How cool is it

"Are We One?" given 1/24/2015

Those darned Corinthians! What an apostolic pain in the neck they must have been to poor old Paul! It's clear from reading his two letters to the Church at Corinth that the congregation there was a divided, squabbling, collection of cliques that differed on a whole host of both spiritual and practical matters. What's worse, each group claimed authority from, and loyalty to a particular leader within the church at large. One faction even claimed Paul himself.

At the beginning of I Corinthians, Paul gives them all a piece of his mind.

…you're all picking sides, going around saying, "I'm on Paul's side," or "I'm for Apollos," or "Peter is my man," or "I'm in the Messiah group." I ask you, "Has the Messiah been chopped up in little pieces so we can each have a relic all our own? Was Paul crucified for you? Was a single one of you baptized in Paul's name?" Frankly I thank God that I never baptized any of you!

A great deal of hard feelings had arisen between these competing factions.  So Paul was writing to them in an effort to cool down all this internal rivalry, as well as to point out the errors they had all fallen into. In addition, Paul was writing to encourage the faithful in dealing with the tremendous amount of secular and pagan temptations present in the city of Corinth.

            In the Roman Theatre, the figure of a Corinthian had come to be a stereotype for a drunkard. “To live like a Corinthian" had become popular slang for a life of debauchery. With such an unwholesome environment surrounding them, maybe it's understandable that some of the Corinthian sisters and brothers had fallen into error and misdeeds, themselves.

It's a real tribute to Paul's compassion and pastoral instincts that he didn't simply "shake the dust off his sandals" when it came to the Corinthian congregation. Instead, with a great deal of patience and love, Paul wrote the magnificent I and II Epistles to the Corinthians.

In this morning's reading, Paul begins by talking about the nature of spiritual gifts, and their proper role in the church.  The Apostle addresses that specific question, and then enlarges upon it. He broadens and deepens the discussion to a larger discourse on the real nature of the church and the universal issues of equality and unity within it.

Paul says that the Christian church-- you and I together-- are a body.  Like a body, the church is a living organism. Like a human body, the church is made up of inter-dependant, interacting parts, each fulfilling its own separate and absolutely necessary role.  Just like each and every organ of a human body-- each and every member of the church must work in harmony with all the others in order to ensure the survival and growth of the Body itself.

Paul isn't just drawing an analogy here. He literally believes that the church is the physical-- not just spiritual-- Body of Jesus Christ on earth. And each and every one of us is a part of that Body. Each of us was brought into that Body through our Baptism. Each of us, like the organs of a body, has our own unique and irreplaceable functions to perform.

There's a true story that occurred at a party where the wife of Oscar Hammerstein II and the wife of Jerome Kern were both in attendance.  As you know, Hammerstein was the lyricist and Kern the composer of Showboat, which was playing on Broadway at that time. A woman came up to Mrs. Kern and gushed,

"O my goodness, your husband is the man who wrote that wonderful song, 'Old Man River'." And Mrs. Hammerstein spoke up and said,

"No dear-- my husband wrote 'Old Man River'. Her husband wrote dum-dum-dum-dum, da-dum-dum-dum-dum."

Where do we come off, Paul seems to be asking, in thinking that any one of us has a more important role to play than any other of us?  How dare we deride or discriminate against any of our sisters and brothers in Jesus Christ because of their race, tongue, ethnic background, or social status?

Is the Pastor of the Chicago Temple any more important than the people washing dishes at our Easter Breakfast? Is Bishop Jung or the Archbishop of Canterbury, or Cardinal George, necessarily fulfilling a more important role than the volunteer janitor at some tiny store-front church in the South Side of Chicago? Is a Korean or Hispanic United Methodist Pastor any less important, any less beloved by God, filling a less important role than I am? 

The answer to those questions might well seem self-evident to all of us. I certainly hope it's self evident! But for his day and age, this was a tremendous and radical insight on Paul's part. Tolerance for others, the acceptance--much less the affirmation-- of people of differing language, color, class, culture, gender or way of worship is really a very new idea in our world. And it is still all too rare and precious on this planet today.

            A week ago we celebrated the birthday of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Dr. King said basically all those same things in our land only fifty years ago. It’s easy, all too easy for us to forget the degree of anger and denial with which Dr. King's message was initially greeted in this country.

If concepts like equality and justice and equal rights seem self-evident to both liberals and conservatives today, it is because yesterday, people of faith were willing to lay down their lives to win those things.  And I would argue, that one reason they were empowered to open their lives to that struggle, was because they had previously opened their Bibles to passages like this one.

Paul is very clear. "By one Spirit we were all formed into one Body in our Baptism.  Whether Jews or gentiles, whether slaves or free, the one Spirit was given to us all to drink." Paul is affirming the variety, first of gifts and then of the people who receive them. In affirming that variety, the Apostle is then able to insist on the equality among them.

Our individual differences are a gift from God! Our diversity as people and as Christians is to be celebrated, not steamrollered! The healthy differences between you and me are reason to rejoice! How dull it would be if we were all alike. A church that is uniform in nationality, in race, in language, in practice, even in belief is a church that can only grow so large.  It is in effect, a church that is half-dead already. A dream that has limits is a dream that will eventually perish.

