Isaiah 43:1—7; Psalm 29; Acts 8:14—17; Luke 3:15—17, 21—22

If you want to know what kind of a God we’re dealing with here, think about the Scripture we just heard:

With the psalmist, we ascribe to the Lord glory and strength…the voice of the Lord is powerful and full of majesty. The voice of the Lord is loud and clear enough to break the cedars of Lebanon — and to break through the heavens and announce that Jesus is “God’s Son, the Beloved; with whom God is well pleased.”

And then, if you can, imagine that this is the same God that in that loud and clear and booming strength willingly submits to pain, humiliation, and death — out of love for the very people that reject him.

Imagine, if you can, that even as God brings Jesus to birth, watches him grow as a child, and presides over his baptism with an exclamation of love, that, at the same time, God knows that getting involved so intimately with our world inevitably means suffering and dying here.

Imagine, if you can, at the point that Jesus is most faithful to his mission — as he even suffers for what he believes — it’s at that point that he appears most alone and abandoned.

It’s hard — at least for me — to imagine these things at the same time. It’s hard because the way I expect God to work is in ways that appear glorious and powerful, not by suffering and sacrificing.

Maybe this is why John the Baptist says:

I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. (Luke 3.16 NRSV)

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The people of God that we read about in the book of Isaiah learned about this the hard way. For too long, it had become easy or convenient to believe simply that when things were going well, God was on their side, and when things weren’t…it just meant they had to shape up a little bit, and God would return.

This kind of theology no longer worked though when the kingdom of Israel was utterly defeated and the temple destroyed. All outward appearances indicated that God had departed…that God was no longer there. After all, how could God be powerful and glorious and abide his people’s suffering?

Just when it seemed that God had abandoned them, the people of Israel heard this message:

“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.” (Isaiah 43.1–2 NRSV)

They came to know that God hadn’t abandoned them…God was with them in their struggles, in their defeat. And that God would continue with them. They would not be getting out of their ‘baptism of fire’…but they would get through it.

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Our Gospel text today reminds us about the baptism that we share with Jesus. It’s more than just something we have in common. Paul puts in bluntly in Romans, ch. 6:

“Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?” (Romans 6.3 NRSV)

Yes, baptism is more than a sign that you’re an official Christian. Baptism is joining your life and death to God who is willing to join you there.

And as hard to imagine as it may seem…this is where God is most clearly revealed to us…not in the majesty of mountains, the strength of earthquakes, or the flash of lightning…but in the willingness to take on the suffering that we go through. Not just to stand next to us, but to stand in it with us. To take on vulnerability, to take on pain. God is revealed not in strength, but in sharing our weakness.

[Story about Jonathan]

Baptism is not a get-out-of-jail card. It doesn’t save you from sorrow. It doesn’t free you from pain. But it invites God into the midst of it — as close as your own hands — and there is no depth, no distance you can go that Christ won’t follow.

It turns out there is something more powerful than glory and holy splendor. More powerful than thunder and crashing waves, earthquake and fire.

There is only one thing more powerful than the forces of nature and inevitability of suffering and death — God’s self-giving love for the world.

It’s a love that frees us to turn and do the same. When we hear, and through faith, believe, the promise that God has claimed us by name, we are set free to also be bold, self-giving, courageous. We are set free to get some skin in the game, to care, to share without having to fear that we may lose our place, lose our safety, lose our identity…

What would you do with that kind of freedom?

What would your neighbors say about you if you began to live your life totally unafraid to risk giving of yourself so that those around you might have what they need?

This is the kind of life that is possible for those who have been baptized in God’s family. It’s possible not because of your great strength or your perfect track record, but because you belong to God.

Our identity comes from God who created us, who calls us by name, and who loves us enough to risk suffering and death so that we might have breath as we pass through the waters and peace as we walk through fire.

Isaiah 60:1-6; Psalm 72:1-7, 10-14; Ephesians 3:1-12; Matthew 2:1-12

Arise, shine; for your light has come. And, why is the Bible talking about camels? No, not the camels that the Wise Men may or may not have ridden into town. The camels from Midian and Ephah and Sheba.

I’m thinking of our first reading, from the book of Isaiah, and what it might mean for us today — in a time and place that we don’t see a whole lot of camels.

The section of Isaiah that we read today begins with those wonderful words, “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.”…and this whole section, had we read it after the preceding chapters in Isaiah, would have been somewhat surprising since all this light and shining comes right in the midst of great darkness.

To briefly catch you up on history, the Assyrians and Babylonians invade and conquer Israel. Not only do they win the military battle and the political battle, but they also completely destroy the temple in Jerusalem. For the people of Israel this would have been an indescribable trauma — it would have felt like the end of their religion.

At this point, the people of Israel get split up: those that are captured and taken away in exile…and those that remain…both under Babylonian control. The people of God are split up and demoralized but they don’t give up. Different camps come to differing opinions about what to do and how to respond to this traumatic shaking of their faith.

Some of God’s people thought that this terrible thing, the destruction of Israel, had happened because they weren’t following the rules closely enough. They had allowed too many outsiders in…they had become impure. Their solution was to circle the wagons and try harder. And that meant excluding anyone who didn’t seem to be a ‘pure’ child of Israel.

The folks responsible for this section of Isaiah, though, had a different response. They believed the way forward was not in what they could do, but in what God could do. Arise, your light has come. The glory of God will lift you up and restore you to greatness — even before you figure it all out — God will take action.

