John 10:11-18
April 21
David A. Davis
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Jesus offers quite the word picture of the shepherd image here in chapter 10. I only read part of the chapter. Prior to v.11, Jesus describes the shepherd entering by the gate, the sheep knowing the shepherd’s voice and following the shepherd, sheep thieves and bandits who only come to steal and destroy. But Jesus tells that he, as the shepherd has come that “they may have life and have it abundantly.” (v.10) And as you heard, Jesus continues with the shepherd, the hired hand, the wolf, and the sheep. The shepherd laying down his life for the sheep. The shepherd knowing each one. One shepherd, one flock. You don’t really need a painting or an image. Jesus description of him as the great shepherd is sort of a piece of art itself. Jesus goes into parable-like detail similar to his description and explanation of the sower and the seed.

When it comes to the sheep, it’s not just Jesus it is the whole witness of scripture. You hear Jesus say “I am the good shepherd” and all these other tunes start to play. “The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want.” (Ps. 23) “He will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms.” (Isaiah 40) “I will raise up shepherds over them who will shepherd them, and they shall not fear any longer, or be dismayed, nor shall any be missing, says the Lord.” (Jer. 23) “When Jesus saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, for they were harassed and helpless, like a sheep without a shepherd.” (Mt. 9) “Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it?” (Luke 15) Now may the God of peace, who brought back from the dead our Lord Jesus, the great shepherd of the sheep, by the blood of the eternal covenant, make you complete in everything good so that you may do God’s will.” (Heb. 13) “For the lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” (Rev. 7) Jesus said, “I am the Good Shepherd” and this incredible symphony of scripture starts to play.

If the purpose of Jesus’ use of an extended metaphor here is for the preacher to offer a sermon on “shepherd-ology” or “sheep-ology”, I can tell you I am not that preacher. I know someone who is, our own Nate Stucky, the Mennonite who grew up on a farm and leads the Farminary at Princeton Seminary. He’s that preacher, not me. One of my preaching mentors, Peter Gomes, once pointed out in a sermon that the Lord’s whole approach ought to make us think more about us as sheep and certainly not as shepherds. But even then, Gomes preached, “We have to remember the purpose of gathering sheep together was to protect them for a purpose, and that purpose was to fatten them up for the slaughter. Those sheep were gathered together because their purpose was to be sold and eaten, and that’s it.” Gomes concluded, “It’s not much fun being a sheep.” A metaphor has limits, he said, even a metaphor of Jesus.

Cathy and I were walking down the street in London on a summer day in 2016. I heard a voice say, “Davis, is that you?’ It was a Presbyterian pastor and colleague named John Galloway who served at the church in Wayne, PA for decades. He wrote a book on being a pastor. In that book, he said “I am not a shepherd. I am more like a rancher. I am better leading from the front, not the rear. My congregation calls associate pastors who are better shepherds than me” Apparently the metaphor had limits for him too.

I may not have a degree in “shepherd-ology” but I could preach a few sermons on John 10. The detail Jesus provides points in a profound way to his life, witness, and teaching. The shepherd laying down this life; his crucifixion. The wolf snatching and scattering the sheep; the threat of the world’s persecution of the church. One flock, one shepherd; that has to say something about the church. Laying down his life in other to take it up again; there’s resurrection. Laying down his life on his own accord; a reference to his self-emptying sacrificial love for the world.

“I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold.”  Now there’s a longer conversation. “I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold.” In the context of John’s gospel, this conversation about the shepherd and the sheep happens after Jesus healed the man who had been blind since birth. The religious leaders and others in the crowd following Jesus didn’t believe the man had been blind. They grilled his parents. They interrogated him. The now-sighted man became frustrated and a bit lippy “One thing I do know, though I was blind, now I see.” They hated him all the more and drove him out. Jesus found the man. The man declared his belief. Jesus said “I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see and those who do see may become blind.” Then he launches into the shepherd and sheep metaphor.

So maybe the other sheep are just those who didn’t happen to be in that  crowd of folks who were blind when it came to Jesus. But in a chapter so full of detail, a chapter where every detail packs a wallop of meaning, that seems a bit of a narrow take. It could be that Jesus reference to other sheep is reference to the Gentiles and a foreshadowing of the ministry of the twelve described by Luke in the Acts of the Apostles. “I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice.” Is it Jesus alluding to a kind of Great Commission here. John’s version of the Great Commission in Matthew. “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” The Good Shepherd, the sheep, and Christ’s call to evangelism for the church.

Other sheep? Jesus sure seems to be referring to his work as a shepherd here not the twelve. “I must bring them also”. Yes, we are called to be the body of Christ, his hands and feet for another and for the world. But here in John bringing in the other sheep sure sounds primarily like the work of Christ himself. The work of the Good Shepherd. Here in the same gospel where Jesus says “God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world but in order that the world might be saved through him.” Other sheep? The Good Shepherd, the sheep, and the whole wide world. Perhaps in the vast mystery of God’s love made known to us in and through Jesus Christ, every child of God in the whole world is one of Christ’s sheep. “I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold.” Every beloved child of God.

When I hear Jesus say, “I am the Good Shepherd” something profound wells up very deep in the soul of my faith. I have had two spiritual directors in my ministry here at Nassau. One was Hugh Smith who served Covenant Presbyterian Church in Trenton his entire ministry. The other was Dave Prince, beloved husband of Nancy. Dave Prince remembered by so many here and at Witherspoon Street Presbyterian Church. Both Dave and Hugh have gone on to glory now and I miss them both dearly. A spiritual director can be and do many things. It can also mean many different things to people seeking to talk to a spiritual director. For me, the purpose and the role it played in my faith became clear in something Hugh said to me the first time we sat down together. It was what I shared with Dave when we started our work together after Hugh died. Here’s what he said to me, “So tell me about the Dave of God today.”

It took me a while to learn the fullness of what he was asking. He was asking about my life as a child of God. Not the Dave who is father, now a grandfather, or a husband, or a pastor. He was asking me about how I was resting on the shoulders of my Savior. He was asking about nothing else and nothing other than my experience of the love and forgiveness of Jesus Christ. He was asking about my sense of belonging to the God who created me, the Savior who never stops searching for me, and the Spirit that marks be now and forever as a beloved child of God. He was asking about my life in God, the God who surely walks with me every time I head for the valley of the shadow of death, the God whose compassion cradles me when I am harassed and helpless, the God who will today, and tomorrow, and forever wipe away every tear from my.

Every time I had a conversation with Dave or Hugh, it was if they were asking me about my life as a sheep. They never used that language or I would have rolled my eyes, looked at my watch, and changed the subject. All this sheep and shepherd stuff can get kind of fluffy. But when of them asked me about the Dave of God, the beloved of God, it was the only hour in a month in my life when I had the privilege of thinking about, praying about, talking about nothing other than belonging to Christ Jesus and him alone. Thinking, praying and talking about my life as one of his sheep.

Peter Gomes is more poetic about it. We ought to live our lives, he concludes, right where the metaphor ends and the good news begins. “That we are gathered and guarded not for the slaughter …but for love and redemption. That is where we take leave of the metaphor and embrace this reality,….We love one another because we believe in Jesus and we believe in Jesus because he is the shepherd and guardian of our souls.”

Yes, when I hear Jesus saying “I am the Good Shepherd” something profound wells up very deep in the soul of my faith. And after almost 40 years of ministry, and as I get older, when hear Jesus saying “I am the Good Shepherd”, I find myself more and more pondering him being the Good Shepherd for the other sheep. For all the other sheep. Because this old world God so loves would look so different, be so different, if people could just see everyone else, everyone else, as a beloved child of God.

