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–The Rev. Steve Pankey
One of the gifts of this vocation is how I get to share parts of life with so many different people. I know more about your kids, grandkids, siblings, and co-workers than most people get to know in a lifetime. Each story is a treasure, one that I get to keep, and a few that I might get to use in a sermon someday. One of those stories happened this week when a grandmother shared with me a story about her four-year-old grandson. This is the first year that he’s really tuned into the Easter thing, and, since his family goes to church, he’s not merely learning about the role that the Easter Bunny plays. He is also hearing the story of Jesus, and earlier this week, he finally put together that Jesus died. Grandmother showed me a text from her child, the young boy’s parent, that said, “He learned that Jesus died and is heartbroken. I tried to tell him he comes back to life, but he won’t believe me.”
If you heard me preach on Good Friday, this story sounds familiar. There, I invited us all to approach Friday like that precious four-year-old, and to live into the heartbreak, the despair, and the sadness that the disciples must have felt as they watched their friend die on the cross. I hope you took some time to experience the darkness of Good Friday, but if you didn’t, that’s ok. Conveniently for us, darkness is right where our Easter story begins this morning. You have a brief second chance at darkness.
In John’s Gospel, there is only one woman who makes her way to the tomb of Jesus. Mary Magdalene, who “while it was still dark” set out to visit her friend’s grave. John doesn’t tell us why Mary made the trip. Unlike in the other Gospels, there is no indication that she’s got an arm full of spices and oils to give Jesus a proper burial. Besides, how did she think one person could get the tomb, covered by large rock and sealed shut, open? It seems instead that, mired in darkness, Mary went to the tomb because that was the only thing she could think to do. As she arrived, while the world and her soul are still quite dark, she realized that the stone had been rolled away, and somehow, things got even darker. Mary took off running to find help, and, while it was still dark, she found Peter and John, who proved to be not much help at all. They too took off running, and upon finding the tomb empty, while it was still dark, went home, just as lost and confused as they had been when they went to bed the night before.
Perhaps you are here this morning feeling a little darkness in your heart as well. I don’t blame you. The world can be a pretty dark place. You don’t need me to regale you with all the reasons things feel out of sorts; cable news and internet will tell you more than you’d ever want to know about what is wrong with the world. It can be really easy to get stuck in the darkness, to feel hopeless and lost, like Peter, John, and Mary did on that first Easter morning, but, spoiler alert, the Gospel writer told us at the very beginning how this story will end.
Way back in the prologue to John’s Gospel, in the fifth verse of chapter one, the author tells us everything we need to know about the story of Jesus, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” No matter how dark things might feel, and I’m sure Mary Magdalene didn’t think the light would ever shine again, the darkness will not overtake the light. As Mary stood weeping in the Garden, the sun just below the horizon, next to the empty tomb of all her hopes and dreams, she decided to take one last look inside. There, where only shadows and graveclothes had been, she saw two angels, not robed in white, as our translation puts it, but the original Greek says they were robed in light.
As if stumbling out of a movie theater into the light of day, Mary turned around, hoping to let her eyes adjust, when she saw a man whom she couldn’t yet recognize, and begged of him to tell her where the body of her friend had gone. The supposed gardener replied with a single word, “Mary,” and in an instant all the darkness, the sadness, the hurt, and the pain vanished in the overwhelming light of God’s unending love. The deepest darkness Mary, or anyone, could have imagined was no match for the light of Christ.
That’s what we come to celebrate this morning. Whether like our four-year-old friend, we can believe it or not, even the deepest darkness cannot overcome the power of the light of Christ. That’s the Good News of great joy for all people, not even death has the final word when it comes to God’s love. If, as I suggested on Good Friday, the darkness of the world should motivate us to action, how much more does the reality that the light will always win inspire us to good works? The Easter proclamation is that God has already enacted a plan to bring the whole world, and every living creature on it, out of the darkness of sin and death, and into the light, and God invites all of us to participate in that plan of salvation. Like Mary Magdalene, we are each called to go and tell our friends and neighbors about the overwhelming love of God.
Now, I am under no illusion that just knowing this will automatically bring you out of whatever dark places you might currently be residing. The resurrection isn’t a magic trick that will make us all joyful at the snap of a finger, but it is a source of hope. Mary had to experience the risen Jesus before she escaped her shadowy fog. Each of us will likely need the same. So, my prayer for you during these Great 50 Days of Easter, is that you get to experience the risen Lord. Whether it is in worship, or acts of service, or reading your Bible, make time each week for Jesus and see how, slowly but surely, the darkness begins to fade, and the light of God’s never-failing love grows brighter and brighter. And when, inevitably, the darkness tries to creep back in, don’t worry, the light always shines in the darkness, and the darkness will never overcome it. Amen! Alleluia!
One of the gifts of this vocation is how I get to share parts of life with so many different people. I know more about your kids, grandkids, siblings, and co-workers than most people get to know in a lifetime. Each story is a treasure, one that I get to keep, and a few, that I might get to use in a sermon someday. One of those stories happened this week when a grandmother shared with me a story about her four-year-old grandson. This is the first year that he’s really tuned into the Easter thing, and, since his family goes to church, he’s not merely learning about the role that the Easter Bunny plays. He is also hearing the story of Jesus, and earlier this week, he finally put together that Jesus died. Grandmother showed me a text from her child, the young boy’s parent, that said, “He learned that Jesus died and is heartbroken. I tried to tell him he comes back to life, but he won’t believe me.”
Kids get it. Life is so cut and dry for children. They see and feel things that we grownups have learned to tune out. It’s no wonder that Jesus encouraged his disciples to have faith like a child. Good Friday should break our hearts. The events of this whole week should catch us short. How humanity could get it so wrong. How the need to be right caused Judas to betray his close friend. How fear caused the disciples to flee, one by one, until only John and Mary were left at the foot of the cross. How the sin of the world, including my sins and yours, took Jesus to this most gruesome and agonizing form of death. Our hearts should be broken in this moment.
That we know what is coming in a few short days makes Good Friday hard to experience like a four-year-old, but maybe we should try. Experience this day as if Jesus is really dead. As if all the hope of salvation that had been placed upon him simply evaporated in one, twelve-hour blur of arrest, sham trials, a violent and fearful march to the city trash heap, and three hours of darkness. As if when Jesus said, “It is finished,” he didn’t mean, “redemption is accomplished,” but “all is lost.” How does life change if we really live into the sadness of that Friday that wasn’t yet called “good”? A Friday that Jesus’ disciples would have described as awful, ghastly, and vile? A Friday, the events of which, would cause a four-year-old’s heart to break?
