Luke 23:26-49
David A. Davis
March 6, 2022
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Spectacle. “…all the crowds who had gathered there for this spectacle…” All the crowds gathered outside the city gates at the placed called “The Skull”. Maybe it was called “the skull” because it was a barren, craggy, rocky, bald head-like notable hill always in view from the city. Maybe it was called “the skull” because the ground was littered with skulls and bones from all the public executions held there. A place where everyone knew, everyone came, everyone gathered for the spectacle of death. “The place that is called the skull”. Everyone knew where it was just like everyone in town knew where the lynching tree was. Spectacle.

The crowds saw it all. The march. The torture. The mockery. The scoffing. The derision. The humiliation, degradation, dehumanization. The violence and the death. All the crowds saw every bit of it, the spectacle. Some of them would have been in the crowd shouting “Crucify, crucify him!” They would have heard Pilate say, “Why, what evil has he done? I have found in him no ground for the sentence of death; I will therefore have him flogged and then release him.” But all the crowds, the mob, they kept demanding Jesus be crucified. According to Luke, the loudest voices carried the day. Instead of releasing Jesus, Pilate released Barabbas. The one the gospel writer says was “Put in prison for insurrection and murder”. Pilate handed over a man to be killed that he knew was innocent. There among all the crowds, some must of heard one of the others suffering and dying on the cross say “this man has done nothing wrong”, referring to Jesus. And after Jesus “breathed his last” there on that cross, some must have heard the Centurion say “Certainly this man was innocent.” What Luke called a spectacle: an innocent, innocent, innocent man being brutally murdered by the powers and principalities of authority and empire in the world as all the crowds who had gathered there saw what had taken place.

When you begin reading Luke at the cross, when you begin Lent at the cross, when you begin a sermon at the cross, you can’t help but, you sort of have to see the cross for what it was. Spectacle. I grew up singing about the cross. I grew up hearing a lot about being a disciple of Jesus and taking up the cross. I was taught to lay my burdens at the foot of cross, and to ponder Christ’s suffer on the cross for my sins and the sins of the world. But the spectacle of it all; not so much.

I have a database of all the sermons I have preached from this pulpit in 21 years. I can reference sermons by date, by title which I can never remember, or by scripture lesson. Trust me, the development and maintenance of that data base is thanks to the people I get to work with. I cannot take any credit. You will remember that Good Friday services at Nassau do not include a sermon. We don’t follow of tradition of several sermons and a three-hour service on the “Seven Last Words”. But I was still surprised, and frankly a bit embarrassed, when I checked the data base this week. I have never preached a sermon at Nassau Church on the texts of crucifixion. I have never preached a sermon about the cross. When you begin reading Luke at the Cross, when you begin Lent at the cross, when you begin a sermon at the cross, you can’t help but, you sort of have to, see the cross for what it was. A spectacle of evil and violence sparked by threatened authority, fueled by ruthless power, and seductively attractive to masses of people who couldn’t look away. See the cross for what it was. Humanity’s spectacle; a timeless spectacle of the power of sin and evil.

“When all the crowds who had gathered there for this spectacle”, Luke writes, “saw what had taken place, they returned to their home, beating their breasts.” The phrase “beating their breasts” connotes lament and weeping. It is as if Luke implies that everyone in those crowds left in grief and horrified having watched what took place. All the crowds? Everyone in the crowd? I am not convinced, Luke. Too many people thump their chest in victory or defiance or in self-congratulations. No Luke, I don’t think everybody walking home from the place called the Skull was filled with lament and regret. Human history and our own eyes won’t let us completely believe that it was everyone.

But the women? The women who had followed him from Galilee, who stood at a distance watching as the mobs went home. The women are the very personification of the grief and lament caused by that spectacle. Those are the woman who were following him along the way of the cross. The ones in the crowd following him as Simon of Cyrene was seized and given the cross beam to carry. The women were “beating their breasts and wailing for him.” Tradition and the presumption of the gospel narratives would place Mary, the mother of Jesus in that crowd. Mary, who bore for us a Savior to show God’s love aright, when half spent was the night. Mary who wrapped her infant child in swaddling clothes and laid in a manger. She laid him in a manger, the little Lord Jesus who laid down his sweet head. Mary and the other women from Galilee standing at a distance in grief as the crowds turned away from the spectacle and her son was left on the cross with his sweet head hanging in death.

Earlier, according to Luke, along the way Jesus turned to those women and spoke the puzzling words full of apocalyptic imagery and a quote from the prophet Hosea. Like anyone who attended one of our small groups this week talking about this passage, I find myself struggling to wrap my head around Jesus’ words here. It could have something to do with Luke’s attempt to take the spectacle of the crucifixion to apocalyptic levels. Maybe it has something to do with connecting the violence perpetrated upon Jesus with the violence and death that came with the destruction of Jerusalem at the hands of the Roman Empire.

But maybe you and I should worry less about wrapping our heads around Jesus’ words and more about wrapping our hearts around Jesus and his words: “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children.” The Savior of the world speaking words of warning and solidarity to every mother in every time and place who has lost a child to an unjust death. Because when you begin reading Luke at the cross, you will now never gloss over or even forget what old man Simeon said to Mary and Joseph way back in the second chapter of Luke as he took the child Jesus in his arms. You won’t gloss over “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed, and a sword will pierce your own soul too.” A mother’s sword of grief that pierce’s her soul and a son’s unjust death.

No reader of Luke will ever gloss over or forget this word of Jesus from the cross either: “Truly, I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” The eye, and the ear, and the attention for all kinds of reasons leans toward “paradise.” The word “paradise” which occurs nowhere else in Luke. But you know Luke is going to want the reader to ponder the word “today.” “Today” does occur in Luke, sometimes in a pretty significant way. “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today…today salvation has come to this house.” Zacchaeus and today. “Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” That’s what Jesus said after unrolling the scroll in the temple and reading from Isaiah; good news to the poor, release to the captives, sight to the blind, the oppressed go free. Today. “Today, you will be with in paradise.” Jesus, the gospel of Luke, and the theology of today. Jesus and his cross, the whole horrible spectacle of it all. Today.

