Sabbath Day Thoughts

Envy

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Envy” Genesis 4:1-12

This is the second message in a Lenten series on the Seven Deadly Sins.

Aristotle described envy as the pain we experience when we learn of the good fortune of others.  We see the ability, resources, or excellence of our neighbor, and we want that for ourselves.  Thirteenth century scholastic theologian Thomas Aquinas characterized envy as an active, escalating resentment.  Seeing our neighbor’s good fortune, we first seek to lower their reputation, perhaps through tale telling or criticism.  Next, we feel joy at the other’s misfortune, or we feel grief at our neighbor’s continuing prosperity.  Finally, over-focused on their success or well-being, we feel hatred.  Augustine taught that envy is a truly diabolical sin because it seeks to minimize, end, or destroy what is good in our neighbor, and we, consequently, rob our community and world of that God-given goodness.  Last week, I shared that C.S. Lewis characterized pride as the anti-God sin.  Well, envy is the anti-neighbor sin.  Envy stands in bitter opposition to that second half of Jesus’ Great Commandment, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

The root of envy is the Latin word invidia, which means unseeing or blind.  When we are envious, we don’t see things as they truly are.  We waste our time in over-focusing on the lives of others, and we fail to see and pursue our own unique God-given gifts and purpose.  The Medieval poet and philosopher Dante Alighieri depicted the sin of envy in his Divine Comedy.  The envious are second only to the prideful in their fall from grace.  In Hell, they plod eternally under grey cloaks made of lead.  In an act of poetic justice, their eyes are sewn eternally shut with metal wire, unable to see their neighbor or themselves.

That most essential biblical paradigm of envy is the story of Cain and Abel (Genesis 4).  Cain, the farmer, brings a portion of his harvest as an offering to the Lord.  Abel, the herdsman, presents to God the best of his flock—the firstborn with the choicest and fattiest portions.  Abel gave God the best while Cain did what was adequate.  Instead of learning that God deserves our first-fruits, Cain was filled with envy at his brother’s acceptance.  Even after God cautioned Cain about the destructive power of envy, Cain met his brother in the field and murdered him.  The world was robbed of Abel’s gifts and Cain was cut off from his family and even the land.

In the New Testament, Matthew’s gospel tells us that the Chief Priests and elders of the Temple handed Jesus over to Pilate for execution out of envy (Matt. 25:18-20).  Then, they ensured that Pilate could not extend mercy by persuading the crowd to call for the release Barabbas instead of Jesus.  Influence and money changed hands to ensure Jesus’ death.  Envious of Jesus’ wisdom, gifts, and God-given authority, those Temple-insiders conspired to discredit him and rob him of his life.

We know envy when we see it.  The legendary voting rights activist Fannie Lou Hamer described the experience of her family.  They lived as sharecroppers on the plantation where they had once been enslaved.  Thanks to the hard work of her father and mother and their twenty children, the family prospered.  Her father was able to save enough to buy a team of mules to work more land.  Their dreams crumbled when an envious white sharecropper poisoned the mules. 

Envy is manifest in the realm of athletics.  On January 6, 1994, U.S. Figure Skating Champion Nancy Kerrigan was brutally attacked as she prepared to defend her national title.  Badly bruised, Kerrigan withdrew from the competition, and her rival Tonya Harding took the title.  An FBI investigation ultimately determined that the attack on Kerrigan was prompted by envy.  Harding with her husband and bodyguard conspired to take Kerrigan out of the competition and ensure Harding’s own bid for the Olympics.

Social theorists say that we live in an Age of Envy, which is fueled by social media, like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat.  Professor Ethan Kross of the University of Michigan says that envy is at an extreme today because we are constantly bombarded by photo-shopped lives.  Barraged by images of the achievement and joy of others—the spectacular vacations, the joyful families, the workplace accomplishments—we feel envy.  We resent others, and we feel bad about ourselves.

Envy manifests in our lives when we gossip.  We defame the character of our imagined rival and undermine their standing in the community.  We criticize and belittle their accomplishments.  We refuse to acknowledge their gifts and abilities.  We undermine their efforts to get ahead.  We attack their expertise and sabotage their work.  When I was an undergrad at Colgate, a top student in the pre-med program was caught spitting in the test tubes of his rivals to ruin their research.  Our envious actions don’t make us feel any better.  Instead, we are left dissatisfied with who we are and what we have, resentful about our lot in life, and unhappy with the world as we know it.

The remedy for envy is found in the virtues of gratitude and kindness.  Gratitude is the feeling of appreciation for what we have been given and thankfulness for the generosity of others.  Martin Luther taught that gratitude is “the basic Christian attitude” because God is the selfless giver of all good things, and we are all immeasurably blessed.  Gratitude doesn’t forget or ignore the negative aspects of our lives, but it sees the good even amid the hardship.  The 18th century prophet of the Great Awakening Jonathan Edwards believed that our gratitude is the clearest measure of our spiritual health, because gratitude reveals our awareness of the presence and goodness of God in our every day.  Gratitude is the enemy of envy because we see and savor the goodness of God in our own lives, and we acknowledge that God is at work in others in ways that bless them and bless the world around them. Gratitude restores our right relationship with God—we become like that Samaritan Leper, who returned to give thanks to Jesus, falling down at his feet and praising the Lord (Luke 17:11-19).

Professor Robert Emmons of University of California Davis has been the preeminent scholar of gratitude for more than twenty years.  His research has found that when we cultivate gratitude, it is good for us and others.  People who keep a weekly gratitude journal by recording the ways they have been blessed feel better about their lives and are more optimistic.  Folks who maintain a gratitude list—a master list of their blessings—were more likely to make progress toward important goals in school, work, relationships, and health.  A daily time of focusing on gratitude increases our alertness, enthusiasm, determination, attentiveness, and energy.  The daily discipline of gratitude also makes us more likely to help others and offer our support.

That leads us to our second weapon in battling the sin of envy: kindness.  Aristotle described kindness as helpfulness toward someone in need, not in return for anything, but to simply benefit the person whom we are helping.  Kindness is the exercise of charity, compassion, friendship, and sympathy simply for its own sake.  Studies at Yale University have suggested that kindness is inherent in human beings.  Babies have the impulse to be kind, and we can all testify to the natural sympathy of children, to their innate desire to show concern for a peer who is in distress.  Mark Twain reminds us that kindness is active.  He said, “Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see,” because we are out there doing it.  One of the amazing dimensions of kindness is that in practicing it we often find that we are blessed.  My seminary professors called this mission-in-reverse.  Even as we reach out to help someone else, we find that our interaction touches our heart, expands our understanding, or makes a new friend.  We often get so much more out of our kind impulses than we put in.

The biblical paradigm of kindness is, of course, The Good Samaritan (Luke 10).  The Samaritan rises above prejudice to come to the aid of his wounded, vulnerable Jewish neighbor when no one else will.  He cleans wounds, takes the man to shelter, and pays his way, all out of kindness.  According to Jesus, kindness like this is what truly makes us neighbors.  Gratitude and kindness are the antithesis of envy because they make us mindful of God’s incredible goodness to us and turn us to our neighbors with open hearts and willing hands.  Thanks be to God.

I suspect that as we go forth into the Lenten season, we will experience envy.  We’ll be scrolling through our Facebook feed and feel envy’s gut-punch as we read of our neighbor’s epic vacation.  We’ll wear a forced smile when our friend tells us they are putting in a new kitchen.  Our neighbor will retire early, and we’ll resent their leisure.  Envy will rear its ugly head.  But we can get the better of it.  Count your blessings.  Give thanks to the one who fills our lives with goodness beyond measure.  Pay it forward.  Reach out to the world with kindness.  The world will be blessed—and so will we.  Amen.

Resources

Becky Little.  “How the 7 Deadly Sins Began as the ‘8 Evil Thoughts’” in History, March 29, 2021. Accessed online at history.com.

WJS Martin. “The Seven Deadly Sins: Envy” in Anglican Way Magazine, Feb. 14, 2016.  Accessed online at anglicanway.org.

Charles Pope. “The Seven Deadly Sins: Envy” in Community in Mission, April 5, 2019. Accessed online at blog.adw.org.

Moya Sarner. “The Age of Envy” in The Guardian, October 9, 2018.  Accessed online at theguardian.com.

Walter Brueggemann. Genesis. Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1982.

Robert A. Emmons. “Highlights from the Research Project on Gratitude and Thankfulness” in Dimensions and Perspectives of Gratitude. Los Angeles: UC Davis, 2010.

Genesis 4:1-12

1 Now Adam knew his wife Eve, and she conceived and bore Cain, saying, “I have produced a man with the help of the Lord.” 2 Next she bore his brother Abel. Now Abel was a keeper of sheep, and Cain a tiller of the ground. 3 In the course of time Cain brought to the Lord an offering of the fruit of the ground, 4 and Abel for his part brought of the firstlings of his flock, their fat portions. And the Lord had regard for Abel and his offering, 5 but for Cain and his offering he had no regard. So Cain was very angry, and his countenance fell. 6 The Lord said to Cain, “Why are you angry, and why has your countenance fallen? 7 If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin is lurking at the door; its desire is for you, but you must master it.”

8 Cain said to his brother Abel, “Let us go out to the field.” And when they were in the field, Cain rose up against his brother Abel, and killed him. 9 Then the Lord said to Cain, “Where is your brother Abel?” He said, “I do not know; am I my brother’s keeper?” 10 And the Lord said, “What have you done? Listen; your brother’s blood is crying out to me from the ground! 11 And now you are cursed from the ground, which has opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand. 12 When you till the ground, it will no longer yield to you its strength; you will be a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth.”

“Cain and Abel” by Titian Vecelli, oil on canvas, in the collection of Santa Maria della Salute. https://www.titian-tizianovecellio.org/the-complete-works.html?q=Titian+-+Cain+and+Abel

Pride

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Pride” Luke 4:1-13, Luke 18:9-14

This is the first in a Lenten sermon series on the Seven Deadly Sins and the Seven Heavenly Virtues.

