest
And the second one is like it, Jesus said. He couldn't help himself. And he gets it from just a few verses after Miles stopped reading. It says, do you remember? Love your neighbor as yourself. In Leviticus? Yes. Jesus was the master gleaner, finding light where you'd never think to find it. Even perhaps in my failed life, he finds life and light and hope. And I'm here to tell you that's why I follow him. That's why I'll never stop following him. Why sometimes I do crazy and weird things because that's my sense of what Jesus wants.
[00:55:13]
(55 seconds)
#LoveYourNeighbor
And then Jesus comes along and appears to create this this this different kind of God. But guess where he founded that understanding on? What we call the Old Testament. He didn't have a New Testament. He was the New Testament. But one of the things that one of the one of the miraculous things, one of the extraordinary things is that he went into this, let's call it a barren field that looked bereft of mercy and and hope and love for anyone but this select group of people. Right? Everyone else be damned, literally.
[00:52:29]
(40 seconds)
#HopeForEveryone
And and he precisely there at that ground zero, he found hope everywhere he looked. He gleaned hope. Take Leviticus for instance. I don't know if any of you have got PTSD from Leviticus. Some of you may be going Leviticus Leviticus. I don't even know what that is. But some of us know Leviticus is the container of one of the clobber passages. In fact, it's just the chapter before we read that talks about executing anyone who is outside the norm of tribal patriarchy.
[00:53:10]
(44 seconds)
#GleaningHope
One of the things that I've noticed in the years that I've served particularly as pastor, but this is before I served as a pastor too, is that people seem to think the God of the Old Testament and the God of the New Testament are different gods. Have you heard that before? Have you felt that before? You know, in the Old Testament, you get this swashbuckling, take no prisoners. Remember those stories in Joshua? You know, Samuel comes along and he goes, what is what are why'd we leave the children and the and the animals alive? Well, I thought we could sacrifice some of them. Nope. Everybody dies.
[00:51:51]
(35 seconds)
#OneGodManyStories
And if that means to be an agitator, a burr in someone's side, then that's what I'll do. And that's what you're doing. Because look at after all those years, here I am at Epworth. Oh my God. Do you know what that means? Do you know what that means to be in a church where we live the kind of I don't know how many churches say all are welcome. None of it true. But here, it is true. We don't always get it right, but by God and I mean that, we are gleaners here at Epworth. I mean, think about it. Sussex County, Epworth.
[01:07:39]
(40 seconds)
#GleanersAtEpworth
When I participate in a culture that diminishes other people, I am diminished. And when I see those people lifted up, I am lifted up. It was a celebration I felt like as much for me as it was for Vicky and anybody else, and what a celebration it was. I remember one time shortly after I fell in love with Vicky and I began seeing the world and the academy through her eyes, we were marching in formation. I was marching in a formation of there were a 120 of us, and the they made sure that the covers, the hats that the female midshipmen wore looked different.
[01:05:06]
(40 seconds)
#LiftEachOther
And this older woman came and approached me, and we worked through how to get to the place I was going, and there was, you know, it's one of those, like that country song, there's a right and a left and a turn around and a left and a right and whatever. And I tried my best to follow it and I turned at one point about fifteen minutes after we'd had that conversation and I felt a tap on my shoulder and she said, it's right here. She was following me to see where I like it. You were foreigners once. God reiterated.
[00:59:11]
(30 seconds)
#RememberTheForeigner
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