And for this group of believers, the light, the glory of God would expand so powerfully that rather than excluding people, more and more people would be included in the vision. Foreigners and other folks that had previously been excluded by the rules of the scriptures themselves will now be declared welcome to come worship in the temple. People from all over will stream to a rebuilt Jerusalem on camels — this is where the camels come in — a traffic jam of camels drawn out of the darkness into the light. That is Isaiah’s vision for God rescuing the people after a devastating loss.

In the midst of a great challenge, the people of Israel were being drawn to understand God in a new way. Out of darkness they were called to new light.

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Now flash forward 500 years to the time of Jesus’ birth…the people of God live in a different kind of darkness. They are technically free to worship God in the rebuilt temple, but Herod, their appointed leader, is much more of a politician than a person of faith. Faith in God is barely tolerated in the Empire, and only then if you play along nicely with King Herod. Yet, as we hear in today’s Gospel…when the news comes out that the Messiah — the real King — has been born, all the people of Jerusalem become afraid along with Herod. It makes a lot of sense why Herod would be afraid: he can’t remain in power if a true King is around. But why would the rest of the people share his fear?

Maybe they are afraid that any disruption to the current power system will result in the Roman authorities cracking down on their right to worship God. Or, maybe they’ve just grown comfortable. “The devil you know is better than the one you don’t,” right?

The Gospel writer wants us to see that God is ready to do a new thing, but many people just aren’t interested in a new thing, or — are even scared of a new thing. Matthew is telling his listeners that their understanding of God needs to expand again. But that can be a scary thing.

And so it happens that just about the only the people who do realize that God is doing something new are total outsiders who don’t live under Herod’s rule and who don’t even call themselves Jews. The Wise Men, the Magi, travel great distances to see what God’s own people couldn’t or wouldn’t recognize in their own backyard. The birth of Emmanuel — God with us.

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These epiphanies in Scripture, these moments when God’s people are given new understandings of God and God’s relationship with us, are so important because they remind us now that we, too, have only a limited understanding of what God is doing, that there is more for us to discover, that God is always greater than our “understanding of God.”

The Bible is much more than a rulebook for life. It’s an ongoing story of God constantly surprising the people that follow him…constantly stretching us to see a deeper and wider vision for just how much God cares for the world.

So, what devils do we put up with? In what ways have we grown too comfortable with the way that life is? How have we limited our vision for a love that God wants to expand? To whom have we limited this vision?

[“Crawling out of the woodwork” story]

Arise, shine, your light has come. God will continue to surprise us with Grace. Unexpected joy that we did not earn, did not create ourselves. We can’t earn it, but we can share it.

Arise, shine, because the light that God brings out of darkness reaches beyond us, beyond our understanding, beyond our comfort zones to draw us together with those we don’t expect. Those who have previously been left out, those called impure, those whom we hope might crawl out of the woodwork.

Arise, shine, because God’s light is bright enough to give us everything we need, to show us the way, even when when our own vision is narrow, and our understanding is limited.

Isaiah 9:2-7; Psalm 96; Titus 2:11-14; Luke 2:1—20

Christ the Savior is born on a Silent, Holy night. For most of us, probably, this is a familiar story. A comfortable one about the Son of God, love’s pure light, sleeping in heavenly peace on the night of his birth. (Though, as a parent of a toddler, I’m really suspicious of silent, heavenly peace when it comes from a child.)

But I’m also really attracted to the story of a peaceful, serene night, when Mary and Joseph and these other strangers that get wrapped up into the Christmas story must have all known in that moment that everything was going to be OK. Destructive toddlers aside, I have had the experience of holding newborns and knowing that at least this part of the world is good and pure and wonderful. As a pastor, I get the privilege of holding babies at their baptism. It has a way of fixing your perspective on just about anything.

The beauty and serenity of the Silent Night almost makes you wish we didn’t have to read the actual Gospel that we just read because the words that are in it also remind us of the parts of life that are not so serene.

Just two verses into the Christmas story in Luke and we get:

“This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria.” (Luke 2:2 NRSV)

Why, year after year, do we have to read about some governor whose name nobody can pronounce, and that nobody even cares about, and why, this year, do we have to hear about Syria…a country that has been in the news a lot recently? Syria is a place that, for us, is mostly associated with terrorists, with beheadings, with war. Wouldn’t it be easier just to skip that part — to just have one night that we don’t have to talk about stuff like that?

I mean…it’s Christmas Eve! We’re in church! Christ the Savior is born! For Christmas’ sake, can’t we skip that stuff?

I want a Silent Night…but the text of the Gospel gets real. It talks about politicians. It talks about places where there has been, and still is, unrest. Of all places, it talks about Syria, from which today millions of people are fleeing as refugees.

Luke’s Good News story also mentions Augustus, the Roman emperor at the time. Because the late Julius Caesar was considered a god of Rome and because Augustus had been adopted by him, he actually called himself the ‘Son of God.’ As emperor, he was portrayed as a deity. This is who was leading the world at the time — a man who thought he was a god. It’s no accident that our beautiful Gospel story lists the emperor by name right at the very beginning — he was very much a part of the real world when this took place.

And believe it or not, this is where we begin to find the Good News for us. Because just like Mary and Joseph and the shepherds, we, also, live in the real world. Even though it would be really nice tonight to pretend that all the challenges of our world didn’t exist, it would be just that: pretend.

Of course the Christmas story is about a God of joy and peace and hope. About newborns and gifts and laughter. But the Christmas story is also about the real world. We also need a God that helps us deal with cancer, depression, losing a job, getting a divorce.

