Luke 24:13-35
January 26
Kimberly Wagner
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Luke 4:16-24
January 19
Eric D. Barreto
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Isaiah 43:1-7
January 12
Joseph Chu
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Matthew 2:1-23
January 5
Jess Winderweedle
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John 1:1-16
December 24
David A. Davis
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I have told you before, and some may remember my description of the manger scene outside the Methodist Church a few miles from where we lived in south jersey. I drove past the Chews United Methodist Church almost every day for 14 years. Every Advent and Christmas the creche was staged right next to the church sign just off an intersection that had a stoplight. It was simple manger scene. A sort of barn-like back drop, some hay strewn around, with a manger that looked a bit like a fireplace grate. The only characters were Mary and Joseph and the Babe lying in the manger. No animals. No shepherds. No Magi. Stopped at the red light in December year after year, I sort of watched Mary and Joseph age before my eyes. Their bright clothes started to fade. Their faces started to chip. Their pious gaze started to look tired. They looked weathered in more ways than one. To be honest, they looked more like big lawn ornaments. I assumed since they were about waist-high, they were meant to be kneeling. But then during one red light, I realized they had no legs. Interestingly, over the years the Baby Jesus never got older or any bigger; never seemed to fade for that matter. He was always tucked in that manger.

One morning after a stormy, windy, snowy, night, I sat at the light and saw Mary and Joseph knocked over. It was a sorry sight. Mary and Joseph like turtles turned on their backs who couldn’t get up. The hay was all blown away. Part of the barn top was flapping just a bit, waving at the morning commuters. But Jesus, Jesus was there in the manger oblivious to the chaos of the night or the absence of his adoring, watchful parents. It was when my inspecting eyes turned to the Infant Holy, Infant lowly asleep but not on the hay. I made an unfortunate discovery. I found out why Jesus had not been disturbed from sleep by the storm. The baby was secured to that fireplace grate with a chain wrapped around his ankle. Chained and padlocked the baby was.  That baby wasn’t going anywhere. That Jesus was never going to leave the manger.

You know, and as you heard, there is no Baby Jesus in the manger here in the Gospel of John.  No “Do not be Afraid; for behold, I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people.” No “let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place.” Here in John, all the pageant stuff is nowhere to be found. No angels. No shepherds. No Star. Not even a Mary, or a Joseph.  No babe wrapped in swaddling clothes.

            Instead of “Mary gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger”  in John “The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.” Instead of “So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying the manger” in John it is “He was in the world”.  John’s version of the babe swaddled in the manger is this: “And the Word became flesh and lived among us.” The Word became flesh and dwelt among us. The Word became flesh. The Word that was with God and was God sheltered among us. God took sanctuary in the flesh. The Word became flesh. Flesh as in flesh and blood. Flesh as in what it means to be human. Flesh as in humankind. “We have seen God’s glory…God’s only son, full of grace and full of truth”.  God’s glory is not in the heavenly host. Not a glory shone all around. No, the light of God’s glory is revealed in the grace and truth of Christ Jesus.

If you have not read David Brooks’s recent essay in the New York Times, you should find it and read it this Christmas. The title is “The Shock of Faith: It is Nothing Like I Thought it Would Be”. Brooks tells his own story of coming to faith as an adult and only in the last 10 or 15 years. He writes in a refreshingly personal and honest way. As he tries to find the words to describe both his faith and his journey to faith, he drops in quotes from scholars and theologians. But it was his own words at the very end of the piece I found most compelling. Brooks comes to the conclusion that for him,  “faith” just isn’t the right word. He writes, “The word “faith” implies possession of something, whereas I experience faith as a yearning for something beautiful that I can sense but not fully grasp. For me faith is more about longing and thirsting than knowing and possessing.” Brooks continues “Sometimes I feel pulled by a goodness that seems grand and far-off, a divine luminosity that hovers over the far horizon. Sometimes I feel pulled by concrete moments of holy delight that I witness right in front of my face — the sight of a rabbi laughing uproariously as his children pile over him during a Shabbat meal, the sight of a Catholic priest at a poor church looking radiantly to heaven as he holds the bread of Christ above his head. I’ve found that the most compelling proofs of God’s love come in moments of radical delight or radical goodness — in the example of those who serve the marginalized with postures of self-emptying love. Some days this longing for God feels like loneliness, separation from the thing desired. But mostly it feels like a venture toward something unbelievably worth wanting, some ultimate concern.”

