Second Sunday in Lent

TEXT:  John 3:1-17

“And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.” (John 3:14-15)

“John, three, sixteen.” Even if you’ve never actually read the Bible, chances are you know that verse by heart, probably in King James English: “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”

And I suppose that, if you were only ever going to memorize one Bible verse, that’s a pretty good one. Martin Luther called this verse “the gospel in a nutshell” because it expresses the core of the Christian message, summarizing what God did for us in Christ.

However, there are more than 16 verses in this morning’s gospel. And they tell quite a story. They tell us about Nicodemus, the Pharisee who believed in Jesus. They contain Jesus’ cryptic remark about being “born from above.” And in verse 14, we hear these puzzling words:  “And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life” (John 3:14-15).

Did you catch that reference? It’s from the Book of Numbers, chapter 21. In this Old Testament story, the children of Israel are in the Sinai desert, half-heartedly following Moses on the 40-year-long journey to their new home in Canaan.

They are following half-heartedly because after all this time they have begun to lose confidence in their leaders. By now, they’re wondering whether there is such a “promised land” at all. Moses’ motley crew of former slaves has begun to “murmur.”

In other words, they are complaining. They’re bellyaching. They’re fed up with the hardships of the desert. They’re sick of manna and quail.

But then, things get much worse. Somewhere out in this seemingly God-forsaken desert, there is a plague of “fiery serpents”—poisonous snakes—which attack the Israelites, so that many people die.

Moses prays for the people, and—in response—the Lord tells him to fashion a serpent out of bronze and place it high upon a pole; “and everyone who is bitten shall look at it and live” (Num. 21:8).

Strange as it sounds, it worked. Those who had been bitten gazed at the bronze serpent that Moses had made, and they were healed. It was a miracle.

End of story? Well … actually … not! Leaping ahead some 500 years, we hear about this bronze serpent once again, in the 18th chapter of the Second Book of Kings.

By now, the people have been settled for many generations in the Promised Land, where they had decided they wanted to have kings like other nations did. So, they got them. Now, many of those kings were faithless and corrupt—but one king came along who was different. His name was Hezekiah, and he set about cleaning things up. Cleaning up the government. Just like modern politicians promise to do—except better. (Probably … a lot better.)

In fact, the Bible tells us that—among the many great things Hezekiah did—“He removed the high places, broke down the pillars, and cut down the sacred pole.”

What he did was destroy the pagan worship places—abominations which had cropped up all over the country. But listen to this:  “He broke in pieces the bronze serpent that Moses had made, for until those days the people of Israel had made offerings to it …” (2 Kings 18:4).

Do you see what had happened? Five centuries after Moses had made the bronze serpent as an instrument of healing, they still had it!

But they had turned it into an idol. What had once been a means to an end had become an end in itself. Instead of pointing toward the God who had ordered it made, it now pointed toward itself; and the people worshipped the serpent instead of the Lord. But good King Hezekiah put an end to all that.

These two Old Testament passages about the bronze serpent point out something important. What had been helpful and healing in one era had become an idol in another.

You know, I can’t help but wonder:  how many things are there, in the life of our church, which—even though they used to be helpful and healing—have now outlived their usefulness? How many old traditions have we turned into idols?

As somebody said:  “Tradition is the living faith of dead people. Traditionalism is the dead faith of living people.”

But, I digress. We haven’t heard the last of the bronze serpent.

Even after good King Hezekiah smashed the idol, the original idea behind the symbol—and faith in the God who had it fashioned—survived. It was still alive in the memory of Scripture hundreds of years later, when a man called Nicodemus, a respected member of the Sanhedrin, came to Jesus under cover of night. Nicodemus, evidently, was a genuine seeker after faith, and he had urgent and searching questions to ask Jesus.

“Rabbi,” he says, “we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.”

With these words of Nicodemus, a door is opened—and Jesus steps right through it.

“You must be born from above,” Jesus says; but Nicodemus is confounded. Because the Hebrew can be taken either way, Nicodemus thinks Jesus has said, “You must be born again.” And so he asks, “How can anyone be born after having grown old?” (John 3:4) 

We see that Nicodemus is almost as much of a literalist as some of us are. Jesus is not, of course, speaking about physical birth at all. Rather, he is trying to lift the eyes of this religious leader to take in higher things, so that he might begin to see his life from a different spiritual perspective. You must be born from above!

Jesus tells Nicodemus that he “must be born of water and spirit.” Lift up your eyes, Nicodemus! “If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things?”

Lift up your eyes, Nicodemus! There’s more to life than you know about.

Then Jesus lays it on him. “No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man. And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.”

There it is! The bronze serpent has reappeared in Scripture—right here in John’s gospel. That old bronze serpent fashioned by Moses is raised up again, some 700 years after Hezekiah broke it to pieces. It is raised in this conversation between the Lord and the Pharisee.

Jesus’ point is not that a snake on a pole can heal you. But he is saying that—just as the bronze serpent was lifted up in the wilderness to heal—so also must Jesus Christ, the Son of Man, be lifted up on a cross to save. You gotta lift up your eyes, Nicodemus! You must be born from above. You must step into the amazing world of the Spirit. And if nothing else will lift up your eyes and your heart … then the sight of Jesus will.

This meandering story of a snake on a pole has taken us quite a distance: from the desert wanderings of Moses’ rag-tag band, through a time of idolatry and reform, all the way to Calvary’s hill. And there, upon that hill, we lift up our eyes to see the one who saves us—and who gives us abundant life.

The bronze serpent has led us to that favorite verse, that “gospel in a nutshell”:  “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”

And then, we hear this great, final word:  “God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”

Maybe you’ve been coming to church all your life. Maybe you’re a newcomer to faith. Maybe you’re a seeker like Nicodemus, checking Jesus out under the cover of night. Whoever you are, remember this: he did not come to condemn you—but rather, to save you and give you life.

Lift up your eyes. Lift up your hearts. And be exceeding glad. For God still loves the world. Amen.

First Sunday in the Midst of Lent

TEXT: Matthew 4:1-11

Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. He fasted for forty days and forty nights, and afterwards he was famished. (Matthew 4:1-2)

The year 2002 was a great one. Trust me, it was! Can you think of something great that happened in 2002?

No?

Well, for one thing, there was the 2002 Winter Olympic Games in Salt Lake City. Do you remember that? Mostly, those Olympic Games were great. But one thing happened that was not so great. In Salt Lake City, Canadian figure skaters Jamie Salé and David Pelletier were almost cheated out of a gold medal.

You see, the French figure-skating judge—whose name was Marie-Reine Le Gougne—succumbed to pressure to cast her vote in favor of the Russian skaters as part of a back-room deal to give the ice-dancing gold medal to the French ice dance team. Le Gougne finally admitted giving lower scores to the Canadian skaters, and the IOC eventually granted the Canadians a gold medal along with the Russians.

Why would a respected Olympic judge go along with such a deceitful plan? The head of the French Olympic team explained it this way: he said, “Marie-Reine cracked and was under extremely negative influence for several days, and this person, normally solid, was emotionally destroyed. I am convinced that things have been done to her in the days leading to the pairs competition.”

“Things have been done to her.” But why was Madame Le Gougne so fragile, regardless of the pressure? How did she come to that high responsibility—the apex of a judge’s career—without having proved herself resistant to temptation?

Hers was a sad and unfaithful act. After all, the Olympic athletes Madam Le Gougne was judging deserved better. They had spent many hundreds of training days preparing for the Olympic games. Some succeeded because of their training. Some failed in spite of it. We cannot say that training is foolproof or fail-safe, but who would argue that training does not matter? Part of the reason the Olympic scandal came to light was that the Canadian skaters’ performances were obviously superior—even to spectators and the television audience. Their training paid off, in the end. Training makes a difference.

This was true for Jesus, as well. He had a job to do for God—a mission to carry out, a destiny to fulfill—just as each one of us does. Now, perhaps we think of Jesus as being totally different from us, he being the Son of God and all. But you know, he was a human being. And he endured the severest of spiritual training. He had to. He had to, in order to resist the temptations that would distract him or turn him from the path his Father had given him to walk.

During Lent, Christians are encouraged to devote more time to spiritual training. Some people fast. Some people give up something they enjoy. Some put coins in a donation box. Hopefully, all of us make an extra-special effort during Lent to begin each day with prayer and Bible reading.

These are “training days”—days of strength-training that will shore up our fragile souls for the mission God has for us in the world. We begin today—on this first Sunday of Lent—by moving into the wilderness with Jesus and considering how he resisted temptation in order to be faithful to his calling.

Immediately after his baptism by John in the Jordan River, Matthew says the Spirit of God led Jesus into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. This was part of his training program. He had to be worked out—and worked over—for forty days and forty nights; worked out by God, and worked over by the devil.

Now you might think this is very strange—that God and the devil should be complicit in Jesus’ training days. But there’s a subtle truth packed into the passage, and it’s put there for us! The trials we face—in training for what God wants us to accomplish—are at once both God’s tests and the devil’s temptations. The same word in the Greek text—peirazo—can be translated either as “to test” or as “to tempt.”