When you begin reading Luke at the Cross, when you begin Lent at the cross, when you begin a sermon at the cross, it is to stand at the foot of the cross today and weep. It is to look around the world today and see yet again and again examples of humanity’s timeless spectacle. Even more, to see the very face of Jesus, his sweet head hanging in death, in the faces of the victims of the unrelenting spectacles of the power of sin and evil. Jesus’ death was not the first nor the last unjust death. And Mary has never been alone in her grief. To begin at the cross is to affirm the very presence of the Savior’s dying love for this, this very world. Yes, this world, our world. 2022 and all that it is. All that there is in the world. For God so loves…this world.

By the way, all those soldiers, Ukrainian and Russian dying, all the Ukrainian men, women, and children dying amid the atrocity, the spectacle of war, they all have a mother grieving the unjust death of a child. Johanny Rosario Richards was a Marine killed by a bomb in Kabul along with 12 other members of the United States military as the forces left Afghanistan. Johanny’s mother’s name is Culasa. Brian Sicknick is the police officer who died just hours after defending the capital on January 6th of last year. His mother’s name is Gladys. Ahmaud Arbory’s mother name is Wanda. Breanna Taylor’s mother’s name is Tamika. Katie Meyer, the young woman who was the goalie on the Stanford’s women’s soccer term who tragically took her own life on campus last week, Katie’s mother’s name is Gina. Michael Brown’s mother is Leslie. Travon Martin’s mother is Sabrina. A mother’s grief and a child’s unjust death. No, Mary was never going to be alone.

At the foot of the cross and at the Table of the Lord’s Supper. Today. Weeping, yet clinging to Christ’s promise. I will be with you always. Yes, in every time. But more, maybe even more, in every place. Every. Place.

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Exodus 34:29-35
David A. Davis
February 27, 2022
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It probably would have been much easier if the shine, the shine described as coming from the face of Moses; it would probably be a lot clearer if the shine was coming from the tablets. If that glow described in Exodus 34 was not coming from the face of Moses but from the stone tablets themselves. A stone tabled version of the burning bush. When the bush was burning yet not consumed, when the voice came from the burning bush calling to Moses, it all came with a kind of clarity with regard to the holiness, the glory of God. “Take your shows off this is holy ground… I am who I am.” A relationship to God would be easier, I guess, if one could be certain, if one could see and point to the holiness and glory of God.

After all, that’s what Peter was trying to do, that’s Peter was trying preserve up there on the mountain of Transfiguration. He was pulling for the obvious, wanting Jesus to just stay up there in all his glory. Jesus with his face changed and his clothes dazzling white. Jesus there with Moses and Elijah. Do you think Moses’ face still shone? They all appeared in glory and Peter said, “Master, this is good; right here, this…this is good. I can see your glory. Your lineage. You as teacher and prophet. Let’s stay here where it is all so clear, so apparent, so radiant”. But basking before the crystal-clear glory of Christ Jesus was but a fleeting moment. Just down the mountain, Jesus points all the way to Calvary and his suffering and death. The mystery of God’s veiled glory there on the cross.

The shine on Moses’ face came after his second trip down from Mt. Sinai with an armful of commandments. This was the mulligan. The do-over. The first time Moses came down carrying the tablets that had writing on both sides; described in scripture as the work of God, the writing of God, the first time Moses came down with the law in hand, he heard the noise of war in the camp. It was not the sound of victors or the cry of losers but the sound of revelers. Moses saw the golden calf and all the dancing. Moses, his anger burned hot, and he threw down the work of God, breaking the tables there at the foot of Mt Sinai.

In the aftermath, Moses had a heart to heart with Aaron. Moses put the people to the test: “Who is on the Lord’s side?” And it was an inexplicably violent act of cleansing that took place next with brothers and sons falling to the sword. Moses told the people he would go back up to the Lord hoping to make atonement for their sin. And after some negotiations between Moses and the Lord, after a plague, after the tent of meeting and the pillar of cloud that would descend, after (as the bible says) the Lord spoke to Moses face to face, as one speaks to a friend, after Moses asked to see God’s glory and God told him he could not see God’s face but only God’s backside as God covered Moses with God’s hand, Moses protected in the cleft of a rock,  after all of that, the Lord told Moses to try again. “Cut two tablets of stone, like the old ones and I will write the words that were on the ones you broke. Be ready in the morning and come on up with the stones.” Moses was up on Mt. Sinai for forty days and forty nights with nothing to eat or drink. And the Lord again wrote on the tablets the words of the covenant, the ten commandments, the ten words.

As Moses came down the mountain the second time with the two tables, the life of faith would probably be a bit more cut and dried if the shine as coming from the tablets themselves, from the writing of God. If the shine came from the writing of God, the people could point to and see the holiness and glory of God right there in stone. And forever more, to perceive, to get a glimpse of God’s glory the people could just hang the tablets in holy places or public places, pay them homage and call it a day. A relationship to God would be easier, I guess, if one could be certain, if one could see and point to the holiness and glory of God.

But it was the skin on Moses’ face that was shining, shining because he had been talking with God. With tablets in hand, Moses’ didn’t know his face was shining but Aaron and all the Israelites could see the shine, even from a distance. With that shine on his face, the people were afraid to come near. Moses called to them and when they came near Moses “gave them in commandment all that the Lord had spoken with him on Mount Sinai.” It was after he finished speaking that he put on a face covering. Whenever Moses went in to speak with God, he would take his face covering off. When he came out and told the people what God has said, they could see his face. They could see the shine. After he told them what God had said, then he would put the veil back on. The text doesn’t say, doesn’t imply, that they were afraid again every time they could see his face. But when he wasn’t speaking of what God had said, Moses would cover his shining face again. So, his face covering was for the benefit, for the care, for the faith of the people God. If it wasn’t simply about their fear, perhaps it was not to distract from the holiness, the glory of God. Moses was one telling the people all that God had spoken to him, but the glory belongs to God, not Moses. The shine comes from God, not Moses.

Yet the shine was not the tables, it was on the face of Moses. With that shining face, Moses gave the people just a glimpse of the glory God. Moses carried in his being something of his encounter with the Living God. With that downright mysterious glow coming from his face, Moses cannot really hide the notion that he had been transformed by the presence of God Almighty. With that face, Moses stands as a reminder that our life in God is never just about the mind, or just about the heart, or just about the spirit. God working in and through us takes bodily form. You feel it. You taste it. You breath it. With that shine, Moses embodies the affirmation that encounters with God aren’t just reserved for mountaintops. That in the complex and cloudy reality of everyday life, God goes with us. A relationship to God would be easier, I guess, if one could be certain, if one could see and point to the holiness and glory of God. But in the wisdom and grace of God, we shall be blessed to experience fleeting moments in us and in others. A glimpse of God’s glory in the lives of those transformed by the Living and Loving God. Yes, in the brokenness of our humanity, there comes this shine, these snippets of glory. A glory revealed in fits and starts. A shine that so easily fades. But it is God’s glory nonetheless, a glory that is the face of Christ in and through the likes of you and me…rather than those stones.

