By now, we are surely all aware of the tragedy which played out in New Zealand this past Friday, March 15, 2019.

A right-wing extremist armed with semi-automatic weapons rampaged through two mosques in the city of Christchurch during afternoon prayers, killing 49 worshippers and wounding dozens more.

His two targets were the Masjid al Noor mosque near Hagley Park in the city’s centre—where 41 worshippers died—and a second, smaller mosque in the suburb of Linwood, where seven more were killed. The remaining victim succumbed in hospital.

The dead and injured included women and children. Around 48 people were treated for gunshot wounds at Christchurch Hospital, including young children, with injuries ranging from critical to minor.

The attack is believed to be the deadliest against Muslims in the West in the modern era.

When any community of faith is attacked in this way, all people of faith are touched by it.

The abomination which unfolded in Christchurch on Friday was directed, ostensibly, against followers of Islam; but in very truth, it was an assault upon all the “people of the book”—Muslims, and Jews, and Christians alike. More than that, it was an affront to the One God whom we all worship. The forces of darkness lie behind it. Our common responsibility, as always, is to stand against such evil—and to stand together. And to walk together, arm in arm, through these darkest of days.

For our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. (Ephesians 6:12, NRSV)

 

TEXT: Luke 4:1-13

 

Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness … (Luke 4:1)

 

And so begins our Lenten walk.

Forty days in the wilderness.

Forty days with Jesus.

With Jesus, and yet somehow also very alone

with ourselves.

Forty days, actually, following behind Jesus,

trying to keep track of his footprints

in the desert sand.

Looking for him

and yet never quite catching sight of him

in this desolate place

where wild beasts and demons confront us

and threaten us

and challenge us

and bring us face to face with

ourselves.

 

Wild beasts and demons.

All that we have been and

all that we fear we may become

or fear that we might be called to become.

Guilt and shame.

Hidden sins.

Grief and regret and

roads not taken.

Opportunities that terrify us.

Visions from which we would avert our gaze.

 

Diagnoses, sentences, finalities

which bring, all at once

our destinies

into sharpest focus.

 

And scare the hell out of us.

 

And force us

to either

look for God within the wilderness

or to

return to

the dust which formed us.

 

And through it all

the question haunts us:

 

Dare we sing “alleluia!”

even in

the midst of Lent?

 

Thou only art immortal,
the Creator and Maker of mankind;
and we are mortal, formed of the earth,
and unto earth shall we return.
For so thou didst ordain when thou createdst me, saying,
Dust thou art,
and unto dust shalt thou return.
All we go down to the dust;
yet even at the grave we make our song:
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.

 

Amen.

CALL TO WORSHIP (Exodus 34:29-35 & Luke 9:29-36):

Shining face … words of covenant … below the mountain, we fall on our faces.

To be here … it is good for us.

Star-led to the light of the world, in lowly manger reposing … between the mountains, we kneel to worship.*

To be here … it is good for us.

Dazzling brightness … law-giver and prophet, Chosen Son … atop the mountain, we stand in awe.

To be here … it is good for us.

Today, the light which shone from Moses’ face … the brilliance which led the Magi … and which woke up the disciples, so long ago …

Today, from Jesus, this same glory is radiant.

Today … to be here … it is good for us.

Give praise unto God!

 

________________________

* Bethlehem is approximately half-way between Mount Tabor (the traditional site of the Transfiguration) and Mount Sinai (where Moses received the Law).

TEXT: 1 Corinthians 15:12-20

Now if Christ is proclaimed as raised from the dead, how can some of you say there is no resurrection of the dead? If there is no resurrection of the dead, then Christ has not been raised; and if Christ has not been raised, then our proclamation has been in vain and your faith has been in vain. (1 Corinthians 15:12-14)

Earlier in chapter 15 of his first letter to the Corinthians, the apostle Paul wrote about things which are “of first importance.”

“Of first importance” … according to Paul … are these very few, basic points about the Christian faith:

• Christ died for our sins, in accordance with the scriptures;
• He was buried;
• He was raised; and
• He appeared—after his resurrection, Christ showed himself to those who had known him best.

He died for our sins, he was buried—and then … he came back!

That’s the whole gospel in a nutshell. And Paul says that brief summary of the Christian faith is the thing that is most important.

Trouble is … it’s never been easy to believe.