The Bible is clear that God does not tempt us with evil; but the Bible is also clear that God tests us for the purpose of making us stronger for the tasks to which we are called. Ironically, God sometimes employs the devil as a fitness trainer, allowing him to have a go at us. It sounds rough, I know, but it’s necessary. Why? Because … well, you know the saying: “Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

Jesus knows this is true. So he goes along with the plan. He willingly enters the training program. Why? Because he has a sense of duty. He has a calling—a claim he discerned early in his life, and which was confirmed in his baptism.

What will he do? Is he prepared? These are the kinds of questions that must have run through Jesus’ mind. And how did he go about answering them? He went into training with deliberate intention. He got alone with his thoughts and prayers in a place of deprivation. He knew something many of us need to learn—that success in the public world for God depends upon prior success in the private world of self.

There are no shortcuts to spiritual fitness. You can’t take a pill to adjust your spiritual chemistry. You can’t lose forty pounds of ego fat in forty minutes a day for forty days by buying a video. It’s more like the earnest martial art student who went to the teacher and said, “I am devoted to studying your martial art system. How long will it take to master it?”

The teacher casually replied, “Ten years.”

Impatiently, the student persisted: “But I want to master it sooner than that. I will work very hard. I will practice every day—ten or more hours a day, if I have to. How long will it take then?”

The teacher paused long, as if to calculate in his head. “Twenty years, then,” he said.

“Forty days and forty nights” is a biblical way of saying, “a good long time.” And that’s why we have forty days and forty nights in the season of Lent. Along with Jesus, we are preparing for the big stuff that lies ahead. Jesus had to prepare to carry the cross for us. We have to prepare to carry our crosses for his name’s sake.

As I said before, during Lent we are encouraged to take part in spiritual training. Sometimes, people give up something for the forty days of Lent—and they do it in order to learn how to depend on God. Sometimes people start doing something new as a positive act of preparation for service. For example, some might give up television and take up spiritual reading for this period. Some might seek out a friend to pray with for forty days.

All of these are disciplines that match the spirit of Jesus’ own training in the desert.

Many of us will not accomplish great things with our lives because we are unwilling to pay the smaller prices of preparation that lead to greatness. We want to be famous singers, but we don’t want to take voice lessons. We want to be wealthy, but we don’t want to risk any of our own money to do it. We want to be happily married someday, but we give ourselves away too easily and too cheaply when we are young—or, afraid of being hurt, we don’t give ourselves at all. Either way, we lose the capacity to discern love when it does come knocking.

Meditating on a story like this one about Jesus gives us a chance to practice in private for the tests and temptations we will face in our lives. It will make or break us in fulfilling our callings. It’s like rehearsing your testimony with your attorney before going to court. She tells you that the other lawyer is going to attack you in this way or that. In order to be ready in public, you need to feel the pressure in private. You need to imagine possible turns of events and surprises that may come up. That way, you will be ready when your moment of truth arrives.

God gives us these opportunities every day, if we would only listen and pay attention. Scripture is one such opportunity, but it’s not just Scripture and prayer that give us this practice. All around us are resources for reflection if we would only open our eyes and ears to them.

Week by week preachers announce the good news: that God is for you, that nothing you do can separate you from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. We tell you that it is not what you do that matters most; it’s what God has done for you in Christ. But what God in Christ has done for us is not only to give us eternal life, but to show us a better way to live.

Jesus endured the severest of tests, yet still resisted temptation; and the power that helped him do that is also available to you and me. The Spirit of God aided him in overcoming the devil, and this same Spirit lives in us, ready to help. While the devil whispers in our ears, the Spirit speaks to our hearts. We have to learn to recognize the voice of each, and follow the Word of God that wants to dwell in our hearts.

At the beginning of this sermon, I mentioned one name—the name of Marie-Reine Le Gougne, the corrupt French figure-skating judge. Now I’m going to mention another name—the name of someone whose legacy is quite different. Maybe you’ve heard of him. His name was Mattie Stepanek, and he died in 2004 at the age of 13.

Mattie Stepanek suffered from a rare form of muscular dystrophy, called dysautonomic mitochondrial myopathy. It sounds terrible, and it is. Mattie’s sister and two brothers also died from the disease during early childhood.

At the age of three, Mattie began to write poetry to cope with the death of his older brother. By the time he died 10 years later, this courageous boy had authored five books of heart-felt poetry that touched millions of adults as well as children. One such collection of poems— called “Heartsongs”—even made the New York Times bestseller list.

By all rights, Mattie could have been a bitter and lonely young boy. But he chose a different path.

He knew he was going to die, but he was determined to live until he did. He believed God had something special to do with his life. Despite his diagnosis, despite having a tracheal tube in his throat all the time—and a ventilator and oxygen always handy—his goals in life were to become a daddy, a writer, a public speaker, and above all, a peacemaker. He succeeded in most of those goals, even lobbying on Capitol Hill in Washington on behalf of peace, people with disabilities, and children with life-threatening conditions.

Mattie appeared on The Oprah Winfrey Show, Larry King Live, and Good Morning America. In one of his poems—entitled “Heartsongs”—Mattie Stepanek wrote:

I have a song

deep in my heart

and only I can hear it.

If I close my eyes and sit very still,

it is so easy to listen to my song.

When my eyes are open

and I am so busy and moving and busy,

If I take time and listen very hard,

I can hear my heartsong.

It makes me feel very happy.

Feeling happy is the result of passing God’s tests. It’s not the alternative to passing God’s tests. Happiness comes from enduring our trials, not from avoiding them.

Friends, each one of you has a “heartsong”—one that’s unique to you. Have you heard it? Listen for it. This Lent, listen very hard.

Transfiguration Sunday

TEXT: Matthew 17:1-9

As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, “Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.” (Matthew 17:9)

Years ago (more years ago than I like to think about) I worked as an orderly—or nursing assistant—first in a nursing home in Winnipeg, and then on a hospital medical floor in Lethbridge. Needless to say, I witnessed a lot of death, and a lot of dying. I also was present as—sometimes—people were successfully resuscitated. I suppose, all told, I spent close to a decade in that career. But, for whatever reason, in all that time, I never once heard anyone speak about or describe what is commonly known as a “near-death experience” or NDE.

However, as a pastor, I have been told about those kinds of experiences. Not a lot of them, but a few. I’m not sure why that is. Maybe people are more comfortable (or less uncomfortable) having that kind of conversation with a minister.

And I have to say, it does seem like there are some common elements in most of these stories. The ones I’ve heard as first-hand accounts sound very much like those related in the now-abundant literature about NDEs.

People who have been near death often speak about being outside their bodies, looking down as medical personnel try frantically to revive them. Many recall passing through some kind of celestial tunnel, and approaching a brilliant light—or even “a being of light.” Some actually report visiting heaven, and meeting long-deceased relatives or friends. A few even see Jesus.

In today’s gospel text, Peter, James, and John also see Jesus—but in a way they’ve never seen him previously … and in circumstances they could not even have imagined:

“… he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him” (Matt. 17:2-3).

Did Moses and Elijah literally materialize in bodily form on that mountaintop? Or was it—as Jesus himself suggested—a “vision” of some kind?

We cannot, of course, know for certain what sort of experience the disciples actually had. But they obviously saw and heard things they had never seen or heard before. Evidently, Peter thought it was very real. Moses and Elijah seemed so concrete to him that he wanted to build “dwellings” for them to live in … as if he thought their conversation with Jesus was about some kind of real estate development!

Poor Peter. He probably didn’t know what to say. When Mark and Luke tell this story, they imply that Peter was just babbling—almost incoherently—because he was scared out of his wits by the whole thing.

Well, wouldn’t you be? Clearly, there was something going on here which, today, we would call “paranormal.” And—speaking about the present day—it’s interesting to consider how many people there are who believe they’ve had similarly unusual experiences.

According to studies conducted in recent years, nearly 20 per cent of Americans claim to have seen ghosts. ¹ In the United Kingdom, three in five people have said they’ve encountered a ghost in their lifetime, with 40 per cent saying they thought their pet had seen one, too.² 

Results of another study suggest as many as four million Americans believe they have been abducted by aliens.³

As for our own country, Canada has—per capita—one of the highest rates of UFO sightings.⁴  As recently as last year (2022) no fewer than 768 UFO reports were made to Canadian authorities.⁵

Focusing more on religious matters, millions of people worldwide claim to have seen apparitions of the Virgin Mary—and not just in tortillas and grilled cheese sandwiches, either!

In fairly recent times, Jesus’ mother has been reported showing up in places like Medjugorje in Bosnia, or a Wisconsin town called Champion—or on a farm near Marmora, Ontario. She’s even been seen by crowds of people in largely Muslim countries like Egypt and Syria.

So … what do we do when we hear such accounts? We may be tempted to belittle or dismiss them—or to try to explain them scientifically—but that does not make them go away, or make the people who’ve had them stop believing in them. In the end, I guess—unless you’ve had this kind of experience personally—it’s hard to understand why people see what they claim to see or have the visions they claim to have.

