Do others see Jesus, the one who draws all people to himself, when they look at us, disciples of Jesus?

There is a story in Philip Yancey’s book What’s So Amazing About Grace? that tells about a friend of his who works in the church in Chicago. He meets a young woman (could be on a bus) who is visibly struggling in life at the moment. She looks stressed out, and nervous, but also very tired. She is with a small daughter. He starts to talk with her and she begins to tell him her story. She is homeless. She works at night “on the street” — meaning that she is a prostitute. She is sick and she can’t provide food for her daughter. She needs help, but she can’t get it. She can’t break the cycle because her shame and her drug addiction keep her where she is. Now very naively, he says, “Well have you ever tried going to the church?”

She looks at him as if he was joking. “I already feel ashamed of myself; why would I go to church to make it worse?” She believes that if she showed up on a Sunday morning, she’d be condemned for her life, not healed. And… in many cases — she’d be right.

That says a lot. As people who seek to follow Jesus, this story should be upsetting to us. This should worry us. That there are many people out there who see the church as an agent of the status quo, as part of the system that assigns blame to troubled people, and separates the good people from the bad people. As the author of that book points out — this is the opposite of Jesus’s ministry. Prostitutes and sick people and hungry people and all kinds of pushed out people flock to Jesus in the Bible. In today’s Gospel, a Greek — someone outside of the Jewish religion, someone most would believe would be outside of God’s favor — seeks the disciples out and says simply, “I want to see Jesus.” And now in our society those kind of folks, the ones on the fringes; they can’t get away fast enough.

This is a kind of tragedy — that instead of seeing Jesus as the grain of wheat that gives its life so that others may live, they see Jesus as a nice guy being choked out by weeds competing for space. Instead of seeing the church as a people spreading God’s favor, they see it as a fortress of people protecting their own.

And the greatest of tragedies: that instead of finding a place of grace and forgiveness, people find the church to be a place of judgment. [Even long time members…]

Now, because I’ve known you all here for about four months now, I know that you are grace-filled people. I’ve heard some of your stories. I’ve heard stories of redemption and grace in your everyday lives. I’ve already been the recipient of your grace when I failed to show up last Sunday, and you all were praying for me to feel better. You all are not a bunch of judgmental people. I know this.

The woman on the bus does not know this. And worse, her perception of the church — and let’s be honest, probably her past experience with the church — has convinced her that whatever Grace we share is not for her. She will never show up here to find out otherwise.

But. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to see Jesus.

When the unnamed Greek wants to see Jesus in today’s Gospel, he goes to a disciple. That disciple goes to another disciple and together they go directly to Jesus. Seems like maybe the beginning of some kind of evangelism program. Except, in response, Jesus starts using botany metaphors to talk about death.

“Jesus answered them, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.” (John 12.23–25 NRSV)

The disciples encounter a potential new member, and this is how Jesus responds? You almost think he misheard them. But, of course, he didn’t.

Showing Jesus to others is not an evangelism program, it’s not about impressing, it’s not about glossy promotional flyers showing how successful Jesus will make you. Showing Jesus to others is necessarily related to the kind of sacrificial love that Jesus shows to us. Grace and forgiveness that leads Jesus to the lowest lows and leads us to release our grip on our own life for the sake of others.

Others like the woman on the bus.

As we are sent out from worship today, our final hymn will be called “There in God’s Garden.” The words of this hymn are incredible, and they remind us with imagery from the Garden of Eden to the Cross on which Jesus was lifted up that Christ is the Tree of Life for all people.

One of its verses proclaims:

See how its branches reach to us in welcome; hear what the Voice says, “Come to me, ye weary! Give me your sickness, give me all your sorrow, I will give blessing.”

This is the Christ that church is called not just to represent but to embody in this world. This is often not the image of Christ that others see. From the woman on the bus to our children and grandchildren, to other groups of people who have been told over and over that church is not for them, so many in our world do not see the Tree of Life reaching out its branches in welcome.

You might say the church has Public Relations problem. And we might be tempted to go on the defensive, to launch a PR campaign that proves that we aren’t that bad, that there are good people in the church, and that plenty of successful people have been Christians all along.

But the model of Jesus is almost the opposite. Jesus calls us not to love our church, but to love others. We are called not to preserve our lives, but to give them away to others. To those who would never walk through these doors otherwise. To those who won’t encounter God’s love next in worship, but rather in relationship with the branches of the Tree of Life reaching out not to judge others but to offer blessing. To offer mercy.

In a way, the woman on the bus was right. The greatest gift we can offer one another is not membership in a church but the Good News of God’s mercy and forgiveness. My hope and prayer is that as a congregation, we are like branches reaching out beyond this little garden here into the world offering the life-giving and life-sacrificing message of Grace to all people, especially ones that think they are beyond the limits of God’s love.

Until, as the hymn says:

All heav’n is singing, “Thanks to Christ whose passion offers in mercy healing, strength, and pardon. Peoples and nations, take it, take it freely!” Amen!

Snakes! “Why did it have to be snakes?” says Indiana Jones in the movie. And maybe you’re asking, too, do we really need to talk about snakes in worship? Is it part of the essential Gospel message, or can’t we just hear the Good News today without mentioning the s-word?

If you don’t like snakes, I don’t need to tell you that they show up somewhat often throughout the scriptures — and our ancestors must not have liked snakes much either, because snakes usually represent something bad. In today’s reading from the Hebrew scriptures, snakes don’t just represent something bad, they are bad. Poisonous snakes are killing people of God as they make their way through the wilderness.

The biblical tradition suggests that the snake bites are punishment for the complaining of the Israelites. You see, even though God has led the people out of slavery in Egypt, and has led the people through battles against their enemies, and even though God has provided special food for them called Manna, and watched over their every move through the wilderness…still they can’t help but complain.

[In a complaining voice:] “There is no food! There is nothing to drink. Well, except for this food and drink, but we don’t like it! I mean, all we have is this magic food that God faithfully rains down from heaven every single day…except for the Sabbath, but God gives us a double share on the day before, oh yeah, and we get all-you-can-eat quail. But besides that, there’s no food!”

I’m beginning to think the snake bites were less about God’s punishment and more that the snakes themselves were so tired of hearing the Israelites belly-aching that they put them out of their misery.

As ridiculous as this sounds… people were really dying of these snake bites. They were real — this was a life and death issue.

But, as God does over and over again throughout scripture, God hears the cries of people who are suffering and intervenes on their behalf with a solution. But the solution… well, some of you are not going to like it. God instructs Moses to construct another snake. And this one would be raised up and attached to a pole. That’s right, God’s proposed solution to the snake problem was …more snakes.