Our Lenten season begins with Jesus in the wilderness.  As the Lord fasts and prays, the Devil confronts Jesus with a series of temptations.  “Use your holy power to turn stones into bread.  Bow down and worship me in exchange for world domination.  Put God to the test, reveal your glory, and be worshipped.”  Jesus turns away from the tempter’s wiles with scripture quotations.  He remains sinless.  Unfortunately, we do not.

The Seven Deadly Sins and the Seven Heavenly virtues are grounded in scripture.  There are thirteen virtue lists in the New Testament, from 2 Corinthians to First Peter, and there are twenty-three vice lists, from Matthew all the way through Revelation.  In the first centuries of our faith with the rise of asceticism, church leaders began to think systematically about those lists of sins and virtues.  As Christian mystics and monks withdrew to the Egyptian desert to focus on God, they noticed that they had some big distractions.  In the fourth century, Evagrius of Ponta identified a list of eight thoughts that could interfere with spiritual practice—these would become the Seven Deadly Sins.  A century later, Aurelius Prudentius Clemens wrote a 1,000-line poem, “Psychomachia,” in which he identified seven heavenly virtues that corresponded to the deadly sins.  Clemens argued that Christ our Lord helps us with “the jewels of virtue,” which he places within us to battle sin and delight wisdom.  Augustine argued that the seven virtues characterize the new life in Christ and grow within us out of love—agape.

The Seven Deadly Sins and corresponding Seven Heavenly Virtues found renewed interest in the Middle Ages.  In his 13th century opus Summa Theologica, Thomas Aquinas wrote that the virtues are habitual dispositions, “patterns of mind and heart,” that bring about good actions and curb our sinful impulses.  In meditating on scripture, imitating Christ, and practicing the virtues, God’s grace deepens and matures in us.  So popular was this thinking on the deadly sins and heavenly virtues that they became a favorite theme of Medieval art.  Church walls were painted with murals depicting them.  Countless medieval illustrated manuscripts of Clemens’ poem “Psychomachia” still survive, depicting the sins and virtues—in female form—doing battle.

These days, the Seven Deadly Sins and Seven Heavenly Virtues are a helpful framework in our spiritual formation.  We acknowledge that we are saved by grace through faith in Christ alone, yet we realize that God’s grace deserves our response.  In meditating upon scripture, in following the way of Jesus, we can look within.  We can identify the sins with which we struggle.  We can cultivate the virtues, those spiritual weapons given to us by Jesus.  We can seek to curb sin and grow into virtue as we grow into the beloved people whom God created us to be.

We begin with the sin of pride.  In his 2006 book Pride, Michael Eric Dyson of Vanderbilt University notes that pride has a favorable value in our society.  We have school pride.  We feel pride in our achievements wrought through long, hard work.  We have cultural pride that ties us to our ancestors and celebrates what made them and us the people we are.  This reasonable, appropriate regard for others and for ourselves is not what I am talking about. 

We can chalk that up to the limits of the English language, in which we have a single word to describe the full spectrum of pride.  Latin, on the other hand, uses the word superbia to talk about the sin of overweening pride, arrogance, contempt for others, self-righteousness, and the belief that we are not subject to God.  C.S. Lewis taught that superbia pride “is the complete anti-God state of mind.  It is ‘The Great Sin’ that leads to all other sins, because pride is the exaltation of Self above all authority, even God’s authority.”

The prime scriptural example of superbia is found in the Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector (Luke 18).  Two men go up to the Temple to pray.  The Pharisee prays, “God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector.  I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.”  The Pharisee clearly thinks he is better than his neighbors—those “other people.”  He also imagines that he doesn’t really need God.  His exceptional piety and righteousness are enough to justify him. 

The tax collector presents a stark contrast.  He knows his sin and feels completely unworthy.  He stands far off, unable to lift his eyes to heaven.  He beats his breast in mourning and prays, “‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’” The tax collector knows that he doesn’t have a leg to stand on before God.  In the punchline of the parable, Jesus cautions his listeners that it won’t be the Pharisee who is justified before God.  It will be that scoundrel, the tax collector.

We know this sort of superbia pride when we see it.  It prompted Hitler to annex the Sudetenland.  It has driven Putin to roll his tanks into Ukraine.  We see superbia in the racial pride of white supremacy that drives a speeding car into a crowd of peaceful protesters.  Superbia is in the arrogance and utter disdain with which we belittle and trash-talk our rivals and enemies.  Superbia pride seeks constant adulation and praise from an army of “yes-men.”  Superbia kills our marriages and friendships because we believe that we alone are right—and everyone else is wrong.  We see superbia in the context of our faith communities when we believe that we don’t need to practice confession, we don’t have to hear what the preacher says because we’ve heard it all before and we know it all, and we don’t really need church because we don’t need saving—we are just fine on our own.  Woe to us when pride drives the bus.

Jesus saw the remedy to superbia in the virtue of humility.  He followed that teaching about the Pharisee and tax collector with the words, “All who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.”  Humility is the recognition of who we are in relationship to God.  In other words, God is God, and we are not.  Humility submits to the authority of God and the guidance of scripture.  Humility acknowledges that our personal abilities and resources are gifts from God that are to be used and shared to the glory of God and for the building up of our neighbors.

To comprehend humility, it helps to think about the origin of the word.  The Latin form humilitas shares the same root as humus, the organic component of soil, formed by the decomposition of leaves and other plant matter by microorganisms in the soil.  When we practice humility, we are down to earth, grounded, and aware of our limits and mortality.  Yet, Martin Luther warned that even humility can lead to sin.  As a monk, Luther sought humility.  He wore hairshirts to mortify his flesh.  He fasted, prayed, and slept on the floor.  “I finally achieved humility,” Luther quipped, “and I was proud of it!”

Humility finds its scriptural revelation in Christ’s death on the cross.  Although sinless, Jesus took on the burden of our collective sin and died a brutal, scandalous, shameful death to reveal God’s great love for us.  Thank you, Jesus.

So, what does humility look like for us?  Humility is knowing that we need God at the very center of our lives and our families.  Humility is good sportsmanship—acknowledging our losses and our opponent’s better abilities on any given day.  Humility is accepting responsibility for our mistakes and seeking to make things right.  We say, “I did it.  It’s my fault.  Let me make amends.  I am truly sorry.”  Even if we are convinced that we are right, humility demands that we stay in relationship, listen, find common ground, and work through differences.  Humility is identifying with the poor, the sick, and the despised people of our world.  It’s seeking to make a caring difference because we know that they are worthy, deserving of our love and tender care.  A world shaped by humility is blessed because it looks a lot like Jesus and anticipates the Kingdom.

So, my friends, as we begin our Lenten journey, let’s spend some time building that Kingdom by tempering our sins of pride with the virtue of humility.  We can begin by noticing the ways that pride has separated us from God and one another.  Then, we can find healing as we ground ourselves in humility, turning to the world with deep truth and abounding love.  May it be so. Amen.

Resources:

Neal Conan. “Interview with Michael Eric Dyson” in Talk of the Nation, Feb. 13, 2006.  Accessed online at npr.org.

Jerry D. Kistler. “The Deadly Sin of Pride” in The Montrose Press, March 8, 2019.  Accessed online at https://www.montrosepress.com/.

Ryan Griffith. “The Seven Heavenly Virtues: An Ancient Framework for Spiritual Formation” in desiring God, November 1, 2021. Accessed online at desiringgod.org.

Becky Little.  “How the 7 Deadly Sins Began as the ‘8 Evil Thoughts’” in History, March 29, 2021. Accessed online at history.com.

Luke 8:9-14

9 Jesus also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: 10 “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. 11 The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. 12 I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.’ 13 But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’ 14 I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.”

Photo by Krisp Cut on Pexels.com

Mountain High, Valley Low

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Mountain High, Valley Low,” Luke 9:28-43a

When Heidi Neumark was called to pastor the Transfiguration Lutheran Church in the South Bronx, she was in for a challenge.  The recent seminary graduate came to a parish that faced daunting, even toxic, realities.  The community was New York City’s dumping ground.  Waste treatment plants managed the city’s sewage.  A giant incinerator burned hazardous medical waste from area hospitals.  A massive dump received the city’s refuse.  The air was filled with toxins that fueled New York’s highest incidence of asthma.  Arriving on Sunday mornings, Neumark would often have to clear away garbage.  Broken furniture, old appliances, and boxes of worn-out household items were left at the church under the cover of darkness to avoid paying dump fees.

The social difficulties of Transfiguration Lutheran Church were every bit as daunting.  60% of neighborhood families got by on government assistance.  80% of children lived in poverty.  Unemployment for the South Bronx was 70%.  20% of adults suffered from HIV.  28% of deaths each year were attributable to drugs, AIDS, and violence.  The church’s neighbors were the extreme poor, those left behind when others moved away: addicts, prostitutes, abused women, single mothers and their children, and gangs.  Those were overwhelming realities for a church that had seen its heyday in the 19th century and experienced a hundred years of decline. 

When Neumark arrived, church doors were locked, except on Sunday mornings. A faithful corps of members persevered, gathering to worship God in the midst of that blighted community.  Although it was a tough call for a new pastor, Neumark found hope in the church’s name: Transfiguration Lutheran Church.  In Breathing Space, Heidi Neumark’s spiritual memoir of twenty years of service to that church, she writes that the transfiguration of Jesus could be “a vision to carry us down, a glimpse of unimagined possibility at ground level.”  The spiritual mountaintop of Transfiguration Lutheran Church was being called to the needs that awaited them in the valley of the South Bronx.

On Transfiguration Sunday, we join the disciples on the mountaintop with Jesus and watch as he is revealed in heavenly glory.  Flanked by those titans of the Hebrew scriptures, Moses and Elijah, Jesus is transformed.  His face shines.  His clothes dazzle.  This clearly is no ordinary rabbi and healer.  This is no prophet.  Jesus is the Holy One of God.  Peter may have wanted to enshrine the moment with three permanent dwelling places, but God had other plans.  In a theophany, a heavenly proclamation, God instructed Peter, James, and John, “This is my Son, the Chosen One; listen to him.”

