Now-that-I'm-cancer-free Resolutions

Today is the last day of what has been a really difficult, but also wonderful year.

As I have been thinking about the sorts of things you think about on New Years, I can't help but think about this time last year. I just reread my New Year's post for 2013 and it is amazing to think of where I was then and where I am now. In that post, I refer to seeing scars in the mirror - but they were scars on breasts, not long, red lines on artificial mounds with no nipples. I started that year with plans for excitement and celebration - wedding, buying a new house, dad's retirement - and a fair number of really worthy goals. One of those goals was to exercise more, and when I read it I feel a pang of resentment that for at least five months out of 2013, I simply was unable to exercise, or even get up and walk to the bathroom with ease, due to either a recent surgery or a sprained ankle (which, by the way, is bothering me again because I keep rolling it!). I wanted to floss more, but when we moved I never found all my floss and so I just haven't flossed since moving into the new house. Pathetic. I had some professional goals, like reading more ministry-related books, but aside from the few I read while on medical leave, I just barely got done the minimum I needed to keep two churches going, as I scrambled between surgeries and moving and planning/traveling for weddings. (As a result, incidentally, I learned to rely heavily on members of my congregations - I am extremely grateful for such wonderful lay leaders!)

I am torn between emotions this year about New Years. My more resentful side says, "Why make goals? You never know when something unexpected will come and throw off the whole plan." Instead of improving myself, my goal this year became surviving. Instead of reading more books, it was keeping in relatively good touch with my congregations during two long absences. Instead of exercising more, it was lying low and not pushing it, so that my body could heal. When I had a desire at the beginning of 2013 to be healthier, I had no idea that would mean not flossing, but cutting off both of my breasts.

But we all know I am not naturally a resentful person, and so I am trying to look at this turn of a new year in a positive way. The fact is, I am much more hopeful than I am resentful. I thought 2013 would be our year - and in many ways, it was. We got married, after all! And we purchased a house! And we started a life together as a married couple and overcame (and are overcoming) some huge things and have come out loving each other more deeply and more wholly than before. We have grown more confident that ours is a marriage that will work, and not only work, but also be life-giving. It hasn't been such a bad year after all, when you look at it that way!

Still, 2014 is going to require a good dose of hope, and just enough naiveté to maintain that hope. I know that we can make plans and goals and that an unexpected hand can mess them all up - and that in reality, that is more likely than not. But does that mean we shouldn't make goals to live a better life? Course not. So I'm still going to make goals. They are not so much 2014 goals as they are "Now-that-I'm-cancer-free" intentions. Here it is. 

1) It is with some trepidation that one of our family goals is, "Start a family!" I'm afraid if we say it aloud, this, like all my plans for 2013, will be upset by something, and we will end up adding a puppy to our family instead of a baby. But this is still our biggest goal for 2014: after I finish with surgeries, and feel like my body is ready to sustain another life, Michael and I are going to start trying to fulfill this lifelong dream. Trepidation and all, we couldn't be more excited about it.

2) I'm serious about living healthier - both of us. One thing I did do in 2013, when my health allowed it, was play more soccer, and I plan to do that again. I'm also going to try to walk more, build that into my routine, and get Michael to come with me. And, now that we are a bit more settled and not anticipating any big surgeries or events this year, I'm going to learn how to cook some of the wonderful vegetarian recipes that people gave us for our wedding (Michael is a vegetarian). And, I'm going to drink more water. (I'm already working on this!)

3) As the year has drawn to a close, I have been devouring books, and loving it, so I'm going to continue this. I had forgotten how much books feed my soul and inspires me. I have been noticing a learning itch coming back, now two and a half years out of academia, and reading books helps to satisfy it.

4) Meet our neighbors. We have hardly met any of them since moving in 6 months ago. Michael and I have plans to bake some cookies and deliver them to our nearby neighbors, and to attend street events, and to use Klaus to meet some folks. We have spoken several times with our next door neighbors on one side, but even they didn't even know I had surgery. We want to have the kinds of neighbors you can ask to watch your house when you're gone, and who notice your routine is off and make sure you're okay, and for whom we can do the same, and who we would invite over for dinner. It's gonna happen.