It certainly makes the sin of the world feel more real. That the Holy Land, upon which Jesus was born, walked, taught, and died is once again mired in violence, starvation, and death feels different when this Friday isn’t yet Good. That war rages in Ukraine as yet another despotic leader tests the waters of world domination sits a little more uneasily when this Friday isn’t yet Good. That armed gangs are over-running Haiti, the only nation founded by slave revolt, while the white, western world looks on in apathy twinges my gut a little more when this Friday isn’t yet Good. That in the most affluent and powerful country in the world, children go to bed hungry, elderly women with walkers sleep on the streets, and billionaires spread lies on the social media platforms they control makes me way more anxious when this Friday isn’t yet Good. The brokenness of this world should catch us short. It should motivate us to action. It should leave us hoping, desperately hoping, that something good will happen, and soon.
There is an eagerness to get to Sunday, but we can learn a lot from our four-year-old friend and make room for heartbreak on this Friday. We’ll get to the Good part soon enough. For now, let’s sit in the sorrow, the pain, and the anguish, at least for a little bit, and see how God might call us to respond. Amen.
Way back at the turn of the century, one of my part-time jobs in college was as co-youth ministry director at St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church in Lancaster, PA. One of my co-workers there was Father Eugene Smith, an older, retired priest who loved to live life on the edge. One Sunday, after church, I was checking my staff mailbox when Father Smith came up to me and said, “Hey Steve, I’d love to teach a class for your youth about the swear words in the Bible.” He then spent about five minutes regaling me on why Ecclesiastes 1 doesn’t actually say “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity,” but rather something about bovine excrement or what Colonel Potter would call “horse hockey.” I was able to dodge his generous offer, but I’ve never forgotten the deeper lesson he taught me that day, the Bible we have is a translation, and in every translation, decisions must be made.
Father Smith came to mind this week as I read through our Gospel lesson. I’ve always been drawn to the desire of the Greeks who approached Philip. “Sir, we wish to see Jesus,” is what the New Revised Standard Version has them saying. I immediately circled the word “see” and wondered what it really meant. More modern translations, like the Contemporary English Version read, “Sir, we would like to meet Jesus.” The Greeks seem to want something more than simply to have a passing glance at Jesus. Those of you who grew up in the days before the NRSV, might remember the old King James version, “Sir, we would see Jesus.” I don’t know about you, but this feels a bit more strident, a little less polite than “we wish to see Jesus.” So, in the name of Eugene Smith, I went digging into the original language in the hopes of seeing what was really going on here.
The two words in question are “θελομεν” (the-lō-men) and “ιδειν” (idé-in). The-lō-men is a strong verb and is intended to be read as more compelling than it’s more passive cousin boo’-lom-ahee. Both verbs can be translated as “wish” or “want to,” but the-lō-men means something more like, “to really, really want to” or “to be resolved,” “to desire,” or even “to be determined.” These Greek folk are approaching Philip not with a passive hope that maybe he’ll let them see Jesus, but with a steadfast resolve. Like a kid yelling for an autograph after Hot Rods batting practice, these guys will not be denied. What is it they desire so strongly? To “idé-in” Jesus, to see him, to meet him, or more accurately, “to stare at,” “to experience,” or to “come to know” him. They don’t simply hope to get to see Jesus, but they desire nothing less than a personal encounter with him.
Unfortunately, their timing couldn’t be worse. It’s Holy Week, probably Monday, and things are getting pretty intense. In John’s timeline of events, it’s been two days since Jesus had dinner at the home of Lazarus whom he had raised from the dead. After dinner, Lazarus’ sister, Mary, took a bottle of pure nard, a very costly perfume, and poured it all out on Jesus’ feet as she wiped his feet with her hair. The symbolism of this wasn’t lost on anyone. She was anointing a king for burial. Word spread throughout Bethany that Jesus and Lazarus were together, and so a large crowd gathered to get a glimpse at Jesus and the man he had raised from the dead, even as the Chief Priests worked on plans to have them both killed. The next day, Palm Sunday, Jesus and his disciples took the two-mile journey from Bethany to Jerusalem. The large crowd from the day before swelled even more in size and all along the road, they spread out palm branches and laid down their coats, crying out, “Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord — the King of Israel!” You can imagine that no one who was interested in keeping peace with Rome was happy at these things taking place. The pressure cooker was heating up, and the only logical end was crucifixion.
So, on Monday, when the Greeks come with hopes of an encounter with Jesus in mind, their request isn’t exactly the easiest thing to make happen. I wonder how they felt about Jesus’ response. Was this discourse on his death, resurrection, and ascension the encounter they were looking for? Did they even understand what he was talking about? His closest friends didn’t have a great track record on picking up on what Jesus was trying to tell them. Were the Greeks disappointed? Were they hoping to have received something from Jesus? Did one of them need healing or forgiveness? Were they looking for some kind of debate? Were they simply caught up in the hype going on in the city and hoping for a meet and greet with the celebrity of the hour? John doesn’t give us any of those details. All we know is that they really, really wanted to meet with Jesus.
I can’t be sure, but I’d be willing to wager that you who are here in the pews or logged in online this morning have your own desire to meet Jesus. You probably have just as many reasons why you’d like to encounter Jesus this morning as the Greeks could have had. In our recently conducted worship survey, 48% of respondents said that Holy Eucharist was the most meaningful aspect of worship. That means that many of you are here this morning for that intimate encounter with Jesus through his body and blood. In the Eucharist, we are nourished by Jesus and empowered to go forth from this place in loving service of God and our neighbor. In the bread and cup, we meet Jesus who then sends us out to encounter the face of Jesus in everyone we meet. Another 21% listed sermons as the most meaningful part of the service. These folks, who made up the clear second choice, might be here seeking to encounter Jesus in the word as it is proclaimed. In our preaching, your clergy always ask God what the Holy Spirit wants to say to this congregation this day. In the proclamation of the word, our goal is to make Jesus present to all of us. Our experience of Jesus in Word and Sacrament make up the core of the reasons we are here this morning, but there are still others. Some might just need the peace that comes from being inside this holy space. Some come seeking to be lifted up by music. Others are here to find rest for their weary souls in the prayers that we say for one another.
