Sermon: Two essential baptismal promises (January 12, 2025)

Baptism of our Lord (C)
January 12, 2025
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

INTRODUCTION

Today is the festival of the Baptism of our Lord. Each year on this first Sunday after Epiphany (January 6), we hear the story of how Jesus was baptized. Each of the Gospels has a slightly different take on how that happened – so I’ll mention a couple things that are unique to Luke’s telling. One is that the voice from heaven speaks directly to Jesus – “you are my son” – where in the others that heavenly voice speaks to those gathered – “this is my son.” In Matthew, Mark and Luke, the Holy Spirit comes upon Jesus “like a dove,” but where the other Gospels say this happens as Jesus comes out of the water, in Luke it doesn’t happen until later, when he is praying. Speaking of prayer, no other Gospels tell us that Jesus prays after; in fact, the others send Jesus immediately into the wilderness after his baptism to be tempted, where Luke takes his time with that, offering us Jesus’ genealogy before Jesus is led by the Spirit out into the wilderness. 

However it all came about, hearing about Jesus’ baptism invites us to reflect upon our own, and our other readings will help us to do that. Acts shows again the importance of prayer after baptism, and how the Holy Spirit comes to us in prayer. The Psalm describes the power of God and of how God works through water. Isaiah 43 is a beautiful text written for the Israelites who have grievously sinned against God, and yet still, God loves them and claims them and promises to restore and redeem them. Just like God does for us in baptism! As you listen today, hear and give thanks for all these marvelous promises of God that we receive in our baptism. Let’s listen. 

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from the Light of the World, our Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

“What happens in baptism?”

This is the question I usually ask parents preparing to have their child baptized. Before we go through with this major event – and I do understand baptism as a major, life-changing event – I always take the opportunity to talk about it with parents, and make sure they understand what, exactly, they and their child are getting themselves into. The answers I get vary, usually including something about washing away of sins, or becoming a child of God – both true. But I have to wonder… does any of that mean anything to them once they walk out the door of the church? 

So with that in mind, what I really want to ask you today is: why does baptism matter to us, and to you? My guess is that day-to-day, you probably don’t think much about your baptism, right? So, why does it matter… or does it? What role does being baptized play in your daily life?

We can find some clues to how to answer this question by looking at today’s Gospel lesson. The first thing to notice is who the actor is here. In Luke’s version of Jesus’ baptism, who baptizes him? … [assume people will say John the Baptist…] Ah, but Luke never says John the Baptist did it. Luke doesn’t mention any human actor here, perhaps to highlight that in fact, humans are never the actor in baptism. Rather, it is God who is the actor. It is the Holy Spirit, who “descended upon him in bodily form like a dove.” The very same Spirit that baptizes us! And then, who does the talking? … Presumably, the Father! A voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the beloved. With you I am well pleased.” 

And so it is, in our own baptism. God does the work. Not the pastor. Not the water. God does the work. This is the response to why we in the Lutheran church typically, though not always, baptize babies. While Christians who are of the Baptist, fundamentalist, or evangelical persuasion insist upon an adult baptism, a so-called “believer’s baptism,” in which the one being baptized has the opportunity to state his or her own faith, we baptize these helpless, vulnerable beings who have not done much of anything for or against God. They are mostly passive participants in the reception of God’s grace in the sacrament.

But isn’t that a wonderful image for us for how we come before God? Passive as they are in the face of God’s grace, infants remind us of how we are to receive God’s love: with humble gratitude, knowing that we don’t do anything to deserve this, but God gives it to us anyway. God acts on us and in us. God forgives us. God claims us as sons and daughters. And there’s nothing we can do to mess up that relationship that God establishes with us. Nothing!

The second thing we can learn from our text today about what happens in baptism is from that voice that comes from heaven. “You are my Son, the Beloved. With you I am well pleased.” In baptism, you see, we are given an identity: we become God’s child. Identity is something we all desire to find and know about ourselves, but it can be difficult. We spend a lot of energy masking, trying to be what other people need or expect us to be, hiding things that we’re ashamed of. Our circumstances change, and we are asked to be someone or something different. We lose track of the essence of who we are, of our identity. But in the midst of all of that, there is one part of our identity that never changes: we are God’s beloved children, through good and bad, and we always will be. 

There are many things to know about baptism, but these points are good ones to hold close: first, that God has given us this amazing gift of love, forgiveness, belonging, identity, and grace, all of this completely, as Luther says, “out of fatherly and divine goodness, though we do not deserve it.” And second, there is nothing we can do to mess it up. I find this gift to be both humbling and liberating. I am amazed that God would bestow such goodness on insignificant me, bestowing it not because I am something extraordinary, but because God is. And to think, that God will never take this gift away from me – not when I feel ashamed, or when I do something that hurts or upsets someone else, or when I doubt my abilities, or when I make a huge mistake, or when I don’t live up to someone’s expectations… All of these things, which have happened and will continue to happen in my life because I, like all of you, am human – they all make me want to doubt that God made the right call in bestowing on me all the wondrous gifts of baptism. If I were God, I might take it back. “Never mind, Johanna, you weren’t worthy of these gifts after all.” But God doesn’t. God does not renege on this offer. God offers anyway.

And that is liberating. What I mean is that suddenly, I start to believe that if God views me as worthy to receive God’s gifts… maybe I shouldn’t doubt myself. And if I don’t doubt myself, then just think what I could do in and for this world! And this is where we start to answer my earlier question to you: what does baptism have to do with your daily life, and why does it matter? It matters because it is a profound statement of God’s unconditional love for you. It matters because it promises us every day that we are forgiven, and in showing us that, it also urges us to “forgive those who trespass against us.” And with forgiveness comes healing, and with healing comes transformation. It matters because it assures us that even when we fall short, we still carry with us, everywhere we go, the gift of the Holy Spirit – the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of Lord. 

What does that Spirit, the Spirit we receive in our baptism, move you to do in this world? What does the assurance of God’s love, grace, and belonging, give you courage to pursue? For me, that promise emboldens and enables me to love people that I find difficult to love. That includes people I encounter in my daily life, and family members who are more difficult to get along with than others, and even people whom I don’t know except that I know they look and believe and act differently from me. Loving these different people doesn’t look the same for each person, so the Spirit pushes me to figure out how to love all these different people, what it looks like with each. The Spirit urges me not to sit still and be quiet in the face of injustice, but rather to use what gifts I have to make sure all of God’s children have what they need – as the late President Jimmy Carter, whom we mourned and celebrated this week said of his own faith, “My faith demands that I do whatever I can, wherever I can, whenever I can, for as long as I can with whatever I have to try to make a difference.” 