Here, I think—instead of dismissing such reports out of hand—or trying to explain them away—we need to adopt an attitude of humility. We should acknowledge that there are dimensions of mind and of spirit which transcend our conventional understandings.

I’m sure at least some of my readers will have had glimpses of that. And I think most of us will admit that, sometimes—as a result of a dream or a déjà vu experience—we’ve been given new perspectives and fresh insights.

I’m not trying to “creep you out” here, but I do think there’s more to us—and to our world—than can be completely understood or logically explained. And—for those of us who acknowledge that there is a power that’s higher than we are—I don’t think the unknown or unusual has to be creepy … or scary.

As people of faith, we know—at least, I hope we know—that the God who is beyond our comprehension comprehends us perfectly. More than that, he loves us perfectly. We may not understand the mind of God any more than a newborn infant understands the mind of its mother. We may not grasp the fullness of God’s love for us … in fact, we probably cannot grasp the fullness of God’s love for us … but we can feel it!

And isn’t that the point, anyway? Scripture tells us that God sent his Son into the world because he loves us.

We may not comprehend the ways and purposes and plans of God; but, in Jesus, we see him. In Jesus, we see his ways and purposes and plans. We see God’s Word made flesh.

I think that’s why the account of the Transfiguration appears in the gospel record. To be sure, this story underscores the truth that everyday life is filled with imponderables—that not everything is physical and material, explainable and definable. But, even so—even after the disciples had this extraordinary experience—everyday life resumed.

… they fell flat on their faces, scared to death. But Jesus came over and touched them [saying] “Don’t be afraid.” When they opened their eyes and looked around all they saw was Jesus, only Jesus. (Matt. 17:6b-8)⁶

At the end of the day, they saw Jesus standing before them, alone. Whatever had changed about him—whatever had changed about them—this was still the same Jesus.

He was their focus. He was their authority. He was their point of reference. And so it must be for us. In the midst of life’s challenges and confusion and defeat, there is One who gives us direction and victory—and he is our most precious gift.

Jesus teaches us how to love our neighbours as ourselves. In Jesus, we find grace and wisdom to deal with unsettling circumstances.

Because of Jesus, we can face each day’s trials knowing that our future with him is assured. In Jesus, we see beyond the limited perspectives of the material and the physical.

In Jesus, we see more than Moses and Elijah, more than the Law and the Prophets. In Jesus, we see more than poets or musicians or scientists or politicians will ever see. In Jesus, we see the coming Kingdom which already embraces us.

Of course, there’s still down-to-earth business with which we must deal. There’s a pot roast in the oven which can’t be allowed to burn. There are relationship troubles that need to be resolved. Our futures are  uncertain. Financial matters press. Health problems loom. Life is filled with practical realities. This was as true for the disciples as it is for us.

If we read a bit further in chapter 17 of Matthew, we find out what happened when Jesus, Peter, James, and John came down from the mountaintop. At the bottom (17:14-15), there was an epileptic man in need of healing. Also, there was the journey to Jerusalem—a destination fraught with promise and peril. Ahead of them lay Calvary and the cross—seemingly the end, but in fact a new beginning.

Through all of this, the disciples would need to keep their eyes fixed upon Jesus. Through all of this, they would need to remember what Jesus had told them. Through his words, they had gained new insights—new understandings—which took them far beyond anything they had ever hoped for or imagined.

It will be that way for us, also, as we follow the Lord. Answering his call to discipleship may seem at times to be dangerous, or burdensome, or even embarrassing. Yet Jesus reminds us that his burden is easy and his yoke is light. In him, we are caught up in a love that will transform us and illuminate us. To know that we are loved by God is a blessing; to respond in love to the needs of our neighbours is a joy.

Yes, a joy—and an example of something that comes from far beyond us—from far beyond the dimensions of this world. It comes from a place where joy is found in serving others, in bearing our burdens patiently, in embracing the hope which Jesus promises, and in trusting when even that hope seems to be lost.

Over the past several weeks of Epiphany, we have been shown how to make sense of the nonsensical, how to discern wisdom in apparent foolishness, how to discover revelation where others hear only words. In the visit of the Magi; at the baptism of Jesus; in the preaching of John the Baptist; in the response of called disciples—in all of this, we have caught a glimpse of heaven’s kingdom.

God is always creating new beginnings and offering them to us … if only we have eyes to see and ears to hear.

All around us, people are convinced that life is a dead end, that there is no tomorrow worth waiting for, that what they have done wrong can never be forgiven. We all know folks like this. But you and I know different.

In Jesus, God has begun something new—something unstoppable. In Jesus, we may know—here and now, in the midst of our daily experience—that life is much more than what can be analyzed in a test tube or catalogued as data or proposed in a theorem. In Jesus, we have beheld the love that transfigures us—and that makes our lives abundant.

On mountain peaks or valleys deep, we need not fear, for God is with us! We are not alone. Thanks be to God.

¹ www.christianpost.com/news/nearly-20-percent-of-americans-claim-to-have-seen-ghosts-says-new-report-107898/

² https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/home-news/ghost-halloween-supernatural-experience-majority-people-survey-groupon-a8581156.html

³ en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alien_abduction_claimants

⁴ www.cbc.ca/archives/categories/science-technology/the-unexplained/close-encounters-of-the-canadian-kind/alien-abductions-in-canada.html

⁵ https://winnipeg.ctvnews.ca/which-province-reportedly-had-the-most-ufo-sightings-in-2022-1.6266767

⁶ From The Message, Copyright © 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002 by Eugene H. Peterson

Sixth Sunday After Epiphany

TEXT: Matthew 5:21-37

“If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to go into hell.” (Matthew 5:29-30)

Over the past couple of Sundays, our gospel lessons have been leading us through Jesus’ “Sermon on the Mount”—perhaps his best-known discourse.

This sermon on a mountainside starts off with blessings. Remember? “Blessed are the poor in spirit … the meek … the pure in heart … the peacemakers …” Jesus goes on to tell us we are “the salt of the earth” and “the light of the world.” That stuff is pretty easy on the ears, isn’t it?

But then, in verse 17 of chapter five, Jesus turns left, onto a less comfortable avenue: “Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfil. For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished” (vv. 17-18).

Then, picking things up in today’s reading, Jesus gets even more serious: “You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder’; and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgement.’  But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgement …” (vv. 21-22a).

And: “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’  But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart” (vv. 27-28).

“Moses said this … but now I tell you this …” Moses said: “Whoever divorces his wife, let him give her a certificate of divorce.” But Jesus says: “Anyone who divorces his wife … causes her to commit adultery; and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery” (vv. 31-32).

What is happening here? Has Jesus given us a new—and tougher—set of rules?

If the “Sermon on the Mount” simply replaces the laws that Moses brought down from that other mountain, then Jesus has made our burden heavier. In fact, I would say he has made our task impossible. This weight is too much for our weak shoulders to carry. If the teaching of Jesus is a new set of laws that his disciples must fully obey—or get booted out of the Christian club—then I think we’ve all had our memberships cancelled!

So … what is happening here?

To be sure, Jesus does intensify the law. In fact, he pushes it much further than Moses did. He pushes it far beyond outward actions, to inward thoughts and feelings and motivations. But how can this be a “gospel of grace”? How can this be the teaching of one who claimed that his ministry was not to the righteous, but to the lost?

Often—usually in reference to difficult passages of Scripture—you hear it said that context is important. And I think context is very important here.

Consider whom Jesus is addressing, from that mountainside. He’s speaking to his disciples, and he’s speaking to “the crowds.” So there are all kinds of people gathered there—farmers, merchants, fishermen … And no doubt some scribes and Pharisees, too.

Jesus was speaking to ordinary Jewish people of his time. They had all been raised to believe that pleasing God required strict obedience to the law of Moses. And for most of them, that meant the letter of the law. The more perfectly you kept the law, the more righteous you were—and the better God liked you, according to that reasoning.

Now, some in that crowd would feel better about this than some others. Those who considered themselves to be good, religious people … Well, we can presume that they thought they were safe. After all, they figured they had kept the law. They had never killed anybody. They had never told any lies … at least, not any big ones … and they had made the required sacrifices at the temple … so they had that covered.

None of them had actually committed adultery. Oh, perhaps some of them had divorced their wives, more or less forcing those poor women to choose between starvation or lives of prostitution … But that was not against the law, as long as all the correct procedures were followed.

So—amongst those who gathered at the foot of the mountain that day—the fine, upstanding, religious people felt quite comfortable sitting near the front, certain that the rabbi would be pleased to see them there. (“Hi, Jesus! Look at me!”)