5) I need a better prayer routine. My prayer life is so sporadic, and I think I would benefit from some focus and intention. This may go along with the walking goal, either along the way or right when I get back. I intend to try some different things this year until I find something that works better for me than what I have tried in the past.


I really feel pretty excited for 2014. All the eagerness that newlyweds should feel about starting their lives together, that we didn't really have a chance to feel before - I feel it now, both personally and as a couple. I'm eager to settle into a more normal life (whatever that means!), where neither of us are flat on our backs recovering from something. I'm eager to be excited about things that normal couples are excited about. I'm eager to meet my new niece, who is to be born in Houston any minute now. I'm eager to work on some house projects we have lined up, and make this exciting purchase more our own. And I'm eager to invest more into my ministry, now that I am two and a half years in and starting to feel really comfortable and not quite as green.

Bring it on, 2014! I am ready to see what you have to offer us! 

Merry Christmas, Sisters!

Right after I finished with services on Christmas Eve (around 9:30pm), Michael and I loaded up the car and headed south for a whirlwind family visit. Our first stop was Richmond Virginia to share Christmas dinner with Michael's best friend and his family. We ended up spending the night with Stephen, his wife, Gail, and his three adorable children (ages 3, 5 and 7) - good choice, as it afforded us some more focused time with these wonderful friends. As we were sitting around chatting, around 7:30, the phone rang. Gail laughed and showed me the called ID. It said "LDS Missions." The Mormon missionaries. She answered and said, "Merry Christmas, Sisters!"

Now, Gail and Stephen are not what I would call religious types. Not at all. But Gail treats these young people who frequent her neighborhood better than most "religious types" I know would (including myself!). She feels badly for these kids who are away from their families for 18-months to two years, and often survive on Ramon noodles. Being an expert cook and creative homemaker (they tell her she would be a great Mormon wife because she cooks, grows her own vegetables, cans, sews, etc.), she always invites them in for a home cooked dinner. She tells them to bring clothes they need mended and she fixes them. And even though she knows they will never successfully convert her, she lets them do their spiel, asks them questions, learns about their families - and then friends them on Facebook so she can follow up with them when they return from their mission. She is even friends with many of the young missionaries' family members. It is really very sweet.

And so it was that she invited the two girls, or "Sisters" as they are called, to come over and spend the evening with us. A few minutes later, two attractive, conservatively dressed 19-year-olds with very long hair and big smiles arrived at the door, carrying their Bibles, Books of Mormon, hymnals, and an assortment of pamphlets. Everyone greeted everyone else like old friends, with hugs and enthusiasm (except the men - the sisters are not allowed to hug men they are visiting).  

Christmas is one of the two days when missionaries get to talk to their families (the other being Mother's Day), so they were in high spirits. We sat around the kitchen table and asked about their families, and they were delighted to share. Soon enough, my inquisitive husband was asking them questions about their faith. When he asked about their services, they immediately invited him (of course!), and gave him resources where he could find more information. They knew I was a Lutheran minister, but we didn't talk much about Lutheranism, though we did talk about Protestantism in general, and also introduced them to the concept of Unitarianism, which they had never heard of. It was quite a lively and very respectful conversation. Even so, it didn't seem like anyone felt it necessary to act any differently than exactly who they are.

At one point, I asked if they are enjoying being missionaries, and they said yes, very much. I asked what they liked about it. One said, "I love teaching people, and having the chance to tell people about this thing that has made my life so great and meant so much to me." My first thought was, "That's what I get to do every day - for a living!" It is indeed a gift, though it made me a little sad that someone so fulfilled by that does not have the opportunity to do it for a living, because women are not allowed to be in the position equivalent to a pastor (though there are other leadership positions she can take, she said). I was also very interested in the other Sister's answer: She said she likes talking to people who believe differently from her, and hearing such a variety of perspectives and learning about new things and having her eyes opened in ways she would not have otherwise. I thought that was very mature of her, and again, I wished more people would have that same perspective on life.

I was also touched by their willingness to share their faith. As the first Sister said, this has been so important in her life, and made such a positive impression on her, and she enjoys telling people about that. Would my parishioners say the same, that their faith has played an important role in their well-being and happiness? If so, would they be so willing to tell other people about it? I'd like to think that I am willing (gosh I hope so, in this business) - but would I enjoy it enough to go door to door to do it every day for 18 months? Why or why not? And these particular Sisters don't just talk about faith - they have also weeded Gail's garden and done other things to help. For them, sharing their faith is also serving others. It is building relationships. It is being invited into others' lives and coming into them willingly.

