Sermon: Small (Jesus) Town

As soon as [Jesus and his disciples] left the synagogue, they entered the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John. Now Simon’s mother-in-law was in bed with a fever, and they told him about her at once. He came and took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them.

That evening, at sundown, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons. And the whole city was gathered around the door. And he cured many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons; and he would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him. In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed. And Simon and his companions hunted for him. When they found him, they said to him, “Everyone is searching for you.” He answered, “Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.” And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons.

Mark 1:29-39

My sermon from the 5th Sunday after Epiphany (February 4, 2024) on Mark 1:29-39

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Two Thursdays ago, a person showed up at church wanting to drop off a gift for the Tri-Boro Food Pantry in Park Ridge. They knew I was its treasurer and they immediately handed me an envelope after walking into the building. I was, at the time, in the middle of several different conversations with several other people so it took me a few seconds to realize what was going on. I ended up doing that thing where I asked questions, buying time for my brain to catch up. The person in front of me, it turns out, was a musician who organized a benefit concert with his friends. They, together, used their gifts to be a gift for those in need. It’s always cool when folks recognize how their passions can make a difference in the lives of those around him. And yet it took me a while to figure out their story because he assumed I already knew what he knew. In fact, the conversations started with the words “You probably already saw…” which, in his defense, wasn’t a terrible assumption to make. But the truth is I often don’t usually know all the happenings orbiting the pantry since I can only mentally hold so much. Assuming those around us know what we know, have seen what we see, and think like we think is a very human thing to do. And in today’s reading from the gospel according to Mark, we notice how the community’s curiosity about Jesus created an environment where wholeness could grow. 

Jesus, after calling his first four disciples, went to visit the fishing village of Capernaum. Since it was the sabbath, Jesus joined the community for worship at the local synagogue. Like we heard last week, visiting preachers were often invited to lead and teach when it came to participating in the service. Jesus, after reading from the Bible, surprised everyone with words that carried a lot of authority. It was then when an unclean spirit lurking in the crowd spoke out, implying that Jesus would destroy everyone he touched. Jesus, in a very public way, sent that Spirit packing which made folks wonder who – or what – he was. But when the opportunity came to bring life, Jesus did exactly that. Once worship was over, Jesus moved from that very public space to one we might assume was pretty private. Yet it’s at this point in the story when we need to remember where Jesus was. When we imagine a village, we might think of small homes scattered around bits of land – maybe even mimicking the suburban developments we call home. But villages, towns, and cities in the ancient world were incredibly dense with people living right on top of each other. In Capernaum, the homes were one story tall and only a few rooms in size. They were built along shared courtyards that ran along streets no bigger than an alley. The lack of space meant that it was assumed everyone knew your business and that you knew everyone else’s business too. This, I think, might make us feel a bit queasy, inviting us to give thanks for the privacy our homes might give us. Yet we, in this area, live a version of that life since every town in Northern New Jersey acts like a small town. We like knowing who our neighbors are even though we lament at all the gossip we find ourselves a part of. And while we might imagine how we are above it all, every one of our towns have dozens of facebook groups caused by disagreements that led to anger and schisms. We love hearing which streets in our towns are closed for repair but notice how quickly our arguments turn vicious and personal. And while “being known” and recognized by our neighbors can be the one thing we need to help carry us through all life brings, we can end up feeling completely alone when we’re holding something we can’t always share. Small town life is incredible and terrible all at the same time. And when we let our assumptions about each other be the limit of who our neighbors can be, it’s hard for us to be the kind of community God calls us to be. 

So I’m guessing folks in Capernaum knew Simon’s mother-in-law was sick. They also knew her son-in-law had left his family in a bit of a bind after leaving his nets by the seashore to follow a man he just met. The news about Jesus’ work in the synagogue probably spread faster than his walk down the street into a courtyard surrounded by buildings full of all kinds of people. He was there because, since the sabbath wasn’t over, staying at the home of his disciples made a lot of sense. But I also wonder if Simon and Andrew brought him there hoping Jesus was more than they had already seen. Up to this point in Mark’s version of Jesus’ life, there’s no story about Jesus healing someone of a physical illness. They didn’t know exactly what he could do but after witnessing what he did in front of everyone, they wondered if he could do the same in a much more private space. All they had seen was how, while in a holy place, Jesus did a holy thing. Since Andrew and Simon were still getting to know Jesus, they could have assumed that was the limit of who Jesus could be. But they, along with everyone else, brought Jesus to Simon’s mother-in-law because they hoped Jesus would be Jesus no matter where he was. 

When Jesus showed up at the home of Simon’s mother-in-law, there was no guarantee Jesus could do what Jesus did. All they had was a call, a word, and an event that happened in a very holy and public space. The people around Jesus, though, took a chance to not let their experience of Jesus be the limit of who he might be. They hoped the One who told them to “follow him” would also follow them into places where hope was needed. Jesus wasn’t one way in public and different when all the eyes turned away. He was always simply himself – bringing mercy, forgiveness, and grace to all. We, I think, are invited to not only model Jesus’ ministry – using the gifts God has given us to bring wholeness to all. We are also called to be a bit like Simon, Andrew, and everyone in the community who wouldn’t let their experience of Jesus be the only thing He could be. Rather than letting their assumptions dictate Jesus’ story, they stayed curious about Jesus, their God, and even themselves. The made the choice to not embrace the small town identity that only lets people be who we let them be. Instead, they leaned into the part that invited them to know every part of their neighbors’ story. Unlike the healing stories that were about to come, Jesus didn’t have to connect those he healed to a community that could sustain them in the life and months ahead. The community already knew who needed help because they brought all of them to Jesus. Creating and living as that kind of community isn’t easy because it forces us to not act as if everyone knows what we know or have seen what we seen or think like we think. Rather, we need to be curious about ourselves, our neighbors, and those we’re just starting to get to know. And when we think we know what someone will say or do, that’s when God encourages us to not let our assumptions be the limit of who they get to be. We, instead, will be the kind of community who is curious, who wonders, and who trusts that – because Jesus is Jesus – we get to be so much more. 

Amen.

Children’s Message: Do We Need to Do a Communion Redo?