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Acts 4:32-5:11
April 14
David A. Davis
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“With great power the apostles gave their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon them all.” Great grace. Great grace. A unique choice of words that occurs only here as Luke describes the first days of the Christian community. You will remember that the poetic prologue to John’s gospel tells that “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us….from his fullness we have received, grace upon grace.” For Luke it is great grace. By far the majority of English translations, including the King James, stick with “great grace.” The NIV offers a helpful explanatory take: “God’s grace was so powerfully at work in them all.” Great power and great grace. “With great power the apostles gave their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon them all.” When the resurrection power of God in and through Jesus Christ is set loose in the community of faith, God’s great grace is at work.

Professor Barreto has pointed out that the eyes of the tradition, as well as our eyes, tend to be drawn to Luke’s description of the economic practice of the community. To use an analogy from reading and studying your bible over the years, these are the common verses to underline: “Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions but everything they owned was held in common….There was not a need person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold. They laid it at the apostles’ feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need.” This is the part that catches the attention of those of us trying to discern our own generosity and yearning to be faithful when the need all around is so enormous.

If you underlined those verses in chapter 3, then you would have underlined these verse in chapter 2 in Luke’s description of the growing community of disciples immediately after Pentecost: “They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teachings and fellowship, the breaking of bread and prayer…Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people.” Sharing of possessions, descriptions of a not a needy person being among them, and Joseph the Levite from Cyprus selling a field and bringing the money to the apostles’ feet are part of Luke’s painting the picture of the earliest church. But only one part among healings and being the temple every day and breaking bread and praying and having the goodwill of all the people. Luke’s description of that community is something of an oasis of human relationship and behavior.

Dr. Barreto suggests that all of us are so taken (not always in a good way) by the parts we underline, especially those that might impact our possessions and our money, that it is far too easy to skip over the mention of great power and great grace. In fact, to continue with the example of underlining your study bible, I think Dr. Barreto would argue that this is the most important verse, maybe the only verse to underline here in the second half of chapter 3: “With great power the apostles gave their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon them all.” An oasis of human relationship and behavior defined, inspired, created by the resurrection power of God.

Right about here is where some are thinking that he’s not really going to talk about Ananias and Sapphira being struck dead on the spot and the young men making two trips to the graveyard. It wouldn’t be the first time that the church’s proclamation glossed over and even denied the reality and pain and grief of death.  So much of this account of the encounter between Sapphira, Ananias, Peter, the Holy Spirit and God raises questions not answers. I don’t have an interpretation wrapped in a bow, an explanation for the apparent divine punishment of death for the sin of lying to the Holy Spirit and failing to fully participate in the prescribed economic practice of this particular faith community.

It is probably best not to explain it away either. But that’s not unique to death in the faith context, is it? That’s how death is. More often than not, when death comes suddenly, tragically, violently there often are no answers. Yes, there are “cause of death” kind of answers. But when death interrupts life in the community of faith, love, silence, and just being there is more powerful, more comforting, more meaningful than answers. Maybe rather than the described death of Ananias and Sapphira and their sin saying something about them, or saying something about that first Christian community, or saying something about God, maybe it more likely is just saying something about death.

Let’s not try to explain it all away or try to force ourselves to feel better about. To just sit with it is to come to acknowledge that it is part of the arc of a larger story here in these first chapters of the Acts of the Apostles. It begins with Luke affirming that after the suffering of death of Jesus, for forty days there were “many convincing proofs” from the Risen Christ. Interesting word, proofs. Before he was lifted up on a cloud, the Risen Christ promised the Holy Spirit and told them they would be his witnesses in “all Judea and Samaria and to the ends of the earth”.  There were 120 people listening to Peter’s first sermon according to Luke. I wonder who counted. Judas took the money he earned betraying Jesus and bought a field. “With the reward of his wickedness”, Luke writes, “he burst open in the middle and all his bowels gushed out.” Everyone in Jerusalem knew about it. Everyone. Absolutely everyone.

Then the Day of Pentecost comes. The church knows the story of the rush of the violent wind and the divided tongues as of fire, the many languages being spoken yet everyone understanding each other, Peter’s next sermon. Everyone was cut to heart and asking what they should so. “Repent and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven; you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.” Luke reports that about 3,000 people were added that day but I wonder who counted. Then, yes, “they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teachings and fellowship, the breaking of bread and prayer…Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people…Day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved.”

Peter healed a lame man and again preaches to the crowds. The priests, the captain of the temple, and the Sadducees were annoyed with all this resurrection power talk and arrested Peter and John but, according to the bible, “many who heard the word believed; and they numbered about five thousand”. I wonder who counted. There was more preaching and more signs and wonders and more healings all in and through the name of Jesus. “When they had prayed”, Luke tells, “the place in which they gathered together was shaken; and they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and spoke the word of God with boldness.”

Luke tells of the creation, the birth, the ideal days of this resurrection power-infused community of faith with the same urgent, dramatic, overly-descriptive language that he uses to tell of the death of Ananias and Sapphira. The pace of these first few chapters of Acts is almost exhausting. And as quickly as the reader gets to great power and great grace at work in the community of faith, great fear comes even more quickly. “Great fear seized the whole church and all who heard of these things.” Luke tells of the rise of an oasis-like, aspirational community of faith that in the blink of an eye begins to experience death’s intrusions, and the powers of the empire at work, and persecutions. 120, 3000, 5000 and just like that Stephen is being stoned to death as the soon to be Apostle Paul holds the coats of the stone throwing mob and the Risen Christ in heaven stands out of respect to greet Stephen upon his arrival.

A resurrection power-infused community of faith is still a fragile community of faith. A community of faith always being pecked at and threatened by the world and our humanity. The church can celebrate and trumpet resurrection hope in grand fashion and then be torn apart by the divisive politics of the day and that now too common yearning to demonize or ridicule or harm anyone who disagrees or is different. A congregation’s glimpse of the grace-filled care and love for one another can so easily be clouded when disagreement comes or forgiveness leaves the building. The genuine desire in the Body of Christ to reflect the very hospitality of the Risen Christ himself falls short every time someone new stands in the fellowship hour with those who should be welcoming them enjoying conversations with only those they know and see pretty much every week. The church’s proclamation of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the call for justice and righteousness and peace can be muted by the fears and push back of any who would rather not be challenged in their discipleship but rather only be affirmed and comforted. A community of faith can go from great power and great grace to great fear in the twinkling of an eye (to use an expression of the Apostle Paul).

Our son Ben lives in New York City and told us when he was home for Easter about the reading clubs that have popped up around the city. It’s not the kind of reading club you think: read a book, get together, talk about it. Folks pay a monthly fee to gather in a certain room somewhere, bring their own beverage, bring their own book. People sit around in silence and read their respective books. For ten minutes every hour a bell chimes and people chat with each other. The bell chimes again. People go back to reading. Ben explained it started when folks could be together again in the pandemic and it has become very popular. People looking for community. We all know people write about, blog about, podcast about all kinds of ways folks find community. At the risk of sounding old school, naïve, our just a stubborn church employed professional, there is no community like a faith community. No, not the institution. The community.

One of the take-aways that Eric Barreto shared with us about this account of Ananias and Sapphira is the crucial importance of what happens when the community of faith gathers together. In other words, the gathered community filled with great grace is pleasing to God. The body of Christ gathered together in the light of resurrection power is precious in the sight of the Risen Christ. The Holy Spirit blows again and again among the gathered faithful leaning into that aspirational oasis of human relationship and behavior.

And speaking only for myself, I don’t know how I could look at and live in this broken world, and rise to face another day, and look to the coming months, I’m not sure how I could do it without you. Without knowing we will all be together again. Living and breathing and doing what the Risen Christ told us to do.

