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Foundry UMC DC: Sunday Sermons

Foundry UMC DC: Sunday Sermons

By: Foundry UMC DC
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Foundry is an historic, progressive United Methodist Church that welcomes all, worships passionately, challenges the status quo, & seeks to transform the world.Copyright 2012 Foundry UMC. All rights reserved. Christianity Spirituality
Episodes
  • Youth Sunday

    Youth Sunday
    Jun 26 2026
    A sermon preached by Abby Steele with Foundry UMC, June 14, 2026, 3rd Sunday after Pentecost. "We Know Who We Are" series. Texts: 1 Corinthians 13:8-12; Acts 17:10-15 Good morning! Thank you for coming to Youth Sunday. I'm so grateful to have the opportunity to be here with you all. My name is Abby Steele, and I have been attending Foundry since I was a little kid, and became a member of the church in 2022. I recently graduated from Thomas Jefferson High School. For those of you that don't know, TJ is a regional science and technology public magnet school in Northern Virginia. Many students at my school put emphasis on fact and certainty, which has made navigating my life as both a scientist and a devout Christian a bit challenging. However, throughout my time in high school, I have learned a strong lesson as to how these two identities can coexist together, and I would love to share this with you all. When I was around ten years old, my nana and I were sitting in her 2010 Toyota Camry waiting in the kiss-and-ride line to pick up my younger cousin from school. She always believed there is no such thing as being too young for intense philosophical discussion, so that became the topic of conversation during our wait. I told her, "I read The Great Emergence, like you recommended." This book was a challenging read for my ten-year-old self, filled with words too long for me to interpret and sayings too old for me to comprehend. Nevertheless, I read it with determination. Our conversation centered on the trustworthiness of the Bible—something I never could have imagined discussing with my grandmother, who grew up in a conservative Christian household. However, she had experienced a complete religious transformation later in life, which sparked a new tradition of elaborate spiritual car talks. We discussed our shared struggle to believe certain biblical stories. Together, we came to see many of them as metaphors rather than historical accounts. I wasn't sure whether they were accurate or not, but I began to realize that the purpose of stories was not necessarily the factual evidence they contained, but the lessons they taught. That ordinary Monday afternoon completely changed the trajectory of my religious life. The conversation left me unafraid to be curious. If we can question and interpret God's word, why not view every experience through the same lens? When I look back on that conversation, I think of the passage from Corinthians we just heard. Paul describes the transition from childhood into adulthood, and he reminds us that, for now, our understanding is only partial as we can only see a reflection in a mirror. We do not see the whole picture. I've often encountered people in religious contexts that really fear doubt and uncertainty. They worry that asking too many questions will make them appear as being unfaithful and disloyal, but the conversations I've had with my grandmother beg to differ. My faith has been profoundly deepened by allowing myself the space to question and decipher every aspect of Christianity and the bible. I've come to understand that Paul is right - we are only capable of seeing a reflection of our reality. But by learning about and accepting multiple interpretations of religious texts and messages rather than turning a blind eye to the parts that we may disagree with or not fully comprehend, we are capable of conjuring a far greater picture and understanding of our faith. Since childhood, I have struggled with my faith in God, the afterlife, and sometimes even science. How can I know something is true without ever seeing it? I couldn't comprehend how anyone could take the Bible, a collection of ancient texts that have undergone numerous translations, and swear their interpretation was the only truth. Similarly, I found it difficult to believe the science I learned in school was entirely accurate. In my neurobiology class, I found myself staring at diagrams of neurons, wondering how we could know that consciousness comes from neural pathways when we're only inferring from electrical patterns. I came to recognize that belief in something unseen wasn't limited to faith; science asks for it too. The further I studied science and religion, the more openly acknowledged this uncertainty became. One example came from my physics class, where we learned about Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle, which states that we cannot know both the position and speed of a particle with perfect accuracy. That night, I was led down an internet rabbit hole on the limits of quantum mechanics, driven by my disbelief that academia could acknowledge doubt so openly. At first, I saw this principle as a reason to distrust science. But with each new article I read, I realized my perspective on this principle actually mirrored how I like to approach religion. Uncertainty isn't a weakness - It's the beginning of understanding. Scientists do not stop asking questions because they are worried about...
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    12 mins
  • We Have Practices: The Means of Grace