Delivered on January 28, 2024.

So it’s my tradition after the prayer of the day to bring a message to all of God’s children. And I want to talk a little bit about communion with you. Earlier this week I had a conversation with a friend who is Episcopal priest. That means she’s a pastor for a different flavor of Christianity known as Episcopalian. Lutherans and Episcopalians talk about Jesus in very similar ways which is why there are Episcopalian priests serving as pastors in Lutheran churches and Lutheran pastors serving as priests in Episcopal churches. But we tend to emphasize different things – and what we emphasize might be why the Holy Spirit brings us into faith traditions we didn’t grow up in. She wanted to know what I would do if we ran into a certain situation – and the question is so good, and so practical, I thought we’d talk about it to. 

So let’s go up to the altar and look at what we use for communion. Go to the altar. Unwrap everything. We have bread – and gluten-free wafers. We have individual cups filled with red wine and white grape juice. If you look at what we have here and you look at the folks here at church – do you think we have enough to serve everyone? Yes. I think so to. So later on, we’ll all stand up and I’ll share some prayers over the bread and drink and we’ll talk about Jesus being this bread – not as a metaphor but really this bread because Jesus says he is. It’s an odd thing for Jesus to say and the bread or wafer will taste exactly as bread and wafer. But it’s a promise he makes and a promise we trust cuz Jesus is with us all the way. 

Yet let’s use our imagination. What would happen if I spilled all the drink? What would happen if I dropped the bread? What would happen if we didn’t have enough bread and drink for all the people who were here? What would we do? Get more! We would go to the sacristy or the fridge or the altar guild room and get more. But all that bread and drink wasn’t here when we said the words and said the prayers. So what would we need to do? Would we need to stop feeding people and go through the prayers again? Accept answers

Here’s where our Lutheran focus comes into view and it has to do with something Jesus says. When Jesus was talking to his friends, offering bread and wine – he said this was “for you.” And that’s what we emphasize. Jesus offered love and grace, his body and blood, his very self on the Cross – for us and for the world. Jesus loves you. Jesus died for you. Jesus showed what loves look like for you. And when we serve communion – that’s for you. So we wouldn’t need to say the prayers again or chat or anything like that. We would just do what Jesus did and offer it to people who need to know they are loved and valued no matter what.

Sermon: What’s an Exorcism?

Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.” As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the sea—for they were fishermen. And Jesus said to them, “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.” And immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went a little farther, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John, who were in their boat mending the nets. Immediately he called them; and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men, and followed him.

Mark 1:21-28

My sermon from the 4th Sunday after Epiphany (January 28, 2024) on Mark 1:21-28

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Today’s text from the gospel according to Mark is a little weird. Jesus, after returning from the wilderness and calling his first disciples, immediately entered a synagogue and did something we only see in horror movies, comics books, and late night tv ads. Now the casting out of demons and unclean spirits is something Jesus did all the time in Mark’s version of Jesus’ life. It was Mark’s way of showing how Jesus’ presence in the world reshapes our present, our future, and the entire universe. Jesus, when he showed up, challenged and disrupted how we see ourselves, our neighbors, and took care of one another. And while none of that sounds, I think, very strange when we talk about the Christian faith, things get interesting when we ponder the supernatural. We’re comfortable during worship talking about Jesus’ miracles, His presence in Holy Communion, and how our prayers are, sometimes, answered. But when the conversation includes demons, unclean spirits, and spiritual procession – our responses can be all over the place. We might, for example, have no problem talking about demons, evil, and the spiritual forces that move through us and in our world. Or we might notice how many of the so-called “unclean spirits” in our Bible resemble people who were living with depression, schizophrenia, or a bipolar disorder. When we act as if only one of those views can be true, we often cause harm. We end up dissuading people from seeking help through the God-given gifts of therapy, counseling, and psychiatry or turning people into a biological soup made up of chemicals, hormones, and repressed memories. Seeking help through therapy does not make you a bad Christian nor does lighting some sage on fire when the vibes in your house feel off turn you into something other than a follower of Jesus Christ. But when we spend too much of our time trying to separate, compartmentalize, and wall off from one another the physical, emotional, and spiritual parts of lives, we lose out on what it means to live our lives in the world. And I’ve often found that when we do this too much, Jesus breaks through to show us something new. 

I wonder if we can see a little of what that newness looks like by paying attention to what happened before the exorcism took place. Jesus arrived in the city of Capernaum which was really a large fishing village with maybe 1,500 people living within it. Its economy was centered on fishing in the Sea of Galilee as well as farming and harvesting olive trees in the surrounding hillside. Capernaum had one large road running north-to-south with side streets covered in small one-story homes.  A synagogue was built along its main roadway and was, in Jesus’ day, pretty plain without any seats or even a paved floor. It was standard practice for the entire village to, on the sabbath, assemble in the synagogue for a worship that wasn’t very formal. Within the service, there was space for people, even visitors from out of town, to read selections from the Bible and interpret what they thought it meant. Jesus’ behavior, then, at the start of worship wasn’t strange. We might, at this point in the story, immediately focus on the authority Jesus’ teaching seemed to embody. But I think it would be fruitful to spend a little time with the fishermen, farmers, merchants, men, women, and children who were already there. This community regularly interrupted their lives to spend time with their God. And they lived in a world full of mystery, different religions, and times when their own faith was weak or strong. The community was filled with all kinds of people whose spiritual life was exactly their own. And in the middle of them was an unnamed man possessed by a spirit. 