When the world gets real, we need a God that does, too. The Christmas story is about God getting real. This story is about God breaking through the barrier between what is and what should be and entering the real world in the last place we’d expect but maybe the only way we could ever understand…as a child.

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One of the weird things about the Christmas story — maybe the most weird thing — is how specific it is. Do you ever think about that? That, of all the times and places to get real, God chose the Ancient Middle East — that particular time and place — to do it.

Because our culture is so different from the one that Jesus was born into, it seems weirder and weirder that we still tell this story about the savior of the world being born in what was a mostly boring town of Bethlehem in what is now modern day Palestine. It could almost seem embarrassing that Jesus came to that one particular time. But hear these words of the Gospel:

“… the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” (Luke 2.10–11 NRSV)

God’s love for all the world begins with love for its specifics. God doesn’t love ‘everyone’…God loves each one. God doesn’t love you ‘in general’…God loves you specifically.

This truth becomes challenging for us even to imagine because it means that God loves each person with that radical particularity — whether we have the heart for it or not. We are called to share what we have and to share God’s concern for each of these neighbors…even ones we don’t want to have to care about.

God loves each person that we see struggling in the world. God loves each refugee fleeing violence and poverty in today’s Syria. And most challenging of all…God also loves the people chasing them.

It’s one thing to say that God loves our enemies and other to say that God loves our specific enemies.

That’s hard. In other words, God doesn’t just ‘love your enemies’…God loves your Aunt Lindsay who always has to ruin your family get-togethers with her drama. And God loves your boss Michael who’s always nitpicking your grammar. God even loves your least favorite presidential candidate. God specifically loves the people that want to bring you harm.

It messes with us that God loves those people, so specifically. But it also means that God specifically loves…you, too.

God loves you in particular. In your time and place. Since the day that you were born. (Even if you weren’t born in a manger.) Your particular strengths and gifts. Your particular quirks. You, in particular.

This is the good news of great joy for you, me, and our whole world; this is news that, when you hear it, you’ll just know in that moment that everything really is going to be okay:

To you — yes, you! — is born this day — today, now — in your life — in your household — a savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.

Micah 5:2-5; Luke 1:46-55; Hebrews 10:5-10; Luke 1:39-55

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It begins privately. Quietly.

Sometimes it’s easy to forget this story — this prequel to the Christmas story — comes from an age before tabloids and email and Facebook and Social Media…it’s rare, almost indecent that we, as listeners, are eavesdropping on this private conversation between two ancient women about their pregnancies. In the culture of Elizabeth and Mary, you did not talk about wombs in public.

But Mary’s was no typical pregnancy, was it? (Well, maybe there is no such thing as a typical pregnancy.) But Mary had found herself bearing the child that seemed to come from nowhere…except she had been visited by an messenger of God that told her not to be afraid, and that the child she would bear would be none other than the Savior of the Nations.

Another thing that you didn’t do back then was travel alone as a woman without an official reason, like a religious festival. But off Mary goes — something told her she needed to go out and visit her relative Elizabeth. Mary knows something miraculous is happening within her. And Elizabeth knows too because when they greet each other they experience some kind of womb-to-womb communication.

When Elizabeth tells Mary that she, too, senses the miracle occurring, Mary can do nothing other than break into song. Sometimes music is the only way we can convey the depth of what’s happening in our soul. So Mary sings. But…the words she sings are incredible:

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord. My spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; (Luke 1.48)

She proclaims that God has done something amazing. God has chosen an unlikely person to be a part of this new thing that God was up to.

But her song doesn’t stop there.

She sings of the God that not only lifts up the lowly servants like Mary, but brings down the proud and stubbornly powerful so that all may become equals as humans. Those who have hoarded or wasted supply what is needed for those who are hungry. God breaks down every dividing wall to preserve justice and mercy for all the beloved as a continuation of a promise that God made long ago, and intends to keep forever and ever.

And all of this from…young, unknown Mary. God’s most precious message to the world is borne by someone whom that same world would describe as weak and unimportant. What God does within her proves what true power is.

God’s salvation starts small, in the womb of a poor, young woman. And the transformation that happened within that young woman changed the world forever.

I think this is the pattern for how God renews the world today.

If there’s one thing we know, it’s that the world needs to be renewed. Just watch the news, right? Is there any part of our world that doesn’t need to be transformed? From politics to poverty to our own prognoses…the world around us…and within us…is dying to be renewed. And just like in the time that Jesus was born, power — and the power to make the necessary changes — in our world is not shared equally among all people.

And doesn’t it always seem like power is in the wrong hands? That the people who have the greatest ability to fix things are the ones who do the least to change?

We had a good conversation last week at our church council meeting about how to faithfully respond to difficult questions like the classic, ‘why do bad things happen to good people?’ And what can we do or say about the endless supply of problems in our world? How do we respond? What do we tell children?

At some point, you’ve probably felt this sense of hopelessness. I have. Even when we think we know what God wants for our world…what chance does any one of us have at making it happen in the face of all the evil and misplaced power in the world? What chance do we have?

But really we should ask: what chance did Mary have to change the world? Maybe none. But…she was given the chance to be a part of God’s transformation of the world. She allowed herself to be transformed first, and the world came along with it. In her small corner of the world, in her almost powerless position in society, she was changed by God, and she bore Christ into the world.

Mary had every right and reason to give up hope that the miracle that she was called to nurture inside of her could even be possible. The world should not have allowed it to happen. But in letting herself be changed, the whole world was changed in the process.

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This reminds me of the language we use in baptism and confirmation. I have said these words to dozens of confirmation-age teenagers. Young folks, by the way, who are right at the same age that Mary may have been when she gave birth to Jesus.

