Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Leaving Your Nets (Third Sunday after Epiphany)

Mark 1:14-20
14 Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, 15 and saying, "The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news." 16 As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the sea—for they were fishermen. 17 And Jesus said to them, "Follow me and I will make you fish for people." 18 And immediately they left their nets and followed him. 19 As he went a little farther, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John, who were in their boat mending the nets. 20 Immediately he called them; and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men, and followed him.

             Have you ever had to just drop everything you were doing because you got a phone call or a text message? Perhaps it was your brother calling to tell you that your mother has been rushed to the hospital by ambulance, and she asked for you by name. Maybe you were at work and the school called to tell you that your son has had an accident in class, and you need to come pick him up right away. Or maybe your phone vibrated in your pocket, and there on the screen were simply the words “Help. I need you.” You left everything where it was—tools on the ground, books and papers all over your desk, milk on the counter—because you know some things are more important than the things right in front of you, and because there’s something in the back of your mind that tells you that it’ll be alright soon and everything will get back to normal in time. You’ll eventually return to the jobsite, to your office, to clean the mess you left behind in such a hurry. You may drop what you’re doing, but you’ll pick it back up again eventually.
            There are those in our world, however, who are forced to drop everything, to leave it all behind, but not because of a phone call or a text. They are forced from their homes at gunpoint. Some are driven from their countries by the threat of war and persecution. Still others are forced to leave it all behind as devastating floods wash away their homes, as droughts dry up what is left of hope, and natural disasters erase their previous existence from the landscape.
Over these past months we have heard news of Ukrainian refugees who are leaving their homes during destructive military actions and political unrest.[1] In the African country of Malawi, flood waters have displaced over 200,000 people,[2] and just two weeks ago we marked the fifth anniversary of the earthquake that struck Haiti killing thousands, leaving thousands more displaced, and still that country has yet to fully recover.[3] There are too many stories to count of those in our world who have dropped everything, left it all behind, to never see it again, to carry on into an uncertain future. Unfortunately, the stories of these refugees, of these misplaced brothers and sisters, are stories of desperation, stories that speak of those who have no other choice, those whom the ways of war and weather have forced to move. Their stories are not stories of choosing to relocate; theirs are not stories of the free decision to trek into the unknown in search of something new, something exciting.
At first glance, the story before us this morning may seem like such a narrative. Two sets of two brothers, bored with the monotonous rhythms of the fishing life out on Lake Galilee, decide to seek adventure with the wandering rabbi from Nazareth, so they leave their nets, their boats, and their father to set out on some “coming of age” adventure, from which they’ll return wiser and more adjusted to the realities of adulthood. Yes, perhaps this story seems like the telling of a quartet of men ready to leave behind the family business in order to strike out on their own…but it’s so much more than that.
I’m sure many of you here this morning have heard this story before in VBS, Sunday school, or maybe even from this very pulpit. You’ve likely heard it recounted as an exemplary tale of how we all ought to respond to the call of Jesus, how we all ought to be willing to stop what we’re doing, listen to Jesus, and follow him. While that’s a great lesson, I don’t necessarily think it’s the point of this story, at least not the whole point.
I suppose one could chalk this scene up to a necessary bit of exposition, a way to explain how Jesus got his first few followers. It seems pretty short and to-the-point: “Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the sea—for they were fishermen. And Jesus said to them, ‘Follow me and I will make you fish for people.’” Straightaway, we’re told that “immediately they left their nets and followed him.” Nearly the same thing happens when Jesus is within earshot of John and James, the sons of Zebedee; in fact, it takes fewer words to express the interaction between Jesus and Zebedee’s boys: “Immediately he called them; and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men, and followed him.” No discussion among the brothers is mentioned. There’s no conversation about the consequences of following this man from Nazareth. The author of this gospel (as the author so often does) simply states the facts in order to move the narrative along: Jesus called four fishermen to follow him and they left their stuff and followed him.
Now, hang on a minute…before we get too swept up in where this story is going, let’s take a minute to really think about what just happened. While those of us reading this story some twenty centuries later may know where this is all going, Andrew, Peter, James, and John had no way of knowing what they were signing up for, but they definitely knew what they were leaving behind. You see, while Mark’s gospel may be short on intricate details and plot points, the details it does give us are ones worth our attention. In verse 16, the gospel tells us that Jesus passed by Simon and Andrew casting their nets into the sea “for they were fishermen.” Perhaps that seems pretty obvious, but the intention here is to point out that these men are not simply out on the water on their day off—these are professionals, men whose job it was to haul the catch from the water, to the boat, to the market. In fact, all four of these men are professional fishermen, and they are all presumably part of their respective families’ businesses. They are providers for their families, their communities, but when Jesus comes along proclaiming, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news,” they take him at his word, answer his call, and leave everything there on the shore to follow him.
For so long, the immediate response of these four has been held up as the example for how to respond when Christ calls—and it should be! But I’m afraid we’ve missed something; I’m afraid we’ve watered down the response of these four men to an example of immediate response and nothing more. That is to say, it seems to me we’ve held this story up as proof that conversion (or to use a better word, discipleship) is something that happens immediately and internally. We’ve based that all on the immediate response of these fishermen to Christ’s call, while we’ve all but ignored the call of Christ itself, and in doing so, have missed the real point of these men’s obedience.
In verse 15 we hear of Jesus proclaiming the good news in Galilee saying, "The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news." His message builds upon the message of John the Baptist’s message of repentance. Then, when Jesus comes upon the fishermen, his message is simple: "Follow me and I will make you fish for people." It is at this request, this call, that these men leave their nets, their father, the hired men…hear that again, they leave their nets, their families, and their employees. In a very real sense, they leave their security in an instant to follow Jesus. This isn’t simply “asking Jesus into their hearts.” This isn’t a just cognitive acceptance of the divinity of Jesus. This isn’t four men simply agreeing that their collective theological assumptions about salvation are correct. This is four men actively, physically, leaving behind what they know to be secure, comfortable, and their societal obligations in order to follow Jesus. And here’s the thing…they can’t possibly know where that will take them! Sure, we know all about the sermon on the mount, the feeding of the five thousand, the healing the blind, the bringing Lazarus back from the dead, the cross, the tomb, the resurrection…but these four men have no way of knowing what’s in store for them. Yet they actively choose to follow Jesus as he calls them.
That’s the other thing: When Jesus calls them, he doesn’t call them to simply tag along and watch. No, he says, “I will make you fish for people.” The call of Christ is not simply a call to private, individual salvation—it is a call to a public, active vocation![4] When Jesus calls us, it is not simply so that we can rest assured that our souls may rejoice in the comfort of knowing we’ll go to heaven when we die. When Jesus call us, it is a call to actively leave behind more of who we are so that we may take hold of more of Christ, that we may actively set out into the world—not simply to decry its sinfulness and point out its shortcomings, but—to change it for the better! It is a call to actively draw others into the net of God’s all-sufficient love. It is a call that comes in a moment, but requires a lifetime of commitment, obedience, and trust.[5] It is a calling that beckons us to follow Jesus to places we haven’t been, into situations we have yet to experience, to those we have yet to meet. It is a call that come ringing with hope, joy, and love, but it is also a call that comes with the risks of bold action, the risks of following one who loves the unlovable, cares for the forgotten, the one who, though he is God, poured himself out into the world and got his hands dirty washing feet and playing with children.
 We know there are risks in following such a savior, for the very first words of the text before us this morning color the rest of the passage with its subtle shade: “Now after John was arrested…” John the Baptizer knew the risks of following this Jesus. He knew the risks of proclaiming repentance to those who believed they were already in the right. He knew the risks of calling to action those whose inaction and apathy had made them comfortable. He came to learn that following Jesus isn’t always the easy choice. These fishermen would come to learn that lesson as well, as have so many others through the centuries who have taken up the call of Christ, those who have put their faith to action by living their lives in very real ways for the gospel, those who left their nets. They learned those lessons, but most of all they learned that living a life in obedience to the call of Christ is the ultimate source of joy, for it is a call to actively be loved by God, to love God, and to draw others into that love.
Jesus is calling each of us today. He’s calling us to be “fishers of people,” to leave our nets on the shore, to leave behind what we know to be safe and comfortable in order to follow him. That means leaving behind our fears of what we don’t understand. That means getting up from the sidelines and getting in the game. That means actually actively getting involved, rather than sitting back and pointing out what you see as shortcomings. The call of Christ is to be more than an observer, more than a critic, more than a passive participant in the ways of this world—it is a call to do something!
May you be fishers of people. May you be one who leaves your nets on the shore. May you be one who takes the risks of following Jesus into the unknown. May you get up, off the sidelines, and into the game. May you trade in your critiques for actions, your observation for engagement, your stillness for movement, your indifference for love. May you hear the voice of Jesus calling you to come and follow, and may you live each moment from this one forward in obedience to that call. Amen.