In short, the Spirit encourages me to do things I’m scared of, to get out of my comfort zone, to go out on a limb for the sake of the gospel, because I can trust that if and when I fail in my efforts to live a life guided by Christ, God will still not renege on the gifts of my baptism. And to me, all of that matters quite a lot.

How about you? Why does baptism matter to you? What does it have to do with your daily life? I gave you my answer. I’d love to hear yours.

Let us pray… Spirit of God, in our baptism, you have promised us forgiveness, belonging, identity, and unconditional love, and we can trust that you will not renege on these gifts. As we celebrate the baptism of our Lord, help us to remember our own baptism, and help us also to discern what you would have us do with this abundant gift to love and serve your world. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Photo attribution: 

Zelenka, Dave. Baptism of Christ, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56385 [retrieved January 13, 2025]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Baptism-of-Christ.jpg.

Sermon: Your light has come! So what? (January 5, 2025)

Epiphany (year C)
January 5, 2025
Isaiah 60:1-6
Matt. 2:1-12

INTRODUCTION 

Merry 12th Day of Christmas! And Happy Epiphany! Epiphany, observed on January 6th (tomorrow), is the day we celebrate the arrival of the Three Kings, but there is more to it than that, and our readings (as well as hymns and prayers) illuminate some of that for us. I assume you’re all fairly familiar with the story of the three kings, so you’ll likely notice that Isaiah will mention camels and kings and two of the three gifts brought by the magi. The Psalm mentions how “kings will bow down before him.” And Paul’s letter to the Ephesians will talk about how the mystery of God is made known to the Gentiles, the “nations,” that is, the non-Jews – which of course, the magi were. That’s remarkable, because when these gentiles, the magi, come to see God-made-flesh in Jesus, in that encounter, we see that God’s promises are made known even to those outside of God’s chosen, the Jewish people. It shows us something important about who God is, who Jesus is: namely, that Jesus is for the whole world! That’s good stuff! As you listen to these texts, notice all the connections throughout the texts, all the ways God has been making promises throughout time, and how they are fulfilled in Jesus Christ. Let’s listen.

[READ] 

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

The story of Epiphany is one of the most beloved parts of the story of the incarnation. The star, the mysterious visitors from the nondescript “east,” the gifts no expectant parents would register for, the dreams. Even the name of the day, “epiphany,” the big “A-HA!” at which the truth that God would go so far as to become one of us is made known even to strangers who previously knew nothing of this God… It’s all so captivating. But maybe what I love the most about Epiphany is that it is a totally Christian celebration, untainted by any Hallmark or cultural interpretation. It is wholly a celebration of God made manifest to us through Christ, of the light that he has brought into the world, and it is a day that urges us to continue looking for the light of Christ, even in the darkness of this world.

That all sounds lovely, right? On Christmas Eve we focused a lot on the dawn breaking, the light coming, about God showing up among us in our darkest, scariest, loneliest moments, and today we get to celebrate it some more! Arise and shine, people, for your light has come! The glory of God has dawned, arisen, upon you! It is certainly a promise that brings me hope and comfort! 

And yet… I can’t shake that there is also some discomfort in this promise. Because when light is shining upon us, it becomes harder to hide. The darkness hides a multitude of sins, but in the light of Christ, we cannot pretend that our sins do not exist. In the light, we see that our words did really hurt someone we love, that we have been negligent in serving the poorest and weakest among us, that we have judged people, for good or bad, based on their background or what they look like, that we have been focused more on satisfying ourselves than serving others. Our excuses that worked so well in the dim light suddenly sound hollow in the brightness. If we would rather not face the reality of our brokenness, perhaps we would be better off in the darkness after all.

I wonder if that’s what unnerved Herod so much. Herod, of course had a long track record of horrific sins, actions which perhaps he justified as being the work of a good, strong leader. When the wise men come to him and ask if he knows about this child king, Herod immediately recognizes that a new king of the Jews would pose a threat to him, to his power, to his illusion that he is in charge of his life and his world. The light already emanating from that child king has revealed to him the truth: that he is not as powerful as he thought he was. And his response to this realization… is fear. It is not repentance, nor self-reflection, nor humility, nor a vow to trust in God’s fulfilling of promises. It is certainly not to arise and shine, as Isaiah urges us to do. Indeed, Herod’s response is the opposite of all that. Anyone remember what happens after this charming story about the wise men? After the magi are warned in a dream not to return to Herod and go home by a different road, Herod goes completely off the rails, going on one of the murderous rampages he was so known for, ordering the death of all boys under the age of two, known today as the Massacre of the Innocents. Merry Christmas, huh? This is what happens when people realize the implications of having the light of Christ in the world, showing us the brokenness. When people are confronted with their own darkness, with their sin and fear and insecurity, they can lash out violently.

We’ve seen this sort of reaction from world leaders throughout time – not all as gruesomely as King Herod, though some, yes. And unfortunately, when someone with a lot of power lashes out, it has the potential to hurt a lot of people, often those who were already innocent or already vulnerable. But of course, it is not only those with political power who react to a threat to their self-image by harming someone else. I’m sure every one of us here has at some point experienced having their insecurities painfully revealed – maybe a bad review at work, or being a victim of bullying, or failing at something you thought you could do – and if you’re anything like me, you might have reacted to that situation in a way that ended up hurting someone else, even someone you care about. We have all felt like Herod at some point and we all act out Herod’s rage in our own ways. We do it by being passive aggressive with our spouse, or participating in gossip about our friends, or yelling at our kids when we know that they really don’t know better, or at least that they have their own stuff going on and were doing the best they could and didn’t deserve a tongue lashing. We do it by undermining whomever we see as our competition.

Suddenly this light that has come into the world is like those awful florescent lights in the dressing room – you know the ones? – and we are looking at ourselves in the mirror and thinking, “Oh dear… Is that really how I look?” 

But you see, there is grace and hope even in that realization! That light shining upon us helps us to see our sin – so that it, too, can be scattered, just like the light of Christ scatters the darkness of the world. The light of Christ scatters our own darkness, our own sin. And even though we sometimes engage in less than Christ-like behaviors, God’s light and promise do not cease to shine. In Herod’s rage at recognizing his own insufficiency, he tries to snuff out that light, but Mary and Joseph and Jesus get out of Bethlehem safely and find refuge in Egypt. Herod cannot put out the light. The light shines on. It shines still, even on us.