    We Have Practices: The Means of Grace
    Jun 16 2026
    A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC, June 7, 2026, Second Sunday after Pentecost. “We Know Who We Are”series. Texts: Romans 12:1-2, 9-13; Acts 2:41-47 Last week we reflected on grace. We remembered that God’s grace comes before we ever think about God, before we ever do anything right, before we ever earn anything. Grace comes first. Grace comes last. Grace is always the ground beneath our feet. This week the question is: If grace comes first, how does grace actually change us? I grew up before car seats were common. Heck—I regularly rode in the back of my dad’s or grandpa’s pickup truck to get ice cream or drive out to the lake. Looking back, it feels like I was raised in the Wild West!? As a teenager, I’d been driving a year or so when a new law was passed that required seatbelts. We started hearing about studies showing how seatbelts saved lives. There were those crash-test dummy commercials—remember those? But putting on a seatbelt wasn’t something I thought about. And so every time I got into the car, I had to remind myself: Put on your seatbelt. Sometimes I’d forget. Sometimes I’d remember halfway down the road. But I kept doing it. And then one day I noticed something. I was driving somewhere and realized I already had my seatbelt on. I hadn’t thought about it. I hadn’t reminded myself. I had just done it. What had once felt awkward and inconvenient had become a habit. It had become instinct. I had practiced and learned a new thing. Most of us understand this when it comes to driving. Or learning an instrument. Or speaking a language. Or playing a sport. Or exercising. A friend once told me, “Nobody likes running when they first start. You have to just do it. After a while you’ll reap the benefits.” I never forgot the wisdom. You may not start out loving the practice. But you practice because of what the practice is shaping you to become. And I’ve been thinking this week that much of the Christian life works the same way. Many of us want to become more loving, more patient, more generous, more courageous. We want to respond to conflict with grace. We want to be less fearful and more trusting. We want our lives to reflect the love of Christ. But how does that happen? John Wesley believed that the goal of the Christian life was what he called “Christian perfection.” Unfortunately, that phrase has caused confusion for generations. Wesley wasn’t talking about becoming flawless. He wasn’t talking about never making mistakes. He wasn’t talking about acting like we’ve got it all together. He was talking about becoming so filled with the love of God that God’s love begins to overflow from our lives. I often picture it like a pitcher being filled with water. As we open ourselves to receive God’s love and mercy—God’s grace!—we are filled. And just as a pitcher overflows once it becomes full, so God’s love begins to overflow in our lives. Love spills over. Mercy spills over. Compassion spills over. Generosity spills over. Wesley believed that this could happen. In fact, he believed it was the goal of those who would follow Christ. Or as the hymn puts it: “Take my hands and let them move at the impulse of thy love.” I love that phrase. The impulse of thy love. Because it suggests a life in which love becomes our first instinct. A life in which generosity and mercy become as natural as breathing. A life in which our hands move at the impulse of God's love. Wouldn’t that be something? The question is: How do we become those people? And Wesley’s answer was surprisingly practical. We practice. We train. We place ourselves again and again in the flow of God’s grace. Wesley called these practices “means of grace.” Prayer. Scripture. Worship. Holy Communion. Christian conversation and accountability. Small groups. Acts of mercy and service. And this week, I want to invite you to choose one. Not all of them. Just one. Spend a few minutes each day reading scripture. Or pray each morning before you reach for your phone. Or read a daily devotion. Or intentionally perform one act of kindness or service each day. Choose one way to place yourself in the flow of God's grace and practice it every day this week. These are means of grace not because they are things that earn God’s love or make God love us more. They are not means of grace because checking enough religious boxes gets us into heaven. But because these practices place us where God’s transforming grace can reach us. God’s grace is always present—whether we’re practicing the means of grace or not. But these practices have been shown over the centuries to place us in the flow of God’s grace in a very concentrated way. There is a distinction between trying and training. Anyone can try to run a marathon. But only someone who trains will actually finish one. The same is true of the Christian life. Anybody can try ...
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    31 mins
  • Grace Is Bigger Than You Think