[1]You can read more from the UN Refugee Agency about Ukraine here: http://www.unhcr.org/54c22c589.html
[3]Having seen the recovery effort in Haiti firsthand, I can say the earthquake there was devastating. You can read more about it here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2010_Haiti_earthquake
[4]Lee Barret, “Third Sunday after Epiphany, Mark 1:14-20: Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 1. Westminster John Knox Press: Louisville, KY (2008), p. 288.
[5]Elton W. Brown, “Third Sunday after Epiphany, Mark 1:14-20: Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 1. Westminster John Knox Press: Louisville, KY (2008), p. 286.

Monday, January 19, 2015

Here I Am (Second Sunday after Epiphany)

1 Samuel 3:1-10 (11-20)
1 Now the boy Samuel was ministering to the Lord under Eli. The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread. 2 At that time Eli, whose eyesight had begun to grow dim so that he could not see, was lying down in his room; 3 the lamp of God had not yet gone out, and Samuel was lying down in the temple of the Lord, where the ark of God was. 4 Then the Lord called, "Samuel! Samuel!" and he said, "Here I am!" 5 and ran to Eli, and said, "Here I am, for you called me." But he said, "I did not call; lie down again." So he went and lay down. 6 The Lord called again, "Samuel!" Samuel got up and went to Eli, and said, "Here I am, for you called me." But he said, "I did not call, my son; lie down again." 7 Now Samuel did not yet know the Lord, and the word of the Lord had not yet been revealed to him. 8 The Lord called Samuel again, a third time. And he got up and went to Eli, and said, "Here I am, for you called me." Then Eli perceived that the Lord was calling the boy. 9 Therefore Eli said to Samuel, "Go, lie down; and if he calls you, you shall say, "Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.'” So Samuel went and lay down in his place. 10 Now the Lord came and stood there, calling as before, "Samuel! Samuel!" And Samuel said, "Speak, for your servant is listening." 11 Then the Lord said to Samuel, "See, I am about to do something in Israel that will make both ears of anyone who hears of it tingle. 12 On that day I will fulfill against Eli all that I have spoken concerning his house, from beginning to end. 13 For I have told him that I am about to punish his house forever, for the iniquity that he knew, because his sons were blaspheming God, and he did not restrain them. 14 Therefore I swear to the house of Eli that the iniquity of Eli's house shall not be expiated by sacrifice or offering forever." 15 Samuel lay there until morning; then he opened the doors of the house of the Lord. Samuel was afraid to tell the vision to Eli. 16 But Eli called Samuel and said, "Samuel, my son." He said, "Here I am." 17 Eli said, "What was it that he told you? Do not hide it from me. May God do so to you and more also, if you hide anything from me of all that he told you." 18 So Samuel told him everything and hid nothing from him. Then he said, "It is the Lord; let him do what seems good to him." 19 As Samuel grew up, the Lord was with him and let none of his words fall to the ground. 20 And all Israel from Dan to Beer-sheba knew that Samuel was a trustworthy prophet of the Lord.