These are the words we use:

“You have made public profession of your faith. Do you intend to continue in the covenant God made with you in holy baptism:

• to live among God’s faithful people,
• to hear the word of God and share in the Lord’s supper,
• to proclaim the good news of God in Christ through word and deed,
• to serve all people, following the example of Jesus,
• and to strive for justice and peace in all the earth?”¹

Because of the new life in Baptism, each of us is called to transformation. It seems simple at first. A little bit of water. A church to belong to. A meal to eat and to share. But as baptism works on us, it spirals outward. It calls us to be a part of transformation much bigger than just our individual selves. It calls us to be changed for the sake of all the earth.

In our Gospel story, God took someone whom the world said had a pretty narrow and limited calling and gave her a new one. It became Mary’s calling to bear Christ into this world.

It doesn’t end with Mary. It is also our calling to bear Christ into this world, as well. To be transformed ourselves…and then to be a part of God’s transformation of this world — starting from the simple things and ending with justice and peace throughout all the earth.

Zephaniah 3:14-20, Isaiah 12:2-6, Philippians 4:4-7, Luke 3:7-18

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Some days you’re the axe, and some days you’re the tree. (I was going to start with, “some days you feel like an axe,” but I thought you might have misheard me.) Depending on how you’re feeling today, you might hear today’s readings as either hopeful…or scary.

Today’s readings challenge our stereotypes of the Bible a little because we hear two hopeful, life—giving passages from the Old Testament, and then turn to the Gospel and hear about snakes. “You brood of vipers!”

John the Baptist is showing some tough love to folks that apparently willingly came out to hear him preach. And he calls them snakes. Then he warns them to bear fruit worthy of repentance. And then he tells them about the axe. The axe is lying at the root of the trees; and that every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.

I imagine that every man, woman, and child that heard John thought together…”is he talking about me? How’s my tree doing? Is it bearing fruit?” Hm. And just in case any there thought they could get off easy, John anticipates their responses by saying, “Don’t begin to say to yourselves, ‘we have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham.” In other words, your particular blood line does not let you off the hook for bearing fruit, for repenting, for doing the right thing. You don’t get off the hook based on what your last name is, based on what church you belong to, based on which political party you are registered to…whatever…you are required to repent and bear fruit.

No exceptions. And the ax is lying at the root of the tree.

At this point, everyone listening to John probably wished that he had just recited some nice passages from the Hebrew scriptures instead of bringing this message about judgment, repentance, stones, and fruit. Oh, and axes!

But John just brings it. You know those people who love to tell the truth bluntly without worrying about whether it’s nice or not? That’s John. And…he’s right! God creates us, gives us life, calls us for a reason…it’s to bear fruit, not to rest on our laurels.

All the baptized are called to be co-workers in the Kingdom. To bear fruit.

Fine, you might say…if I were a little more secure, then I could bear fruit…if I just knew more about the Bible, then I could bear fruit…if my parents had brought me to church more, then I could bear fruit…if I didn’t have to be so busy, then I could bear more fruit. Ah, see? We have excuses, too. Have you ever used one of those? I have.

If I were just…this—-whatever ‘this’ is…God could use me. Well, guess what? If you were a stone God could use you.

Whatever your excuse is, whether you feel like a tree ready to bear fruit, or a tree ready to get the axe, God can bring new life though you. God can bring new life through rocks.

When those descendants of Abraham first heard John say that God could raise up new children from stones, it was probably pretty offensive for them to hear. It’s like finding out that the whole world doesn’t quite think you’re as special as your mom says you are. I mean, if God can do great things with a bunch of rocks, that kind of bursts my special bubble. But, when the call to repent, to turn and bear fruit seems impossible…when you hit a dead end, trapped between a rock and a hard place…when you find yourself feeling about as good as a bunch of stones, it will be good news to know that God raises up rocks.

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“What, then, should we do?” That’s what the crowd asked John the Baptist. Apparently his message got through to them. But John’s answers to their questions are — and I guess we should have seen coming — surprising.

They asked, ‘what should we do,’ and I would have expected a great call to go out to the ends of the earth and right every wrong…I mean, wouldn’t that be bearing great fruit? Solve world peace. Go to the moon, go cure cancer. Instead John answers, “if you have two coats, share one with your neighbor. Oh, and if you have extra food, just, yeah, do that same thing, but with food instead of coats.”

That’s an anticlimactic answer.

Tax collectors ask, ‘what should we do?’ And John responds, ‘collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.’ In other words, do you regular job without cheating.

Soldiers ask him, ‘what should we do?’ And John responds, ‘do not extort money by threats or false accusation.’ In other words, do you regular job, without greed or abuse.

John doesn’t tell them to live a different life. He tells them to live their own life differently. Tax collectors and soldiers would not have been popular jobs at the time. And based on his habit of speaking the truth to power, John had to suspect that a solider just might just be the end of him. But still, he doesn’t tell them to change jobs…to quit their day job and join the Peace Corps, or go to seminary…he tells them to live the life that they already have, but to do it with generosity and concern for others. To bear fruit in the ground in which they are already planted.

See, what John could see about the Kingdom was the real power that drew people out into the wilderness to hear him preaching, even when he preached tough love. His message was this: the Kingdom of God is near. It was near to them. It is near to us.

And so is our mission…not in some land of ‘should haves,’ excuses, or hypotheticals but right here and now. In our lives, close to us. Within reach. Sometimes even as simple as sharing an extra coat with someone who has none.