    Grace Is Bigger Than You Think
    Jun 9 2026
    A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC, May 31, 2026, First Sunday after Pentecost, Confirmation Sunday. "We Know Who We Are"series. Texts: Genesis 1:26-2:3; Ephesians 2:4–10 There are some words in scripture that change everything. Not because they're long or unusual. But because they turn the whole story in a different direction. Today’s passage contains two of those words: “But God.” Before we can appreciate those words, we need to know what precedes them. In the first 3 verses of Ephesians 2, Paul reminds the church in Ephesus of their old ways of being. The direct translation from the Greek is convoluted and confusing, but Eugene Peterson’s interpretation from The Message helps us get the point: “It wasn’t so long ago that you were mired in that old stagnant life of sin. You let the world, which doesn’t know the first thing about living, tell you how to live…We all did it, all of us doing what we felt like doing, when we felt like doing it, all of us in the same boat. It’s a wonder God didn’t lose his temper and do away with the whole lot of us.” And then…. “But God…” The old story gets interrupted. It moves in a new direction. Which is good news because most of us know something about stories that seem stuck in a rut. Maybe you’ve carried shame for something you did years ago. Maybe you’ve convinced yourself that some part of your life is beyond repair. Maybe you’ve spent so long trying to prove your worth that you’ve forgotten who you are underneath all the striving. Maybe you’ve watched the news lately and wondered whether cruelty and greed and fear are simply winning. The story goes one way. But God… That little phrase shows up all over scripture. Human beings build a tower to heaven. But God. Sarah is too old. But God. The sea is in front of them. Pharaohs army is behind them. But God. The disciples lock themselves in a room because they are terrified. But God. The cross stands on a hill outside Jerusalem. But God. Mary Magdalene despaired at the tomb. But God. Again and again, scripture insists that God is never limited by the stories we tell ourselves about what is possible. What a gift. Because one of the stories many of us carry is the story that we have to earn our way. This is so ingrained in our culture and mindset. We learn that story early. We learn it from grades and report cards. From performance reviews. From comparisons. From all the subtle ways the world teaches us to keep score. We absorb these lessons so deeply that eventually we begin to assume that God works this way too. God helps those who help themselves. God rewards the faithful. God blesses the deserving. God keeps score. But this is precisely the story Paul is trying to undo. Our temptation to slide into the world’s quid pro quo economy isn’t new. And in these few verses, Paul takes pains to refute it—not with an abstract argument, but by showing us, phrase by phrase, who God is and how grace works. So let’s move through the text together and listen deeply to the word. Notice where Paul begins. “But God, who is rich in mercy...” Rich in mercy. Before Paul says anything about us, he says something about God. After describing the sorry, lost state of humanity, Paul doesn’t say, “But we finally figured it out.” He doesn’t say, “But we repented.” He doesn’t say, “But we became more faithful.” He doesn’t say, “But we got serious about our spiritual lives.” He says, “But God.” The turning point of the story is not a change in us. It is a revelation of who God is. “But God, who is rich in mercy...” Paul could have said simply, “God is merciful.” He doesn’t. He says God is plousios (πλούσιος)—in the Greek: rich, abundant, lavish—in mercy. Possessing more mercy than we can imagine. This is so important! Because most of us have been trained to think in terms of scarcity. There’s never enough time or money or security or opportunity. There is not enough to go around. There are only so many slices of any pie. And if we’re not careful, we start to imagine that God’s resources are limited too. Limited patience. Limited forgiveness. Limited love. Limited welcome. Only so many second chances. As though mercy were something God has to budget carefully. As though grace might run out. As though God were standing over us with a ledger, keeping score, calculating whether we’ve finally earned another chance. But Paul says, “Nope. That's not who God is.” Mercy is not scarce in God. Mercy is abundant in God. God’s mercy is not pie—and there’s not limited supply! Mercy flows from God as naturally as light from the sun. And lest we miss the point, Paul piles on another phrase: “Out of the great love with which God loved us.” It’s almost as though he can’t find enough words—mercy, love, grace, kindness. The language keeps overflowing because Paul is trying to describe a reality that ...
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    32 mins
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