Now Mark doesn’t tell us who, or what, this spirit was. We never learn its backstory or how the man was possessed. Mark doesn’t describe how the unclean spirit made its presence impacted his life or interfered with his closest relationships. This gap within the story allows us to use our spiritual imagination to wonder what this man’s life was like. We might, influenced by our own personal biases, turn him into an evil force resembling something out of the movie The Exorcist. Or we might assume he lived with multiple personalities or had a constant over-the-top manic episode. This man, in our mind, stood in the back, away from everyone, living with all kinds of hurt and pain. And once we’re done picturing him in our head, it’s then when we realize that Mark did tell us one thing about him. We don’t know his story but we do know he was there. The man with an unclean Spirit was in the synagogue with the disciples, Jesus, and everyone else. He wasn’t sitting at home, barred from coming into God’s house. He was exactly who he was – a part of the community. And when Jesus showed up, he explicitly reaffirmed that truth by not immediately calling him out. He, instead, did something we might consider even more shocking than the exorcism itself: Jesus treated the man with the unclean spirit like he did everyone else. He included him, taught him, and showed the man with the unclean spirit as well as everyone in that place they were worth everything to God. And when the demon finally spoke, using the word “us” to imply Jesus was there to destroy the man himself, it was only then when Jesus acted. The unclean spirit wanted to keep this man away from anything that gave him life. And so rather than answering the spirit’s question, Jesus casted it out because bringing others into a life rooted in hope, connection, and love was why Jesus was there in the first place. 

I wonder, then, if that truth image can show us who we get to be as we live into our identity as part of the body of Christ. This community is not supposed to be for only one kind of person since life is complex, complicated, and full of mystery. When you are living through our own mental health crisis, seeking help doesn’t mean you don’t belong here. And when the language of possession, demons, and the supernatural describes exactly what you are living through, you still have a home here and with God. We, together, have a responsibility to care for ourselves and all around us through whatever they are living through. We get to learn each other’s story and not let the walls we build around one another interfere with our kindness and care. When we surround one another with a love that includes each other and keeps us safe, we are able to be exactly who we are. And when we a beloved friend, parent, child, or spouse is tormented in ways we struggle to comprehend or understand, we can believe their story – and promise that, no matter what, they’ll always belong. That’s how we journey with them one another through therapy, study, and prayer. It’s how we keep each other connected to the things that give us life. An exorcism is, I think, not merely a supernatural feat of power that shows off what we can do; it’s all about driving out that which keeps us separated from the connections that shape the life God is calling us to live. This kind of work isn’t easy nor will we always get it right. But this is what we get to do because Jesus, in our baptism, through the gift of faith, and with grace – keeps us connected to a promise of life, love, and hope that will never end it. 

Amen. 

Sermon: First Words

Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.” As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the sea—for they were fishermen. And Jesus said to them, “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.” And immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went a little farther, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John, who were in their boat mending the nets. Immediately he called them; and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men, and followed him.

Mark 1:14-20

My sermon from the 3rd Sunday after Epiphany (January 21, 2024) on Mark 1:14-20

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So I want you to think about an important relationship in your life. Maybe it’s your spouse, a co-worker, or a good friend. Maybe the relationship that first comes to mind is someone you just spoke to or a person you’ll always miss. Often when we think about the relationships that matter to us, we linger on the last words we shared together. But I wonder: do you remember the very first words you heard them speak? 

I’ll admit that this kind of exercise isn’t easy for me since I remember first impressions way more than first words. And while those can be the same thing, that’s not always true. In fact, entire pop culture industries, such as teen graphic novels, pop songs, and rom coms, are all about how first impressions aren’t always the end-all-and-be-all of all things. In our Bible, though, first words are very important because they set the tone for what follows. We noticed that a few weeks ago when we listened to the very first verse in the gospel according to Mark that went: “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” Those words were less a sentence about Jesus’ story and more a title to what’s about to come. We’d expect after words like that to immediately discover who Jesus is. Yet what Mark chose to do instead was introduce us to a man named John who then dunked Jesus – and many others – into the Jordan River. When he came up from the water, Jesus – as we’ll hear at the start of Lent – spent 40 days hanging out in the wilderness. But when John was arrested, Jesus returned to the area he grew up in. It’s only been a few verses but Mark has already shared a lot of stories that took quite a bit of time. Yet it’s at this point, in verse 15, when we hear something we hadn’t heard before. Jesus, for the first time in the gospel according to Mark, spoke actual words. Now these probably weren’t Jesus’ first words even though they are the first ones recorded in the oldest gospel we have. But they are the words Mark wanted us to hang onto while we listen to the rest of Jesus’ story. Jesus’ ministry began with a proclamation that history had reached a turning point. The kingdom of God wasn’t simply near; it was here. And God’s imagination for the world was now present in ways it hadn’t been before. Jesus, like John, called all people to repent but to do more than simply turn to God. This repentance was also about changing our minds, our hearts, and our identities. Jesus then told people to do more than agree with what he was saying; he told them to trust that God really is their God. Jesus’ words were good news to those who are hungry, tired, worn out, and suffering. But they also served as a kind of warning to those who put any kingdom in front of God’s. Jesus’ first words weren’t meant to only be spiritual; they also make a difference in the here and now. 

And it’s those words, I think, that frame what happens next. Jesus, at the start of his ministry, took a walk along a sea shore. Now the Sea of Galilee was the economic heart of a corner of the ancient Roman Empire that didn’t have the greatest reputation. Galilee was a part of ancient Israel filled with many different kinds of people living together. Folks were suspicious about the diversity since we assume a certain amount of isolation is needed to stay “pure.” Yet this mixed cultural environment also created a fertile place for new ministries to grow. Mark doesn’t tell us when Jesus appeared along the sea shore but, after reflecting on it, I wonder if Jesus showed up in the morning. That would have provided him plenty of time to see people while meeting them at the end of their work day. Fishing, in the ancient world, was often done at night with pairs of boats trawling a net between them. Once the fish were caught and hauled to shore, the nets were then repaired. Andrew and Simon, who were casting nets from the shore, might have been trying to add to their catch or were keeping their nets damp before they put them away. John and James, though, were carefully examining each thread of their nets that were very tired. When Jesus showed up, these two sets of brothers were simply doing what they’ve always done. Yet Jesus, with a handful of words, changed those brothers forever. The words he shared were very short and, when compared to Jesus’ first words, seem a little odd. Mark doesn’t record any of their small talk nor tell us if the brothers talked to one another when they saw Jesus in the distance. As Jesus drew near, he didn’t tell the brothers to choose him, to decide for him, to believe in him, or to even repent. Jesus simply said “follow me” but gave no details about where he was going or what their journey might look like. The only thing Jesus did point to was some kind of transformation, shifting them from their current context into something more. I don’t think, though, that Jesus wanted these brothers to treat people like they did fish: hooking them, netting them, and then – metaphorically – consuming them. I wonder if, instead, Jesus wanted these brothers to act as fishermen at the end of their day. They were no longer there to catch and collect. These brothers would also tend and mend what God had given to them. 