It’s good news! But the day of Epiphany, you see, asks us to go even one step further. Epiphany asks us, “So what?” God became truly human and dwelt among us and shone light into the darkness of the world… Great! So what? Now what we are gonna do about it? Are you gonna just soak up that light, count your own blessings, and call it a day? Or is there more to it than that? 

We find the answer to those opening words from our reading from Isaiah: Arise! Shine! For your light has come! And the glory of the Lord has risen upon you. This is our Epiphany call, a refrain that needs to be in our bones. Arise, Church! Shine into the world! Don’t just sit there, basking in the love and grace of God. Do something! 

This is the call to the church. This is the faithful response to Christ’s good news. Arise, lift up your eyes, look around and find the dark corners of the world, and shine that same light into those corners. 

Do you think this is good news that God wants to spend time with the likes of us? (I do!) Do you find life in the fact that, even though we sometimes let loose our rage in different ways from Herod, they are still in ways that are hurtful even to people we love – do you find life in knowing that even still, God showers us with grace and forgives us and loves us anyway? (I do!) Do you find hope in knowing that God is not yet done with forming us into faithful disciples, but rather, keeps shining that light on us to reveal to us how we can better know and love God and one another? Does that all sound like good news to you? (It does to me!)

Then shine, people of God. Epiphany is a day not for Hallmark, but for the Church, for it tells us all about what it means not only to receive God’s gracious light, but also to share it with others who still long to see more clearly. Arise, shine, for your light has come and the glory of the Lord has arisen upon you. Shine that same light into the world. Tell people where you find hope. Tell them where you find life. Tell them how good it feels to be loved by a gracious God. 

Let us pray… O Morning Star, you are the light that does not quit. Shine in our lives, so that we would see your intention for us, and so that we would be equipped then to shine your life-giving light into the darkness of this world. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Christmas Eve Sermon: Persistent Light

 Christmas Eve 2024

With bellies full from our shared meal, we gather in the living room, and turn off the lights. All that illumines the faces of those gathered is a single candle, flickering behind a transparency, a paper cutout of a silhouette of the holy family with the words, written above it, “The light shines in the darkness.” One by one, people take the flame from that one candle and light other candles that have been placed around the room, candles which illuminate angels, stars, or other scenes from the beloved story of Jesus’ birth. As they light candles, people share their stories, their prayers, their hopes for this season, and together we hold these offerings, and sing a carol, pointing us ever toward Emmanuel, God-with-us. As time passes, the darkness that once shrouded the room, has been scattered by the flickering flames of people’s hopes, prayers, and memories. A light indeed shines in the darkness.

I’ve just described a beloved family tradition from my mom’s side of the family. My mom remembers that her older brother, when they used to do this as kids, would always choose the darkest corner he could find, and light that candle, desiring as he did to bring light into the darkest corners of the living room, and the world. 

This memory came to mind when I came across a poem this year by Jan Richardson, called “How the Light Comes.” She writes, 

I cannot tell you

how the light comes.

What I know

is that it is more ancient

than imagining.

That it travels

across an astounding expanse

to reach us.

That it loves

searching out

what is hidden,

what is lost,

what is forgotten

or in peril

or in pain.

Imagine that – a Light that loves searching out what is hidden, lost, forgotten, in peril, or in pain. It seems to me there is a lot of those things, in this life, and we often feel it more profoundly at the holidays. I think of a friend whose husband recently lost his battle with cancer, and another friend who fears this could be her last Christmas with her dad, who is battling ALS. I think of those who are fearful of what the new year will bring, and those who do not feel they can live authentic lives, for fear of their safety. I think of those who are estranged from family, or who lack sufficient work or reliable housing, or who are far from home. Of course, there are also many here tonight and everywhere whose hearts are filled to bursting with joy, and what a blessing that is! But the truth is, while there is plenty of joy and hope and love to go around this season, there is also sadness and pain for past losses, or for current realities, and there is anxiety and fear for the future. Ignoring that won’t make it go away.

That is why I am so drawn to Richardson’s beautiful claim that the ancient Light that “travels across an astounding expanse to reach us,” loves to seek out these places we may keep hidden beneath a mask of “everything’s fine,” places with peril or pain for body or spirit. Like my uncle, a boy lighting a candle in the darkest corner, the Light searches for the darkest corner of the room, and goes to it, illuminating what would have stayed in darkness and never seen the light of hope. 

That’s what it was like that first Christmas night. We have sanitized this story over time, making it more sweet than fearful, more cute than painful. It is easy to miss or overlook why this light shining in the darkness, this babe born in a manger, was so important. But remember, Israel was at this time an occupied territory, and Roman occupation was often more peril than picnic. They had been waiting for hundreds of years to hear a word of hope from God, but instead they felt abandoned, lost, forgotten. The year that Emmanuel, God-with-us, was born, the earth was more than ready for a savior. They were living in a land of deep darkness, just like the people in our reading this evening from Isaiah. They longed to see a great light. They longed for that light to, as Richardson writes, search out what is hidden, what is lost, what is forgotten, or in peril, or in pain. 

And we still feel that longing for the light, albeit now for different reasons. It is part of why we love going out to look at Christmas lights displays, why we love to light candles as the days grow darker through December. We long for brightness to dispel the darkness! It is also why we practice acts of generosity during this season, why we love to hear and watch heartwarming stories that restore our faith in humanity, and make us feel hopeful. We are yearning for that ancient light, that searches out the darkest corners of the room and our hearts.

I heard one such story this season, that took place in Toledo, Ohio in December of 2018. At a large intersection in town was a huge weed that had pushed through the concrete and managed to avoid getting cut down. It was a giant, persistent eye sore. As a joke one day, someone hung some tinsel on the weed, making it into something of a Charlie Brown Christmas tree. The next day, someone added an ornament, as well as a sign saying, “The Christmas Weed.” The day after that, people started leaving gifts by the tree – free gifts for anyone to take! By now, this ugly thing at a busy intersection was really getting some traction – someone made a Facebook page for it. 10,000 people started following, and as the days went on, more gifts were added. Before long, there were lawn reindeer, a costumed Santa waving to the cars passing by, and people started taking their families to sing carols at the Christmas Weed. Hats, scarves, and blankets appeared, free to whoever needed them. This organic effort, begun by a tiny piece of reflective plastic tinsel, was the light of the town! 

