"Coming Down off the Mountain" (Transfiguration Sunday)

Luke 9:28-43a

28 Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. 29 And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. 30 Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. 31 They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. 32 Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. 33 Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, "Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah"—not knowing what he said. 34 While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. 35 Then from the cloud came a voice that said, "This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!" 36 When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen. 37 On the next day, when they had come down from the mountain, a great crowd met him. 38 Just then a man from the crowd shouted, "Teacher, I beg you to look at my son; he is my only child. 39 Suddenly a spirit seizes him, and all at once he shrieks. It convulses him until he foams at the mouth; it mauls him and will scarcely leave him. 40 I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not." 41 Jesus answered, "You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you? Bring your son here." 42 While he was coming, the demon dashed him to the ground in convulsions. But Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, healed the boy, and gave him back to his father. 43 And all were astounded at the greatness of God.

            Two summers ago, seventeen of us boarded a plane bound for the city of Port-au-Prince, Haiti. I still remember what it was like after we got off that plane: the musty airport that felt more like an old greyhound station, the people rushing past us, the people stopping to “help” us with our bags, the sudden realization that we were in another country—that we were the foreigners. I can still see in my mind that ocean of people outside the doors of the airport, a seemingly endless pool of people, all crowded together, hoping to earn a few dollars from those making their way from the airport. There was the ride to the school where we were staying in the back of a blue truck, with makeshift benches lining the sides; it felt more like a cage than cabin. We drove over the rough roads of that beaten country, passing people burning palm trees to make charcoal, women carrying naked babies and pieces of fruit in their arms, men sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk trying to sell what most of us would consider garbage. Then there was the smell, some sort of combination of compost, smoke, and sewage.

            We stayed in a school building made of concrete right in the center of the city, surrounded by other half-crumbled buildings, tents, and lean-tos. In the week we were there, we witnessed some pretty heartbreaking things, malnourished children, sick parents, discouraged families living in groups in abandoned buildings…but we also witnessed some pretty wonderful things.

            We stayed at a school where children were learning, where they were being fed, where they had a safe place to sleep. We worshipped with brothers and sisters who still found joy in the gathering together of the faithful. We experienced miracles as we fed hundreds of children when it seemed like we wouldn’t have enough to feed them all. We glimpsed heaven as we sat around tables in a crowded room drinking Coke and Fruit Champagne from glass bottles, eating the best mangos and spaghetti one could ever eat in a place like that. It wasn’t all overwhelming, third-world discouragement; most of it was downright heavenly.

            I can remember sitting on the roof of the school one night, when the breeze was cool. Everyone else was downstairs, winding down for the night. The power was out, as it went off every afternoon before dark except our last night there. The air was filled with the sound of dogs barking, what we all assumed was an all-night church service going on somewhere in the city, and an occasional car or motorcycle growling by. The moon was bright and directly overhead; I remember it looked as if the sky was just a series of concentric circles of fading light around it. I had this enormous sense of peace, as if all was right with the world, and things were as they should be. I closed my eyes and remember thinking (as I later wrote down in my journal): “I wish I could feel this way all the time, that I could just stay right here, in this moment, at peace.” Then there was a loud bang—maybe a car backfired, or someone slammed one of the big metal gates closed—and I came to my senses.

            There are still children living in that school who need food and an education. There are still families living in sewage. There are still those who are cast out and marginalized who need to be told they are loved. All is not peaceful, all is not right with the world, and things are not as they should be— YET. We have to come out of our comfort comma, snap out of our sense of serenity, we have to come down off the mountain every once and a while so that we can do what we’re called to do, because I’m convinced that the life of faith to which Christ calls us is a life lived down off the mountain.

            You see, when Jesus took James, John, and Peter up the mountain with him, he took them (verse 28 tells us) to pray. Jesus is heading towards Jerusalem, ultimately towards Calvary and the cruelest of deaths upon a cross. On the way, he and his disciples will encounter adversaries, challenges, overwhelming and heartbreaking situations—they need prayer! They need these respites of prayer, times when they can come together to listen to the heart of God and ask for courage, wisdom, and patience. While they are praying, however, Jesus is transfigured before them: “the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white.” Not only is Jesus’ divine nature revealed, but he’s joined by the spokespersons for the Law and the Prophets: “Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah [how they knew it was Moses and Elijah? I don’t really know aside from it maybe being more than a bit obvious], talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure [lit. “exodus], which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.” Moses and Elijah are speaking with Jesus about his work in Jerusalem, his death, burial and resurrection.

            Now, we’re told that Peter, James, and John were all sleepy, but they were fully awake when they saw all of this transfiguring and appearing going on. Then, in verse 33: “Just as [Moses and Elijah] were leaving [Jesus], Peter said to Jesus, ‘Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah’—not knowing what he said.” Peter (and presumably, James and John) are caught up in the glory and awe of what they just witnessed. They want to stay up on the mountain, set up some tents for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah, have an extended prayer meeting, just the six of them. After all, how could it get any better than this: Jesus, Moses, AND Elijah…together…in one place? I imagine in that moment, in that place, for them, it seemed as if all was right with the world, as if they were in the best place they could ever hope to be, as if it couldn’t possibly be any better than it was right then. They were caught up in this glorious moment of divine revelation…and then, a bang! Well, a voice really.

            “While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, ‘This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!’” I think it’s worth noting that in this moment of devotional desire, this wish for worship, the very voice of God declares to Christ’s followers Jesus’ identity as God’s Son AND commands them to worship him? adore him? quote him? paint his picture and hang it over their fireplaces at home? No! The voice of God commands the followers of Christ to LISTEN TO HIM! And that’s more than just hearing the sound of his voice and saying, “That’s a pretty good idea.” It’s about hearing Jesus’ words and putting them to action! It’s a wakeup call to the three disciples on the mountain with Jesus, especially in light of what takes place when they come down from the mountain.

            “On the next day, when they had come down from the mountain, a great crowd met him. Just then a man from the crowd shouted, ‘Teacher, I beg you to look at my son; he is my only child. Suddenly a spirit seizes him, and all at once he shrieks. It convulses him until he foams at the mouth; it mauls him and will scarcely leave him. I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not.’" I wonder who pointed the first finger. Can’t you just imagine it? “I begged your disciples to do it, but they couldn’t.” “Oh, he didn’t ask me, Jesus…I’m not sure who he asked, but it wasn’t me…well we figured he was just trying to take advantage of us…we figured his son was just putting on, or maybe he was strung out on something…” I can hear them now, denying the man’s claims, saying that he never asked, or that they were just being cautious, not wanting to be taken advantage of by folks who knew them to be Jesus-followers.

I can hear them, because I’ve said things like that myself: “Well, you can’t ever be too careful. You know, you help some folks and they’re liable to go buy alcohol or drugs…if you help them once, they’ll be right back next month with another sob story…you know, I don’t think they’re really even that bad off; did you see that expensive phone she had in her purse?” Sometimes it’s hard to come down off the mountain, because we’re afraid we can’t trust anyone to be honest with us, but Jesus said one time somewhere: “Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again.”[1] Then, the voice of God says to us, "This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!"  

Of course, the man who they meet at the bottom of the mountain, his story is a heartbreaking one. His only son is possessed by a demon that causes him to shriek, convulse, foam at the mouth, and injure himself with violent seizures and spells of self-mutilation. It’s an overwhelming case to be sure. He says, “I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not.” Who could blame them? Perhaps they wept with the man, prayed with him, and then said, “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing else we can do.” Maybe they tried to cast out the demon, tried to heal the boy, but the situation was so dire, so pitiful that their emotions got the best of them, and they came to the realization that the only hope was a miracle—and they themselves weren’t the source of miracles.

I’ve been there before, standing by the hospital bed, the sound of the ventilator and the beeping of monitors like the ticking hands of life’s clock. I’ve been there, as loved ones beg for a change in condition, a glimmer of hope that their son, sister, father will come out of this, and in the weight of that grief, all I could muster to say was, “I’ll pray for you.” It’s a comfort to know someone is praying for you, but when you’re at the end of the rope, when there’s no other option seemingly left, and you’re looking for a miracle…it’s hard, but Jesus said one time somewhere: “Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these,”[2] and the voice says, "This is my Son…listen to him!"  