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John 3:1-17
April 7
Felipe Paz

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Mark 16:1-8
March 31
David A. Davis
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It’s a hard place to stop. “They said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” Mark’s account of the empty tomb at end of his gospel. “They said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” No greeting from the Risen Jesus. No Risen Jesus for that matter. Yes, the stone is rolled back. A young man dressed in white tells the women that Jesus “has been raised. He is not here.” The women, according to Mark, they fled from the tomb in terror and amazement. No fear and great joy. Just fear. “They said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” It’s a hard place to stop.

When you read the 16^th chapter in a bible rather than the verses printed in the bulletin or scrolling along the screen, when you read it in a bible, pretty much any bible, you won’t be able to miss all kinds of brackets and footnotes and margin notes and editorial paragraph headings. Editors and translators want to make sure the reader is aware of all the scholarly work that has been done on the last chapter of Mark. Ancient manuscripts lack consensus on where the gospel actually ends. All those notes point not to one ending here in chapter 16^th but three possible ending. Ancient manuscripts lack consensus but the consensus among most New Testament scholars is that the ending is here at v. 8. “They said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” The inserted addendum to v 9 tells of the women telling Peter and the others all that had been commanded them and Jesus sending them out “from east and west the sacred and imperishable proclamation of eternal salvation.” That doesn’t sound like Mark or even the bible really. It sounds more like a sentence from a paper over at the seminary. Other paragraphs in the longer ending of Mark tell of snake handling and the Risen Jesus rebuking the disciples for their lack of faith and stubbornness. Far from “I will be with you” as the Risen Jesus tells the disciples in Matthew.

Yes, it’s hard place to stop but it is a hard stop. Mark ends here. But what preacher wants to preach that on Easter morning? Everyone is waiting to sing “Thine is the Glory” or “The Strife is O’er the Battle Done” or “Hallelujah Chorus”, the brass are all cued up, the timpani ready and the preacher ends not with “Christ is Risen” but with “They said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.”

            Don Juel taught New Testament at Princeton Seminary and together with his wife Linda was a worshipping part of Nassau Church. Much of Dr. Juel’s scholarly legacy and his gift to the church was his work on the Gospel of Mark and the ending of Mark’s gospel. He once preached a sermon on the ending of Mark and in reference to the verse that come after the hard stop at v. 8, he said “I will confess that I have never heard those words….read in church. And I hope I never will.” He went on to preach “people can’t leave the ending alone. It’s too unsettling. What terrified the women who went to the tomb, loaded down with spices to do their duty to the corpses was that Jesus wasn’t there…. As the gospel ends, Jesus isn’t there. He is nowhere to be seen.”

Professor Juel argued in that sermon that Jesus’ absence at the end of the gospel is a good thing. “If we could get our hands on Jesus,” he proclaimed, “we would surely throttle the life out of him as did his contemporaries. But we can’t. Jesus is free, out of the tomb, beyond our control, and beyond death. That’s why the story is good news. He’s free so that he can make his way into our lives and actually liberate as God has planned since before the foundation of the world.”  Here is the provocative trajectory of Juel’s thought: if you are going to try to keep the Risen Jesus under your thumb, if you’re going to forever link resurrection hope to a pious yearning to cling to his effort or to hear him call your name, holding on to a conception of Jesus that simply confirms expectations, assumptions defined by Easter finery, if God’s entire resurrection promise is little more than (in Dr. Juel’s words) “believing in a Jesus who has saved everyone in principle but never gets close enough to unsettle anyone in particular”, well, you may as well leave him in the tomb.

When you do the hard stop here in Mark, when you stop in the harder place, “They said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.”, maybe it is actually the closest thing to Easter morning for you and me. For when you stop right there all you have to hold onto is the promise of God. The promise of God voiced by the young man in a white robe, “He has been raised; he is not here…he is going ahead of you to Galilee, there you will see him, just as he told you.”  The resurrection promise of God.

            You will see him in Galilee. In Galilee is where Jesus called the disciples. It is where he taught. It’s where he ate with sinners and tax collectors. In Galilee is where he healed the sick. It’s where he fed the thousands with a couple loaves and fish. It’s where he told parables. It’s where he drove out demons. In Galilee is where he preached the Sermon on the Mount. It’s where the Pharisees and Sadducees first came to test him. It’s where he welcomed little children and challenged the rich young man by telling him to sell all his possessions, give the money to the poor and follow.

He has been raised from the dead and he is going ahead of you to Galilee.  Resurrection life that comes not with trumpets blasting, or the earth shaking, or angels appearing, but with the poor being fed, and with the outcasts being served, and with boundary lines being crossed, with the first being last and the last being first, with turning the other cheek and loving one another, with the kingdom of God being taught, announced, proclaimed, served. Behold the kingdom of God is at hand. In Galilee. In Galilee, there they will see me.

The gospel that ends with a hard stop on Easter morning is closer to Easter morning for us because it is far more real. When the women got to the empty tomb Jesus body wasn’t there. At the moment all they had to go on was the promise of God. Of course they were frightened and said nothing to anyone. But the hard stop Easter morning dares to hold more promise. Because the only one to finish the story is not a scribe, or a bible editor, or the women, or the disciples, or the first century church, or even you and me. The one to finish the story is God in and through the Risen Christ in the Galilee of our lives. God’s resurrection promise in your life and mine even in the everydayness of our lives.

Go on to Galilee where resurrection life comes not with trumpets blasting, or the earth shaking, or angels appearing, but with the poor being fed, and with the outcasts being served, and with boundary lines being crossed, with the first being last and the last being first, with turning the other cheek and loving one another, and forgiveness assured, and with the kingdom of God being taught, announced, proclaimed, served, and daring to never letting death have the last word. Go on to Galilee and you will see him there.

In the Galilee of our everyday lives, we will shout Christ is Risen! Maybe not when Easter morning comes when clinging to the resurrection promise of God on Monday. And living the resurrection promise of God on Tuesday. And serving the resurrection promise of God on Wednesday. And seeing the resurrection promise of God on Thursday. And hoping for the resurrection promise on Friday. And resting in the resurrection promise of God on Saturday.

I don’t know but you, but I have seen him in the Galilee of our lives, just as he said. Christ is Risen! He is Risen indeed!

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Acts 8:26-40
David A. Davis
March 10, 2024
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Our reading today tells of just two people. One person has no name given but is identified as an Ethiopian eunuch. Our text for the morning is the only reference to a eunuch in the New Testament. New Testament professor Eric Barreto is my Lenten partner teaching these texts from Luke and Acts as together we all ponder what it means to be a neighbor and go and do likewise. Dr Barreto has shared that scholars of the bible and of ancient history are of many minds and opinions when it comes to understanding the identity, the personhood, the role, and the portrayal eunuchs. They were understood to be in the margins and yet often served in positions appointed by kings and queens. They were not considered a threat to royalty’s lineage when it come to the children of the monarch and yet they were often educated and wealthy by the standards of the day. In the Hebrew bible, eunuchs are included in lists of the most vulnerable and lowest in society’s strata along with orphans, widows, and strangers. Yet Isaiah, for one, clearly includes them within the promise of God.

As for the eunuch from Ethiopia. They were a foreigner and a person of color. Scholars disagree about whether they were Gentile or Jewish. If they were Jewish, as a eunuch they would be prohibited from full participation in temple worship because of their gender and sexual ambiguity. This person with no name given is a royal court official with a high position in charge of all the money. They could read and clearly traveled as a person of means and status. When it comes to cultural and ritual norms, when it comes to economic and political factors of the time and region, when it comes to this biblical story of just two people one on one, one of them is the definition of life on the margin. The definition of the marginalized.