Oh, it’s easy enough to believe that Jesus was nailed to a cross and died. That’s pretty much what always happens to those who buck the status quo—especially if they upset the powers that be. Maybe it’s a cross. Maybe it’s a prison cell. Or a ruinous civil lawsuit. Maybe it’s a firing squad. Or a bullet in the back of the head. This stuff is not unfamiliar to us … is it?

It’s easy enough to believe.

And it’s easy enough to believe that Jesus was placed in a tomb and buried. Because that’s what we do with dead people. Right?

But … this part about him … coming back…

This business of resurrection…

That’s harder to swallow, isn’t it?

It always has been. Even in Paul’s day, resurrection was hard to believe in. That’s why, in the church in Corinth, there were more than a few who did not believe in it. Some of them just did not believe in it, period. Some of them thought that, well, maybe Jesus was raised from the dead, but that was only because he was special. Not like the rest of us. Others thought that he showed up as a kind of apparition, but not in a real, physical body. Others thought …

Well, there were all kinds of different opinions. Some had their roots in classical Greek philosophy … or in Jewish skepticism … or in the kind of materialistic rationalism that still raises objections today.

Now, we hear Paul stand up—boldly—to all those skeptical forces and declare: “in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have died.”

“The first fruits of those who have died.” Do you get that reference? It harks back to the Book of Leviticus, chapter 23 (vv. 10-11, 17, 20), which talks about the “firstfruits.” The first sheaf of the harvest was to be given to the Lord as a token that the entire harvest belonged to Him. So when Paul says that Christ is “the first fruits of those who have died,” he’s saying that Christ, who has been raised, is the guarantee of the resurrection of all God’s redeemed people. Jesus is the symbol … the model … the forerunner… of all of us!

Hard to believe though it may be, Paul assures us that Christ has been raised—and so also shall we!

That’s a pretty hopeful view of the future, isn’t it?

I mean … that’s good news, is it not? So many of us today … we dread the future. Whether we worry about our mortgages or our retirement savings or where the economy is headed … or fret about environmental degradation and global warming, about rising sea levels and oil spills and greenhouse gases … or—if you live on the west coast, like my son and his family used to—maybe you’re waiting for a tsunami, or for “the big one” to hit …

So many of us are looking for the next catastrophe, wondering whether it’s going to be the thing that finally takes us out. Like that beloved old hymn: “My Lord, what a morning—when the stars begin to fall.”

“When the stars begin to fall.” When the sky caves in. Do you know what that imagery is about? it comes …

Well, actually, I have to admit, it comes from Jesus himself. In the 24th chapter of Matthew’s gospel, after his disciples have asked him about the “end times,” Jesus is quoted thus: “Immediately after the suffering of those days, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light; the stars will fall from heaven, and the powers of heaven will be shaken” (Matthew 24:29).

That’s how most of us imagine the end … isn’t it? Whether the end of the world, or our personal, mortal end. The sky will cave in. The stars will fall from heaven.

“My Lord, what a morning!” It’s not a dawn that any one of us wants to face.

But today, Paul wants to tell us that—for us, for we “who are in Christ Jesus”—it’s going to be different. Why? Because: “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and of death” (Romans 8:1-2).

Even if the stars appear to be falling … even if the sky seems to be caving in … We should have faith. We need to look to Jesus. We need to keep our eyes fixed upon the One who is leading us. And even if he’s leading us into death… we need to believe in the promise of Scripture—that, beyond death, there is resurrection.

That is true for each one of us, as believers. But it is also true for us, as communities of faith. Beyond death, there is resurrection. Beyond what seems like the end … beyond this season when the stars appear to be falling—when the sky is falling in …

Resurrection awaits us.

If we really want them to, our local congregations will continue. Their legacies will endure. Their ministries and missions will persist, in our neighbourhoods!

If we have faith enough … if we have courage enough … Or even if we don’t… The truth is, God is faithful, even if we are not. God is strong, even when we are weak.

Listen, folks … There is a better day coming. Believe in resurrection. Stay faithful. And never give up!

Can I get an “Amen”?

TEXT: 1 Corinthians 15:1-11

… I handed on to you as of first importance what I in turn had received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures, and that he was buried, and that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas [that is, Peter], then to the twelve. Then he appeared to more than five hundred brothers and sisters at one time, most of whom are still alive, though some have died. (1 Cor. 15:3-6)

“Of first importance”—that’s what the apostle Paul tells the Corinthians about the tradition he has been given. “Of first importance” are these very few, basic points about the Christian faith:

• Christ died for our sins, in accordance with the scriptures;
• He was buried;
• He was raised; and
• He appeared—after his resurrection, Christ showed himself to those who had known him best.