The Kingdom of God is as near as you and I, in our lives, today, tomorrow, bearing fruit, doing the right thing wherever we are.

Bear fruit worthy of repentance. God demands it. But don’t worry, God makes fruit out of stones.

Malachi 3:1-4, Luke 1:68-79, Philippians 1:3-11, Luke 3:1-6

“Where do we look for God today?” That’s the first question that my preacher’s instinct told me to ask (if there is such a thing as Preacher’s Instinct). But then, I thought maybe I should take a step back, without assuming anything and ask first:

Are we looking for God today?

More and more people than ever before in our country’s history are choosing not to participate in any church. And lots of folks who are in churches seem to be just going through the motions…maybe no longer expecting to see any kind of sign of God. It might be tempting to assume that we aren’t looking for God.

But then life happens…there are natural disasters, there are mass shootings, there is personal loss…and we find ourselves, some of us who are religious and some who are not…we find ourselves looking for God.

I think lots of folks are still looking for God…just maybe not at church. But still, desperately looking.

This is the kind of looking that I imagine the people in the Gospel were doing. Looking for God during a time of uncertainty and crisis. Looking for God during a time of violence; looking for God who promised to be with the people of Israel, yet the temple had been destroyed once before, and it was about to be destroyed again.

And in that time, as the Gospel tells us, the time of Emperor Tiberius, in the time of local political leaders, in the time of high priest religious leaders, the Word of the Lord — the power and presence of God — did come…but it came to John the Baptist in the wilderness.

That was unexpected.

In that particular time, and that particular place, the Word of God showed up not among the most powerful rulers, but to John the Baptist, a strange person who was an outsider in every sense of the word, preaching what he believed…outside, out there, in the wilderness.

He had an outsider’s message, too. Certainly no one in charge wanted to hear about a ‘baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.’ You might think that forgiveness of sins doesn’t sound like such a bad thing…but believing in it means accepting that you need forgiveness for sins. Which you may not want to admit.

John the Baptist is also quoting from the book of Isaiah. It’s a beautiful piece of poetry — particularly if you like the music from Godspell:

“‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God” (Luke 3.4–6 NRSV)

Although beautiful, this scripture becomes more challenging when you realize that it’s not just talking about the crooked paths and rough ways ‘out there.’ But also the valleys and dark places of your own hearts.

It was challenging then, and it’s challenging now. God’s Word is coming to the hills and the valleys. To the weak and the strong. For the religious-looking folks and the not-so-religious-looking folks. And no one has a monopoly on God’s Word.

I’ve become very skeptical whenever I hear someone (or hear myself) say, “those people need God.” Or, “if those people would just act more like Christians, that would make things better.” Or, “if we really want to solve this problem in our country, those people just need to do this better.”

Those statements all assume that I have the Word of God, and the people that frustrate me don’t.

But, think of the characters who are a part of this Good News story…from the religious leaders, to the political leaders, to the regular folks, to the faithful folks…some of them cooperate better than others, but all are surprised and caught off-guard by God’s actions. Even John the Baptist, playing the role he was called to do, did not fully understand the amazing thing that God was doing by sending the Word to come live among us, to suffer with us, to die with us, and to give us new life.

That was unexpected, and somehow, it still is.

As we wait for the Word to be revealed to us in new ways…where do we expect to find it?

And where do we know, for sure, that we can find it? After all, God is not always mysterious or impossible to understand…in fact, God has promised us to be present in particular places:

• “Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.” When I need God, I need to gather with others in God’s name and then God will be there…but…so will those other people.
• Jesus promises to really be present when we gather around the table and share bread and wine in his name…but we don’t get to say who’s allowed at that table. And Jesus is always inviting others…
• We are promised the saving presence and forgiveness of Christ in our baptism…but that baptism is a call to become a new creation.

When we look for God in these places, God will be there. But on God’s terms, not ours. Indeed, God promises to answer our call, to send the Word, to be found, to be present…but God also reserves the right to not do it in the way we expect, God reserves the right to leave the door open for strangers, too, and to transform us in the process.

As Christians, we share this story about a God who does a new thing. And for the sake of our lives, and for the world around us, we hope and pray that God does do a new thing. God knows we need it.

And though it may surprise us, and though it may come unexpectedly…God has chosen us to be a part of that new thing. To be agents of that new thing in this world.

God’s Word is challenging. It calls us to admit our failings and our need for God. But then it empowers us to proclaim the Good News in Christ, that began before the world was formed, has already been at work in our lives, and the lives of others, and promises a peace that we can find nowhere else.

The truth is that whether or not you are looking for God, God’s Word is looking for you. It will not leave you alone. It will not let you stay the same. It will change you. It will give you life.

Jeremiah 33:14-16, Psalm 25:1-10, 1 Thessalonians 3:9-13, Luke 21:25-36

Isn’t it nice to finish up a long holiday weekend, and the unofficial beginning of the winter holiday season, by going to church and hearing a nice reading from scripture about the end of the world? Distress, confusion, and fainting from fear and foreboding?

Actually, it doesn’t matter when — it’s never easy to hear these apocalyptic texts from the Bible that talk about the end of the world. It just seems so — weird. Why did they talk about that so much?

It’s ironic, because as modern humans, we actually do have the ability and amount of firepower to end all life on the planet. We’re just a few nuclear codes away from actually bringing about the end of the world — but we don’t go around talking about it like some of these biblical authors do. In fact, for the most part, we try not to even think about.