But then, two days before Christmas Eve, someone came and took everything, and destroyed the weed, snuffing out that light. Yet still, the Christmas Weed, and the light, persisted. There appeared on the spot a potted weed, very similar to the one that was taken. Within hours there was more there than had been there before. A nearby Walgreens put out bins for the influx of items. They provided hot chocolate and opened their parking lot for visitors. Police directed traffic so people could safely visit the Weed. Local agencies took turns picking up donations. One pastor serving in Toledo said, “The Christmas Weed was the light and hope the town needed [that year].” Another resident commented, “May every town be blessed with such a Weed.” 

You see – the Light loves searching out what is hidden, lost, forgotten, in peril or in pain. The Light searches out the weeds – the unwanted, unsightly intruders, and brightens them with hope. The Light pursues the darkest corners, where we try to hide the things that hurt, and as Richardson’s poem goes on, it “works its way / into the deepest dark / that enfolds you, / though it may seem / long ages in coming / or arrive in a shape / you did not foresee” – like the shape of an ungainly Christmas Weed, or a single flame in the darkest corner of the room, or a babe born to peasants in a stable in a backwater town. 

The people who walk in darkness have seen a great light. It is the light that persists like a weed. It is the light that will not allow us to feel alone in our sadness. It is the light that, in the words of Howard Thurman that our choir will sing tonight, brings “hope where despair keeps watch… courage for fears ever present… peace for tempest-tossed days… grace to ease heavy burdens… [and] love to inspire all [our] living.” 

Let us turn toward this Light, this Christmas, opening ourselves to it, ready to receive what it offers. May the light shining in the darkness, that shown from a lowly manger and brightened the night, shine also in our hearts. Amen. 

Sermon: Extraordinary Emmanuel (Dec. 22, 2024)

Advent 4C
December 22, 2024
Luke 1:39-55

INTRODUCTION

Finally, on this 4th Sunday of Advent, we get some texts that sound Christmasy. Micah will announce the importance of that little town of Bethlehem, which is the same town from which King David came. Hebrews will tell us why the coming of Jesus is important. But the really Christmasy text will be the Gospel, which tells the story of Mary’s visitation to Elizabeth and Mary’s song of praise. Let me situate you: Just before the part of the Gospel we’ll hear today is the Annunciation, when the angel Gabriel comes to Mary to tell her that she will be the mother of God. When Mary is, understandably, perplexed by this news, Gabriel adds that in fact, Mary’s aging cousin Elizabeth is also with child, and “it is the 6th month for she who was said to be barren, for nothing is impossible with God.” (You may remember Elizabeth, wife of Zechariah, from two weeks ago when we heard Zechariah’s song as our Psalm. So, Elizabeth is pregnant with John the Baptist.) Then the angel departs from Mary, and that’s where our Gospel reading will pick up, with Mary leaving “with haste” to go see the cousin the angel mentioned. Upon hearing Elizabeth’s greeting, Mary will respond by singing what is now known as the Magnificat, so named because of the first Latin word (“My soul magnifies the Lord”). 

The Magnificat is beloved, but has also been seen through history as a dangerous text. Just notice how very revolutionary it is, describing a major reversal in the usual order. As one paraphrase of this song in our hymnal says, “[God] is turning the world around.” This is not mild stuff here! So, watch in our readings and hymns today, for phrases and imagery of the ways God is turning, changing your world, or the whole world. Let’s listen. 

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from the one who is and who was and who is to come. Amen.

After worship today, we will hold our annual Christmas pageant. (It’s gonna be “the best” – really, please plan to stay for it!) Pageants like this are a beloved part of the Christmas season, because the mysterious and wonderful story of that first Christmas is one that captivates the imaginations of people of all ages. What is it that draws us in so? The angels? The animals? The kings and shepherds? The Son of God in a feeding trough, of all places?

Personally, I think it is the mystery of it all, and the unexpected bringing together of all those things, ordinary and divine. Though the story is so familiar to us, depicted on neighborhood lawns and greeting cards, and retold in countless children’s picture books, it remains an absolutely mysterious event in which the ordinary and extraordinary are held together in ways both comforting and challenging, both familiar and baffling. It is a mysterious paradox. 

We know this about the night of Jesus’ birth. But I was struck by the same impression in the part of the story we hear today, about Mary’s response to the news of this divine conception, in which ordinary and miraculous come together. Let’s take a look, and as I tell this story, notice how the ordinary and the extraordinary are woven together. 

…

Gabriel has just returned to heaven, and Mary is now standing alone once again in her humble home in Nazareth. Her whole body seems to be vibrating as phrases the angel said continue running through her head: “You will bear a son… He will reign over the house of Jacob forever… he will be called Son of God… the Holy Spirit will come upon you.” Her heart is pounding, and her mind is racing with questions. Will Joseph leave her? What will her parents say? What will the townspeople say – she is unwed, after all, and who will believe this outlandish story about an angel? Mary’s breathing speeds up and her skin begins to feel hot and prickly.

But then, another phrase floats into her consciousness: “Your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son…. For nothing will be impossible with God.” All at once, Mary knows: she must go to Elizabeth, to her relative. She must form this small community of women who know in their literal beings what it is to be touched by God. It will be a difficult and dangerous journey to get there – it is 70 miles from Nazareth, and young Mary, no more than 15 years old, will be taking it alone and on foot. It is a downright foolish idea, but she also knows it is right. With fierceness and conviction, and without overthinking it, Mary quickly leaves for the hill country. 

…

Elizabeth is in her 6th month, and her aging body is feeling the ache of moving into the third trimester of her pregnancy. Grateful though she is for this miracle, she must admit that the miraculous nature of her status is not at the forefront of her mind, with her back and hips constantly sore. She would benefit from a full night’s sleep without having to get up to relieve herself every hour. She is also fearful of the ever-looming prospect of labor, especially as she is such an old woman. She knows this pregnancy is a blessing, and something very incredible indeed, and she is grateful… but she is also acutely aware that even God’s miracles don’t come easy.

Elizabeth is out doing her daily chores one day, the relentless sun causing beads of sweat to dampen her forehead. Zechariah is inside, having dozed off while studying Torah. Elizabeth sighs, and reaches up to wipe her brow and stretch her aching back, and… she squints at the horizon. Someone is approaching their home. With a gasp, she realizes it is her young cousin, Mary, looking grateful and exhausted as she approaches. Elizabeth laughs, astonished and delighted. At that moment, the Holy Spirit enters Elizabeth like a breath. Her hand moves to her belly – she feels baby John leap in her womb, already prophesying and pointing, Elizabeth somehow knows, toward the Messiah. The two women come together, embracing, both weary and jubilant, laughing in joy and relief. Elizabeth’s swollen belly bumps up against Mary’s still flat one, and Elizabeth says into Mary’s hair, “Blessed are you among women! Blessed is the fruit of your womb!” Soon, both women are weeping, shedding the tears they have kept bottled up but now feel safe to release. The power of this community overcomes them – here they can let down their guard, and be their authentic selves. Here, they can share together in joy and fear, they can celebrate, and listen, and cry, and simply be together. Here they experience the gift of incarnate community. 