The Gospel lesson as we heard it read was very polite, but the reality is that whether it is the Greeks or the Episcopalians, if we are honest with ourselves, all of us would endeavor to have a real encounter with Jesus. That we can, that Jesus died, rose again, and ascended into heaven, but remains very much alive and willing to meet us in worship, in acts of service, in our loved ones, friends, and even strangers is what sets our faith apart from so many others. Our God is not a distant director or an absentee landlord, but Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are living and active in the world around us. As we turn the corner in our liturgical calendar and approach Palm Sunday, Holy Week, and Easter, I pray that you have the opportunity to meet Jesus, and that you are blessed by an encounter with our Savior. Loving God, Lord of all power and might, we wish to see Jesus. Amen.
Earlier this week, we sent out a worship survey asking various questions about why you choose which service you attend. You still have a day or so to respond if you haven’t already. In the open comments section, a few of you mentioned that you prefer when our sermons don’t get too dark, preferring instead that we stay light and uplifting. In reading those comments, I wondered if maybe you had already looked at our Gospel lesson for this morning and were giving me clues on where I should focus my attention. I’m happy for the suggestion since this week’s lesson is so dense, you could easily preach four full sermons on it. I preached on the snake thing six years ago, so you probably don’t want to hear that again,[1] and John 3:16 is so played out, maybe you can’t imagine hearing another sermon about the most famous verse in the Bible, what Martin Luther called, “The Gospel in a nutshell.”[2] Yes, I know! You’d prefer that I focus on Jesus’ message about light and darkness, but mostly on the light. I think I’m good with that. The only problem is that I’m not sure we can fully understand the light unless we come to terms with the darkness, and darkness is where this story, into the middle of which we’ve been dropped, both begins and ends.
If you’ve been around here for a while, you’re probably tired of hearing me complain about the weird choices the Revised Common Lectionary has made, but this one is a real doozy. John 3:1-21 is one long, really compelling story, but they split it up with verses 1 through 17 on Lent 2A, so last March, and verses 14 to 21 this week. I guess they really wanted us to hear John 3:16 two out of every three years, but goodness it’s not a helpful way to do this. The full story, as I said, begins in darkness, when a Pharisee and a key Jewish leader named Nicodemus sneaks out at night to learn more about this itinerant Rabbi named Jesus. Nicodemus hid in the darkness, afraid to be seen by his friends and colleagues, with good reason. In John’s Gospel, Jesus has just flipped the tables in the Temple, the Passover is at hand, and Jerusalem is in an uproar. For Nicodemus to be interested in what Jesus has to say could have cost him his career, his status, and his reputation, so he found safety in the cover of darkness.
Even though being afraid of the dark is common among children and even some adults, many of us, like Nicodemus, rather prefer to veil ourselves in some level of darkness. Shadows are a convenient place to hide things we’d rather the world didn’t see. Our favorite secret sins find a home in the safety of the shadows of our souls. The world doesn’t help much either. Twenty-four-hour news networks make billions of dollars each year by feeding us stories about our darkest fears. They know that disconnection and fear are two very powerful motivators. I’m afraid the next eight months leading up to the presidential election will find us mired in the shadowy world of anger, fear, and bigotry as we are brought face-to-face with one candidate’s brazen history of racism, misogyny, and homophobia and the other candidate’s willingness to co-sponsor genocide in Gaza. Forces from within and without try to convince us that the darkness is where we are safe to be our true selves, but Jesus knows that we really choose to live in the darkness to avoid all that the light will show us about ourselves. “This is the judgment of the world,” Jesus says, “that God sent the light, and you still choose to live in darkness.”
As a Pharisee and a member of the Sanhedrin, Nicodemus was considered one of the most intelligent and powerful men in Israel, and the story of his encounter with Jesus ends with him, thoroughly confused, fading back into the night. In fact, if I hadn’t told you about him, you’d have no idea that Jesus was addressing him in this morning’s passage. We don’t hear about him again until years later, when on Good Friday, just as darkness was about to fall and the sabbath begin, Nicodemus arrives with a hundred pounds of myrrh and aloes to anoint Jesus’ body for burial. It took a good long while, but eventually, Nicodemus began to understand what Jesus was inviting him to see. His life, long hindered by the darkness, had begun to show signs of light and he arrived at the cross with an amazing abundance to honor Jesus and to give thanks for showing him the way. Nicodemus had finally been born again, as Jesus invited him to be in the part of the story we skipped over this morning. He risked his comfort, his privilege, and his access to power to live a life based in the love of God, a love so strong that God sent the only Son into the messiness of this world to heal it, to make it whole, to bring it out of the darkness and into the light.
When John writes about the world, he means every aspect of it, the good and the bad. In John’s eyes, the world that God loves so much includes babies and kittens and apple pie just as well as it includes all the powers and principalities, the forces of greed, envy, and corruption, and the evil and violence of which humanity is entirely too capable. It can be tempting to get lost in the dark, to let our eyes adjust to the lack of light, and to think things are fine in the shadows, but real life, eternal life, abundant life is lived in the light. We must learn to love ourselves as God loves us when we get lost in the darkness, so that, in turn, we might learn to love others who find themselves equally lost. Love is the only way to find the light in ourselves, in others, and in the world.
I know, you didn’t want to hear me talk all about darkness this morning, but the truth of the matter is that we can’t know the power of the light unless we come to terms with the temptation of the darkness. This is precisely why the Season of Lent is a season of increasing light. Beginning with dark ashen crosses on our foreheads, we work our way toward spring and toward the resurrection of the Lord of Love. All the while, Jesus invites us to remember that God’s love never ends, that it reaches into the deepest darkest places in our souls and can restore us to wholeness when we finally let go of those things that keep us in the dark and choose instead to walk in the light of Christ. If John 3 teaches us nothing else, the story of Nicodemus shows us that above all, God desires that we live the abundant life found in the light of God’s never-failing love. I pray that these last few weeks of Lent are an opportunity for you to leave behind the pseudo-safety of the darkness and to walk in the joy of God’s light and love. Amen.