But Moses did as he was told and crafted a bronze serpent that stood upon a pole and anyone that was bit would look upon the bronze snake. And God stayed true to the promise and healed those who looked upon the bronze serpent. But why?

I have some theories.

I imagine, for one, that when a snake-bitten person would approach the bronze serpent on a pole, that Moses, and whoever he had helping him, had polished that snake so well that you could see your own reflection in it. That’s gotta be a pretty healthy dose of reality to see your own face on the very thing that bit you.

In a wilderness of danger, both external and internal, honesty, it turns out, really is the best policy — and the best medicine. Or in the words of a former Supreme Court justice, “sunlight is the best disinfectant.” In other words, healing comes from exposing ourselves to the truth. Or: in the words of today’s Gospel:

“people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.” (John 3.19–21 NRSV)

It is a painful and challenging experience to have our deeds exposed to the light. It’s especially hard for those of us who have tried for a really long time to build up a certain reputation. The more we define ourselves as being really pure and good… the more we have to hide.

I was thinking about this this week as the news was covering the video of a group of fraternity members at the University of Oklahoma participating in an extremely hateful, violent, and racist chant. I’m quite sure they hoped it would never see the light of day.

In the aftermath, the University quickly moved to expel some students, remove the fraternity, and distance itself from the affair. Now, I’m not a university administrator, nor a lawyer, and I can’t pretend to know everything about an event that I read about in the news…but…it sure seems to me that the motivation here is cast off the offenders and get back out of the spotlight as soon as possible. But the light is where truth is. And the truth is, I’m guessing, that those two students who were expelled are not the only two students struggling with loving their brothers and sisters who are different from them. I’m guessing they aren’t the only two members of their community that have committed hurtful actions.

I think we all face the temptation to slink back into the relative darkness where we can pretend that we are all good and nice and fair all the time. Where we can shut our eyes and ears and say ‘la la la, snakes? What snakes? We don’t have any snakes around here!’ But in the darkness, healing cannot take place.

Just as Moses lifted up the bronze snake to heal the people, so is Jesus lifted up to heal us.

And if we look, I think we see ourselves reflected in Jesus. In the cruelty of the cross that Jesus hangs on, we see our own faults, failures, complaints. We see reflected our own disbelief. As we move into the light we see that it isn’t just a few bad apples, it isn’t some other people, it’s all of us. We see ourselves as part of people who — let’s face it — allow suffering to continue around us. We contribute to suffering around us. We sure don’t like to think about it — the darkness is a lot more comfortable — but even in the clothes we buy, or the food we buy, or so many of the ways that we interact with the world around us — we have contributed to someone else’s suffering. And we’ve benefited from it.

And we see this reflection of ourselves on the cross. And by Good Friday we’ll have to acknowledge that it wasn’t the Jews who put Jesus to death. It wasn’t the Romans. It wasn’t Pontious Pilate. It was humanity. People like you and me, broken, fearful.

But like those who stared at the bronze snake and were healed, something happens when we see our reflection in Jesus. We see ourselves reflected on the Lamb of God. We see ourselves reflected on the Good Shepherd who lays down his life for the very people that would put him on the cross. And as he is lifted up, we see ourselves lifted up. We are reflected in the one that rises from the cross, rises from the dead.

We see ourselves reflected in the One who did not come to condemn us. Even as our deeds are exposed to the light, God so loved the world, that he sent us Jesus. Even as we struggle to poorly hide our problems in the darkness, God is rich in mercy.

By grace you have been saved, for God so loved the world.

I am always tickled by those Gospel lessons that seem like maybe they’re from a different Bible than the one we were given in Sunday School. You know, those Gospel lessons which, after finishing, we respond to by saying, “The Gospel of the Lord, Praise to you, O Christ???”

Today’s Gospel text from John is one of those, I think. In this section of the Good News that we just heard, Jesus — you know, loveable, peaceful Jesus — fashions himself a whip and then violently chases people and animals out of the temple. Does that seem right? Doesn’t something seem wrong about this? All you have to do is to look at the front cover of your bulletin today where the words say Lutheran Church of the Good Shepherd but the image shows that shepherd violently threatening a poor and defenseless lamb. Am I in the right place?

It is startling to encounter this more aggressive version of Jesus. But this story of Jesus ‘cleansing the temple’ as it is euphemistically called is included in all four Gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. The Christmas story doesn’t even show up in all four Gospels! This bold action of Jesus in the temple just can’t be ignored.

It also reminds us to rethink some of our images of Jesus as extremely nice and gentle. In fact, throughout the Gospels, Jesus is found pushing the envelope, causing a commotion, and angering a lot of people. Just because his job was to proclaim Good News, doesn’t mean that everyone liked him.

Have you ever noticed, though, that the people and things that get the fiercest opposition from Jesus are not the things you’d expect?

If I didn’t know any better, I would think that the people that the Messiah would point out would be those who didn’t follow the rules.

After all, the rules are important. God established the Ten Commandments that we read today with the people of Israel in a dramatic fashion. The Jews regarded the Ten Commandments as the central point of their relationship with God. They are, besides a list of ‘thou shalt not’s,’ actually a covenant, a promise through relationship, that God makes with God’s people. They are not just a list of pet peeves that God has, but a way of living that God promises for his people — a way of living a full life.

Even the words of the 10 Commandments themselves were considered holy for this reason. In the time of Jesus, observant Jews would not even say the words of the Ten Commandments much like they would not utter the holy name of God. They were not just rules, but a holy relationship between God and humans.

So you’d think, that the people that any decent Son of God would go after, would be the ones who had obviously broken the words of this holy agreement.

But … the worst kind of people — by our usual standards — the people that have blatantly failed to keep the commandments of their religion or even people that do not even share the commandments and religion of Jesus — these people get a pass. In fact, these people seem to be favorites of Jesus.

But the people (and animals in Today’s Gospel) that really catch it; the people that really draw the anger of Jesus are those that seem to be doing well with regard to the Commandments. The Pharisees and other religious experts are constantly at odds with Jesus. And today, these money changers and vendors that Jesus throws out of the temple were techinically there because of religious rules. Jewish law required people to offer these animals as sacrifice. Many of these people coming to the temple would have traveled great distances from tiny little towns and would not be able to bring their offerings — they’d have to buy them. But, there was another issue — the money they would have brought would have been Roman currency, and because of Jewish religious rules and the Emperor’s big old face right on the coins, these people would need to exchange their Roman money for legal Jewish money in order to follow the rules. That’s right…these vendors and moneychangers that Jesus violently removed from the temple were just … following the rules.