 

 

The other person in the story is named Philip. Philip appears just a few chapters before the reading you are about to hear from the Acts of the Apostles. Philip was one of seven others appointed by the disciples. The bible says they were people “of good standing, full of Spirit and of wisdom.” Some in the community were complaining that the widows were being neglected and not receiving the daily food distribution. The disciples needed help so that they could devote themselves to prayer and serving the word. Actually, it sounds a bit more snippy than that. According to Luke, the disciples first response was “it is not right that we should neglect the word of God in order to wait on tables”. The tradition calls these seven the first deacons. The disciples prayed and laid hands on the seven including Philip and Stephen. Though the seven were ordained to a ministry of compassion and service to the community, Stephen and Philip, at least, were also engaged in proclaiming the good news of Jesus Christ. You will remember that Stephen was martyred for his preaching and doing great wonders and signs among the people. After Stephen’s murder, Saul (later to become the Apostle Paul) was continuing to ravage the church in Jerusalem. The apostles and deacons and others fled for their own safety. Philip went to Samaria and was proclaiming the good news about the kingdom of God.

Our text this morning begins after Peter and John return to the region around Jerusalem. The scene shifts dramatically from the hustle and bustle of a rapidly growing community of faith in Samaria. This story told by Luke in the Acts of the Apostles only includes the unnamed eunuch from Ethiopia and deacon Philip in the middle of nowhere.

Acts 8:26-40

So it’s not just the two of them. Yes, there must be someone driving the chariot. But that’s not what I mean in saying it’s not just the two of them. The story of Philip and the unnamed person from Ethiopia is framed by the presence of God. An angel of Lord told Philip to head down the wilderness road toward Gaza. After the baptism, “the Lord snatched Philip away” and dropped him in Azotus well to the northwest near Caesarea that sits on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea. The Lord at the beginning and the Lord at the end. In between the Spirit said to Philip, “Go over to this chariot and join it”.  God in the beginning, middle, and end. It was not just the two of them in the middle of nowhere. And it is not a stretch to consider it a God-thing that the person in the chariot was reading from the same scroll of Isaiah the prophet that Jesus read from when he went to the synagogue very early in Luke and read “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me…”.  Different verses, same scroll. It is not a stretch to conclude that coming upon some body of water along the wilderness road in the middle of nowhere in the desert is something approaching a miracle. Or that Philip’s lack of an answer to “What is to prevent me from being baptized?”, that the wordless answer was for both of them to go down to the water. The answer is the baptism. The answer is a divinely inspired, Spirit-filled moment of grace. I don’t know how fast that chariot was moving down the road but that Forrest Gump-like moment of Philip catching up to, running alongside, and being able to hear the man reading the prophet Isaiah, that has to be the Spirit of the Lord at work too.

One of the very important lessons you can learn in a small group studying scripture is that there are always lots of questions to ask of a biblical text. More importantly, plenty of those questions may not have a particular answer or any answer at all. Even more, neither small group participants or leaders or pastors or preachers or biblical scholars or professors have all the answers. Along this wilderness road of faith, beware of those who think they have all the answers. It can also be true that some biblical passages, like this one, leave the student of the bible with more questions than answers; even after some really good study and conversation. But at least one thing seems to be clear and can be affirmed in Luke’s telling of the story of Philip baptizing the unnamed person who was a eunuch from Ethiopia. It was just the two of them and God out there in the middle of nowhere.

Here’s a Jesus-like question: when it comes to just the two of them, Philip and the person from Ethiopia without a name, which one is the neighbor? A first thought probably gives the nod Philips way.  Philip comes alongside the seeker from Ethiopia. Philip is the “someone” who guides the Ethiopian treasurer to understanding. Philip takes the time to answer the person’s searching question about “the sheep being led to the slaughter, the lamb silent before its shearers, the one in humiliation denied justice.” Philip sat right there next to the one shunned by many and “starting with this scripture, he proclaimed to them the good news about Jesus.” Philip is the one who welcomed the marginalized yet elite, elusive yet rich, confused yet educated, gender fluid, person of color, never quite understood then or now child of God. Philip welcomed him to the faith the comes with the righteousness of Jesus Christ. Philip is the one who embraced the stranger he found along the way with the water of God’s grace poured out. Philip baptized the unnamed person whose baptism with no name emphases his marginalized status now shattered by God’s boundary blind love. It is Philip’s culturally and religiously defiant neighboring along the wilderness road known to no one but the one now rejoicing along the way. Known to them, and of course, God.

Yet, there is the bold neighboring of the member of the royal court from another country who doesn’t get offended when their ability to understand is questioned. The educated person of means whose transportation and attire likely screamed wealth is not frightened by the stranger who suddenly runs up to the moving vehicle on a road that could not have been safe. A stranger whose means of transportation and attired likely screamed “I need help”. The one on foreign soil fresh off the humiliation of being treated as someone less than, named as “other”, back at the temple in Jerusalem, they asked for help from a total stranger in the middle of nowhere. The vulnerable one who had a level of status who had to have had multiple experiences of being taunted, shunned, and their own personal safety being threatened at the hand of another invites this person up to sit next to them right there along the wilderness way. This one refusing to be defined by the world’s boundaries is gracious in listening to, learning from, and accepting in a way that can really only be understood as Spirit inspired unexpected hospitality. The baptized member of Candace the queen’s court from Ethiopia going on their way rejoicing after such courageous neighboring along the wilderness road known to no one except them, the one now proclaiming good news in the towns along the sea, and of course, God.

The title of this sermon is “One”. When I turned in the title a few months ago now, I was drawn to the Ethiopian’s question, “How can I understand unless someone guides me?” Someone one. One. Neighboring one by one. But now I know the title of the sermon should be “both”.  When it comes to just the two of them, which one is the neighbor? Both

What does it mean for you and for me to neighbor when no one else is watching other God?

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Luke 15:11-32
David A. Davis
March 3, 2024
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A new art exhibit is featured this Sunday in the conference room. The artist is Nassau’s own Ned Walthall. Ned’s medium is photography. His exhibit features portrait after portrait after portrait of people. Faces. Ned is leading adult education this morning as part of our Lenten series “Who is my Neighbor”. One doesn’t have to spend much time standing before his artwork to understand the relevance of the question to Ned’s art, the inspiration of his art, and the beauty of his art. Ned’s work on display started me thinking about the many images of the parable of the Lost Son that we all must have somewhere deep within. Portraits, snapshots, scene depictions all far beyond words. The oh so familiar parable that has a kind of universality to it. So readily imaginable, understandable, and relatable. For some of us, as the parable is read, it is not just pictures from the parable itself that scroll. It’s images from life, from our lives, from our memories, from our relationships, from our family. That is part of the unique power of the parable of the Lost Son. The parable of the Samaritan traveler and the man in the ditch left for dead is just as familiar to us but it doesn’t have the resonance with our lives. The parable of the workers in the field who all get paid the same at the end of the day has a similar upending conclusion but is rather far removed from our day to day experience. It’s remarkable how real life rushes in as soon as someone begins to read the words “There was a man who had two sons…”.

Luke 15:11-32

That opening scene, when the young, overly ambitious, and predictably irresponsibly younger son thinks he is more grown up than he really is. He announces a far from unique desire to take a gap year and see the world. He stands before his father, before his family, before God and everyone and declares it is time for him to receive his fair share. Not all that far-fetched, really.