But the others …

• The fishermen who, having caught little or nothing during the week—and having no fish to bring to market—cast out their nets on the Sabbath day … early in the morning, so no one would see …
• The merchants with their thumbs on the scale …
• The poor who had to steal the bread they could not afford to buy …
• The accused who had sworn false oaths out of fear of consequences …
• The “fallen woman” with nothing to trade except her body …

These folks sat further back. They already knew they’d lost the righteousness game. They weren’t comfortable at all … And yet, they felt drawn here. Perhaps, somehow, they dared to hope for something like good news from this travelling rabbi.

This is the audience facing Jesus. He looks out over the gathered multitude. He sees who is sitting right in front. He sees who is sitting further back … and who is sitting way, way back, trying not to be noticed.

So Jesus opens his mouth to teach them. And he begins by praising virtue. He says, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness …” And all the righteous people feel their chests swelling with pride.  

He says, “Blessed are the pure in heart …” And all the chaste and moderate people feel puffed up.

He says, “Blessed are the poor in spirit …” And all those who are proud of their humility take notice.

“You are the salt of the earth.”

“You are the light of the world.”

And Jesus says, “Do not think that I’ve come to abolish the law …” Because the law is important. The law shows where you fit in the kingdom of heaven. The law shows how far you’ve climbed up the ladder of holiness.

And then, Jesus says: “I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven” (v. 20).

And the folks in the front row go, “Huh?”

Say what?”

“Moses told you, ‘Do not murder.’  But I ask you: have you ever wished harm to a neighbour?”

“Have you ever felt justified, seeking revenge?”

“Have you ever torn down another person with your words?”

“Moses said, ‘Do not swear falsely.’  But I ask you: why do you need to swear oaths at all? Why does your word count for so little?”

“Moses told you, ‘Do not commit adultery.’  But I ask you: have you ever wanted to?”

Jesus pauses. He looks out over the crowd again. All eyes are open wide. Many jaws have dropped. And the people way in back have forgotten to hide their faces. He has everybody’s attention, now.

He begins to speak again, and now his language becomes even more intense. Jesus advocates plucking out eyes and chopping off limbs, if those members of the body are causing us to sin!

If you take every word of the Bible literally, raise your right hand …

Jesus is going out of his way to tell us something: he is not going to change the rules to make it easier for us to win the salvation game. But he tells us something else, too.

He tells us that the rules are so difficult to follow that no one could possibly do it. And if it’s really all about the rules, then none of us—not even the best of us—can possibly avoid the punishments of “hell” he mentions here.

No one can win at this. We are not allowed to relax these rules. And keeping them is beyond us. If we try to play this game, all we get is defeated.

Jesus wants to set us up with a new understanding. We shouldn’t ignore the rules, but rule-following is not the path to God. Jesus’ very presence demonstrates something about our relationship with God. It is not based on our getting things right. No. God comes to us while we are still getting things wrong.

In Christ, God has committed to our humanity by joining us in it. Jesus knows the things that can go wrong in our lives. Jesus also knows that it is not our eyes or our hands that cause us to sin. No. It’s our hearts that do that. It’s something ingrained in our human nature. We literally cannot help ourselves.

What God has come to do, in Jesus, is not to set us on a new and improved moral pathway. We would (and, actually, we do) fail on that path, just as surely as we fail on any other.

And yet, most of us are legalists at heart. We want to prove that we are nice, acceptable people. We want to “pay our own way” and prove our worthiness.

That’s why, when we hear the Sermon on the Mount, we’re tempted to play delusional games. The temptation—and it’s a strong one—is to pick and choose. To emphasize some of Jesus’ words … and quietly ignore others.

For example, some of us make a very big deal about sexuality, marriage and divorce. We take the moral high ground and are loud in our condemnation of those who appear to us to transgress. Yet, many conservative Christians pay little or no attention to what Jesus teaches about non-violence, or the terrible dangers of money, or the cancer of pride and self-righteousness.

And then, there are those who see themselves as radical believers who make much of the sins of wealth and possessions … yet excuse their own laxity in affairs of sex and marriage.

In each case, people become legalistic. They bitterly condemn others while zealously protecting their own hard-won self-righteousness. But that simply will not do! In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus affirms about 25 moral values—affirms them without qualification. We should not dare to judge a fellow Christian for transgressing any one of those values, unless we are prepared to equally judge ourselves on each of the other 24.

If we take to mind and heart the whole 25 (without any sneaky provisos) then one result is certain: all of our supposed superiority—every bit of our spiritual and moral arrogance—will crumble into dust.

And then we shall know for certain that we have nothing at all to boast about. Like everyone else, we have fallen short of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. We have nowhere to turn … except to saving grace—to the healing mercy of the sinner’s Friend.

Yes, Jesus raises the spiritual and moral bar to new heights. But—alongside it—he allows himself to be lifted up, high upon a cross. And there is the throne of grace.

If you want to earn your salvation by playing the righteousness game, you have to follow the rules absolutely perfectly. And then you will absolutely fail. None of us can keep the law, consistently and flawlessly.

But here’s the good news: Jesus, as he said, has come to fulfill the law on our behalf.

That amazing grace is freely available to all of us who aim high, yet fall short. Because of that cross up on Calvary’s hill, we have been set free from the law of sin and death. Because of that cross, you and I no longer stand condemned.

Now, many today—including many within the church—will protest, saying, “That doesn’t make any sense!”

And I suppose it doesn’t. How could Jesus, by taking our punishment, remove our guilt? How could the old covenant—which rested on strict obedience to the law—simply be set aside, just because we could not live up to it?

Who could make a deal like that?

My friends, only God could make a deal like that. Only God could tear up our old contract and offer us a new one. Only God—in Christ—could say to us, “Things are going to be different from now on.”

Only Jesus offers us this kind of grace. Our part is to accept this new deal. This new covenant. This generous offer that sounds too good to be true—but which is in fact more true, and more real, and more wonderful, than anything else we have ever known.

Our part is simply to say, “YES!” Thanks be to God.

Fifth Sunday After Epiphany

TEXTS: 1 Corinthians 2:1-13 and Matthew 5:13-18

 

“You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot.

“You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hidden. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”

(Matthew 5:13-16)

As you’re probably aware if you’ve given the Bible even a cursory glance, the church in Corinth was founded by none other than the apostle Paul. This little Christian congregation—located in the largest city in ancient Greece—was dear to Paul’s heart, because it was a church he himself had planted.

If you have ever wondered about Paul’s evangelistic style—or his strategy for bringing people to Jesus … listen to what he says here: “When I came to you, brothers and sisters, I did not come proclaiming the mystery of God to you in lofty words or wisdom” (1 Cor. 2:1).

Did you catch that? When Paul brought the gospel of Christ to the Corinthians, he proclaimed it as a “mystery.”

“My speech and my proclamation were not with plausible words of wisdom,” he says, “but with a demonstration of the Spirit and of power, so that your faith might rest not on human wisdom but on the power of God” (1 Cor. 2:4-5).

Amazingly, it’s Paul who’s writing this! Yeah. Paul the apostle. If you’ve waded through the dense prose in any of the 13 New Testament books ascribed to him, you know he is not renowned for his easy-to-understand sentences. Paul of Tarsus was the first Christian theologian—and, arguably, the greatest. A man of profound intellect, Paul is as thought-provoking and challenging—and confusing—today as he was 2,000 years ago. And this First Letter to the Corinthians is no less complex than anything else that he wrote.

Yet, here—as Paul engages in a bit of nostalgia, recalling the content of his earliest preaching in Corinth—he says he did not resort to fancy language, or even to plausible argument! No. Instead, he says his speech and his proclamation gave “a demonstration of the Spirit and of power.”

That could mean a lot of things, I guess. Some figure that Paul means that his arrival in Corinth was accompanied by impressive signs and wonders. But, you know—since Paul says this demonstration of the Spirit and of power was given through his speech and his proclamation—it sounds to me like what he actually did was relate his personal experience. Certainly, he had witnessed the movement of the Spirit in his own life.

I’m sure you remember the story about Paul (see Acts 9:1-20).

When he was still known as Saul of Tarsus, he was a relentless persecutor of the church. However—while he was leading a posse to Damascus to arrest Christians—he had an extraordinary, life-changing encounter with the risen Christ. The Book of Acts tells us that a brilliant light from heaven flashed around him. He was so startled that he fell off his horse. Or maybe it was the horse that was startled, and threw him off.

Anyway, he fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to him, “Saul … why do you persecute me?”

“Who are you, Lord?”

“I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting.”

When Saul picked himself up from the ground, he was completely blind, as if he had been staring at the sun, and his retinas were burnt out. He stayed that way for three days, until a disciple of Jesus named Ananias came and healed his blindness through the laying on of hands. Then Saul, the bitter enemy of Christ, became Paul the messenger of Christ … and the rest, as they say, is history.

So this guy had quite a story to tell. And—to those who believed him—his was a most compelling story. But we know that not everyone believed. Some dismissed him as a charlatan. Some—like the Roman procurator Festus (Acts 26:24)—thought that Paul was, literally, out of his mind.

And—let’s face it—those reactions are easy to understand, are they not? I mean, it’s not the sort of thing you hear every day. Even if you don’t think Paul was a con artist—even if you think he sincerely believed his own story … even if you don’t think he was crazy … you could be forgiven for having some doubts.