In this symbolic action of chasing out these vendors and moneychangers Jesus is challenging established worship and religious practice. He’s not saying, let’s go back to the way it was… he’s saying something new. He’s saying that official, scripturally allowed ways of relating to God needed to change.

Jesus raised a lot of eyebrows. What is it with Jesus that gives him the right, the authority, the chutzpah to challenge things that any religious expert could look up and find in the scriptures, yet, at the same time, offer forgiveness to those who completely missed the mark?

The religious leaders that were skeptical of Jesus then said to him, “What sign can you show us for doing this?” Jesus answered them, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” But they answered, “This temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and will you raise it up in three days?” But see, it’s clear that Jesus and the established religious leaders were speaking in different languages.

Jesus was not abolishing nor rewriting the rules — the holy commandments that established a covenant between God and humans. The Good News of Jesus — the message that is sometimes comforting, sometimes startling — that Good News is not so much about the rules and commandments themselves, but about our relationship with them.

You see, our greatest temptation is not breaking the rules, it’s believing that following them will save us. This is why Jesus brings comfort to those who have fallen short of the rules — and righteous anger towards those who think they’ve mastered them. The rules cannot save you. Only God can save you. Our covenant is not with the rules, our covenant is with God.

What this means for us today is that as a church, we need to examine everything that we do together and ask ourselves… does this help us trust in God, or does it help us trust in ourselves? Even good things that we do have to be re-examined. Just as the moneychangers were surely surprised when Jesus threw them out of the temple (what could possibly be bad about helping people fulfill their legal obligations?) so too might we be surprised that some of the habits and practices that we have, in the name of being good or nice or following the rules, actually need to be driven out.

And don’t be surprised if God draws nearer to us in those times when we have failed. In things that we can admit have not lived up to God’s promise for our lives together. Things we have done and things we have left undone. And don’t be surprised if God’s plan for Good Shepherd involves people that know they’ve messed up — because that’s when we know we need God even more than we need the rules.

Because finally, the most important relationship in our lives is not with the rules, it’s with God and with our neighbors. That’s why Jesus can say that all the commandments come down to those things: love God and love your neighbor. Trust God; work for your neighbor’s well being. Anything else we do — even when it’s technically following the rules — is moving away from God and towards trusting our own works.

From time to time all of us need to be chased out of the temple, away from our attempts to trust in ourselves. And as a congregation, we have to be willing to confront and change anything — even good things — so that we can trust the one thing that saves us: a loving God who forgives our mistakes and turns us away from ourselves and towards our neighbors.

Here’s another promise. God made a promise to a man long ago named Abram. Along with Christians around the world, during these weeks of Lent, we hear readings of God’s covenants, or promises, with God’s people. And God’s promise to Abram was so big that it required a name change. Now named Abraham, he found out that it would be him that God would use to make an entire nation of people.

You wonder if Abraham fully grasped what this would mean. That in 2015, billions of people and three major world religions all claim Abraham as their ancestor.

Faced with a responsibility like that, as Abraham was, I think I might lock myself in my room and just never come out. But Abraham takes a risk. God says ‘go, ‘ without even saying where to and Abraham just starts going.

What could possibly accompany Abraham on his journey through the wilderness to keep him going?

The Apostle Paul tells us in the book of Romans that it was faith. Faith is what motivated and sustained Abraham through the ups and downs he faced … over a long period of time. And Paul clarifies what Faith is. Faith is trust in God. Apart from the law or works or intellectual beliefs. Faith was not about believing strongly enough in the destination to make it come true. Sometimes we think that […] Abraham, on the other hand, didn’t know at all what the ending would look like when he had faith in God. Faith is deeper, it is a relationship with God.

And a specific kind of relationship. Faith is a relationship in which God is God, and we are God’s people.

When God makes his promise to Abraham, he says this, which always jumps out at me: God says, “I will be God to you.”

[…]

It was not Abraham’s superiority, but his relationship with God that gave him faith. And faith called Abraham into action, hoping against hope.

Faith is not a part of life, as in, “this is my profession, and these are my hobbies, and this is my faith.” Faith is trusting in God’s promise for all of life. And it may even require you to put your life on the line.

For Abraham, it meant leaving home and going on a trip that would change the course of his life. And then at 99 years old, finding out that he and his wife Sarah would be parents of a child! At 99. Surprise!

World events have called our attention to Christians in Syria and Iraq that risk their lives just by professing their faith in Christ. For the 21 Coptic Christians who were killed for all the world to see, faith was clearly not a simple set of beliefs, or rules to follow, but trust in God’s promises. Trust in God’s relationship. Their faith indeed was what Martin Luther called a ‘… living, daring confidence in God’s grace … so certain, that someone would die a thousand times for it.’

Faith is trusting in God’s faithfulness … even through the darkest moments. Those who have given up their lives in faith call us to consider what faith means for our lives.

Eight chapters into the Gospel of Mark and Jesus has accomplished a lot. He has encountered great challenges and overcome them. He’s healed individuals, he’s outsmarted his detractors, he’s fed thousands of people miraculously.

And the disciples, who have a habit of being confused, may finally be catching on: when Jesus asked them, “who do you say that I am?” Peter answers: “you are the messiah.” Peter pledges that he has put his faith, his trust in Jesus.

And then Jesus confuses them again. Jesus begins to teach them that he — teacher, healer, miracle worker, even messiah — must suffer, be rejected, be killed, and rise again. And it’s too much for Peter. Peter, who with the other disciples, has hitched his wagons to Jesus. Peter has made the startling and serious confession that Jesus is the messiah. The one that all have been waiting for. And besides that, Jesus is a friend.

Maybe Peter can cheer him up and make Jesus realize that’s he’s been doing great things, and the disciples, though confused, really do love him, and really need him to stay out of serious trouble so that they can continue all the good work they’ve been doing. But for Jesus, the mission never really was about accomplishments, or doing the most work, or being the best. The mission is to take the Good News on a course that passes right through suffering, rejection, and death so that there is good news, even there. To show that God’s covenant extends to the darkest moments. And Peter’s temptation to bypass this hard part earns him a stern rebuke from Jesus. “Get behind me Satan.”

Ouch. Peter must have touched a nerve to be called Satan, and in fact, he has. In his resistance, Peter has become the spokesman for the most perilous path a disciple can take — to look for glory instead of the cross.

But, see, it’s at the cross that Jesus renews God’s covenant with all people. It’s at the cross that Jesus shows us once and for all that there is nowhere God will not go to love us back to life; to repeat God’s promise to Abraham and to all people — “I will be God to you. Even here. In the good and the bad. In life and in death.”