[1] https://draughtingtheology.wordpress.com/2018/03/11/gods-confounding-love-a-sermon/
[2] I preached on that nine years ago, back at St. Paul’s in Foley, https://draughtingtheology.wordpress.com/2015/03/16/john-316-nrspv-a-sermon/
` Be honest, how many of you heard Deacon Kellie mention John the Baptist as she read the Gospel lesson and thought, “Oh geez, this guy again?” I know I felt that way when I opened the lessons for this week. It seems like we’ve had more John the Baptist since the start of the new liturgical year on Advent 1 than we’ve had Jesus. That’s an exaggeration, of course, but he really has been everywhere. We heard about John the Baptist twice in Advent, once in Christmas, twice in Epiphany, and now here he is again to kick off the Season of Lent. He’s inescapable. I was pretty frustrated about having to preach another sermon featuring John the Baptist until I opened my usual sermon prep resources and found that my seminary friend and noted John the Baptist fangirl, the Rev. Elizabeth Felicetti wrote an article for the Christian Century entitled, “John the Baptist is for Lent.”[1] Pastor Elizabeth, as she prefers to be called, is brilliant and a gifted writer, and so I decided to give her article, and John the Baptist, a chance.
There are both practical and theological reasons for John to make sense in this passage for the first Sunday in Lent. Practically speaking, the Gospel lesson for Lent 1 is always some version of the 40-day temptation of Jesus in the wilderness from which Lent gets its meaning. In Matthew and Luke, the authors give plenty of space and detail to the story. Matthew’s version takes up eleven verses and Luke gives it thirteen. In both, we hear about Jesus interacting with the devil, the suggestion he turn stones into bread, the promise of dominance over the whole world, and the temptation to see just how much the Father loved him by throwing himself off the top of the temple. Just about everything we know about the Temptation of Jesus comes to us from Matthew and Luke. In Year B, however, our lectionary attention is focused on Mark’s Gospel, and in Mark, if we didn’t have John the Baptist included in the Temptation story, we’d have only two verses to contend with. Logistically, John the Baptist has to be here. What, then, can we learn about Lent and the Temptation of Jesus from John the Baptist?
In the beginning of the passage, we are placed right where we were six weeks ago on the First Sunday after the Epiphany, at the Baptism of our Lord. John had been down by the Jordan, baptizing anyone and everyone for quite a while. He amassed quite a following of disciples and made a name for himself as a preacher, prophet, and iconoclast. Whether it was his diet of locusts and honey, his calling the powers-that-be a brood of vipers, or his invitation to repentance that brought people out to see him, they came in droves, and once they heard his message, that he was baptizing people for the forgiveness of sins in preparation for the Messiah who was to come, they followed him into the muddy waters and were washed clean of their sins by the thousands.
Eventually, Jesus too came to hear his cousin preach and to be baptized into repentance. It’s not that Jesus needed to be baptized for the forgiveness of any sins, but it was through baptism that his ministry could truly begin. At his baptism, the Holy Spirit would alight upon Jesus, and he would finally be ready to start his ministry of preaching the Good News in earnest. In Mark’s account, just as Jesus came up out of the water, the heavens were ripped in two and the Spirit not only descended upon Jesus, but immediately cast him out into the wilderness for forty days of testing and preparation. Out there, in the literal space between civilization and the wild and the figurative space between heaven and hell, Jesus encountered wild beasts, was tempted by Satan, and was ministered to by the angels of God.
Jesus survived his time of temptation and returned home to Galilee where he heard that John had been arrested and took up the mantle from his friend and relative. Jesus expanded upon the message of repentance that John preached so fervently, and proclaimed the Good News of God’s salvation, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent and believe in the good news.” Pastor Elizabeth reflects on Lent 1 and the transition from John to Jesus this way, “Reflecting on repentance, forgiveness of sins, and proclaiming good news can be a faithful way to embrace this Lenten reading in the spirit of John and Jesus. Whether or not we practice fasting by giving up something for Lent, we can embrace repentance by deliberately turning away from those things which draw us away from God. Reflecting on our sins so that we can repent of them sounds somber, but can help us to grasp the good news.”[2]
As I read these words, down near the bottom of the article, I found myself scribbling, “our weakness points us to God’s salvation,” which is, of course, the theme that runs all through Lent 1 and is summed up in our Collect for today.
Almighty God, whose blessed Son was led by the Spirit to be tempted by Satan: Come quickly to help us who are assaulted by many temptations; and, as you know the weaknesses of each of us, let each one find you mighty to save; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.
Whether it is John the Baptists’ tendency to shoot off at the mouth, or Jesus being tempted with all the normal things in which humans get caught up, or our own weakness at the power of our to-do list, the power of self-reliance, the power of fear, anxiety, or doubt, the power of lust, or gluttony, or booze, or pride, or whatever vice might have us in its grasp, God knows the weaknesses of each of us, and in this Lenten season, God invites us to come to grips with those sins that repeatedly get in the way of loving God, loving our neighbor, and loving ourselves. Through prayer, self-denial, self-examination, fasting, and studying God’s holy word, we are invited by God, the Church, John the Baptist, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit to a season of repentance, of turning away from those things that draw us away from God, and turning toward the God of our salvation.
John’s message of repentance was the word that sustained Jesus in the wilderness. Jesus, building on John, invites us to repent and believe the Good News of God’s forgiveness, grace, and mercy that is made known to us in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. This Lent, my prayer is that all of us might come face-to-face with one of our weaknesses so that we can experience the profound grace of our God who truly is mighty, ready, and willing to save through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
[1] https://www.christiancentury.org/article/sunday-s-coming-lent1b-felicetti
[2] Ibid, emphasis mine.
Once upon a time, on a dangerous seacoast where shipwrecks often occur, there was a crude little life-saving station. The building was just a hut, and there was only one boat, but the few devoted members kept a constant watch over the sea, and with no thought for their safety went out day and night tirelessly searching for those who were lost. Some of those who were saved and others in the community wanted to be associated with the station and they gave of their time, money, and effort to support its work. New boats were bought, and new crews trained. The little lifesaving station grew.
Some of the new members of the lifesaving station were unhappy that the building was so crude and poorly equipped. They felt that a more comfortable place should be provided as the first refuge for those saved from the sea. They replaced the emergency cots with beds and put better furniture in the enlarged building.
Now the lifesaving station became a popular gathering place for its members and the surrounding community. They decorated it beautifully as it became a sort of club. Fewer members were now interested in going to sea on life-saving missions, so they hired lifeboat crews to do this work. The lifesaving motif still prevailed in the club’s decorations, and there was a liturgical lifeboat in the room where the club’s initiations were held. About this time a large ship wrecked off the coast, and the hired crews brought in boatloads of cold, wet, and half-drowned people. They were dirty and sick. The beautiful new club was in chaos. The property committee immediately had a shower house built outside the club where victims of shipwrecks could be cleaned up before coming inside.