Transfiguration Sunday also takes us to the valley.  There another father calls for special attention for his beloved son.  Although Jesus had given his disciples the power and authority to cast out demons and heal the sick, they have failed to provide relief for this boy.  The anger and frustration that Jesus feels as he learns of the child’s suffering suggest that the disciples’ failure had nothing to do with ability and everything to do with willingness.  Those disciples may have been daunted by the power of the oppressive spirit.  Or, perhaps they feared the boy’s violent seizures.  Or, it could be that they had been too busy.  Or, maybe they doubted the very abilities that Jesus had entrusted to them.  These disciples may have not been listening to Jesus, but the demon that possessed the child does.  As the demon convulses the boy in a violent fit, Jesus steps in, rebukes the spirit, and casts it out.  Freed from his suffering, the cured boy is returned to his father.  Jesus’s healing and restoration transfigure the lives of father and son who are no longer held captive by the power of destructive evil.

Those two very different stories: the shining moment on the mountain and the convulsed chaos of the valley belong together.  In reflecting on our transfiguration reading, Prof. Sharon Ringe, a New Testament scholar at Wesley Seminary, writes that “the glory of God’s presence and the pain of a broken world cannot be separated.”  That’s a powerful, world changing statement, “the glory of God’s presence and the pain of a broken world cannot be separated.” 

Indeed, in Jesus God enters into the world’s suffering and suffuses it with God’s presence.  That’s what we see on the mountain high.  And Jesus has the power to meet the world’s suffering head-on with healing, compassion, and love.  That’s what we see in the valley low.  The Lord hopes that his disciples will make his glory known, not just on the mountaintop of reverence, worship, and praise, but also in the valleys of sickness, powerlessness, and despair.  When we listen to Jesus, when we bring his power and authority, compassion and love, to our neighbors, transfiguration happens.  The world begins to change and so do we.

At the Transfiguration Lutheran Church in the South Bronx, profound change began to happen for the church and the community when members brought the glory of God’s presence to meet the pain of their broken world.  They began by listening to their neighbors and pondering how they could respond to some of their most pressing needs.  Then, they moved beyond Sunday morning worship, unlocked the church doors, and welcomed the community in.  The church launched a food pantry which serves between 130 and 140 families weekly.  They opened up their hall to twelve-step fellowships to support folks seeking recovery from addiction.  They pondered how they could best help local youth and established the Community Life Center, an after-school tutoring program and job training center.  They provided resources and healing groups to address domestic violence and help folks living with HIV.  They even partnered with local police to host a gun buyback program to get illegal handguns out of homes and off the streets.  Pastor Heidi got other churches involved, too, working to establish South Bronx Churches.  This ecumenical fellowship provides mutual support and collaboration for pastors and churches as they seek to address the community’s needs.

As the church brought the glory of God’s presence to meet the pain of their broken community, it wasn’t just the community that was transfigured.  Transfiguration Lutheran Church changed, too.  They attracted new people, some of whom had never set foot in a church before.  They came for programs but got passionate about the church.  They worshipped, prayed, and found the love of Jesus.  They got busy cleaning and refurbishing.  They tackled long-deferred maintenance.  They stepped into leadership.  Burnice was an addict who came to the church to pick up a Christmas gift at a give-away.  She intended to trade the gift for enough drugs to take her own life.  But she didn’t.  There was something about the church that kept her coming back.  With encouragement from the church, she got into recovery, earned her GED, and found a job.  Once a neighbor to be feared and avoided, Burnice is now a pillar of the church and a community leader. 

Despite their real challenges and personal tragedies, church members have worked together to help one another and their neighborhood.  In shining Christ’s glory for others, they have been richly blessed with that glory themselves.  Heidi Neumark writes, “I have learned that grace cleaves to the depths, attends to the losses, and there slowly works her defiant transfiguration.”

On Transfiguration Sunday, we hear a renewed call to bring the glory of God’s presence to meet the pain of a broken world.  We spend our Sunday mornings on the mountaintop.  We encounter Jesus in prayer and music, scripture and the word proclaimed.  It’s glorious.  Yet Jesus always sends us back down into the valley.  We go forth to fathers who worry about their ill children and mothers who struggle to put food on the table.  We go forth to a community where sisters and brothers wrestle with the oppressive spirits of addiction.  We live in a place of middle-class homes, multi-million-dollar seasonal camps, tumble-down cabins, rusted out trailers, and hardcore generational poverty. 

We may feel daunted by the power of those oppressive spirits.  We may fear all that need.  We may doubt the very abilities that Jesus has entrusted to us.  But God’s transfiguration hope is that the glory of Christ may meet the suffering of the world through disciples like us.  Transfiguration Sunday finds its fulfillment when we move from reverence to action.  The world gets transfigured, and so do we.  May it be so.  Amen.

Resources:

Heidi B. Neumark. Breathing Space: A Spiritual Journey in the South Bronx. Boston: Beacon Press, 2004.

Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat.  “A Review of Breathing Space” in Spirituality and Practice, 2004.  Accessed online at spiritualityandpractice.com.

Lori Brandt Hale. “Theological Perspective on Luke 9:28-43a” in Feasting on the Word, Year C, vol. 1, 2009.

Sharon Ringe. “Exegetical Perspective on Luke 9:28-43a” in Feasting on the Word, Year C, vol. 1, 2009.

Kimberly Miller Van Driel. Homiletical Perspective on Luke 9:28-43a” in Feasting on the Word, Year C, vol. 1, 2009.

Luke 9:28-43a

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

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The Good Measure

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — Luke 6:27-38 “The Good Measure”

On October 2, 2006, milk truck driver Charles Carl Roberts IV barricaded himself inside the one-room West Nickel Mines School in Lancaster County, PA.  He had taken ten Amish girls, aged 6-13, hostage.  He lined them up and bound their feet.  As police sought to breach the schoolhouse, Roberts opened fire, killing five children and wounding five others before taking his own life.  Later that day, when the parents of Charles Carl Roberts learned that their son had been the shooter, they were shocked.  The husband Charlie turned to his wife Terri and said, “I will never face my Amish neighbors again.” 

But face them he did.  After the private funeral that the Roberts family held for their son, their Amish neighbors surprised them at the gravesite.  About thirty Amish, some of whom had buried their daughters the day before, showed up, arriving in their buggies and walking across the fields.  They surrounded the Roberts family in a crescent, as a sign of forgiveness and love.  Charlie Roberts’s Amish neighbor came to his home and spent an hour with his arm around him, offering comfort.  Ten months after the tragic attack, the Amish shocked the Roberts and the world again.  Community members had contributed money to create the Roberts Family Fund to support the widow and three young children of the man who had taken the lives of five of their own.

Those gestures of mercy from the Amish may have humbled, puzzled, or even outraged us.  We may have shaken our heads and thought, “Those people are better than I am.  There’s no way I could have put myself at that gravesite.”  Or we could have asked ourselves, “What’s up with that?  How could you hold in your heart both the anguish of untimely, tragic grief and the possibility of compassion for a stone-cold killer?”  Or we may just not have believed it.  Vocal critics at the time argued that the Amish didn’t forgive.  They simply went through the motions of mercy that had been imprinted upon them by their culture.  Yet on the day of the shooting, a grandfather of one of the Amish girls turned his family away from hate, saying, “We must not think evil of this man.”  Another father said, “He had a mother and a wife and a soul and now he is standing before a just God.”

“Love your enemies, do what is good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. . . Be merciful, just as your Father also is merciful.”  The forgiveness and mercy of the Amish in the wake of the West Nickel Mines school shooting put hands and feet and hearts to those tough words that Jesus spoke to listeners when he delivered that Sermon on the Plain.  For the disciples and others who had gathered to hear Jesus preach, those words would have felt impractical and unthinkable. 

The Ancient Near East was a world driven by retributive violence.  An accidental death could readily explode into the murder of an entire family.  Blood feuds pitted neighbor against neighbor and nation against nation for generations.  If you’d like to read a story of this sort of explosive, escalating, unstoppable violence, take some time to read Genesis 34.  The sons of Jacob took retribution against Shechem, who had sexually assaulted and married their sister Dinah.  To exact revenge, Levi and Simon came upon Shechem and his kin unawares and slaughtered all the men.  Then, Jacob’s other ten sons plundered the community, taking for themselves all the valuables, livestock, children, and wives.

The covenant of the Torah, the Jewish law, tried to limit this escalating cycle of blood violence by teaching a tit-for-tat justice.  Exodus 21 instructs that vengeance must be measured and reciprocal, “If there is an injury, then you must give life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, bruise for bruise, wound for wound.”  To help the people move away from blood vengeance, six cities of refuge were designated in Israel. There the perpetrators of accidental manslaughter could claim the right of asylum and await appropriate justice.

Yet Jesus broke even with this moderate teaching of measured retaliation by insisting that his followers exceed the standards of the Torah.  Instead of pulling out their opponent’s teeth and blacking their eyes, Jesus’s friends were to love, do good for, bless, and pray for their enemies.  It was a completely new ethic that flew in the face of everything that his followers knew and experienced.  The love that Jesus enjoined his disciples to practice is agape, the love that God practices.  Agape chooses to act for the good of the other, regardless of what our hearts might be telling us. 

Love your enemies?  Love / agape is a tough choice that we learn to make.  We can only find the ability to practice agape when we consider the mercy of God to us.  Those of you who studied the ten commandments with me a number of years ago will remember that disobeying the moral code that Moses imparted to us carries a death penalty.  We are all deserving of Yahweh’s judgment, and yet God is shockingly merciful.  Instead of judgment and death, God became flesh and entered into this world’s darkness.  In Jesus, God chose to live for us and show to us the way of agape.  Traditional enemies like Romans, Samaritans, and Canaanites were welcomed, helped, and healed.  Clueless, fickle disciples and merciless executioners were prayed for and forgiven.  In the ultimate act of agape, on a merciless cross, flanked by common criminals, Jesus revealed that God loves us enough to die for us.