The good news of Jesus Christ; the good news of God; the coming of God’s kingdom; and the invitation to become something more – might require us to move through our past and into something new. But that call from God can also involve tending and mending what came before. This is especially true in our most important relationships where our need to listen, to understand, and to emphasize with each other is at the heart of who we’re supposed to be. Our mending might require us to change our deeply held beliefs that no longer bring life to those around us and we might need to sacrifice our own comfort so hope can flourish. The mending and tending we do might require us to change our priorities so that people can thrive. This work will connect us to people we didn’t expect. And if some of our relationships have become too much, separating might be the most holy thing we can do. We won’t always get this mending right nor will we always realize how we are the ones who get in the way of what Jesus is doing in our world. But we get to embrace this call from God because God’s first words to us are never God’s last words of hope, love, and grace. God continues to reach out to us through scripture, worship, prayer, and people to show that God’s words to us in our baptism – that we are beloved – will never be taken away. Making those words come to life in all we say and do isn’t always easy but we aren’t doing this work alone because Jesus is already here; Jesus is already present; Jesus is already ahead of us and is inviting us to follow and see what God’s words of love always do.  Amen.

Sermon: Baptismal Waters Seep Through

John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. He proclaimed, “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

Mark 1:4-11

My sermon from Baptism of Our Lord Sunday (January 14, 2024) on Mark 1:4-11

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So on Thursday night, the Special Gifts committee met to review the various ministry projects that you think should be funded by our Special gifts fund. These projects included such diverse ideas as supporting a Lutheran mission amongst the Navajo, building affordable housing in New Orleans, and even replacing the parking lot outside our church doors. Over the last few years, we’ve been a bit cautious in how we use the Special Gifts fund since there was a slight disruption in how it was funded. But things had resolved enough that the Committee realized we have some money to spend. Our Special Gifts fund is supported primarily by the Anna and Dominick Ricci Foundation who were former members of CLC. When Dominick died, they created a foundation to support the organizations they cared about. For almost fifteen years, their ongoing support has impacted our personal understanding of what giving, generosity, and ministry should look like in this place. Prior to the Special Gifts fund, generosity was sometimes tied to something very physical especially when something like a new boiler needed to be installed. When you made a financial gift to your congregation, you would get a tangible return to the money you put in. If, for example, your gift went towards the heat pumps installed in the sanctuary, you would physically feel that gift heat up the back of your neck. But generosity can be harder when it goes towards something that feels a bit more ambiguous like my salary or for Sunday School supplies that you’ll never touch and feel. The Special Gifts fund has forced us to re-evaluate and re-engage with what faithful generosity looks like since it’s less about what we get and more a response to what we’ve received. And while that might be easy to say, it isn’t always something we experience first hand since our lives are filled to the brim with different kinds of joys, struggles, tragedies, worries, and fears. What we need, I think, is something to seep through all the stuff life brings so we can faithfully respond to what God has given to us. 

Now near the end of the Special Gifts’ meeting, our conversation turned towards water which, after two cold January rain storms, most of us would prefer to ignore. But if you’ve driven on our parking lot within the last few years, you know we’ve reached the limit of asking Brian to manually fill in the giant pot-holes that keep appearing. Our parking lot is at a low point on our property which means when the water flows down the hill behind the church, it pools on top of it. Yet that isn’t the only water issue impacting the pavement outside. Our property, as I understand it, also has a very high water table which means there’s a lot of ground water trying to break through our parking lot from below. That water is always present, moving and flowing, freezing and melting, seeping into every small crack and transforming them into large holes. The constant presence of this water impacts a lot of what we do since our ministry is built on how accessible this place is. We can, for a while, pretend as if that water isn’t there but there comes a point when that water will make it through. 

And that image of water seeping through might serve as an appropriate metaphor as we spend today pondering Jesus’ baptism. Now it will never not be weird that Jesus was baptized since, to us, baptism is all about a sinner being washed clean and brought deeper into the body of Christ. That, though, wasn’t something Jesus needed so it’s not always easy to find some spiritual fruit to nourish our souls. Whenever I run into a biblical story like this, that’s typically when I do my best to step into it – by joining Jesus as he waited in the water for John. We can imagine being there, in and along the banks of the Jordan River while surrounded by shepherds, fisherman, old, young, the sick, and the faithful. The large number of people there made what we might imagine as a very private spiritual moment into something very public. Standing there, waiting for John to call us forward, probably made the whole experience feel a bit like some kind of spiritual assembly line. I don’t say that as a way to discredit John’s work or to act as if our rituals are more faithful than his. Instead, when we pay attention to the entirety of Jesus’ baptism, we notice how it wasn’t only some cosmic event where the heavens opened and a divine voice spoke. There’s also a large part of it that was very human. When Jesus went to the water, he experienced it just like we do. He felt the top of his head get wet and the gentle trickle of water droplets as they fell down his cheek. The silt in the river caused his nose to twitch and the air in his lungs grew hot the longer he held his breath. And when John uttered his special words and prayers, Jesus only heard a bit of them since most of it was probably distorted by the water covering his ears. When the ritual was finally over, the words from heaven were quickly replaced with the need to go up the river bank and back into the life he was already living. Jesus’ baptism wasn’t about where he had come from or solely about who John declared him to be. Jesus’ baptism was a beginning to what comes next. The fullness of Jesus’ ministry, the healing, the relationship building, and his willingness to show what life looks like when God’s kingdom comes near, happened after he came up from the water. Jesus didn’t need to get baptized to experience the mercy, hope, and peace we want faith to bring into our lives. But his baptism does invite us to notice what life is supposed to look like once we are baptized. 