At the next meeting, there was a split among the club membership. Most of the members wanted to stop the club’s lifesaving activities as being unpleasant and a hindrance to the normal social life of the club. The original members insisted upon lifesaving as their primary purpose and pointed out that they were still called a life-saving station. But they were voted down and told that if they wanted to save the lives of all the various kinds of people who were shipwrecked in those waters, they could begin their own lifesaving station. So, they did.
As the years went by, the new station experienced the same changes that had occurred in the old. It evolved into a club, and yet another lifesaving station was founded. History continued to repeat itself, and if you visit that seacoast today, you will find several exclusive clubs along that shore.[1]
Whether you are a life-saving station, a church, or an individual, it can be challenging to overcome the influence the outside world tries to exert on you. Like the “Parable of the Life-Saving Station”, this morning’s New Testament lessons are full of people struggling with the expectations others have placed upon them. In First Corinthians, we hear Paul in his least impressive posture – defensive. Over and over again in both Corinthian letters, we hear Paul arguing for his rightful place as an apostle. There were many members of the Church in Corinth who wanted to Paul to be different. The rich wanted Paul to side with them, to make the Church an exclusive club where only the insiders could participate in worship and decision making. Those who were previously Jewish wanted Paul to place more of the Torah restrictions on the church. The Greeks wanted Paul to ease up on the whole “you shouldn’t eat meat sacrificed to idols” thing. Some didn’t trust that Paul wasn’t just a scam artist.
All throughout the letters, we hear Paul defending himself and his calling against these outside voices, to the point that here he simply laments, “woe to me if I do not preach the Gospel.” Sharing the Good News of God’s love in Christ was Paul’s sole identity; his singular mission, and repeatedly he reminds his audiences that this is also the mission to which they are called. Whether speaking to Greeks or Jews, rich or poor, strong or weak, the task of a disciple of Jesus, as Paul sees it, is to preach the Gospel in word and deed, and no amount of outside influence was going to change that. We might ask, how can Paul be so sure? We’ve got a pretty nice rescue station built here. We’ve got eleven HVAC units to worry about, floors to shine, and salaries to pay. It is so tempting to allow getting butts in pews, raising funds, and doing church to get in the way of loving God, loving neighbor, and proclaiming resurrection. Paul knew all about these kinds of worries, and still, he was certain that the core of his mission, our shared mission, is to share the Good News of God’s love in Christ.
Paul’s certainty comes from the example of Jesus in stories like our Gospel lesson today. We are still at the very beginning of Jesus’ public ministry. If you’ll recall last week, we heard about Jesus’ first public act, a sermon in the Synagogue in Capernaum and the healing of a man with an unclean spirit. News of that event spread quickly as Jesus and his then four disciples made their way to Peter’s house. Before dinner was over, just as the Sabbath ended, the whole city was crowded at the front door of Peter’s house seeking healing for themselves and those they loved. Jesus, having healed the man with the unclean spirit and Peter’s mother-in-law of their afflictions, went on to heal many of the sick, to cast out numerous demons, and to generally wear himself out in the name of ministry. Even Jesus wasn’t immune to the pressures of the expectations of the outside world, but he knew what to do next.
Early in the morning, Jesus stole away for some time alone in prayer. There, in the silence, he reconnected with God and with himself and remembered that he was not called primarily to be a miracle worker, his calling, not unlike Paul’s, and not unlike ours, was to preach the Good News of God’s love. And so, when his disciples hunted him down and encouraged him to get back work, healing the rest of the town, Jesus was emphatic, “That is not my calling. No, let’s get out of here, there are other villages that need to hear the message that the Kingdom of God has come near.” The rest of Mark’s Gospel shows us that Jesus didn’t stop healing people, he didn’t quit casting out demons, but all along, he was clear that his first call, above all others, was to invite people to repentance and to share the Good News.
At Christ Church, we have a mission statement. You hear it from us all the time. You might even be able to recite it by now, but this week, I realized that what I’ve often seen as three distinct parts of our calling are really two means by which we live into the third. We are a community of Christ’s servants who seek to worship God with joy and wonder and to learn and grow together so that we might fulfill our primary vocation and radiate God’s love to all. That is the principal mission of this particular rescue station, to share the Good News of God’s love in Christ in word and deed to a world that desperately needs to know it. May God help us to always remember this calling and bless us in our work. Amen.
[1] “Parable of the Life-Saving Station” by The Rev. Dr. Theodore O. Wedel, 1953. Found at https://www.ecfvp.org/vestry-papers/article/272/parable-of-the-lifesaving-station
Several years ago, I took a class on preaching that was co-taught by Duke Divinity professor and Episcopal Priest, Lauren Winner, who noted that preaching presents a unique opportunity in modern life. With TVs and iPhones and cars that have internet access, the average American will rarely, if ever, choose to sit and listen to another human being talk for 15 minutes, except for Sunday morning. Dr. Winner was adamant that “There is no excuse for not taking seriously the extreme privilege that preaching is.” A 2016 study by Pew Research foudn that 83% of church-shoppers say preaching is the most important factor in deciding where to worship, the most of any reason.[1] Again and again, studies by Episcopal seminaries say that the number one thing people want their priest to be able to do it preach a decent sermon. I really don’t think human beings have changed much over the last two or three thousand years. I think preaching has always been an important part of the religious life of the faithful.
It was certainly important for Mark and his Church. This morning, we hear Mark’s story of Jesus’ first public act, and what do you know, he preached a sermon. Mark doesn’t tell us what Jesus said to the congregation gathered at the First Synagogue of Capernaum, but we know their reaction: “they were amazed at his teaching for he taught as one having authority.” I imagine the people in the crowd that evening weren’t that unlike you and me.[2] They’d come to Synagogue for all sorts of reasons. Some where there hoping to find healing from a deep hurt. Some were there hoping to see and be seen. Some where there because their grandmother had made sure they went to Synagogue on Friday and their grandfather had built the place with his bare hands. They’d come to the Synagogue in all sorts of conditions. Some where there hoping to hear the voice of God. Some where there hoping to shake off the cobwebs of a late Thursday night with friends, hoping for forgiveness for another week. Some were hopping mad at their children for putting up such a fuss about getting dressed.