It is in the enormity of God’s costly love for us that we begin to see another way.  We begin to think that maybe we can move away from demanding an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.  We begin to see that only love can heal hearts, transform an enemy into a friend, and make a changed future possible.  With frail and feeble efforts, we begin to choose love.  We fail often.  And yet, we trust that God’s mercy is there to catch us when we fall.  The grace of Christ is sufficient for us. 

What might this transformational ethic of agape look like for us?  It might be letting go of a long-held grudge.  It could be letting bygones be bygones in a family feud.  It might be giving a second chance to a friend who betrayed a confidence.  It could be working hard together to mend a marriage that has endured infidelity.  It is choosing to act always in the best interest of the other and knowing that we can borrow some of God’s love when ours is in short supply.

Jesus described the fruit of a life lived in agape.  He called it the “good measure.”  When you went to a first century marketplace for grain, the merchant filled a measure to the brim and then gave it a good shake to ensure that every nook and cranny was filled.  The merchant then poured that overflowing measure into your apron to carry home.  It’s a beautiful earthy metaphor for a life that abounds with goodness.  When we practice and experience agape, the world gets blessed and so do we.  As we haltingly live into agape, we show God’s Kingdom to the world and in some immeasurable and hopeful way, that Kingdom comes.

In the days following the terrible events at the West Nickel Mines School, Terri and Charlie Roberts, the parents of the shooter, considered leaving the area.  Their grief, shame, and pain were so immense that they couldn’t imagine a way forward, but the Amish did more than forgive the couple, they embraced them as part of the community.  That generous agape prompted the Roberts to host a summer picnic in their backyard for their Amish neighbors, nine months after the attack.  They all came, including a little girl named Rosanna King, wheelchair bound, unable to speak or feed herself, the youngest of their son’s victims. 

A few months later, Terri Roberts asked Rosanna’s mother if she could help with the girl’s care.  Until her death from breast cancer in 2017, Terri spent nearly every Thursday evening at the King Family farm, bathing, reading, and attending to Rosanna until her bedtime.  Terri Roberts remembered the evening that a father said to her, ‘None of us would have ever chosen this.  But the relationships that we have built through it, you cannot put a price on that.”  Terri believed that the Amish choice for agape, the decision to allow life to move forward with love, was profoundly healing for her and her family.  Terri said that is “a message the world needs.” 

“Love your enemies, do what is good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. . .  Be merciful, just as your Father also is merciful.”

Resources:

Colby Itkowitz. “Her Son Shot Their Daughters 10 Years Ago, Then These Amish Families Embraced Her as a Friend” in The Washington Post, October 1, 2016.  Accessed online at washingtonpost.com.

Story Corps. “A Decade After Amish School Shooting, Gunman’s Mother Talks of Forgiveness” in Morning Edition, Sept. 20, 2016.  Accessed online at npr.org.

Sarah Henrick. “Commentary on Luke 6:27-38” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 20, 2022.  Accessed online at workingpreacher.com.

Ronald Allen. “Commentary on Luke 6:27-38” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 24, 2019.  Accessed online at workingpreacher.com.

Susan E. Hylen. “Theological Perspective on Luke 6:27-38” in Feasting on the Word, Year C, vol. 1. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Charles Bugg. “Pastoral Perspective on Luke 6:27-38” in Feasting on the Word, Year C, vol. 1. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Luke 6:27-38

27“But I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, 28bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. 29If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. 30Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. 31Do to others as you would have them do to you. 32“If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. 33If you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. 34If you lend to those from whom you hope to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. 35But love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. 36Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.

37“Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven; 38give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.”

Image source: https://www.nytimes.com/2006/10/03/us/03amish.html

Blessing and Woe

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Blessing and Woe” Luke 6:17-26

They weren’t sure what to do with a female minister, so it was decided that I could make some pastoral calls.  My first visit was to the oldest couple in the village of El Estor.  “Just how old are they?” I wanted to know.  My interpreter shrugged.  She looked at her hands as if considering counting the years, but gave up.  “Old” she said, “At least 100.  Maybe more.”

Their home was tiny, a 10- by 15-foot wooden frame.  Dried cornstalks had been woven into mats for the exterior walls.  The roof was a thatch of palm fronds, grass, and more corn stalks.  Blue sky shone through in spots.  There was no door, no glass for windows, no electricity, no bathroom, no kitchen.  The only furnishings were two plastic mesh hammocks, where my hosts clearly spent their nights, and two plastic chairs, the cheap patio kind, where they clearly spent their days.  A round plastic wall clock with a long-dead battery proclaimed that it was always 11:15.  A few long-outdated calendars with bright pictures of kittens and flowers adorned the walls.

My hosts were white haired and wizened.  When they smiled, which was pretty much all the time, I could see they had about three teeth between the two of them.  I thought my visit was going to be bleak, but they regaled me with an hour’s-worth of stories about how God had blessed them with children and grandchildren, a home of their own, and long life.  When I offered to pray with them as I prepared to leave, they asked if they could pray for me.

My next stop was a fifteen-minute walk away, down a rutted dirt road.  Pigs and hens rooted and scratched in the yard.  Children in various states of cleanliness and clothedness spied from the edge of the wood.  A naked toddler squatted to relieve herself in the dust.  This house had a kitchen.  In the middle of the single room, an earthen platform smoldered with the remains of the morning cookfire.  Overhead, a big hole in the thatch allowed smoke to escape. 

My host, a stick-thin man of indeterminate age, could barely walk, due to neuropathy in his feet from uncontrolled diabetes.  His vision was failing, so he came up close to greet me and peer into my face.  He had been widowed about a year ago and in that macho culture was still trying to figure out how to be mother and father to his children.  I expected to hear the lamentation of mourning and the heavy burdens of failing health and single parenting, but that isn’t what I heard.  I learned what was special about each of his children.  I discovered how generous and kind his equally impoverished neighbors were.  I heard about the promised miracle of healing with the help of medication that the pastor had procured.  He felt blessed.

In our reading from Luke’s gospel, Jesus challenges us to see the blessedness of those who are poor, hungry, weeping, and persecuted.  Jesus paired those four blessings with four woes, four matching statements of prophetic judgment, that targeted the rich, the satisfied, the laughing, and those who are the object of public admiration.  Jesus’s words are hard for us to hear because, let’s face it, compared to places like El Estor, Guatemala, even the poorest people among us are comfortable and well-fed.  We have plenty to laugh about.  We receive our “atta’ boys” and accolades.  We can congratulate ourselves on our accomplishments and thank God for life’s sweetness.

Jesus’s uncomfortable statements of blessing and woe were just as disturbing for his first audience as they are for us.  In Jesus’s day, suffering and affliction were often seen as a sign of God’s punishment.  To be poor, hungry, mourning, and persecuted suggested that something had gone terribly wrong in your relationship with God.  Remember when Jesus healed the blind man outside the Temple (John 9)?  The disciples wanted to know who had sinned to cause that blindness in the first place—the man or his parents.  Likewise, material wealth was seen as a sign of divine favor.  That’s why it was so scandalous of Jesus to praise the miniscule offering that a poor widow brought to the Temple, just a couple of small copper coins (Matt. 12:41-44).  Those people in the crowd who came to Jesus for healing, they were the most marginal, vulnerable neighbors in the Galilee.  The disciples, who were right there watching Jesus at work, might have thought a lot of things about that crowd, but they would not have called them blessed as Jesus did.

When New Testament scholar John Dominic Crossan teaches about Luke’s beatitudes, he likes to point out who the “poor” are.  Jesus used the Greek word ptoxoi.  The ptoxoi are those who are reduced to begging because they have no other resources.  The ptoxoi are the lepers, the lame, the childless widows who must either sell themselves or beg.  In Crossan’s words, the ptoxoi are “the utterly reviled and expendable of the human family, the wretched of the earth.”

In today’s parlance, the ptoxoi are persecuted Rohingya refugees, who languish in the no-mans-land of camps, hoping for a home.  The ptoxoi are the starving people of drought-stricken Somalia, with the bloated bellies, ashy skin, and dull hair of malnutrition.  The ptoxoi are unaccompanied child migrants, maimed, molested, and enslaved by traffickers.  The ptoxoi are the people of El Estor.  The ptoxoi are blessed because they see things as they truly are.  The abject, destitute poor know they are utterly reliant upon God.  To be the blessed of God is to accept the stark reality that in the end we have absolutely nothing but God.  This is the hard truth, whether we come from El Estor, Guatemala or Saranac Lake, New York.

The trouble with our affluence, the trouble with our plenty, the trouble with our non-stop laughter, the trouble with our playing for the court of public opinion is that we can lose all perspective.  Instead of acknowledging our utter dependence upon God, we trust in our bank accounts, our stockpile of possessions, and all that good press we get. Woe to us when we believe money or things can solve all our problems.  Woe to us when we laugh while the world wails.  Woe to us when we find ourselves saying and doing unconscionable things to please the court of public opinion.

Back in Guatemala, I worshipped that evening with my new friends in their cinderblock church.  It was floored with a slab of unfinished concrete and topped with corrugated tin.  There were no stained-glass windows, just open holes where the wind blew through.  In place of pews, we sat on simple benches.  The walls were painted a bright, watery, turquoise blue.  A primitive mural of Noah, his ark, the dove, and the rainbow spanned the chancel.  There was no pipe organ, no choir.  Instead, a small praise band, powered by a noisy generator, played hymns at ear-ringing volume on well-weathered instruments.  Worshippers sang along with a wholehearted joy that I have never seen in any American Presbyterian church—and they did that whether they could or couldn’t carry a tune.