If Paul had lost his on-going debate with James and the ex-Pharisee elders of First Church Jerusalem, no Gentiles could have ever heard the Gospel, no non-Jews could have entered the early church without first being circumcised and converting to Judaism. And the church itself would likely have died in 70 AD when the Romans destroyed Jerusalem.

If Luther had lost his argument with the Pope, Roman Catholicism would have likely remained the state church in most of Europe, for at least a few more decades. But it would be effectively dead today. Personally, I wonder if one of the the ways that our Maker chastises a particular denomination isn’t to allow them to become an officially sanctioned state church. Years ago I met a priest in the Church of England.  He told me that they refer to themselves as God's frozen people.

The church have always been at its best and noblest in times of  exile, ridicule, struggle, and persecution-- at those times when it has been on the cross.  The greatest growth of the Biblical faith has always come in times and places when cultures and languages and peoples have met and cross-fertilized and been enriched by new insights, new energy, new integrity. 

The Biblical faith has always, and can only been renewed and transformed and proclaimed in new and exciting ways at such moments. And those are the moments when our Faith has spread and grown and reached new places and peoples in the world. Moments like this very moment in Africa and South America and the former Soviet Union. And those are the moments in which we have truly earned the title of Body of Christ. 

The core message of Biblical faith itself is, and always has been straight-forward,  and clear, and lucid. 

"Hear O Israel, the Lord is One" "Do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with your God."  That’s pure and simple.  That message stands on its own.  It is not a message to be limited or linked to any nation, or culture, or language, or style of worship, or era, or style of music, or way of praying.

            The Gospel is not cultural. It transcends culture. It is not national. It is supra-national. "Love God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your minds, and love your neighbor as yourself" And yet, each culture, each people inevitably expresses and shares the Gospel in their own creative and distinctive ways.  We are, as Paul keeps insisting, a Body.

Have you heard of the time the big yellow IDOT truck came rolling down LaGrange Road? Every few yards, the truck would stop. Then a worker would get out, and dig a large hole in the ground next to the road. He'd then get back on the truck.. A few minutes later, a second worker would get off the truck.  walk over to the hole, carefully fill it in, and tamp the dirt down.

An elderly woman had been watching them. After seeing them repeat this procedure four or five times, her anger and curiosity got the better of her. She walked over and cornered them.

"What in the world are you people doing?"

"Oh, we're on a beautification project."

"A beautification project! What's so beautiful about a bunch of filled-in holes?"

"Well you see," comes the answer, "The guy who plants the trees is home sick today."

Different people play different but absolutely necessary roles.  And when one of us doesn't do his or her job, there's a hole. That's true when it comes to beautifying highways. It's true in a local congregation. It's also true when it comes to the Church of Jesus Christ in the world.

None of us can deny our own importance. Neither can we deny our importance to others or others importance to us.  Until we figure that out as a people, as a church, as a congregation--  untill we really do learn to guard each one’s dignity and save each one’s pride, we’ll  never be able to walk hand in hand or work  side by side-- we’ll never truly be one in the Spirit.

We are a Body. And Jesus is our head. Our very existence depends upon Him, our Ruler and Redeemer, our Savior and Sustainer. Yet He has no hands to help and heal in this world except ours. And we have no purpose and direction in this world without Him. We fill the hole left in the world with his physical departure from the earth. He fills the hole in our lives. We are many, He calls us and makes us one.  He is our direction, our purpose, our vision.

            Listen again to verse 16.  "If the ear would say, because I am not an eye I do not belong to the body, that would not make it any less a part of the body."

            We are a Body. But  any body needs leadership. It must have a compelling over all, inclusive direction or none of its parts can function well.  And when we learn to listen together for it, Jesus provides that crucial vision. Jesus is our head, our heart, our brain, our intuition.

            There is a direct relationship between the church’s effectiveness in mission and ministry and her faithfulness to Christ’s vision.   "Where there is no vision, the people perish"  reads Proverbs 29 There is a direct relationship between our physical well-being and our personal horizons The human body’s immune system will malfunction when there is a failure of vision.

            Each cell in the human body has DNA that contains all the messages of all the functions of our body. There's something in each cell that says to it, "You are not the heart. You are the finger." Its toxic and invasive when a cell forgets who it is. That cell becomes cancer. By the same token, when you and I forget who we are, we can become toxic and invasive.

Are we one? Are we truly about the business of being Christ's Body? How have we brought good news to the poor?  Have we brought release to those in captivity to sin and death and addiction and discrimination? Have we brought recovery of sight to those blind with their own greed or hate or anger or lust or fear?  How many have we freed from oppression, exploitation, or manipulation?  How have you and I proclaimed in our work and our play, in our relationships, in our commitments of time and energy and resources that the acceptable year of our Lord begins now? Here? In our hearts and lives?