Elizabeth hurries Mary inside for a seat and a drink of water, and they begin to talk in the eager tones of two women who have missed each other and need to catch up, and have incredible news to share. Mary shares her fears along with her certainty of God’s plan, and Elizabeth bears witness, holds it all, and showers Mary with words of blessing. “Do you know what, my dear Mary?” she asks. She tenderly touches her belly again. “Even as you were arriving, my little John knew something marvelous was happening. I felt him leap for joy in my womb!” Mary laughs through her tears, wiping her nose. Elizabeth goes on, looking Mary deep in the eyes, and says, “Blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” Mary feels the impact of her cousin’s statement, absorbing its truth. There would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord. She remembers the angel’s words, the words that had become her mantra, carrying her the 70 miles to Elizabeth’s home, “Nothing is impossible with God.” 

Suddenly, Mary doesn’t feel fear anymore. God would fulfill what he had spoken to her. God would fulfill all that he had promised throughout the ages, to Abraham and his descendants forever, she believed that. Before she knows what has come over her, Mary is singing – singing her own version of the song of Hannah, who had longed for a child, and of all the women of faith who have guided Mary all her life. Singing a song of revolution and trust and assurance in God. Taking the posture of a prophet, she sings of God’s promises as if they have already been fulfilled: “God has scattered the proud! He has brought down the powerful and lifted up the lowly! He has filled the hungry with good things!” Delighted, Elizabeth joins in, and the two women, this first Christian community to gather in celebration of Jesus Christ, sing a holy duet, praising God with defiance and faith. 

… 

I love imagining this story this way, in some ways so ordinary and in others, so extraordinary. I love imagining that Elizabeth and Mary both experienced the same pains and fears we still understand, those that go with pregnancy and with an uncertain future, and that in the midst of those pains and fears they still found ways to praise God, to proclaim their blessedness to each other and to the world for generations to come. I love that they come together in community – an inclination so utterly human that even a baby knows to pursue it. I love the mind-boggling pairing of things so familiar and completely unknowable, and somehow, it works! 

The hymn we will sing in a moment captures this: “In a momentary meeting of eternity and time, Mary learned that she would carry both the mortal and divine.” That momentary meeting of eternity and time – that is the essence of the incarnation. That the ineffable, omniscient, omnipotent God of the universe would, for a time, choose to become contained in flesh and bones, grow inside a woman, and know what it is to have an earthly existence, and all its joys and pains, and to assure us of his presence with us in all of it. 

I love that this story is so ordinary that I can picture it vividly, that it makes me think of times in my own life in which I gathered with a dear friend or relative and shared the joy of an unexpected miracle. And, I love that this story is so extraordinary that it continues to captivate listeners many generations later. In a couple days we will hear the rest of the story of God’s birth among us, but that won’t be the end. God will continue to be present with us in all the ordinary moments – doing chores, traveling, coming together in community, sharing joys and fears. God is Extraordinary Emmanuel, God-with-us, in all of our ordinary lives. And we are blessed for it!

Let us pray… Emmanuel, you desire to be with us in all things. Open our eyes to see you in all of our ordinary moments, so we will always know what it is to be blessed. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Photo: 

Pittman, Lauren Wright. Mary and Elizabeth, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=57086 [retrieved December 23, 2024]. Original source: Lauren Wright Pittman, http://www.lewpstudio.com/.

Sermon: Listening for a new story (December 8, 2024)

Advent 2C
December 8, 2024
Luke 1:68-70
Luke 3:1-6

INTRODUCTION

Here is some Pastor Johanna trivia for you: My favorite Gospel is… the Gospel of Luke. One reason for this is that, as you know, I love music, and packed into these first two chapters are no fewer than four gorgeous canticles, or scriptural songs: there is Zechariah’s song, which we hear today; and Mary’s song, which we’ll hear in two weeks; the Gloria, which we will hear the angels sing on Christmas; and finally Simeon’s song, which we will hear in February on the day of the “Presentation of our Lord.” In fact, so beautiful are these songs, that they have been incorporated into the Church’s liturgies since liturgies existed, and you can find them throughout our hymnal. I included in the bulletin a guide for where you can find them all – have a look!

Today, as I said, we will hear Zechariah’s song as our Psalm, and we will be using the version that is a part of our Lutheran Morning Prayer liturgy. Just a quick note on that – after the choir introduces the refrain, you are invited to sing the whole thing (in harmony, if you are so moved!), but if you find that too confusing, then just sing the refrain whenever it comes up, and follow along with the verses. 

So that’s the Psalm, but it connects directly to our Gospel reading, which features John the Baptist, who always shows up this 2nd Sunday of Advent. John, you may recall, is a relative of Jesus, the son of Mary’s cousin Elizabeth and Zechariah (of canticle fame!). I will tell you more of that story in my sermon, but for now, I want you to know that John was also a person specially selected by God since his conception. The song Zechariah sings, that we will sing as the Psalm, is a prophetic one that his dad sings on the day John is presented in the Temple. He declares: “And you, child, shall be called the prophet of the Most High, for you will go before the Lord to prepare the way, to give God’s people knowledge of salvation by the forgiveness of their sins.” And that is what the Baptist will do in our reading today from Luke.

Ah, I just love how the Advent texts all connect – it is so obvious in Advent because this moment for which we wait, when Christ comes, is the fulfillment of promises made from the beginning. And Advent is when we see all the pieces falling into place. As you listen, watch for those connections (between readings and with our various hymns and prayers), even as you consider how those connections extend to us still today. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from the one who is and who was and who is to come. Amen.

We are all pretty familiar with the story of Jesus’ birth – the angel Gabriel coming to Mary to tell her she would bear God’s son, Mary and Joseph traveling to Bethlehem and Jesus born in a manger, an angel choir singing praise. Maybe you also remember that before going to Bethlehem, Mary traveled while pregnant to see her relative Elizabeth, who was also miraculously pregnant in her old age. But there is a lot more than that to Elizabeth’s story, which is woven all throughout the Mary story, and today it takes center stage. 