Swipe to the final scene. A father and an oldest son standing outside away from the crowd and music and the celebration. Standing over in the shadows. Even if an observer couldn’t hear what they were saying, they would know it was tense. It was a really hard conversation. A father pleading not just with words but with his whole self. His son standing up so straight, so tense that his arms are folded on his chest like they are tied in a knot. Every now and then the son can be seen shaking his head in the negative. Anyone could guess right then what he was saying. Everyone has heard it so many times. Everyone has said it so many times. “It’s just not fair!” It’s not right!” The father’s shoulders slump more and more. Its not hard to know what happens next. To know it before the parable ends. The father turns to go back into the party and the oldest son stands at attention with a back to the door saluting his own not wrong understanding of how things are supposed to be as his own robe of unconditional love and unmerited grace and undeserved forgiveness lies in a rolled-up heap at his feet. The image is an unsettling and lasting reminder of the insidious realty of human nature that resents absolutely anyone else getting something they don’t deserve. Anyone else but me. Yes…not all that hard to imagine, really.

In between the opening and closing scene there is the one with the pigs. It is an image that just shouts “he squandered his property in dissolute living” in all caps. How he lost everything. How he spent it all. How he tossed it all away on a binge of loose living. The kid went from helping to run the family business to thinking he was king of the world to working as something less than a servant for a guy who owned a pig farm. A Jewish kid up to his eyeballs in pig slop. If it is not the epitome of hitting rock bottom it is a definition of whatever is opposite of being ritually clean and whole and healthy. The harder part to imagine is the look on his face when as the bible says “he came to himself”. He found himself. He found his senses. He named his desperation.

What might be the easiest image to conjure up, the easier countenance and reaction to fathom is the one displayed by the elder son after a long days work on the farm. It is the parables timeless slice of life. He was still a ways form the house when he heard the music and the dancing; when he heard what he thought was a raucous. It was really just joy. The closer he got he could smell the calf being roasted. He heard the music. He saw all the cars lining the street. Someone was having a party at his own house and he wasn’t invited. Maybe just for a minute, right before asked someone, maybe he thought it was a surprise party for him! But that’s not what he found out. “It’s your brother! Your long lost scoundrel of a brother!” Of course it was. That’s how it always is. That’s how it always is when you’re the oldest child.

Few things are more hurtful (no matter how young or old you are) than finding out your friends are having a party and you weren’t invited. Few things more hurtful except finding out your family is having a party and you are not invited. It wasn’t that the party just started without him. He wasn’t invited. No one told him. His father never sent someone to get him. So he gets angry and refuses to go in. Like the first grader who won’t go out to recess to play kickball because it is someone else’s turn to pitch. Like the middle schooler who won’t go to the dance because the classmate said “yes” to someone else. Like the student in college who freaks out because they always used to be the smartest person in class and they now in bio chemistry they are not. Like the co-worker who stops talking to you and you don’t even know why, or the sibling who won’t call, or the uncle who won’t come to picnic, or the niece who is mad, or the cousin who is holding a grudge or the oldest child who stands outside angry and refuses to go in because the party is for “that son of yours!”.  Imagine. Just imagine. Oh, we can all imagine.

But of all the photographs of Jesus’ Parable of the Lost Son, the one not to forget, the one never to forget is the photo of the tear-filled embrace. That might be a better title for the tradition to name. It’s certainly better than “Prodigal Son” whatever that means. In the structure of the parable, this image falls right in the middle, right at the center. The tear-filled embrace both in place and meaning is the very core of the parable. The younger child was “still far off” when their parent saw them.. They were still worlds apart. Maybe it wasn’t as far as the east is from the west to use the expression of the psalmist, but this embrace, this kiss, it happened long before the child came home. They were “still far off”, still in their own slopped up world when their parent saw them, when their parent had compassion , when their parent started to run. Some translations say sympathy or pity. That doesn’t feel right to me. Compassion. Love. Mercy. One paraphrase describes it as the parent sees the lost son from way far away and their heart starts pounding.

The parent started to run, run toward the lost child. They ran away from their own home, their own family, their own turf, their own rules, their own boundaries, their own border, their own everything. The still far off lost child’s parent ran toward them; toward the land of the child’s wandering, the land of the child’s squandering. The parent ran toward the lost child’s own self destruction, toward the young child’s own uncleanliness. The parent crossed every boundary one could imagine because the youngest lost child was still far off.

Before that child could say a word, before they could spit out the lines now over rehearsed, before the child could apologize, confess, repent, or say I’m sorry or I was wrong or I love you, or I want to come home, or just I am hungry…. before they could say anything, the parent flings their arms around their child and kissed them. You know the parent cried. You know there had to be tears. You know there was weeping. “This child of mine who was lost, who was dead, is now alive!”   Right then, right there, along the way somewhere, still far off, all the way out there, the party started. Before the fatted calf, before the fancy robe, before a ring on the finger, the party started with that tear-filled embrace. The party started with compassion, with love, with extravagant grace. The party started right then.

The robe must have been a party robe. The best party robe for the best party. A party for the lost child now found. A party not just for the younger child but for the extravagance of compassion, mercy, and love shown. Like the party the shepherd threw when he found that one sheep. Like the party the woman had when she found that coin. Like the party already started. The celebration that started long before us and yet it is a party for us. The party celebrating God’s extravagant grace. The party God throws for us. A celebration for each of God’s children; even more of a celebration of God’s love revealed. A celebration of an encounter with God’s compassion, God’s love, God’s grace. God’s extravagant grace. God’s extravagant compassion, love, and grace made known in Jesus Christ. God’s own tear-filled embrace of us. For us. A party that never stops. It’s like a party in your heart. A celebration of the experience, the taste, the wonder of Christ’s embrace of you and me despite our own slopped up world, an embrace that comes no matter how far off we may be.

As for that crumpled up robe of robe of unconditional love and unmerited grace and undeserved forgiveness that lies at everyone’s feet including ours; that resentment of absolutely anyone else getting something they don’t deserve. A resentment so pervasive in the world, in everybody include you and me.  Maybe the only way to lose the resentment, to get better when it comes to someone else’s unexpected, maybe even undeserved receipt of something positive, something good, something that helps, something makes a difference for good in their life, someone receiving a bit of compassion or love or mercy, maybe the best way to go with less resentment and better neighboring when it comes to family, friends, and strangers is to remember to pick up that best party robe and put it on again and again and again.

Luke 8:22-39
David A. Davis
February 25, 2024
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The fear comes even before Jesus steps out of the boat in the 8^th chapter of the Gospel of Luke. The disciples are overwhelmed with fear and amazement after Jesus “rebuked the wind and the raging waves.” Though eight chapters into the gospel where healings and cleansing and teaching abound, Jesus calming the storm leaves the disciples afraid. Maybe that’s why none of them got out of the boat on the other side. It is only Jesus himself who steps out on the Gentile land across the Sea of Galilee from Capernaum. The description of the unnamed man’s reaction to the arrival of Jesus also oozes fear. “The man of the city who had demons.” The man falls down at the feet of Jesus begging the Son of the Most High God not to torment him. Luke never reports that the man was overwhelmed with fear but it sure sounds like it.

There on the other side Jesus steps out of the boat into the world that reeked of torment, suffering, and death. A placed where the forces of darkness, the powers that work against the ways of God, forces and powers run amok there among the tombs. The demon infested pigs were not the only ones headed for the abyss. Jesus himself stepped out on the edge of the abyss to a one-on-one conversation with the tormented soul there in that place for the dead. The man tormented by an unclean spirit multiplied by a factor of several thousand (as in legion). Forces so powerful that sometimes the shackle and chains would be broken and the man would be driven even further “into the wild”.  Fewer terms, fewer metaphors are fraught with more meaning in both the Hebrew bible and the New Testament than the wild; the wilderness. The man was sent to the same wilderness, the same abyss as Jesus was when the Spirit led him out to a place to be tempted by the devil. Jesus stepped out of the boat into a world he already knew.