Are we each carrying our fair share of the task of witnessing and sharing, mission and outreach and evangelism in a spirit of charity and unity? Are we reaching out as individuals to one another and as a congregation to the community with love in our hearts?  Are we one? 

Are we one? Results for their own sweet sake-- a larger attendance, a more active outreach, a balanced budget, the fellowship of others who agree with us will of course, make us feel content and self-satisfied. But they are not the true criterion of success in the church of Jesus Christ. The only real criterion is simply, "Are we one?"

Each of us must answer that in our own heart. Amen.

Seven Days

"The Best Wine Last" given Jan. 17, 2016

All of my family were Jews, to be sure. But, a hundred years ago, my ancestors-- like many of our people-- had been scattered around the world after the conquest of Jerusalem by the armies of Alexander the Great’s Hellenistic empire Decades later, my family had returned to our ancestral home—and we still called ourselves Jews.        

But we had been changed by the wider world. We had come to understand that there was sometimes things—ideas and ways of living that were worthwhile and valuable—from outside our own history and customs. We had come to believe that the strongest tree was not an oak, standing against the wind—but still liable to be snapped like a twig in a storm. We understood the strength of the willow—that sometimes it’s wise to bend.

So I and my sisters and brothers were raised speaking Greek at home and in the streets and praying in Hebrew—just as our parents and grand-parents before us had been raised. We worshipped in the synagogue and read Greek philosophers. We associated with Jews and Romans and Greeks in our business dealings. We may have grown lax at times, in keeping every single one of the laws of Moses. But we were still Jews—but Hellenized—some of us even bore Greek names—like mine-- Philip.

So I could tell that my presence made John the Baptizer uncomfortable when I began following him. There was an unspoken uneasiness between Aramaic speaking and Greek speaking Jews. We were not quite seen as Gentiles, but many did not consider us to be “real” Jews. I suspect the Baptizer might have breathed a sigh of relief on that day when I ceased to follow him. John had been teaching four or five of us by the riverbank when suddenly he jumped up and pointed to a man passing by—

“There he is—that’s Him-- the Lamb of God! That’s the Messiah! That’s him! Follow Him, not me! I’m not even worthy to unlace his sandals.”

The man’s face was familiar to me. It was Joshua Ben Joseph (or Jesus-- to use the Greek version of his name.) I knew he was a carpenter and stone mason from Nazareth. Somebody said he was a kinsman of John.  Galilee is not such a large area that you don’t see the same faces again and again growing up.

You can know who they are. You can know all about them--who their family is—know old gossip about their grandparents—know what they do for a living—what village they live in—even what house they live in. They in turn know who you are.  You nod to them in passing—and you can go your whole life never actually speaking to them face to face.

But that day I finally did speak to Jesus. I know it may seem odd—but I can’t tell you exactly what we said to one another—it was a moment I knew that I’d remember for the rest of my life—but it was not the words we exchanged that were so important. It was the moment itself, being in His presence—standing so close together we were almost touching--feeling his attention and his care and his acceptance focused totally on me—that changed my life.

Jesus didn’t care that I bore a Greek name. He didn’t care about the customs of my family. He didn’t care if I was prosperous or poor. He didn’t even seem to care that I had not followed the Laws of our people with the utter scrupulosity that John preached. More than anything else at all, Jesus seemed only to care about me—as I was--and the hunger for God that was in my heart.

In that moment—I knew Jesus bar-Joseph had come from God. At that moment, I knew that I wanted to follow Him for the rest of my life. And as soon as I was out of his presence I ran and told my friend Nathaniel that we had found the long awaited Messiah of our people.

It wasn’t until that day at the wedding that I began to understand what sort of Messiah this Jesus was. We were in Nathaniel’s hometown—Cana. His neighbor was marrying a girl from the same village. Jesus and His mother, had been invited to the feast. She insisted that Andrew and Simon and Nathaniel and I came along.

I was frankly surprised to be invited—and even more surprised by how many were present. It looked as if the whole village was there. Weddings were a week-long affair, and poor families had to be very careful about how many guests they invited. Nathaniel told me that this family had always been very poor, but very warm hearted and generous. If you were hungry and they had two pieces of bread, they’d give you the other piece.

It was the first time I’d met Mary, Jesus’ mother. At first sight she seemed to be a typical peasant woman, short with sun burnt skin and strands of white in her dark hair. She was about forty-five years old. Her hands were calloused from hard work. She spoke with a Galilean accent. Her manner was loving and warm. And when she smiled, her face lit up and she looked very much like Jesus....

For this wedding feast the parents had made a great effort. They had roasted some young goats and chickens and bought several types of fruit and olives. They served the sweetened wine of Cana, which was famous in the whole of Galilee, because it went to one’s head so quickly...

After several toasts of wine that overflowed throughout the feast, the dance followed in the small garden of the house. The men formed one circle, and the women, another. Everyone forgot all the cares besetting us. The music and wine uplifted everyone’s spirits, singing and laughing our everyday woes away.

And, suddenly I realized how different this Jesus I had begun following was from my former master John. The Baptizer I realized, would have been as out of place here as a goat in a fishing boat. Even if John had condescended to attend any event as happy and loud and human as this he would have stood around on the sidelines with a disapproving expression on his long face, putting a damper on everyone’ good time.