Life down from the mountain is hard; it’s real. It’s full of complications, contradictions, adversities, overwhelming and heartbreaking situations, but the life of faith is a life lived down from the mountain. Yes, there are times when we need to meet on the mountain, when we need to gather for worship, for prayer, for encouragement and guidance. Those times (times like this morning) are a vital part of the life of a Christ-follower, but if all we do is hunker down where we are comfortable, where we are safe, where all seems right with the world and we are at peace…well then friends, I’m afraid we aren’t listening to Jesus! For Christ came down from the mountain, and Christ calls us to follow him down from the mountain, out the doors of the sanctuary, and into the world—not to condemn it, but to save it. To share the good news of a loving God in Christ Jesus, to give food to those who are hungry, drink to those who are thirsty, clothes to those who are naked, comfort to those who are afflicted, justice to those who are oppressed, to bring God’s kingdom on Earth as it is in heaven. And friends, we cannot do that if we just build tabernacles and stay up on the mountain!

If Christ’s transfiguration teaches us anything, I think it’s this: Yes, Christ is fully God, and in that confession we must also confess that God has come down to us to show us the way of true love, to show us the way of God’s kingdom. Because Jesus said many times, somewhere: "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.' This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.' On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets."[3] And the voice of God speaks to us today: "This is my Son…listen to him!"  Amen.

---

[1] Luke 6:30

[2] John 14:12

[3] Matthew 22:37-40

"A Word to Make You Cry. A Word to Make You Angry" (Third Sunday after Epiphany)

Nehemiah 8:1-10

1 all the people gathered together into the square before the Water Gate. They told the scribe Ezra to bring the book of the law of Moses, which the Lord had given to Israel. 2 Accordingly, the priest Ezra brought the law before the assembly, both men and women and all who could hear with understanding. This was on the first day of the seventh month. 3 He read from it facing the square before the Water Gate from early morning until midday, in the presence of the men and the women and those who could understand; and the ears of all the people were attentive to the book of the law. 4 The scribe Ezra stood on a wooden platform that had been made for the purpose; and beside him stood Mattithiah, Shema, Anaiah, Uriah, Hilkiah, and Maaseiah on his right hand; and Pedaiah, Mishael, Malchijah, Hashum, Hash-baddanah, Zechariah, and Meshullam on his left hand. 5 And Ezra opened the book in the sight of all the people, for he was standing above all the people; and when he opened it, all the people stood up. 6 Then Ezra blessed the Lord, the great God, and all the people answered, "Amen, Amen," lifting up their hands. Then they bowed their heads and worshiped the Lord with their faces to the ground. 7 Also Jeshua, Bani, Sherebiah, Jamin, Akkub, Shabbethai, Hodiah, Maaseiah, Kelita, Azariah, Jozabad, Hanan, Pelaiah, the Levites, helped the people to understand the law, while the people remained in their places. 8 So they read from the book, from the law of God, with interpretation. They gave the sense, so that the people understood the reading. 9 And Nehemiah, who was the governor, and Ezra the priest and scribe, and the Levites who taught the people said to all the people, "This day is holy to the Lord your God; do not mourn or weep." For all the people wept when they heard the words of the law. 10 Then he said to them, "Go your way, eat the fat and drink sweet wine and send portions of them to those for whom nothing is prepared, for this day is holy to our Lord; and do not be grieved, for the joy of the Lord is your strength."

            In my office there is an entire shelf full of Bibles. There’s the well-worn, black, bonded leather King James Version I received after graduating high school, full of pen marks and highlighter ink; there’s also an identical copy that’s hardly been opened that I received when I was baptized with my baptismal certificate in the front cover. There’s the one I call “big red,” my copy of the New Oxford Annotated Study Bible, the slim tan New Revised Standard Version I recently retired due to its cracked binding and peeling faux leather cover. There’s the thin, black NIV I use at weddings and funerals, the burgundy copy of a spiritual practices Bible, a hardback copy of Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase “The Message,” a Green Bible, with every verse mentioning creation printed in soy-based green ink. I’ve got a Hebrew Bible, two Greek New Testaments, and even a Hebrew New Testament, and then there’s the New American Standard Bible I carried in college and the New Interpreter’s Study Bible I was gifted at my ordination by the congregation of Shades Crest Baptist Church. Then, of course, there’s this compact NRSV that I have with me just about everywhere I go, along with the Bible app on my phone and the countless copies distributed throughout the various volumes of commentaries that occupy the other shelves in my study.

            I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve read through the Bible (especially the New Testament), the number of times I’ve taught on the Bible, preached from the Bible, written about the Bible, and all because I have ready access to a copy of the Scriptures just about any time and any place. I can simply walk over to my shelf and pull down a copy, launch an app on my phone, or go to one of thousands of websites on the internet where I might find the full text of the Bible, or I can simply check into a hotel room and pull open the drawer on the nightstand, sit in one of many waiting rooms, go to the library, or buy one off the shelf at Dollar Tree. The Bible is not a difficult book for us to get, to hold in our hands, but it hasn’t always been like that.

            You see, contrary to what some might think, the Bible did not come to us as it is—a complete work of at least sixty-six books bound together, no. The Bible has a long history that begins with an oral tradition, of families sitting around fires and supper tables telling and retelling the stories of their people. For generations, the stories of Adam and Eve, of Noah, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, about David and Goliath were all passed down through the oral telling of these stories. Even the Laws of Moses were transmitted by this oral tradition.

            The people, however, were never completely faithful to these stories, traditions, and laws. The history of the Israelites shows us how rare it was for them to get it right, how they longed to be like other peoples, how their judges and kings would become corrupt, how God would use nations like Assyria and Babylon to destroy an already divided kingdom. The Assyrians conquered and devastated the ten tribes of the northern kingdom of Israel around the year 722 B.C.; the kingdom would never truly come back together after that. Around the year 586 B.C. Babylon conquered the two remaining tribes in the southern kingdom of Judah, exiling the elites of the kingdom and leaving there own people to inhabit the newly conquered nation. However, Babylon’s reign in Judah wouldn’t last long, for the Persians conquered Babylon and became the new super power in the world. The Persian king, Cyrus, had a different approach to handling conquered peoples in his empire: he issued an edict in the year 538 B.C. releasing the (now-called) Jews back to their homeland so that they might rebuild their traditions, while always remembering they were still subjects of Persia.  Two of the leaders of this journey back to Judah, of this rebuilding of a people, were a scribe named Ezra and the former king’s cupbearer named Nehemiah. The story of the attempted rebuilding of Jerusalem is recorded in the books of Ezra and Nehemiah (traditionally only one book in the Hebrew Scriptures).

            I give you this very brief bit of ancient history, because, up to this point in the history of God’s people, Scripture is still mostly oral traditions. It isn’t until after the exiles return to Judah that Ezra begins to write many these laws, stories, and histories down, because it was becoming clear that they might lose them with the passing of time and the dispersion of the people. So Ezra earns the nickname “The Scribe” in this era, because he sought to preserve the words of the Law for future generations, just as he and Nehemiah were seeking to preserve the traditions of the temple and Jerusalem for years to come. And that brings us to the event in our text this morning.

            Ezra has gathered all the people (men and women and all who could hear with understanding) in the square before the Water Gate, for the people had asked Ezra to bring out the Law and read it to them. This all took place on a date that is now recognized as the beginning of the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah. Now, it is easy to lose the significance of what is taking place here in the flurry of consonants that is the list of Hebrew names: the people have requested Ezra to read the Law to them, and he gathers—not in the Temple where the people would be divided by race and gender—but by the Water Gate, where all of the people who wished to listen could. There’s something wonderfully powerful about that, about knowing that Scriptures (at that time, likely just the five books of the Law, maybe even only Deuteronomy) have an inherent accessibility about them, that they are not to be placed on a high shelf out of the reach of some, nor are they to be locked inside an institution for only the privileged to behold. The Scriptures are unbound religious institutions, yet it is important to note what takes place around Ezra’s reading of the Scriptures.