This kind of self-giving love is what defines God’s love for us. It’s what defines the mission of Jesus. And it’s what defines being a follower of Christ.

After Jesus scolds Peter, he addresses him, and the disciples, and he includes the crowd, which I believe means us, too, and says:

If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.

It’s not just Peter that struggles with this. The temptation to put down the cross and opt for saving our own lives is always with us. It’s the temptation to forget what our relationship with God really is. To think that we can do it all ourselves. It’s a constant temptation for churches:

On the one hand, the Church is called to grow, baptizing all the world into God’s family… on the other hand, the Church is called to deny itself, to lay down its life for the sake of the Gospel. […]

Churches can build and develop and organize for mission, but they can also succumb to Peter’s temptation. They can focus on themselves, and their own glory. They work to retain what they have. To protect themselves. To try to save their own lives.

As a congregation, we need to be constantly reminded that we are called together to deny ourselves (it’s not about us!), to take up our cross (to embrace what may be difficult and scary) and to follow Jesus. Every congregation faces the constant tendency to move the focus inward, on ourselves, instead of out towards where Jesus would lead us. Congregations, too, must put their lives on the line.

Ask yourself for just a moment… what do you suppose this congregation would be willing to give up for the sake of the gospel?

Bishop Mike of the Gulf Coast synod:

The world is hell-bent on destruction in countless ways. It is desperately in need of a church that offers a Way of peace, truth, compassion and hope, as opposed to the world’s way of power, materialism, exploitation and violence. It needs leaders willing to risk comfort, status and economic security for the life of the world and the outreach potential of the church. It needs a church that looks less like the Pharisees’ religion and more like Jesus’ ministry. It needs a church that is willing to sacrifice everything for those outside: buildings, budgets, sacred cows, traditions, structures. It needs a church that so loves the world, that she’d be willing to die for it. (Bishop Mike Reinhart)

Now, I’m not saying we shouldn’t care or respect or appreciate all that this congregation has and does. Denying ourselves, laying down our lives does not mean these things do not matter. They matter immensely: for the sake of the world. Our congregation, our relationships, our roof, our history — these things matter! They matter for the sake of the gospel.

How we use these things changes through time as we constantly take back up our cross and follow Jesus. We constantly ask, ‘how can we use what we have — not for our own glory — but so that everyone around us can know the relationship that we are called into. The relationship that gave faith to Abraham, to the martyrs, to us. The promise that God has made for all: in rejoicing and suffering, in giving, in living, in dying: God says, I will be God to you.

There is a common theme that runs through these very different scripture passages we’ve read today. From the familiar story of God’s promise to Noah after the flood to 1 Peter’s description of the theological benefit of baptism to the Gospel of Mark’s short but important mention of Jesus’ time in the Wilderness.

Each of these accounts from Scripture point to a period of time, or an event that leads to transformation.

After the forty days and forty nights of rain and then flood from which God saves Noah and his family, God restores creation and renews his covenant, his promise, with all humankind. From 1 Peter we heard that through baptism, Christ’s death and resurrection become our transformation, too, our salvation. And in the Gospel of Mark, Jesus goes immediately from his own baptism to an extended period of time — forty days — in the wilderness. This Gospel at least doesn’t give us many details, but when Jesus returns, he is ready to begin his ministry.

All these scriptures talk about change, transformation… They help invite us into a season the church calls Lent — a season all about transformation … But really, when it comes down to it: any forty days or forty years (or even forty minutes on a Sunday morning) is about change.

Would you have come to worship today if you expected to be exactly the same when you left? Probably not.

I imagine that each of us, no matter what other experiences make us unique, can relate to change — and the process of being changed. In baptism, all Christians are called to be daily renewed — transformed on a daily basis.

Just as each of us is called to be transformed, so too are congregations. Lutherans, as much as anyone should know that the church is always reforming — and always being reformed. In this country, in our time, there are serious changes taking place with how people participate in church. For many churches, that change has meant fewer people. You’re probably aware that fewer people attend this congregation than in the past.

The changes going on around us, in our country, in our neighborhood, in our habits as families, and single people, and young people, and retired people generally have led to fewer people encountering God or sensing God in the church. We could complain about those changes, and say, what a shame. But it won’t really solve the issue at hand, which is:

If, as a congregation, Good Shepherd does not change; if we do not allow ourselves to be transformed by our journey — we won’t be here in forty years. We won’t be here in ten. My purpose is not to shock or discourage you, but to remind you, and to remind myself, that we, as a congregation, are constantly called to be transformed by our wilderness journey. Not to change willy nilly for the sake of change, but to repent.

Ah, there’s that word that Jesus uses. “Repent and believe in the Good News.” Now, I know that repentance sounds like something you do when you get caught with your hand in the cookie jar — and I guess it is. But trust me that it’s really a gift. And it’s way better than cookies. Repentance is what you do to find your way through the wilderness.

In other words, to constantly stop, pause, consider where God is, and orient ourselves, our habits, our decisions in that direction. Sometimes repentance is uncomfortable, maybe it’s always uncomfortable. But it will also save our lives.

That’s why even as we begin a season of repentance and wilderness journeying, each of our readings today describe a story of struggle guided by a promise.

For as many questions are raised by how and why it comes to be that the earth and all creation suffers through forty days and nights of terrible rain and the devastating flood that comes with it, it becomes clear in this familiar Bible story that God’s primary role is saving humanity and all of creation.

And as we continue to wrap our minds and lives around what repentance really means, consider that even you read a bit further in the story, you realize that Noah and his family were not perfect people by any stretch of the imagination. God’s saving act was for people that would continue, again and again, to need repentance. People that continue today to need to look for signs of God in the wilderness.

When Jesus emerged from the wilderness, he announced:

“The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.”

See, he was not alone in the wilderness. He had encountered God there. Through a long and difficult journey filled with temptations and bad news, Jesus announced Good News: that the Kingdom of God was closer than anyone thought.

And this is the promise for us — that through our baptismal journey, even through the difficult and tempting wilderness stretches, we are restored. We are continually brought back into this promise that God has made with us, even when we are found off the path, over and over again, it is God’s end of the deal that keeps giving us life and giving us a future … even as we mess up our end.

This means Good News for God’s mission here at Good Shepherd. This means that no matter where our journey takes us — that the promise remains the same: God is near. We can encounter God even in the wilderness. Especially in the wilderness. Or maybe better said, God encounters us. And God renews us by water in our baptismal journey. God gives us signs and reminders of Grace. Rainbows in the sky. Moments of forgiveness. The needs of our neighbors and the life we still have to share.