            I swore I heard something, something other-worldly. I asked my cousins if they had heard it, and they all said no. I asked my aunts and uncles, and they all just looked at me like I was some crazy little boy who needed to go outside and play. When I asked my dad, well, he just did what so many parents do when it seems their son is being annoying in the rush of preparing Sunday dinner, he told me to go sit in the living room with the rest of the “youngins” until the food was ready.
            You see, for a very brief period of my life (maybe the first four or five years), my family all got together on Sundays to go to church and, afterwards, meet at Grandma’s house for dinner (not lunch, because as you likely know, the noontime meal in the South is called dinner). I can remember one particular Sunday hearing this great growling, this mysterious mumbling. It didn’t sound like any language nor did it sound like any animal: it was a low, rumbling, what I thought to be…well, I thought it was the voice of God. Maybe the sermon that Sunday had been about God’s voice or the way God speaks to us, but I was certain after hearing this noise and questioning everyone in the house that the noise I heard was surely God speaking to me, trying to communicate through this strange grumbling that apparently only I could hear.
            When it came time to eat, we gathered around the table, elbows flying everywhere and wooden spoons diving into bowls of butterbeans and potato salad—that’s when I heard it again. So with my “outside voice” I said, “What do you want God?!” Elbows ceased flailing, dishes no longer clattered with the sound of silverware. Everyone looked at me, and my dad said, “Boy, what in the world is wrong with you?!” I looked at him, serious as anything and said, “God is trying to talk to me. But it just sounds like growling.” That’s when my uncle David started to laugh and said, “Boy, that’s just my stomach!” Instead of a divine calling, it turns out I was hearing digestive discomfort. There is, however, something to be said for the way young ears are tuned to listen for the voice of God.
Samuel was a young boy when he first heard something, a voice calling his name. His mother, Hannah, had been barren before she prayed to the Lord in the presence of the priest Eli, who observed her prayer and told her that God had heard her petition and she would at last bear a son. When Samuel was born, Hannah offered him to be set apart for the Lord that he might stay in the temple with the priests and grow to become God’s servant.[1] Samuel grew “in stature and favor with the Lord and with the people”[2] as he stayed in the temple with Eli, but it was during a time when “The word of the Lord was rare [and]…visions were not widespread”[3] that Samuel heard his name. Is it any wonder then, that when Samuel hears the voice calling in verse 4 the boy assumes it is Eli’s? It happens three times until Eli realizes what’s really going on in verse 8. He tells Samuel (in verse 9), “Go, lie down; and if he calls you, you shall say, ‘Speak Lord, for your servant is listening.’” Samuel does exactly as Eli had told him, and in verses 11 through 14, the Lord tells Samuel about the coming punishment to Eli’s house. You see, Eli’s sons (also priests) had been abusing their positions: they had been eating the fat of the sacrifices, which was specifically reserved for God, and taking advantage of the women who came to worship at the tent of meeting.[4] Their corruption and disobedience drew the judgment of God upon the house of Eli, and the news of this judgment was to be delivered to Eli by the boy who lived there in the temple with the aging prophet.
            One can surely understand Samuel’s hesitation at delivering such a message to Eli. After all, Eli practically raised Samuel; Eli was the one who was charged with caring for Samuel and brining him up as one dedicated wholly to the Lord. Eli, however, commands Samuel to tell him everything, to hold nothing back from him. Eli wanted to know every word, no matter how harsh. “So Samuel told him everything and hid nothing from him” in verse 18. It is immediately after this that we’re told in verse 19 and 20: “As Samuel grew up, the Lord was with him and let none of his words fall to the ground. And all Israel from Dan to Beer-sheba knew that Samuel was a trustworthy prophet of the Lord.” Samuel’s faithfulness to relay God’s message to Eli, stands in stark contrast to the ways in which Eli’s sons have abused their calling as servants and priests to the Lord.
            There is something to be said here about Samuel, even though he is young, even though this is only the beginning of the new work God is going to do in Israel through this prophet. There is something to be said about the way Samuel responds to God’s calling. In this brief story, this short glimpse at the beginning of a life lived in obedience to the call of God, we see—not the rose-colored picture of a vocation lived in the admiration of many and the joy of proclaiming comfort, prosperity, and happiness to those who eagerly gather to listen—but the reality that a life lived in obedience to God’s call can be a life lived with the duty to deliver a hard word to those who may not be so anxious to listen. In other words, a call from God is not a call to a glamorous life of prestige and honor, but a call to be the bearer of God’s words, the proclaimer of God’s good news and a witness to the ways of God’s kingdom. This call is not always an easy one to answer.
            If I had been told twelve years ago, when I first felt called to ministry, that as a pastor I would be constantly criticized, cussed out in hospital rooms, cornered by ego-driven church leaders, menaced by anonymous letters, bullied by Bible-thumpers, yelled at in a church parking lot, insulted behind my back by fellow believers, or threatened by wealthy givers to have their money taken away so my salary would be cut unless things started going their way, I may have told God that he had the wrong number! As it turns out, God doesn’t always give us an easy word to share; God doesn’t always give us a clear and easy path to tread when God calls us to the work of the kingdom. Sometimes (maybe most times), when God calls us, it is because the work to be done requires someone willing to do it, one who can stand and deliver a difficult word to those who may not want to hear it. Often the word God has for God’s people is a harsh word, one born out of apathy, hatred, or injustice, and when the one called by God stands to deliver such a word, those whose ears that were once tingling with the good news of heaven and the sweet bye-and-bye take their attendance, money, and their comfortably-conformed opinions, and leave for what they see as greener pastures, places where hard truths are not spoken, where their own idolatrous ideologies are upheld and proclaimed as God’s own truth.
            Often the call of God is not to just proclaim the good news to unbelievers: it is often the call to proclaim the whole gospel to those who call themselves believers. It is a call to proclaim a difficult message to those who don’t want to hear it in the first place. And this calling is not just for those of us with the title “Reverend.” God is calling all of us to stand and deliver the message of God’s kingdom, that the ways of this world—ways that so many of us see as comfortable because we have been privileged by a culture and its systems that have denied justice and opportunities to so many others—are no longer acceptable, that Christ has come to set the world right-side-up so that the love of God may reign, and all people may know that the God who created the universe loves each of them beyond the power of death and sin.
We are all called by God. Whether we hear that calling in the growling of hungry stomachs, the pain of those suffering with illness, the eyes of those longing for compassion, the trials of those who society has cast to the margins, or the cries of those longing to be free from oppression, we are ALL called by God. To be called a Christian is to be called by God. It is not always easy. It is not always wonderful or filled with accolades and admiration. But to be called by God means that God will surely use you to change the world, to change the world for the good, for the gospel, for God’s kingdom. Today, God is calling you, just as he called Samuel. May you respond just as Samuel did. May you say this morning, “Here I am…Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening,” and may God call you by name to the work of God’s kingdom. Amen.




[1] 1 Samuel 1
[2] 1 Samuel 2:26
[3] 1 Samuel 3:1
[4] Richard Boyce, “Second Sunday after Epiphany, 1 Samuel 2:1-10 (11-20): Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 1. Westminster John Knox Press: Louisville, KY (2008), pp.243-245.

Water and the Spirit (Baptism of the Lord)

Mark 1:4-11
4 John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. 5 And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. 6 Now John was clothed with camel's hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. 7 He proclaimed, "The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. 8 I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit." 9 In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. 10 And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. 11 And a voice came from heaven, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."
           