            In verse 4, our text begins: “The scribe Ezra stood on a wooden platform that had been made for the purpose…And Ezra opened the book in the sight of all the people, for he was standing above all the people; and when he opened it, all the people stood up. Then Ezra blessed the Lord, the great God, and all the people answered, ‘Amen, Amen,’ lifting up their hands. Then they bowed their heads and worshiped the Lord with their faces to the ground.” This reading of Scripture does not take place in some flippant manner; it is not an act of curiosity or an attempt to prove a point. When Ezra reads from the Scriptures it is an act of worship! This is not an attempt to answer the question, “What do the Scriptures say about…?” Before the first word is read, Ezra blessed God and the people respond with physical acts of worship. (It may be important to note here that the people are worshipping God, NOT the Scriptures. That seems to be a line that is blurred with some in the more fundamentalist strains of Christianity today).

            Notice too, that when Ezra begins to read how long her did read: verse 3 says, “He read from it facing the square before the Water Gate from early morning until midday” (now, I don’t ever want to hear anyone ever complain about me reading a text ten or more verses long again!). What is more (and perhaps more worth the mentioning) is what takes place while Ezra reads the Scriptures. Verses 7 & 8 tell us, “Also Jeshua, Bani, Sherebiah, Jamin, Akkub, Shabbethai, Hodiah, Maaseiah, Kelita, Azariah, Jozabad, Hanan, Pelaiah, the Levites, helped the people to understand the law, while the people remained in their places. So they read from the book, from the law of God, with interpretation. They gave the sense, so that the people understood the reading.” Ezra did not simply throw the reading of the text out among the people and say, “You can figure it out for yourselves!,” nor did he say, “These are the Scriptures, take them literally as I’ve read them.” The Scriptures needed interpretation, and the Levites, those whom God had called to the spiritual leadership of God’s people, gave that interpretation to the people.

            This is an important point that cannot be overlooked. If Scripture is merely quoted, recited from memory, or read aloud without any prayerful, thoughtful, interpretation, it can be very dangerous. Ezra could have read from the Law and then simply waited to see how the people would respond, or he could have even used the very language of the Law itself to manipulate the people into doing whatever he desired (many so-called spiritual leaders have). By reading and then interpreting the Scriptures for the people, Ezra and the Levites are able to reveal the contemporary meaning to their post-exilic peers. We see the people’s response to the Scriptures and their interpretations in verses 9 and following: ‘"This day is holy to the Lord your God; do not mourn or weep.’ For all the people wept when they heard the words of the law. Then he said to them, ‘Go your way, eat the fat and drink sweet wine and send portions of them to those for whom nothing is prepared, for this day is holy to our Lord; and do not be grieved, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.’"

            At first, the people weep when they hear the words of Scripture, perhaps many for the first time. Maybe they wept because they were suddenly aware of their shortcomings. Perhaps they wept because there are those words in Scripture that prick your heart in such a way that one cannot help but be overcome by emotions. Maybe they wept because they realized they had been missing out on the worship of God for all of those years in exile. Whatever the reason, Ezra and the Levites instruct them to go to their homes and celebrate and to celebrate with those who have nothing. Why? “for the joy of the Lord is your strength.”

            The people of God heard the Law, heard its interpretation in the midst of worship, and were then reminded of the joy of God. This is a monumental moment in the history of God’s people, for it is the template for how we conduct worship even today. When we gather for worship, we gather to listen for a word from God, interpreted through the Scriptures by one who is called by God to the task of such proclamation. We gather to be reminded of what God has called us to, of what God has done for us, of who God is and who God is calling us to be. We gather, not in restricted spaces where thick lines are drawn between people, but in an open sanctuary, where all who wish to draw closer to God are welcome. This passage from Nehemiah reminds us of the centrality of Scripture to our worship, and the centrality of worship to our understanding of Scripture, of the importance of interpretation, and the overarching, ever-excelling joy of God in which we truly find our strength.

            So, the next time you pick up your Bible, the next time we gather in this place to worship, to listen for a word from God, may you be mindful of the ways God speaks to God’s people. May you be mindful of how you read and use Scripture, and may you come to love the words of Scripture—not for their defensive usefulness, but for the wonderful ways they reveal the joy of the Lord to us all. Amen.

"Varieties...but the Same" (Second Sunday after Epiphany)

1 Corinthians 12:1-11

1 Now concerning spiritual gifts, brothers and sisters, I do not want you to be uninformed. 2 You know that when you were pagans, you were enticed and led astray to idols that could not speak. 3 Therefore I want you to understand that no one speaking by the Spirit of God ever says "Let Jesus be cursed!" and no one can say "Jesus is Lord" except by the Holy Spirit. 4 Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; 5 and there are varieties of services, but the same Lord; 6 and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone. 7 To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good. 8 To one is given through the Spirit the utterance of wisdom, and to another the utterance of knowledge according to the same Spirit, 9 to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts of healing by the one Spirit, 10 to another the working of miracles, to another prophecy, to another the discernment of spirits, to another various kinds of tongues, to another the interpretation of tongues. 11 All these are activated by one and the same Spirit, who allots to each one individually just as the Spirit chooses.

             When I was growing up, there was a lot of talk in my hometown about the possibility of kids wearing school uniforms (it came up about as often as the lottery coming to Alabama). There were all kinds of arguments for it: parents wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not what their children wore was appropriate; kids wouldn’t get in fights about silly things like name brands, gang colors, or team logos; there would be a sense of uniformity and order to classrooms, and students could focus more on what they were learning than what other kids were wearing. Of course, there were also arguments against requiring school uniforms, but none of them really come to mind, because as a kid who often got made fun of for his clothes, the thought of having a uniform was a bit of a relief.

            I’d look the same as the rest of the kids. It wouldn’t matter what brand of shirt I wore, or whether or not I had worn the same pants the day before, we would all have to wear the same thing every day; we’d all be the same. No one would look any better, worse, or different than any of the other kids. That made sense to me, for all of us to be the same, because, well, deep down we all were.

            As an adult, however, I’ve learned that while uniformity in the clothes children wear to school may be a good thing, uniformity in life is impractical, implausible, boring, and contrary to the way God has created us. Of course, this lack of uniformity—of sameness—in life is also complicated, messy, and problematic. It leads to tension, frustrations, fighting, war, and all kinds of confusion and conflict in between. So it shouldn’t surprise us at all any time a number of different folks, with all their differences of opinions, styles, backgrounds, and perspectives gather together in an attempt to be one body, a church, that there is sometimes tension, frustrations, confusion, and conflict. Wouldn’t it be easier if God had just made us all the same, without all these differences that can cause us such problems?

            I suppose it would be easier, but where’s the beauty in such sameness? Does anyone really want to see a grey rainbow? How about a choir of strictly baritones, or a hymn played with a single note? Would it still be a good team if all the players were skilled in the same way, a team full of quarterbacks, a lineup full of right fielders? Sure, things would be predictable, problems easily averted, traditions quickly learned, but who would really want to live in such a world of monotonous uniformity?

Then again, I suppose if everyone is on the same page, doing the same thing, thinking the same way, then achieving a common purpose would be a whole lot easier. Just imagine it: elections years would be election hours because everyone would agree on who should be elected; there would be fewer sessions of legislative bodies as they came together to simply cast the votes on an already agreed upon outcome; there would be fewer churches because folks wouldn’t leave and congregations wouldn’t split over silly things like the color of the carpet, the building of a Sunday school wing, or the time of worship (and, of course, everybody would like the preacher!). I wonder sometimes if such uniformity would be worth giving up the messiness of God’s diverse creation, if it would be worth the boringness, the flatness, the greyness, to have everyone get along with one another, to see eye-to-eye, to keep the peace. There is, however, something to be said for the beauty of God’s risking the complications of our differences in order create a world filled with the potential for wonder, grace, and love.

            When I read the apostle’s words before us the morning, I read words that speak about that riskiness on God’s part, words about the diverse ways in which God has gifted each one of us with unique gifts of the Spirit, how each of those unique gifts come from the One and Same Spirit, and (how he writes in verse seven) “To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good…”

To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good; now that may be the most important phrase in this text. You see, it would be easy to get bogged down in trying to decipher what each of these gifts is, how they actually manifest themselves among the people of God, and if they’re still prevalent among the Church today. It would be easy to create our own list of gifts, to draw up some sort of “spiritual gifts inventory” and go down the list checking off those we possess and those we do not. And I suppose such efforts would be the result of trying to discern whether or not we possess such spirited giftedness in order to be better Christians, to outline those places in our own lives where we can be more like those in the first century, more like those spiritual heroes of yesterday, more in tune with the spiritual world. I suppose such efforts in and of themselves may be noble—as any attempt to be more spiritual may be, but if our giftedness stops just shy of what Paul calls, “the common good” are we truly any more spiritual?