There are signs around us. Prayer shawls surround the sick with love. Quilts are sent out around the world. Next weekend the young people in Good Shepherd’s youth group will gather to feed the hungry. There are many signs. We stop. Pause. Look around. Where else do you see God pointing the way on this journey?

As we travel together in our baptismal journey, our Lenten journey, and our journey together to do God’s mission in this place, we give thanks that the wilderness gives us life along the way.

In honor of celebrating Bold Women today, I want to share this poem about a wilderness journey written by Margaret Atwood:

The Moment

The moment when, after many years of hard work and a long voyage you stand in the centre of your room, house, half-acre, square mile, island, country, knowing at last how you got there, and say, I own this,

is the same moment when the trees unloose their soft arms from around you, the birds take back their language, the cliffs fissure and collapse, the air moves back from you like a wave and you can’t breathe.

No, they whisper. You own nothing. You were a visitor, time after time climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming. We never belonged to you. You never found us. It was always the other way round.

by Margaret Atwood

The good news is that even in our trials and temptations, in our reluctance to change, in our accomplishments and in our defeats, God is always leading us through the wilderness. And around every corner, behind every tree, above and below every cliff … God is present and reminds us of the promise that we will be transformed. That the end of the journey does not belong to us. It belongs to God. And over and over, we are re-made by God’s love, pulling us toward God’s end of the promise.

I couldn’t do it last year. In every previous year that I had helped lead some kind of Lenten worship or Bible study, it had always been the same theme: the Journey of Lent. So last year, tired of journeying, and worrying that it was becoming a cliche, I decided not to talk about journeying of any kind during Lent. There are plenty of other good images and themes anyways. And it was fine. But. What I learned was that even if you don’t talk about the journey of Lent… it’s still journey.

There is something that happens among us as we go through time together from Ash Wednesday towards Easter. That’s what makes a journey.

But what kind of journey is it?

It’s a journey that begins here and now. As we gather for Ash Wednesday, it’s like we are at that part of the map that says “You are here.”

Ash Wednesday is the most honest of our traditions. At its most distinctive moment, Ash Wednesday reminds us that we are dust and to dust we shall return. We are made of the earth at birth, and we are destined to return to the earth at death. That’s who we are. That’s our reality. You are here.

There’s something refreshing about this honesty tho… Throughout life we have moments that remind us of the truth that we are mortal. That we are vulnerable. It’s not that we don’t know the truth. It’s that we hide from it.

In the book of Joel, we have heard a prophet warn the people of the truth. It was not a truth they wanted to hear. Their time was up, impending doom was at their doorstep. The prophet then calls for something interesting. He doesn’t say, let’s keep this quiet […]

He says, gather the people. All the people. The elderly, the children. Even infants. Even busy people — a bride and groom at the altar, in the middle of wedding. Everyone! Gather them around the truth.

This is the journey of Lent.

It can be tempting to imagine Lent as a different kind of journey.

To an outsider, it might seem like Lent tries to simulate darkness and dying. After all, we talk about ashes… we emphasize the cross & the crown of thorns. It might seem like we’re trying to conjure up pain and suffering. Like the hypocrites the Gospel of Matthew who compete for who is suffering more in their fasts. In essence, that kind of Lent takes us from life into death. But Lent is just the opposite. Lent brings us on a journey from death into life.

If dust and ash is where we are, then the empty tomb of Easter is where we are going. That’s the direction of our journey.

From the Ashes we are constantly reborn as co-creators with God. The end of our Lenten journey is life abundant with Jesus Christ — we should never pretend it isn’t. The ‘death’ part of Lent is the honesty about death that already affects our lives. The exploration of places in our life and lives together that are already dying. Things that are in desperate need of resurrection.

We all have this part of us called the ego. That’s the little voice in our heads that is always on the defensive. Always concerned with the survival of our life and reputation. It’s amazing the kinds of torture that our ego will keep us in to avoid the risk of change. Our ego will strangle our life in order to preserve it at all costs. Eventually, we will lose our life trying to hang on to it. That’s a journey from life to death.

Lent is the freedom to travel through life in the other direction. To be honest about the reality of death & suffering, to place our ashes in God’s hands, and to be led into the fullness of life. From death to life.

During the season of Lent we will focus on this journey. We will focus on practices that call our attention to this abundant life. As individuals and as a congregation we will be honest about where are are. And we will live in hope about where our journey will take us.

What does this mean?

If you happened to grow up in a Lutheran congregation, you may know this question well. It’s a question that is used as a teaching tool in Martin Luther’s Small Catechism — a small book originally intended to be used by parents to talk about the faith with their children at home. It’s also been used traditionally in Confirmation classes, with that same question ringing out through the years since it was written, “what does this mean?” My grandfather probably also heard the question in its original German language, “was ist das?” — a simpler English translation would be “what is this?” — or the modern version that I use when talking with teenagers: “wait, wha?”

It’s a question you might be asking after hearing the Gospel today, a recounting of a supernatural encounter between God, Jesus, Moses, Elijah, and three very confused disciples. There are strange lights, strange sounds, and then just Jesus saying, “let’s just keep this to ourselves for now.” It’s enough to make you say, “wait, wha?” … “what does this mean?”

It may be the most basic instinct that our mind has … to make meaning out of the many & various events of our lives. If everything that happens in life is a bunch of dots, our brain wants nothing more than to connect them. No sooner than we hear a story like today’s Gospel… or any story, really… we begin asking, what do these things mean? (And I think, whether we think it or not, we are always really asking, what do these things mean for me?)

When I was ordained into the ministry a few years ago, a group of people gathered into University Lutheran Church in Gainesville, FL on a hot summer afternoon to worship and mark the occasion. And during that worship service, there was a moment that I knelt down, and the congregation sat in silence and watched as the bishop laid his hands on me, uttered a final prayer and said Amen. And right then, a single lightning bolt came out of the clear sky, along with a loud clap of thunder.

Everyone — including me, including the bishop; everyone — had the same reaction, which was to open our eyes real wide as all of our brains in unison lit up with that same dot-connecting instinct, fueled by the fire of this same question… “what does this mean?”

What did it mean?

I know this is boring, but it could have simply meant this: In the summer, in Florida, there are afternoon thunderstorms at least every other day.

Or: it could have meant, as many there that day believed that the lightning strike was God’s confirmation and blessing on the event that had just happened the moment before. To those who connected those particular dots, it was God echoing in Amen.