But Jesus was in his element—not standing off to the side, but in the midst of the crowd, laughing and singing and joking and dancing as much as anyone. Watching Him, there came to my mind the words of the Prophet Isaiah:

                                 6 On this holy mountain the God of hosts will make for all peoples

                a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines,

                of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear.

                                 7 And God will destroy on this mountain

                the shroud that is cast over all peoples,

                the sheet that is spread over all nations;

                God will swallow up death forever.

                                 8 Then the Holy One will wipe away the tears from all faces,

                and the disgrace of God’s people will be taken away from all the earth,

                for the Almighty has spoken.

We had all been so caught up in the joy of the day that none of us had noticed when Mary slipped away into the kitchen to help with the food. Then I spotted her, at the door to the kitchen, beckoning for Jesus to come to her. Curious, I followed him as unobtrusively as I could.

            What a disaster! The mother was sobbing, the father was distraught. The servers stood around holding empty pitchers and looking embarrassed. It was only the first night, and the party had already run out of wine! Three barrels had already been drunk—only a quarter of one was left. The family had already gone into debt for the expensive food and wine that had already been served—and no more was available. Their very generosity, was about to be their undoing.

I wondered why Mary had called Jesus into the kitchen. Surely he had no money to buy any wine--anymore than Peter or Andrew or Nathaniel or I.  And even if we had money—where does one buy wine in the middle of the night? There was quite frankly nothing to be done except send the guests home.

But his mother continued to look at Jesus with expectation and hope. What did Mary expect him to do? What could anyone do? Mary spoke in private to her son. Then with utter confidence in her eyes, She turned toward the servants hired for the occasion and pointed to Jesus.

“Do whatever he tells you” she told them.

Then out of the corner of my eye, I noticed  the seven large stone jar of water, used for ritual cleansing and purification of food and utensils and hands. I caught Jesus’ eye, nodding toward the jars, intending to suggest the water be used to dilute the little wine they had, but before I could even open my mouth, he spoke to the servers.

“Fill your pitchers from those jars in the corner. Now serve the guests.”

It was not even a few minutes later that the master of ceremonies for the feast came back into the kitchen full of compliments to the family for the quality of the wine—teasingly chiding them for holding back the best wine until last when the taste buds of the guests were dulled.

The finest wine he’d ever tasted he said. And it was not just a half of one of those stone jugs—but all of them—around 3500 gallons—filled with more wine than the whole village could have drunk in a month! The open-handed generosity of this poor family had been multiplied many times by the overflowing abundance of the grace of God.

Of course, only Mary and the family and the servants and we four disciples witnessed all this. Only we knew what Jesus had done. And we marveled. And we believed in Jesus. Truly we told ourselves, this Jesus was a holy man. Truly, he was the Messiah.

But I for one, couldn’t also help marveling at what sort of Messiah this Jesus was. He was not an ascetic hiding in the desert like one of the old-time prophets. He was not a dried-up scholar spending his days studying the Law or arguing Torah. He was not a priest making ritual sacrifices in the Temple. Nor was he a hero of arms and battle like Samson or Gideon or Joshua of old.

Jesus the Messiah had begun his ministry with a wondrous sign of blessing and joy. I didn’t understand what all this meant at the time. But I knew Jesus had done much more than simply help a poor family save face.

 I would spend the next three years of my life following Jesus—listening, learning. I would stand beside and help him serve thousands of hungry people using nothing more than a small boy’s lunch. And I knew that he had come to feed more than our bellies.

            I would see him reach out in compassion to a Samaritan woman of bad repute. Later, other Greek speaking Jews would approach me and  Jesus would reach out to my own people. I would sit beside Him in the Upper Room, and in answer to my question, hear Jesus at last proclaim that in seeing Him—we had seen the Creator. I would see him die—and then rise from the grave.

            Jesus, I would finally realize, was a man who  had been born into ordinary circumstances, had worked hard to make a living, who knew the pains and struggles and simple pleasures of everyday life, and who embraced it—celebrated it—gave thanks to God for it—and who in doing all that—with all his heart, blessed it and transformed it and multiplied it and magnified it and made it holy—just as he had blessed and transformed that water that day at a wedding in Cana of Galilee.

            After Jesus’ death and miraculous Resurrection, I would be called to become one of the first Deacons to serve our faith—a living link between the original Twelve and the Seven, between Greek and Aramaic speaking Jews. In doing so, I would help spread the Gospel beyond the small circle of His early followers, to those Jews of different tongue who would come to make up the early Church. And later, I Philip, would be honored by God with the call to proclaim the Good News of Jesus and baptize a man of Ethiopia—the first gentile to follow our Lord.

By then I had come to realize that the Messiah had come among us from God for the sake of more than just Israel itself. That wedding wine had been a sign from God. Jesus had provided so much more wine at a wedding than anyone could have imagined. And Almighty God had provided for all the nations and peoples so much more overflowing, extravagant blessing and redeeming grace in Jesus than anyone could have ever imagined.