At the end of along week when images of war and Russia’s invasion of Ukraine scream from all of our devices, a week where the world seems like it got even heavier than it has felt for the last few years, I find myself once again craving just a glimpse of God’s glory, craving to remember those moments, those encounters with the likes of you and me when there was a bit of shine. You might not know that when our small groups meet, Corrie Berg often has a small group of kids who talk about the same passages we are studying in small groups, adult education and encountering in our preaching life. Last fall one of the texts was the story of Esau and Jacob and their tear-filled embrace of reconciliation after years of a shattering relationship that went far beyond sibling rivalry.  As Corrie told the story to her small group it became clear that not everyone knew how the story ended. And when she told of the embrace, when she described that moment of grace and reconciliation, an audible gasp could be heard. A young person’s unrestrained reaction to the unexpected grace of God made known in that embrace. Being moved, touched, experiencing again or for the first time, a testimony to our reconciling God. Corrie didn’t say, but I bet there were some shining faces.

As you heard this morning, Nancye Fitzpatrick is celebrating her 100^th birthday this weekend. Nancye’s dear husband Jim passed away in 2016. One afternoon a few weeks before his death, he and I were sitting at the dining room table after the noon meal. Nancye left the room to give us some space in case Jim wanted to just talk to his pastor. During that conversation we talked about eternity, about heaven. “I know people get all worked up about what to believe and they have trouble with this scripture or that”, Jim said. “It doesn’t seem to me to be all that complicated. For me it all comes down to, the gospel all comes to down to love. The promise is God’s everlasting love. That’s enough for me,” Jim said. “I don’t need any more than that”.  I think about that conversation a lot and what Jim Fitzpatrick revealed to me that day about the everlasting love of God. Looking back, I think his face was shining.

Back in January, Lauren McFeaters and I shared with you the death of Margie Olmeda. I have known Margie for years. Many in Princeton knew Margie. She spent most days and nights at the dinky station and at the Wawa. She also spent a lot of time across the street on Palmer Square. Margie didn’t have an easy life and struggled with many challenges. Every so often Margie would stop by the church. Sometimes looking for gift card or a bit of help. More often, just to chat with me. One afternoon long before the pandemic, we sat in my office. Margie had a clarity of thought and speech that day that I didn’t often see. She came to ask for a bible in the King James. It wasn’t easy but staff members were able to find one for me to give her. At one point a look of shame and guilt came upon Margie’s face. “Pastor Dave, I am not a good person. What is God going do with me?” “Margie, Margie, why would you say that”. “Well, for thing, I drink.” I responded, “Well, Margie, I drink too” “Pastor Dave” she bellowed with a look of shock. “Margie, God loves you and me no matter what we do, whether we drink or not.” Tears start streaming down her face and Margie asked, “So you think God will forgive me?” I said, “Margie, I know God forgives you.” And a smile on her face joined her tears. And a few minutes later, as Margie, my homeless friend from the Wawa, got up to leave, she said, “Thank Pastor Dave. Can I give you a hug?” And we embraced. It was one of the holiest conversations I have ever had. And to watch the face of someone be assured, in real time, and as if for the very first time of God’s forgiveness, well, I saw a shine in Margie’s tears, a shine in Margie’s face that day.

The truth is, in our relationship with God, in the life of faith, by grace of Jesus Christ our Savior, you and I can see and point to the holiness and glory of God. As Jesus would say, “for those who have eyes to see.” And the shine was never in the stones.

Thanks be to God.

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2 Corinthians 4:13-16 [i]
Lauren J. McFeaters
February 20, 2022
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I love short stories. Lynna Williams has authored a short story called “Personal Testimony,” about a twelve-year-old girl, adopted by a fiery Southern Baptist preacher in West Texas. She grows up listening to energizing, pulpit-pounding sermons, and each summer she attends a Bible camp in Oklahoma.

By day, this camp is filled with archery, volleyball, canoeing, arts and crafts. And by night, all the campers attend a “Come to Jesus” revival meeting and it’s expected (at least twice during the summer), each child will come forward, and give a dramatic story of Christian conversion and personal testimony.

The trouble is most of the campers have never had a dramatic conversion and can’t begin to share a personal testimony. So the girl of the story discovers a way to both be both helpful and to make extra cash:  she becomes a ghostwriter for Jesus.

For $5 a piece she writes personal testimonies for the kids who just can’t come up with anything dramatic enough to confess. And it works. The kids at camp give the most remarkable testimony about faith. The camp has never, ever, seen anything like it.^[ii]

Lynna Williams’s story, plays off the anxiety for many of us, that we don’t have sufficient words to express our faith; that we can’t testify to our commitment or attest aloud what we believe – that we need someone else to do it for us.

“Please,” we say, “point me to a book so I’ll know what I believe. Help me find a blog that has the words. Is there a YouTube video or Twitter feed I can follow?”

What we fail to remember is this: inside each of us is the capacity to bring forth our faith to speech. ^[iii] We believe and so we speak.

For Paul, many in the church in Corinth have forgotten how to speak about God. A church once so passionate about the risen Christ now suffers from the inability to share the gospel they love. The church has forgotten how to testify.

And why? Because they’re too caught up in arguments and squabbles. Paul finds himself faced with a beloved church who are pros at voicing disputes and mum about the God they worship. Nor does the church in Corinth trust Paul’s words, refuses his guidance, and is losing its heart to fear.

So once more, with pen to paper he writes a letter and  speaks the truth in love:

You are not to keep quiet about your love of God.

And just like the Psalmist says,

“I believed it, so I said it,” – we say what we believe.

And what we believe is:

the One who raised up our Lord,

will just as certainly raise us up.

Everything is for your sake:

more and more grace, more and more people,

more and more praise! [iv]

We believe, and so we speak.

We do not lose heart.

Paul knows the signs that we’ve lost our heart. It’s not a pretty sight. When we’ve forgotten how to count on the gifts of faith, like hope and purpose. When we lose confidence and groundedness in one another. When we can’t be bothered with prayer and worship. When we refuse to honor God with our words:

• Self-centeredness reigns;
• Crankiness abounds;
• Everyone’s a grouch.