He died for our sins, he was buried—and then … he came back!

That’s the whole gospel in a nutshell—and Paul says that brief summary of the Christian faith is the thing that is most important.

Does that seem too simple? Christ died. Christ was buried. And then … he came back. According to Paul, this is what you are left with, if you boil Christianity down to its essentials. These are the things that are most important.

To me, it is significant—and even a little surprising—that it is Paul who’s saying this. As you’ll know if you’ve ever tried to wade through his letters in the New Testament, Paul was not exactly in love with simplicity. Right down to the present day, scholars and theologians and ordinary Christians have a difficult time making heads or tails out of some of the things Paul wrote.

Yet here, when he felt compelled to outline the fundamentals, he said: “Here’s what’s most important; whatever else you believe—or don’t believe—believe this!”

And what is it that’s of first importance?

It is not some particular view of the authority of Scripture, or of atonement. It’s got nothing to do with the use of gender-neutral language during worship. It is not one or the other opinion about how Christ is present at the Communion Table. It is not about forms of Baptism, or creeds, or speaking in tongues, or the definition of the Trinity.

Neither is it about the kinds of political viewpoints which divide Christians. It’s not about who’s in power in Ottawa or Washington, or the situation in Venezuela. It’s not about pipelines, or same-sex marriage, or residential schools. It’s not even about bottled water!

No. Christians can—and do—believe all kinds of different things about that stuff. And Paul does not say those matters are unimportant. But he says they’re not of first importance. What is essential, according to Paul—what defines Christian faith, and defines us as Christians—boils down to belief in these basic, foundational truths:

• Christ died for our sins;
• he was buried; and then
• he came back.

You might wonder why Paul felt he had to remind the Corinthians about that. Well, you see, there had come into the midst of the church at Corinth some teachers who taught that Jesus did not in fact rise from the dead—not literally, anyhow.

Did you think that was just a 21st-century idea? In our time, the world (and, indeed, the church itself) seems to be full of self-proclaimed experts who want to convince us that most of what we read in the Bible—and most especially that stuff about resurrection—is nothing but a bunch of fairy tales, myths, and deception.

As it is today, so it was then—in Paul’s day. My friends, this has never been easy stuff to believe. We often hear it said that ancient people were uneducated, unsophisticated, and gullible—and so, of course, they were easily hoodwinked by superstitious nonsense. But the witness of Scripture tells us otherwise.

Elsewhere, Paul admits that the gospel he preaches sounds like “foolishness”—but it is, he assures us, not foolishness, but saving truth. He says: “… the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God … For God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength.” (1 Cor. 1:18, 25)

How can Paul be so certain of his message? It’s because of what he has personally experienced. First, because this was the tradition he had received from those who had been closest to Jesus: “I handed on to you as of first importance what I in turn had received …” This first-hand account was handed on directly to Paul, and he has faithfully reported it.

You know, you can read something in a book and have reason to doubt it. If you see something on the internet, you certainly have reason to question it. But when you hear something from a spouse, a family member, or a friend … that kind of report carries a lot more weight, doesn’t it?

However, Paul’s confidence is not founded simply upon the testimony of others. No. Once again, it’s born of his personal experience. If the testimony of Peter, and James, and all the other disciples is not sufficient to convince you, says Paul, then consider this: “Last of all, as to someone untimely born, [Christ] appeared also to me. For I am the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God.” (1 Cor. 15:8-9)

Paul is saying to the Corinthians: “Look, you know me. You’ve spent time with me, and you trust me. You know that I, too, had my doubts about the Christian propaganda—even to the point that I wanted to destroy the Church of God! But then … I saw the risen Christ with my own eyes. After that, everything changed within me.”

The American Presbyterian minister—and writer—Bruce Larson once said: “The events of Easter cannot be reduced to a creed or philosophy. We are not asked to believe the doctrine of the resurrection. We are asked to meet this person raised from the dead. In faith, we move from belief in a doctrine to the knowledge of a person. Ultimate truth is a person. We met him. He is alive.”*

That is the difference. That is the critical, unique claim of Christianity: Jesus lives! I met him. I have experienced his presence. That is where our hope finds its foundation. That is where wefind our strength. And it is there—in that experience—that we know the reality of his resurrection life.