The thing is: spiritual encounters—supernatural experiences—are, by definition, highly subjective. To the individual who has them, they are absolutely real. To the experiencer, these are not dreams or hallucinations, but undeniable reality. Trouble is, they are almost always impossible to adequately describe using human language. But of course, human language is the only tool we have to describe them.

Another case in point is Paul’s account in Second Corinthians, chapter 12, where he describes an incident 14 years previous, where he was “caught up into Paradise and heard things that are not to be told, that no mortal is permitted to repeat” (2 Cor. 12:4).

Most Bible commentators agree with John Wesley, who argued that what Paul says “no mortal is permitted to repeat” is in point of fact impossible to repeat, because human language cannot express it. This must have been almost intolerably frustrating for Paul, who was a master of the written word. But I think that what the apostle experienced is something that’s common to everyone who’s had a direct, personal encounter with the divine. Ultimately, there are no words to describe what happened. And yet, such compelling stories are …

Well, it’s hard to keep your mouth shut about them, because they are transformative. At one and the same time, they are glorious and disturbing … sublime and ridiculous!

Bill Wilson—one of the co-founders of Alcoholics Anonymous—had such an experience in the Charles B. Towns Hospital in Manhattan.

Between 1933 and 1934, Wilson was admitted to Towns Hospital four times—always for treatment of his alcoholism. On his fourth and last stay he showed signs of delirium tremens and was treated with the “Belladonna Cure.” While undergoing this treatment, he had a powerful spiritual awakening and—after that—he never drank alcohol again. In his 1957 book, Alcoholics Anonymous Comes Of Age, Wilson describes his experience like this:

All at once I found myself crying out, “If there is a God, let Him show himself! I am ready to do anything, anything!”  Suddenly the room lit up with a great white light. I was caught up in an ecstasy which there are no words to describe. It seemed to me, in the mind’s eye, that I was on a mountain and that a wind not of air but of spirit was blowing. And then it burst upon me that I was a free man. Slowly the ecstasy subsided. I lay there on the bed, but now for a time I was in another world, a new world of consciousness. All about me there was a wonderful feeling of Presence, and I thought to myself, “So this is the God of the preachers!” A great peace stole over me and I thought, “No matter how wrong things seem to be, they are still all right. Things are all right with God and His world.” (Wilson, p. 63)

 

Predictably—and understandably—many have dismissed Wilson’s account, arguing that what he experienced was most likely the result either of alcohol withdrawal, or the belladonna treatment, or both. Others, though, point out that hallucinations rarely—if ever—produce the sorts of lasting behavioural and psychological changes that followed upon Wilson’s vision in that hospital room.

For his part, Bill Wilson remained for the rest of his life convinced that what happened to him was entirely real, even though he acknowledged that his best attempts to describe it were entirely inadequate.

I wonder whether the apostle Paul—hearing Bill Wilson’s story—might nod his head in agreement. And I wonder whether Bill Wilson—who certainly knew his way around the Bible—nodded his head in agreement when he read what Paul wrote about communicating God’s mystery “with a demonstration of the Spirit and of power.”

After all, both men were permanently changed by their divine encounters. Wilson, as I said, never drank again—and he went on to help develop a recovery program that has, in its turn, saved the lives of countless others. Saul of Tarsus—who set out for Damascus “breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord” (Acts 9:1)—became Paul of Tarsus, the disciple par excellence. Their testimonies are convincing. At least, I find them so, precisely because of the radical transformation wrought in these men.

See, here’s the thing: what cannot be explained in words can in fact be demonstrated. When Paul spoke about communicating the mystery of God “with a demonstration of the Spirit and of power,” I think this must have been at least a part of what he meant.

To those who knew Saul the persecutor—or who learned that bit of Paul’s personal history—his transformation spoke louder and more clearly than his finest words could ever do. Comparing who Paul was—to who he became … Well, that made the case. Now willing to die for the gospel he once tried to suppress, Paul the apostle was a living, breathing demonstration of Christ’s redemptive power.

And comparing who Bill Wilson was to who he became … Well, for hopeless alcoholics who had all but given up on themselves, his transformation made the case for A.A. As with Paul the apostle, Bill Wilson’s words carried weight because of what his reformed life demonstrated. He was, indeed, “a new creature” (2 Cor. 5:17, KJV).

Here’s one more important point: Paul told the Corinthians that he came to them “with a demonstration of the Spirit and of power,” and not with plausible arguments and words of human wisdom. He also told them why: “so that your faith might rest not on human wisdom but on the power of God.”

Words of human wisdom can try to explain the mystery of God. But they can’t actually do it. They can’t even come close. Words cannot convey the reality of God. Only the power of God—demonstrated in a human life—can do that. I can  preach to you about the redeeming work of Christ and God’s eagerness to forgive sinners … but if I harbour grudges and refuse to forgive … my words will lose most of their impact.

By the same token, someone like Mother Teresa of Calcutta does not need to say very much; her life of compassionate service demonstrated the Spirit’s power more effectively than could the most skillfully-crafted sermon. And the power of God shown forth in her life inspired more faith than clever words and plausible arguments could ever do.

Yes … the power of God shown forth in her life … the power of God demonstrated in a human life … made obviously and undeniably real in a human life … Does that remind you of anything?

How about: “the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a Father’s only Son, full of grace and truth” …? (John 1:14)

Who God is and what God is actually like, or what the kingdom of heaven is actually like … these things are impossible to describe using human language. Let’s face it, even Jesus had difficulty getting people to understand his words. He kept going on about prodigal sons and forgiving fathers, about faith being like a mustard seed, and camels passing through the eyes of needles, and about God’s people being like “salt” and “light” upon the earth.  Yet his closest disciples never seemed able to grasp his meaning. They never seemed to get it. That is, until, finally, they got him!

Who God is, and what God is like … these things cannot be explained logically. Yet, to the believer, it is all made perfectly clear in the person called Jesus of Nazareth. It is made clearer and clearer to each one of us as we progress along the path of discipleship. As we mature and grow in faith, our picture of God becomes more complete—comes into ever-sharper focus. Or at least, it becomes ever-less-fuzzy.

But then (and frustratingly so) our ability to describe that picture to others does not seem to get very much easier!

Maybe that’s because—this side of eternity—no matter how far we progress in our understanding of God, there’s just so much more for us to discover. As Paul said—apparently, quoting Isaiah: “… no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the human heart conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor. 2:9).

You know what? I think I’m going to take Paul’s word for it.

Fourth Sunday After Epiphany

TEXT: Matthew 5:1-12

A few years ago, television stations ran a series of commercials for Capitol One MasterCard. You may remember them. They had a memorable punch line: “What’s in your wallet?”

Stuck vacationing in tropical storm season because your credit card bonus miles don’t apply at peak travel times? “What’s in your wallet?” Obviously not a Capitol One MasterCard!

Attacked by marauding barbarians while shopping at the mall? You can stop them dead in their tracks by pulling out your Capitol One card.

 “What’s in your wallet?” Those commercials—and that question—always made me think about what I carry with me. Not just in my wallet, but in my briefcase, or in my car, or on my person:

• Keys
• Cell phone.
• Various kinds of photo ID.
• Face mask for pandemic protection.

It’s exhausting just thinking about it all! Exhausting because, as hard as I try, there is no way to adequately prepare for everything the world throws at me.

Beyond the tangible things we carry, we carry intangible things, as well. And I think these are the things that can really wear us down. We might call them burdens—or worries, or doubts, or just plain fears.

• Your child is late coming home from school … has something happened?
• There are 10 messages on voice mail … that can’t be good!
• A family member is hospitalized.
• A national tragedy heightens our anxiety and grieves our spirits.
• The bills are piling up, and we’re being stretched so thin that we feel we’re about to snap!

We all carry burdens. Yet some of us stagger and stumble to a much greater degree than others.

Have you ever noticed how some people can endure and even surpass the most incredibly difficult times in their lives? Why is that? How is it that some people thrive despite all the obstacles they encounter? And how is it that others are so easily crushed—broken, even—by the smallest of difficulties?

Well, Jesus has something to say to us about that. Listen to the first 12 verses of Matthew, chapter five—this time from Eugene Peterson’s wonderful paraphrase, The Message:

When Jesus saw his ministry drawing huge crowds, he climbed a hillside. Those who were apprenticed to him, the committed, climbed with him. Arriving at a quiet place, he sat down and taught his climbing companions. This is what he said:

“You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.

“You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.

“You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are—no more, no less. That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought.

“You’re blessed when you’ve worked up a good appetite for God. He’s food and drink in the best meal you’ll ever eat.

“You’re blessed when you care. At the moment of being ‘care-full,’ you find yourselves cared for.

“You’re blessed when you get your inside world—your mind and heart—put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.

“You’re blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight. That’s when you discover who you really are, and your place in God’s family.

“You’re blessed when your commitment to God provokes persecution. The persecution drives you even deeper into God’s kingdom.