The waters of baptism, like the waters outside CLC’s front doors, do more than pool in puddles and flow down hills. These waters are meant to seep through us and into our world. These waters not only unite us with Christ but they make God’s words to Jesus, God’s words to us. God declared that you are beloved which, while amazing, isn’t necessarily something tangible we can grip onto, see, or even fully feel. But it is our beginning – an invitation to take the love that has claimed us and move it out into our parking lot and beyond. When we show, embody, and express that belovedness to others – that’s how we transform the intangible faith we hold into something true and real. And while we don’t always realize exactly how our baptism seeps through us, I’ve seen it move and flow in a place like our parking lot. It’s often out there where you check in with each other, asking about each other’s joys, hurts, and fears. It’s out there where you build each other up through the art of actually listening to what each other says. And when there are no words to describe the worry, anxiety, and sorrow someone feels – our parking lot is big enough to hold every tear. Our parking lot is a place where we want to do all we can to stop water from seeping through. Yet it is also one of the first places where the waters of baptism seep through you to make a real difference in our world. Those moments might not always be over the top or big or ones when we recognize what we’re actually doing. Yet it is often in these small interactions where the faith we are given grows into a love that always breaks through. 

Amen.

Sermon: Welcome to the Magi Story

In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, “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.” When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: ‘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.’” Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then 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.”

When 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. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On 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. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

Matthew 2:1-12

My sermon from Epiphany Sunday (January 7, 2024) on Matthew 2:1-12.

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Now I know the season of Christmas technically ended yesterday but since I moved the celebration of Epiphany to today – you have permission to keep listening to Christmas music. In fact, I sometimes feel the urge to listen to Christmas carols throughout the year which is why my computer is full of way too many of them. I’ve found, over time, that the number of unique Christmas songs isn’t very large but the number of different versions of each song is almost endless. And one of those many imitated Christmas carols is based slightly on our reading today from the gospel according to Matthew. In that song, we’re invited to imagine ourselves as a little child who saw all these people going in and out of a cattle shed in the town of Bethlehem. Among those people included folks from out of town who brought rich gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Rumors swirled throughout the community that this newborn might be royalty even though kings don’t usually have an animal’s food bowl as their first crib. The child who was watching and listening, wondered if they could bring a gift to the baby too. But they, like the new family, were not particularly wealthy. The child felt as if they had nothing to offer. But since this is a Christmas carol, they did have a small drum. They wonder if maybe, just maybe, the gift of a song was something a newborn and their mom might want to hear. So the child, with all the courage they could muster, entered their home, looked at Mary, and asked if it was okay to “pa rum pum pum pum.” A drum solo isn’t usually what parents want to experience once they’ve put their newborn down for a nap. But the Christmas carol – the Little Drummer Boy – does reveal an overlooked aspect of the magi’s story. The story at the heart of the celebration of the Epiphany – when magi/wisemen/kings met a baby born in Bethlehem – wasn’t only about what these strangers did. It’s also a story about who welcomed them once they got there. 

Now in our Bible, people are sometimes categorized as either Jewish or gentile with a gentile simply being someone who wasn’t Jewish. But another phrase often used in place of gentile was “the nations.” That phrase described more than people who were defined by the invisible lines that designate which territory belongs to which political entity. “The Nations” also included all the different ethnic, religious, and cultural groups that exist in our world. “The Nations” included those who were part of large, multicultural, and hard-to-define groups like the people who lived within the Roman Empire. And “the nations” also included those who were identified by the town, city, or even valley they called home. “The Nations” wasn’t used as a term to only distinguish between “them” and “us;” it also described just how diverse the world truly is. And while most people in the ancient world rarely left the area they grew up in, they loved hearing stories about those who live “out there.” Every war, trade route, and wandering preacher made the world a much smaller place. And it was expected that someone – maybe even a messenger from God – might soon visit with news, stories, and a point of view they hadn’t heard before. That expectation, along with living in a world that doesn’t always have much of a safety net, is why our Bible spends so much time talking about hospitality. And much of that hospitality is centered on welcoming the stranger who showed up at your door. 

But what exactly that welcome looks like wasn’t always set in stone. And when the magi arrived in King Herod’s territory, he welcomed them in a very self-serving way. Now these magi were, most likely, Zoroastrian astrologers living in the Parthian Empire who spent their lives looking at the night sky. It was widely believed throughout most of the ancient world that the movement of the planets and stars, especially when a person was born, defined what their entire life was going to be about. When the magi noticed a strange star stirring in the sky, they assumed an important person had been born. And so they set out to find said person who was born to their west. This journey, though, was dangerous since the Parthians and the Romans fought all the time. Both assumed they had a divine right to rule their world. The magi, though, didn’t seem to think important people could only be like them so they crossed the border into a strange land. However, unlike the GPS on our phones, the magi didn’t know exactly where this important person was. So they did what any rational person would do and went to the place they expected important people to be. When they arrived at the palace of the king, they were welcomed by Herod who listened to – and believed – their story. He took care of them while figuring out how to violently respond to this threat to his rule. He gathered his advisors to figure out where this king might be. And while he could have kept this information to himself, he shared it with these strangers as a way to use them for his own violent purposes. Hospitality, for Herod, included giving food, resources, and information to these strangers from somewhere else. But everything he did was rooted in what he would get. 

Herod, though, wasn’t the only person who offered the magi hospitality during their visit. They still had one more place to go. When they arrived in Bethlehem, the home they went to was so mundane they needed a star to bring them to its door. We could focus on what they did when they got there, celebrating with joy and walking straight in. But since hospitality mattered so much in their culture, I imagine they were primarily welcomed and embraced. This welcome didn’t come only from the Son of God but also from his mother, the adult in the room. In the words of Rev. Joann Post, “Mary does not hesitate to invite them into her home, to introduce them to her son, to receive their well-intentioned but wildly inappropriate gifts. Because…she knew they would come. Maybe not these particular strangers, but she knew the world would come to meet her son. And she knew that she would welcome them in his name.” Mary wasn’t simply letting random people like shepherds, angels, and kids who loved drum solos to do what they wanted at her expense. She, instead, offered hospitality by welcoming everything the magi represented. They were the nations, the world, and people who might never become the followers of God and Jesus we assume they would be. Instead, the magi were exactly who they were – and Mary showed them Jesus before he preached his first sermon, performed his first miracle, or even took his first step. Jesus had done nothing and Mary knew, through the grace of God, that Jesus wasn’t only for her, her family, or her corner of the world. Jesus was for all. The welcome she offered, unlike the welcome modeled by King Herod, wasn’t about her. She didn’t focus on what she would get or receive. The hospitality she showed was about helping the ones who showed up – to thrive. Sometimes that welcome looks like offering a person food, a place to rest, or even an invention for them to make this community their home. Yet this welcome can also be simply letting people – those who are here and those who are brand new – to simply be who they’re supposed to be. When we do that well, learning how to listen, care, and grow with people we do not know – something new comes into being. The magi came to see a newborn king and Mary, who opened the door, reaffirmed what the star had already revealed to them: that God’s love and God’s story even included folks who are never described as becoming followers of Christ. I wonder how we, who’ve been welcomed by Jesus through baptism and through faith not because of who we are but because of who Jesus is, may be a bit like Mary and reflect that same kind of welcome in this community and throughout our world. 