But: imagine that the last three years of my life went very differently… that I struggled in ministry, made numerous missteps, and stressed myself out so much that my family had trouble recognizing me and even more trouble liking me. That’s not what happened… but if it had, those who were there that day at my ordination may have revised the meaning they made from that lightning strike. Looking back they may have realized it was not confirmation, but actually a warning. It was God saying:

“No! Don’t do it! Don’t be a pastor! You’d serve me better as a pharmacist, or an accountant, or whatever!” (I’d actually be terrible at those jobs, by the way.)

That would be a dramatic example of something that I think happens all the time, all throughout our lives — we make meaning, and sometimes that meaning changes. I’ve found that meaning can be fluid in life… that I am constantly refining what I think things mean as I grow and (hopefully) becoming older and wiser — as I keep connecting more and more dots.

Likewise, the story in the Gospel of this amazing encounter can sustain a whole bunch of different meanings. Perhaps you’ve pondered it before. Maybe you’ve heard a sermon on it before. You might wish it had one definitive meaning… but it’s just too mysterious for that.

As many times as I’ve heard it, I’ve wrestled with making sense of it. At times this Gospel account of what’s commonly known as the Transfiguration has meant different things to me: Sometimes it’s been a chance to laugh at Peter, but secretly identify with his possibly well-intentioned but ridiculous idea of building dwellings for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah right there on the spot.

Sometimes this story has been all about preparing for that difficult journey down the mountain and eventually to the cross.

I recently learned that in the Eastern Orthodox church, this dazzling vision of Jesus is not meant to reveal his divinity, but actually to reveal his full and glorious humanity; what it means to be fully human. Fascinating, right?

My point is that as I have gone through life returning to this story, its meaning has changed or refined over time … and that’s not bad. In fact, I think the Gospels have this living, breathing quality that allows them to speak to us at different times of our lives. They are constantly morphing in meaning for us… not on a whim, and not so we can make them be whatever we want them to be, but so that they can pull us out of ourselves wherever we are stuck.

Maybe that’s why the meaning of this event isn’t really spelled out in the Gospel. The ‘what does this mean’ question is left to us… Instead, the focus in the Gospel is on the encounter itself.

So, I want you to hear it again, this time from the perspective of one of the disciples. This version was composed by a well-known preacher named Barbara Brown Taylor, it’s imaginative, but well within the real of possibility… Listen as this disciple makes his way up the mountain with Jesus:

It starts with a long climb up a windy mountain in the fading light of day, hunting for a strong place to pray. No talking for once. No wall of words between you and the others. Just breathing for once, just hearing them breathe, until you can’t tell whether you are breathing or being breathed. Are you hyperventilating?

And there he is: someone you thought you knew really well, standing there pulsing with light, leaking light everywhere. Face like a flame. Clothes dazzling white. Then, as if that weren’t enough, two other people are there with him, all of them standing in that same bright light. Who are they? Can’t be. Moses. Elijah. Dead men come back to life. God’s own glory, lighting up the night. Now they’re leaving. Now Peter’s saying something.

Tents, he’s saying. We need tents. He thinks we’re on Sinai. Someone tell him we’re not on Sinai. Now there’s a cloud coming in fast that is way more than weather, a terrifying cloud that is also alive. Cutting Peter off. Covering everything up. Smells like a lightning strike. Can’t see a thing.

Then a voice from the cloud lifts the hairs on the back of your neck. Fear so fast and primitive, you’re bristling like a dog. What’s the voice saying? Not “listen to me” but “listen to him.” The Son, the Beloved. But listen to what? He’s not saying anything. He’s shining. Or at least he was. Now he’s not. Now it’s over. Now what?

What does this mean? What does it mean when you’ve had some kind of experience that surprises you … some kind of experience that leaves you convinced that you have been in the presence of the almighty God? What does it mean when you don’t have that experience? (Remember that nine of the twelve disciples weren’t there on the mountaintop at all!) What does it mean that all you can see is … ordinary?

The Transfiguration encounter matches my own experience of faith which is that although there is so much that is mysterious… so much that changes through time… so much that I do not know, yet there is this: there is God’s clear voice telling me that Jesus is right here with me. That his beloved son is present — in the mysterious and in the ordinary.

Whatever meaning we are able to make of the disconnected dots that make up our lives — and what a journey that can sometimes be — through all of it, in every encounter, God is there. And in the end, even when we have no more answers, even when all meaning fades away, we are left with nothing but the presence of God.

Even here in this first chapter of the Gospel of Mark, Jesus has kicked his ministry into high gear. Jesus has already confronted a demon right of the bat in a synagogue. And now he hits closer to home.

In fact, Jesus moves right from the synagogue to a home. The authority that Jesus taught with at church, so to speak, becomes authority at home, as well. The Reign of God that is breaking thru was not just a ‘church’ thing. The Reign of God was good news for all of life.

Jesus finds himself in the home of Simon Peter, one of his brand new disciples. And he learns that Simon Peter’s mother-in-law is sick in bed with a fever — this would have been a potentially serious issue in her day. But Jesus takes her by the hand, lifts her up, and immediately she’s back to serving Jesus and the disciples.

That evening, as word of Jesus is spreading throughout the village, all kinds of people who are sick or needing God’s intervention in their lives show up and Jesus heals them. This seems to be going really well… Jesus is making a lot of impact in this town, but when the morning comes, Jesus has disappeared off by himself where he prays.

This little sabbatical of Jesus turns out to be a real problem because apparently there are a bunch more folks who are showing up for him to do his same deal, but they only encounter the disciples of Jesus — who don’t know where their master is.

So the disciples hunt down Jesus to let him know about the line that has formed. They tell Jesus, “everyone is searching for you.” (When the disciples say ‘everyone’ they basically mean all the people from their hometown. But Jesus has a mission broader than they can yet imagine.)

Jesus doesn’t directly address the issue of the line, but tells the disciples that it’s time to move on to the next town to continue proclaiming the message …

“for that is what I came out to do.” — so presumably staying in Capernaum and becoming the center of attention there was not what Jesus came to do. The proclamation of the message is his mission. The proclamation of the Reign of God. — The message, of course, is not just words… it’s a message enacted, that comes with healing and restoration… but it’s also not simply about the actions of Jesus.

Up until this point, it’s probably reasonable that the disciples assumed that Jesus would, having started to heal the sick and cast out demons, set up shop, put his head down, and just keep working until every demon had been cast out and every illness healed in their town.

Before this is accomplished, though, Jesus is ready to move on, ready to live out his mission of proclaiming and enacting the Reign of God in other towns, in other places. So, for what might be the first time, but will certainly not be the last time, the disciples have gotten confused about what Jesus is really up to.