I’d guess most of you were not thinking about the End of Days as you took your place in the pews this morning. But then right as we start gearing up for a nice Christmas season with familiar sights and Silent Nights, we get Jesus talking about the roaring of the sea, the heavens being shaken, and the end of the world.

Yikes. One thing that comforts me as I try to deal with these jarring biblical texts is to remember a quote often attributed to Martin Luther:

“If I knew that tomorrow was the end of the world, I would plant an apple tree today.”

This is an amazing thing to say for a couple reasons:

• no fear or anxiety
• not “what to be afraid of tomorrow” but “how to live today”
• this world matters
• what we do in this world matters to God who so loves the cosmos

But then again, you might wonder about even that when Jesus says:

“Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.” (Luke 21.32–33 NRSV)

Why care for the earth or the people on it when it’s all going to pass away some day anyways? And more troubling…Jesus seemed to think the end was coming in that very same generation.

Well, in a sense, every generation faces the end of the world. Everything that we buy, we will someday lose. Everything that we practice, we will someday forget. Everything that we build will someday break down. And that includes ourselves. Everything that has ever come together, in heaven or on earth, will someday come apart — except for the word of God…but that’s it, Jesus says. Nothing else will last.

Why plant a tree if everything passes away? Why do anything? There’s no point.

Unless…what we do and who we are is planted in the word of God which does stand forever. “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.” If we are joined to the Word of God, we can be a part of something that doesn’t ever break down or expire. And in Jesus — in the One who says, ‘be alert. Pay attention’ — we are invited to join ourselves to the Word.

With everything that comes and goes in this life, it’s a good thing to have roots. It’s a good thing to be tied to something that lasts. Not something of our doing, but of God’s doing. It is good to be planted in the promise of God who makes all things new, even as the world is crashing down around us.

With roots like that, there is a freedom not to be afraid. And even if the world was ending tomorrow, you could afford to plant a tree today.

What does planting trees look like for us?

• guess it could be planting a literal tree
• it looks like sitting and praying beside the dying even at the very end
• it looks like standing up for things and people that the rest of the world says do not matter
• it looks like caring for our neighbors, even if they have nothing to offer in return

Some of the trees we plant will last longer than we will. The children we bless will outlive us, too. As a congregation, together, we have a chance to bless children, families, adults, our community. We have a mission to connect ourselves and others to the Gospel that does not pass away.

So despite the changing world around us, and despite our own failings, we can be about the business of hearing and doing God’s Word. And our responses to the Word will be the trees that we plant.

So when Jesus tells us to be alert for the end of the world, I say we hear it like Martin Luther did: without fear or anxiety. Without running away or giving up. But believing in God’s Word and then planting ourselves in it, so that everything we do can be filled with the grace of God.

Let’s start planting trees like there is no tomorrow.

Daniel 7:9-10, 13-14; Psalm 93; Revelation 1:4-8; John 18:33-37

I remember when my dad would talk about how things would be different if he were King for a day. Often it involved the interpretation of particular rules of Major League Basketball. (“If I was King for a day, you wouldn’t be able to take four and a half steps on your way to dunking the basketball.”)

How would things be different if you were King for the day?

Maybe your kingly actions would have more important subjects than basketball. For example, if you could command an entire nation of people with just a word, what would you do about terrorist attacks? ISIS? Millions of refugees fleeing from war and poverty?

Maybe at the thought of that terrible responsibility, you’d turn down being the ruler. Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.

OK, so we may not want the job. But it is natural to yearn for a king, a ruler with authority that can fight our enemies and correct the problems of our world.

• two apocalyptic texts (Daniel, Revelation) today that share the theme that God will send a King, an anointed one.
• both text mention others, other nations, other languages, other cultures

In the Gospel of John, Jesus deals with the issue of kingship directly. The people of his world also yearned for a ruler, a king. Their problem was that they could only think of this kingdom in terms of human rulers. And human rulers all maintain their power in basically the same way:

• use violence …
• threaten violence … (big enough stick) …

Still today we see this way of power at work. There are those who look to increase their power by terrorizing others like the attacks in Paris, Beirut, Egypt, and Mali. To try to restrain evil in the world, we have our own armies, and pray that if we act justly, we can reduce violence instead of just adding to it.

As Jesus tells Pilate, in his kingdom, there is a different way of being.

Jesus points to a kingdom, and a ‘way of being’ not based on force, but on forgiveness. Not based on violence, but truth. Not to take life, but to offer it. In the Kingdom of God, love is more important than winning.

Jesus says his kingdom is not from here. But it is here. Side by side with our own broken kingdoms of power. And so we live in this weird in-between time where we can be filled with hope by God’s word but also filled with fear by images of violence and pain.

We live in a world in which both kingdoms are at work. So what looks like right is often wrong. And what looks like weakness can be great strength. It can be difficult to know how to live in between these kingdoms, especially when we are threatened by violence, like the terrorist attacks that have recently filled our TV screens.

Theologian Brian McClaren’s Terrorism Trilemma:¹

1. Denial (Not my problem.)
2. Transmission (Revenge, scapegoating.)
3. Transformation (Love your enemies. Turn the other cheek.)

As a nation, it’s a hard and complicated task to figure out how to best respond to this kind of hatred. But each of us, also, has to respond as an individual. When we can encounter hatred, we can deny it. Pass it on. Or be transformed.

Transformation requires bold, courageous love. The way that Jesus loved us, even as we hung him on a cross under a sign that mocked him for being a king.

The way of life that Jesus calls us to is not easy. But maybe the hardest part of being transformed is believing that forgiveness is for our enemies, too.