Next to me in worship, a young mother in flipflops, threadbare jeans, and a brightly embroidered huipil sang her heart out.  The little boy bouncing on her hip, flirted with me, batting his big brown eyes and then shyly hiding his face in his mother’s neck.  When I was invited forward to lead the church in prayer, every head bowed in humility and every voice echoed my words with the utter conviction that God was listening and Jesus was right there among us.  Those people were dirt poor, but as they lived and worshipped with such fervent, heartfelt faith, I saw they were blessed in ways that my affluent congregation at the time, back in Wilmington, Delaware, probably couldn’t imagine.

After worship, my supervising pastor, the mission team, and I were invited to share a celebratory meal.  The table was decked with more food than most of our hosts saw in a month: whole fish cooked on a charcoal fire, freshly made corn tortillas, a scrawny chicken stewed with savory spices, a salad of shredded lettuce, tomatoes, and onions dressed with lemon juice, sticky-sweet mangoes split with a machete; cups of syrupy sweet home-made lemonade.  Our translator told us not to eat it, cautioning that the food would make us sick.  Most of my fellow travelers looked panicked and just pushed the food around their plates.

After dinner, we visited with our hosts and asked how we could grow the partnership between the El Estor Church and our home church in Delaware.  We were ready to write a big check.  But our new friends surprised us.  “Come be with us,” they said.  “Move to El Estor for a little while.  Be our neighbor.  Worship with us.  Know us.”  It was a surprising invitation.  We needed time to think about it.  We said our goodnights and wandered back to our inn.

We talked about it a lot.  We imagined what it would be like to live there, to rough it without reliable electricity, without internet, without hot showers, without Starbucks.  We wondered which one of us would be the best to stay—a teenager taking a gap year before college, a pastor to minister to the spiritual needs, a nurse to tend their everyday illnesses?  In the end, it felt impossible.  We were too important, too responsible, too committed.  Their request, it was too hard, too much to ask.  No one stayed.

Woe to us.

Resources:

Gay L. Byron. “Exegetical Perspective on Luke 4:21-30” in Feasting on the Word, Year C. vol. 1.  Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Peter Eaton. “Homiletical Perspective on Luke 4:21-30” in Feasting on the Word, Year C. vol. 1.  Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Howard K. Gregory. “Pastoral Perspective on Luke 4:21-30” in Feasting on the Word, Year C. vol. 1.  Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Luke 6:17-26

17 After coming down with them, He stood on a level place with a large crowd of His disciples and a great number of people from all Judea and Jerusalem and from the seacoast of Tyre and Sidon. 18 They came to hear Him and to be healed of their diseases; and those tormented by unclean spirits were made well. 19 The whole crowd was trying to touch Him, because power was coming out from Him and healing them all.

20 Then looking up at His disciples, He said:

You who are poor are blessed,
because the kingdom of God is yours.
21 You who are now hungry are blessed,
because you will be filled.
You who now weep are blessed,
because you will laugh.
22 You are blessed when people hate you,
when they exclude you, insult you,
and slander your name as evil
because of the Son of Man.

23 “Rejoice in that day and leap for joy! Take note—your reward is great in heaven, for this is the way their ancestors used to treat the prophets.

24 But woe to you who are rich,
for you have received your comfort.
25 Woe to you who are now full,
for you will be hungry.
Woe to you who are now laughing,
for you will mourn and weep.
26 Woe to you
when all people speak well of you,
for this is the way their ancestors
used to treat the false prophets.

Monumento Emblematico, El Estor, Guatemala

Slow Call

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Slow Call” Luke 5:1-11

When Matthew and Mark remembered the day that Jesus called those first disciples, it was an all-at-once experience.  Jesus saw the fishermen, Peter, Andrew, James, and John, on the lakeshore.  He invited them to a life of discipleship with the words, “Follow me.”  Then, the four mariners embarked on a new life of discipleship, leaving Father Zebedee behind in the boat.

Luke remembered things differently.  About once every six years, the lectionary brings us today’s reading to expand our understanding of Jesus’s call and the disciples’ response.  According to Luke, that transformation from fisherman to disciple didn’t happen all-at-once.  It took the better part of a day and required some persistent effort on the part of the Lord.

Peter and his friends had been out on the lake at night and into the early morning hours, casting their drag nets in the hope of an abundant catch.  In Peter’s day, fishing on the Sea of Galilee was strictly monitored.  People like Peter, Andrew, James, and John, whose families had plied these waters for generations, purchased an annual imperial fishing license.  That fee was significant—equivalent to about one-third of their average annual catch.  A series of fishless nights, like the one they had just had, meant hardship for hard-working people like Simon Peter.

The men were mending their nets and dreaming of breakfast and a nap, when Jesus came along.  Last week, Jesus may have been preaching in the backwater of Nazareth, but this week, Jesus was followed by a large crowd.  There was so much pushing, jostling, and vying for position that preaching from the lakeshore was proving to be hazardous.  A boat was needed to push out into the shallows where Jesus could safely preach while the multitude took a seat along the breakwater.

That’s where Simon Peter came in.  Just the other week, Jesus had impressed Peter by healing his mother-in-law.  Despite that, we can imagine the inner struggle as Simon Peter weighed committing his day and his boat to Jesus against heading home for some much-needed rest.  Perhaps feeling like he was doing Rabbi Jesus a favor, the fisherman invited Jesus onboard.

That back-and-forth of request and response continued.  As Jesus finished his preaching and dispersed the crowd, he made a second, questionable request of Simon Peter.  “Put out into deep water and let down your nets.”  In Peter’s response, we hear exasperation.  Who was the expert on fishing?  It wasn’t Jesus.  In fact, the Lord had a lot of nerve, expecting Peter to gather his crew, load his nets, and row halfway across the lake.  This time when Peter complied, he made it clear that he was half-heartedly following orders, simply out of respect for Jesus as a rabbi.

It wasn’t until Peter was standing knee-deep in a miraculous haul of fish that he changed his mind about Jesus and decided that the Lord was worth following.  That improbable catch confounded every law of nature on the Sea of Galilee.  All those fish in that place at that time of day made it clear to the fishermen that God Almighty was in their midst and in need of their service.  The third time was the charm.

This story with its growing awareness of who Jesus is and the claim that he has upon our lives feels authentic.  It definitely feels more in keeping with our own faith journeys than that spectacular, all-at-once, wholehearted commitment that Matthew and Mark described the disciples making.  Most of us aren’t pastors or missionaries, who quickly discern the call to walk away from what is comfortable and familiar to live a radical life of discipleship.  For most of us, our calling takes time—and persistence on the part of the Lord.

Our journey to discipleship often begins at the initiative of someone else.  As infants, our parents or grandparents make the choice for Jesus for us and we are baptized or dedicated.  All we have to do is look cute and not put up too much fuss when the water starts to fly.  Our family, congregation, and pastor make the promises for us.  We may be placed on the way to Jesus as little ones, but we are no disciples.

A second calling to obedience and discipleship may come our way at confirmation.  With the pastor, our mentor, and our classmates, we read scripture, ponder what it would mean for us to be followers of Jesus, and even begin to wrap our own language around our faith.  But that doesn’t make us disciples.  Indeed, according to the statisticians at Lifeway Research, 66% of young people between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two will drop out of church.  Relocation, college, or the increasing demands of the workplace cause them to lose their connection to the church and the community that formed their faith.

Sometimes, like Peter, we need to be knee-deep in a miracle before we will make Jesus our priority.  Do any of these quiet miracles sound familiar?

We find the blessing of love and we realize that, if that love is going to last, we will need God at the very heart of the relationship.  We know we need the Lord.

Our first child is born and in the wonder of that perfect little life entrusted to our care, we dedicate ourselves to the Lord.

We are broken by grief, illness, or hardship, and Jesus touches us with grace and strength that bring us on through and we want more of that.

We see ourselves as we truly are, unclean lips and all.  Yet as we break the bread and lift the cup, we learn that the Lord loves us enough to die for us and we are truly forgiven. We come to the Lord in humility and gratitude.

One day, knee-deep in those everyday wonders, we hitched our wagon to Jesus, and we’ve been following him along the Way ever since.  When did you choose to truly follow Jesus?

We may not leave everything behind—family, community, and possessions—to follow Jesus, but our choice for discipleship changes us.  Jesus takes a central place in our lives.  He shapes what we do on Sunday mornings.  He directs the way we relate to our families.  He determines how we conduct ourselves in the community.  Our behavior changes.  We dare to forgive as we have been forgiven.  We stop attaching strings to our love.  We begin to notice at-risk neighbors and we seek to make a caring difference.  We start to hunger for worship, prayer, the Word, and Christian fellowship.

One day, we realize that Jesus has done it.  We have become his disciples.  The Lord has worn us down with that back and forth, call and response, that he once shared with Simon Peter, all those years ago on the shores of Galilee.  Thanks be to God for that slow call to discipleship and the Lord’s patience with people like Simon Peter, with people like us.  Amen.

Resources:

Gay L. Byron. “Exegetical Perspective on Luke 4:21-30” in Feasting on the Word, Year C. vol. 1.  Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Aaron Earls. “Most Teenagers Drop Out of Church When They Become Young Adults” in Lifeway Research, January 15, 2019. Accessed online at lifewayresearch.com.

Howard K. Gregory. “Pastoral Perspective on Luke 4:21-30” in Feasting on the Word, Year C. vol. 1.  Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Luke 5:1-11

As the crowd was pressing in on Jesus to hear God’s word, He was standing by Lake Gennesaret. 2 He saw two boats at the edge of the lake; the fishermen had left them and were washing their nets. 3 He got into one of the boats, which belonged to Simon, and asked him to put out a little from the land. Then He sat down and was teaching the crowds from the boat. 4 When He had finished speaking, He said to Simon, “Put out into deep water and let down[c] your nets for a catch.” 5 “Master,” Simon replied, “we’ve worked hard all night long and caught nothing! But at Your word, I’ll let down the nets.” 6 When they did this, they caught a great number of fish, and their nets[e] began to tear. 7 So they signaled to their partners in the other boat to come and help them; they came and filled both boats so full that they began to sink. 8 When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at Jesus’ knees and said, “Go away from me, because I’m a sinful man, Lord!” 9 For he and all those with him were amazed at the catch of fish they took, 10 and so were James and John, Zebedee’s sons, who were Simon’s partners. “Don’t be afraid,” Jesus told Simon. “From now on you will be catching people!” 11 Then they brought the boats to land, left everything, and followed Him.