When the church forgets it’s voice, silent over one thing, getting their knickers in a twist about another; Paul knows it’s but a smoke screen for what’s needed most: to open our  mouths, even if it’s a whisper, saying, “Alleluia.”

We believe and so we speak.

We believe and so we sing.

We believe and so we pray.

We believe and so we act.

Be believe and so we grieve.

We believe and so we speak up when

witnessing acts of racism, injustice, and cruelty.

We do the thing, we think, we cannot do.

 And we do not lose heart.

Like the campers in Lynna Williams’ story, we forget inside each of us is the ability to bring forth our faith to speech and to use it for good.

One preacher puts it like this:

• Our common misunderstanding is thinking we have to have our beliefs all neat and organized, you know, all decent and in order, before we open our mouths.
• We don’t just say things we already believe. On the contrary, saying things out loud is a part of how we come to believe.
• We talk our way toward belief, talk our way from tentative belief to firmer belief;
• talk our way toward believing more fully, more clearly, more deeply.^[v]

When the church of Jesus Christ feels battered by the world’s tragedy and trauma, and experiences an abundance of grief, fear, and anxiety. When we lose heart as heartbreak reigns upon our world, Paul, our Pastor, knows the Living Word can stand us once again on our feet. And the Living Word is this:

• to speak of what we believe;
• to speak on behalf of another until they too can speak,
• to gather on behalf of those without voice;
• to invite one another into a new beginning.

Oh the healing of a new beginning!

Don’t you love it? Don’t you need it?

Here are new beginnings:

• There’s Abby McAlister, a local woman who moved to a new neighborhood, who fasted for Ramadan so that she might better understand her Muslim neighbors.
• There’s the Masai warriors, who 20 years ago, gave 14 head of cattle, their most precious gift, to the people of the United States, so that they we might find a new beginning and a healing from the attacks of 9/11.^[vi]
• There’s a congregation on Nassau Street that stands and affirms the glory of God’s Spirit, and makes Baptismal promises to Celeste Anne, the newest member of Christ’s church.

Oh to embrace the new. That our lives may increase thanksgiving, to the glory of God. To be as determined as Paul, to set his beloved church of Corinth on a fresh path. And why? So that the church might speak aloud of what it believes, for we are ambassadors for Christ our Lord.

And loving us so deeply

Taking our old,

frayed,

tattered,

threadbare hearts,

and stitching, darning, and suturing them together,

God puts testimony on our tongues.

Such freedom. Such beauty. Such tenderness.

Everything old has passed away!

See, everything has become new!

Thanks be to God.

 

ENDNOTES

[i] 2 Corinthians 4:13-16: But just as we have the same spirit of faith that is in accordance with scripture – “I believed, and so I spoke” – we also believe, and so we speak, because we know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also with Jesus and will bring us with you into his presence. Yes, everything is for your sake, so that grace, as it extends to more and more people, may increase thanksgiving, to the glory of God. So we do not lose heart. Even though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed day by day. (NRSV)

[ii] Lynna Williams. “Personal Testimony,” in A Ghost at Heart’s Edge, eds. Susan Ito and Tina Cervin. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books, 1999, 193-203.

[iii] Thomas G. Long. Testimony: Talking Ourselves into Being Christian. San Francisco:  Jossey-Bass, 2004, 5.

[iv]  Eugene H. Peterson. The Message: The New Testament in Contemporary English (2 Corinthians 4: 13-15). Colorado Springs, CO: NavPress Publishing Group, 1993.

[v]  Long, 6.

[vi] Kaethe Weingarten, Common Shock: Witnessing Violence Every Day, How We Are Harmed, How We Can Heal. New York: E.P. Dutton, 2003.

 

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Psalm 138
David A. Davis
February 6, 2022
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We give you thanks, O Lord with a whole heart. A heart full of your love. A heart made fresh by your grace. A heart that knows what it means to be broken and hurt. Yes. A heart that has known the comfort of your Holy Spirit. A heart that has been renewed over and over again by the forgiveness of your Son, our Savior. We lift a whole heart before you in gratitude. A gratitude that spills from the heart and shapes the work of our hands in service to you. Thanksgiving that inspires the movement of our feet in the life of discipleship. Thanks that leaps from our lips not only in adoration but in the proclamation of your righteousness and justice in and to the broken world.

Before all the other gods it is to you that we sing praise, Holy One. There are so many gods, so much idolatry, so many things to worship that swirl around us all the time. Empires bow to the gods of power and might. The altar of wealth that is decorated with greed gets bigger and bigger and taunts us all the more. The idols shaped by the love of self, and the obsession with “what’s in it for me”, and demonization of the other never seem to go away. So many gods that scream at us and tempt us and haunt us. Yet, before them, surrounded by them, it is to you and you alone that we sing praise.

We not only sing and shout and praise you. We turn with our lives to bow down to your holiness. We turn to humbly fall at the foot of the throne of your majesty. We turn to your dwelling place to say thank you with our lives. The thanksgiving of our lives lived in response to your steadfast love and faithfulness. Your steadfast love and faithfulness made known to us in Christ Jesus. Our salvation revealed in the One carried in the ark of Mary’s womb. The One in whom you fullness was pleased to dwell. The One who took our same human flesh. God with us. Immanuel. Your Word became flesh and dwelt among us. Your dwelling place. We turn  to your dwelling place to say thank you, Lord.

Holy, Holy, Holy! Lord God Almighty. And Holy is your Word, the Lamb upon the throne. Alpha and Omega. Your Word from the beginning. You Word forever. Eternal Light. Never ending Love. Undying Hope. You above everything else. You beyond all things. You alone. Thanks be to God.

You see, on those days we need you most, you answer. The answer may not be from a burning bush or a voice calling in the night. The answer may not be clear to us, or that word we want to hear. And yes Lord, there are the days we’re not so sure your answered. Those nights when we’re absolutely certain you haven’t answered. Times that is feels like you’ve ghosted us. Like when 900,000 people have died in a pandemic and the urgent need of attention to the common good is lost amid feckless leadership and a ever-widening chasm fueled by bitterness and vitriol and hate. Like when our prayers for a loved one who is suffering are the most fervent prayers maybe in a lifetime and they don’t seem to make a difference. Like when the suffering of the poor and the hungry and the homeless in a nation, in a world that has do better while billionaires get attention by entertaining themselves with building rockets. We’re not going lie, Lord. There are those moments when it comes to your answer.