I wonder if, once the disciples realized this, that Jesus was not going to personally address 100% of the issues in their hometown, they thought differently about what Jesus had done in Capernaum.

I wonder if we, hearing this story, might think differently about what Jesus has done?

It could be easy to hear this story of Simon’s mother-in-law being healed as being returned to her stereotypical place of serving the men in her life. It does seem a little sexist that this woman is miraculously healed from a potentially life-threatening condition and within the same sentence she’s bringing sandwiches to the boys.

But Jesus is full of surprises and what’s really going on is much more than that.

First of all, Simon’s mother-in-law receives a type of healing that’s found throughout this Gospel… it’s really a double healing. It’s a physical healing, of course, because her fever goes away, but also a social healing.

[being cut off from family, community…]

[last week’s man with a demon…]

This is an aspect of all of Jesus’ ministry, really. That our healing is not just for our benefit, but to connect us with others around us.

The other thing going on here is that this return to her family; this return to her purpose and value for Simon’s mother-in-law is in doing this word service. Jesus lifted her up, and she served Jesus and the disciples.

You might even know the Greek version of word for service used here: diakonio. The root from which we get the word for deacon. And the same word used by the program Diakonia which I know some of you are familiar with here. [..]

To top it off, it’s a word used by Jesus to describe his own ministry, and the ministry of any disciple that would follow him. In other words, by moving right from healing to serving, Simon’s mother-in-law isn’t being placed behind the male disciples — she’s actually way ahead of them. It will take them much longer to realize what it means to follow Jesus. Even at the end of the Gospel of Mark, while the other disciples have fled in fear, there is a group of women who served him and who followed him all the way to his crucifixion. It doesn’t say, but I imagine that Simon’s mother-in-law was one of those women. After all, she knew what it meant to be lifted up for service to others.

Lifted up to serve.

How have you been lifted up to serve? Freed to follow?

Maybe you’ve heard the story of someone who had been lifted out of trouble and knew it was their purpose to help others. You hear these stories in recovery programs. It’s the story behind the hymn Amazing Grace. Perhaps you’ve lived that kind of story.

Or, most surprisingly, maybe it was in trouble, in that low spot that you found freedom. This is the greatest scandal of the Gospel, that while we are broken, while we are failures, while we are lost, God loves us in a way that has nothing to do with being good, or being right, or being certain.

Have you ever been forgiven when you didn’t deserve it? That is God’s love lifting you up to serve. Not as a way of paying back — Simon’s mother-in-law was not paying Jesus back for her healing by making him lunch…

Simon’s mother-in-law was living in the Reign of God. In the Reign of God, serving is the way of life for every disciple. Man, woman, or child. It’s our freedom:

Serving God and neighbor means no longer serving our need to be good, our need to be right, our need to be certain. Serving those things will make us sick. Trying to be good enough, trying to be right enough will one day, maybe today, maybe tomorrow, leave you on the ground, or unable to get out of bed.

When that happens to us, we are lifted up to serve. We are raised up to follow a new leader, to serve a new master.

This Reign of God that Jesus is proclaiming really is different than we expected… and now we see how. Jesus is not offering a new weapon to overcome every demon in our town. The Reign of God is not a sharper sword for us to fight our way to the gates of heaven. The Reign of God is heaven fighting its way to us and meeting us right where we are. That’s amazing grace! In the midst of suffering, in the presence of evil, even as we make mistakes, God joins us.

As the Reign of God breaks into our lives, we are liberated from our sins, from our shortcomings, from ourselves. We who were lost are found. We who were blind can see. And we are freed to live for something more: to turn to our neighbors in joy. We are lifted up to serve.

In each of the four Gospels, Jesus has a different ‘first day on the job.’ What Jesus does on his first day on the job is symbolic, and it says a lot about that Gospel and what it’s trying to tell us.

In Matthew, on his first day working Jesus teaches the Sermon on the Mount. His words are important.

In John, on his first day of work, Jesus turns water into wine. Jesus wants us to have life and have it abundantly.

In Luke, on Jesus first day, he preaches a sermon in his hometown about God’s love for other people — and the people try to throw him off a cliff!

You might remember that last week I said the Gospel of Mark is like an action movie… well, on his first day on the job in Mark, Jesus faces off with a demon.

The general theme of this action movie, as we quickly move from one scene to the next: anything that stands in the way of the reign of God — whether it’s a demon, or a rule, or a tradition, or even a fig tree (at one point) — anything that stands in the way of the reign of God is broken down.

The sky is ripped apart at baptism; rules and restrictions are broken; expectations about who is important and who isn’t are shattered; the temple curtain is torn — and all is done, not for the sake of destroying, but in the name of God’s new actions — the Kingdom of God, the reign of God breaking into the everyday lives of the people that God loves.

There is one barrier, in particular, that has to be dealt with right away in the story of Jesus — it’s the question of authority. Who is this Jesus, and why should we believe him?

This was an especially important question in Jesus’ day. Where you came from and who your parents are played a really big role in what kind of authority you had. And anyone hearing the Gospel then, would have really wondered, why Jesus? And especially, why Jesus of Nazareth?? (Jesus of Ruskin?)

• Matthew and Luke do it through genealogies

Mark doesn’t bother. In order to prove the authority of Jesus, he gets right into the action. And the first day on the job for Jesus follows right on the heels of picking up recruits — in last week’s Gospel we heard Jesus walk about to 4 guys and say, ‘hey, follow me.’ And they said, ‘sure, OK.’

And immediately Jesus finds himself in the synagogue, teaching. Altho we don’t actually get to hear what he says, we know his teaching is exceptional for a couple reasons. For one, the people present are amazed that he teaches ‘as one with authority’. His teaching is different from the scribes — and they were ones at the time primarily responsible for interpreting scripture and teaching it. Again, we can’t know exactly how his teaching was different, but we get a clue from the other way that his teaching that day was exceptional:

Something that Jesus says raises the anger of an unclean spirit in the synagogue. An unclean spirit or a demon that we are told is possessing some poor guy who was there that day. Now, we don’t usually think of people these days as having unclean spirits (or at least we use different words) but it fits the theme of the Gospel to say that this man possessed some barrier, something that affected his body and mind that stood between him and the reign of God. Something in him was in the way of God’s love.

And whatever Jesus was teaching about smacked right up against this barrier.

And the unclean spirit cries out, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth?” In other words, “why are you here? Why are you not letting things just stay as they are?” The unclean spirit realizes that Jesus isn’t going to let him keep haunting, holding back this poor guy. Whatever it is, it realizes it’s no match for Jesus. Jesus commands it to leave and it does.

