Jesus stood in the shadow of the cross and prayed for his disciples. He asked God to protect them, to keep them united, to guard them as they lived his truth in a hostile world. His words clung to their future acts of boldness – the mercy they’d show, the truth they’d speak to empires. [48:55]
This prayer wasn’t just for the Twelve. Jesus interceded for all who would embody his love in places of power. When Bishop Buddy asked the powerful for mercy, when Mark wrote hymns for the excluded, they lived this prayer. God’s glory shines when we refuse to let cruelty rewrite the story.
Where does your voice shake? You don’t need pyrotechnics – just steady compassion. Name one person or group being crushed by systems of power. How might Jesus’ prayer for protection strengthen your hands to act?
“I have revealed you to those whom you gave me out of the world. They were yours; you gave them to me and they have obeyed your word. Holy Father, protect them by the power of your name, the name you gave me, so that they may be one as we are one.”
(John 17:6-11, ESV)
Prayer: Ask Jesus to make you aware of his ongoing prayer for your courage as you advocate for others.
Challenge: Text one immigrant, queer, or marginalized person in your life: “I see you. How can I support you this week?”
Bishop Buddy stood before power and named the unnamed: queer children, undocumented workers, the scared and scapegoated. She didn’t shout. She didn’t perform. She simply refused to let mercy be silent. Her words echoed the prophets – “What does the Lord require?” [42:00]
Mercy disrupts. When Jesus healed on the Sabbath or ate with tax collectors, he exposed hollow religion. God isn’t glorified by our compliance with oppression, but by our insistence on dignity. Every “have mercy” uttered to a dismissive leader chips at empire’s foundations.
Who have you been taught to ignore? Systems want us to see “issues,” not people. Choose one group mentioned in the sermon – immigrants, trans youth, farmworkers – and learn one specific hardship they face this month. What false narrative about them needs holy disruption?
“He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”
(Micah 6:8, NIV)
Prayer: Confess times you’ve stayed silent about others’ pain to avoid conflict.
Challenge: Email a local leader about a justice issue using “I urge you to show mercy to [group]” as your opening line.
We picture God’s glory as cosmic fanfare – but Jesus revealed it through a towel and basin. The God who knelt to wash feet now glorifies Mark’s hymns, Janae’s pollinator garden, Annie’s youth group chaos. [47:25]
God’s glory lives in tender persistence, not triumphalism. When LGBTQ+ believers choose pride over shame, when graduates plant native species instead of lawns, they magnify Christ. Every small act of care defies a world obsessed with domination.
What “unimpressive” work have you dismissed? Jesus prays for your endurance in the unseen labors. This week, where can you embody God’s “with-ness” instead of seeking influence “over” others?
“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”
(2 Corinthians 12:9, NIV)
Prayer: Thank God for three “small” ways you’ve seen love win this month.
Challenge: Buy coffee for someone doing unglamorous justice work (teachers, nurses, activists).
Mark took a traditional hymn tune and filled it with trans saints, immigrant tears, and a bishop’s courage. Like David updating psalms for new struggles, he proved faith isn’t preserved in amber. [40:00]
Our faith ancestors reinvented worship constantly. Slavery spirituals became civil rights anthems. Queer Christians rewrite hymns to include their stories. When we sing truth to power, we join Miriam’s tambourine protest after crossing the Red Sea.
What old spiritual practice needs your fresh voice? Maybe journaling becomes Instagram poetry, or casseroles become mutual aid funds. How could you remix tradition to amplify excluded voices today?
“Sing to the Lord a new song; sing to the Lord, all the earth. Sing to the Lord, praise his name; proclaim his salvation day after day. Declare his glory among the nations, his marvelous deeds among all peoples.”
(Psalm 96:1-3, NIV)
Prayer: Hum a favorite hymn, then ask God what new lyrics your community needs.
Challenge: Rewrite one line of “Amazing Grace” to reflect a current justice struggle.
Jesus warned that truth-tellers get targeted. The disciples would be hated; Bishop Buddy faced outrage; queer Christians face church exile. Yet Jesus kept praying – not for escape, but endurance. [49:21]
Protection isn’t safety. It’s the grit to keep feeding refugees when funds dwindle, to keep affirming trans youth amid bans. God’s glory is a Black mom teaching her son to survive traffic stops, a pastor blessing abortions in red states.