Photo by Taryn Elliott on Pexels.com

“The Problem with Prophets”

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “The Problem with Prophets” Luke 4:21-30

By our very nature, human beings mentally sort experience into categories.  It is how we make sense of a complex world.  We have in-groups.  Those are groups that we are a part of.  For example, I’m a woman, I’m a follower of Jesus, and I’m an enthusiast of corgis.  If you share any of these characteristics, you’re my people.  Human beings also naturally form the notion of out-groups.  These are the folks with whom we do not share a sense of affiliation.  We relegate folks to an out-group for any number of reasons: race, ethnicity, religious belief, gender, or their love of cats.

Psychologists tell us that we naturally tend to negatively evaluate folks in the out-group.  In a well-known series of mid-twentieth century studies, social scientists Muzafar and Carolyn Sherif considered in-group and out-group dynamics in twelve-year-old boys.  They brought the boys to summer camp, divided them into two teams, and pitted them against one another in competitive games.  The Sherifs found that the boys consistently gave better ratings to their own teammates and to their own team, regardless of their performance or real achievement.  The boys also reassigned their feelings of friendship and care over the course of the experiment.  Boys who began the summer as friends, but were placed on opposing teams, weren’t always friends by summer’s end.  In fact, 90% of the boys by the end of the camp identified their best friend from within their in-group.

We have all experienced the dynamics of in-groups and out-groups.  Remember your experience of cliques in high school?  Think of the time that you were passed up for a promotion in favor of an office-insider.  How about when you realized that your male colleagues were paid more?  For friends of color, what about the time that the sales person followed you through that high-end boutique, expecting you to shoplift?  Our in-group / out-group dynamics are entrenched, sometimes unconscious, and hard to overcome.

Jesus got into trouble over in-group / out-group dynamics on that morning he preached in Nazareth.  His neighbors praised him with gracious words when they heard that he was their long-awaited Messiah.  Who could have imagined it?  Joseph’s son—a hometown hero, one of them—was going to bring them all God’s blessing.  They were ready for that good stuff.  They nodded to one another and exchanged knowing looks in the pews.  “C’mon Jesus!  We hear of the good things you’ve been doing over there in Capernaum.  How about a few miracles for your in-group homies?”

There were no miracles in Nazareth that morning.  Rather, Jesus told his neighbors that he was just as concerned about the out-group as he was the in-group.  To make his point, he told those two prophetic stories.  Elijah resurrected the son of the widow of Zarephath, and she was a foreigner and Baal-worshipper.  Elisha healed the leprosy of the Syrian General Naaman, and he was an enemy of the Hebrew people.  In fact, the only reason he knew of Elisha was through a Hebrew war captive who worked as a slave in his household.  According to scripture, God’s love and goodness weren’t only for the in-group.  God’s love and welcome were broader than the people of Nazareth liked to imagine.

We struggle to understand the immensity of God’s love.  We are so scandalized by God’s limitless grace that our minds boggle.  We can’t take it in.  The neighbors in Nazareth didn’t like the reminder that God had a long history of reaching beyond the in-group.  They really didn’t like Jesus standing there and telling them that he was going to practice a breadth of holy love that would make a lie of all those in-group and out-group assumptions.  The initial disappointment and confusion of Jesus’ hometown friends shifted to anger, rage, and rejection.  They cast Jesus out of the in-group and ran him out of town.

In-group / out-group conflicts continue to plague our world and trouble the church.  That’s why denominations split over who can preach in the pulpit, who may hold office, who will be welcomed into membership, or how we can spend our mission giving.  Whenever we follow Jesus in practicing a broader, holier love or extending a more generous welcome, we can count on conflict.  That’s the problem with prophets.  They aren’t content to allow us to mete out God’s love in tablespoons.  They push us beyond the comfortable familiarity of the in-group.  They confront us with our bias, and we don’t like it any more than the people in Nazareth did.  Lukan scholar R. Alan Culpepper points out that Jesus’s rejection at Nazareth was a foretaste of what was to come.  That near-death experience on the cliff in Nazareth anticipated the lonely hilltop where Jesus would be nailed to a cross when he ran afoul of those ultimate in-groups of Temple and empire in Jerusalem.

Our personal experiences of criticism and rejection may be a sign that we are butting up against in-group / out-group dynamics.  Pastoral theologian Henri Nouwen and Presbyterian minister and children’s broadcaster Fred Rogers were friends who corresponded for years.  At one point, Fred was particularly discouraged.  You may remember that Rogers broke color barriers, welcomed children with disabilities, told little girls they could be astronauts, and assured all children that they were loveable just as they were.  Rogers sent his friend Henri a copy of an especially nasty attack in the press.  Nouwen sympathized.  In his experience, “little persecutions” within the in-group of the church hurt the most.  Nouwen assured his friend Mr. Rogers that he was probably on the right track.  Nouwen wrote back to Fred that, attacks “come and will keep coming precisely when you do something significant for the Kingdom. . . It was Jesus’s experience and the experience of all great visionaries of the church, and it continues to be the experience of many who are committed to Jesus.”  Reaching out with God’s surprising love, welcoming outsiders in, breaking down barriers is always risky business.

The social scientists tell us that overcoming divisions of in- and out-groups isn’t easy.  It confounds our most essential assumptions and forces us to question our perceptions.  We naturally resist that.  But dividing walls can come down.  It helps if in- and out-groups can work together toward a shared goal.  Groups also need a level playing field—or at least the buy-in from both sides that all people have equal standing and rights.  Overcoming divisions is easier when we have visionary leaders, like George Washington or Abraham Lincoln, Mahatma Gandhi or Martin Luther King, Jr.  We are better able to transcend our in-group if we can envision outsiders as part of a larger, shared group—like the Kingdom of God. 

But the most essential way of ending long-standing divisions is through relationship and friendship.  That means extending ourselves to connect in meaningful ways, even if it feels uncomfortable.  Jesus was so good at this.  Think about Jesus with his compassion for lepers, forgiveness for sinners, welcome for tax-collectors, and healing care for foreigners, like Syro-Phoenicians, Canaanites, Romans, and Samaritans.  Jesus intentionally broke down all those insider / outsider barriers with listening, advocacy, and love.  Could we dare to do the same?

I am sure that Jesus continues to work in ways that confound our in-group sensibilities, in ways that might disappoint, puzzle, anger, and maybe even enrage us.  He just does that—ask the folks in Nazareth who knew him so well.  I invite you to join me in imagining some of the places where Jesus is at work this morning.

Today Jesus is on the southern border.  He’s leaving water in the desert for weary, thirsty travelers.  He is suffering in the back of a super-heated tractor trailer, driven by human traffickers.  He is listening to harrowing stories of drug cartel violence.  He is trying to reunite families.

Jesus is on death row.  He is innocent and falsely convicted.  He is hearing last minute confessions.  He is listening to the same old lies and excuses.  He is praying with people whose gods have been violence or addiction or hate.  He is hoping, always hoping, to welcome them into his Kingdom.  He longs for last minute stays of execution.

Jesus is in the ICU.  He whispers the twenty-third psalm to the anti-vaxer on the ventilator and reminds her that she is his beloved.  He refreshes the spirit of the nurse who has been working double-shifts on and off for almost two years.  He eases the fear of the aids and housekeeping crew who take bodies to the morgue, clean up the mess, and work silently at great personal risk for relatively low wages.  He comforts the spouse who goes home with a broken heart.

If any of those examples of where Jesus may be right now touched, startled, troubled, or offended you, then perhaps I got something right this morning.  Jesus is always pushing the borders and widening the circle.  He dreams of the day when there will be no in-group, no out-group, just one precious Kingdom of love.  May we, this week, have the courage to accept the improbable breadth of God’s love and welcome the outsider in.

Resources:

David Baggett. “Letter from Henri to Fred” in Moral Apologetics, August 5, 2019.  Accessed online at https://www.moralapologetics.com/wordpress/2019/8/5/letter-from-henri-to-fred

Gay L. Byron. “Exegetical Perspective on Luke 4:21-30” in Feasting on the Word, Year C. vol. 1. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

R. Alan Culpepper.  “The Gospel of Luke: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflections” in The New Interpreter’s Bible.  Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995.

Howard K. Gregory. “Pastoral Perspective on Luke 4:21-30” in Feasting on the Word, Year C. vol. 1.  Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Lisa J. Cohen. “The Psychology of Prejudice and Racism” in Psychology Today, January 24, 2011.  Accessed online at psychologytoday.com.

Luke 4:21-30 (HCSB)

21 Jesus began by saying to them, “Today as you listen, this Scripture has been fulfilled.” 22 They were all speaking well of Him and were amazed by the gracious words that came from His mouth, yet they said, “Isn’t this Joseph’s son?” 23 Then He said to them, “No doubt you will quote this proverb to Me: ‘Doctor, heal yourself. So all we’ve heard that took place in Capernaum, do here in Your hometown also.’” 24 He also said, “I assure you: No prophet is accepted in his hometown. 25 But I say to you, there were certainly many widows in Israel in Elijah’s days, when the sky was shut up for three years and six months while a great famine came over all the land. 26 Yet Elijah was not sent to any of them—but to a widow at Zarephath in Sidon. 27 And in the prophet Elisha’s time, there were many in Israel who had serious skin diseases, yet not one of them was healed—only Naaman the Syrian.” 28 When they heard this, everyone in the synagogue was enraged. 29 They got up, drove Him out of town, and brought Him to the edge of the hill that their town was built on, intending to hurl Him over the cliff. 30 But He passed right through the crowd and went on His way.