Christ is risen! He is risen indeed. Thanks be to God.

_______________

* http://www.sermoncentral.com/articleb.asp?article=Easter-Illustrations-PowerPoints

TEXT: 1 Corinthians 12:1-11

Therefore I want you to understand that no one speaking by the Spirit of God ever says “Let Jesus be cursed!” and no one can say “Jesus is Lord” except by the Holy Spirit. (1 Corinthians 12:3)

On the Second Sunday after the Epiphany (Year C) we read from the 12th chapter of Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians … but only the first 11 verses. Of course, the letter is much longer than that—a total of 16 chapters, in fact.

In ancient times—like when the apostle Paul was alive—letters were written either on parchment—which was worked leather—or on papyrus. Papyrus was a composition of thin, crossed strips of reed. It varied in thickness and smoothness, and was formed into sheets measuring about 10 or 12 inches wide. Neither parchment nor papyrus offered the smooth writing surface we expect in paper today.

A pen was made from a split reed or a goose quill. The ink was a mixture of carbon and glue or gum. With rough quality papyrus, writ­ing was very difficult. The scribe struggled intently to form each letter.

On average, each papyrus sheet held about 140 words. To write three syllables required about one minute, and an hour’s work produced about 72 words.

Now, I don’t know how many words were in the Greek original of First Corinthians, but in English—at least, in one English translation—this letter has 9,539 words. At 72 words per hour, this document would have taken over 132 hours to write!

Not only that, but—because writing was such a laborious task—only two or three hours in a working day could be devoted to a letter.  That means this single letter to the Corinthians must have occupied Paul and his secre­tary for somewhere between 44 and 66 days.

Evidently Paul had a lot to say to the Corinthians! But then, Corinth was an exceptional kind of place.

It was one of the richest ports and largest cities in all of Greece. And it was also the site of an impressive—and famous—temple dedicated to Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love, beauty, pleasure, and procreation.

In Paul’s time, Aphrodite’s cult was very strong, and her temple employed more than 1,000 sacred prostitutes.

Can you imagine the challenges of trying to plant a Christian Churchin that city? How could you ever compete with Aphrodite? On the one hand, 1,000 beautiful women were waiting for you at Aphrodite’s temple. On the other hand, the church was offering …

Well, there must have been a few people who loved potluck suppers. But for the most part, I imagine that Christianity would have been a tough sell in Corinth.

In light of all this, I think the fact that there was a Corinthian church at all is quite a testimony to the power of God—because Paul had indeed founded a thriving church there. However, that fellowship included some pretty extreme characters. As some of you may recall, the Corinthian Church had more than its share of troublemakers and show-offs.

So do all of our churches, of course. But, really, I think that our unusual characters pale into insignificance when compared with some of the parishioners of that church in Corinth.

When you consider that Paul had to deal with incest in the church there—and with gluttony and drunkenness at the Communion table—you can understand why his constant plea to the Corinthians was that they keep their fellowship on a spiritual level.

Now, this is the background against which we need to understand Paul’s assertion that, “no one can say ‘Jesus is Lord’ except by the Holy Spirit” (1 Cor. 12:3).

You can imagine (can’t you?) that some of the more together parishioners might say to the apostle: “Uh, Paul … I really don’t think that guy was sent here by the Spirit of God!”

But Paul replies: “Does he say that Jesus is Lord? Then he’s got the Spirit. He is your brother!”

That doesn’t mean you should trust your daughter with him, and it doesn’t mean that there aren’t going to be any number of problems he might cause; but if he confesses Jesus as Lord, he’s got as much right to be in church as you have!

This is fundamental to Paul’s understanding of the church. For Paul, the church is a place of radical equality—a place where no distinction is made between rich or poor, black or white, male or female, Jew or Greek. The body of Christ has no “elite corps.” No disciple is more important than another, because we are all one in Christ Jesus.