Yearning for something beautiful that can’t be fully grasped. Longing for a goodness that is not just on some far horizon but a goodness revealed in concrete moments of holy delight right in front of our face. Compelling proof of God’s love in the example of those who serve the marginalized with postures of self-emptying love. Postures of self-emptying love. Use the word faith or not but it sounds a whole lot like a life of following the gospel that comes from the lips of the Christ Child lying in the manger tonight.

Another preacher once suggested that many seem to prefer the Jesus of the manger because he hasn’t said anything yet. Cute and cuddly is always safer than touching a leper or serving the poor or taking on the religious or forgiving a sinner or turning the other cheek or announcing a kingdom or dying and rising. Cute and cuddly is always safer than allowing your flesh to be transformed by his and knowing deep within his love for you is forever and seeing the world through his eyes and not yours. Cute and cuddly is always safer than holding the light of his glory up to the world’s darkness and then bearing witness in how you live to the wonders of his love. His love yearns to make of this old world, a new own in and through those who are his hands and feet.

Many seem to prefer a Jesus bound to the manger. When the earth aches for peace and people in far too many places in the world can’t remember a silent night, you can’t keep Jesus in the manger. When a heart somewhere near you is broken or forgiveness has become a lost art in a family or a lost soul is longing for home, you can’t just leave Jesus in the manger. When grief among those you love is real and raw, when the frailty of our humanity hits you like a truck, when death’s shout threatens to drown out resurrection hope and promise, you can’t leave Jesus in the manger. When people you love are afraid, when strangers around you live in fear, when so many aren’t sure who or what to trust, you can’t leave Jesus in the manger. When the shadows of hatred lengthen and blinding fear is stoked and the darkness of bitterness once again threatens the light, you can’t settle for a Jesus bound to the manger. When the empires of this world have run amok on power, serving the richest and most privileged while trampling on the weak and most vulnerable, those in power would of course prefer that Jesus and his gospel teaching be left shackled and drawn there in the manger. The powers and principalities of this world prefer a Baby Jesus in the manger who hasn’t said anything……yet.

But Jesus can’t be kept in the manger. Yes, the call of the light of God’s glory at Christmas is to stand and look into the manger and be overwhelmed, forever changed, by the Child’s fullness. Full of grace. Full of truth.  And to be forever moved and transformed by his enduring love that will not let you go. Full of his grace. Full of his truth. Full of his love. Kneeling at the manger tonight, earning for something beautiful that can’t be fully grasped. Longing for a goodness that is not just on some far horizon but a goodness revealed in concrete moments of holy delight right in front of our face, crazing postures of self-emptying love. As you kneel at the manger tonight, never forget that God’s call on our lives is the call to unbind Jesus from the manger and turn to change the world with the shine of his love, the glory of his love.

Luke 2:8-20
December 22
David A. Davis
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Last week as I watched the Christmas Pageant on livestream, I was struck by how our young people sort of matriculate through the pageant to different roles as they grow older. Mary and Joseph (Adeline and Pierre) were both high school seniors. They were likely angels and shepherds years ago. I had a similar thought after we finished our Wee Christmas flash mob pop up pageant a few weeks ago. The last few years of Wee Christmas, members of the youth group help out with the littlest ones as they transform into Josephs and Marys and angels and shepherds and animals and wise ones. Wee Christmas has been around long enough that many of those youth group members would have been participants back in the day. I wish I remembered the kids who were shepherds several years ago. Actually, it was 2018. Some of you were there. Some of you have heard about what happened to the shepherds that day.