            “We have a problem,” he said. There wasn’t much context to his declaration, nor any reason given as to why he was telling me instead of someone familiar, someone in charge. “What kind of problem?” I asked. He pointed towards the roof of the three-story structure and said, “We’re almost out of water.” I remember saying, “Well that’s not good” (an understatement if there ever was one).
            This quick conversation took place this past summer, when seventeen of us travelled to the Christian Light School in Port au Prince, Haiti. There in the small, paved yard of the school was a cistern. That cistern was periodically (and expensively) filled with water from a tanker truck. Then, the water in that cistern would be pumped up three stories to several black, plastic storage tanks that each held about 500 gallons. Some of those tanks were then plumbed throughout the building to be used for washing and waste removal, while the others were plumbed to a shack on the second floor that held all kinds of filtering equipment. Now, the water that was run through that filtering equipment (including a system that treated the water with ozone) would be pumped back up to the third floor into separate tanks, so that gravity could then send it through separate pipes for drinking water. Apparently, the tanks on the roof were getting low.
            As it turned out, the jet pump that provided the tanks on the roof with water from the cistern had malfunctioned. A few adjustments to the pressure switch on the pump, and water was once again flowing from the cistern to the black tanks on the roof, through the filter systems, so we could all have safe, clean water to drink (even if it did occasionally taste like hot plastic).
            I tell you that story because I remember thinking how fortunate we are to have clean drinking water at the turn of a knob on any faucet in our homes, how vital water is to our everyday lives. I remember thinking how something so common, so plentiful, so natural and ordinary, could be so precious, so scarce, so important. As I think about it now, with the baptismal waters still a bit damp on my skin, I am in awe to think that Christ used such an element to inaugurate his ministry, that God chose to begin the ministry of Christ—not among the marbled columns of a palace, not in the gold-gilded halls of a temple, not even under the gem-bedazzled crown of royalty, but—in the shallow, muddy waters of the Jordan. There, in the water, surrounded by people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem, God initiated the great ministry of Christ, the proclamation that God had indeed intervened in history and had come to show us the way, the way that leads through water, through bread and wine, through suffering and death, and on through hope and resurrection.
            Perhaps John the Baptizer thought things would go differently. After all, in verses 7 and 8 he says, "The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit." One gets the notion that John may have expected Jesus to show up and do something completely different, something that would make everyone take notice, something flashy and powerful, but instead we’re told in verse 9: “In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan.” There are no flashy tricks, no grand speeches nor acts of power: Jesus is baptized by John in water.
Of course, what happens next is a divine confirmation of what has taken place, a sign from God that what has happened there in that water is only the beginning of things to come. “And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’" Through water, the Son of God begins his ministry and the Spirit of God announces it to the world.
There, in the water, God proclaims that Jesus is God’s beloved Son; the Spirit comes upon him. From this point forward, Jesus begins declaring the good news; he begins proclaiming the present kingdom of God. When Christ came out of the water, he stepped onto the path that would lead him to healing the sick, giving sight to the blind, caring for the poor, welcoming the stranger, challenging the powerful, and raising the dead. When Jesus stepped out of the Jordan, he stepped on to the way that leads through rejection, agony, and suffering. We Jesus came out of the water, perhaps he knew what lay before him, and perhaps he knew that at the end of that path were a cross and the pain of death. Maybe that’s why the dove came, why the sky ripped open, and the voice of God spoke of Jesus as God’s beloved Son. Maybe the signs were for Jesus, to comfort and encourage him in the face of what awaited him. One thing seems to be clear: the water of baptism marked the beginning of something powerful for Jesus, the beginning of Christ’s journey towards the cross. That’s what baptism is, the beginning of something powerful.
For whatever reason, however, over the past few generations, baptism has become quite the opposite (especially for Christians who identify as “Evangelicals”). Baptism has become something we use as a tally mark, a signpost in our lives on which we can look back and reassure ourselves that we are actually Christians and we’ll get into heaven when we die. Baptism has really become a sort of “ending,” something we do when we’ve proven that the one to be baptized has jumped through all the hoops and answered all the questions with the right answers. It is as if we’ve said to those who have been baptized, “You’ve been dunked, so now it’s really just a matter of coming to church pretty regularly, giving a little money, and maybe serving on a committee or two.” Baptism has become a mere rite of passage, something one does to prove he or she is willing to be a part of the group, an action that is required in order for one to be able to fully participate in all the perks and benefits of the institution.
Think about it: what do we ask of a person beyond baptism when it comes to church membership? What do we really expect of an individual before we add him or her to the role aside from proof of baptism or the undertaking of the act itself? Even congregations with elaborate “new members” classes place baptism at the end of that process, as a goal to be reached in order to prove that one is now genuinely a Christian and the kind of Christian that is allowed to be an official part of that congregation. It just seems to me that we have made baptism an ending of sorts, but baptism isn’t an ending. Baptism is a beginning of something powerful, a life driven by the ever-present Spirit of God.
Look at it this way: baptism is not just a symbol, a proclamation of something that has changed inside of you; it is a visible, public promise of what God is going to do through you. What if we reflected on our own baptisms that way? What if we looked back to that day we were wet with the waters of baptism as the beginning of something powerful, the beginning of God’s work in our lives? Has much changed? How far have you come since that day? How have you allowed the Spirit of God to dwell in you, to move and work through you in the lives of others? What if we saw baptism as the first, brave step on the way of following Jesus? What if we saw our own baptisms as the first movement in a life redefined by the gospel, a life lived for the kingdom of God? Would it change how we live even now?
For years I’ve heard defensive Baptists say things like, “We baptize because Jesus told us to, not because we believe it saves us:” that’s why so many Baptists refer to baptism (along with the Lord’s Supper) as an “ordinance.” I believe we baptize (and take communion) because Christ did call us to do it, but I also believe that when we follow Jesus through the waters of baptism we are united with him in his baptism AND his life, death, burial, and resurrection. That’s more than just a baptismal formula to speak while standing in the pool—it’s a call to live lives worthy of such a baptism! It is a call to be united with Christ in the very way we live our lives each day, for baptism is not an end in and of itself—it is a beginning of something powerful.
Today, we have witnessed such a beginning, and on days like this, when the baptistry is full, when one has taken the bold step to publicly show his desire to follow Jesus, those of us who have been baptized cannot help but reflect on our own baptisms. We recall what that day was like, the nervousness as we stood in front of so many, the sensation of the water closing in around us or being poured over us, the feeling of emerging from the water as a new person, wet and cool. As you reflect on that day, that beginning, how have you changed? How have you let God use you since that day? Perhaps you’ve witnessed this beginning today and realize that God is calling you to such a beginning, that Christ is calling you to follow him through the waters of baptism and on to a life lived in the power of God’s Spirit, for the good news of God’s kingdom. If you feel Christ calling you to follow him through the water, I encourage you to tell somebody, you can even come and share that with us here during our time of response.
As we all have witnessed the beginning of something powerful, the beginning of God’s work in Brody’s life here today, may we all allow God to use us. May we be used by God to share the love and the message of God’s kingdom with our words and our actions as we live each day following Christ. May those of us who have passed through the waters of baptism see that day as a beginning of something powerful and each day from here on as a day to live for Christ and God’s kingdom. And may those of us who have yet to be baptized with Christ, listen for the voice of God as it speaks to us, as it assures us of God’s love in Christ Jesus, and may you take the first step towards something powerful and a life filled with the love of God. Amen.