Can I tell you something? This is where my peers in the “spiritual but not religious” crowd lose me. Sure, they may say things like “I see God in the beauty of a sunset,” or “I find God when I’m all alone in the quiet with my own thoughts,” but if that’s where it begins AND ends, I have to ask, is that the point of spirituality? Is that the reason God has given gifted us all with unique gifts from the One Spirit, or is there a purpose behind our spiritual lives, something more to even the spiritual life to which God has called us? Paul says “To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good,” and I just can’t shake that. You see, I know Paul is speaking to a congregation on the verge of division. I know Paul is speaking to a congregation with members who think higher of themselves than they do of others. I know Paul is writing to a specific church, with specific issues, in a specific time, but I just cannot shake the notion that God has gifted us all for more than our own spiritual peace and well-being.

Why couldn’t Paul just say that God gifted us all differently and those God gifted “this” way should get together over there and have their own gatherings, and those God gifted “that” way should get together over here and have their own gatherings? Why couldn’t he have said something like, “In order for you to all get along I’m writing to you a list of ‘approved gifts for the practices and spiritual edification of the church’ and should any of you deviate from such a list you will be disciplined or set outside the fellowship?” Why couldn’t Paul just say, “If one can’t have the same gifts as another, then no one ought to have any gifts at all?” That, in my mind, would be so much easier than having to live with the reality of God’s diversity in giftedness. To have everyone give up what makes them who they are so that the life of the church could continue uninterrupted, so that the threat of division and conflict would be eliminated—that would be so much easier than trying to make one body of believers ought of all of these different people…but that’s what God does.

God creates us—messy, broken, prideful, differently-gifted people—to share in this life, to serve “the common good” together, in spite of our differences. We are NOT all the same, but we are all gifted by the same Spirit of the same God for the same purpose, and the reality is, truthfully, though we may all be gifted differently, though we may all look different, think different, go about our lives in different ways—down at the core of who we are, we are the same. We are daughters and sons of God, for when all our differences are burned away, when all the lines we’ve drawn are erased, when all the labels we’ve made have been peeled off and thrown out, all we are left with is the reality that we are in fact all the same: children of God in need of love. That’s why I believe Paul doesn’t just leave his discussion of spiritual gifts here in chapter 12. No, he brings it all to a perfect point in the first verses of the next chapter:

If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful;  it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends. But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end. For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part; but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end. When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.

            We can have every gift, every blessing bestowed upon us. We can have every bit of knowledge, knowing the Bible backwards and forwards. We can have the kind of faith that shows others that we don’t worry about a thing. We can speak in tongues, walk on water, pick up mountains and cast them into the sea. We can give away every dime in our account, take the shirt right off of our backs, pray the sweetest prayers, and wear a whole in the pew cushion. We can add jewels to our crowns, rooms to our heavenly mansions, and gold pavers to our divine driveways….but if we do not have love—we are nothing!

            Friends, everything in this world will fade away—even the ink on the pages of the hymnals and bibles in your hands and the pew racks—everything, except love. When you look around this room, when you around this world, you may see differences, you might see reasons to distance yourself from someone or some group, but what Christ is calling us all to see when we look at each other is a brother or sister—not an opportunity for noticing difference and divisions, but an opportunity to love. Amen. 

"Last in Line" (Baptism of the Lord)

Luke 3:15-22

15 As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, 16 John answered all of them by saying, "I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. 17 His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire." 18 So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people. 19 But Herod the ruler, who had been rebuked by him because of Herodias, his brother's wife, and because of all the evil things that Herod had done, 20 added to them all by shutting up John in prison. 21 Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, 22 and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."

            I was sitting at Roma’s one day (I don’t remember if it was a Saturday morning for breakfast or a weekday lunch) when something caught my attention and caused my heart to beat just a bit faster. Driving around the square was a burgundy, crew cab, Chevy pickup with chrome tie-downs on the bedrails. Well, I just happen to drive a burgundy, crew cab, Chevy pickup with chrome tie-downs on the bedrails, so for a split-second I thought someone had stolen my truck. It turns out they didn’t, but ever since that day, I’ve noticed more trucks that look an awful lot like mine on the road.

Strange how that happens, isn’t it? We’re made momentarily aware of something and then we can’t help but notice it seemingly all the time. We buy a new car and suddenly it’s like everyone else in town bought the same car in the same color, or we’ve bought a new pair of shoes and now can’t help but notice how many other people share our same fashion sense, or we hear a new word, a new song on the radio and it’s as if everyone is using that word or every station is playing that song. Has that ever happened to you? Did you know there’s actually a name for this, this sudden awareness of things that were previously unnoticeable? It’s called the Baader-Meinhoff Phenomenon. Oddly enough, it actually gets its name from a West German terrorist group in the 1970s, because a commenter on the phenomenon in the 1990s heard references to the group twice within a 24-hour period.[1] So it’s kind of a real thing, right, the way we tend to notice things more frequently once we’ve initially encountered them?

I thought about this phenomenon in light of what this Sunday is about, the first Sunday after Epiphany, which the traditional Church recognizes as the Sunday to reflect on Christ’s baptism as well as our own. I thought about the ways in which—after I was first baptized—I began to notice those people who were baptized just like I had been, those people who claimed the name of Christ. I mean, it was easy to notice those folks who filled the pews in the same church I went to, but out and about, out there in “the world,” I began to take notice of those folks who wore W.W.J.D. bracelets, those people with “Jesus fish” (actually called an icthus) on their cars, those people who would say certain words or phrases that I had only really heard other church folks say. It felt like there were believers all around me, and for the most part, it was great!

I mean, I found out the Bono, the leader singer of the Irish rock band U2, was a Christian. How cool is that?! One of the most famous rock stars in the world had been baptized like me (though it was in a different manner, but it still counts, right?). I learned that my assistant principal from high school—a man who encouraged me and treated me like a kid with potential—was a Christian (though to be fair, it’s likely most of the faculty and staff at my high school were Christians; I was raised in the Deep South, right where the buckle comes together on the Bible Belt). It seemed like there were others all around me who had been baptized, who were believers in Christ: there was the teller at the bank, the barber who had cut my hair for years, the cashier at Winn-Dixie, the woman who worked in the food service department at the service center where I worked, the waiter at the Mexican restaurant…there were baptized folks everywhere!

I have to tell you, though, it didn’t surprise me a whole lot. After all, most of these people struck me right away as “good, Christian people.” They were nice, clean, kept their shirts tucked in. They didn’t “cuss, drink, smoke, or chew or run around with folks that do!” They spoke in “Christianese,” saying things like “I’ll pray for you…God bless you…if God brought you to it, he’ll bring you through it…if it’s in God’s will…” They were sweet people, people with tags on their cars that said “God is my co-pilot,” with prints of the Last Supper hanging over their dining room tables, and “Footprints” posters on the wall in the hallway. They were folks that said silent prayers over their value meals at McDonald’s, folks with pocketbooks engraved with the 23^rd Psalm and pens in their pockets with pictures of eagles and the words of Isaiah printed on them. No, it didn’t surprise me a whole lot when I noticed those folks had been baptized too. In fact, I was proud to be like them, to share that baptismal bound with those kind of folks, but then I noticed there were others who had also been through the same waters of baptism, and it made me a bit uneasy.

There was Ned, one of the mechanics that worked in the same shop I did. Ned cussed and complained about nearly everything. I ran into Ned at our Baptist association’s ministers and deacons retreat, and it took me a minute or two to process. Then there was Lindsey, a girl I had gone to high school with: I’ll just say that Lindsey was “popular” in high school, so it shocked me when I found out she too had been baptized and had been even before I knew her in high school. There was Tony, a guy I had known for years, a guy who smoked cigarettes since we were fourteen, who wore torn tank tops and baggy pants with his wallet on a long chain: he was the last guy I would have thought to have been a baptized brother. There was Eric, the shaggy-haired redneck who thought it a point of pride to drink himself to sleep at night; even he had been through water. There were all sorts of people who surprised me and made me more than a bit uncomfortable when I found out they too had been through the waters of baptism, mostly because they didn’t come across as “good, Christian people.”