But the wordless answer of your presence shall never leave nor forsake us, even to the end of the age. We claim that promise and we live that promise because you have increased the strength of our souls. You have lodged within us a peace that that world can never give. The darkness of death has yet to overcome the light of resurrection hope and life in our lives. You have mended broken hearts and lifted broken spirits and tended to broken lives. We believe because we’ve seen it. We’ve lived it. We know it even more than we can say.

One day the royalty of this earth shall praise you, O Lord. The ones with such power. Those whose decisions can, in fact, change the world. Not just the leaders of nations but those with a wealth that staggers the imagination. Those who have reigned in power in the boardroom from generation to generation. Those who have scorched the earth for the sake of profit and success. Those who have created a ladder of success that thrives on keeping others down. Mary said that one day you would bring down the powerful from their thrones and lift up the lowly, that you would fill the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty. Maybe that’s what it will take but one day they shall praise you because they have heard the words of your mouth. They have heard the call of the prophets and teaching of Jesus and the vision of the world as you intend it. One day they shall sing the ways of the Lord, for great is the glory of the Lord.

If your peace is not what the world gives, your glory is certainly not what the world expects. The world’s royalty, the world’s leaders, the world’s anointed, they have a different definition of greatness than you do God, For you, you are high and lifted up and exalted and yet you never forsake the lowly. Your concern, your preference, for the poor and the outcast has never wavered. And you, O Lord, can always perceive and sniff out arrogant, selfish pride. No, the world will never understand the greatness of the glory of the Lord. You who handed over your only begotten Son to the evils and wiles of the powers and principalities, bringing the victory of salvation not by power and might but by his selfless, dying love for the world. The Son of God who said over and over and over again, if you want to be first, you have to be last, if you want to be great, you have to be least. Indeed, the glory of the Lord revealed in the one this world put to death.

It is that same world in which we walk day in and day out, Loving God. Frankly, that pathway is not easy. Never has been. Never will be. To use the terms of the sacred page, it’s a wilderness road, Lord. Yes, a valley of the shadow of death. There is a lot of trouble to negotiate in our walk of faith these days. Our walk with you in the here and now. Yet, you will preserve us. You will reach out and deliver us. In the words of the psalmist you promise, “Call on me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you, and you shall glorify me.” You promise in the words of the Savior, “Come to me all who are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest”.  Yes Lord, yes. For it can seem like some days, most days, we’re surrounded by the wrath of the enemies of our life with you.

The wrath of our enemies. Yes, the magnitude of suffering and death near and far. Yes, the lust for guns, and non-stop mass shootings and drive by shootings and women who die at the hands of another in what is almost casually labeled “domestic violence”, innocent people killed by law enforcement and offers killed when simply responding to a call. Yes, in the midst of trouble, Lord, we surrounded by the wrath of our enemies. When historic black universities are threatened with bombs, and women’s rights to their bodies are taken away, and you can’t even offer water to people waiting in line to vote, trouble’s wrath of yester year never goes away. Preserve us again, stretch out your hand again, deliver us again, Lord. Do not forsake us as we trod along this bumpy, twisting pathway of way with you as the world’s evil snaps at our feet.

Still, God, fulfill your purpose for us. You have called us, shaped us as the Body of Christ, and sent us into the world you so love. Fulfill your purpose of righteousness, justice, and mercy in us. Your purpose of abundant and eternal life, in us. Your purpose of faith, hope and love, in us. For your steadfast love, O Lord, endures forever. Allow your steadfast love to endure in and through us, forever.

Do not abandon the work of your hands, Gracious God. Do not abandon or forsake or turn away from the work of your hands. Your work of salvation and the promise of the peaceable kingdom, the kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven. Your work on behalf of the poor, and the oppressed, and the outcast, and the widow and the orphan, and the stranger, and the prisoner. Your work of creation, where it suffers from the destruction of humankind, where that which you called good has been marred by sin. Your creation where there are still places that sparkle with beauty like a the fresh morning dew on a crisp new day. Do not abandon or forsake or turn from the work of your hands. And most of all, or maybe better said, even more so, don’t give up on us. For we are yours, you called us by name and know the number of the hairs on our head. We are your beloved, children of God. Yes, we are. And you, you are always greater than our hearts. So don’t forsake us, the work of your hands.

Accept this our sacrifice of thanks and praise.

And at the end of day, and the end of life, God, what it all comes down to, is this:

Thank you Lord, thank you Lord, thank you Lord. We just want to you Lord.

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1 Kings 19:9b-12
Rachel Rhodes
January 23, 2022
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I’ll be the first to admit that I like when God is predictable…when God can be found in the places I expect God to be.  I prefer when God hasn’t gone all rogue on me, and instead can still be found at the summit of a 7 mile hike, or on the edge of an ocean looking out over the horizon, or in morning devotions, or in the stunning descants of a church choir, or in a chapel or sanctuary where I have always experienced the presence of God and always known God to dwell.  I give thanks when God can still be found in the liturgy on a Sunday morning or a hymn we sing during communion or in the wonderful gift of in-person worship, which we certainly don’t take for granted anymore.  I love it when God can be found in the very places and people and experiences where I expect God to be…where I need God to be.  After all, there are times when all of us need to hear a Word from the Lord…times when we need to feel the comfort and presence of the Divine…times when we need to know that God will be there when we call.  And so, it’s a gift to know that there are places and spaces where we can always count on God to be.

My hunch is this is why Elijah set out for Mount Horeb that day.  His life was such a mess, he needed to know God was still there. He needed the assurance that God was where he left God. He needed a reminder that he was not alone in this world. He needed to talk to God.  And he knew he could count on God to be on Mount Horeb. It was the mountain of God, after all.

Now, to be clear and to put this text in a little bit of context, Elijah’s life hadn’t always been such a mess.  Sure, the prophet gig wasn’t easy, but he’d had a pretty good run…confronting kings, performing miracles, raising people from the dead, calling down lightning from heaven!  Not bad for a few days on the job.  But here in chapter 19, we find Elijah absolutely despondent.  He is intimidated by his opponents, he is filled with self-doubt, he is complaining that things are not going his way, he is tired, he is fed up, he’s ready to give up ministry altogether, he is perhaps even suicidal.  And so Elijah heads for the mountain of God…the place where Elijah knows God will be…where he can count on God to be.