Allow me to fill in the gaps. At the start of Luke’s Gospel, after a brief introduction, Luke tells us about an elderly couple, Zechariah and Elizabeth. Both are devout Jews, both from priestly families. But, to their dismay, Elizabeth has been unable to conceive, and they are childless. One day, Zechariah is selected to be the priest who gets to go all the way into the Holy of Holies, the very center of the Temple where God was thought to dwell. While he is in there, who should show up but the angel Gabriel! Zechariah is terrified – angels are not like the sweet cherubs that hang from Christmas trees and adorn shop window displays. There is a reason they always begin their messages with, “Do not be afraid,” and this was no exception. Gabriel goes on to tell him that he and Elizabeth are going to have a baby. Zechariah is understandably stunned by this news, and says as much. “But how? I’m old, and my wife is no spring chicken either!” Gabriel has no time for such nonsense. “Dude,” he says (and I’m paraphrasing the Greek here), “I’m Gabriel. You think I’d make this up? You know what? Since you didn’t believe me, how about this: you will be mute, unable to speak, until the day these things occur.” And so, when Zechariah comes out of the sanctuary to an impatient crowd wondering what took him so long in there, he can only flap his arms about, but no sound comes out.

Why didn’t Zechariah believe Gabriel’s good news? 

Perhaps it’s because Zechariah was so stuck in his own story, or his own version of his story, that his ears and heart were already closed to the possibility that God might have a different story in mind for him. He may not have liked his reality, but still, he was so comfortable in what he told himself, and what others told him, that he struggled to be open to the story that God wanted to tell with Zechariah’s life. 

I don’t blame him at all for this. I think we all fall victim to this from time to time! Even if we pray and pray for something to change, when the possibility of a different story is put right in front of us, we find ourselves unable to perceive or accept it. The old story is just so familiar and worn in, like an old pair of shoes, and stepping into new shoes is so uncomfortable. 

Maybe that’s why God imposed a nine-month silence upon Zechariah! Nine months for him to just keep his mouth shut, and listen to what God is doing. For nine months, his wife’s belly grew, and he couldn’t talk, but could only receive that gift. When Mary came to visit, announcing her own miraculous pregnancy, and when his own child leapt in his wife’s womb, he could only receive. As a new era, and two Spirit-filled boys, gestated in these two unlikely wombs, an elderly woman and an unwed teenager, Zechariah could not add his own words to the story – he could only receive it. 

Could this be an invitation to us, too? To keep our mouths shut, and just listen not to the story we tell ourselves, but to the story that God is trying to tell us? To listen to God’s new story, or perhaps a whole new way of understanding the old one?

What old stories am I talking about? Perhaps it is the one about your string of co-dependent relationships, a pattern that you have unwillingly taken on yourself because that’s what you saw in your own parents. Or, the story where you assume something must be terribly wrong with you because of your sexuality or your abilities or your past, and so you believe yourself to be unworthy of love. Or, the one where you can’t show any vulnerability because that would be admitting you are weak, or worse, not in control. Or the story where your faith isn’t enough, your gifts aren’t enough, you aren’t enough. These, and so many others, are the old, worn stories I’m talking about. 

So what would happen if we could put aside our pride, or expectations, or assumptions about what we deserve or not, and instead took a page out of Zechariah’s book, stopped talking for a while, and sat in the quiet of this Advent time, and just listened for the chance that something else, a new story, might be possible? Might we hear of something new waiting to be born? Or something needing to die? Might we hear something resembling the birth, life, death and resurrection of Christ himself?

That’s really the essence of the Jesus story, and all its various characters: it is the story of God telling the world, in no uncertain terms, that a different story, a new life, is possible. That new birth is possible where there was none. That hope is possible where there was only despair. That love is possible where there was only hate and fear. That relationship is possible even when we have done everything in our power to break it. And these are new stories that we can perceive if we just shut up for a while, and let God’s telling of our story gestate in our beings, and grow into something that becomes so much our own, that it becomes the story that bursts forth from our own mouths.

That’s what happens to Zechariah. Eight days after John is born, he is brought to the Temple, as was the custom, to be circumcised and named. Elizabeth says he is John, but they want to name him Zechariah after his father. Zechariah, still unable to speak, scrawls onto a writing tablet, “His name is John,” and suddenly the story that has taken root in his heart and mind these nine months bursts forth in the form of praise – and he sings this new song, now memorialized in our liturgies, the Benedictus. “Blessed be the Lord God of Israel. He has come to his people and set them free!” Free from their old stories that bore no fruit. Free from that which held us back from being the people God made us to be. Free from “the hands of our enemies.” “Free to worship God without fear” – fear that we were not good enough, not faithful enough. God’s story for us, you see, is a story of freedom.

This is God’s tender compassion for us: that things do not have to stay how they were. That we do not have to be victims of our old stories, in which we have to do something to earn God’s love or favor. This is the dawn from on high that breaks upon us, shining on those of us who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, unable to see a way out. This story, God’s story, is the one that guides our feet into the way of peace.

Let us pray… God of newness and life, we sometimes get so stuck in our own, old stories that we cannot see a way out. Enter into our stories, that the dawn would break upon us, free us from all that holds us bound, and guide our feet into the way of peace. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: How to have hope when the sky is falling (December 1, 2024)

Advent 1C: How to have hope when the sky is falling
December 1, 2024
Jeremiah 33:14-16
Luke 21:25-36

INTRODUCTION

If you were hoping to catch a glimpse of the babe in a manger today, on this first Sunday of Advent, I have bad news for you! Each year in Advent, we start not with the first coming, but with the second coming, and the scary signs that it may be upon us. We will see this in Luke, as Jesus warns his disciples to keep alert, to be on guard against all the things that would try to distract us from seeing God’s kingdom coming among us. Honestly, it is a helpful reminder, in a season full of busyness and distraction, to stay focused on what Christ actually came for: to give hope to a world in despair, and to draw our attention toward the God who saves.

And that is what we will see in our readings today. We’ll hear a bit from Jeremiah, normally known for his doom and gloom, but today he takes a break from that, in the part of the book known as the Book of Consolation. Even in the midst of the devastation of Jerusalem by Babylon, and Israel’s exile, Jeremiah promises here that this worst possible scenario does not last forever. Salvation and safety are coming, justice and righteousness are coming. 

Both the Psalm and Thessalonians are full of hope and joy in a God who keeps promises. 

And in Luke, Jesus does not shy away from naming the challenges ahead, but also gives some helpful guidance on staying focused on the God who saves. The original audiences of these texts were all enduring difficult times, and we know a thing or two about that, too. So as you listen, hear these words of hope and consolation both as being honest about reality, and drawing us ever toward seeing how God is breaking into our difficult realities all the time. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from the one who is and who was and who is to come. Amen.