They weren’t really all that nice. A bunch of them smelled like Newports, Michelob, and body odor. They didn’t dress or speak real well. A few of them complained or sought to pick a fight over any small thing that didn’t go their way. Some of them were downright mean. They told dirty jokes, didn’t pray over their food at lunch or put money in the red kettle at Christmas. A few of them were ignorant and racist. They didn’t always smile at people, or say “God bless you,” or drive around in their cars with bumper-sticker-Bible-verses. They listened to the wrong kind of music, dipped Kodiak and spit it on the ground, drank beer in the middle of the week, were divorced three times, ran stop signs, whistled at women, bounced checks, wore too much makeup, had tattoos and lip rings, lived with their boyfriend or girlfriend…they did things “good, Christian people” weren’t supposed to do. But still…they had been called by Christ, and had followed him through the waters of baptism one way or another, and maybe they weren’t living life the way I thought they should, and maybe they weren’t the shining example many of us would want sitting by us on “our pew,” but they had been through the same waters I had, through the same baptism even Jesus himself had.

All four gospels tell of Jesus’ baptism, but Luke seems the least interested in its details: he really only gives the event half a verse: (verse 21) “Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized…” As Fred Craddock once pointed out[2] that’s no way to talk about Jesus’ baptism. There’s no drama to it at all; in fact, it’s like Jesus is just standing in line—at the end of the line, in fact: “Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized…” You know, I can’t help but wonder who Jesus saw go down in the water with John before it was his turn. I’m sure there were those “good, Jewish people,” the ones who showed up early every Sabbath at the synagogue, the ones who read their Torah and even had whole passages memorized. I’m sure there were those clean-cut guys who held the door for a lady, those young folks who said “yes ma’am” and “yes sir.” Why, I bet there were all kinds of good folks waiting to be baptized by John (I mean, Jesus was in line wasn’t he?). Of course, there were some other, less savory, people waiting in line for baptism; we heard from some of them just a few weeks ago in some of the verses prior to our text this morning. There were folks among them that caused John to call them a “brood of vipers;” there were tax collectors and soldiers, men and women, rich and poor, clergy and laity, all kinds of folks standing in line, waiting to be dunked by John, and there in line with them? Jesus.

You know, I’m sure if I had been standing in that line I’d have been taking into account the kind of folks standing in that line with me! I don’t think I’d have said a whole lot as long as the religious folks were there (even if John did call them sons of snakes!). After all, even the most hypocritical church person at least knows how to present him or herself in public, right? No, I don’t think I’d have thought too much about standing in that line with religious folks. To tell the truth, I probably wouldn’t have thought too much about standing in that line with the non-religious folks, the heathens, either. After all, they would have been in line to be baptized right? I suppose I’d hope they’d come up out of the water more like those religious folks, a smile on their face, tucking their shirts in and combing their hair…I don’t suppose it would have bothered me to see soldiers in line either. They may have been there as a sign of force, of intimidation, but if they got in line, great! I may have flinched a little when I noticed the tax collectors in line: I mean, they were traitors to their own people, Jews hired by the Romans to collect taxes from the Jews, raising rates to line their own pockets. But are they any worse than me, really? Everybody’s got to make a living somehow, right? If I had been in that line, taking an inventory of all those folks standing in that line with me, I’m sure I would have gone right on standing there…that is until I’d notice them getting in line.

You know who they are, don’t you? They might be different depending on who you are, but if they strolled up and got in line, I’d step right out and head home! They’re the folks you just can’t tolerate, the ones who really get under your skin, the ones you’d rather see go on somewhere else. They’re the ones who refuse to follow our rules, who refuse to come around to our way of thinking, the ones who “(let’s be honest) just aren’t as good as us.” They’re the ones who we all know aren’t really going to stick it out, who won’t change, who won’t try to fit in with the rest of us. They’re the really messed up people; the kind of folks we’ll take up an offering for or hand out Bibles to, but not really the kind of folks we want to stand in line with. Now, if there was another line…but to stand in line—the same line—with them? I don’t want to be seen with their type, so I’ll step out. “Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized…”

That’s just not a good way to say it, is it? I mean, it sounds like Jesus just stood in line with all of those people, like the Son of God waited his turn, waited in line with hypocrites, sinners, fakes, phonies, traitors, bullies, the rich, the poor, the unkempt, the punks, the degenerates, the lazy, the addicted… he waited in line with them, knowing their deepest hurts, their worst flaws, their most secret sins, and “when all the people were baptized…Jesus also had been baptized…” Jesus went through the same water, the same baptism, as all of those who stood in line at the Jordan—NOT because he was a sinner himself, NOT because he needed to repent of anything, NOT because he was anything less than God’s Son, God incarnate. Jesus went through the same waters of baptism as all of those folks in line, the same waters as you, me, Bono, Ned, Billy Graham, that person sitting in this room whom you just can’t stand—Jesus went through the same waters to show us all the revolutionary, upside-down reality of his kingdom, that there isn’t a single soul who isn’t welcome, there isn’t a single soul better than another, there isn’t a single line of separation that any of can draw that Christ’s love has not erased.

“Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized…” Christ stood in line with “all the people”—sinners and saints, and, friends, if we’re not willing to stand in line, if we think we’re somehow better than Jesus, if we think there are those who cannot stand in line with us without becoming like us, well…I’m afraid we’re going to be disappointed when we stand in the fullness of God’s kingdom. Amen.

---

[1] http://science.howstuffworks.com/life/inside-the-mind/human-brain/baader-meinhof-phenomenon.htm

[2] This is a link to Craddock’s sermon given in chapel at the George W. Truett Theological Seminary in 2006: http://edge.baylor.edu/media/69133/69133.mp3 (last accessed 1/9/2016).

"Leap for Joy" (Fourth Sunday in Advent)

Luke 1:39-55

39 In those days Mary set out and went with haste to a Judean town in the hill country, 40 where she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. 41 When Elizabeth heard Mary's greeting, the child leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit 42 and exclaimed with a loud cry, "Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. 43 And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? 44 For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. 45 And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord." 46 And Mary said, "My soul magnifies the Lord, 47 and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, 48 for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; 49 for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. 50 His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. 51 He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. 52 He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; 53 he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. 54 He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, 55 according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever."

His name is Ronnie Martin. I’ve known him all my life, but I’m pretty sure if I tried I could count the number of times I’ve actually laid eyes on him, and I bet I could count the number of actual conversations I’ve had with him on one hand. I’ve actually always known him as “Uncle Ronnie;” he’s married to my dad’s oldest sister (my aunt) Gail. Uncle Ronnie is one of those kinfolks you only see once or twice a year—at Christmas and maybe a funeral. I’d see Aunt Gail and my cousins Jason and Marie from time to time, usually on a random Sunday afternoon at Grandma’s house, but I only remember seeing Uncle Ronnie at Christmas. I don’t think he is a particularly unsociable person, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t hold any kind of grudge against our family. I just only remember seeing him at Christmas. If we ever asked about him, Aunt Gail would just always say he was busy, likely working somewhere over in Georgia. He was just one of those relatives you didn’t see often, just at Christmas.

I’m willing to bet a lot of us have family members like that, those folks we only see at Christmas, at our usual family gatherings. It’s as if they’re taken down out of the attic with the Christmas decorations, put on display to remind everyone that they’re still part of the family, and then it seems as if they’re stowed away, put back in a box until next Christmas when we’ll see them again. You know, I kind of feel that way about Mary, like she’s that member of our family who only comes around at Christmas.

I mean, think about it: as Protestants (and particularly Baptists) do we really spend any time with Mary outside of Christmas? Yeah, sure we give her a nod some Easters because we have to recognize that she was there at the cross (sort of like how we may see that other relative in the chapel during another family member’s funeral), but for the most part Mary remains relatively out-of-site/out-of-mind until Christmas comes. And when Christmas get here…well, we all get a little more Catholic, don’t we? We set images of Mary all over our houses—some of us even display her out in the yard. Even here in this Baptist church we have figurines of Mary placed in various spots throughout the building. We sing songs about Mary, especially songs asking her if she knew what was going on. We read the stories from Scripture about how Mary was visited by an angel, how it told her about the Son she would conceive by the power of the Holy Spirit, how she traveled with her betrothed husband Joseph because they had to register for a census, how there was no room at the inn so she had to give birth in a manger in a barn out behind the place, and then—after hearing angels sing and witnessing shepherds come to adore her newborn son, we hear how Mary “pondered all these things in her heart.”