            Jesus had come among us to do more than show a few followers the way to God. He had come that all people might know God—Romans, Greeks, Jews and Samaritans and Gentiles, men and women, young and old. He had come that all nations might be blessed, and all peoples freed. He had come that all people might not only repent but find mercy and forgiveness and acceptance.

He had come to conquer death and offer life. Not only life after this plane of existence—but new life of joy and gladness and meaning now— a life of harmony and care for one another—regardless of tongue or nation or color---on this earth and in this life and right on through to whatever lies beyond it.

He had come to draw men and women Himself and through Him to God. Not by the blessing of the old clay pots filled with the water of Law and ritual purity, but through the blessing of the new wine of forgiveness and celebration. Not out of fear of hell or even hope of heaven, but simply out of love—for one another—and for their Maker. Amen

http://www.christiantoday.com/article/pope.francis.releases.emotional.new.video.regardless.of.religion.we.are.all.children.of.god/75882.htm

http://www.christiantoday.com/article/pope.francis.releases.emotional.new.video.regardless.of.religion.we.are.all.children.of.god/75882.htm

"He Knelt Down in the Mud' given 1/10/16

            At last the day had come. After his thirty-odd years of life as a Jew, a simple peasant, a working-man-- the day came.  It must have been a day that his parents had known would eventually come-- and dreaded.  It must have been a day that he, himself had been waiting for.  It certainly was a day that the people of Israel were waiting for-- even if they did not know exactly what it was that they had so long and eagerly awaited.

            Luke's narrative of that fateful day notes that "a feeling of expectancy had grown among the people."  Some people would have expressed that feeling in their hope that this Old Testament style prophet John the Baptizer was Israel's long awaited Messiah.  But John had denied that.  Some would have expressed it in political and social unrest, preliminary to a revolution that would free them from the Roman yoke.  But it wasn't quite that, either.  No one knew exactly what it was, but there was definitely something in the air.

            And then that fateful morning came-- the morning in which Jesus bar- Joseph arose from his bed, prayed, bathed, dressed and walked out of the door of his parent's home in Nazareth.  Somehow or other, he knew that this would be the morning.

            We don’t know why it all began on that particular morning. Undoubtedly, Jesus too, had sensed the general atmosphere of waiting, hoping.  Maybe he had heard of John's ministry and wanted to check it out for himself.  Maybe God had spoken to him in the night, through a dream, or while he was at prayer.  Certainly it was something he had somehow or other, known would come—and that day was as good as any other.

            But this morning he knew that the time had come at last. Jesus no doubt greeted his mother, kissed her good-bye and walked out the door.  Outside of town, he came to the nearest crossroads, and chose his direction. Where would he go? Which way?

            To the right lay Jerusalem-- the Temple, the Hebrew schools and yeshivas, the learned rabbis and priests, the levities and choirs. The big city beckoned and with it, the official, established faith of his people—a faith, a settled, respectable life of books and libraries, conferences and symposiums, prayer breakfasts and retreats and continuing education courses.

            To the left lay the riverbank-- the crowds milling about, on their way to hear this strange hermit-turned-lay-preacher John. The riverbank-- far from secular power and officialdom, but close to hope. The crowd-- awaiting a new vision, a new way of life, a new beginning, a beginning of salvation and redemption.

            It must have been a strange crowd-- it would have consisted of people who convinced that they were sinners, people who were sure that the world they lived in was no good, that their lives were no good, that they themselves were no good.  But they would also have been excited—almost joyful-- hoping and praying, believing that something drastic, something radical, something wonderful was about to happen in their lives--and in this world.

            John had been baptizing for months on end. He had been preaching and teaching, exhorting and counseling.  He’d been washing away sin after sin, ranting and raving at them to change their ways, to repent, to turn their lives around and begin to live with integrity, with decency, with faith, with generosity, and above all in a new direction.

            The Baptizer had been washing wounds-- but still the sin remained. He had been treating symptoms-- but the people's basic disease remained. And frustrated with just scratching the surface, John had begun to preach about the terrible shape the world was in. He had dared to point to the evil and corruption that ruled their lives, their nation.  He had dared to point to the evil and corruption that resided in their leaders.

            That would have just added to the feeling of expectation that continued to flourish. Something was coming-- no one knew exactly what. But they waited-- on tiptoe of expectation they waited. Until that morning, when Jesus chose to begin his public ministry with the act of Baptism. Until that morning, when he chose to live a life for others. Until that morning when he chose the people over the power structures of society.

            And so Jesus of Nazareth came to the riverbank, and knelt down in the mud to symbolize that new commitment-- that new burden that he would shoulder on behalf of the world.  By that single act, he finalized for all time his identification with the masses, with the hungry and hurting, the sin-sick and suffering. By that single act, Jesus cemented his tie with the common everyday people of this world-- people like you and me.