Sunday, January 4, 2015

What's the Word? (Second Sunday after Christmas)

John 1:1-18
1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God. 3 All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being 4 in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. 5 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. 6 There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. 7 He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. 8 He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. 9 The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. 10 He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. 11 He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. 12 But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, 13 who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God. 14 And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth. 15 (John testified to him and cried out, "This was he of whom I said, "He who comes after me ranks ahead of me because he was before me.' ") 16 From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. 17 The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. 18 No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father's heart, who has made him known.

            By now the leftovers have likely disappeared. The ornaments have found their way back into their boxes. The tree is either out by the road, hauled off to burn, or dismantled and placed back in a box that has been put back in its place in the attic, basement, garage, or closet. The stockings are gone. The shepherds, Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus have been wrapped in newspaper and put away in a shoebox. The lights have come down off the gutters and from around the shutters (though this is Alabama, so maybe they’ve been there through the year). And the music in your playlist has lost titles having to do with winter, snowmen, kings, and nights ranging from silent to divine. Tomorrow, students and teachers will return to their classrooms and those of you who’ve been on vacation will probably be getting back to work. Even though we are still in the liturgical season, it no longer feels like it is Christmas.
            Strange how that happens, isn’t it? It seems to take so long for Christmas to get here that we even use that as an expression: “No use waiting on her, she’s slow as Christmas.” Christmas seems to take its sweet time getting here, but around the first of November we begin to drag out the decorations, make lists, and start planning get-togethers. Those few weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas seem to stretch themselves out over an eternity, but when the day finally arrives, when Christmas morning comes, it seems to disappear in a flash. After the New Year celebrations everything just sort of gets back to normal as our schedules settle back down, and life finds its pace and rhythm once again. Christmas then just becomes a date on the farther end of our new calendars.
            It’s sad really—and not just because the festiveness has lost its luster, not because the cookies are all gone, and there are no more presents to give. It’s sad because when we put the decorations away in the attic, when we tuck the tree in the closet, when we turn the lights off one last time, and put the nativity scene back in its box, we often forget everything we’ve celebrated in the birth of Jesus.
            Now, don’t misunderstand me. I don’t mean to say that we forget Jesus, that we put Christ in a Tupperware tote along with the Santa hats and green plastic garland. No, we still interact with Jesus throughout the year: we’ll see him in the waters of the Jordan with his cousin John, healing folks as he walks around Galilee, teaching about the coming kingdom of God , telling stories and riddles to those who think they’ve got it all figured out. We’ll see Jesus again as he’s betrayed, tried, executed, and resurrected. You’ll hear all about Jesus at least once a week so long as you find yourself here. So, I’m not saying that when the “Christmas spirit” wears off we forget all about Jesus until next December. What I’m saying is (after Christmas comes and goes) I think we tend to forget what the birth of Jesus really means, so then we miss seeing the fullness of who Jesus is when we see him throughout the year, when we hear the testimony of Scripture regarding his life and ministry. That’s one reason why I think it’s so important to include the Fourth Gospel’s “Christmas story” along with Matthew’s Magi and Luke’s shepherds.
 At first, the prologue of John’s gospel may not sound anything at all like a Christmas story: there’s no mention of Mary or Joseph, no angels, no manger—not even a baby. The first eighteen verses of the Fourth Gospel read like some mysterious retelling of the creation story from Genesis chapter one (that’s not an accident). These verses tell of the existence of the “the Word” and its presence “In the beginning…with God.” This doesn’t sound like any of the carols we sing in December; this isn’t exactly a story that can be turned into a pageant with little boys in the daddies’ bathrobes and little girls with homemade angel wings. But these words, this prologue with all of its mysterious language, says more about what happened that first Christmas morning than either narrative version we have from Matthew and Luke.
You see, the prologue to John’s gospel tells us of the magnificent glory of God’s Incarnation, of God becoming human. The gospel tells us in verses 1-4: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. And in verses 9 and 10we hear: “The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him.” Then, in verse 14: “And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth.”  These words tell of God’s coming to dwell among us, as one of us in the form of his Son, Jesus. The importance of these words cannot be overstated. Believing these words, the truth they convey, changes everything.
You see, these words tell us more than plot points; they tell us more than who was there when it happened; they tell us that when Jesus was born, it was more than the birth of an extraordinary child, that his birth was more than the arrival of a supernatural teacher or powerful prophet. These words in John’s Gospel tell us that the birth we patiently await during the season of Advent, the birth we celebrate every Christmas, is the birth of God into history, the arrival of God in the flesh, God with us, Emmanuel. The words we’ve heard this second Sunday after Christmas are words that proclaim to us that this baby whose birth we celebrate every 25th of December is God Almighty, the Maker of the universe. When we allow that truth to really sink into our souls, when we embrace the reality of God’s presence here on this planet in the form of his Son, then everything we read about Christ in the gospels is amplified, empowered by the eternal truth that Christ’s actions and Christ’s words are in fact the actions and words of God!
Yet I worry that when the Christmas decorations are put away, our faith in the Incarnation, the indwelling of God in the flesh of Christ, is stored away as well. When we hear the stories of the Jesus in the gospels throughout the year, do we hear them as words of an important teacher, of another prophet, another messiah? Or do we hear those stories as they are—words that testify to the true Word of God, words that testify to the living God in the person of the living Christ?
It is a deep mystery to comprehend, that the eternal, almighty, creating God would walk ground the same way as you and me. It is indeed a wondrous thought to think of how the God who sets the planets on their course, the God who breathed life into the world, the God who wields the power to create and utterly destroy, the God who was there in the beginning, “lived among us.” What’s more is that the God who lived among us, came to us in the most humble way, for the Incarnation (God taking on flesh) could have happened anyway God chose. God could have chosen to dwell among us in power and riches, to appear to us as a mysterious stranger with powers beyond our imagination, yet God chose to dwell among us in the flesh of his Son, born into this world by Mary, raised like so many millions of children, taught to talk, walk, play, and work like every person before and since. God could have come to us in any number of ways that reflect God’s power and majesty, and though we may tremble to think of it, God could have very well decided not to come to us at all. But the Word that was God became flesh and lived among us and made God known to us.
Those words call us to believe; the words of John’s prologue place before us a choice. We can either believe that Jesus of Nazareth was a real person, a great teacher and prophet, a leader of men and women, a revolutionary figure of human history—but a human being all the same. We can believe that Jesus was this sort of man and manipulate his words to fit our desires, to satisfy our need for comfort and complacency. We can believe that Jesus was an extraordinary child born in an extraordinary way, yet he was only a child who grew to be an influential man. Or we can hear these words before us today as a testament to the eternal nature of God in Christ, a testimony to the reality that we are able to see the fullness of God in Jesus because the fullness of God is Jesus.
When we take hold of that wondrous truth, that Jesus is God in the flesh, then his life takes on a whole new meaning. Jesus’ words are illuminated with the eternal light of God’s glory. Christ’s death and resurrection mean so much more because it is the self-emptying sacrifice of the God of Creation saying to that us, “I forgive you. I love you. Death and sin no longer have any power over you.”
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” Here and now the Word is among us. The Spirit of God is here with us. God has been made known to us by the presence of Christ in our midst. May we all remember that Christmas is about the Incarnation of God in the Son, Jesus Christ, that the words and actions of Jesus are the words and actions of God. May we be encouraged by the reality that God has indeed gone before us, by the presence of God who is (even now) with us. May the presence of God in this place, the Spirit of God, and the love of God in Christ transform you more and more into the likeness of the Word of God, Jesus our God and our Friend. Amen.