How do you respond when disaster strikes? 

Do you start breathing fast, heart racing? Do you cry? Do you get very calm and calculating, in order to get through the crisis at hand, and deal with the emotions later? Do you sink into a depression, unable to process all the emotion? 

Or maybe the better question is, what do you need when disaster strikes? We talked about this last week in our confirmation class. We had a guest speaker, who is a chaplain at Strong Hospital. He talked about how he cares for patients, families and staff when they are dealing with perhaps the worst thing that has ever happened to them. Mostly, he said, people don’t need platitudes or promises we can’t keep about how “everything will be okay.” What they do need is to know they aren’t alone, and to know that their feelings matter. The chaplain’s role is to give suffering people a space to name their feelings, and then to hold those feelings with them.

There is a sense of relief that comes from just naming a thing what it is, without rushing away from it. It is a real gift to have someone in our lives who can cry with us, who can name the pain and not be so afraid of it that they need to move us past it just as quickly as possible.

That is what we get, this first Sunday in Advent. Our Gospel reading does not shy away from naming the difficulty of this life, and the struggles that may very well lie ahead. It may seem a strange way to start this season, when the world around us has a literal sheen on it, all dressed up with holiday cheer, sparkling lights, and cheerful music. Is that why we love this holiday season so much? Because it masks so well all the things that are wrong, or at least takes our mind away from them for a while? Well, there is a certain an appeal to that, but we don’t get off so easy in the Church. No, we start the season instead by staring those things straight in the face: “Things are rough, and they are going to get rougher.” And the implied question, “So, what are you going to do about it?” What do you do, what do you need, when disaster strikes?

If naming the struggle is the challenge of Advent, the gift of Advent is its focus on hope, and living in the hope of what is to come. No matter how bad it looks, don't give up the faith. Hang in there, because God is in control. Fear happens; this is inevitable. Life is full of the unknown, the frustrating, the scary, the devastating, and things can turn for the worse in an instant. But in that, we have a hope we can cling to, an interruption that is louder and more powerful than anything life can serve us, and that is the hope that comes along with that babe in a manger. This is the salvation that Jeremiah promises in our first lesson today. It is the salvation we experience right now. And it is the salvation for which we still wait, as we await Christ’s second coming. That is why we call Jesus the one who is and who was and who is to come. He is God-with-us, every step of the way.

That’s all well and good, but how, with so many competing forces, do we keep our eyes and hearts focused on the possibility of that hopeful interruption? Jesus gives us three ideas. First, he says, “don’t let your hearts be weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of life.” That can be a pretty tall order, because there are so very many worries of life! At our evening prayer service last week, we talked about finding ways to give thanks in everything, even if we don’t give thanks for everything. When we can do this, our hearts can be opened to seeing God working in those things. In all things, even the most annoying or frustrating, there is the possibility for a gift, for a glimpse of God’s grace. As for dissipation and drunkenness… well, think of these behaviors not only literally, but as representative of all the distractions of life in general, and this season in particular. One of my personal goals this Advent is to start each day with a moment of mindfulness, some quiet time for me to focus and not feel rushed, and be fully present in my body without getting carried away by my thoughts. What’s a practice that would help you to do that this season?

The next thing Jesus urges us to do is to “be alert at all times.” Even as we strive to find some time to ourselves for peace and focus, we never stop paying attention. Remember that Christ is the one who is and who was and who is to come – that means that Christ is already among us! He points us today toward a fig tree, how we see the leaves start to sprout and we know summer is near. So we, too, can see glimpses of Christ’s kingdom in such ordinary things – a kind smile from a stranger, a parent comforting their child, even in things that might normally have annoyed us! What if we shift our perspective, so that instead of looking for things that are wrong, we look for ways Christ is showing up? When we look for something, after all, we tend to find it. So, let’s look for glimpses of God’s kingdom, in all things! 

And finally, Jesus tells us to pray. Pray for strength, for endurance, for patience as we wait for salvation. Really, this should be the first thing – for how can we do anything without the power of prayer to fuel us? Maybe you can pray during that time you’ve set apart for yourself. Maybe in your car between errands, or at red lights. Maybe you could pray through setting up your nativity set, or whatever other Advent and Christmas themed décor you have in your house. Find God in these ordinary things, too, and let them inspire you to prayer.

We’re still several weeks away from the Peace that is born in a stable, that angels will sing and that will bring shepherds and kings alike to their knees. And while we wait – not only for our celebration of the first coming, but also for the second coming – we will encounter many things that are decidedly not peaceful. During this time, this Advent season, we are given a great gift: an interruption that at once acknowledges our fears, and promises that salvation is coming, an interruption that claims that hope is possible, and can be found even in the most ordinary of moments. Let us cling to this hope, this season, and every season, as we await the coming of our Lord.

Let us pray… Lord of Hope, you are the one who is and who was and who is to come. Help us to notice the blessings you bring, to be alert and ready for your presence among us, to pray for strength as we wait, and to live in the hope that is our Lord Jesus Christ. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: What God's kingdom on earth look like (November 24, 2024)

Christ the King Sunday (B)
November 25, 2018
John 18:33-37 

INTRODUCTION

On this Sunday of the church year, the week before Advent, we celebrate Christ the King Sunday – remembering with thanksgiving that Christ is the ruler of the universe and of our lives, more powerful than any earthly power. The texts for Christ the King present us with some strange, end-times imagery, looking forward to the time when Christ will return to sit on the throne and visibly rule over heaven and earth, even as they recall that Christ has always done this. It’s a day of tension, being both ominous, and thrilling. Really, it’s the perfect way to end the church year, and prepare ourselves to start thinking about Advent, and the first coming of God into our midst as a babe in a manger.  

I also want to say a quick word about our Gospel reading, because today we jump from Mark back into the Gospel of John. This short reading places us in the midst of Jesus’ passion story, in the middle of his trial before Pilate. Pontius Pilate, you may remember, was an incredibly violent and brutal ruler, known for his extreme punishments, which makes it all the stranger that in this text he seems to be trying to find a way to let Jesus off the hook! But Jesus is resolute, as he is throughout John’s Gospel, that he is exactly where he needs to be, doing what he needs to do. Their argument today is, appropriately, about whether or not Jesus is, in fact, a king, and what that kingship looks like. As many things with Jesus, it is not what the world might have thought or expected! Let’s listen and learn about what it means for Christ to be our King.