Toward the end of our time together, someone suggested we should sing some Christmas carols. The sisters very excitedly also offered a reading from the Bible, and offered to share their hymnbooks with us. Stephen and Michael went to fetch guitars and a laptop to look up chords. And together we sang (in parts!) Hark the Herald Angels Sing, O Little Town of Bethlehem, and the First Noel. Then the girls asked if they could say a prayer with us (I quipped, "Someone else leading the praying? I'm in!") And so we held hands around the table - Mormons, Lutherans, agnostics, Catholics, Unitarians, Methodists, and everything else that the people at that table had experienced being - and we prayed together. It was a little bit awkward, but mostly I thought it was very beautiful. Despite the different expression of faiths present at the table that night, we shared in fellowship together, exchanged ideas, respected each other, and loved each other, and in that, I do believe that God was praised. 

So next time a missionary comes to your door, invite them in. Listen to their story. You might be surprised to find that they will listen to your story, too. And everyone might come out better on the other end.

Christmas Eve Sermon: Love Came Down at Christmas

Christmas Eve, 2013

Love came down at Christmas, Love all lovely, Love divine. Love was born at Christmas. Star and angels gave the sign.

I sing in a choir here in Rochester, and we sang this lovely carol at our Christmas concert last year. It is based on a 19^th century poem by Christina Rosetti, and has been set to several tunes over the years. From the first time we sang this beautiful piece in rehearsal, I was captivated by that opening line: love came down at Christmas. It is such a simple, yet deeply profound statement about what happened that night. Love came down at Christmas. It has been the refrain echoing in my heart this year, as I have prepared for celebrating with you this night.

            In my reflection on it, the question that has arisen is: and what does that look like? That is, after all, so much of what makes this day when we celebrate the incarnation so mysterious – because in becoming human, becoming incarnate, God in essence shows us what God looks like! And to our surprise, it is not like a mighty ruler, or a famous celebrity, or really anything extraordinary at all. Rather, it is as a tiny, vulnerable baby, born to terrified but courageous and faithful parents, surrounded by animals and shepherds, the lowest wrung members of society. Yet this unremarkable birth, this squirming little baby: this is God’s love, come down at Christmas.

            That God would take on that level of vulnerability, of course, is in turn what makes this event so remarkable and so mysterious! I have been doing a lot of reading lately about vulnerability. Be honest here: how many of you, when I say “vulnerable” think, “weak”? … Right, so that’s why we want to avoid it like the plague. Who would want to be weak, if they can help it? And yet, what takes more courage than making yourself vulnerable? What is more heartfelt and honest than vulnerability?

And, it would seem, what is more godly? Perhaps even harder than letting ourselves be vulnerable is perceiving our God as vulnerable… and yet on Christmas, that is exactly what God became: a mere baby, dependent on his parents for basic needs, exposed to the world’s dangers, protected only by bands of cloth and his mother’s warm embrace.

This is our God? Years of telling and retelling this story has perhaps taken the edge off. The nativity has become a story of sweetness and light, of children in angel costumes, of lit-up lawn decorations. But to really look at this squirming baby, unable even to hold up his own head, and imagine: “This is the Almighty God?” I don’t know about you, but my ideal picture of God is one that is a little more… self-sufficient.

Yet, this is our God. As incomprehensible as it may seem to us, this is how our God chose to be revealed to the world: as a vulnerable human being. This is how love came down at Christmas.

            Perhaps you have heard Paul Harvey’s famous story, The Man and the Birds. It is a modern day parable, a story about a man who was, overall, a good man: good to his family, generous, upright in his dealings with others. But Christmas was not something he could really get behind. The incarnation didn’t make sense to him. “Why would God become human?” he asked skeptically. It didn’t make sense that God would lower Himself like that, to make Himself so vulnerable, and the man couldn’t pretend to think otherwise.

            And so, when Christmas Eve rolled around, he said to his wife that he wouldn’t be going with her to church. He’d feel like a hypocrite, he said, so he would stay home and wait up for them to return. Sad, but understanding, she and the children left for the midnight service.