No matter the reason, no matter the mood, the congregation in Capernaum headed off to Friday evening services expecting what most of us expect on a Sunday morning, routine. Whether you’re a Baptist, a Jew, a Roman Catholic, a non-denominational type, a Muslim, or an Episcopalian, everyone heads to their weekly worship service expecting it to mostly look like it did last week. The folks in Capernaum, like most of us this morning, came ready for a fairly predictable liturgy: a reading from the Bible, some prayers, a few songs maybe, and a sermon that would either make them feel warm and fuzzy or make them think, just a little bit, but not too much. What they certainly didn’t expect was Jesus of Nazareth, but Jesus is exactly what they got.
It wouldn’t have been unusual for a guest preacher to be asked to speak. Travel wasn’t easy, so when you had someone from out of town, especially a Rabbi, it made sense to invite them to share a word. Presumably, Jesus would offer greetings from the Synagogue in Nazareth, news he had learned on his journey, and a brief reflection on a safe text. I’m sure when he was introduced as being from Nazareth; the reaction was not unlike Nathaniel’s from two weeks ago: a groan or two, maybe some eye rolls, and someone muttering under their breath, “Can anything good come from Nazareth?” But then Jesus began to preach, and it was unlike anything they had ever heard before.
Mark doesn’t tell us what Jesus said, but a few verses before this passage, he did share the crux of Jesus’ message, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the good news.” It wasn’t that this was a new teaching, but it was the way he said it. It wasn’t like the preaching of the Scribes: who had to rely on their brains, their studies, and the Holy Spirit for the words they said. No, Jesus spoke with conviction, with a new authority. He spoke as if the message about the kingdom of God was fulfilled in his speaking – as if his saying it made it so. There was a depth and a power to his teaching that was unrivaled, even by the best preachers: the John the Baptists, the Billy Grahams, the Michael Currys. Jesus spoke and immediately everyone sat up at attention, amazed at what they heard.
I wonder what would happen if Jesus showed up to preach in our world today? Would we be inclined to listen? Would we sense the same authority and depth the folks in Capernaum realized? Would we find ourselves amazed? Or would the experience be more like Jesus’ first sermon in his hometown Synagogue where Jesus looked out on that crowd and said to them basically the same thing he said in Capernaum, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the good news.” Much like in Capernaum, the crowd in Nazareth recognized the authority of Jesus, they sensed his conviction, and they felt the weight of his words, but in Nazareth things went south quickly. The room flipped in seconds, and Jesus was run out of town.
Are we ready to answer the call of Jesus to repent and believe in the good news? Can we hear about freedom to captives, sight to the blind, and the forgiveness of sins for all people without getting nervous? Are we willing to let Jesus challenge our preconceived notions about what the world should look like? Or are we hoping that he’ll offer us a safe word, one that might make us feel warm and fuzzy, or at worst make us think, just a little bit, but not too much? Are we ready for the sort of authority that Jesus claims over our lives, and how we treat our neighbors and our enemies? Are we willing to be changed by Jesus?
We are all here this morning for different reasons and needing different things. Some of us are tired and in need of rest. Some of us are excited and looking for a way to channel our energy. Some of us are here to get our card punched for the week. A few of us might hope to be changed. Ideally, all of us are here expecting to encounter Jesus of Nazareth. In word and song and bread and wine, we come and ask God to enter our lives, to usher in the kingdom, and to set us free from anger and sadness; from routine and boredom; from the way of selfishness and death. Come Lord Jesus, and speak to us a word of truth, of hope, and of love. Amen.
[1] https://www.pewresearch.org/religion/2016/08/23/choosing-a-new-church-or-house-of-worship
[2] I’m grateful to Scott Hoeze for helping me imagine this scene. http://cep.calvinseminary.edu/sermon-starters/epiphany-4b-2/?type=the_lectionary_gospel#sthash.5WeKqYDU.dpuf
If you’ve hung around here long enough, you have heard me both extol the virtues and bemoan the limitations of the unique gift that is the Revised Common Lectionary. A benefit, which we see this morning is how the lessons from the Old and New Testaments can expand on the theme of the Gospel lesson. Jonah’s second calling helps us to better understand Jesus calling Simon, Andrew, James, and John. One of my chief complaints of any lectionary system is how lessons, especially from the Hebrew Bible, tend to be one-offs week-by-week. We’ll drop into Judges for a week, then off to Genesis, maybe two weeks in Exodus, and then, like this week, we are plopped into the middle of Jonah. Over the three-year cycle of 156 Sundays, Jonah is appointed a whopping two times. In total, we get the opportunity to read about a third of the whole book, which is only four chapters long.
This pet peeve of mine came to mind this week as I opened the readings for today and saw these words, “The word of the Lord came to Jonah a second time…” Did any of you catch that earlier? Did it leave you wondering, “what about the first time?” I know the story, and I still scratched my head on Monday and thought, “what a silly place to start this passage.” If the word of the Lord came to Jonah a second time, that implies there was a first time, and it further suggests there is pretty good story associated with it. Jonah, as I’m sure many of you know, does not disappoint.
Flipping back a couple of pages, we find the first time that the word of the Lord came to Jonah is in chapter one, verse one. The Lord told Jonah to go to Nineveh, that great city, to proclaim judgement upon them. Nineveh was the capitol city of Assyria, which was Israel’s greatest enemy at the time. I think Jonah quickly realized that to go to that “great city” with the news of God’s judgment meant one of two things. Either the people of Nineveh would hear his word, get angry, and kill him, or the people of Nineveh would hear his word and repent and Israel would see him as a traitor, get angry, and kill him. Neither seemed like a great option, so Jonah chose plan C. He ran to Joppa where he found a boat that had recently arrived from Tarshish and hired the ship and its whole crew to turn around and take him in the opposite direction of God’s calling.[1]
Now, if you believe that God is the God of the universe, which Jonah did, you will deduce rather quickly that you can’t flee from the presence of God. It didn’t take long for God to appoint a great storm on the Mediterranean; so strong that the ship was at the verge of tearing itself apart. While Jonah slept in the hold, irrationally confident in his plan to escape from God, the men he had hired cried out, each to their own god, and threw everything they could overboard in hopes of keeping the ship from sinking. Finally, one of them ran down, woke Jonah up, and said, “Call upon your god! Maybe your god will be kind to us and keep us from perishing.” Then they cast lots to see upon whom the blame for the storm would fall, and when it fell on Jonah, he confessed that he had hired them to run away from the God of Heaven who had created the land and the sea, and they were terrified.