From Revelation:

“Look! He is coming with the clouds; every eye will see him, even those who pierced him; and on his account all the tribes of the earth will wail. So it is to be. Amen.” (Revelation 1.7 NRSV)

Every eye will see the King. Even the ones that pierced him. The good news of Jesus is for those who hate. The kingdom of God even comes for those that reject Jesus. And the kingdom of God also comes for us who love Jesus, but struggle to follow him. Especially with the turning of the other cheek to our enemies.

As long as we live in this world, there will be enemies. There will be pain. And we, too, will be a part of it.

None of us will ever get to be king — even for a day. But we know someone who is. Jesus invites us to a way of living together that has a different kind of power. Jesus invites us to live in a kingdom that resists violence and hate, even as it goes on around us. Even as it is committed against us. Even as it is committed by us.

The Kingdom of God is at work in this world when we are transformed by God to love as we have been loved. To forgive as we have been forgiven. To see beloved neighbors even in the faces of those who mean us harm. Not to run from them. Not to hate them back. But to show love to them.

And we can. Not because we’re stronger, or have bigger armies. But because even when we were enemies of God, God first loved us.

1 Kings 17:8-16; Psalm 146; Hebrews 9:24-28; Mark 12:38-44

If you’ve ever heard someone talk about the widow’s mite…this is where it comes from.

And the traditional telling is all about how even though this faithful widow gives what looks like a small amount, she is actually giving more than everyone else because it’s all of what she has left.

I think this telling of the story is true…but it’s really only part of the story…and the section of the Gospel of Mark that we’ve heard today is helpful because it connects what Jesus is saying about the generosity of the widow with what he said right before he points her out to the disciples. Because it’s related. Just before Jesus highlights the actions of the widow, he points out the actions of the Scribes. He’s warning the disciples about those who are religious leaders, who wear long robes, who say long prayers, who sit in the best seat in worship, and oh no: Jesus is warning the disciples about me!

But it’s not that Jesus is against the Scribes in principle, as if he has a problem with authority…Jesus is against what the religious leaders of the day are doing. And what they are doing is using their position for their own honor, and in the process diminishing others. Jesus even says that they are devouring widow’s homes in their pursuit of honor. That’s pretty low.

Jesus is criticizing them for using religion for their own gain and as a result, not caring for those neighbors whom God has called us all to care for. Jesus even models this in the way that he shifts the focus from the scribes to the widow. The person that no one was paying any attention to…and Jesus says, “look at her. Put yourself in her shoes. Consider the sacrifice she has made.”

And this is really the ultimate indictment against the scribes: that while they are using the religious system to grow their honor, they’ve done it by taking what little this vulnerable person had left.

Now, I hope this won’t come across as defensive, but while I do think this text should be carefully considered by all pastors and bishops and council presidents and religious leaders of our day, I also think it should be carefully considered by all people that would call themselves Christians. There is a reason that Jesus tells his disciples to ‘beware the scribes.’ It isn’t just to look out for them, it’s so they don’t start acting like them.

It may not be news, but I think it’s so important to remind ourselves what people outside the church think about people inside it. When they are asked why they stay away, very often they say it’s because Christians are judgmental and hypocritical. That they point out others mistakes while ignoring their own. That they are close-minded. That they are unwelcoming to those who don’t look, think, or act like them.

And while every time I hear that, a piece of me thinks, no! it’s not true of all of us, I also have to know that if Jesus were in the conversation, he would agree with the outsider.

Because in many ways, modern Christians have used their religion as a way of criticizing others, as a way of judging others, as a way of putting others down or telling them what to do…in other words, whether we like it or not, a lot of people out there have felt that Christians have taken more away from them, than have added to them. There are a lot of people who feel that Christianity has harmed them more than it has helped them.

And chances are if they do, it’s because of actions like those of the scribes. And…actions like those of us, when we have, intentionally or unintentionally said or did something that used our faith to cut someone down instead of lifting them up.

---

There’s another story about a widow that comes from the Old Testament…we also read it today, from 1 Kings.

In this story, Elijah, a prophet of God, is called to go outside the fold, into a foreign land to stay with a widow there. You can tell that Elijah is a pretty faithful guy because essentially God is telling him to go somewhere he doesn’t belong so he can depend on a widow, who by their definition was not dependable, and who didn’t even believe in the same God, and Elijah said, “Ok”, and went.

And in those days, also, there was disagreement on religious matters, just as there is today, but then it was couched in terms of ‘my god’ vs. ‘your god.’ Who’s bigger and better? So Elijah goes into the land of ‘someone else’s god’ and finds a widow there who is struggling, doing her best through a terrible drought and famine, but at her wit’s end.

And Elijah shows up and asks her for help. For water and for food. Which seems like a strange thing to do if you were trying to prove that your god was better than her god. She can help him with a little water, but she tells him she has just finished collecting the last bit of food available to her which she planned to make for herself and her son as their final meal before starving. (Which — by the way — is a kind of amazing faith that she works to prepare this meal, even knowing that there won’t be another — she never gives up.)

Maybe Elijah recognizes the faith of this widow, this outsider who didn’t know God by name, but who struggled til the end. Because, then, Elijah shares something of his faith. And he tells her, “do not be afraid.” Do not be afraid because the God he worships is not a God of scarcity, but of abundance. Not of diminishing people, but of lifting people up. And she goes to the jar of food and it miraculously has enough, and she goes again and it has enough, and then enough, again and again. Elijah gave her hope in God. It looked like abundance. It looked like life.