The gospel’s lingering on the details here, it may not stoke fear in the reader, but it certainly foments discomfort. Or at the very least, it raises lots and lots of questions that have few easy answers. The magnitude of the man’s suffering is not the end of fear in the passage either. After Jesus commands the unclean spirit to come of the man and after Jesus humanizes him by asking his name, the demons beg Jesus to let them enter a herd of pigs. The demons rush down the bank and drown themselves in the Sea of Galilee. The calmed sea now all stirred up again. The pigs die in an abyss after all. Demons can’t avoid the abyss. Demons demon. Rushing to get as far away as possible from the ways of God.

When the man now no longer tormented man is clothed and in his right mind sitting at the feet of Jesus, that’s when fear rises again; great fear. The farmers tending the herd of pigs saw everything that happened both to the man and to their pigs. They went to tell everyone in the country and in the city. Everyone. They came to see for themselves. The people saw the healed man and were afraid. The people heard the details of the story an all the people, everyone, was seized “with great fear”.  If Luke had made reference to the anger of the swineherds or mention of the economic disruption to the entire community, maybe we could convince ourselves that the people were angry rather than afraid. Their great fear didn’t come until they saw the man sitting at the feet of Jesus clothed and in in his right mind.

Jesus takes on the powers of darkness, empire, suffering, evil, and death, power exhibited  to the nth degree. Jesus goes toe to toe with all that is at work in the world against what God intends, against the kingdom now fulfilled in him, and the people were afraid. Was their great fear because of the power Jesus unleashed in calling out the demons from the man or did their create fear come from seeing the wholeness and health of the man the world tortured with chains and shackles. Of course, the answer is yes.

It is easier when you know where to point, where to look, what to hate. It is easier when the forces of darkness are contained somewhere, in something, in someone. There is clarity in life when there is a clear enemy. The people were afraid because Jesus took away their scapegoat. Jesus brought healing to the one they believe to be the face of death. Jesus took away the focus of their fear kept in the tombs where darkness and death belong. With the man sitting there at the feet of Jesus whole, the man being set free, the people started wondering where to look. The people were so afraid they begged Jesus, Son of the Most High God to leave. The people were so afraid they turned their backs on the Savior in their midst. The chose darkness rather than light. The people who walked in darkness turned away from the great light. The people begged “God With Us” to head the other way.

This gospel story so full of fear, that great fear that comes from all the people near the end, it may not stoke fear in the reader, but it certainly foments discomfort. The man begged Jesus to allow him to stay with him, to go him. The man made whole wanted to get back in the boat with Jesus. But Jesus sent him: “Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.” Professor Barreto suggests that Jesus sent the man home to embody healing, to bring healing, to witness to good and wholeness and healing right in his own community so broken by fear and torn by the forces of darkness. To perhaps make a difference for the sake of the gospel among those whose actions and fear were far from “neighboring’. Those who seemed far from doing likewise. As is often the case in the gospel stories of Jesus, the Son of the Most High, the reader never knows how that went for the man, or for the Gerasenes, of for all the people once Jesus headed back on the boat.

Jesus stepped out of the boat into a world that reeked of torment, suffering, and death. A world full of the forces of darkness and power that works against the ways of God. A world where the forces that work to squelch the kingdom way are far from contained. Where so many demonize, label, and fear those who are different in an effort to know there to look and what to hate. A world where no explanation point is needed because the examples and descriptions are stacked up like the details of this gospel story that are so discomforting and raise so many questions. A world where further details need not be listed. Jesus stepped out of that boat right into your world and mine. Jesus stepped out of that boat into your world and mine.

I have been watching the PBS documentary written and narrated by Henry Louis Gates. His first documentary not long ago was on the Black Church. The current one is on Gospel music. This week’s episode ended with an anthem familiar to us here at Nassau Church; Richard Smallwood’s Total Praise. One of the consistent themes that comes up as he and others discuss the history of Gospel music is the inseparable relationship between preaching and gospel music in the Black Church. Gates and others tell of the despair and loss of hope in the church after Dr. King was assassinated. Through preaching and gospel music the church refused to give in the powers of darkness and evil forces of racism. Not only were people able to cling to hope, they dared to rejoice and give thanks for the promise of God’s present and ultimate victory. In their sermons, preachers like Gardner Taylor and Shirley Cesar and others elevated the conclusions of their sermons to another level when it came to taking worshippers to an experience of praise, hope, and yes, joy.

Henry Mitchell was the dean of the teaching of African American preaching. He called that kind of conclusion to a sermon “celebration”. He taught that every sermon should end in celebration. Mitchell wrote this: “Celebration is not to be mistaken for exhortation, even though it may actually bring the same result. The concluding  “challenge”  so often heard is not as great a motivator as being glad about God’s will and work in the same area of the Kingdom. The more people rejoice about the goodness and faithfulness of God, the more they establish that joyous quality,,,[in[ their inner livs, regardless of outer chaos. Preaching’s accentuation of the positive Good News should help hearers be liberated….as well empower them to seek by faith and work to liberate the oppressed.”

Jesus stepped out of that board into the outer chaos of your world and mine. That’s the Good News, isn’t it? Good News. That’s the gospel! Jesus the Son of the Most High God stepped into this world. From the ark of Mary’s womb, he came bearing our flesh. A flesh that aches when surrounded by the powers and principalities. A flesh that cries out for light amid the present darkness. A flesh that craves the present and ultimate victory of God. It is the Good News. For as you and I draw near to the man set free, now released from all the trappings of death and captivity, another tomb comes into view. Another tomb comes into view for the followers of Jesus. That tomb is empty. He sets us free from death too. For this Jesus, the Savior who steps into our world again and again, this Son of God has conquered death and plunged the depths of the abyss itself. He has forever broken the shackles and chain of those powers that work against the ways of God. And for those of us who live in a world of evil uncontained, who walk in a land of deep darkness, on them, on us, a light has shined.

And so God’s people will dare to hope, and the people will not fear, though the “earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea, for God is our refuge and strength” (Psalm 46). God’s people dare to pray endlessly for peace for one day the “people shall beat their swords into plowshares and nations shall not lift up sword against nation”. One day God’s people “will learn war no more”. (Isaiah). God’s people will work for justice and mercy and compassion knowing the kingdom in heaven shall surely be coming on earth, a kingdom where “they will hunger no more and thirst no more, and the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd”. This “God with Us’ will guide them to springs of living water, and God will “wipe away ever tear from their eyes” (Rev )

Until that day, here along the Way where Jesus steps out of the boat again and again in this world of outer chaos, you and I are called to go home and to tell anyone you can find how much God has done for us.

Mark 9:2-9
David A. Davis
February 11, 2024
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There is something about life on the other side of the Transfiguration that ought to strike a chord with those who would follow Jesus. The Transfiguration. Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up to a high mountain. Up on the mountaintop the appearance of Jesus changes right before their eyes. Mark only mentions his garments glistening in white. Matthew adds that “his face shone like the sun.” As if the glow wasn’t enough, Moses and Elijah mysteriously appear. Up on the mountaintop, Moses, Elijah, and Jesus are talking to one another like old friends but with heaven’s spotlight shining on them. Though Mark gives no runway commentary on the countenance of the Old Testament folk, their appearance must have no comparison to that of Jesus. Up on the mountaintop Jesus is transfigured.