In 2018, I thought it would be a good idea to shake things up for Wee Christmas; to try something different. Of course, the script can’t really change. I thought we could introduce a bright shining star. I asked Edie Estrada if he could dig out one of his work lights that he uses for various projects around here and help me with Wee Christmas. As I led the shepherds around sanctuary with their stuffed sheep under their arms, we stopped here at the top of the aisle and I pointed to Ed who was standing on a small step ladder over near the piano. As I said  “a angel of the Lord stood before them and the glory of the Lord shone around them”,  Ed flipped the switch on the small work light that he was holding up high. Well, I should have checked how bright the small work light was going to be. I think we temporary blinded the shepherds. I didn’t get to the part in the pageant describing the shepherds in fear covering their eyes because the poor shepherds had already hit the ground and covered their eyes. I guess I gave the angel line, “for see, I am bringing you good news of a great joy for all people.” That was unfortunate because the angels couldn’t see anything. It was likely the best year for the shepherds being terrified.

“The glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; for behold, I am bringing you good news of a great joy for all people”.  As the choir will sing in just a few minutes:

Glory to God in the highest,

and peace on earth 

to those of good will.

Rejoice in God, all the earth;

serve the Lord with gladness.

Glory to God in the highest…

Come into God’s presence with joy.

Daniel Pinkham is the composer of this morning’s Christmas Cantata. “Glory to God in the highest. Come into God’s presence with joy. Glory and joy

This is a bit of an awkward thing to say on the fourth Sunday of Advent, but there is not as much “great joy” in the gospels as we would tend to think. I mean the phrase “great joy”. It only occurs three times in all four gospels. Here with the angel and the shepherds. In Matthew, it’s Easter morning when the women run from the empty tomb with “fear and great joy”. And then the only other occurrence of the words “great joy” comes again in Luke. It’s all the way at the end. After the empty tomb, after the Emmaus Road, just after the Risen Christ ascends into heaven, Luke records that the disciples “worshipped him and returned to Jerusalem with great joy.” That’s sort of it when it comes to “great joy”. The birth of Jesus, the resurrection of Jesus, the ascension of Jesus…..and a whole lot of gospel in between.

As for “Glory of the Lord”, well, that’s pretty much an expression in the Hebrew bible Exodus, Moses, Mt  Sinai, and the pillar of fire, the cloud. Exodus is full of “the glory of the Lord”. The “glory of the Lord” is pretty much the prophet Isaiah’s go to. “Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed”. (Is 40) “The glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard” (Is 58). “The glory of the Lord has risen upon you” (Is. 60). The glory of the Lord and the Old Testament, like hand and glove. “the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea”. (Habakkuk 2:14)

When it comes to the New Testament and the “glory of the Lord”, not so much. To be sure there are plenty of examples of praise and adoration being offered to the glory of the Lord. An act of praise, a doxology offered to the glory of God, the glory of the Lord. But that’s a bit different than “the glory of the Lord shone all around”. The Apostle Paul asserts that “all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.” But that’s not the same as blinding eyeful of the God’s glory.

Luke front loads the glory of the Lord and the great joy. The glory of the Lord and great joy bundled together. It comes here with some lowly, vulnerable shepherds in the middle of the night. Glory and great joy hovering in the sky over a birthing room that had to have been a life and death moment for both mother and child. On night when sheep, shepherds, mother, child were all at risk. Glory and great joy there at his first breath, the first cry. Glory and great joy paired not at the end but at the beginning. And the accent on glory forever shifted. The definition of glory shone forever changed. The gaze of on glory forever turned. “You will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” It is as if Luke is standing there with baby in hand, rocking the child, pointing with his head because his hands are full, cradling glory. As the choir will sing,

What a great mystery

and wondrous sacrament,

that the animals should behold 

the new-born Lord

lying in a manger.

Glory. Joy. Mystery. And Wonder.

The glory of God come all the way down. The mystery and wonder of the Incarnation is the fancy way to say it. From the hosts of angels that served as a tent to those shepherds living in the field, a tent of God’s glory, to the child Jesus nursing at his mother’s breast. The glory of the Lord came down. Not just in the Child there in the manger, but God’s love made known in the flesh, in his life….in this life…..in this blasted life of ours. In his life, his teaching, his tears, his suffering, his death, his resurrection. Witnessing glory in his touch of sinners, welcoming strangers, caring for the sick, raising the dead, challenging power. Forgiveness unrestrained. Boundary lines crossed. The hungry fed. The oppressed lifted. The rich challenged. Widows and orphans tended to. Lepers touched. In the mystery and wonder, glory shines.