No one person has any more privileged a church membership than anyone else. Consistent with that is Paul’s other key point in this passage—that every member of the fellowship has a significant role to play in serving the needs of the group. Remember what he said? Listen to the way Eugene Peterson translates Paul’s words:

God’s various gifts are handed out everywhere; but they all originate in God’s Spirit. God’s various ministries are carried out everywhere; but they all originate in God’s Spirit. God’s various expressions of power are in action everywhere; but God himself is behind it all. Each person is given something to do that shows who God is: Everyone gets in on it, everyone benefits. All kinds of things are handed out by the Spirit, and to all kinds of people! The variety is wonderful: wise counsel; clear understanding; simple trust; healing the sick; miraculous acts; proclamation; distinguishing between spirits; tongues; interpretation of tongues. All these gifts have a common origin, but are handed out one by one by the one Spirit of God. He decides who gets what, and when. (1 Cor. 12:4-11)¹

Now, I’m not going to get too caught up in the particularities of what Paul is saying here. His point is simply this: everybody in the church has a gift. Everyone has something to offer. All of those gifts are needed by the community—and all of those gifts are from God.

I think this is, quite frankly, where the Protestant reformers got it dead right. Traditionally, the church made a distinction between the religious and the laity—thereby giving the impression that priests and nuns were of a higher spiritual order than the rest of us. But the reformers insisted on equality; they called it “the priesthood of all believers.”

Luther, Calvin and all the rest of them believed that everyone in the church was called to ministry—and that all those ministries were important. They wanted to regain the understanding of “church” that the apostle Paul had: each member of the church is a minister. Everybody has a gift to offer. And all those gifts are significant.

Of course, it’s not always obvious what everybody’s contribution is supposed to be. The biggest problem for most churches, I suspect, is that not everybody is making a contribution. But then, the opposite can also be a problem; some people can be too eager to exercise their gifts—and not always with sufficient discretion.

I heard a story once about a very keen Christian—a man who was something of a “diamond in the rough”—who constantly pleaded with his pastor that he should be given some area of responsibility in the church so that he could more actively serve his Lord.

Finally, in desperation, the pastor gave him a list of ten names, saying: “These are members of our church who seldom attend Sunday worship. Some are prominent people in our city. Contact them any way you can and try to get them to be more faithful. Use the church stationery if you want. See if you can get them back in church.”

The guy accepted the challenge with enthusiasm.

About three weeks later, a letter arrived from a well-known local physician, whose name was on the list. In the envelope was a cheque for $1,000 and a note: “Dear Reverend … Enclosed is a cheque to make up for my missed Sunday offerings. I’m sorry for missing worship so often, but be assured I will do my best to attend more regularly in the future. P.S.: Would you kindly tell your secretary that there is only one ‘t’ in ‘dirty’ and no ‘c’ in skunk.”

Bottom line: we are all called into the service of Christ. If we want to move forward as a church, that can only happen if we all contribute our gifts to the needs of the fellowship as a whole. And bear in mind, I’m not just talking about money here. Not all of us have money. But every one of us has something to offer. And all contributions are significant, because every gift comes from the same God.

During World War Two, England needed to increase its production of coal. So Prime Minister Winston Churchill called the labour leaders together to enlist their support. At the end of his presentation, he asked them to picture in their minds a parade which he knew would be held in Piccadilly Circus after the war ended.

“First,” he said, “will come the sailors who had kept the vital sea lanes open. Then will come the soldiers who had come home from Dunkirk and then gone on to defeat Rommel in Africa. Then will come the pilots who had driven the Luftwaffe from the sky.

“Last of all,” he said, “will come a long line of sweat-stained, soot-streaked men in miner’s caps. Someone will cry from the crowd, ‘And where were you during the critical days of our struggle?’ And from ten thousand throats will come the answer, ‘We were deep in the earth with our faces to the coal.’” ²

Not many of us are called to play high-profile or glamorous roles in the church. Most of us just have to put “our faces to the coal” and keep chipping away as best we can. But remember: everyone has a contribution to make. Every contribution is significant. Every gift is given by God. And everyone who confesses Jesus as Lord shares in that same Spirit which makes us one.

There is our unity!  Thanks be to God for it. Amen.

___________________

¹The Message Copyright © 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002 by Eugene H. Peterson.

² http://bible.org/illustration/faces-coal

The Baptism of Christ

TEXT: Luke 3:1-22

In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high-priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins … (Luke 3:1-3)

Chapter three of Luke’s gospel begins with the proclamation of John the Baptist, who offered people “a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.”

It was this baptism—this baptism of repentance—to which Jesus submitted. A baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. Think about that for a moment. This is Jesus we’re talking about—the One whom John himself called “the Lamb of God” (John 1:29, 36). The One who is without sin. Why would Jesus, of all people, need to submit to “a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins”?