Amen.

Sermon: Making Christmas

In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.

In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!” When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.

Luke 2:1-20

My sermon from Christmas Eve (December 24, 2023) on Luke 2:1-20.

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So every year, once the leftover mashed potatoes are finally put away in the fridge and I’ve caught my cat for the twentieth time trying to eat an entire Thanksgiving turkey on his own, I then start to think about where to put all the Christmas that’s waiting to come out. The very first thing I do is compose a spirited motivational speech to inspire my three children to move their toys so that the tree can be put where it always goes. I then dig out said tree from the garage and engage in a modern day archeological dig to uncover which plastic tub under which piles holds all the supports I need. Once that’s done, I begin the many trips up and down a pull-down staircase into my attic to bring down the boxes upon boxes of ornaments that are either ancient family heirlooms or were on sale at Target in 2015. It’s not long until my entire house is overflowing with Advent calendars, nativity sets, fake garland, strands of electric lights, and dozens of school art projects that take over every room. When the inside is done, it’s time to move outdoors and figure out if the trees and shrubs have finally made it impossible for me to safely put out a 12 foot tall inflatable Reindeer and a giant Stegosaurus wearing Santa’s hat. By this point, most of that Christmas has a place where it’s supposed to go since I’ve had the chance to make several traditions while living my life. All the special ornaments and knick-nacks and dancing plastic trees that play the same song over and over again – all of that has become the background for the deep relationships and experiences that define our Christmas story. Yet there’s also a sense that this holiday never really stays the same. Sometimes the change might be small, like buying a new ornament to replace the one you loved after it was torn apart by a cat in the middle of the night. But there are other changes that the stuff of Christmas can’t really hide. There’s the smell of a Christmas cookie that reminds us of the last batch we made for a friend. And there’s that nutcracker that doesn’t seem to sit right since the person who always put it in its place is no longer here. The stuff of Christmas isn’t only the colorful accessories filling our homes, our yards, and our social media feeds. There’s also all that other stuff lurking within our minds, our hearts, and our souls. When it comes to Christmas, there’s always a lot of stuff – and we’re not always exactly sure where we can put it.

Now our story tonight began with Mary and Joseph being, in a sense, put into place. The Roman Emperor, according to Luke, organized a census to discover where all the people were. He wanted to know who he could tax and where he could find the soldiers needed to perpetuate a Roman peace won through violence and war. According to our story, the counting was a bit odd because it asked people to return to their ancestral homes. Joseph, a descendant of King David, was then forced to visit the town of Bethlehem where David had first been identified as Israel’s king nearly 1,000 years before Joseph was born. Joseph knew the importance of where his ancestors came from but it wasn’t his home. He and Mary had grown up 90 miles away in the town of Nazareth, which was located near the Sea of Galilee. That was the place where they had lived their lives while surrounded by parents, family members, and friends. But when the Emperor told them to move, a nearly 9 month pregnant Mary as well as her fiance left their home to travel by foot to a town they didn’t really know. And when they got there, they were surrounded by all the other people the Emperor had put there too. Most, I imagine, found shelter with family and friends while some ended up in the homes of strangers who had embraced the biblical call to offer hospitality to all. A handful of others tried their luck at the few hotels operating in the area while the rest pitched tents out in the cold. By the time Mary and Joseph arrived, their available housing options were limited. So they did what they could and found shelter with a few new roommates who were a bit harrier than we might expect. They, along with everyone else in Bethlehem, did the best they could to live their lives through such a disruptive event. Even though things were different now, life kept moving forward. And when Jesus came, these two expectant parents from somewhere else, swaddled him with cloth and held him close. In the very first moments of Jesus’ life, he was cherished by a teenager who had carried him through thick and thin. And around them both was a guardian who put himself into that family when others would have run away. That whole moment was challenging and exciting, filled with terror and joy all at the same time. But they were both soon exhausted, and it came time for even Jesus’ parents to put them down. They looked around in the space they were in and borrowed an animal’s food bowl to make Jesus a crib he could call his own.

On that first Christmas, over 2000 years ago, Mary and Joseph didn’t spend their time trying to figure out where to put Christmas. They, instead, simply lived through all the change Christmas brings. This wasn’t, I think, what Mary thought her birthing experience was going to be like when she consented to the message she heard from the angel Gabriel. If she could have planned out what Christmas might be, I imagine her close friends and parents would be among the very first people she’d invited to come over and see the new baby that was born. Yet when dawn drew near, her room wasn’t filled with family but with shepherds she was meeting for the very first time. Being there at that moment and at that specific time wasn’t exactly what she would have planned for. But it was the moment when God put Jesus with us. He wasn’t placed where we’d expect the Son of God to be but rather with the people who needed to know that God chose to put on our hurts, our joys, and everything else life brings. It wasn’t the stuff around Mary and Joseph that made their Christmas what it was supposed to be. Instead, it was about how Jesus chose to put himself into all the stuff that Christmas brings. God’s love for you and the world doesn’t depend on how jolly or merry or festive you feel right now. Christmas doesn’t happen because the tree is exactly where it’s supposed to be and you managed to mail out every Christmas card before you came to church tonight. Christmas doesn’t require you to push aside the grief and sorrow that makes this night harder than we’d like to admit. Christmas doesn’t depend on the stuff we bring because Jesus has already decided to put himself with you. The life you live has value; the experiences that made you who you are – matter; and the relationships that gave you so much joy but are also causing your hearts to ache right now – all of that is wrapped up in a love that will never end. We’ll never know exactly where to put all the stuff that comes with Christmas. The lights hanging outside might have their place but what we hold inside might swirl and swirl and swirl with no other place to go. Yet even during those incredibly disruptive and life-changing moments, Christmas comes – because God has already decided to never let you go. As we spend tonight and tomorrow singing and celebrating, let’s be brave enough to be who we are with all our joys, hurts, cares and needs. Let us, together, live the life we’re actually. Let us believe that even though our experience of Christmas might change, the reality of CHristmas itself never will. And that’s because God sees you, God knows you, and Jesus is right there beside you to carry you through.