He wasn’t long on the mountain before the word of the Lord came to Elijah asking, ‘What are you doing here, Elijah?’  Elijah is pretty exasperated in his response, complaining about how hard this work has become. It’s not the most cordial encounter, but remember, Elijah is about ready to throw in the towel.  And Elijah is told, “go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord because God is about to pass by. God is about to show up.”  And so, Elijah, knowing he’d come to the right place, went out to stand on the mountain.

And there was a great wind that came, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord.  I can imagine Elijah standing on the mountain, a smile breaking out across his weary face, hands outstretched…ready to receive the power of the Lord  “Yes, Lord…I knew you’d show up, I knew you’d be here…bring your power…bring that wind…blow them all away!  Fill me again with your power.”  But God was not in the wind.

But fear not, Elijah, after the wind, a great earthquake is coming.  It shook the very ground on which Elijah stood…”Yes, Lord…bring that quaking ground…put the fear of the Lord in your enemies…I can still be your servant…let’s scare them good!  Show them the strength of your power…shake them right out of their shoes!”  But God was not in the earthquake.

Oh, God, you got me…you got me…you saved the best for last, for after the earthquake came the fire…you remember the fire…the fire that spoke to Moses on this same mountain…the fire that protected the Israelites and guided them safely out of Egypt…the fire that God had sent through his prophet Elijah just one chapter earlier.  When the Lord wants to really make an entrance, really make a point…the Lord always comes in fire—“Lord, your enemies didn’t accept the fire that fell on the altar—so bring it all back…send your fire to consume the wicked…God, I know you are in this fire!  Thanks be to God!”  But God was not in the fire.

And after the fire a sound of sheer silence.

When Elijah heard it, he hid his face with fear and trembling and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. God had arrived…not in the way he expected…not in the way he would have predicted or perhaps even preferred…but that was precisely the point…

On the most predictable mountain God reminds Elijah that there will be nothing predictable about God.  It is, in fact, God’s unexpected, unpredictable-ness that Elijah needs to learn to embrace.

You know I can show up in earthquakes, Elijah. You know I can show up in fire, in wind, in thunder and power. You have seen it. You know I can show up on mountaintops and at sunset and in sanctuaries and in joyful hymns, but did you know, did you even consider that I can also show up in the silence?  Or in the whispers…in the still, small voice you try to drown away when your life is a mess and you have nowhere else to turn?

Did you know, Elijah, that I also show up in the midst of terrifying diagnosis, and in every relapse with addiction?  Did you know I am there every day in the quiet and lonely confusion of dementia, and in the heartbreaking days as couples navigate separation?  Did you know I am in every quiet kitchen where soup is being prepared for the hungry, by an aging church member who is determined to offer what she can?  Did you know I show up in the grace of a landlord when the rent is late…and in the gentle care of doctors when the treatment doesn’t work or the heartbeat isn’t there or, God forbid, the suffering is too terrible to even put into words…did you know, Elijah?  Did you know?  Sure, I can help you show them my power in lightning and in raising people from the dead…but do you know how miraculously I show up in isolation, and through a mask, and in the quiet whispers and sheer silence you barely acknowledge?  Even if you know it, do you believe it?  Are you willing to see it?

Because I am in the silence as often as I am in the thunder.  I am in the quiet whisper as often as I am in the joyful sound of a choir on a Sunday morning.  I am in your darkest and most desperate hour as often as I am in your most shining and most powerful moment.  This may not be where you expect to find me or how you expect to find me, but let this be a reminder to you…you have no control over where I will or will not be.  I am not a god who can be tamed or managed or controlled or put on a shelf for awhile or told to hush.  I am the God who will show up where you least expect it, sometimes where you don’t want me to be, and always where I need to be.  So, Elijah…can you hear the whispers?  Do you believe them?  Do you believe me?

Do we believe them?  Have we heard them?  I don’t know about you, friends, but when I look back on the moments when I have known the power of God’s love or felt God’s steady and unmistakable presence in my life, it has been in whispers far more often than it has been in fire.

Certainly, I have known God’s presence in the powerful, earth-shattering glory of a Christmas Eve or an Easter Sunday, but I have also known the power of God’s sheer silence in an ICU…as a father signed the papers to remove his son from life support.  I have known the power of God’s whisper around a dinner table with friends as heartbreaking news was shared and together we wept.  I have known the power of God’s still, small voice when a doctor was finally willing to admit, “I don’t know the answer”…and I have known God’s powerful presence over a computer screen, of all things, again and again these past two years.

To be honest, if you had asked me 2 years ago exactly what I thought might inhibit the work of God or prevent God from being present in our midst, I don’t know that I could have come up with a better list than what we have endured these past two years.  And yet, God has been so present… not in the ways we expected…not in the ways we would have predicted or perhaps even preferred…but isn’t that precisely the point…

That again, and again, and thanks be to God again, we are reminded that God always has the power to show up in fire…but in order to be with us, for us, near us, God will also show up in the whispers…where we least expect God…sometimes where we don’t want God to be…but always where God needs to be.  In fire…in whispers…

…in the sound of sheer silence…

Thanks be to God.

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Matthew 2: 1-12 [i]
Lauren J. McFeaters
January 2, 2022
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During the week, Nancy Prince works as one of our front desk volunteers and just before Christmas she asked me a wonderful question: “Lauren, what do you see in yourself that is a gift from your father?” Oh my. What an amazing question. My father died almost 40 years ago, and Nancy gave me a gift.

Nancy and I have known one another for many years. Before I came to Nassau over 20 years ago, I was an associate pastor at the Ewing Presbyterian Church, David Prince was the Senior Pastor, and Nancy and I became fast friends – we all did.

During this past week, I’ve thought a lot about this question. Nancy wanted to know more about my father and more about me. She was not asking about material gifts once given, but gifts of character and personhood that last beyond a lifetime.

I answered her that the gifts I see in myself, the gifts from my father are:

• a strong commitment to the positive,
• a dedication to a life of faith,
• a humility to learn from my mistakes,
• and most of all, the gift of laughter.

Gifts to remember. Gifts enjoyed for a lifetime. Gifts to pass on.

What are the gifts you remember; enjoyed for a lifetime; and passed on?

Matthew is the Gospel of Gifts.

And we’ve met the first carriers of Gospel Gifts: our Wise Men.

We see them here in Kate Cosgrove’s contemporary painting, “Nativity Three.” [ii] There’s a full-sweep of the Christmas and Epiphany story. We see a quiet, moon-lit Bethlehem. There’s a stable with Mary and Joseph smiling at the baby. There’s cow wondering where he’s supposed to eat, since a baby has taken his feeding trough.