It is interesting how many English translations of the bible stick with the word “transfigured.” Yes, some use the verb “transformed”. Others simply say “changed”. But most English versions of the bible just leave it as “transfigured.” A cognate of the Greek noun “transfiguration” is” metamorphosis”. The Apostle Paul uses the same word in a familiar verse from Romans 12: “Do not be conformed to this world but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect.” Transformed. I couldn’t find any version of the bible that uses the word “transfigured.” Only up on the mountaintop. “He was transfigured before them.”

Perhaps generations of New Testament scholars and translation committees have stuck with “transfiguration” to highlight and preserve this strange old world of the bible moment in the story of Jesus and his disciples. Maybe sticking with “transfiguration” is signal to preachers that not all biblical texts can be clipped, lifted and explained for the 21^st century ear. Sometimes the gospel just invites that 21^st century reader to sit in the strange old ancient world of the bible for a while. Like the disciples, contemporary readers of the gospel are never going to fully wrap their minds around Jesus, Moses and Elijah up on the mountaintop. Somehow amid the other-worldliness of the moment and despite being terrified, Peter acknowledges that it is “good for us to be here”. Maybe with some mix of wanting to provide hospitality and hoping to preserve the moment Peter offers to build three dwellings. But the mountaintop doesn’t last long. Not long at all. Mountaintops never do. The cloud comes. The voice booms. And then there was only Jesus heading down from the mountaintop.

There is something about life on the other side of the Transfiguration that ought to strike a chord with those who would follow Jesus. As mystical and mythical and “bible-ly” as the mountaintop experience of transfiguration reads, there is something about life with the disciples and Jesus on the downside of the mountain that seems more relatable. On the way down from the mountaintop, as the disciples seek to understand what just happened, together with Jesus they start talking about things the scribe said about Elijah coming again, and all this talk of the suffering of the son of man, and what on earth “rising from the dead could mean.” On the way down from the mountaintop, Jesus and the disciples are greeted again by the crowds of humanity and people arguing and lots of sickness and suffering. Down from the mountaintop Jesus tells them again about his own death and resurrection. Down from the mountaintop the disciples start to bicker among themselves about which one was the greatest. Down from the mountaintop Jesus  tells the disciples “whoever is not against us is for us” and he warns them about being a stumbling block to those who believe in him. Down from the mountaintop for Jesus and the disciples life happens, gospel teaching happens, ministry happens, people happen.

It is the power of the gospel of Jesus Christ. For though we may be invited again and again into the strange old world of the bible, we are always sent out into the 21^st century world as servants and disciples of the Savior. Sent out to live out our faith where life happens, teaching happens, ministry happens, and people happen. Often caught up in our own arguments and attempts to understand both the gospel and the world in which we live yet sent out by Christ himself not with a divine glow but with what the preacher in the Book of Hebrews describes as “drooping hands and weak knees”. Sent out to life on the downside with the promise of the prophet Isaiah that “those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they mount up wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.”

The life of faith on the other side of the mountaintop is not defined by struggle, doubt, pessimism or fear. Quite the contrary, it is about the life of discipleship to which we have been called. The life of discipleship where sleeves are rolled up and shoes are worn down because we’re called to be his hands and feet in and for the world. Where our clothes are not dazzling white but are worn in the knees as we heed Paul’s call to “rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, and constant in prayer.” An everyday journey with Christ Jesus that is less about getting questions answered and more about a life-giving servanthood, a radical concern for others, a theology of stewardship that shatters the love of money and smashes the idolatrous search for “what is in it for me.”  A life in Christ in your neck of the world where instances of forgiveness are multiplied to the nth degree and long-established walls are busted by daring reconciliation and the people most different from you are viewed and understood and loved through the lens of Christ himself. Some are blessed to have more than their share of mountaintops along the way, but for the rest of us, for most of us, our walk with God is usually somewhere on the way down from the mountaintop, on the other side of the Transfiguration.

In Matthew’s telling of the Transfiguration, after the disciples fell to the ground in fear as the voice from the cloud spoke, Jesus comes over to the disciples, touches them and says “Get up and do not be afraid.” Mark’s Jesus doesn’t approach, touch, or speak to the disciples on the mountaintop. “Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them anymore but Jesus.” Right then the trek down the mountain begins just as suddenly. It could be that the gospel known for its brevity just doesn’t have the space for the “do not be afraid.” Or maybe Jesus in Mark is just eager to take the disciples to the other side, to the downside. Perhaps the children of God, the followers of Jesus are to be amazed, wowed, overwhelmed by grace and filled with praise and adoration on mountaintops. But somewhere down from the mountaintop is where disciples are sent. Somewhere down from the mountaintop is where disciples are formed, shaped, molded into the life Christ calls us.

I have been reading a new book by Cornelius Plantinga, author and former president of Calvin Seminary in Grand Rapids. The title of the book is Gratitude: Why Giving Thanks is the Key to our Well-Being. It is much more of a devotional book than it is a self-help one. At the end of the book, Dr. Plantinga writes about how Jesus calls his disciples to live life with a purpose. To live so as to “glorify God and enjoy God forever” as the Westminster Confession puts it. Or as Jesus puts it in Matthew: “Strive first for the kingdom of God.” Plantinga describes it as living life with a calling an pursuing with an energy that comes from the very Spirit of God.

“People who have been penetrated by the Spirit of God so that they are redeemed all the way downtown in their hearts”, he writes. “They love God. They love their neighbors. Even when they don’t like their neighbors, they love them by treating them well. They hunger for justice. They read scripture with an appetite and ponder it with respect. They hate cruelty and join efforts to opposed it. They love kindness and support groups that show it. They know that God’s kingdom project is to make things right in the world, and they want to be part of that project.”

As I finished my friend’s book, I found myself struck, struck in a good way, by how un-profound that conclusion sounds. How ordinary, how do-able, how attainable the Christian life can be. Because Plantinga is not writing from the prophet’s mountaintop. He doesn’t end with some kind of never thought of revelation that has its own stunning aura of newness clothed in glitz.  To be honest, n, either does the book lead with the timeless, essential, bold, death conquering, world shattering acclamation that “Christ is Risen”. No,  Neal Plantinga writes as a doctor of the church who has spend a lifetime watching students, saints and sinners, the disciples of Jesus striving to lead the Christian life. He isn’t writing about the mountaintops. No, gratitude comes on the other side of the Transfiguration too. He is writing about life on the downside where life happens, teaching happens, ministry happens, and people happen. Somewhere down from the mountaintop is where disciples are formed, shaped, molded into the life Christ calls us.

Years ago a pastoral search committee from another congregation came here to Nassau Church to listen to me preach. Some members of my own search committee that spent years going to other congregations on Sunday mornings were very suspicious at these new folks who all sat together. It was more than 15 years ago so they had nothing to worry about. At one point over lunch, the chair of that committee explained the reason their pastor left after only four years. He wanted to make sure I didn’t think the church was in conflict or crisis. Our pastor shared with our Session that after four years the pastor was feeling bored, needed a new challenge, and wanted something new.

Now I have friends all around who accept a call to another congregation for all kinds of reasons and within all kinds of timeframes. No judgment here. You know in 38 years I have served two congregations. I have had students and colleagues asked about whether I can bored or how do I find new challenges. Trust me, it’s a much longer answer. But at the end of the day, I think I side with Neal Plantinga and his un-profound yet so profound conclusion about the Christian life. And year after year, season after season, watching and walking with the follows of Jesus who find themselves on this side of the Transfiguration, somewhere down from the mountaintop where disciples are formed, shaped, molded into the life Christ calls us.

I just look at you and give thanks to God, for it doesn’t get any newer than that.