When our relative Mary comes to visit at Christmas, we get caught up pretty good, don’t we? But I think we can miss a little something in all the tinseled images of Mary that come with Christmas. Sure, we know all of that stuff about the angel Gabriel, about Joseph and the trip made on a donkey, about Bethlehem, the manger, the heavenly host, the shepherds and all that singing, but is that the full picture we have of Mary, simply a contemplative vessel used by God in order to bring Christ into this world? Is that all we know of Mary? Is that all we want to know about her? Maybe that’s why she only comes around at Christmas, because we haven’t mad the effort to really get to know her. Well, I think the passage before us can help.

You see, we know the story leading up to this passage: those verses tell us how Gabriel came to Mary, to tell her about her pregnancy and the son she was to bear. In fact, verse 38 (the verse prior to the first verse of our text) tells of Mary’s acceptance of the angel’s words: "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word." We also know what comes after our text in the second chapter of Luke’s gospel, for that’s the passage that is most often read at Christmastime, the story of Mary and Joseph going to register for the census, Mary giving birth to Jesus in a manger, etc. Truth be told, most of us probably have at least heard the text we’ve read this morning before, about John leaping in Elizabeth’s womb at the sound of Mary’s voice, and Mary’s song (the Magnificat), which is probably best known in its Latin version, set to music by Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach (the son Johann Sebastian Bach). But I wonder if we’ve ever really given any thought to what’s actually happening in this text. For instance, why did Mary go “with haste” to see Elizabeth after being visited by Gabriel?

To be honest, at first I thought Mary was running to tell Elizabeth the good news, that Mary was expecting. I sort of pictured Mary running over to Elizabeth’s house with the sonogram print in one hand and “It’s a boy!” cigars for Zechariah in the other. I guess I imagined Mary hoping to sit down with Elizabeth to pick out patterns and colors for the nursery, to set dates for baby showers, and to plan a “gender reveal party.” But then I thought a little more about it. After all, while I’m sure Elizabeth was the kind of friend, the kind of close relative Mary would want to celebrate such good news with, so was also the kind of friend Mary could turn to when she was unsure, worried, or even frightened. And I can imagine Mary was frightened by the prospect of her unexpected pregnancy.

I hope you have a friend like that. I hope we all can be a friend like that, that sort of friend we can call with good news before we tell anyone else, that kind of friend we can call at one in the morning when our doubts and fears seem to nearly choke us in our sleep. We all need friends like that—to be friends lie that, because it’s impossible to make it in this world alone, and it’s impossible to live the life of God’s kingdom alone.

Mary was a betrothed teenager—not fully married, but more than engaged. She lived in a time in history when the infant mortality rate was high and the likelihood of a mother dying in childbirth wasn’t as rare an occurrence as it is today. She was going to carry this child in a day before prenatal care, before birthing suites and epidurals. Perhaps most troubling of all, if Mary was going to carry this child to term it wouldn’t take long for folks to do the math and figure out that Joseph wasn’t the father. Mary wasn’t going to be the latest star of “16 and Pregnant,” she would likely be called out for her apparent infidelity and stoned to death or cast out of the community. So I imagine when the shock of the angel’s presence and annunciation wore off, panic and anxiety set in, so Mary beat a path to Elizabeth’s door.

Once Mary arrives at Elizabeth’s she is met with prophetic words of encouragement and comfort: "Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord." Elizabeth’s words are spoken before Mary has a chance to say much more than “Shalom.” It’s John’s joyful leap at the sound of Mary’s voice that prompts the Spirit-filled proclamation from Elizabeth; Mary doesn’t have to tell her what’s going on—the Holy Spirit has spoken to Elizabeth, and she speaks words of encouragement and blessing to Mary. It’s after these words from Elizabeth that Mary breaks forth in that prophetic song, that song that sings of God’s putting right-side up this upside down world, that song that sings of the rich and powerful being brought down and the poor and lowly being raise up, that song that afflicts the comfortable and comforts that afflicted. It is after Mary finds encouragement and confirmation from Elizabeth that she sings this song, a song that defines this in-breaking of God’s kingdom, this incarnation of the Almighty in the Son Mary is going to bear. It’s after Mary is reassured that she is not in this alone, that God is in fact working through others with her that Mary begins to live in to the reality of God’s calling and the life of shared faith that defines the kingdom of God.

As we visit with Mary this Christmas, before we put her away with the rest of the decorations, before we resign ourselves to only visiting with her once a year, I think it’s important to take this lesson from her: in the great work of God and God’s kingdom, you will be called to do extraordinary things. Some of those things may excite you, and many of those things may overwhelm and frighten you. Do not fear, for God has placed people in your life who are there to encourage you, those who are there to leap for joy when you tell them of what God is calling you to do, those whom God has called to join you in this shared life of the kingdom. Just as God called Mary to bear the Son, God calls us all to bear the good news of that child to the world, to show others the love of God evident in a life filled with that love. Just as John leapt in Elizabeth’s womb at the sound of Mary’s voice—a voice filled with the Holy Spirit—may others leap for joy when they hear your voice, when they experience the Spirit of God in you. This Christmas, as you celebrate the birth of Christ, may Christ be born anew in your heart. May the Spirit of God fill you as you hear God’s voice calling you to the work of God’s in-breaking kingdom, and may you know that God hasn’t called you to do it alone. May you find those encouraging voices in your life that help you along on this journey of faith. May you be one of those voices yourself to someone else on the journey. May you take this Christmas as a time to remember the calling of God on your own life and leap for joy at the good news of Christ’s coming kingdom. Amen. 

"What Should We Do?" (Third Sunday of Advent)

Luke 3:7-18

7 John said to the crowds that came out to be baptized by him, "You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? 8 Bear fruits worthy of repentance. Do not begin to say to yourselves, "We have Abraham as our ancestor'; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. 9 Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire." 10 And the crowds asked him, "What then should we do?" 11 In reply he said to them, "Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise." 12 Even tax collectors came to be baptized, and they asked him, "Teacher, what should we do?" 13 He said to them, "Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you." 14 Soldiers also asked him, "And we, what should we do?" He said to them, "Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages." 15 As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, 16 John answered all of them by saying, "I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. 17 His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire." 18 So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people.

Whenever I read about John the Baptist I cannot help but ask myself, “What was it about John that brought folks out to see and hear him?” I mean, think about it, there’s no way John makes it today as a preacher: he doesn’t dress very well (camel’s hair and leather belts went out in the B.C.’s), he’s got shaggy hair and an unkempt beard with bits of his strange breakfast stuck in it (which is crazy since he’s standing out in the middle of a river—you think he’d take the time to splash his face and slick back his hair with some of that water he’s dunking folks in!). Then there’s his message and presentation style: John isn’t exactly encouraging, doesn’t have what you might call a “bubbly personality.” He doesn’t tell jokes, he doesn’t rattle of memory verses, he doesn’t tell compelling stories, and he shouts—even calls people snakes! I mean, come on! Why are there crowds of people hanging around listening to him, crowds of people being baptized by him when he would be asked to leave, tone it down, or hush up altogether if he was preaching today? I have to tell you, I don’t get it, so I have to ask, “Why?”

Were people just curious about what was going on out in the wilderness? After all, John was a bit odd even for his day. Maybe people just wanted to see this site they had heard about: “Yeah, there this guy out in the Jordan River called John, and man, he’s got folks stirred up. They say he’s something else, whooping and hollering, dunking folks in the river telling them their sins are forgiven. You want to go check it out?” I’m sure there were some folks who just had to see the site of John for themselves; hearsay wasn’t enough. They wanted to experience this thing firsthand. So, maybe folks were gathering at the Jordan out of curiosity, to see this strange fellow they had heard about from folks talking in town.

Then again, there really wasn’t a whole lot going on in those days to capture one’s attention. There were no daytime soaps, no gameshows, or “news” channels (after all, there was no electricity, never mind televisions). There wasn’t much in the way of distraction for the common folks of Judea, nothing really in the realm of “affordable entertainment,” so I can imagine folks standing around: “Hey Earl. What’re you up to this afternoon?” “Well, I thought I’d watch the sand dry. What about you?” “Well, I thought I’d see how long I could hold my breath again. You want to do something different, go see what this John the Baptist business is all about down at the Jordan?” “Sure, why not?” Maybe it was pure boredom that drew people to the Jordan. After all, there was a day when there wasn’t anything going on on Sundays, so folks showed up at the meeting house because they had nothing better to do (no games on TV, no practices to take the kids to, no brunch deals at the café in town). Perhaps folks just needed something to pass the time, and John was better than staring at the sun.