Jonah knew what they had to do, so they threw him overboard, and immediately, the storm stopped, the deckhands worshiped Jonah’s God, and a giant fish came and swallowed Jonah whole. I told you this was a great story. For three days, Jonah lived in the belly of the fish, until Jonah prayed to God, thanking God for saving his life and promising to worship God and to follow God’s calling. So, the great fish spit up Jonah onto dry land, and “the word of the Lord came to Jonah a second time: ‘Go at once to Nineveh, that great city, and proclaim to it what I tell you.’”
Contrary to the stories of Andrew and Peter and James and John, the story of Jonah is the story of a reluctant follower. Perhaps that is a story with which you can relate. I think all of us have some of both kinds of followers in us from time to time. “You want me to donate rice to Meals INC? Absolutely, Lord, no problem.” “You want me to invite my new neighbor to church? Well, God, the thing about that is, I just don’t want to impose on anyone. Maybe next week.” Sometimes, even when we agree to follow God’s call, there is a part of us that still really doesn’t want to, so we might, like Jonah, not quite do it to the best of our abilities.
Jonah had learned his lesson and hightailed it straight to Nineveh, but he still wasn’t happy about it. Nineveh, we’re told was an enormously large city, so big it would take three days to walk across it. If you think about it, that is absurdly large. The average walking pace for a healthy adult is about three miles an hour. A day’s worth of walking is maybe six hours, so that’s 18 miles a day, or 54 miles for a three days’ walk! That’s enormous. Like, absurdly big. New York City is 17 miles across from Queens to Staten Island, so Nineveh was more than three New York Cities. It was more than one and a half Houstons. The Jewish Study Bible says Nineveh was “impossibly large… for an ancient city.”[2] Still, the story goes that in order to fulfill his calling, Jonah walked a day’s journey into Nineveh and with all the gusto of a shy first-grader mumbled out, “Forty days more and Nineveh will be overthrown,” and then he turned around and walked away.
What follows is nothing short of a miracle. The few people who heard Jonah, believed him. They told their friends, who told their friends, who eventually told the king of Assyria, and the entire city repented, wore sackcloth, and fasted. The lazy word of an exceedingly reluctant prophet turned the entire, impossibly large city of Nineveh away from their evil ways and toward God. Jonah is just one in a long line of flawed humans through whom God does amazing things. Noah was a drunk, Moses had a temper, David was a sexual predator, Jonah was as stubborn as a mule, Peter was impetuous, Thomas doubted, and James and John were prideful.
All along the way, God has used human beings who sin, get hangry, make mistakes, and don’t drink enough water to build the kingdom of heaven here on earth. God even used the flaws in the lectionary to bring us this lesson today, and God’s desire is to use you and me to continue the work of building the kingdom. As we gather this morning for our annual meeting and look toward our 180th year of ministry in this community, we pray that even when we don’t readily or effectively answer the call of our Savior to proclaim to all people the Good News of God in Christ, the Spirit might use us anyway, to the glory of Almighty God. Amen.
[1] “Notes on Jonah 1:3”, The Jewish Study Bible, Second Edition, Jewish Publication Society, 2014. p. 1188-9.
[2] Ibid., p. 1190.
Say what you will about the evils of late-stage capitalism, 2024 really is an amazing time to be alive. You could, if you were so inclined, have camped out in front of a Target store a few nights ago to get your hands on a $50, pink, Valentine’s Day themed cup made by a company that for its first one hundred years made thermoses for iron workers to keep their soup and coffee warm on the jobsite. You can, and I did, through the magic of the world wide web, buy a $50 knock-off of a $300 sweatshirt from a random Chinese website that may or may not be a scam, but will eventually send you a shipping notification for what was supposed to be a Christmas present on the 11th Day of Christmas. And no matter what niche thing you are into, you can probably buy a nativity scene featuring your interests or particular style choices.
Just this year, I’ve seen the minimalist nativity scene that features Mary as a blue rectangle, Joseph as a brown rectangle, and Jesus as a small brown square. There’s the millennial parents’ nativity that has Mary holding a Starbucks cup and making a peace sign with duck lips while Joseph takes a selfie of the holy family. My personal favorite is the Fisher Price Little People Nativity Scene that when you press on the angel, lights up and plays music. You can buy one that blows up for your front yard or a beautiful olive wood one like we have here in the Nave. Whatever your desire, there is a nativity set for you in 2024.
While there are some nativity scenes that only include the holy family, most contain the full cast of characters. There’s Mary and Joseph, the Baby Jesus, of course, an angel, at least one shepherd, a few animals, and the Magi, wise men, or three kings. Having the whole gang surround the manger is important, I think, because it tells the full story of what God was doing in the incarnation. First, you have the holy family, a sign for us that Jesus wasn’t just beamed down from heaven, but born of a woman, and made truly human. The angel, meanwhile, sits atop the manger as a reminder that Jesus wasn’t like any other baby born in history, but rather, his birth was miraculous, as announced by the Angel Gabriel, he was conceived by God to be born of a virgin. In the incarnation, heaven came to earth so that earth might be joined with heaven. This is only possible if Jesus is both fully divine and fully human. The holy family and the angel remind us of this fact.
Then comes the shepherds who were the first the receive the good news of the Savior’s birth. To them came the glad tidings of great joy that the Messiah was born in Bethlehem. Though they were outsiders in their society, they were still Jewish men. By having them in the nativity scene, we are reminded that Jesus came to the lost sheep of Israel that they might be set free from their bondage and find freedom in the Messiah. It seems they didn’t come to the manger alone, however, and so we have some animals there with them. There is almost always a sheep and maybe a cow or a donkey who were residents of the manger where Jesus was laid. These call to mind that God’s desire is for humanity to be in right relationship not only with one another, but with all of creation. Jesus came to show us how to live at peace with the world that God has given us, and the animals resting at the creche show us this truth.