I checked in with New Testament Professor Eric Barreto about glory and great joy in Luke. Dr. Baretto pointed out to me that glory and great joy might not flow all through Luke but one theme that does is fear. Those terrified shepherds aren’t the only ones in fear in Luke. Fear is not only to angel appearances but to healings and miracles all through the gospel. For the shepherds here in chapter two, the angel of the Lord speaks of great joy smack in the midst of their fear. As the shepherds witness the glory of God made known not just in the heavenly host but in the Child Jesus there when they get to the manger, the light of God’s mystery and wonder leads them from fear to glorifying and praising God for ALL they had heard and seen. The shepherds own experience of joy in the mystery and wonder never that far from their fear. Terrified there in the field and still joy comes.

Think of the disciples at the end of the gospel when great joy comes back. They dropped their nets to follow Jesus and by any earthly measure, it didn’t go so well. Hollywood and Hallmark and call it the greatest story ever told. That’s not how to describe the storied lives of those 12 disciples. That’s not how to describe all that they witnessed along the way with Jesus. There was very real-world stuff along the way where the darkness was pulling ahead. They stood by as the crowds gathered for his torture and his murder. What Luke describes as a “spectacle”. You remember the two walking along the Emmaus Road trying to process it all before the Risen Christ comes alongside. They were walking along full of a grief most of us can understand. Amid all the fear of Luke’s gospel, still joy comes. Amid all that the darkness had to bring, still joy comes. Basking in the light of the mystery and wonder of his resurrection and ascension, great joy makes a comeback in Luke. A joy that is resistant to the word’s darkness.

I don’t need to remind you that we don’t live in a Hollywood/Hallmark world either. Amid all the real-world stuff of our lives, when darkness seems to be pulling ahead again and again, when the world shakes, when all that we witness and experience seems so very distant from the world God intends and the gospel we have learned from the lips of Jesus, still great joy comes in the resurrection hope and promise of God. God’s gift to us  at Christmas, is that like the shepherds,  we get to go to the manger and bask in the mystery and wonder of God’s love come all the way down. But as we stand here, by God’s grace and in the power of the Holy Spirit, we can see all the way to the great joy that comes on the gospel’s far side as well. Amid all the real life stuff that comes in between, the mystery and wonder of the Christ Child, the one who is Risen indeed, is that great joy still comes in the here and now. Or as the choir will sing

Glory to God in the highest….

Know that the Lord is God:

it is God who made us and not we ourselves.

Glory to God in the highest…

Alleluia!

Cathy and I have a Christmas tradition of attending a performance of Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto’s each year. Every year the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center offers a performance through McCarter Theater behind me at Richardson Auditorium. We attended the performance last Monday night. We have been to the Brandenburg’s a lot, more than I can count including one year at Lincoln Center. I also listen to classical music when I write my sermons. What comes first on my play list is the Brandenburg Concerto’s. I sat there on listening on Monday night realizing the beauty of the music has been the soundtrack of my sermon writing for twenty years. I think Monday was the most beautiful performance. The rather long performance of all the concertos seemed to pass so quickly. The exuberance of the musicians touched me in a fresh way. The connection of the incredible work of art to the weekly grind of sermon writing. It warmed my heart. What I am describing is that Monday night was an experience of joy.

I am guessing that technically, musically, aesthetically, these particular musicians didn’t play Bach any better or any different than all those other performances we have heard. But when darkness seems to be pulling ahead again and again, when the world shakes, when all that we witness and experience seems so very distant from the world God intends and the gospel we have learned from the lips of Jesus, finding just a bit of the mystery and wonder, the beauty and goodness in life, well, it brings such great joy. God’s gift of joy to a weathered pastor on just a Monday night. Looking for the light of joy in the world’s darkness. A bit of joy and a taste of resistance amid the real-stuff of life.