[READ] 

Photo: Icon written by Alexey Akindinov: "Jesus Christ, the Savior of the World," 2018-2019.
Released into the public domain by Alexey Akindinov, via Wikimedia Commons under CCA-SA 4.0 International. 

Grace to you and peace from the one who is, and who was, and who is to come. Amen. 

Christ the King Sunday is an overtly political festival. We are calling Jesus by a political title, after all, a king – implying that he, and not any of our earthly rulers, is the most sovereign, the most powerful, the most lasting of all rulers. In fact, that was the whole point of the festival. Christ the King Sunday is a fairly new festival on the church calendar, started in 1925, 99 years ago. After World War I, Europe was in a state of economic uncertainty. Facism was rising in Italy and Spain (harbingers of the Nazi movement that soon took over Germany), and communism in Russia, and secularism in the west. In the face of such uncertainty, people were putting their trust in anything they could find that promised to rescue them. More and more, this was not religion, but politicians and political parties. In response, Pope Pius the 11th instigated an annual Sunday feast to celebrate and assert the “Kingship of our Savior” – a claim that opposed the totalitarian claims of the ideologies that were rising to power. This would be a day when knees would bend and homage would be paid to Christ, in order to witness to the day when every knee in heaven and on earth and under the earth would bow to Christ and confess him as Lord.

Nearly 100 years later, it is still a day when we reflect upon what that means, to have Christ as our ruler, and what that reign looks like, especially compared to the reigns and rulers of the world today. Jesus tells Pilate in today’s text that, “My kingdom is not from this world,” and really, that’s pretty good news! I would hope that God’s kingdom is something entirely different than this world, with all its tears, loss, pain, and sadness. But what exactly does that mean, for his kingdom not to be from this world? If not that, then what? 

Well, I’ll tell you what I don’t think it is. I don’t think the kingdom Jesus is referring to is an afterlife, or what we often call “heaven,” and here’s why: because from the very beginning, Jesus was the one who brought God’s light and life into the darkness of this world. God’s world and this world were not separate – God’s light was brought into this world. Throughout John, Jesus has been the light of the world, dwelling in and overcoming darkness – that’s what we celebrate each year at Christmas. By being that light in the darkness, Jesus brings God’s kingdom to earth, even as God’s kingdom remains something distinct from the ways of this world. And so, I think when he refers to his “kingdom,” he is referring not to some different, far-off location, but to a way of life – right now – that is of God. A way of life that is a light shining in darkness. 

I also don’t think Jesus’ “not from this world” kingdom looks like Christian Nationalism, like forcing Christianity and what those in power believe are Christian values upon the entire populace. I’ll tell you, my friends, this has never worked before, and generally leads to violence. It is contrary to our constitution, on the political side, and on the religious side, it treads dangerously into idolatry –  idolizing power, fear and violence. Jesus is specifically against all of these idols. So no, while I want people to worship Jesus, I don’t think using power to force entire populations to do so is the right path, nor does it look anything like God’s kingdom as described in John’s Gospel. 

But the question still remains: what does Jesus’ kingdom, in which Jesus is king, look like? I’m going to venture three suggestions as to what God’s kingdom on earth looks like. 

First, God’s kingdom looks like an abiding relationship with God. Through John’s Gospel, Jesus has made clear that living as a part of God’s kingdom means being in a relationship with God. That means, first of all, trusting that God does abide in us, and second, living by God’s commandment. It means regularly checking in with God through prayer and scripture study and faithful conversation with other Christians. We are so prone, aren’t we, to listen to the ways of the world, and let them be our guide. We want to fit in, or we want to let the world’s ways of fear and scarcity convince us to make choices or take stands that we know, in our hearts, are not what Jesus would have us do. Abiding with God is not always the easiest road, because it means letting go of some control, and sometimes even some good sense, and instead listening to where and how the Spirit might be blowing in our lives. When Christ truly reigns, we let him guide and be present in all that we do, even when it is not something our human, worldly inclinations would have chosen. 

Second, living in God’s kingdom means seeking peace. I am so intrigued by Jesus’ comment to Pilate that, “If my kingdom were of this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over.” And yet just moments before this, Peter did exactly that, when Jesus was arrested. He pulled a sword, willing to fight the legion of soldiers who came for Jesus – and Jesus told him to put the sword away. So what Jesus must be saying here is not that his followers should have been fighting for him, but rather, that a true follower would not resort to such violence, but rather, seek a more peaceful resistance to evil. 

Ah, but it can be so much easier and more immediately satisfying just to fight, can’t it?? Especially in our divided society, where judgment of the other abounds. When someone says something awful or misguided, doesn’t it feel so good to come back with something snappy to put them in their place? Isn’t it good to fight for what we believe in, at whatever cost? And yet, Jesus’ kingdom demands a different way: not simply to avoid one another, nor to “agree to disagree,” but rather, to actively seek peace with the other. God’s kingdom requires that we seek to know and understand one another, to have compassion for one another, to be in relationship with one another, to love one another. 

And that’s the real kicker for those who are citizens of God’s kingdom: we love one another. In John’s telling of Jesus’ story, right before this scene, Jesus washes his disciples’ feet, and he gives them a new commandment: to love one another, just as God has loved us. 

So simple to say; so difficult to live out! Not always, of course. Some people are very loveable. But it can be awfully hard to love people who have hurt us personally, or people who scare us, or whose ideologies are a threat to us, or whose mere presence threatens our way of life, or even just people in whom we simply aren’t that invested. 

At this time of year, we often hear the catchy slogan, “Keep Christ in Christmas.” I appreciate the meme I often see in response, that says, “Want to keep Christ in Christmas? Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, forgive the guilty, welcome the stranger and the immigrant, care for the ill, love your enemies.” Because those are the things Christ is about! And those are the things that citizens of Christ’s kingdom are called to be about, too. Those are the ways we love one another. Love one another – those you do like and those you don’t, those who are kind to you and those who scare you, those who look and act like you, and those who bring with them a host of unknowns. 

It sure isn’t easy. And when it isn’t, that is when we can lean on God’s own, perfect love – both to show us the way and to catch us when we fail. For God so loved the dark and sinful world, Jesus tells us, that he sent his only Son, so that we would not perish, so that we would not fall into the abyss that is all that world can promise us, but would instead have the promise of eternal life – eternal life living in the light and life of Christ. Eternal life living in Christ’s kingdom. 

Let us pray... Christ our King, in this ever-changing world, you and your love and your reign remain our constant. Even as we continue living in this earthly kingdom, keep us focused on living into your kingdom, trusting that your love will guide and support us all along. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.