            Shortly after they drove off, snow began to fall. He watched from the window as the flakes got heavier and the winds harder, then he went to his favorite fireside chair to read the paper. No sooner had he sat down than he heard a thunk. And then another. He wondered if some neighborhood kids were throwing snowballs at his window. But when he went again to the window to investigate, he saw not children, but a flock of birds, huddled miserably in the snow. They had been caught in the storm and were desperate for shelter, and they had been trying to fly through his picture window.

            Well, being that he was a compassionate man and a lover of all creatures, he couldn’t let the poor things freeze to death! Then he had an idea – they had an old barn in the back. This would provide a shelter for them if he could only direct them to it. He put on his coat and boots, and slogged through the deepening snow to the barn.

He opened the doors wide and turned on the light, but the birds did not come in.  He thought food might entice them, and he ran back to the house to fetch some breadcrumbs, which he scattered in the snow leading to the wide open barn door. Much to his dismay the birds ignored the crumbs, and they continued to flop around helplessly in the snow. He tried then to catch them. No luck. He tried to “shoo” them into the barn by walking around behind them and waving his arms wildly. They scattered in every direction except into the warm, lighted barn.

            He realized that they were afraid of him. To them, he reasoned, I am a strange and terrifying creature. If only I could let them know that they can trust me, that I’m not trying to hurt them, but to help them. But how? Any move he made only frightened and confused them. Nothing he did would make them follow. They would not be led or shooed because they feared him.

            “If only I could be a bird,” he thought to himself, “and mingle with them and speak their language. Then I could tell them not to be afraid. Then I could show them the way to the safe, warm barn. But I would have to be one of them so that they could see and hear, trust and understand.”

            At that moment, the church bells began to ring. O Come all Ye Faithful… The sound reached his ears above the sounds of the wind. He stood there listening to the bells, listening to the bells pealing the glad tidings of Christmas. And he fell to his knees in the snow.

            Love came down at Christmas. Love came down and it did not look like a mighty warrior, nor someone famous and influential, nor someone the world even noticed – this birth was a blip on the screen, announced only to the shepherds in the fields, the least socially connected people around. Love came down in the form of vulnerability and humility, in the willingness to be like us and know us, to empathize with and understand us, so that Love could then truly communicate with us, and show us the way toward grace, and light, and life.

            Let us pray… Lord God, you came down to us, became one of us, so that we might better know you, and you us. You came down in the most vulnerable way so you could show us that you are Love. Do the same for us this Christmas, granting us the courage to be so accessibly loving and lovely to the people in our lives. Amen.

Jesus in living color

The following is what I wrote for my churches' January newsletter:

            Maybe some of you followed the controversy sparked last month about Santa Claus’s race, following Fox’s Megyn Kelly’s comment that "Santa just is white,” that this, like Jesus being white, is a a “verifiable fact.” Her insistence received such critical push-back from other news media and late night comedy shows, that she brought it up again to defend herself, explaining that she was only saying these things in jest.

            I’m not so worried about Santa’s race. But her comments about Jesus being a white man do cause me some concern, because how we see Jesus says a lot about our faith, and a lot about how we understand God. Historically speaking, the fact that Jesus lived in first century Palestine and spoke Aramaic suggests he was more likely brown than white. But at the end of the day, even this doesn’t really matter so much to me. 

            There is a lovely carol by Alfred Burt called, “Some Children See Him.” The lyrics say, “Some children see him lily white with tresses soft and fair… Some children see him bronzed and brown with dark and heavy hair… Some children see him almond-eyed with skin of yellow hue… Some children see him dark as they, and ah! They love him too.” (Click here to see several depictions of Jesus from around the world.)

            What is most helpful to me about this beautiful text is the recognition that many people see Jesus many ways, and none of those ways are any better or worse, or more or less true than another. Sometimes, to see God made manifest as a person who looks sort of like me helps me feel closer to God, and helps me want to live a more godly life.

But I also wonder: what would happen if I tried to see Christ through the eyes of some of those other children? What if Christ didn’t look like me, with fair skin and fine, brown hair? How would that change or expand my understanding of God? How would my view of God’s children, my neighbors, change if I imagined that Christ looked like them?

As we begin a new year, it is natural to have newness on the mind – what new practices you will take on, what new insights you will seek, what new start you would like  to make in your life. I challenge you also to seek this newness: what new way can you see God this year? What new expression of Christ can you seek?