Luke 1:26-38
December 15
David A. Davis
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Perplexed and pondered.  Mary was perplexed by and she pondered the angelic greeting. “Greetings, favored one!” is how the angel started. “Mary was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be.” She was perplexed by and pondered the angel’s words. Perplexed by what the angel said. No mention by Luke of Mary’s reaction to the angel’s presence or the angel’s appearance. Just Mary’s response to what the angel said. “Greetings, favored one!”  Perplexed and pondered.

Like a well-rehearsed pageant cast member, the angel Gabriel stuck to the script. “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.” The angel went with what angels are supposed to say. What angels always say. “Do not be afraid.” Perhaps an angelic version of “mansplaining”. “Mary, when an angel shows up you are supposed to be afraid.” When Gabriel appeared to Zechariah, he was “terrified and fear overwhelmed him.” When the angel of the Lord stood before the shepherds and the glory of the Lord shone all around them, they were so afraid it hurt. You remember in the King James, they were “sore afraid.” On the first Easter morning when the women go to the tomb in Luke and see the two figures in dazzling clothes, “they were terrified and bowed their faces to the ground.” In Matthew, at the empty tomb the angel appeared and the guards shook with fear and became like “dead men.” In each of these cases, the response to the understandable and expected fear is the same. “Do not be afraid.”

So maybe Gabriel gets a pass in misreading Mary’s reaction, for assuming, for projecting, for injecting Mary’s fear. When such strong language is used throughout the gospels to describe the fear of angels, one ought to be struck by no mention of fear here in Luke. Pondered. Perplexed. No fear. It is interesting to note that many versions of the bible translate Mary’s reaction to the angel’s words as “greatly troubled”. “She was greatly troubled and kept pondering what kind of salutation this might be”. (New American Standard) But the dictionary definition of the Greek adjective is “confused, perplexed, or greatly perplexed”. “Greatly troubled” seems to lean toward distress and fear. It is as if the tradition, like the angel Gabriel, presumes Mary’s fear; even great fear.

With fear not mentioned in the most notable of annunciations, it might be better to portray Mary as “inquisitive”.  She wants to know more from this angel who appears before her and calls her “favored one.” Mary listens as Gabriel explains her favored status a bit more. “You will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High and the Lord God will give him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” Perplexed and pondering probably doesn’t do Mary’s reaction justice after all of that the angel has to say. But it is not the “Son of the Most High” talk, not the “throne of his ancestor David” or “kingdom with no end” talk that still perplexes Mary and leads to her only question. What still confuses her is the biology. “How can this be?”

Mary listens some more as the angel continues and offers more explanation, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called son of God. And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the six month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.” Then, here in Luke, without missing a beat, without taking a breath, Mary says “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” It is way too easy to miss Mary’s fearlessness. The lack of any fear is mentioned here in Luke. Mary’s fearlessness is remarkable. Mary’s fearless courage is breathtaking. Mary’s fearless lack of hesitation reveals her now divinely inspired grasp of the very promise of God. Mary’s fearless faithfulness regarding the reign of God. Mary and her incomparable “Here am I”.

On Wednesday morning in the weekly bible study that I share with some Presbyterian colleagues, my friend Lisa Day the pastor of the Presbyterian Church of Hightstown, shared her screen so the rest of us could see one of her favorite artistic renderings of the Annunciation. It is from a children’s book by an Australian illustrator named Julia Vivas. The book is called “The Nativity”.  The website describes the children’s book as a down-to-earth portrayal of the human side of the story. The page that depicts the Annunciation to Mary includes the verse from Luke: Take a look at this rendering of the Angel Gabriel appearing to Mary. Notice the very ordinary and a bit disheveled angel Gabriel wearing a robe-like thing with some holes in it. The only angelic characteristic is that huge pair wings that rise off his back. There is no radiant glow. Young Mary looks to be wearing something like a housecoat with an apron tied on. Her slippers are my favorite part. Sitting there at the kitchen table each holding a large mug. The work lacks two aspects associated with the art of the Annunciation through the centuries: there is no heavenly glow and there is absolutely no fear. Gabriel and Mary look like two friends sharing a leisurely Saturday morning conversation over a cup of tea.