What exhausts your hope? Name one justice effort where you’ve thought, “Why bother?” Now imagine Jesus kneeling there, washing your blistered feet. What’s one way to re-engage without self-destruction?
“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
(John 16:33, NIV)
Prayer: Cry out about one injustice that overwhelms you. Let silence hold you afterward.
Challenge: Donate $5 to a frontline group (e.g., trans youth fund, immigration bond fund).
The hymn When We Speak Truth to Power sets the frame: God is glorified in acts of holy boldness that lift mercy over cruelty and name the image of God in the vulnerable. Mark Gruber Leibowitz’s story embodies that claim. His vocation, redirected by homophobic rules, keeps circling back as a call to write songs for the church and pray while they are sung. His poetry rises from a public plea by Bishop Buddy, who asked the most powerful person in the world for mercy for immigrants, queer and trans kids, and those who labor in the shadows. That witness, spoken “not with pyrotechnics,” shows how a hard truth can be delivered gently, and it sounds like the church finally being the church.
Jesus’ prayer in John stands behind that posture. The prayer speaks of glory, and common imagination tries to picture glory as spectacle, like Jesus “surfing in on a cloud.” The text will not allow that. Glory in the Gospels looks like self-emptying love, truth embodied, mercy that refuses to back down, and a divine power that is always with and never over. That is why the call to speak truth to power is not a political hobby but a form of worship. Mercy voiced to those who can change conditions becomes a doxology. Compassion practiced when dehumanization “gets lots of votes” becomes testimony.
Jesus’ intercession sharpens the edge: “Abba, holy God, protect those whom you have given me.” The prayer recognizes the real cost of advocacy. The powers are powerful. Immigrant advocates are told they are too political. Those naming the image of God in trans and queer bodies are branded heretics. Voices for the poor and marginalized are accused of divisiveness while telling the gospel truth. So the prayer asks not only for comfort but for endurance, for those who keep showing up, keep loving, keep singing the truth.
The church’s vocation, then, is practical and particular. It uses privilege, voice, and song to protect those in harm’s way. It names with care the ones ground down by wickedness and refuses the theatrics of Christian nationalism. It learns to see God’s glory in the small, steady acts of tenderness that refuse to break faith with love. And it trusts that every tremoring word of mercy, even when the voice shakes, glorifies God.
That's what I picture, but that's not the glory of God revealed in the Jesus of the gospels. Because God's glory revealed in Jesus is love being self emptied, being poured out. It's truth being embodied. It's a mercy and a compassion that refuses to back down, a God whose power is always with and never over. Never over. And, I do believe that God is glorified in everyday acts of compassion, in every moment of tenderness, in every word spoken that is true to someone who wields power in this world.
[00:46:48]
(43 seconds)
As he reflected on her witness, he said, she said it in such a gentle way, not with pyrotechnics, and I was moved that a hard message could be presented so gently, and yet, that's what the church is meant to be. That is what the church is meant to be. This is what the glory of God looks like, and sounds like, and feels like, To speak truth to power without the vain religious theatrics of Christian nationalism? To speak truth to power with the steady reassurance of God's abiding love and presence,
[00:43:29]
(48 seconds)
And I went to seminary for this, you know, I'm like, What? So, if you're listening, you're like, What is he talking? Like, It's okay. You're not alone. But what I have to challenge in myself is that when I hear these words, I actually have a picture of what Christ being glorified in God looks like, and it's this picture, it's like Jesus surfing in on a cloud. He looks very white because I have to deconstruct this image of Jesus that I inherited in my church growing up that Jesus is white like me,
[00:45:57]
(36 seconds)
I'm an AI bot trained specifically on the sermon from May 18, 2026. Do you have any questions about it?
Add this chatbot onto your site with the embed code below
<iframe frameborder="0" src="https://pastors.ai/sermonWidget/sermon/speaking-truth-power-mercy" width="100%" height="100%" style="height:100vh;"></iframe>Copy