            Our God is inconceivably big and mysterious, and cannot possibly be contained in our human imagination. But we can certainly try, by looking for God in everyone and everything. May 2014 be for you a year of blessing and surprise, as you seek to encounter God in new and startling ways.

African nativity

Nativity by Chinese artist He Qi

Julia Codesido (Mexico)

Mexican beaded nativity

The definition of insanity

Overall, Klaus hates it when I do chores on my day off. He spends the day looking at me like, "If you're home, then why are we not cuddling right now?" He has this bizarre little habit of chewing on his ear when he's upset or excited, and today he has been gnawing away on and off all day long as I buzz around getting things done.

The one chore he loves, however, is laundry. As I start to gather it, his quiet, observant excitement is almost palpable. If he times it right, you see, then when I put down the basket full of warm, soft clothes or linens, he can crawl into them and snuggle up before I notice.

So imagine his delight when I brought up sheets and towels, fresh out of the dryer, practically still hot to the touch! It took no time at all before he was in a tight ball in the middle of it. I smiled at this adorable little being, then lifted him carefully out, put him beside the basket, and pulled out a towel. In the time it took me to fold it, he had crawled in again. "Oh Klaus," I said, and again carefully lifted him out. Folded another towel, and the same thing. "Honestly," I thought, "Did I expect a different outcome?" Something about the definition of insanity came to mind. *

But Klaus soon enough made me feel better about it, or at least in good company. Now that the heavy towels were out, the basket easily tipped over under his 12 pound self. This happened once, startling him away from the basket. I giggled and put it back up the right way. Again, he tried to crawl in, only to have to basket fall on top of him. One more time - three times total. Yep, insanity is right.

But he would not be deterred. And here is how we ended up:

Gotta do what ya gotta do.


* Definition: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

Singing my faith

One of my great delights about my life in Rochester is that I connected with the wonderful women's choir, Concentus. This is a small group (about 16 of us) of knock-your-socks-off amazing women. I love the music we create, but it's possible I love the women even more. They span the gamut from liberal to conservative, from professional singer to trained amateur, from schoolteacher to executive, from mid-20s to 60s... and each woman has an incredible story that would make a coffee date with her the highlight of your week. They inspire me, push and challenge me, make me laugh, make me cry for joy, make me glad to be a part of all that they are. Even as I write this, I am getting teary!

Notably, following both of my mastectomies, these women came together and pooled their resources to bring me a little cheer and an huge expression of love. They showered me with gifts, including a gift certificate for a massage from a person who specializes in healing massage, items of clothing that button up the front so I wouldn't have to put them over my head, money toward my tattoo, a gift card for a delightful local tea room, gift cards for Joann Fabric so I can use my new sewing room, and tickets to our local theatre, Geva, so Michael and I can enjoy a show together when life settles down. Truly, these women and their thoughtfulness and generosity of spirit and resources overwhelm me.

Yesterday we had our Christmas concert. I love any chance to perform with these beautiful people, but I especially love singing Christmas concerts with them. The music we sing, some ancient and some contemporary, is so beautiful, and the texts so compelling. Even our rehearsals seem to offer me a chance for worship and devotion - an opportunity pastors often covet, particularly at this time of year. But in this music, I am given the chance to enter the mystery that is Christ's birth, and dwell there - sometimes in unity and unison, then enchantingly breaking into simple harmonies, and occasionally into dramatic six or eight part complexity. I don't know any better prayer than to lift my voice and sing in perfect harmony, "Glory to God!"

Last year before the concert, we sat together and reflected on what we were about to do, and what it meant to us. I offered, "I really believe this stuff we are singing! Not only do I believe it, but I believe it is something worth singing about. And so it is a joy and privilege to do it with you all today." As I have thought back on that, it has become more and more true. Not all the music we sing is sacred, in that it is not all about God or Christ or Mary (though much of it is). But to me it is all sacred because it all calls on the beautiful potential of life and love and beauty and of each of us contributing to its performance, both singers and collaborating musicians. Not to sound overly dramatic, but I truly feel that being a part of this is a religious experience, one I get to experience every Sunday night.