We see shepherds and an abundance of sheep. We see Gabriel offering good news:

Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

 For unto you is born, this day, in the city of David, a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.

 And we see the wise men edging into the story. The tableau is complete. Christmas is here. Bethlehem can rest. Final pause, long beat, and cut! Amen and Goodbye.

But not so fast. Just when we’re ready to pack up the ribbon and ornaments, candles and wreaths, and before the Wise Men are  wrapped in tissue paper, relegated to the bottom of a cardboard box, Matthew tucks in one more story, one more gift, for the 12^th Day of Christmas. Let’s un-pack this package.

Who are these Wise Men who wander into Bethlehem? Magi is the Greek word used to identify Babylonian and Zoroastrian astrologers. And only in Matthew’s Gospel do these stargazers play a role. We know them as traveling envoys, literate political figures, emissaries from the courts of the East, three Kings.^[iii] But in so much we are mistaken.

Scripture never calls them Kings. Scripture doesn’t say there are Three. It’s not from scripture, but only from oral tradition, that we associate their names and countries: Balthasar from Arabia, Caspar from India, and Melchior from Persia. We don’t even know that they were all men.

Yet for all their wisdom, they’re not mind readers. They possess no special knowledge that allows them to travel directly to Bethlehem. Dealing with stars and charts, their eyes on the world above them, they’ve not understood the likes of Herod. [iv]

And yet, God chooses to reveal Jesus, not through believers, but through Seekers; Gentile Magi; traveling desert ambassadors; Stargazers from Parthia, Armenia, and regions east of Judea. Emissaries, sent to greet new Kings and to offer gifts.^[v]

And they were overwhelmed with joy…

they saw the child with Mary, his mother;

and they knelt down and paid him homage.

Then, opening their treasure chests,

they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

 Gold – a gift for a King, precious and costly.

Frankincense – a gift for a priest to use in the temple;

so sweet-smelling it provides a sense of mystery and holiness.

Myrrh – a gift for one who is to die, a burial spice,

a fragrance used to embalm.

And there it is. God’s gift, tucked into countess nativities and pageants. Right there, laid before us, as the Magi stretch out their hands, lies the Gospel Gift himself: our Prince of Peace, our Priest, our Salvation. The Gift we remember. The Gift enjoyed for our lifetime and beyond. The Gift we pass on.

And like it or not, Christmas or not, that Gift, our Jesus, takes our hand, and won’t let us stay at the stable. He leads us into a very grown-up world where:

• Faith is tested,
• Injustice must be faced down,
• Sorrow is a companion,
• And illness is everywhere.

And so we follow. Due north, up the road, over the hill to where he demands our trust, our truthfulness, and our devotion.

It’s a sobering message, this Epiphany. There’s no respite for the Christian. There never is. There never will be. Because the Christian life is not birthed in sweet gentleness.

It’s breathtaking and stirring – Yes. Absolutely.

Sweet and mild – No. Never.

And then I look at this table. And I don’t know what to say.

Because sometimes it’s too much.

Too much Gift with too much responsibility.

Too much Taste. Too much Goodness.

Too much Truth. Too much Love.

God’s Gift spread out before us.

The body broken. The blood poured out.

But here’s the thing.

Here’s the Gift of it. The Taste of it.

The Goodness of it. The Truth of it.

The Love and Sacrament of it:

In the face of this baby.

In the face of road to Calvary.

In all the dark nights of our souls;

in the face of any Herod the world can produce; ^[vi]

we belong, not to ourselves, but to The Gift.

 

ENDNOTES

[i]  Matthew 2:1-12 (NRSV):  In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men^* from the East came to Jerusalem, ²asking, ‘Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising,^* and have come to pay him homage.’ ³When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; ⁴and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah^* was to be born. ⁵They told him, ‘In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: ⁶ “And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd^* my people Israel.” Then7 Herod secretly called for the wise men^* and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. ⁸Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, ‘Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.’ ⁹When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising,^* until it stopped over the place where the child was. ¹⁰When they saw that the star had stopped,^* they were overwhelmed with joy. ¹¹On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure-chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. ¹²And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

[ii]  Kate Cosgrove. Nativity Three. Mixed media on paper, 10 x 8 inches. Private collection. 2014, katecosgrove.com.

[iii]  The New Oxford Annotated Bible: New Revised Standard Version. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001, 10NT.

[iv]  John Indermark. Setting the Christmas Stage: Readings for the Advent Season. Nashville: Upper Room Books, 2001, 68-70.

[v]  The New Oxford Annotated Bible.

[vi]  Inspired and adapted from a poem by Ann Weems, “The Christmas Spirit.” Kneeling in Bethlehem. Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1987, 51.

 

This sermon references “Nativity Three” by Kate Cosgrove. 

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Psalm 130
Michele Minter
January 16, 2022
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(Audio Only)

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John 11:38-40
David Latimore
January 9, 2022
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Luke 1:26-38
David A. Davis
December 19, 2021
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Henry Ossawa Tanner was an African American artist if the late 19^th century. He was born in Pittsburgh and grew up in Philadelphia where his father was bishop in the African Methodist Episcopal Church. Tanner trained at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts. Known for his realistic style, some identify Tanner as the first African American artist to achieve international acclaim. He spent most of his life and career in Paris. While not uncommon for artists of that time period, Tanner wrote that in France he was known as “an American artist” but in America he was forever labeled a “Negro artist”. “I was extremely timid” Tanner wrote in his autobiography. “and to be made to feel that I was not wanted, although in a place where I had every right to be, even months afterwards caused me sometimes weeks of pain. Every time any one of these disagreeable incidents came into my mind, my heart sank, and I was anew tortured by the thought of what I had endured, almost as much as the incident itself.”

In 1897, Henry Tanner traveled to Palestine. His trip was sponsored by the Philadelphia businessman, Rodman Wannamaker. According to a curator at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, while in Palestine he asked a young Palestinian woman to pose for a drawing that would become the inspiration for his famous painting entitled “The Annunciation” now held in the collection of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Dated 1898, the painting is six feet wide.  Art historians point out that reproductions and photographs of Tanner’s work do not do justice to the piercing radiance of the light which represents not just the angel Gabriel but the angel’s words to Mary as well.