“Not only that—count yourselves blessed every time people put you down or throw you out or speak lies about you to discredit me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and they are uncomfortable. You can be glad when that happens—give a cheer, even!—for though they don’t like it, I do! And all heaven applauds. And know that you are in good company. My prophets and witnesses have always gotten into this kind of trouble.”

The Message Copyright © 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002 by Eugene H. Peterson

“You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope.” Not just when you’re content, or caring, or being a peacemaker.

You’re blessed when you’re starved for God.

You’re blessed when you’ve lost something dear; when you’re persecuted and insulted and lied about.

Do you understand what Jesus is saying here? He tells us that no matter what situation claims us—for better or for worse—we are blessed.

We are blessed even when we think we’re at a dead end. We are blessed even during times of deepest despair. We are blessed in the midst of frustrations, and calamity, and heartbreak.

How can this be? How can Jesus say we are blessed in times of trouble? Because God—the Holy One, the One who created you and fills you with all that is good and life-giving—is always present.

If you’re old enough to have seen those “NOOMA” videos which were popular at the turn of the century,  you may remember the first film in the series.* It’s called “Rain”—and in it, Rob Bell tells a story about carrying his one-year-old son through a violent storm. For the child, the storm is terrifying. All he can see around him is chaos—swaying trees, and lightning. All he can hear is thunder and rushing wind. All he can feel is the drenching rain.

But Rob Bell holds his son close to his heart, as together they proceed through the tempest. And all the while, he whispers in the child’s ear: “I love you, buddy … We’re gonna make it … Dad knows the way home.”

God promises to carry you through the storms and struggles of life, as well as through its celebrations and triumphs. You are blessed with a love so fierce, so faithful, that even in the darkest of times, light will shine upon you—light that clarifies, reveals, and supports you.

You will recognize it because the tables will be turned. You will be carried beyond what you have known, to a new future—a hopeful future, a future that is touched by the holy.

It may happen in the company of a friend or a stranger. It may be words offered at just the right time. Or you may wake up one day and realize that something you have deeply longed for has indeed come true. Other times, there will be those surprising, amazing coincidences that occur which are all about mystery—holy mystery. And through events such as these, you will receive what you need most.

We will carry burdens. We will travel through storms. As Rob Bell says, it always rains in our lives. There are always storms. There are always burdens.

But in the midst of all that, blessings are given. They come from beyond us, and they are gifts. Blessings come to us and bring contentment, and joy, and well-being. The most profound blessings take away the heaviness of our burdens and the sting of our injuries. They encourage us to live in hope, to seek wholeness, and to rest in the promises of God that all will be well.

Julian of Norwich—who was a medieval English nun and mystic—is known for this quote: “All shall be well; and all shall be well; and all manner of things shall be well.” In her life, Julian realized that if “God made it, God loves it, and God keeps it.” She understood each day as a blessing from God.

Julian lived through some of the most horrific times of the 14th century—including the Black Death and the Hundred Years’ War. Yet her theology is one of indestructible hopefulness. She insisted that God is not known as we wait for visions and ecstasies, but rather as we wait on God through relentless prayer and diligent study. Although she lived in a time of turmoil, Julian was optimistic, speaking about joy and compassion even in the midst of suffering. For Julian, suffering was not a punishment that God inflicted, but an occasion for God’s love to be demonstrated.

So I think maybe Capital One is missing the point. Maybe it’s not at all about what we carry—or what we feel the need to carry. Here’s what I think: it’s all about the One who carries us—beyond what is, to what will be.

May the God of new life—shown to the world in Jesus—continue to carry you and embrace you through all that is before you. “All shall be well” is the promise God invites you to rest upon. May it indeed be so—for you, for me, for all of us. Amen.

_____________________

* https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=loFBGdeXGtg&list=PLtgOv2atkYik3oul9QWbLdqVJDOU3qwut

Third Sunday After  the Epiphany

TEXTS: Isaiah 9:1-4 and Matthew 4:12-23

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined. (Isaiah 9:2)

And he said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.” (Matthew 4:19)

At the heart of the Christian proclamation is the assertion that God in Christ has shined a heavenly light in the midst of a dark world. Our Old Testament lesson from Isaiah reflects this belief. It says, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.”

Israel’s existence was always tenuous. Most of Israel’s history was lived out in the shadows of giants like Egypt, Persia and Assyria—the superpowers of their day. Not exactly a comfortable—or secure—place to be!

But God shined a light of hope in their darkness, and promised them a Messiah. Jesus of Nazareth came as the fulfillment of that promise. He was the light of God made flesh.

Matthew’s Gospel records how Jesus fulfilled Isaiah’s prophesy. He came announcing the arrival of the Kingdom of God. He preached. He taught. He healed. He called people to discipleship—and shined the light of God in their dark lives.

You may recall what another gospel writer—John—said about that: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has never put it out.” (John 1:5)

The light of God—the light of Christ—still shines! And so we, the people of God, the Church of Christ, still proclaim that message. We celebrate the fact that God has shined heavenly light in the midst of our dark earthly existences. We affirm that God still shines the light of his love and grace upon those who dwell in darkness. We proclaim that in Christ God brings joy and peace and forgiveness and grace to those who will believe.

That assertion—that God has shined light on us—is at the heart of all we say and do as Christian people. “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.”

The world still needs that light. This world needs it because it still dwells in darkness. If you don’t believe me, just open your eyes!

Sometimes the problem with we Christians is that we don’t open our eyes to see the darkness. We close our eyes to reality and go around saying, “all is peace and joy and love,” and we don’t see the darkness all around us. Perhaps we have spent so much time talking about the light that we have forgotten about the darkness. But if our eyes are not open to see the darkness, then how can we see the light shine?

We live in a desperate world, filled with injustice. People kill and are killed for drugs in one country—and for bread in another. Individuals everywhere live under the oppression of alcohol and opiates and domestic violence. Toxic ideologies enslave nations, and millions face starvation worldwide. Every day, multitudes perish from diseases that are preventable and curable. Why? Because they cannot afford the medicine.

We send peacekeepers all over the world, but wars persist. Tyrants kill and terrorize, as diplomacy proves futile. War continues to ravage Ukraine. Tensions rise in “hot spots” around the globe.

Earth is a gloomy place. There is no denying that. It is a world filled with the darkness of murder, oppression, and hatred in all its forms. The world needs the light of Christ!

What I want to know is this: If the lights are on, why is it still so dark? If the light of the world has indeed come, why is there so much darkness? There seems to be a basic incongruity between our faith and the reality of the world.

We Christians believe that the light has shined in the darkness. We say that Christ is the light of the world. But reality shows us that darkness still appears to be the order of the day.

This is an important question. We can’t simply dismiss it, and refuse to acknowledge the darkness out there. This is an important question because it recognizes the reality of human life and seeks to apply the Gospel to it. We need to begin to understand why the darkness persists even though Christ has come. Then we can begin to shine God’s light in that darkness.

So, again I ask: If the lights are on, why is it still so dark? Consider once again our gospel lesson from chapter four of Matthew:

Now when Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee. He left Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum by the lake … From that time Jesus began to proclaim, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.’ (Matt. 4:12-13a, 17)

Jesus had been born about 30 years before. The light had already come into the world. But the powers of darkness still ruled. When Herod threw John the Baptist in jail, that was just another example of the pervasiveness of the darkness.

The light had come into the world, but the world still did not see it. So Jesus began showing it to them. He taught and preached to help enlighten people’s hearts. He demonstrated the power of God through healings and miracles. He showed them that the world was in the hands of a loving and gracious God.

However, Jesus did not accomplish this by himself. He called ordinary people to follow him. The light of God’s Kingdom had come, and they were to help him spread the good news.

Oh, to be sure, there was still plenty of darkness left when those first disciples died—but through Christ each one of them brought light to someone. Dark lives were enlightened through their ministry. The Book of Acts is full of stories about that. Stories like:

• The lame beggar who was healed through the ministry of Peter and John (3:1-10);
• The Ethiopian official whom Philip baptized in the desert (8:26-38);
• Dorcas (or Tabitha), whom Peter prayed back to life (9:36-41);
• Cornelius, the Roman centurion (10:1-48);
• Sergius Paulus, the Roman proconsul of Cyprus (13:4-12);
• The Philippian jailer and his family (16:25-34);

Not to mention the “3,000 souls” added to the church at Pentecost (2:41)! All these were given new life in Christ through the efforts of those earliest disciples. And that was only the beginning; there have been 20 centuries of light since then.

We live in a dark world. That is the truth. But it is also the truth that God has shined a light in that darkness. Every single one of us who has experienced that forgiveness and salvation of God—every single one of us has seen that light!

The light is here, and it enlightens and brightens human lives. But there are still so many who miss it. People have shut their eyes to the darkness and so they fail to see the light. So, my word to you today is: shine that light! Follow the example of Jesus’ earliest disciples:

• Show God’s love to those around you;
• Shine the light of hope in the midst of someone else’s hopelessness;
• Dispel the darkness of prejudice and hatred with the light of love that God has given you.