Photo by Keira Burton on Pexels.com

“Entering the Mission Field”

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Entering the Mission Field Luke 4:14-21

Before coming to Saranac Lake, I served as an Associate Pastor in Morton Grove, IL.  Each Sunday following the service, my colleague Pastor Michael would stand at the back of the sanctuary and greet worshippers as they ventured forth.  Above the door to the Narthex of the Morton Grove Church, a banner is hung.  It says, “You are entering the mission field.”  Exiting beneath that banner was a weekly reminder that the life of faith doesn’t stop when we leave the sanctuary behind on Sunday mornings.  In fact, our work is just beginning as we go forth with love for God and neighbor to pursue our mission as Christians.

I expect that Jesus is especially fond of that banner.  Luke’s gospel tells us that as Jesus traveled the Galilean countryside, he visited his hometown Nazareth.  There, he returned to the rhythms of his growing years, worshipping in the local synagogue on the sabbath day.  In an act of respect for his growing reputation, Jesus was invited to read and teach from the Torah.  He chose to read from the Prophet Isaiah and then sat down to interpret and teach.  We didn’t get to listen in on Jesus’ whole sermon, but Luke preserved the heart of his message.  Jesus believed that Isaiah’s prophecy had been fulfilled in him.  He was the long-awaited Messiah, who was bringing good news to the poor, sight for the blind, release for captives, and freedom for folks who lived amid oppression.

Bible scholars like to suggest that Jesus specially chose these words from Isaiah as a sort of personal mission statement.  Afterall, that reading from the prophet captures the values and intentions that Jesus would make a priority in his mission.  Jesus reminded his vulnerable neighbors that God loved them and was with them—that’s good news for the poor.  He restored sight to the local blindman in Bethsaida and shocked the Temple by healing a blind beggar, who had sought alms at the side door.  Jesus set free the Gerasene demoniac, long captivated by a legion of dark spirits.  Jesus reminded his neighbors that, although they resided in the tetrarchy of Herod and were a vassal state of the Roman Empire, they belonged to a Holy Kingdom that always prevailed.

Jesus held onto that vision and purpose that he announced in Nazareth, even when it got costly.  He held to his purpose despite hostile questions from the Pharisees and open criticism from the scribes.  He stayed the course, despite coming into the crosshairs of the religious powers of the Temple and the political power of Herod.  He stuck to his mission, even in the judgment hall of Pilate.  In fact, Jesus’ mission was greeted with criticism and opposition from the start.  If I had read a few more verses, we would have heard how those Nazareth neighbors got so angry at Jesus that they drove him out of town with the intention to throw him down from a high place.  You might even say that Jesus narrowly escaped a lynching.  How is that for commitment to purpose?

This church has a mission statement.  Early in my tenure here, I resolved to read it for you each Sunday as a reminder of who we are and the holy purpose that God calls us to serve.  Some of you know it by heart.  “God, our Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer calls the First Presbyterian Church of Saranac Lake to love and serve one another and the world around us with joy and thanksgiving.  We are a congregation that prays and supports each other and seeks to forgive and be forgiven.  We aim to share the Good News and to do God’s mission with love and compassion, both near and far.”

It’s a clarifying statement of our identity, values, and vocation.  We developed and adopted this mission as we emerged from a time of deep division and spiritual crisis.  Over the years, it has served us well by reminding us each week of the centrality not only of the Triune God but also of love, compassion, forgiveness, prayer, and care for vulnerable people.  That vision for mission has allowed us to welcome new purposes over the years.  It has inspired us to care for those tiny, vulnerable infants of the Mzuzu Crisis Care Nursery.  It has engaged us in supporting Malawi’s widows with microloans, the Clint McCoy Feeding Station, and the sewing project.  It has prompted us to feed hungry neighbors with the produce of our Jubilee Garden, our monthly food offering, 2-cents-a-meal, and the Souper Bowl of Caring.  All this outreach and more may be an expression of our mission, but we trust that it is also God’s mission, an expression of our love for Jesus, and a hopeful anticipation of his coming Kingdom.

Of course, we aren’t the only institution with a mission statement.  Here is the statement for the Marion Medical Mission: “Marion Medical Mission seeks to share the love of Christ with the extreme poor in Africa by providing all in need with a sustainable source of clean, safe drinking water.”  The mission of the Women of Grace Widows Fund is to “alleviate the extreme poverty of Malawi’s widows with food, shelter, and safety and to empower self-sufficiency and independence.”  Even the Souper Bowl of Caring has a mission: their mission is to “unite all communities to tackle hunger.”  Faithful organizations and people make it a practice to ground their service to God in a pithy statement that guides their purpose and brings them closer to Jesus.

What is your mission?  Do you have a pithy statement of faithful purpose that guides your life and directs your actions?  I invite us to allow Jesus’ mission statement to inspire us to think about developing our own personal statements.  To get us started, I’ll suggest three principles that should guide and shape our individual purposes.

The first principle is that your mission must give glory to God.  Anyone can have a mission that enlarges their bank account, pads their resume, or adds to their personal power or prestige, but as people of faith we seek first the Kingdom of God.  That means that our actions and outcomes are meant to praise and honor God.  For example, when Marion Medical Mission partners with African villages to install shallow wells, they bless and seal each well with an inscription in both English and the local language. That inscription reads: “To the glory of God.”  That well, which will bless the community for generations to come, is a perpetual reminder of the Holy One who satisfies our deepest thirst.

The second principle for your mission statement is that it must follow in the way of Jesus, in keeping with those actions and values that Jesus claimed as his own when he read the scroll of the Prophet Isaiah, long ago in the Nazareth synagogue.  Does it bring good news to poor and vulnerable neighbors?  Does it offer help and healing?  Does it free us and others from our captivity – to poverty, addiction, shame, sin, anger, unforgiveness?  In pursuing our mission, would Jesus say to us, “Well done, good and faithful servant?

There is a final principle for our mission statements.  We must be guided by the ethic of agape.  Agape is the choice to love others, regardless of kinship, affiliation, or interest.  Agape seeks the best for others, even when we don’t know them, even if we dislike or fear them.  This is the love that the Apostle Paul encouraged his friends in Corinth to pursue: love that is patient, kind, forbearing, accepting, and forgiving.  It’s the sort of love that Jesus practiced, allowing him to bear with those dense disciples, care for those on the margins of society, and forgive his executioners.

What is your mission?  I invite us to take some time this week to listen, pray, reflect, and begin to develop our personal mission statements, statements that give glory to God, follow Jesus, and make the world a more loving place.  You don’t have to proclaim your mission from the pulpit like Jesus did, but you might like to share it with me, or with your beloved ones, or with a friend in the faith.  If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.  A mission statement envisioned and articulated is a promise of action that can make this world a more loving, just, and holy place.  I look forward to hearing your mission-minded musings.

This church may not have the words, “You are entering the mission field” hanging above the sanctuary exit, but we can trust as we go forth this morning, whether we are worshipping here in church or we are worshipping online, that the mission field awaits.  There’s work to be done.  What’s your mission?

Resources:

Carol Lakey Hess. “Theological Perspective on Luke 4:14-21” in Feasting on the Word, Year C, vol. 1. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Ernest Hess. “Homiletical Perspective on Luke 4:14-21” in Feasting on the Word, Year C, vol. 1. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Linda McKinnis Bridges. “Exegetical Perspective on Luke 4:14-21” in Feasting on the Word, Year C, vol. 1. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Elisabeth Johnson. “Commentary on Luke 4:14-21” in Preaching This Week, Jan. 23, 2022.  Accessed online at workingpreacher.org.

Luke 4:14-21

14Then Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding country. 15He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone. 16When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, 17and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written: 18“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, 19to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” 20And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. 21Then he began to say to them, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

Image source: Marion Medical Mission https://www.mmmwater.org/

“Precious in God’s Sight”

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — Isaiah 43:1-7

Curt lost his job on the assembly line, not long before the pandemic.  His employer made a big investment in new technology, and Curt’s work went robotic.  He found a new job, no problem, but it pays less, and the benefits aren’t as good.  Curt has a good ten years until retirement, so he now has a second part-time job to help with bills.  Curt always saw himself as a company man, but now he’s not sure who he is.

Monica was recently diagnosed with breast cancer.  She’s a busy single parent with a full-time job and kids in middle school.  She has surgery ahead, followed by chemo and radiation.  Thankfully, her aging parents are on-hand to help out.  Monica puts on a brave face, but when she is alone, she is filled with fear and doubt.  Some days, it’s overwhelming.

George and Katherine met in their senior year of high school.  George says it was love at first sight.  Katherine said he wore her down.  They married when they were only twenty.  Over the years, they dreamed about one day being snowbirds, buying a little retirement place in Florida or Arizona.  But then Katherine got COVID, early in the pandemic.  George couldn’t even be with her when she died.  Now George feels like his dreams died along with Katherine.  The future feels uncertain, lonely, and scary.

We all have times when life serves up a double-helping of unwanted change, crisis, or tragedy.  The proverbial rug is pulled out from under our feet.  We wonder who we are now, how we will cope, and what the future will bring.  We grieve and lament.  We question and worry.  We fear and doubt.  We wrestle with big existential questions.  We wonder, “Where are you God?”  “Don’t you love me?”  “How can I possibly go on?”

The people of Israel were well-versed in unwanted change, crisis, and tragedy.  They were a conquered nation, living in exile in Babylon.  They had seen the defeat of their army.  They had watched as their city walls were breached.  They had witnessed their fields and homes being burned.  They had watched helplessly as their Temple was destroyed.  They had endured the countless unspeakable tragedies that always accompany war, the things that no one wants to talk about or remember.

Cut off from the land that they had loved, exiled from a way of life that had brought them meaning and purpose, mourning untold death and destruction, the Israelites asked themselves big questions.  Who are we? How can we cope? Do we have a future?  Beneath those big questions were sacred and existential queries that kept them up at night, questions that we know well.  Where is God? Does God love us? Can we be redeemed?