But curiosity and boredom won’t keep the attention of many people. Curiosity can be quenched by the site of whatever it is that causes the interest, and boredom is seeking entertainment or distraction, but John wasn’t an entertainer and he was more than a distraction. So what was it then that brought so many out to the wilderness, out to hear John? Maybe they were seeking something; maybe they were seeking an answer. Perhaps they were folks looking for something they couldn’t find on the display tables in the market. Maybe they were folks looking for more than just another fad, another “get-right-quick” scheme. Is it possible that the folks who came out to be baptized by John in the wilderness had questions that couldn’t be so easily answered by the same institutions that had always promised to have the answer to every question? Could it be that we can come to a place in our lives where we have questions that cannot be answered by the same, old, once-reliable methods that brought us this far?

Whatever questions, whatever inquiries brought these crowds out into the wilderness, John doesn’t exactly greet them with words of good tidings: "You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruits worthy of repentance. Do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor'; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire." I can’t help but imagine there were more than a few folks who turned around and went home, but those who stayed, those who listened to John’s words, heard him call them out. John called them out of their previously comfortable way of thinking about religion as an inherited system of rules and laws, of “dos and don’ts,” of family heritage. See, John calls them out of their way of thinking that everything was fine so long as they could open the family Bible and trace their heritage back to Abraham—the one God had made a covenant with way back in the Old Testament. John calls them out to a life that “bears fruit worthy of repentance,” especially after so many of them likely came down to the Jordan believing John’s baptism was a “quick fix” for their religious woes. It’s only after this fiery welcome from John, only after this calling out, that the folks in the crowds start to reveal why they are there in the first place. They have a question: "What then should we do?"

It’s a fitting question to ask the Baptizer, to ask any preacher who simply shouts at the congregation to “get right with the Lord!” It’s the question one asks when they’re most helpless, because it’s a question we all ask when we simply don’t know what to do—and we hate not knowing what to do. Of course, you and I live in an era when, if we don’t know what to do, we can simply Google it. We can pull out our phones, ask Siri how to tie a full Windsor knot, search Google for the way to properly plunge a clogged commode, we can even get step-by-step instructions on how to build a moonshine still (not that any of you would be interested in that). It seems we’ve all but eradicated the need to ask “What should we do?” Yet, there are still those instances in life, those deep, spiritual corners of existence, when Google can’t seem to give us the right answer, when Siri lets us down, when there doesn’t seem to be a video tutorial or a .pdf of easy-to-use instructions. When we face those times in our lives, those times when we (like those in the crowd at the Jordan) ask, “What should we do?” I think we secretly hope that we already know the answer.

We hope for a “religious” answer. You know, when the world seems dark, when life seems to be hitting a rough spot, when we can’t sleep at night, when the stress seems almost too much, or when we simply want to know how to be a so-called “better Christian,” we hope the answer to “What should we do?” will be a religious one. “Just pray more…read your Bible more…go to church more…” I think we secretly hope for answers like that. I think we hope for answers like that because they at least make some kind of sense to us. It makes sense to us that if we want to get on God’s good side we should do more of those things that sound “churchy” and maybe do less of those things that don’t sound so “churchy.” But what about when we do all of those sorts of things and it doesn’t help? What about when we do all of those things already or when they don’t seem to be enough (because, truthfully, they aren’t enough)? What then?

When we ask “What should I do?” and the usual, churchy answers aren’t enough, it seems most folks fall back to looking for easy, “quick-fix” answers. Too often, people approach faith the same way they approach losing weight or making money: they’re after an easy-to-follow, step-by-step guide that is hopefully not too intense and won’t ask too much of them. We ask, “What should we do?” and we expect answers like: “If you can do this one thing for ten minutes every day…with these ten easy steps you’ll have a happier, more fulfilling life…if you can change just one thing about your daily routine, it should be this…”  We want “click-bait” answers, solutions that draw us in because they sound catchy, because they’re clearly outlined and presented to us. Truth be told, I think one of the reasons we like these sorts of answers too is because if they don’t work, we can always blame the one who came up with them (of course, they can in turn blame us foe not doing them the way they prescribed). We like systematized, neat, organized answers to life’s hard questions, but then again, sometimes I think we like it if there’s no answer at all!

Think about it: how many times have you told yourself or someone else, or had someone else tell you, “Just be patient, it’ll all blow over?” Or how many times have you thought to yourself, “This isn’t really my problem; it’s up to someone else to fix it?” I know some of you have said or thought, “Well, there’s really nothing to do because this is all a part of God’s plan anyhow.” When we ask, “What should we do?” sometimes we hope the answer is “nothing,” that the best thing to do is leave everything alone and hope for the best, to “let sleeping dogs lie,” because, after all, we might wind up making things worse!

“What should we do?” we ask when faced with the great mysteries of faith, and so often we want answers that fit our preconceptions, answers that fit neatly into religious categories, answers that are easy to follow, or answers that require us to do nothing. The truth, however, is that the answer to that very question is one that is not so easy, and that means it’s an answer we seldom (if ever) want to hear.

Three times, we hear that very question from those in the crowds by the Jordan, and three times John gives them very real answers in verses 10-14: “And the crowds asked him, ‘What then should we do?’ In reply he said to them, ‘Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.’”  This isn’t even Sunday School stuff—this is regular, old, pre-school sharing! “Even tax collectors came to be baptized, and they asked him, ‘Teacher, what should we do?’ He said to them, ‘Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.’”  John tells these tax collectors to simply do their jobs of collecting the taxes without extorting more from folks, which was the way many tax collectors made their livings, the way many of them made a comfortable living and were despised by so many. “Soldiers also asked him, ‘And we, what should we do?’ He said to them, ‘Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.’” Soldiers used their positions of power, their intimidating place in society in order to threaten others and blackmail them into giving them money. John calls them out on their abuses of power and calls them to a life in stark contrast to what they had been so used to, what they had considered to be proper and normal.

You see, when these from the crowd ask John, “What should we do?” he doesn’t respond with a churchy answer, nor does he give them some prescriptive answer for securing their personal comfort, nor does he let them off the hook by proclaiming the inevitability of what is to come. No, John in essence tells them they have to reshape their lives! They must reorient their lives to think less of themselves, to want less, to think more of others and how they may show compassion to others. When John speaks of the ax already lying at the roots of the trees, we like to think that’s a metaphor for those people who aren’t “saved,” those people who aren’t like us, those people who haven’t been dunked in the water. But what if John is speaking of the ways that God is purging our lives of those selfish desires that keep us from loving God and each other? What if the winnowing fork in the coming Christ’s hand isn’t a tool meant to cast souls into hell, but an instrument of refinement, meant to toss our selfishness, our egos, and our personal comfort into wind, into God’s cleansing fire of compassion?

What should we do? It’s easy to boil it all down to a few steps isn’t it? To say we have to pray this prayer, walk this aisle, be baptized a certain way, go to this many services, read this translation of the Bible, don’t do this handful of things or associate with these kinds of folks, make some kind of stand on certain issues, and then, when that day arrives, when Jesus shows up, you can tell him you followed all the rules and you told others they had better follow those rules too, and Jesus will pat you on the back, say you kept out of trouble, kept your nose clean and now you’ll get that plot of paradise you’ve been waiting on. But here’s the thing, if following Jesus doesn’t change something deep within you, if it doesn’t compel you to let go of yourself, to share with others, to seek justice, to change the world, to love God and your neighbors more, then are you really following Jesus, or are you still trying to find those easier answers to the question, “What should we do?”

This Advent, as we look forward to the birth of Christ in Bethlehem, and his return in the coming future, let us strive to show love to one another, to answer the question, “What should we do?” by the way with live our lives, and may our answer be one of unconditional, Christ-filled love. Amen. 