Two Turtledoves (First Sunday after Christmas)

Luke 2:22-40
22 When the time came for their purification according to the law of Moses, they brought him up to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord 23 (as it is written in the law of the Lord, "Every firstborn male shall be designated as holy to the Lord"), 24 and they offered a sacrifice according to what is stated in the law of the Lord, "a pair of turtledoves or two young pigeons." 25 Now there was a man in Jerusalem whose name was Simeon; this man was righteous and devout, looking forward to the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit rested on him. 26 It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord's Messiah. 27 Guided by the Spirit, Simeon came into the temple; and when the parents brought in the child Jesus, to do for him what was customary under the law, 28 Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying, 29 "Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace, according to your word; 30 for my eyes have seen your salvation, 31 which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, 32 a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel." 33 And the child's father and mother were amazed at what was being said about him. 34 Then Simeon blessed them and said to his mother Mary, "This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed 35 so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too." 36 There was also a prophet, Anna the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was of a great age, having lived with her husband seven years after her marriage, 37 then as a widow to the age of eighty-four. She never left the temple but worshiped there with fasting and prayer night and day. 38 At that moment she came, and began to praise God and to speak about the child to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem. 39 When they had finished everything required by the law of the Lord, they returned to Galilee, to their own town of Nazareth. 40 The child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favor of God was upon him.