            Knee deep in the mud of this world-- the same tear-drenched mud that the Baptizer was trying to wash of them-- praying, hoping, repenting-- they had waited.  We can't forget that blood-soaked mud-- that mud of oppression And violence, of racism and hatred, that mud that symbolizes the pain and suffering of this world, that mud that symbolizes the evil of humanity and of humanity's history. It's very deep mud indeed, and it stinks forcibly of human misery.

            Instead of kneeling on a padded bench between flowers, Jesus knelt in the mud of headlines--school shootings and rapes, theft and oppression.  Instead of the odor of incense, he knelt down to the smell of gun-smoke-- Saturday night specials and ICBMs, assault rifles and missile sites and military bases, .357 magnums and stealth bombers and “lone” gunmen and suicide bombers. 

            Instead of in a chapel, surrounded by friends, Jesus knelt down praying on a riverbank, mired in the mud of the pain of children-- murdered in their classrooms  abused and neglected in the streets where they played, molested and unloved, starving and exploited sometimes in their very homes. That mud is very deep indeed, and it is watered with tears and blood.

            Jesus didn't have to kneel there. He of all people, had no need of a cleansing baptism. He didn't have to choose to identify so totally with the crowds in their pain and need-- with you and with me.  But he did so, freely. And when he went down into the river, and then came up, mud streaming from his hair and beard, water still in his eyes-- it happened.

            The Gospels tell us that the heavens opened-- not over Jerusalem, not over Herod's palace, not over the Temple of Solomon, or the public square. It happened over some broken bushes, over some flies and mosquitoes, over some dirty water and mud, over a crowd of peasants covered with dirt and sweat, but filled with hope, prayers, pain and expectation.

            The Holy Spirit descended upon him.  Mark says only he saw the Spirit come in the form of a dove as he stood there praying. And he heard a voice speak to him, quoting the line from the Song of the Suffering Servant from Second Isaiah, claiming him, affirming him.

            "You are my beloved Son. On you my favor rests and my soul delights."

            And with that, his ministry began. He had been acknowledged-- any questions or hesitations his human nature harbored had been put to rest. He knew without a doubt now why he was on this earth, what his role would be: Suffering Servant, Messiah, Savior, Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.

            That’s the real gift of the Spirit—to show us who we are and to help us become all that we are designed to be, by our Creator. All the spiritual gifts named in the New Testament—preaching and evangelism and speaking in tongues and the rest are given to us for one purpose and one purpose only—to equip us for mission.

            That was two thousand years ago, give or take a decade. We don't know whether Luke was right and the crowd heard that pronouncement from on high, or whether Mark was right and it was only for Jesus’ ears.  We do know from the Gospel accounts that Jesus got up from that riverbank and immediately walked into the barren, rocky Judean wilderness where he was tempted.  We do know that  after a holy period of time he came out of the desert and began his ministry among the people-- a ministry unlike any before or since.

            We know that it was a ministry of wonders--healings and exorcisms, deep teachings and marvelous preaching. We know that Jesus performed many mighty acts of deliverance, and like the Baptizer, eventually ran afoul of the powers that were. And we know that like the Baptizer, Jesus too, was eventually arrested, imprisoned and executed.

            But unlike John, Jesus' story does not end there. We affirm that, unlike John, Jesus conquered death. We believe that He rose again from the dead and returned to teach his followers and friends until He was recalled to the arms of the God He proclaimed.

            We know that his followers began to proclaim the words and work of this wonderful man to the world.  We know that the ministry of the Suffering Servant went on after His life, after His death, after his resurrection and ascension. We know that same ministry continues today in the body He left behind-- His church.

            And we know that we are all a part of that same body. And we know that we too, are called by our baptisms, to step down to the riverbank and kneel in the mud, and rise up, as He did, in unity and solidarity with suffering humanity and begin to minister to it in His name.

            That's our call. That's the key to discipleship-- to suffering service-- to faithfulness. And we believe that following Him in that manner is worth doing. Not to buy a ticket to paradise or as celestial fire insurance. But simply because that was what He did—and because He invites us to join Him in a life of loving service.

            There are many models of service, many ways of walking in His footsteps, many ways to serve after we've stepped out of the mud, been washed clean by His love.  We can serve by our choice of vocation-- responsible parenthood, nursing, teaching, preaching, helping.

            We might serve Him in our commitment to His church-- serving on a committee, singing in the choir, teaching Sunday School, ushering, greeting, visiting the home-bound, or perspective members.  We certainly serve by our tithing and giving.  We serve by our prayers for others in need around the world. And we serve by our personal commitment to modeling everyday decency, honesty, and kindness in the work-place, the classroom, and the community at large.

            The ways are many and we have two millennia of models in the saints and heroes of the faith who have preceded us. For Jesus' story hasn't ended.  The ministry that began that morning on the riverbank still goes on--through you and through me.

            He beckons to us, inviting us to follow. He calls us to serve. He invites us to minister in his name. Now.  Everyday.  Every time we encounter a brother or sister in need, every time we witness an act of injustice, every time we become aware of sufferings.