If you or I had been there, we might be a little perplexed about what just happened… I mean, really, a demon just left the man? Where did it go?

But the people there that day knew exactly what happened. It’s all about authority.

You see, when Jesus confronts this ‘unclean spirit,’ this barrier, this evil in the life of the man, he doesn’t obliterate it. It doesn’t disappear. It just loses its power, it loses its authority.

Whatever was binding this man, whatever was standing between him and the love of God doesn’t cease to exist, but instead gets broken, ripped apart so that God’s love can take hold of this man — so that God’s love now has authority.

Ahh, now the meaning for us becomes clearer. Because I think we, in our time, can identify with this. With the fact that pain and suffering still do exist in this world. And nothing that we do can make them not exist.

Evil is ever present, and all around us. We continue to be shocked by acts of violence in places that should be safe. We are surprised by broken relationships in families where there should be peace. And no matter what we do, death is always knocking at the door — it never goes away, altho we often pretend it’s not there, until something calls our attention to it again. Death is a reality, but the question again is authority.

Jesus himself faces the reality of death on his last day on the job. And in his most important healing, his most important miracle, Jesus shows us that not even death need not have authority over us. Not even death can hold back the love of God, and the final barrier is ripped apart so that we can see that in all things, in life and in death, God’s love has authority for us. Not pain, not suffering, not death.

This must be the teaching that amazed the people that day. Jesus taught with authority and about authority, and about love breaking down barriers. He taught that the everyday decisions we make need not be about evil, about death — they should be about love, about life.

This action movie Gospel has this good news for us, too. That whatever barriers come between you and the reign of God will be broken down by God’s love. That the evil in our world is inevitable, and it will not disappear. But God’s love for us means that that stuff has no authority over us. God’s love not only heals, and brings us wisdom, but it also breaks apart every rule, every barrier, every evil thing that would try to have authority in your life.

Hospital rooms are changed into holy places. People born with disabilities aren’t defined by them. People who live with violence are given hope. People who grieve are also given joy. And even the most cold hearted of us are given courage to do the craziest thing which is to love our neighbors as ourselves.

The Gospel is that in Christ, God does all this not be magically wiping everything away, but by facing every evil, every barrier, and even death itself head on so that we can live life under a new authority: the love of God.

When I was a kid, there was one word that could strike fear in my heart like no other. It was a word that, once said, let you know that Mom or Dad really meant business.

Immediately.

Not, quick, or hurry, or even now. Those are everyday words. But when I heard immediately I knew I really needed to listen.

If you read through or heard read the Gospel of Mark, you would hear the word immediately over and over again. You might get the impression that God really means business.

Immediately after Jesus is baptized, the spirit descends like a dove. Immediately after that, Jesus is driven into the wilderness. Immediately after Jesus calls Peter and Andrew, they follow Jesus. And immediately, so do James & John.

The Gospel of Mark uses the word immediately so many times that when it’s translated from Greek to English, it’s usually substituted with right away and soon after — just for a little variety! And actually, sometimes it’s just omitted so the text doesn’t get too repetitive. But it’s there in the Greek: immediately, immediately.

As Jesus announces the Kingdom of God, immediately things happen. From his Baptism to his Resurrection, you barely get a break in Mark. It’s harder to notice if you only read a couple verses at a time, but if you read larger chunks of this Gospel, you’ll get a sense of its pacing. It’s like an action movie. It is exhausting. But it is never boring.

And today we have heard that Jesus was walking by the sea of Galilee when he saw Simon Peter and his brother Andrew. Jesus called to them to follow. Two fishermen. Just doing their fishermen thing. And Jesus told them that he would make them fishermen of people. And immediately, immediately, they drop their nets and follow Jesus. … What does this mean? Do they really drop everything and follow Jesus?

• not called to drop their connection with the world
• the very gifts Jesus needed
• not called in spite of being simply fishermen; called because they were fishermen; never stop being fishermen (boating Jesus around)
• use those gifts for the sake of the world

I don’t know that we have any professional fishermen with us today, but I do know that we have a bunch of folks who have also been called to follow Jesus, and who have been named as a disciple though baptism.

One of the most amazing things about baptism is that through it, we are called just like those first disciples. The call in baptism comes from a God who knows us better than we know ourselves. And just like Jesus didn’t call those fishermen to be Pharisees or scribes, God doesn’t call you to be something you’re not — in baptism, God calls you to be your true self. Not to be perfect, but to be fully you.

It could be that God isn’t calling you despite the fact that you’ve never been great at talking about your faith, or despite the fact that you’re really more of a quiet person (for example). It could be that God is calling you because of those things.

In a congregation of people who have these unique baptismal callings we can help each other see what those immediately available gifts might be. Maybe you’ve noticed that person who greeted you this morning brightened your day a little bit. Maybe you noticed your neighbor really put his or her whole self into worship. Consider letting them know. Maybe someone has noticed your gifts. Shared with you that you are a great listener. That you’re good with children. That you remembered to pray for them.

In baptism we are called to trust God enough to take whatever gifts we’ve been given and just let ‘em rip. To use them immediately. Whenever, and wherever we are. Yes, here at church, but also at Publix. In our neighborhood. At work, at school, around the dinner table. And these gifts, might be more natural, and closer to home than you think.

OK, so maybe you know what those gifts are that you have immediately available to use for the sake of the world around you. Then again, maybe you don’t. It can be hard to recognize God’s gifts sometimes. Especially when our society, or even stories like today’s fishers of men, make it seem like we are all meant to do one thing in life, it can be confusing when we have to face major life changes. Please don’t hear me saying that you’re called to just stay doing whatever you have done in the past. Whether you’re a new graduate, an empty nester, or recently widowed, you may share the same question…. what do I do now?

If you are struggling with God’s call in your life, I would love to talk with you and explore with you where God might be leading you.

• story about spending a day with a pastor (what do you do??)
• holding hands with someone who had lost a loved one, giving advice to and receiving it from colleagues, listening to an angry phone call, helping a young family get the services it needs
• “oh, you get to be a professional human.”
• on reflecting, though, it wasn’t about being a pastor, it was about thinking about the job through God’s call
• for everyone: workers, students, parents, retired folks… called to be professional humans! whatever your job, your place in life, you are called to use the gifts you have for the sake of the world

The good news is that you can begin immediately. Right where you are. Not perfect, but fully you. And the best news is this: Jesus is right there — immediately — forgiving you faster than you can even need it.