            A young couple has been planning for months, and then one day, their plans come to fruition, when the wife announces with joy that the test is positive—she’s pregnant. At first, they keep the news to themselves until a trip to the doctor verifies what the home test revealed. Then, parents and family are told by way of clever gifts and announcements that range from cute to over-the-top. Soon, friends and extended family hear the news, and the couple makes it “Facebook official” with pictures and a status update announcing their good news and maybe even a due date. The events that follow their announcement have, in recent years, become more elaborate and extravagant.
            First, there’s the “gender reveal party,” at which the couple has had a cake with either blue or pink filling prepared in order to announce whether they are having a boy or a girl. There are variations on this sort of party with opaque balloons filled with blue or pink confetti, boxes containing gender-specific clues to be opened in front of guests, games played with rules that eventually revel the baby’s gender, and the list goes on as far as one’s creativity can go (or as long as one has a Pinterest account).
            Next come maternity pictures, which can range from the tastefully artistic to the downright inappropriate. These are usually rather expensive and are often shared with the world via social media. Then there are the baby showers, where the mother-to-be (and sometimes the father-to-be) are deluged with strollers, car seats, baby bottle warmers, onesies, diapers, cribs, diapers, bottles, diapers, wipes, and of course pastel-colored Jordan almonds and/or after-dinner mints.
            When it’s time for the baby to be born (usually a date a doctor has somehow divined from a combination of the mother’s preference, the doctor’s schedule, and the hospital’s availability) there is usually a comfortable “birthing suite” where the child will be delivered, the mother AND father will be present, and family and friends can visit afterwards. Of course, there are drugs available to ease the mother’s pain and even induce delivery should the child wish to be a bit stubborn about arriving on schedule. Cigars may be passed around with either blue or pink bands. Newborn photos will be taken, and then there’ll be the birth announcement, likely more gifts, and (depending on the religious tradition of the parents) a christening, baptism, or dedication. This will all be followed by months of “ooh’s” and “ah’s” as the parents bring their new child out into the world and into the presence of others. All-in-all, a new baby is a blessing, an event marked with celebration and joy for the new parents, their families, and those who surround them with love. At least that’s how it is today, in our culture, for the news of a baby on the way can sound quite different to those who do not share in our fortunate position.
            To some women in our world, the news of pregnancy bears the news of another mouth to feed when there is already so little to go around. The news of a coming baby brings with it the frightening reality of months of pain, months of agony and anticipation, hoping the mother is strong enough—healthy enough to bear the child. To some, pregnancy is a death sentence, while still others may receive the news of pregnancy in the wake of the violation and horror of rape. There are those who, when told they are pregnant, immediately feel shame and embarrassment because of their situation in life and their culture’s expectations. Sometimes, the good news of a new baby isn’t received as such good news. Sometimes, for some women, some families, it’s difficult to see such news as a blessing.
            On this fourth day of Christmas, the birth of Jesus is still fresh on our minds and in our hearts. Most of us still have the nativity scenes up in our homes (they still adorn our church building) with Mary and Joseph lovingly looking down on their brand-new baby boy, with his angelic look of benevolence. But the truth is Mary was likely exhausted, Joseph worried, and both of them would soon be on their way from Bethlehem to Jerusalem in order to present Jesus (their firstborn) to God at the temple. We may linger for a while with the babe, the shepherds, and the manger, but the Holy Family seem to be in perpetual motion those weeks surrounding Jesus’ birth.
There are no baby showers, no gender reveal parties, no cigars passed out to the shepherds, no Mylar balloons with “It’s a boy!” printed on them. There’s nothing of that sort. Joseph, Mary, and their newborn head to the temple, but they’re not going so their temple Sunday school class can throw them a shower in the temple’s fellowship hall. They’re not going to the temple so the priest there can dedicate the child, give him a silver spoon, a printed certificate and a tiny copy of the Torah and Psalms. They are going to the temple to dedicate their firstborn son to God…and make a sacrifice. We’re told in verse 24 that “they offered a sacrifice according to what is stated in the law of the Lord, ‘a pair of turtledoves or two young pigeons.’" Two turtledoves or two young pigeons: these could have been bought by the young couple on their way into the temple, but it’s important to note that two turtledoves or two pigeons is not the sacrifice first desired in this case—it’s a lamb. The Torah, however, says that “if you cannot afford a sheep, you shall bring to the Lord, as your penalty for the sin that you have committed, two turtledoves or two pigeons, one for a sin offering and the other for a burnt offering.”[1] In other words, two turtledoves or two pigeons were the offerings acceptable from the poor who could not afford the required lamb. Joseph and Mary could not afford the required lamb; they were poor.
Yet there they were, in the temple, making the sacrifice (in more ways than one) that was customary at the birth of a new child. I don’t doubt that countless others had skipped such a religious requirement, citing the need for food, the need for whatever they would spend on such sacrifices to go towards the health and provisions of their families. Mary and Joseph are there in the temple, making the required sacrifice, dedicating their firstborn son to God, when they come across two, aged individuals, both making proclamations about the baby.
Simeon, we’re told, had been promised by God that he would see the Christ (the Messiah) before his death, and when he held the child in his arms he proclaimed,  “ my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel…This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too."
Simeon’s words aren’t exactly comforting. He envisions Jesus as one who will bring salvation, light, and glory, but he also sees the child’s future wrapped with conflict and opposition, even from his own people. No doubt Simeon recognized Joseph and Mary (with their two turtledoves) as poverty-stricken parents to this important infant. Perhaps that influenced his proclamation about the Christ-child. After all, if Jesus had been born to wealthy, powerful, influential parents (those who could at least afford a lamb for a sacrifice) he would have been born on the right side of power, on the right side of influence. But being born to poor parents meant that Christ was going to have an uphill road ahead of him; he was going to reside among the powerless, the poor, and the marginalized. Perhaps that’s why when the prophet Anna saw the Christ-child she began speaking about him to those who were “looking for the redemption of Jerusalem”—not the revenge or retribution of a nation, but the redemption of the very city where the worship of God was centralized.
The birth of the Christ-child to poor parents, to Joseph and Mary, tells us something about the kingdom of God, about the very nature of God itself. You see, the birth of Christ is more than a miraculous birth of a miraculous child: it is the very event of the Incarnation, of God becoming human, God dwelling in flesh and blood. It is perhaps the most significant theological event that gives power and meaning to all other events in Christ’s time on earth. Without the Incarnation, Christ’s death and resurrection is a miraculous resuscitation of a dead human being (a powerful thing, to be sure), on the scale of Lazarus’s resuscitation. But the Incarnation, the birth of Christ, God with us in flesh and blood, makes Christ’s death and resurrection God’s death and resurrection. God could have come to any earthly parents, in any place, at any time, and in any socio-economic status, but instead, God came as Christ to two poor, unremarkable parents who couldn’t even afford the proper sacrificial animal for his birth.
That tells me that God is on the side of those to whom the luxuries of this world seem to be as out of reach as the stars. That tells me that God chooses to reside with the powerless, to raise up the lowly, to help those who have fallen to rise. God coming to two poor parents tells me that God has a love for the poor and oppressed, the hungry and those in need, that God’s kingdom is one in which the powerful, the rich, and the selfish may find themselves strangers. God’s incarnation taking place in the lives of two poor parents who can only offer two birds for a sacrifice tells me that God’s kingdom runs counter to the ways of this world, a world that values, wealth, power, and prestige.
Those are not easy truths for us to grasp. They require decisions—hard decisions—about the way we see the world, the way we see others, the way we see ourselves. I believe that is why Simeon referred to Jesus as “a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed.” Christ’s birth, life, teachings, death, and resurrection all cause opposition. Christ is opposed not because of beliefs about theology or mystical understandings of his divinity, but because of the way he brings God’s kingdom into the world. It isn’t through the ones we expect; it isn’t by means of worldly power or the influence of those with all the resources. Christ is bringing God’s kingdom into the world through ways we least expect, and it’s been that way since his birth: God breaking into this world as a baby born to two, unknown, poor parents; Christ residing in a rural province rather than the capital of an empire, living and teaching among the poor, uncouth, and unclean; Jesus dying upon a cross between two criminals rather than leading a rebellion against an oppressive people; the resurrection of the Son of God proclaiming to the world that death has no power and sin no longer reigns; then leaving the responsibility of the kingdom’s work in the hands of ordinary folks like fishermen, tax collectors, women, you, and me.
God has come into the world in ways no one would have ever planned, and God continues to come into the world in ways we would never expect. May we be sensitive to the ways God is moving around us, bring the kingdom to light here and now. May we be attentive to the ways Christ is calling us—all of us—to be a part of his bringing the kingdom of God here on earth as it is in heaven. For God has come to be with us in a most unexpected way, a way that reveals so much to us about who God is, and God continues to come to us, to be with us, in ways that surprise us, in ways we would never expect—through poor parents, hungry children, difficult decisions, the stillness of silence, the eyes of a stranger, the voice of one crying out in oppression…God continues to be with us. May we welcome God and the kingdom in our midst. Amen.



[1] Leviticus 5:7

Noting will be Impossible with God (Fourth Sunday of Advent)

Luke 1:26-38
26 In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, 27 to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin's name was Mary. 28 And he came to her and said, "Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you." 29 But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. 30 The angel said to her, "Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. 31 And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. 32 He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. 33 He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end." 34 Mary said to the angel, "How can this be, since I am a virgin?" 35 The angel said to her, "The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God. 36 And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. 37 For nothing will be impossible with God." 38 Then Mary said, "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word." Then the angel departed from her.