Amen.

Sermon: Knowing We Have Someone Going Through With Us

In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, 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 to 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.” Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” The angel said to her, “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 sixth month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.” Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her.

Luke 1:26-38

My sermon from the 4th Sunday of Advent (December 24, 2023) on Luke 1:26-38.

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So there was a meme floating around the internet not too long ago based on a scene from the movie Return of the Jedi. Luke Skywalker had just returned to the planet of Dagobah to ask Yoda, a Jedi Master hiding from the Empire, a few questions. The last time they were together, Yoda was training Luke to become like him. But when Darth Vadar captured his friends in the cloud city of Bespin, Luke left Yoda to try and rescue them. After a brutal fight in the bowels of the city, Vader told Luke something he didn’t want to believe. So Luke headed back to Dagobah to discover what Yoda knew. While they talked, Yoda did his best to not answer the question. Yet after a little bit, he admitted that – spoiler alert – Darth Vader really was Luke’s biological father. Once that truth was shared, Yoda died and the meme used a picture from the film right before that happened. But instead of focusing on what Luke learned, the meme was a joke connecting it to an experience all parents and guardians can relate to. It said: “Once I became a parent I finally understood the scene where Yoda gets so tired of answering Luke’s questions he just dies.” Luke, in his own way, is the quintessential sci-fi version of the kid who always asks why. Now that kind of curiosity is a good thing but we don’t always have the energy to try and explain in 30 seconds why the sky is blue, why some dogs are brown, if ghosts are real, and what life would be like if we had no bones. Asking questions or being able to even answer them isn’t always easy to do. Yet while reading this morning passage from the gospel according to Luke, I couldn’t help but notice how Mary was brave enough to question God and Gabriel was smart enough to answer the real question at the heart of her words.

Now when we find ourselves listening to a story that is either new to us or one we’ve heard a million times before, I think it’s important to use our imagination to wonder what it might have been like. We can paint a picture in our heads using all the details the Bible gives while noticing the assumptions we use to fill in any gaps. It’s an exercise that holds us accountable for all the stuff we bring to our Bible while inviting it to surprise us in compelling ways. So let’s do that with our story about what happened when the angel Gabriel visited Mary. Imagine, for a moment, a divine being radiating with the overwhelming majesty and power of God – showing up in your home. We’d hope that such an experience would be peaceful but I think it would be pretty scary. Mary had every reason to be freaked out by this stranger showing up since she was anything but powerful. She was a young teenage girl, maybe only 13 or 14 years old at the time, who came from a poor family. In the eyes of those around her, she was nothing; and yet the God who created the universe came to see her.

It’s a bit hard to imagine the fullness of what that moment must have been like. But I personally can’t help but be in awe of Mary’s courage and bravery. She could have cowered in fear of the overwhelming presence of the divine or acted as if God couldn’t do what God wanted to do. Mary, though, chose to do something else. She asked a question – wondering how her story and God’s story would meet. It was, in a sense, a question of “how” since she knew how babies were made and the story of her life so far. But she was also well aware of the social costs that come with being a young unmarried woman with a child on the way. Mary had no desire to be prop in whatever God was up to since a pregnancy would change or possibly destroy the relationships she had with Joseph, her family, and everyone around her. Since Mary would be the one carrying this baby into the world, she wanted to know if her life would be as scary as she feared it could be.

Now if Gabriel had only answered the biological “how,” he probably would have found themselves in a situation like Yoda – being asked all kinds of questions over and over again. And yet when Mary had the guts to question this messenger from God, Gabriel actually listened. He heard her wanting to know how she was going to live in a world that doesn’t often accept women who do unexpected things. And so he answered by telling her about another woman who was living through the same thing. Mary’s cousin and friend Elizabeth, was entering the final trimester of her own pregnancy that no one thought was possible. She was living the kind of life Mary would live. And that was exactly what Mary needed to hear. It wasn’t the grand pronouncements stating how God was with her and she was favored and her child would be the Son of the Most High that fully addressed the anxiety she felt. But when she heard that a friend was already living her story, Mary consented to what God was about to do in the world.

In the words of Professor Raj Nadella, “For people at the margins facing difficult situations, what matters most is someone who will share in their experience, stand with them, and walk with them.” “In the end…it was the prospect of a shared experience that mattered to Mary more than any of those grand promises from Gabriel.” What Mary needed to know was that she wouldn’t go through this life alone. God wasn’t just going to be with her; God also gave her a person who she could talk to and who would believe every one of her stories. When others laughed at her, derided her, questioned her, and acted as if Mary could never be who God declared her to be – Elizabeth would be there to show her what God’s love actually looks like. God didn’t want Mary to be a prop in the Christmas story; she was, instead, going to live through it first hand. God would do what God has always done and bring grace, hope, mercy, and peace into the lives people lived. Mary, through the words of an angel, discovered that God would not let her live her life without people who would embrace her, love her, and be with her through every part of her story. And that same kind of promise, while maybe not delivered to you through the mouth of an angel, is given to you every time we worship, pray, sing, and gather in many different ways around Jesus’ table. When you were brought into the body of Christ, it wasn’t because God thought you’d never ask questions or that you would be a decent prop in God’s master plan. God, instead, included you in God’s story because God loves you and wants you to experience that love first hand. It isn’t always easy to notice that kind of love while living through everything that life brings. But that’s why God surrounds us with people, a community, and a church who are meant to show us what “God-with-us” actually means. There are days when we will be like Mary, asking questions and wondering why. And yet there will be even more when we get to be an Elizabeth to everyone God brings our way. On this fourth Sunday of Advent which also happens to be Christmas Eve, we gather together on this day not only to proclaim that Jesus – God-with-us – has been born but also to remind us how we, through God’s grace, can be with others in the exact same way.