But I especially feel it at our concerts. This year's Christmas concert fell on the third Sunday in Advent, known as Gaudete or Rejoice Sunday. It is the day in the midst of the season of Advent, the season we wait and hope, when we remember with sparkling eyes what is coming - and rejoice in it! I was delighted that I would get to do that in song this year. Our conductor urged us to let the zest she knows we have to shine through in our performance. "You know your notes, now just shine!"I made every effort as we sang to think about the words, and to make my face look like how I felt about that.

Our closing piece was a dramatic version (by Z. Randall Stroope) of the Magnificat, the beautiful song Mary sings when she learns she will bear the Son of God. (Also, incidentally, a text that is featured on the 3rd Sunday in Advent.) The harmonies are tight, the accompaniment is four hands piano. There are occasional periods of unison or two part harmony, some parts unaccompanied, one solo section - the variation captures the intensity and variation of the original text, which was quite revolutionary, talking about the mighty being brought down and the lowly lifted up, the hungry being filled and the rich sent away empty, and overall about how God makes good on God's promises, as God has done for generations before and will do for generations following. It is one of my favorite passages in Scripture (though my parishioners will tell you I say that about almost every text!).

As we sang this remarkable work, I did as I had done before - imagining the text and the message so that my face might reflect its meaning. But I found that I didn't get very far before I was so moved by it all that I couldn't sing - I was crying. "For God is mighty, and has done wondrous things to me... He plucked the mighty from their seats, exalting the humble... The hungry will be filled with good things in remembrance of his mercy. He helped Israel, as promised..." I quickly tried to think of something else so I could at least sing the notes. But then came the dramatic end in bold and beautiful harmony: "Glory to the Father! Glory to the Son! Glory to the Holy Ghost! As it was in the beginning and ever shall be, world without end. Amen! Amen! Amen!" I couldn't resist. I was completely overcome by the beauty, the drama, the impact, the setting, the women around me, and the promise on which my life and faith are based. This, this is what it feels like to have worshiped.

Glory to God indeed! Amen! Amen! Amen!

To learn more about Concentus, visit our website: http://www.concentus.org/home

Or see this recent article in Rochester Woman Magazine: http://www.rochesterwomanmag.com/rwm/queen-of-arts-creating-beautiful-music-through-voice/

Sermon: John's Story (Dec. 15, 2013)

Advent 3A

December 15, 2013

Isaiah 35:1-10

Matthew 11:2-11

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

            The prison floor is dark and dank. No one spent any time keeping these places looking very nice – and why would they? They were full of alleged criminals. Of course, most of the people in there knew it wasn’t just criminals who ended up in prison. It was anyone who had managed to upset the oppressive Roman government. That’s how John got in there, anyway. While he wasn’t very happy about it, he could understand how it had ended up this way – he said a lot of things that, well, confused people at best, and at worst, angered them to the point of murder.

            You see, John was a rather curious fellow. First of all there was his appearance. His hair was that of a wild man, always unkempt. His dress was unusual – just camel’s hair with a leather belt – as if he had just walked in from the wilderness, which, in fact, he usually had. That was another curious thing about John – he sort of wandered about, living an ascetic lifestyle, feeding on locusts and wild honey. He lived a life centered on repentance – that is, turning away from sin and toward God.

            In fact, he lived that life so fully that he literally shouted it from the mountaintops. He was a prophet, you see, called by God not only to tell people about the need to repent and turn toward God, but also to be baptized with water. That’s how he got his name – John the Baptist – because when people came to him asking for forgiveness from their sins, he also washed them in the river, as a physical representation of their being cleaned from sin and ready for a new life.

            But John always knew that he was called to even more than that. From his very conception, you see, everyone knew he was something special. He was born to Elizabeth and Zechariah. Zechariah was a priest in the Temple, and both he and Elizabeth were quite old, and Elizabeth was barren. It was no wonder that Zechariah didn’t believe it when the angel Gabriel told him that Elizabeth would conceive, and that the child would be a great prophet who would prepare for and announce the way of the Lord, the messiah, God’s chosen one. But, just as the angel promised, they did conceive, and the child was born and he was named John. He was a miracle of God from the very get-go.