            Back when I worked as a summer missionary at the Coffee Baptist Vineyard in Ariton, Alabama (a campground owned by the Coffee Baptist Association) I happened to work with a couple of guys who were, let’s say, not so eager to work outside in the middle of July in South Alabama. So in order to avoid cutting grass, weed eating, or repairing equipment they came up with a plan. See, the camp director loved to share his opinion on any and everything, so these two realized that if they wanted to get out of the sun for a few hours all they had to do was go into the director’s office and ask him a question. The more controversial the subject matter of the question, the longer they could stay inside in the cool of the air conditioning, even if it meant listening to the ramblings of someone with severe opinions.
            Well, one day, after having just about enough of having to take up their slack, I decided I’d go into the director’s office and pose a question that would surely get me out of an afternoon’s work. It was the kind of question that I (as a relatively new believer) had likely come across in some Sunday school literature or heard from some youth group speaker. I went into his office, sat down in a chair across from his desk and asked, “It’s true that God can do anything, right?” He answered, “Yes, of course.” “Ok then,” I said, “Can God make a rock so heavy that God can’t pick it up?” (That’s what some folks might call a “theological conundrum,” a riddle with no answer, the perfect time-wasting question for one who would love to argue the theological complexity of just such an inquiry.) I remember he looked at me across his desk and said, “Chris, don’t come in here trying to waste time by asking questions. The grass on the ball field needs to be mowed.” Turns out that while I was skilled at a few thing, I wasn’t as skilled at time-wasting as some of the other camp staff.
            I have to confess, at the time it was just a question I asked in an attempt to kill some time, to get out of the sun for an afternoon. But it became the kind of question that sprouted into something more in my own mind. “Can God really do anything? Is there anything God can’t do? Is God limited, say, by the laws of physics or even the words of scripture?” To those with a proof-text level of faith, there’s an easy answer to that question: simply look for verses in the Bible that explicitly say that God can do anything. Verse 37 of our text this morning is as good a text as any: “For nothing will be impossible with God.” Stripped of any literary or historical context, this verse clearly states that nothing is outside the realm of possibility when it comes to the ability of the Almighty. It’s the kind of verse that can be glibly tossed at any situation in order to make one feel better, to ease one’s anxiety, to give one confidence in his or her desires or expectations: “Will I ever get out of debt? Nothing will be impossible with God…Will I be cured of this disease? Nothing will be impossible with God…Will I get the house I’ve always wanted and have all the money I’ll ever need and then some? Nothing will be impossible with God.
            Perhaps there are those among us who can easily live within the confines of such a surface-level, pseudo-theology, but the rest of us live in a reality where such an easy-to-swallow understanding of God doesn’t mesh with what we have experienced.
            Even in the midst of Advent and the holiday season, when hope, peace, joy, and love play the soundtrack to our lives, we turn on our televisions to news stories of violence and anger; we see so many who are in need in the midst of others who are buying more than they could possibly need; we hear of the oppression, injustice, disease, and despair that resides in all places across this globe, and we cannot help but wonder sometimes, “Is nothing really impossible with God? If nothing is impossible with God, then why doesn’t God do something about all of this—why doesn’t God end hunger, AIDS, and war? Is that impossible with God?”
            One of the great things about intentionally celebrating Advent—about purposefully waiting for the actual arrival of Christmas—is that we are made to live in the juxtaposition of the joyous festivities of the holidays and the reality of winter, the reality of life. We are made to wait so that we might truly understand what it is we are waiting for, to comprehend that Christmas, the arrival of the Christ-child is an event that breaks in through the brokenness of life to tell us that there is indeed hope—though it might not take the shape we had envisioned. We celebrate Advent; we patiently wait for Christmas, because we are indeed waiting for God’s kingdom and God’s promise to make all things new. We’re waiting for God to do the impossible.
            Yet while we wait, we still hear Gabriel’s words to Mary before us this morning. God’s messenger tells Mary that she will bear the Son of God, that she will conceive even though she is still a virgin, that she is favored. When Mary asks, "How can this be?” in verse 34, Gabriel tells her of God’s Spirit, of Elizabeth’s (her much older cousin) pregnancy, and in verse 37 says those words: “For nothing will be impossible with God.” That seems like such an obvious statement, but put yourself in Mary’s place, hear them with Mary’s ears. An angel, a terrifying messenger from God, has told you that you will bear the Son of God, that even though you’re a virgin, a young girl, you will conceive and bear God’s Son, you will have to deal with the birth pangs, the rumors, the inherent difficulties, and you will have to raise this Son of God.
Now imagine that load has just been dropped on your shoulders and then the angel tells you, “Nothing will be impossible with God.” Now, if that is true, then why not skip all this birth business and all of its difficulties? Why not bring the Son of God into the world some other way, some wonderfully powerful, brilliant, undeniable way? Why not prove that nothing is impossible with God by bringing God’s Son into the world by some means that cannot be dismissed as superstition, lies, or fairy tales? Why put the burden on a young girl—a poor, young, girl from some backwater town? If nothing is impossible with God, why not prove it to the world through some grand, cosmic display of power and glory that would make more than shepherds and Magi from afar take notice? Why…? Because nothing will be impossible WITH God…even this seeming burden God has placed upon Mary.
Mary doesn’t question God. No, when Gabriel tells her that nothing will be impossible with God, she responds in an exemplary way, the way all of Christ’s followers and God’s people ought to respond when told of the things of God: "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word." You see, nothing is impossible with God, because when one is truly WITH God, he or she no longer sees the impossible. Those things which once were thought of as impossible are seen with new eyes, from a different perspective—a kingdom perspective.
I like the way Shane Claiborne puts it: “When we ask God to move a mountain [something we may indeed see as impossible], God may give us a shovel.”[1] Nothing is impossible with God; that’s why God uses folks like us to do the work of God’s kingdom, that’s why God calls us to action, to change the world. All those things we may question God about, all of those things that may cause us to wonder if God truly can do everything, just may be the very things God is going to use you to accomplish! Nothing is impossible with God, so why be afraid when God tells you to speak a hard word in the midst of a stubborn community? Why be hesitant when God calls you to do what seems to be undoable? Nothing is impossible with God.
In many ways, that is what Advent and Christmas is all about. God brought salvation into a seemingly unsalvageable world through the birth of a child. God brought that child up through obscurity and poverty to be the most influential figure in history. God dwelt among us in the flesh of that child, taught us the meaning of life in God’s kingdom through the words of his Son, and God overcame death—perhaps the ultimate impossibility—through the resurrection of Christ. Nothing will be impossible with God.
As Christmas lies but a few sunsets from now, may you hear God’s words to Mary with new ears. May you realize that nothing is impossible with God. May you hear the voice of God calling you to be an agent of bringing reality to the impossible. And may we all worship in awe, wonder, and love the God with whom nothing is impossible. Amen.



[1] from Red Letter Revolution: What if Jesus Really Meant What He Said? p.33.