Finally, there are the Magi. While they are sold as a set, in our tradition, they don’t show up in the manger until tonight. It took them a while to get to where the baby was born. They are the most unexpected characters at the scene. The Magi were priests in a pre-Islamic Persian religion known as Zoroastrianism. They were learned scholars who sought out wisdom from the stars. Zoroastrianism was founded by the prophet Zoroaster who believed himself to be born of a virgin, who began his ministry at the age of 30 after withstanding the temptations of Satan and predicted that other virgins would give birth to divine prophets. The Magi looked to the heavens for the stars that would signal the birth of a new prophet, a new king, and even, a new savior. These gentile priests of a pagan religion came to the manger thanks to a new star shining in the heavens. They came to bless the infant king with gifts for his reign: gold as a symbol of wealth and power, frankincense representing wisdom, and myrrh as a sign of long life and healing.[1] They stopped in Jerusalem to speak with Herod to confirm where the prophets said the King of the Jews might be born. The intention of the Magi was to show the baby king honor. The reaction of Herod was terror, anger, and eventually, violence.
We have the Magi in the nativity scene to remind us that in Christ, God intends to redeem the whole world. Even those who don’t quite get it right, are welcome at the cradle of the Messiah. That’s the gift of Epiphany, the revealing of the divinity of Jesus to all people. The person who is never in a nativity scene is Herod, the puppet-king of Israel who was put in authority by Rome to keep the peace through intimidation, threats, and violence. Herod refused to accept that a new King could have been born in Bethlehem, even though, by his actions, he clearly believed it to be true. No matter how open God’s invitation is in the gift of Jesus, there are still some who will refuse to receive salvation for fear of losing their own power or privilege. The only people who don’t come to worship the newborn king are those who refuse the invitation. This Season of Epiphany, we are invited to see how Jesus is revealed to us in our day and time. God offers us the chance to see Jesus in the faces of each person with whom we come into contact, to see God’s image even in those who camped out to buy an overpriced cup, to welcome the stranger, and to love our enemies. All of us are invited to take our place in the manger scene, will you come and experience the gracious welcome of the newborn king? Amen.
[1] https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/epiphany-of-our-lord/commentary-on-matthew-21-12-8
The late bishop of Massachusetts, The Right Reverend Thomas Shaw, loved to tell a story from his time as a parish priest when he ran into a couple of parishioners out shopping for some last minute gifts a few days before Christmas. At the time Father Shaw, asked Fred and his six-year-old son Sam what they planned to do on Christmas Day. “Well,” Fred answered, “we’re going to probably get up early and open presents, and then we’ll get ready and go to church.” “Church!?!” Sam responded incredulously, “On Christmas?!? We’re going to church on Christmas?” Fred, trying to not be too embarrassed in front of his priest, explained to his young son, “Of course, that’s what Christmas is all about. It’s about Jesus’ birth and God coming to us.” Sam said, “I know, I know, but on Christmas!?! Church wrecks everything!”
Sam might have overreacted just a little but, but the truth of the matter is that while we may be loath to admit it, the birth of Jesus really did wreak havoc on a whole lot of things. Just take the Gospel lesson from Luke we just heard. In just this one account of Jesus’ birth we hear of the newborn kind wrecking things for every character listed. Luke sets the stage for the story by identifying it in a particular place and time. Caesar Augustus was the Emperor of Rome, and Cyrenius was the Governor of Syria, and Caesar declared that the whole world should be taxed. Not just taxed, but they had to pay the tax in the hometown of their families. Talk about insult to injury, not only did Mary and Joseph have to pay a tax that the emperor declared on a whim, but they had to travel some 90 miles, on foot, to pay it. Jesus was born into a world in which the average person had no agency over their lives. They were simply pawns on a chess board that could be squeezed for money or moved around by the powers-that-be just for fun. Despite all the power of the empire, however, there was one thing they could not control, the God of all creation. For it was precisely that census that took Joseph and Mary from Nazareth to Bethlehem and allowed Jesus, the King of kings, the Lord of lords, the Christ, to be born in the city of David, from which, the promised Messiah would come. The birth of Jesus wrecked the perceived power of Rome.
Luke tells us that the whole world was commanded to be counted and taxed, but there were a few humans who literally didn’t count, and thus didn’t have to make their way to an ancestral homeland. Among them were the shepherds, a necessary evil in the first century world that was still transitioning from nomadic farming. Nobody like shepherds. They were smelly and suspect in character. They were not to be trusted, and some villages even had rules that forbid shepherds from entering in. So, much like every other night, the shepherds settled in for a quiet evening out in the fields with their flocks, when all of a sudden, the heavenly host, literally an army of angels, wrecked their quiet night by appearing in the sky and singing, “Glory to God in the highest and peace to all God’s people on earth!” Talk about a change of plans. In an instant, the shepherds found themselves as heralds of the gospel, the first to hear the good news of the birth of the Messiah. Not only did the birth of Jesus wreck their night, it wrecked the whole world’s understanding of shepherds as the least and the lost as they were the first to receive the Good News.
In the story that leads up to the birth narrative, we come to learn with Mary and Joseph that this child is going to be special. The angel Gabriel told Mary explicitly that the child we be called “the Son of God” who would be given the throne of David to reign over the house of Jacob and his kingdom would have no end. The name of child, as told to Mary, was Jesus, which means “God saves.” In another Gospel, we hear of Joseph’s dream, in which an angel told him that the son that Mary bore would save the people from their sins. Yet, even with all that foreknowledge, nothing quite prepared them for what would happen when the baby was finally born. To have shepherds running to find them, to hear the story that they told of the angel choir and the bright shining light and the good news of great joy for all people. Even the best preconceived ideas they had about this special baby boy were wrecked in just a few short hours after his birth. This child wasn’t like any other child. This child was going to wreck everything.
The life, death, and resurrection of Jesus truly did wreck everything. If we are doing it right, following Jesus will wreck the way we see the world in the best way possible. Every notion of power and privilege has been wrecked by Jesus teaching us that the last will be first and the first will be last. Every notion of who is in and who is out has been wrecked by Jesus teaching us that God so loved the world that God sent the only begotten son not to condemn the world but to save it. Every notion of classism, racism, xenophobia, heteronormativity, islamophobia, antisemitism, sexism, and bigotry has been wrecked by Jesus teaching us that the way we fulfill the commandments of God is to love our neighbors as ourselves. Even our very notions of God are wrecked in the good news of Christmas that God came to earth not on a war horse, but born into human flesh, as a most vulnerable infant, to an unwed mother from a backwater town, and wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in a manger because there was no room for them in the inn. This Christmas Season, I pray that you see the wonderful wreckage that Jesus has brought to this earth, the love of God might crack open your heart like a wrecking ball, and that the light breaking through the darkness brings you hope beyond your wildest imaginations. May God bless us with holy wreckage this day and forever more. Amen.
Draughting Theology 