            And John had come through. It wasn’t too long before that day in prison, in fact, that he had been down by the River Jordan, telling people, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near!” It was just as the prophets before him – like Isaiah, and Malachi – had said: he was the voice crying out in the wilderness, “Prepare the way of the Lord!” Honestly, he wasn’t sure how he knew what to say or how to say it. God seemed to provide the words and the methods, and he just did as he was told, even though it could be very risky. Like, that time when the Pharisees and Sadducees had come for baptism, and he just knew that they were there under false pretenses, and instead of welcoming them to the water he called them a brood of vipers! (Which is no way to make friends among powerful people!) He had told them and everyone else who was listening that he was there to baptize with water, but someone was coming after him who was even more powerful, someone whose sandals John was not even worthy to carry. This man, John said, would baptize people with the Holy Spirit and with fire. This man was the messiah, the chosen one.

            Shortly after that, the young rabbi, Jesus had come to John’s spot on the Jordan. As soon as John saw him, he knew: this was the man. This was the chosen Messiah, the man who would save them all! When Jesus asked to be baptized, John resisted, saying Jesus should baptize him! But Jesus explained that it must happen this way, and so John, knowing he had just encountered the messiah himself, baptized Jesus.

            But that all seemed so long ago now, as John sat on the dirty and dank prison floor. He had been so sure in that moment that this Jesus was the messiah. John was so confident in his call to prepare the way for this man that he had put it all on the line for him. Unfortunately he had said the wrong thing at the wrong time – a comment about King Herod’s marriage – and had ended up in prison as a result. Confident though he was before, prison has a way of sucking the life and passion out of you. In his hours and days in that dark place, he thought through his life, how he had been believed to be a fulfillment of the prophets. He thought about what those prophets had said about the coming messiah.

And he thought about Jesus. If he was to be honest, Jesus didn’t look much like John expected him to. The scriptures seemed to indicate that the messiah would be a powerful ruler, like King David, and his reign would usher in a new era of peace. He assumed it would be someone who could beat back the oppressive Roman government, and save them all. But Jesus was not really like that. He was humble and lowly. He was born to working class parents – and unmarried ones at that! He certainly upset people, but he didn’t seem like the type to overthrow anything, nor did he seem to have the power even if he wanted to.

And suddenly, John began to doubt. Sitting there on that prison floor, sucked dry of his passion and his drive and his sense of call, John began to doubt. Was this the man? Had he been preparing the way for the right guy? Or had everything he had worked toward, everything he had said and done, everything for which he had put himself on the line been a complete fraud? He didn’t only doubt Jesus; now he doubted himself. What kind of prophet was he?

            Then John saw someone he knew, one of the men who had been a disciple of John’s, walking by the prison. He beckoned him over, urgently. “Please,” he said. “I need to know. I need you to bring a message to the man named Jesus. Please ask him: is he the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Even as he said it, his voice cracked at the fear behind the sentiment. The messenger ran off to carry the message, as John slumped to the ground, feeling defeated.

            It seemed an eternity before the messenger returned. As he approached John at the prison cell door, John noticed about him a certain radiance, a joyfulness in his step as if he were carrying good news. John’s heart lightened. “Yes?” he said. “What did he say?”

            The messenger looked at John thoughtfully, and though his lips didn’t turn up, his face seemed to smile. He said, “Jesus said to tell you what I hear and see.” He paused for a moment before going on. “John, the blind receive their sight. The lame walk. The lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, even the dead are raised! John, the poor have good news brought to them.” As the messenger recounted the things he had seen and heard since Jesus had come around, John felt his heart leap in his chest, and he was left with an immense sense of peace. Quietly, he replied, “Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at him.” The messenger looked at John curiously and said, “Yes, blessed is he,” then went on his way.

            And once again, John’s ears were full of the words of the prophets: “Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy.” This Jesus – he was the messiah. He was ushering in a new kingdom, a kingdom of peace. It was not an earthly kingdom, and it wasn’t earthly power he possessed. He was here among the people of earth to serve them, to love them, to bring life to them. He was here to reach out to those on the margins of society, and to show them the salvation and restoration that God is capable of. He was here to change things, to turn the world in a different direction. And, John knew, he was here with his Holy Spirit to save the people from their sins.

            Let us pray… Mysterious God, you do not always come to us in ways that we expect or understand. Open our eyes to see you in your many and various forms – in the beggar, in the blind, in the sick, in the downtrodden – and help us in these sightings to see also a glimpse of your restoration and salvation. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.