Christ came into the darkness of our lives and our world to bring light. And he called people—just regular people like you and me—to draw attention to that light. God is asking you to be a part of Christ’s ministry—calling you to shine light in the darkness.

So, answer the call! Open your eyes to the darkness around you, then shine the light of Christ in it. You can do it—because you do have the light! You can do it—because the light of Christ in you is more powerful than the darkness can ever be.

Thanks be to God for that. Amen.

Second Sunday After the Epiphany

The next day [John] saw Jesus coming toward him, and said, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world! This is he of whom I said, ‘After me comes a man who ranks before me, because he was before me.’ I myself did not know him, but for this purpose I came baptizing with water, that he might be revealed to Israel.” And John bore witness: “I saw the Spirit descend from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him. I myself did not know him, but he who sent me to baptize with water said to me, ‘He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain, this is he who baptizes with the Holy Spirit.’ And I have seen and have borne witness that this is the Son of God.”

The next day again John was standing with two of his disciples, and he looked at Jesus as he walked by and said, “Behold, the Lamb of God!” The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. Jesus turned and saw them following and said to them, “What are you seeking?” And they said to him, “Rabbi” (which means Teacher), “where are you staying?” He said to them, “Come and you will see.” So they came and saw where he was staying, and they stayed with him that day, for it was about the tenth hour. One of the two who heard John speak and followed Jesus was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. He first found his own brother Simon and said to him, “We have found the Messiah” (which means Christ). He brought him to Jesus. Jesus looked at him and said, “You are Simon the son of John? You shall be called Cephas” (which means Peter). 

—John 1:29-42 (ESV)

The Holy Bible, English Standard Version Copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a division of Good News Publishers.

Today’s passage from John is jam-packed with proclamation, with imagery, with narrative. I see at least five major themes in these 13 verses of Scripture:

• First, John the Baptist sees Jesus coming toward him and proclaims, “Here is the Lamb of God.”
• Second, John reminds us that he baptized his cousin Jesus, and that the Spirit descended on Jesus like a dove.
• Third, John testifies that Jesus is the very Son of God.
• Then, two disciples call Jesus rabbi—or “teacher”—and ask him, “Where are you staying?” And Jesus responds with a simple invitation: “Come and see.”
• Finally, we have a recounting of the story of Andrew and Peter deciding to follow Jesus and saying, “We have found the Messiah.”

There’s sufficient material here to fuel many blog posts, not just one! And the theological assertions in today’s gospel reading are profound:

• “Here is the Lamb of God” …
• “This is the Son of God” … and …
• “We have found the Messiah.”

At least, I find those assertions profound. They make me want to ask Jesus not just “Where are you staying?” as the disciples did, but also:

• “What exactly are you up to?”
• “What is your purpose?” or even
• “What do you want from me?”

But to all such questions, I think Jesus would respond with the same invitation: “Come and see.”

• Who exactly is this Lamb of God? “Come and see.”
• Who is the true Messiah? “Come and see.”
• Why should we follow you, Jesus? “Come and see.”

It is as if Jesus is saying, “Why not give discipleship a try?”

This is a difficult thing for us in the 21st century, isn’t it? We are sophisticated people. We know that the choice to follow Jesus is a huge life decision. Discipleship requires commitment. It demands hard work and sacrifice. And as a consequence, we want that choice to be an informed choice.

For most of us, making a major life decision is an arduous and prolonged process. We need time to do research, to consult experts, to ask the opinion of friends. We may consult Consumer Reports before buying a car. We look at Google Reviews when considering a toaster. In medicine nowadays, doctors are very careful to secure your “informed consent” before even a minor procedure, and modern pharmaceuticals come with extensive warnings about their potential side effects.

So we thoughtfully weigh the options. We search for information online or in books, and we begin to compile a list of pros and cons—of positives and negatives. What are the benefits, and what are the risks? I’m sure we’ve all done this at one time or another. Using a process like this, we may have decided to buy a house, or change a career, or move to another city.

Now, I’m not saying this is wrong. Making informed decisions is a good idea. It helps us to avoid making some pretty big mistakes. If we think things through carefully, we can save ourselves a lot of grief. However, I find myself wondering whether our modern habit—of “doing our homework” so thoroughly—may be one of the reasons why so few people undertake serious discipleship.

I mean, let’s consider the pros and cons. If we choose to become disciples of Jesus, then we will be expected to work harder than we ever imagined, to give more than we ever thought possible, and to surrender control over our very own lives.

And what do we get in return?

This is where the invitation to “come and see” becomes pivotal. Because, on the face of it, we get nothing—at least, nothing the world would consider a “gift.” What we get is just more work; more need requiring us to give; and more and more opportunities to surrender our own agendas in favor of God’s agenda.

But that’s because the gift of God’s grace is free, and is offered to everyone without condition. There’s nothing anyone can do to earn it, or to deserve it. And in our transactional world, this just does not seem like a good deal!

No. In our world things go more like: “First I give this, and then I get that in exchange.”

That’s how it’s supposed to work, right? But the gifts of God’s mercy, and love, and grace … they are just not like that. They are given to us freely, without any strings attached. So, if we choose to become disciples of Jesus—and to give our time, and our talent, and our treasure—what do we get for all our trouble?

“Come and see.”

The values of Jesus—the values of Christian discipleship—run counter to the way in which the world assesses value. You really have to immerse yourself in discipleship before you can even begin to understand.

The world cherishes wealth. The world esteems power. The world treasures control. But the gospel calls us to love the poor and serve the needy, without condition. And the gospel compels us to surrender our drive for power and give up our need for control. And what are the potential consequences of that?

“Come and see.”

The Saviour of the world is also the one of whom the Scriptures say: “He was despised and rejected by men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53:3a, ESV). That certainly doesn’t sound like someone who’s destined for success or greatness, does it?

The spiritual life is full of paradoxes—full of those seeming contradictions which actually express a deeper spiritual reality. Paradoxes such as: gaining your life by losing your life—or discovering true abundance by giving away your possessions.

Discipleship calls us to become followers of the all-powerful One who emptied himself of power. You really need to “come and see” in order to understand—or to even begin to understand.

For example, without regular experience of fellowship in a specific congregation, Sunday worship may seem like nothing more than empty ritual. So … instead of “church hopping” … or “church shopping” …

Pick a church. Stick there for a while.

“Come and see”—regularly, again and again. As the Letter to the Hebrews says: “Don’t stop meeting together with other believers, which some people have gotten into the habit of doing. Instead, encourage each other, especially as you see the day drawing near” (Heb. 10:25, CEB*).

Without an ongoing discipline of prayer, our conversations with God can seem hopelessly one-sided. So …

“Come and see”—regularly, again and again. As the apostle Paul advised the Colossians: “Continue steadfastly in prayer, being watchful in it with thanksgiving” (Col. 4:2, ESV).

Without personal sacrifice, our lives can become meaningless, focused more upon the accumulation of material goods than upon sharing the love of God.

So, “Come and see.”  Come and see the Lamb of God, on whom the Spirit descended like a dove. Come and see Jesus the rabbi, who teaches us the way of salvation.

Come and see Andrew and Simon Peter, who drop their nets and leave behind everything to follow Jesus.

“Come and see.”

Just as the invitation was offered to those first disciples so many centuries ago, it is offered to us once again, today.

Come and see—and be enriched in Christ.

Come and see—and learn once again that God is faithful, and that you are called into the fellowship of God’s Son.

Come and see—so that you, also, can declare with confidence, “We have found the Messiah.”

_____________

* Common English Bible (CEB) Copyright © 2011 by Common English Bible

Epiphany and Baptism of Jesus

TEXTS: Matthew 2:1-12 and Matthew 3:13-17

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.” (Matthew 2:1-2)

Today’s first gospel reading is, of course, the familiar reading for Epiphany Day (which was Friday, January 6). It’s the story of the “three kings” who “traverse afar” to visit the baby Jesus in his rude manger in the stable in Bethlehem. Except, of course, if we read the Scripture text carefully, we see that they are not referred to there as kings, it does not say there were three of them, and they visited Jesus in “a house,” not a stable.

No matter. However many of them there were, they did visit Jesus, they did bring him gold, frankincense, and myrrh, and they did travel a long distance to see him. These “wise men” (or Magi) were most likely from Persia, and might have been on the road for as long as two years before they got to Jesus, who almost certainly was not an infant any longer by the time they saw him.

Then there’s our other gospel text for this morning, which is Matthew’s account of the baptism of Jesus in the Jordan River by John:

Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” But Jesus answered him, “Let it be so now, for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” Then he consented.  And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw God’s Spirit descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from the heavens said, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” (Matthew 3:13-17)

This second reading the assigned gospel text for the First Sunday After the Epiphany, which is known in the church calendar as “Baptism of Christ Sunday.”

So, is there a reason for using both texts today? (I mean, besides wanting to sing “We Three Kings of Orient Are.”)