Mark 1:29-39
David A. Davis
February 4, 2024
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The ministry of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark launches with one long sabbath day. One very long sabbath day. Mark tells that right after Jesus calls his new disciples from their nets they go to Capernaum. When the sabbath day comes, Jesus heads to the synagogue to teach. All of the worshippers that sabbath morning are astounded at this teaching and how he commanded the room with such authority. In the midst of his teaching he silences what the bible calls “an unclean spirit” healing a tormented man. People are even more amazed and word spread quickly that very day. When the synagogue service finishes, they go to Simon and Andrew’s house. As soon as they arrived and before brunch, the people in the house tell Jesus about Simon’s mother-in-law. Right after Jesus rids her of the fever, she begins to work on the meal. One wonders if they told Jesus about the woman’s illness right away because no one else in the house could cook.

By sundown that long sabbath day, people all over town are talking about what they had seen and heard. A crowd gathers outside on the doorstep of Peter and Andrew’s house. People bring family members and friends who were sick. As Mark puts it, “the whole city was gathered around the door.” That is less of a head count and more of a way of saying “everyone” was there. Healing and casting out, healing and casting out, healing and casting out. It must have taken Jesus well into the night. Morning teaching, an eventful brunch, and evening healing service. By any measure, a long sabbath day.

Sometime way before sunrise, “while it was still very dark”, Jesus gets up and goes out to find a place to be alone and to pray. When the others in the house wake up Jesus is no where to be found. Simon and the other still wet behind the ears disciples go out to find Jesus. They were not just looking for Jesus, they “hunted” for him. It’s strong word with all sorts of connotations. One not at all common in the New Testament. I can’t find another example of the word in the gospels. They hunted for him. Last week Dr. Barreto preached on Luke 15 and Jesus’ parables of lost things. The woman who lost a coin “searched carefully”, she didn’t hunt for it. It’s a different word in Greek. Simon and his companions who had witnessed a long sabbath day full of healing and cleansing and teaching, they went hunting for Jesus until they found him.

“Everyone is searching for you” Everyone. It must have been spoken with a bit exasperation or frustration. Everyone is looking for you Jesus! “Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.” Jesus then went “throughout Galilee”.  Simon hunted for Jesus until he found him expecting to take him back to the front step crowd waiting for more. Everyone is looking for you Jesus! Jesus stood up, looked at Simon, and after that very long sabbath day in Capernaum, Jesus said “Here we go!” and walked off in the other direction. There is something so relatable here to our encounter with Jesus the Christ, to our journey of faith him, to our questions and our wrestling. Our desire to have this who faith thing figure out. You know there were folks who arrived at dawn back at the house who hadn’t been healed yet. What about them Jesus? Mark says Jesus healed “many” not “all”. Just when everyone in Capernaum thought they had this all figured out, they had him all figured out, Jesus said “Let us go on”.

I have seen more live productions of the musical Godspell than I can count. I know it’s a “my generation, my time period” kind of thing. I know every word of every song. The only live event I have been to more is a Bruce Springsteen concert. A long time ago Cathy and I went to see Godspell in an arts center on the campus of the University of Pennsylvania that used to be a church. The staging of the play was such that it happened all around and in the audience. Audience members were essentially sitting on the stage and part of the production. Near end of the play, the Jesus character starts to offer his goodbyes to the company of followers. They formed a circle around him and the circle included the audience. The Jesus character started to make his way around the circle one by one including several audience members as well.

Each character in the play received a unique goodbye that reflected the persona revealed throughout the play. To the athletic, fitness minded follower, Jesus offered a slap on the back and a fake one-two punch to the belly. To the practical joker in the bunch, it was the start of a handshake before pulling and going for a scratch of the head. To the character who was chronically sad throughout, Jesu put a finger under the chin and with the other hand formed a smile with the corners of the mouth. And to the one who had a bit of questionable reputation and lots of relationship history, the Jesus character went in for a hug and then thought better of it.

The unspoken message was incredibly powerful to me as I found myself in that circle. For one thing, and this was never said on that stage, but we all know what happens after those goodbyes. We all know where Jesus is headed. But even more, was this affirmation that hit me hard that night. A takeaway in a little theater in University City Philadelphia that I still cling to all the time. Jesus meets who we are. Jesus meets us where we are. Just as I am without one plea. His eye is on the sparrow, I know he watches me.  If that Jesus character that night would have greeted me, said good by to me on that stage, I would have lost it. I mean ugly crying, shoulders heaving and all and Cathy rolling her eyes at the crier she married. Jesus knows…me.

But here in Mark, here in our text for this morning, there is difference, a big difference between being known by Jesus, being known by God and thinking we know, that we have it all figured out, this Jesus, this gospel. When Simon and the others went “hunting” for Jesus, the intensity or the negative weightiness of the verb shouldn’t be lost. Most English translations drop it with some version of “they just went looking for Jesus.” The Common English Version doesn’t leans in: “Simon and those with him tracked Jesus down. When they found him, they told him ‘Everyone’s looking for you’. Jesus replied, ‘Let’s head in the other direction, to the nearby villages, so that I can preach there too.”

Simon hunted for and tracked down Jesus on behalf of everyone convinced they had seen and heard and now knew everything about him. He hunted for and tracked down Jesus for all those who wanted to keep Jesus for themselves. Simon hunted for and tracked down Jesus  on behalf of those who were so absolutely sure who Jesus was and what Jesus about and what Jesus could do for them. A careful read of the first day of Jesus’ ministry in Mark is a bit of a cautionary tale for all of us who think we know Jesus, we know Jesus completely, we know Jesus better than the rest. There is a word of caution for any who fall prey to molding and shaping a Jesus of their own making, a Savior of their own liking. It is a red flag for any of us followers of Jesus who come to the conclusion that Jesus always thinks like we do and agrees with us all the time. This long sabbath day in Mark is a rapid fire introduction to the ministry of Jesus that flashed from scene to scene (teacher, spirit remover, healer, crowd attracter, solitary pray-er). And just as Mark seems to be suggesting that this Jesus offers a bit of everything for everyone, just when the crowds are trying to horde Jesus for themselves, Jesus speaks of what he came out to do. Jesus reminds the reader that there’s difference between being known and thinking we know.

“Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.” Proclaim the message. That message is what Mark calls “the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God…….Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God and saying ‘the time is fulfilled and the kingdom of God has come near, repent and believe in the good news.’” (Mk. 1:14) The time is fulfilled and the kingdom of God has come near. A kingdom where the lame walk and the sick are healed and the hungry are fed. A kingdom where swords are smashed into plowshares and the most powerful are brought low and dividing walls are town down and outcasts are welcome. Jesus didn’t come to simply be all things for all people. He came to fulfill the very kingdom of God.

Part of the uniqueness of the Gospel Mark, the shortest of the four gospels, what ought to strike you when you take your place on this stage where the gospel plays out all around you, what one should never miss when reading Mark is that you are never far from the ending. No matter where you are in Mark, your close to the end. We all know how this is going to end. So after a long sabbath day right in chapter one, when Simon and his companions hunt down Jesus for all of us who think we have it now and forever figured out, Jesus turns and points. He tells Simon that what he came to do was proclaim the message and he points in the other direction. But he’s not just pointing to the neighboring towns and villages. When Jesus says to Simon, “let’s go on”, Jesus is pointing all the way to the cross. Pointing for the unclean spirits who yell his name, for the followers who try to track him down, for the reader drawn in once again, for all of us who think we know, for all of us, Jesus points all the way to the cross and says “that is what I came out to do.”

When you stand at the foot of the cross trying to comprehend his dying love for you, for you as you are, where you are, who you are?  There comes this overwhelming takeaway to cling to forever. When it comes to Jesus, his gospel, and his love for you, it is something you can never figure out. No. It is much, much more of a gift for you to receive.