Amen.

Sermon: Share Your Story

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.

This is the testimony given by John when the Jews sent priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him, “Who are you?” He confessed and did not deny it, but confessed, “I am not the Messiah.” And they asked him, “What then? Are you Elijah?” He said, “I am not.” “Are you the prophet?” He answered, “No.” Then they said to him, “Who are you? Let us have an answer for those who sent us. What do you say about yourself?” He said, “I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the Lord,’” as the prophet Isaiah said. Now they had been sent from the Pharisees. They asked him, “Why then are you baptizing if you are neither the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the prophet?” John answered them, “I baptize with water. Among you stands one whom you do not know, the one who is coming after me; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal.” This took place in Bethany across the Jordan where John was baptizing.

John 1:6-8, 19-28

My sermon from the Third Sunday of Advent (December 17, 2023) on John 1:6-8, 19-28.

Our text today from the gospel according to John might sound a bit familiar since we heard a version of this story last week. Mark, in the opening words to his version of Jesus’ life, introduced John the Baptist who was living out in the wilderness. The wilderness, according to the Bible, was more than simply a desert full of creepy, crawling things. The wilderness was always the place where our attempts at control broke down. John the Baptist, instead of living in a house, slept under the stars and relied on what he could find to fill his belly. We get the sense that if John was living today, he’d have a tiktok account showing him living completely off the grid. We’d watch as he collected rain water to wash his clothes and used an old solar panel array to provide all the electricity he needed. That kind of living might not be what we, personally, would want to do. But we’d be curious about the man who left so much behind. John, in a sense, was a kind of influencer who wanted people to see his story. But he wasn’t living in the wilderness as a way to disconnect himself from the world. Rather, there was something out there that he wanted to connect to the world. Scripture described the wilderness as the place where God lived. And John, I think, wanted to use that image as a way to expand the spiritual imagination of those around him. But he was a bit limited by the technology available to him. No one could simply open up their phones from the comfort of their beds and see what John was doing in the desert. They would need a different kind of invitation delivered to them in person. Yet by this point in the story, John had already figured out how to do that. Before he went into the wilderness, he developed his own status as a religious figure. He had his own group of disciples who followed his every word. Those disciples were, I imagine, sent by John to let people know he was doing. And as they told their story, others felt compelled to leave their villages and discover what God was up to in the wilderness. That began a movement of people constantly going in and out of the area. And when those people met John, their experience was exactly their own. Some decided to repent, to change how they lived their lives. While others might have wondered why they even went out to see John in the first place. The area was soon filled with people sharing their stories about a wildman preaching, teaching, and baptizing in the place God lived. And as those stories spread, a few religious leaders from the city of Jerusalem decided they wanted to hear this story for themselves. 

Now since John the Baptist kept drawing people to him, we sort of imagine him as a confident, over-the-top, and very charismatic person. In fact, he’s even described in other parts of our Bible as a firebrand with a bit of a temper. He was, I think, always himself. And yet, when the religious leaders asked who he was, his first response was to tell them what he wasn’t. I wonder, though, if that was his way of trying to reframe their experience of him since what the religious leaders knew was through the stories other people told. It was all those folks who defined who John was by sharing all they had seen and heard. And while we don’t know exactly what those people said, I wouldn’t be surprised if many of them turned to the stories and images found in their Bible as a way to describe what their experiences were all about. As they processed and shared their stories, they began to wonder if John really was the Messiah. He was, after all, developing a spiritual community that didn’t seem as if it would stay in the spiritual realm for very long. John actively pushed against Roman rule and he argued extensively against those who appeased them. Many felt as if he was laying the groundwork to try and re-establish the kind of kingdom David had ruled nearly 1000 years before. Their expectations for the Messiah and their experience of John in the wilderness swirled together in a way that made everyone wonder. And when the religious leaders who came to see him, those stories filled their heads. They didn’t know which ones to believe or push aside which is why their first question was so general. They wanted John to tell them who he was and he responded by letting them know that their expectations would not limit who he might be. John didn’t want them to simply hear the story; he wanted them to have their own story too. And so that, I think, is why he started his whole entire conversation with them with a lot of “nos.” He refused to fit into the stories they already carried because God’s story was already on the move. The people assumed that John was preparing the way for the Lord as if God God needed us to do something before God would show up. But John, I think, was doing something else. He wasn’t preparing the way for God; he was preparing us for the Jesus who was already here. 

And that, I think, is why telling our personal stories with our God is so central to John the Baptist’s ministry. It’s also why the gospel according to a different John made the sharing of our story a defining characteristic of what it means to follow Jesus. When we share our faith with others, we’re not only supposed to talk about Jesus himself. We don’t limit our words by only describing his divinity and what he did while walking the earthy nearly two thousand years ago. Instead, we talk about Jesus, we need to talk about the life we’ve actually lived. We need to talk in a way that sounds completely like us – naming our doubts, worries, fears, and joys. We need to admit what we got wrong and all the parts of our lives that have changed. We need to be honest about those moments when we felt God with us no matter how odd those stories might be. And we need to be willing to be vulnerable and reveal those times when God felt cold and distant. When we do this, we’re not doing it to brag or to pretend that all experiences of the divine are supposed to resemble our own. We are, instead, inviting others to discover the God who is already here. Our story, then, becomes the invitation into a wider story where grace, love, and hope transforms us all. As we move into this week before Christmas, let’s remember that there’s always more to God’s story. We don’t have to only focus on the joys, the miracles, and the parts of Christmas that feel angelic, peaceful, and pure. We can, instead, start with us and show others how Christmas is big enough to hold their story too. 

Amen.