Yes, there is. In fact, there are a couple of good reasons. First, both Epiphany and the Baptism of Christ are important festival days in the church year. Epiphany is held in such esteem that many Christians celebrate it with a church service and a family celebration, no matter what day of the week it happens to fall on.

And as for the Baptism of Christ—well, there is an ancient tradition (still emphasized by the eastern church) which says that it was at the moment of his baptism that Jesus finally understood who he was.

Do you see what I mean? It was at the moment of his baptism that Jesus the carpenter’s son finally got it—finally understood, in a flash of brilliant clarity, just who he was in the eyes of God! Understood his vocation. Understood what God was calling him to do.

“You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased” (as the heavenly voice says in Mark 1:11).

It is in relation to this flash of insight—this revelation—that we come to the second reason for celebrating both days in this one blog. For it is the idea of revelation—of revealing or illuminating or uncovering something—which connects Epiphany and the Baptism of Christ.

The word epiphany means “a revealing,” or “an illumination.” In the story of the Magi’s visit to Jesus, a whole bunch of things get revealed. Traditionally, the big thing that happens is that Christ is made known to the gentiles—because, of course, the wise men were not Jews. But a whole lot of other things come to light, too.

First, the Magi—who have come to the royal court in Jerusalem because that seems like a logical place to look for a newborn king—find out that the incumbent king has no idea what they’re talking about. And so it’s up to the scribes to inform King Herod, who is none too pleased to discover that God is about to overthrow his dynasty. Nevertheless, Herod points the wise men toward Bethlehem, secretly hoping they will lead him to the child so he can destroy it.

The Magi make their way to Jesus, and must have been surprised to discover him in relatively humble surroundings (which ought to have revealed to them that when God makes a King, he doesn’t throw in a royal palace or an earthly throne). I think Mary and Joseph must have been surprised, too; it’s not every day that an ordinary person gets a chest of gold at a baby shower!

Of course, the final revelation to the wise men comes in the form of a divine warning delivered in a dream: “Don’t go back to King Herod—the guy is bad news!”

Now, fast-forward about 30 years. John the Baptist, a charismatic preacher and desert mystic, has been moving about the Judean countryside, stirring people up with his hellfire-and-brimstone sermons and baptizing them by immersion in the Jordan River.

The child whom the wise ones visited has now grown up. And the man Jesus, moved by the Baptist’s preaching, comes to the riverbank to be baptized. John obliges him, plunging him into the cold, running water. And then there is this amazing, dramatic moment when everything becomes clear as crystal. As Jesus comes up out of the water, he hears the voice of God, claiming his as His own Son.

Then, right away—at the beginning of chapter four—the next paragraph begins with the words: “Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil” (Matt. 4:1).  And Luke’s gospel tells us: “Jesus was about 30 years old when he began his work” (Luke 3:23).

“When he began his work.” He was driven into the wilderness by the Holy Spirit so that he could begin his work—begin it by preparing himself for it through prayer and fasting and contemplation. The wilderness—because of its isolation—is a perfect place for that sort of thing.

He was already a grown man—and a quite mature person by the standards of his time. He had probably been earning a living for himself and his family since he was 13. Very likely, he had taken up Joseph’s trade, had been a carpenter, had been settled in it. Maybe he had a prospering business, was good at what he did, thought he knew where his life was going.

But then something happened. God happened. And in a flash, everything was different. His life was changed. His plans were changed. And everything he thought was important suddenly didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered now was following the path which lay before him, which God’s light had so brilliantly illuminated.

Have you ever had an experience like that? Have you ever had a moment of such life-changing clarity?

We can still expect such an encounter, because that’s what Epiphany is all about. It is like seeing the face of God, shown to us in the person of Jesus—first as a tiny infant, then as a grown man.

And there is something real and present about the love Jesus has for us—love so great that it led him to lay down his life for us. Such great love has to make an impression upon us, if we will just open ourselves up to it. And if we do, it will change us forever.

That’s a gift that’s better than gold, or frankincense, or myrrh—and it is offered freely, to anyone who wants it. My prayer this day—for every one of you—is that you shall come to want this gift, that you will accept it, and that you will cherish it, and be forever changed by it. For Jesus’ sake. Amen.

______________________________________________

And if you DO want to sing “We Three Kings” … check out this link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E0BJonwPCds

 

First Sunday After Christmas Day

TEXT:  Matthew 2:1-23

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. (Matthew 2:7-11)

In our culture, it’s hard to imagine celebrating Christmas without exchanging gifts. Some people trace gift-giving back to the Magi—the “wise men”—who arrived from the East bearing gold, frankincense, and myrrh for the baby Jesus.

But the Magi were not the first Christmas gift-givers. At best, they came along second. The first gift-giver was God, and the first Christmas gift was Jesus.

Now, we sometimes give gifts with strings attached. But the story from Matthew’s Gospel demonstrates how fully and completely God gave up the Christ-child to us.

In Jesus, we have been given the most precious gift ever—a gift straight from heaven. To be sure, God must have hoped that we would appreciate that gift and take good care of it—but no strings were attached. Even so … God knows the human heart …

… an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, “Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.” (Matt. 2:13b)

God did not yank Jesus out of the world at the first sign of trouble. Instead, God turned Jesus over to the world. The world can be a rough place, however—as our gospel lesson reminds us.

When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men. (Matt. 2:16)

Matthew’s heart-rending account of the slaughtered children of Bethlehem introduces a harsh note into the Christmas story. We remember them to this day as the “Holy Innocents.” Jesus was Herod’s target—they were the “collateral damage.” Their tragic story reveals a sad truth: that from the very beginning, the powerful of this world did their best to destroy God’s gift. And so, Jesus and his parents became refugees.

… Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, and remained there until the death of Herod. (Matt. 2:14-15a)

But of course, Jesus did not escape from death because his family carried him to Egypt. No. He merely received a stay of execution. In the end, the world took the God’s gift and nailed it to a cross. You might say that the world did not care for this gift, and decided to exchange it. The world exchanged the living, challenging Jesus for a dead and silent Jesus.

Have you ever noticed how exchanging gifts takes on a different meaning in the days following Christmas?

After Christmas, we return to the store with all the gifts that we do not want. The gifts that did not fit, or did not work, or did not please … they are exchanged for something else—something we like better.

Now, some gifts certainly ought to be exchanged—but other gifts deserve to be honoured and cherished. Trouble is, sometimes we’re just not wise enough to know which is which.

Consider the gift of that Child born in Bethlehem. In one way or another, most of us keep trying to exchange Jesus for something more comfortable—something that we think will fit us, or suit us, better.

We take God’s gift of Jesus Christ, and we exchange him. Exchange him for what? Perhaps:

• • For the “heavenly buddy” who helps us out in a pinch—and leaves us alone the rest of the time.
  • Or for the annual Christmas visitor—all cuddly and speechless—in whose name we can throw parties, and hang lights, and gain a few pounds.
  • Or perhaps we exchange him for the Jesus who lives only in the church building, whose blessings we invoke when we’re baptized, married, or buried (“hatched, matched, and dispatched,” as someone has said).

Sadly, it’s not just ugly sweaters and unwanted aftershave that will be exchanged during this season. Once again, most of the world will exchange the living Lord for something more comfortable, something less demanding—something that will fit on the shelf, something that does not require so much time and energy and sacrifice.

You know, the expression “to exchange gifts” has a double meaning. It may mean trading in what we don’t want. But it can also mean giving gifts to those who give gifts to us. You give me a gift, and I give you a gift.

There’s nothing wrong with that—not if it’s done freely and in a spirit of grace. When someone gives you a gift, it’s a healthy instinct to give something in return.

It is in that spirit that I encourage you, at the start of this new year, to exchange gifts with God. God has given us something unspeakably wonderful—the gift of God’s own self.

With our human minds, we cannot understand how God could fit in a manger—or on a cross, for that matter—but this is the truth of the Incarnation, whether we understand it or not.

Friends, what we have received in Christ Jesus is nothing less than God’s own self—his whole self. And the gift we must give in return is nothing less than our own, whole, selves. If you’ve never done that, I encourage you to do it now.

Our culture loves making resolutions each New Year. People resolve to lose weight, give up smoking, spend less money, and try new things. As 2023 begins, let’s not forget that the most important resolutions we can make are in regard to our faith.

One of the most thrilling verses in the Book of Revelation informs us that “the one who was seated on the throne said, ‘See, I am making all things new.’ ” (Rev. 21:5)

Christ has the power to transform us completely–from the inside out. In 2023, we have the opportunity to offer all of our joys, all of our sufferings, all of our triumphs, and all of our failures to Jesus, so that he can make them new.

If you’re looking for a good New Year’s resolution, how about this one: how about drawing closer to Jesus? Learning more about him? Becoming more like him?

It may be the Sunday after Christmas, but it’s certainly not too late to exchange gifts with God. And you know what? You are the gift that God is longing for! And he will never exchange you for anything else.

That is the Good News we proclaim! Amen.