"Giving Light" (Second Sunday of Advent)

Luke 1:68-79

68 "Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them. 69 He has raised up a mighty savior for us in the house of his servant David, 70 as he spoke through the mouth of his holy prophets from of old, 71 that we would be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us. 72 Thus he has shown the mercy promised to our ancestors, and has remembered his holy covenant, 73 the oath that he swore to our ancestor Abraham, to grant us 74 that we, being rescued from the hands of our enemies, might serve him without fear, 75 in holiness and righteousness before him all our days. 76 And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways, 77 to give knowledge of salvation to his people by the forgiveness of their sins. 78 By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, 79 to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace."

            On this second Sunday of Advent, we reflect on the theme of peace—and boy, do we need it now! With more news of more mass shootings, with more news of more suicide bombers, with more news of politicians slinging mud at each other, and with more news of vitriolic disagreement between those of differing opinions on what to do about all of it, we need to hear a word about peace. Actually, we need more than just a word; we need peace itself.

Unfortunately, peace, it seems, has been the exception rather than the rule throughout human existence. Sure it seems that we live in an especially chaotic and troublesome time, but the truth is that in the 3,400 years of recorded history there have only been 268 scattered years of what we might call peace. What that means is that throughout the history of humankind only 268 years were without war or major conflict, and it probably goes without saying that most of those years were spread out over history. Only 8% of human history has been spent in relative peace.[1] Even in a time when one would think that we as a species would have come to understand the futility of war and the ways in which it robs us of our humanity, wars still rage on. Some wars are fought in more technologically advanced and precise ways, while others are fought in more primitive and random ways. It seems war and violence are an inevitable part of the human experience…at least for now, because now we need peace.

            Peace seems so difficult to us, I suppose, because we believe that while we want it, others do not. There are those in this world who are indeed enemies of peace, those who wish to see the world wrapped in war. They wish to see the world with people of differing nations, races, and creeds killing each other over those very differences, bringing harm and terror to those who would otherwise seek to live in peace with one another. While I won’t point fingers or name names (it seems most folks prefer to do that on social media these days anyhow), I do think that those of us who follow the babe born in Bethlehem ought to heed the words of a familiar song we sing every year about this time: “Let there be peace on earth/And let it begin with me./Let there be peace on earth/The peace that was meant to be./With God as our Father/Brothers all are we./Let me walk with my brother/In perfect harmony.” Of course, letting peace begin with me means I need to take an active part in peace, to understand that peace is not merely the absence of conflict and noise but the presence of the Spirit of God.

            I suppose for many of us, peace may be defined that way, as the absence of something (war, violence, noise), and for those of us submerged in a world full of distractions and noise, it’s appealing to think of peace as the absence of all of that, to think of peace as a pause in the chaos, an oasis in the midst of life’s stress, a silent retreat from the cacophony of the world. I suppose one could define peace that way—as silence—unless one has something to say, unless you have something that needs to be said. Then, silence can be the very antithesis of peace.

            I can’t help but think that was how Zechariah felt. Luke tells us that Zechariah (a priest in the temple) and his wife, Elizabeth (a descendant herself of the priestly line of Aaron), were both “living blamelessly according to all the commandments and regulations of the Lord. But they had no children, because Elizabeth was barren, and both were getting on in years [which is Luke’s nice, biblical way of saying they were old!]” (Luke 1:6-7). Luke goes on to tell us that one day, while Zechariah was serving as a priest before the Lord, he entered the sanctuary of the temple to offer incense (as was the custom). While Zechariah was in the sanctuary, an angel (a messenger) from God named Gabriel appeared to tell him that his wife Elizabeth (remember, the one who was barren and way too old to get pregnant?) was with child, and Zechariah was to name him John.

This is a page right out of the Old Testament, right? An old couple, blameless before God, who wanted to have children (as everyone did then) but couldn’t have them, are now told in their old age—by a messenger from God, no less—that they’re expecting. Zechariah was a priest, not a dumb man by any stretch of the imagination, and though he no doubt knew the story of Abraham and Sarah and others like it, he knew himself, and he knew his wife, and he knew that things just didn’t add up, so he asked Gabriel, “How am I going to know that what you say is really so?” (Luke 1:18, my paraphrase). But because he doubted the angel’s words, Zechariah was struck mute until the day his son John was to be born (perhaps his wife Elizabeth thought to herself, “Finally I have some peace around the house without Zach always blabbing about what happened today at the temple!”). There may have been silence from Zechariah, but it wasn’t peace, because Zechariah had something to say.

See, too often we assume peace means quiet, that peace means not rocking the boat, not saying what ought to be said for the sake of keeping calm, not doing what ought to be done because it may prove to be too difficult to navigate while trying to keep things held together. So we bite our tongues, sit on our hands, try to smooth things over or wait things out, all the while there’s something that needs to be said, something that needs to be proclaimed, something that needs to be done. While Zechariah may have been silenced by an angel because of his doubt, at times we can simply silence ourselves because of our own doubts, our own uncertainties and insecurities. Deep within our hearts, we know the right thing to do, the right thing to say, yet pride, comfort, or fear too often chokes our words and paralyzes our limbs. We may be afraid that others will disagree with us, that others will think we’re stupid, or perhaps worst of all, that we might fail. However, when we let go of that fear, when we put our trust in the One who calls us to difficult tasks and a prophetic life, when we say what we know is right and do what we believe to be God’s will peace can begin with us.

The words we’ve read from Holy Scripture this morning are the first recorded words Zechariah speaks after John is born. They are words of prophecy—a prophetic song sung by the one who had just so recently been unable to speak. The Benedictus (as it is called from the first word of the song in Latin) is a song that praises God for the ways in which he has delivered his people, the ways God has saved us all in order that we might freely serve God without fear. They are words that sing of God’s tender mercy, of God’s forgiveness of sins. They are words that sing of John’s role in this plan of God’s. Yet the words that speak the most to me on this second Sunday of Advent are Zechariah’s words in verses 78 and 79: “By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break [has broken] upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace." Zechariah sings of God’s tender mercy breaking into the world, and this mercy will bring hope as it brings light to the darkness, a light which will guide us in the way of peace.

When Zechariah breaks his silence, disrupts the quiet with his song, it’s a prophetic proclamation of God’s forgiveness of sins and the in-breaking of God’s kingdom into the world. It’s an announcement declaring that darkness can begin counting the days, for it will be driven out by the light of God’s love. It is a song that sings of the beginning of peace on earth…and we want to join in Zechariah’s chorus to sing “…and let it begin with me.” But how does peace begin with me? With the dawn of God’s tender mercy breaking from on high to guide our feet into the way of peace, how do we walk in that way of peace which is set before us? Because we need peace now, the world needs peace now, and we are called to be bearers of that peace.

The Catholic priest and theologian Hans Küng said in 2005 at the opening of the Exhibit on the World’s Religions at Santa Clara University: “There will be no peace among the nations without peace among the religions. There will be no peace among the religions without dialogue among the religions.”[2] Now, while I believe Küng is absolutely right, I also believe there will be no peace among the nations until there is peace among neighbors—and that’s how peace on earth begins with me, with you, with us.

Peace begins with us when we seek to be reconciled with those who’ve hurt us and those whom we have hurt. Peace begins with us when we proclaim the good news of God’s forgiveness as we forgive others. Peace begins with us as we bring the light of Christ’s love into those dark places in the world, the shadows where the hurting, outcast, rejected, refused, and lonely can be found. Peace begins with us when we realize that we may be part of the problem, when we resolve to listen more than we talk, to walk a mile in someone else’s shoes before casting judgement (something we shouldn’t be in the business of doing anyway!). Peace begins with me when I see you as the child of God you are, peace begins with you when you see me as the child of God I am, and when we all realize that we each and every one of us is fearfully and wonderfully made in the image of God and worthy of love, to love and be loved by each other and by God. There can’t be peace on earth until there’s peace among neighbors, so this Advent, as we draw closer to the cradle of our Lord, as we draw closer to the full arrival of his kingdom, let us seek to share the forgiveness and love of God in Christ with each other. Let us strive to bring light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death. Let us follow the light of Christ that leads us into the pathway of peace. Let there be peace on earth this Advent, and let it begin with me, with you, with all of us. Amen.

---

[1] http://www.nytimes.com/2003/07/06/books/chapters/0713-1st-hedges.html?pagewanted=all (accessed 12/5/15)

[2] The full text of Küng’s speech can be found here: http://www.scu.edu/ethics/practicing/focusareas/global_ethics/laughlin-lectures/kung-world-religions.html (accessed 12/6/15)