            It all began that morning on the riverbank. It continues in you and me. May we hear the call and always respond in faithfulness.    Amen.

different

"Arise, Your Light Has Come" given 1/3/16

This morning we celebrate the Feast of the Epiphany of our Lord Jesus Christ. The actual date is always January 6th of course, but we're celebrating today, since the sixth is not a Sunday this year. Epiphany is one of the least understood of the Christian holy days. For many of us, I'm afraid, it's little more than the "official" end of the Twelve Days of Christmas--and thus the day we recycle the Christmas tree.

But the Feast of the Epiphany is one of the most ancient celebrations in the life of the Church. It has a far older history than the celebration of Christmas, in fact. In many  Orthodox churches, it is still considered a more holy feast—incorporating many of the theological aspects of Advent and Christmas. In both East and West, the Feast of the Epiphany is symbolized by the visiting of Baby Jesus in the manger by the wise men, or the Magi, (also known as the three kings of Orient we just sang about).

Because the Magi were gentiles, not Jews, the church celebrates the Epiphany as the revelation of Christ as Messiah to the whole world. And that includes you and me. The feast celebrates God's choosing to show up among all of us in the person of Jesus Christ.    Epiphany then, is a celebration of the fact that we-- you and I have not been left out in the darkness. It is a celebration of the fact that the Messiah did not come only for Israel. It is a celebration of the fact that we have all been brought into the light of God’s family circle—“joint heirs”, as Paul writes. 

The story tells us that it was by the light of a star (or possibly a conjunction of planets) sent from God, that these gentile outsiders were led to the Child who would save and illumine the world.  So the Feast of the Epiphany is a festival of light—light in the midst of our annual season of darkness--a celebration of the coming of the Light of Christ into this dark and barren planet. Light is the real theme of this season.

But Epiphany is more than a midwinter feast. It’s a reminder that in Jesus Christ, we see everything in a new light—the true light of God. The world is illumined for us and we at least perceive everything--jobs, politics, economics,  relation-ships, emotions, events, even life itself in a whole new way—the way things were meant to be, the way God wants them to be, the way you and I are called to remake them. 

Light is what it's about, just as light is what the story of the Magi is all about. Astrologers from the East, magicians who followed the light of a star to a Babe in a humble manger who would light up the world.

"Arise, your light has come!" For us, with our electrically illuminated homes, our street lights, our car lights and flashlights, it's difficult to realize the full power of that symbol.  It’s rare that you and I actually find ourselves in utter and complete darkness. But for the people of the Bible, and for people right up to the beginning of the last century, the symbol of light was no doubt one of the fullest possible symbols of God's work and presence in the world.

"Arise, shine, your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen about you." wrote the prophet known as the Second Isaiah some five hundred years before the birth of the Babe in the manger. "Your word is a lamp unto my feet and a light to my path."

The Hebrew Bible is filled with the promises of light.

            "I have given you as a covenant to the peoples, a light to the nations, to open the eyes of the blind." "The Lord is my light and my salvation. Whom shall I fear?" "The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light." Light was a gift from God.  Without light, men and women and children had to face the chaos of darkness and confusion.

Young Johnny was afraid of the dark. One night his mother wanted him to go find the mop on the back porch.  The child refused. His mom asked him,

"Haven't I always told you there is nothing to be afraid of in the dark?"

"Yes," Johnny said, but still did not venture out the kitchen door.

"Johnny," his mother said, "you know that Jesus is always with you, so that you are never alone and have nothing to fear."  Johnny finally opened the back door a tiny crack, held out his hand and said,

"Jesus, will you please reach out and hand me that mop?"

So when you and I say that God is light, we are really saying that it is God's very nature to show up among us, just as it is light's very nature to shine and illumine. Light can't help but shine, and God can't help but reveal love among us.

"Arise, your light has come." Light-- by its' very nature-- cannot ever be totally confined or contained. Cover it, and it will always leak out through the cracks and crevices--seeking to spread and shine forth and illumine the world. In the same way, God-- by God's very nature-- is always shining forth, always being revealed as light and love and compassion and hope and goodness-- in a word-- as God.

And while like Moses, you and I can only bear to see God's back, or like Isaiah of Jerusalem, we can only catch a glimpse of the hem of God's robe as it fills the Temple-- we can however, see directly into the heart of our God, and know that it is faithful and just and loving.

Fight a war, oppress a people, crucify a Messiah, whatever sinful humanity does to it cover it up, the light of God's love will always spill out through the cracks and crevices of our broken lives, seeking to heal and illumine and enlighten and transform us-- and our world.

So not only is our Creator light--but that light which is very life itself has been made manifest among us frail human beings in the person of Jesus Christ. It was He that those Gentile stargazers traveled so far to worship. It was His star that guided them.

Those who beheld Him, Jew and Gentile alike, beheld the love of God in fully human form. This God who is light and love, is now and forever present with all of humanity in Him. His coming among us announces the dawning of a new day-- which will never be followed by night.

"Arise your light has come!"  In the prologue to his Gospel, John tells us that Jesus is the light of the world. But what does that mean? Ask Stephen Hawking, and he might tell you that light is the ultimate constant in the universe, that it always travels at 186,000 miles per second, that light transmits energy, radiation, and information. Ask a third-grader to put a sunbeam through a prism and you’ll see the spectrum of a rainbow.