Mary and her fearless “Hear am I”.  Mary wrapping her head, heart, and soul around God’s favor. For in favoring Mary, God reveals 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. Mary wrapped her head, heart, and soul around the promise and the reign of God. When Mary starts to sing “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior for God has looked with favor on the lowliness of God’s servant”, her spirit-filled ability to see the world God intends is revealed as well. Mary sings of God scattering the proud in the thoughts of their hearts and bringing the powerful down from their thrones and lifting the lowly, filling the hungry with good things, and sending the rich away empty. Singing about a future full of emptying, lowering, lifting, filling, and sending without fear. A fearless Mary now peering into the vast span of the heart and the heartbreak of God. A divinely inspired vision of God’s future. So one wonders if even now Mary can see all the way to Golgotha. God can. Maybe Mary can. We certainly can. And still, Mary is fearless.

History has a way of softening Mary. Yes, she was a young, vulnerable woman. But her response to the Angel Gabriel comes from a place of strength. Strong faith. Strong courage. Strong vision. Strong answer. In a season where so many are living with fear, long-standing fear or fears now fresh, at a time where fear of violence and war fill so many parts of the world, this Advent season of 2024, it is the strong faith Mary that inspires me. It is the strong courage Mary that lifts me. It is the strong vision Mary that leads me. It is the light of Mary’s fearlessness that encourages me.  For it takes faith to believe that in Jesus Christ, God is still at work to do a new thing. That in the power of the Holy Spirit, God on high still comes afresh to bring light to the world’s darkness and peace to the world’s turmoil. 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 in the world today. It takes strength to help broken hearts find joy again, to insure that love wins, and to stand in solidarity with those whose fears are real and breathtaking.  It takes vision to claim that the promise of Jesus Christ still breaks forth like a radiant light as the followers of Jesus witness to, live by, act on, respond to, and deliver the endless mercy and abundant grace of God in the ordinariness of life. Advent 2024. Being the church of Jesus Christ and drawing faith, courage, strength, and vision from Mary and her unhesitant, faith-filled, fearless “Here Am I”.

I read this week about Grace Thomas in a book entitled Testimony written by Tom Long, one of my seminary professors. Grace Thomas was an African American woman who ran for governor of Georgia in 1954. 1954 was also the year of the Supreme Court’s Brown vs the Board of Education. After years of part-time education, Grace Thomas graduated from law school and told her family she was entering the election. There were nine candidates. 8 men who vehemently and angrily denounced the court decision…and Grace Thomas. Her campaign slogan was “Say Grace at the Polls”. Few people did. According to Long, she finished dead last.

In 1962, Grace Thomas ran again. She campaigned on racial tolerance, unity, and goodwill. Along the way, Grace Thomas endured hateful hecklers and death threats. Dr. Long tells of a campaign stop in the little town of Louisville, Georgia. The center of town in Louisville was an old slave market where human beings were treated like animals and worse. As she stood there in front of a hostile crowd, Grace Thomas said “The old has passed away and the new has come. This place represents all about our past over which we must repent. A new day is here, a day when Georgians white and black can join hands to work together.”  Grace Thomas’ speech didn’t go over well. Someone shouted at her and accused her of being a communist. She said no she wasn’t a communist. “Well then, where did you get those blankety-blank ideas.” Grace Thomas thought for a moment and looked over a church building on a nearby corner. She pointed to church and Grace Thomas said, “Well, I got them over there in Sunday School.”

“Say Grace at the Polls”. Tom Long’s writing about Grace Thomas has a startling relevance. Both her fearless witness to the gospel and the anger and threat from the crowd. You know the populations of people who are scared today. I don’t need to list them for you. The fear is real. But so is God’s call to the church of Jesus Christ to be a light of fearlessness. Congregation by congregation, disciple by disciple, inspired by Mary’s unhesitant, faith-filled, fearless “Here Am I”, walking in her steps and his with faith, courage, strength, and vision. As Nassau Church’s own vision statement concludes,

By God’s grace in our lives, we engage with the world,

yearn to do what is just and fair

encourage what is kind and helpful

and seek to walk humbly before God and alongside our neighbors.

Mary had her “Here Am I”.

And so do we.