This is our message, our mission. This is what Jesus wants his disciples to hear: that living in the Kingdom of God does not mean being superior to others but caring for others, especially those different than us. It means remembering that God meets us wherever it is that our jar runs out: when we run out of faith, when we run out of patience, when we run out of hope…and that God is there.

It’s about building our neighbors up, sharing hope with those who need some. Instead of finding fault in others, it’s about looking for that jar of life that is never empty. And, together, it’s about being the body of Christ that provides abundant life for all.

Like the disciples, we are called to beware any time our religion gets in the way of the Gospel message.

And like Elijah, we are called to go out among folks who are struggling, and with them, to find abundant life.

Isaiah 25:6-9; Psalm 24; Revelation 21:1-6; John 11:32-44

Martha was a saint, but she was afraid of the smell. Wouldn’t you be? Her dearest brother Lazarus had died and had been buried four days in a tomb and Jesus wanted to open it up. I’d be scared. Everything to do with death is scary. Sure, we like to pretend we’re not scared, and so we dress up as mummies and skeletons and ghosts on Halloween…but inside the skeleton costume is a real living person and inside the living person is someone scared of dying.

And so it is with some…hesitation, maybe, that we gather and pray and even sing about those saints who have died. Real living people that we knew and loved and who are no longer here. It’s comforting to remember their presence…but uncomfortable, or even scary to be reminded that death has separated us, and will one day come for us, too. Maybe you can remember the first funeral you attended…maybe at a young age…and the mixture of emotions that came along with it.

The death of Lazarus in this Gospel story is not a happy one. He has died too young. Needlessly. In fact, Mary and Martha, sisters of the dead man, must be extra distraught because Jesus himself said that Lazarus’s illness would not lead to death. But there they were, burying their own brother.

And so they had, and we still have, traditions and rituals that come along with death. It can be comforting to have some practical things to do when you feel lost in the confusion of losing a loved one. For the friends of Lazarus those customs including weeping. And even Jesus, when he arrives, weeps. They gathered together and visibly demonstrated their grief. They also had tied and bound up Lazarus’s body with cloth and then sealed it in a tomb with a heavy stone.

Of course, we modern people have our own customs and rituals to help take the edge of death. We don’t say someone ‘died,’ they ‘passed away.’ We hear of someone else’s friend dying and say, “I’m so sorry,” and then look for a way out of the conversation. For the most part, we avoid the conversation to begin with. Because death is scary. We try to control it, fence it off, protect ourselves from its sting.

But, what if we are so afraid of death that we start putting on our graveclothes too soon? What if we are so afraid of our dying that we forget how to live?

I had a dream this week…I’ve been thinking about this text from Revelation — the alpha and omega — the beginning and the end. And it was the omega, the end, that held my attention. I pictured the omega sign racing towards me. I watched the end of my life approaching, never quite sure of when it was arriving, but always sure it was getting closer.

Everything has an end, and all endings feel like little deaths. Relationships come to an end. Jobs come to an end. Responsibilities come to an end. (There will come a day when I am no longer the father of a toddler. That part of my life will just be over.) And these endings, these little deaths, bring all the kinds of mixed emotions that death always brings.

If you’ve been through enough of these little deaths, you just might be a little tired of them. You might be dreading the next late night phone call, the next friend to move away, the next beloved TV show ending. And for all of us, this survival part of our brain kicks in…the little instinct we have that keeps us alive at all costs…and that instinct tells us that the only thing we know for sure is that we are alive right now. And any change we make might put that in jeopardy. And so we convince ourselves to put up with all kinds of nonsense just to avoid making a change…to avoid taking a risk that we might draw a little bit closer to that omega on the horizon.

And that’s when we find ourselves bound up. Already wearing our graveclothes. Sealed up inside our own tombs. Too afraid of dying to live. Too afraid of the end to begin.

My friends, Jesus showed up late for Lazarus’s death in order to show us that it was not the end. This is not the end. Death, too, is just one of those little deaths. The real Omega, the end, belongs to God — not to death. God has already promised us what the end looks like and it is not a sealed up tomb. It’s an empty one.

It’s a feast, like in that amazing reading from Isaiah. A great party with food and wine and everyone, I mean everyone is invited. God will wipe away the tears from all faces.

In the book of Revelation, (which is so often used to try to scare people,) God says this about the end:

It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. (Rev 21.5)

and

I am making all things new. (Rev 21.5)

The Alpha and the Omega are way bigger than we thought. Whatever it is that you dread, whatever ending you fear around the corner is not the Omega, is not “The End.” Not even your own death.

God redeems every ending; God resurrects every death. So if you are bound up by the graveclothes of fear and sealed inside your tomb — come out of there. You are unbound. If you are facing an ending in your life, know that God also has a beginning for you. God is the Alpha and the Omega. The beginning and the end. God is making all things new.

How would your week be different if you took off some of the graveclothes that are tied around you? If you stepped out of the tomb? Not that you can escape death. (After all, poor Lazarus had to die again. Jesus had to die, too.) You and I are not invincible…but how might you live if you knew that death is not the Omega? That death is not the end? That fear doesn’t get the last word?

And who else can we set free? When Jesus called Lazarus forth from the tomb, he told others to unbind him. We need each other to be unbound, to be untied.

And that’s why today is All Saints Day. That’s why without fear, without hesitation, we gather and pray and even sing about those saints who have died. Real living people that we knew and shared life with. Or real living people whose stories and memories inspire us to live life without dreading death. Real living people like us who faced ending after ending, but whom God renewed and redeemed each and every time.

And through faith, we are joined with them now — real, living people — as the saints unbound, set loose and free to live without fear.