Our reading from the Prophet Isaiah allows us to listen in on a holy and intimate conversation.  God almighty speaks to the people of Israel.  God speaks to those exiles who feel they are going down for the third time amid a raging flood, who fear they are being consumed by unquenchable fires.  God speaks words of promise and consolation, saying “I have redeemed you.  I know you.  You are mine.  I will be with you.  You are precious in my sight.”  Those holy promises must have sounded to the exiles like water in the desert, a lifeline amid the raging seas, a healing balm for the gaping wounds of hardship and loss. 

Scripture tells us that God kept those promises.  God raised up King Cyrus of Persia.  His armies toppled mighty Babylon.  Then, Cyrus did the unthinkable.  He set the people of Israel free and gave them the resources to go home and rebuild.  From the north and the south, from the east and the west, God called the people home to the land that they loved.  They endured 500 miles of desert heat.  They forded the waters of the Jordan.  They returned.  Ruined homes were rebuilt.  Fields choked with weeds and brambles were cleared.  Neglected orchards were pruned and became fruitful.  City walls rose again.

It wasn’t easy.  It took time.  It was hard work.  But the people knew who they were and whose they were.  They were precious and beloved children of the one true God.  They found hope in the promises.  They trusted that God was with them in all their hardship and heartache.  One day, the people gathered to worship in the shadow of a new Temple and wept with gratitude and humility for all that God had done for them.

On Baptism of the Lord Sunday, we remember the promises of God.  We remember the promises made long ago to those lonely and hurting exiles.  We remember the promises of Jesus’ baptism.  As our Lord emerged from the Rover Jordan, a voice from the heavens thundered, “This is my Beloved Son.  I find in him my delight.” 

Today we trust that those promises belong to us.  The promises belong to those who were sprinkled as infants in the care of parents and congregation.  The promises belong to those baptized as adolescents, who claimed Jesus as our Lord and savior as we were confirmed.  The promises belong to those who came later to the fount of every blessing, who came to faith as adults and laid claim to their belonging and redemption.  The promises belong to each of us.

If we listen with the ear of our heart, today our biggest questions find an answer.   God says, “I have redeemed you.  I know you.  You are mine.  I love you.  You are precious in my sight.”  God’s promises are for us, my friends.  Can you hear it?

When we live with the assurance that we are welcomed, loved, and will never be alone, we find the wherewithal to stand amid the flood and come through the fiery trial.  It isn’t easy.  It doesn’t feel good.  It takes time.  It’s hard work.  Somehow, like Curt, we are able to endure hard times at work.  Like Monica, we find strength for those challenges to our health.  Like George, we discover comfort in the midst of grief and unspeakable loss.  We trust that there is redemption for us, even when we are exiled and cut off from our better selves.

We return today to the waters where it all began.  We lay claim to those holy promises, and we find what is needed.  We remember who we are and to whom we belong.  Amid our worry and big questions, despite our fear and uncertainty, through the grief and anguish, hope is found and a way is made.  We are precious in God’s sight, beloved sons and daughters of an infinite and intimate God. 

Resources:

W. Carter Lester. “Pastoral Perspective on Isaiah 43:1-7” in Feasting on the Word, year C, vol. 1. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Kathleen M. O’Connor. “Exegetical Perspective on Isaiah 43:1-7” in Feasting on the Word, year C, vol. 1. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Valerie Bridgeman Davis. “Homiletical Perspective on Isaiah 43:1-7” in Feasting on the Word, year C, vol. 1. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

PCUSA Office of Theology and Worship. “Baptism of the Lord” in Book of Common Worship. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2018.

Isaiah 43:1-7

But now thus says the Lord,
    he who created you, O Jacob,
    he who formed you, O Israel:
Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
    I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
    and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
    and the flame shall not consume you.
For I am the Lord your God,
    the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.
I give Egypt as your ransom,
    Ethiopia and Seba in exchange for you.
Because you are precious in my sight,
    and honored, and I love you,
I give people in return for you,
    nations in exchange for your life.
Do not fear, for I am with you;
    I will bring your offspring from the east,
    and from the west I will gather you;
I will say to the north, “Give them up,”
    and to the south, “Do not withhold;
bring my sons from far away
    and my daughters from the end of the earth—
everyone who is called by my name,
    whom I created for my glory,
    whom I formed and made.”

Photo by sane sravan on Pexels.com

From Homage to Home

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — Matthew 2:1-12

I was walking in the neighborhood on the day after Christmas when I saw it: the first discarded Christmas tree of the season.  Bushy and long-needled, it looked lonely curbside, stripped of its ornaments and lights.  Some home owner, eager to restore their pre-holiday order, must have risen early and cleaned house.

Some of us may, likewise, already be parting with our signs of the season.  The traditionalists among us will insist on keeping our trees until the sixth of January, the Feast of Epiphany.  A few Christmas fanatics, you know who you are, will hold onto their trees until the dropping of needles becomes unbearable.

All of us in the coming days or weeks will say goodbye to our holiday decorations.  We’ll box up the ornaments.  We’ll carefully coil strands of lights.  The nativity set will be shrouded in bubble wrap and sequestered in the attic.  Eventually, even the evergreen wreath will disappear from the front door.  Our thoughts will turn away from the season of Christmas and focus instead on the year ahead.

This Sunday, we celebrate the arrival of some final guests of the holiday season.  Like family members who celebrate first at the in-law’s house, they arrived late.  Although we like to welcome them on Christmas Eve, Matthew’s gospel tells us that the Magi arrived long after the shepherds had gone back to their flocks and the angels had stopped singing the “Hallelujah Chorus.”  Royal astrologers who scanned the night sky for heavenly portents of earthly events, the wise ones had seen a singular star rising in the east.  It was a star that heralded the birth of a Hebrew king.  The magi compared notes, organized a caravan, and embarked on a long overland journey to Jerusalem in hopes of confirming their hypothesis.

They didn’t find exactly what they were looking for.  Indeed, when they arrived at Herod’s palace in Jerusalem, there was no royal infant swathed in silks and surrounded by luxury.  It must have felt like a disappointing end to their long travels.  But then the guidance of scripture directed them onward, to the Judean hill country.  As they turned their backs to Jerusalem, that portentous star that had risen in the east guided them to Bethlehem, like a big heavenly affirmation.

In the City of David, they found more than they had ever hoped or dreamed imaginable, a holy child, deserving of their reverence and awe.  Matthew tells us that the Magi paid him homage.  They fell to their knees in humility to worship the newborn king.  They gave their costly gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh in response to the greater gift of the Christ-child himself.  They knew that God’s priceless love had been made flesh in the guise of this tiny peasant babe.

Christians have long called that eye-opening visit of the wise ones to the Christ-child Epiphany.  That name was first mentioned by the Patriarch Clement around the year 200.  The name Epiphany comes from the Greek word epiphaneia, which means revelation or manifestation.  It had been revealed to the Magi that the star that they had seen at its rising was a heavenly sign of God’s new outpouring of light in Jesus.  The wise ones took one look at the holy child and knew without question that the unstoppable light of God shone in the world’s darkness.  William Danaker Jr., the Dean of Theology at Western Ontario University, teaches that on Epiphany Sunday we “raise our hearts to the shining beauty of eternal light.”

On this Epiphany Sunday, we especially remember that the beauty of God’s eternal light continues to shine in our world’s darkness.  It cannot be quenched by COVID-19.  It is not dimmed by the untimely death of our beloved ones.  It is not deterred by Capitol Hill gridlock.  It shines even above the threat of violence at the Ukrainian border.  It outshines our mounting years, declining health, frayed marriages, and workplace worries.  The light of Christ shines on in our darkness.

God’s great outshining love finds us where we least expect it and when we need it most.  Light comes in the smile of an infant.  Light comes in the sharing of communion together for the first time since March of 2020.  Light comes in the sparse gathering of those who would worship on a low and snowy Sunday after the New Year.  Light comes even as we worship virtually in the quiet of our own homes amid the post-Christmas clutter.  Christ’s light shines in our darkness.  Thanks be to God!

On this Epiphany Sunday, we recall that Jesus, who is light, saw his followers as light.  He taught his disciples, “You are the light of the world. . . Let your light shine before others that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven” (Mt. 5:14, 16).  The light of Epiphany shines in us whenever we go forth in Jesus’ purpose. 

In our simple acts of kindness, light shines in the darkness. 

As we share the good news by praying for others or inviting them to church or sharing a sermon, light shines in the darkness.

When we make a healing difference in our families, light shines in the darkness.

As we nurture our children in body, mind, and spirit, light shines in the darkness.

When we care for the least of these, our vulnerable neighbors, light shines in the darkness.

That holy light that brought the Magi to their knees on that distant night in Bethlehem continues to shine through us, if we will let it.

In the coming days, our Christmas clean-up will continue.  We’ll see more trees curbside.  Our holiday keepsakes will return to the safety of their attic cubbies.  The last stale cookies will be nibbled or trashed.  Our thoughts will turn away from shepherds and angels.  The Magi will retreat to distant Persia until next Christmas. 

As we turn away from Christmas and step into the New Year, don’t pack away the light, my friends.  It longs to shine in you as it did in Bethlehem all those years ago; it longs to dispel the darkness that plagues humanity still.  The stars sing on in the night.  May the Christ-light that God shone at Epiphany kindle our hearts and send us forth to illumine our world.  Amen.

Resources:

John Calvin. “Commentary on Matthew 2:1-6.”  Accessed online at https://www.ccel.org/ccel/calvin/calcom31.ix.xix.html

William Danaher Jr. “Theological Perspective on Matthew 2:1-12” in Feasting on the Word, Year C, volume 1.  Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009. Barbara Brown Taylor. “Homiletical Perspective on Matthew 2:1-12” in Feasting on the Word, Year C, volume 1.  Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Matthew 2:1-12

In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.”  When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: ‘And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.’”  When Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.” When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

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