A year ago in Nassau’s adult education virtual classes on “The Art of Advent”,  Jason Oosting dedicated one week’s session to artistic portrayals of Mary. More specially, to Gabriel’s annunciation to Mary. Jason covered the many symbols often associated with and painted in the scene: a lily for purity, a book or a bible for piety, a dove for the Holy Spirit and many other symbols as well. Mary is often portrayed with a halo, her head looking down in humility, her hands folded in prayer. And, of course, there is the angel Gabriel depicted in the innumerable, often ornate way that angels strike an artist’s fancy and imagination.

Which brings us back to Tanner’s painting. For this painter known for his realistic style, the angel Gabriel appears in an abstract way. The light is not coming through a window but appears inside the room. The room itself is strikingly plain from the stone floor, to the crinkled rug, to the rumbled bedding, and to Mary’s bare feet poking out beneath her night clothes. The tapestry attached to the walls to create some privacy of a bedroom seems consistent with an ancient family home in the middle east where separate rooms were rare. With what surrounds her and how she is dressed, the young woman Mary is portrayed as one of modest means or less. Her hands are not folded in prayer but more, to use the language of Luke, her folded hands reflect a pose of pondering and perplexity. There is certainly no fear in her face and her head is not downcast at all. Rather, in what seems rather like a pose of courage, she is looking directly at the divine light and with her face questioning what Gabriel has to say.

The contrast between Tanner’s Annunciation and the plethora of other artists’ work is striking. When you take into account the context of history, culture, and the religious imagination at the time, the difference is only magnified. It is as if Tanner’s own experience of oppression, racism, and being defined as other as a rising artist of color in Philadelphia inspired his creative imagine to see Mary not as holy, or pure, or pious but as a young woman in a time and place and culture who would herself occupy the margin perhaps even in her own home. The swirling questions in Mary’s mind shown in her hands and face, questions of “how can this be” and “who am I’ had to be about much more than biology. Tanner’s portrayal of the one the angel twice labels as favored by God, the one chosen by God to carry and give birth to a child who would be great and called Son of the Most High, Tanner’s painting is a timeless affirmation of the unexpected, unsettling, disorienting choice of God. For the incarnation itself, the gift of salvation, it came to be through God calling, anointing, embracing, naming someone the world, the dominant culture, and yes, even the church of Jesus Christ, would never have picked.

Earlier this year, the Philadelphia Museum released a short video on Tanner’s “The Annunciation”. The first line of the voice over is this: “Despite the simplicity of her surroundings, this is no ordinary woman. It is the Virgin Mary.”  With due respect, it seems that sort of misses the point. Henry Tanner paints Mary as less than ordinary. Which, of course, makes God’s choice all the more extraordinary. And the extraordinary part has less to do with her virginity and more to do with God’s favor. God’s favor of the poor and the oppressed and the outcast, and the shunned. For God called one of the least of these to bear God’s only Son, the Savior of the world.

“My soul magnifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for God has looed with favor on the lowliness of God’s servant.” That’s what Mary sings in the Magnificat in Luke. Her lowliness is more than her humility, more than a reference that she is merely a human compared to God. And when she sings of God scattering the proud in the thoughts of their hearts and bringing the powerful down from their thrones and lifting up the lowly, filling the hungry with good things, and sending the rich away empty, you and I tend to think of the life, ministry, and teaching of Jesus. But the scattering, the lifting, the filling and the sending, it all starts with Mary. God picking her!

Did you notice how “The Annunciation” collapses the wonder and mystery and promise of God’s salvation while affirming where it all began? Look again at the radiance of the presence of the angel Gabriel and that abstract swath of light. The light bisects the shelf on the wall to form an image of a cross. So maybe Tanner did include a symbol here. Indeed, the look on Mary’s face: the pondering, discerning, perplexed Mary. She was pondering a lot more than biology. There may be no dove to symbolize the Holy Spirit but, but in the power of the Holy Spirit, somehow Mary sees it all, the vast stretch of the very heart and heartache of God. And it all started when God found her, picked her, favored her. And she had not just the belief, but the courage to say yes to the very call of God on her life. Mary’s courageous obedience. God’s courageous choice.

Yes, it takes courage to say yes to receiving the Christ Child. Because saying “no” when it comes to bearing God’s way never gets old, does it? It’s just so darn easy, so prevalent, so timeless for humankind to say “no” when it comes to giving birth to God’s kingdom. So easy to conclude that God isn’t at work in the world these days. So common to conclude that since angels and voices and prophets are rare these days, God must be done with us, done with this. So much safer to assume if God isn’t calling you to bear a Savior like Mary, God must not be calling at all, or if God hasn’t blessed you with an idea that can save the world why bother to try at all, or if your piety and religiosity doesn’t pin the needle, why care at all.  So much more prevalent to think it just doesn’t matter, or what difference does it make, or shrug it all off with a “who am I”. A “who am I” rather than “here am I”.

It takes courage to believe that in Jesus Christ God is at work to do a new thing. That in the power of the Holy Spirit, God on high comes afresh to bring light to the world’s darkness, to bring peace amid turmoil, to help broken hearts to find joy again, to insure that love wins, and to never let death have the last word. It takes courage to believe that God still favors the poor and the oppressed and the outcast, and the shunned. It takes even more courage to embrace, share, and act on that favor of God. Courage to claim that the promise of Jesus Christ still  breaks forth like a radiant light as a follower of Jesus witnesses to, lives by, acts on, responds to, delivers the endless mercy and abundant grace of God in the ordinariness of life. That sounds like Advent to me. Christ coming into the world through you! It takes courage to believe that if God picked Mary, God would pick even you.

Believing that God is calling you, and inspiring you, and encouraging you, and making a way for you. Believing that God touches hearts and opens minds and transforms lives. Believing that God touches hearts and opens minds and transforms lives in and through you. Believing that God still yearns for righteousness and justice and peace in the world. Believing that God plants seeds of righteousness and justice and peace in the world in and through you. Believing that God still calls God people one at a time to lead and to risk and to witness and to change and to shout and to serve and to so live. Believing that God still is calling you to courageous obedience.

The Christ Child scattering, lifting, filling and sending. It started with Mary and it continues with those whom Christ calls….still. Jesus Christ and his call to you and me here and now. His call to us in the world here and now. When it comes to Mary and the Annunciation, there’s a lot more to ponder than biology.

Even so, come Lord Jesus, quickly come.

 

This sermon references “Annunciation” by Henry Ossawa Tanner. This work of art can be found at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

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