Physics can tell us a great deal about light. But there's one thing physics or any other branch of science cannot do and that is define light. We can describe it. We can measure how fast it travels.

What is it Dr Einstein? Wave or particle? Well, it’s really a mystery you see-- sometimes it acts like one and sometimes like the other. We know it when we see it, but we can't really define or explain what it is—but would you like to know how fast it goes? . Unlike space or time, light cannot be defined over against anything else. Light simply exists. Darkness is not the opposite of light—it is the utter and total absence of light.

In the creation story found in Genesis 1, the very word of creation first spoken by the Sovereign God Yahweh is “Let there be light.” Before anything else in all of creation

could come into being—light was necessary. 

            So when Jesus says in John’s Gospel "I am the light of the world"? He does not simply mean that He is the light at the end of the tunnel. He does not simply mean that if everyone lit just one little candle what a bright world this would be. He does not even necessarily mean that when the paramedics finally give up on us, our souls will lift off the gurney and float down a long passageway toward a white light.

Jesus Christ is not just one of a thousand points of light glowing in the shadows of night, or a little light we're gonna let shine, or a lighthouse on the rocks, or a guide through the darkness or a light on the question, or a ray of hope that briefly illumines our dark world. True as they are, none of those images are enough. Light itself is far more than anyone of these. Jesus Christ is more than all of them, far more.

Jesus Christ is the radiating, life-sustaining light of all creation, who comes in power and glory like the sun bursting forth on the horizon.  In Him, a new dawn has broken--one that will illumine our lives, our relationships, our world, the very cosmos itself.  He is the Sun of Righteousness that the prophet Malachi promised. He is the promised One who will come with healing in His wings.

Old Simeon in the Temple knew who the child was-

"A light to enlighten the Gentiles, and to be the glory of God's people, Israel."

Jesus is the very morning light of the world, simply because he reveals for us at last, clearly, the loving, human face of our Maker. As He said of Himself in the Upper Room,  "Anyone who sees me has also seen God the Eternal Parent."

 Jesus Christ is the light of the world because in His life and ministry and sacrifice and resurrection we see once and for all the fullness of the Creator's love for creation. Jesus Christ is the light of that very same creation because only in Him and His love can humankind find rationality and justice and purpose in this tragic and confused and fragmented existence we call our earthly life.

Jesus is the light of the life of men and women because only in His service can you and I find hope and peace and ultimate meaning in our own lives and hearts.  Only in His service, do you and I have the opportunity to light our own tiny corner of the world with acts of love and compassion and justice.   Only in him can you and I find illumination for the deepest darkness of our own hearts

I have a friend, a man who has been progressively losing his vision, due to a work related injury.  Since he was self-employed, he did not qualify for Workman’s Comp. He went from prosperity to poverty. After his injury, my friend lost not only his sight but his way of making a living, and then his home, his financial security, his business, and  his marriage, his relationship with his children, his respect for women, his faith in humanity, and his own self-respect.  For a while he wallowed in anger. For a while he became a callous seducer of young women. For a while he wallowed in self-pity.

But somehow, he did not lose his determination or his spirit or his humor. He has continued to become progressively sightless it’s true. He ain’t Helen Keller, yet.

He still has a long way to go in life.  Like most of us, he’s still a lot more sinner than a saint. But he has not allowed any of that to blind him to possibility, to growth, to open-ness. He went back to college in his fifties and in the process of finishing his degree—became a tireless advocate against bureaucratic callousness and mentor for younger students struggling with physical challenges in the academic world due to.

He got involved with a church, and with the self-help movement. One day he realized that the young women he’d been chasing and using so carelessly were the same age his daughters—they were all somebody’s daughter. Would I want someone like me going out with my daughters? He asked himself. And so he stopped chasing young co-eds.

Slowly, my friend has made a new life for himself—a life of purpose and hope, built around growth in Spirit and around service to others. Slowly over the past few years, he had redefined his life and it’s mission around sharing and educating others about what he called his “own journey into darkness”. 

And that service to others and to self, I saw gradually him finding the Christ-light of healing and reconciliation and self-knowledge-- growing emotionally and physically and spiritually more healthy each day. He might not use that sort of “religious talk” to describe the process, but that is what has happened. (he’s now a Unitarian and they don’t talk that way.) Out of a journey into darkness, he found illumination.

I haven’t seen him in several years—but the last message I received from him was a wedding invitation—to a woman who was too old to be his daughter—but old enough to be his wife..

For as the old Gospel song reminds us, about our Lord,

 "…In Him there is no darkness, no darkness at all."

 "Arise, your light has come." Let us present ourselves to Christ Jesus this morning in humble love and adoration. Let us come forward to His Table to be fed and nurtured by the Bread of Heaven and the Cup of Salvation. Let us open our hearts and lives to him that we may find ourselves enlightened and empowered and inspired to go forth as vessels of His love, as followers and channels of His light to illumine and transform our own dark world.  Amen.