If you find that puzzling, you’re in good company. Because John the Baptist did not understand it, either. In Matthew’s gospel, we find some more details about this event. In chapter three, beginning at verse 13, we read:

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 [John] consented. (Matt. 3:13-15)

The Lamb of God—the Son of God, God incarnate—wants to “fulfill all righteousness” through a baptism designed for sinners? How can that be?

Let’s back up a bit. Remember the story of the Magi—the “wise men”—from chapter two of Matthew? In that passage, we encounter a literary device. It’s called “foreshadowing”—and it hints at plot developments that are going to appear later in the story. When these Magi—who were gentiles—came to honour the Jewish Messiah, that event foreshadowed the revelation of Christ as the Saviour of all humankind.

Foreshadowing. It’s present in chapter three of Luke, as well. When Jesus submits to this “baptism of repentance,” it foreshadows something which will occur later in the story—something which is reported in all four gospels, the significance of which is explicitly stated by the apostle Paul.

In his Second Letter to the Corinthians, Paul says that—through Christ—God reconciled us to himself. And then he goes on, saying: “For our sake [God] made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Cor. 5:21).

For our sake, Christ became sin! Do you get that? It’s all about the cross. It’s all about atonement—“at-one-ment,” reconciliation. In Christ, God became the ultimate example of “walking a mile in someone else’s shoes.”

We call Jesus “Emmanuel,” which means “God with us”—but, when he took on human flesh as a helpless baby born into poverty, God did much more than simply come among us. God became one of us. He became, really and truly and fully, a human being—and subject to all which that entails: joy and sorrow, pleasure and pain.

When God became one of us, he didn’t just sign on for the fun stuff; he embraced all that it means to be human—including death. Including even—in some mysterious way—human sinfulness. He himself was without sin, and yet—in the end—he bore our sin. In fact, he bore our sin away. He became sin for us—and when he died, our sin died with him. In some miraculous, mysterious transaction, our sinfulness was exchanged for his righteousness. In Christ, God did for us what we could not do for ourselves. And this is why Jesus needed to submit to a baptism “for the forgiveness of sins.” It was a sign foreshadowing what was to come.

God sent John the Baptist to call sinners to repentance. Jesus recognized John’s authority, and identified himself with those who—in faith—responded to John’s call. Jesus identified himself with us. He wanted to be in total solidarity with us—with you, and with me. There was no other way for God and humanity to be reconciled.

That sounds pretty radical, doesn’t it? Well, to some of those who first heard this story, it sounded even more radical than most of us probably realize.

Some of you may be familiar with the term Gnosticism. Gnosticism was a school of religious thought which was prevalent in the ancient world—and which even gained tremendous influence within the Christian movement, in its early centuries. Those who embraced it were known as Gnostics, and their system of belief included—among many other things—the absolute conviction that divinity and humanity could never be reconciled.

The Gnostics taught that a huge gulf existed between the material realm and the spiritual realm—between the world of matter and the world of spirit. They said God was too pure and holy to have anything to do with matter, which was utterly debased and profane. For the Gnostics, salvation consisted of liberating the human soul from its prison—that is, from the material body—so that it could leave this wicked world and return to God. And all of this demanded the acquisition of certain “secret knowledge” that only the most spiritual—only the purest—could possibly attain.

Gnosticism even taught that God was too holy to have created this world directly. Spirit couldn’t dirty its hands by touching matter, you see. So the Gnostics taught that God arranged for a much less holy being—called a “demiurge”—to make the earth and all the material things in it … including filthy and profane you and me! It’s almost like the demiurge was a kind of subcontractor, who was willing to do the unpleasant and defiling work of creation.

As you might imagine, the Gnostics did not think very highly of human beings—or at least, they did not hold the human body in very high regard. And so the Gnostic version of Christianity utterly rejected the idea that Christ was a real human being. They believed that Jesus was divine—but they could not believe that he had a real human body.

The body was a material thing—and a holy God could not have anything to do with matter. So they taught that Jesus only seemed to be human. He looked like a man, he walked like a man, and he sounded like a man … but it was all just a disguise. Likewise, he only appeared to suffer upon the cross, and he only appeared to die … he couldn’t actually suffer or die, because suffering and death have to do with the world of matter, not the world of spirit.

As weird as all of this may sound to us, the Gnostic scheme of things made sense to a lot of people in the ancient world—even within the early Church. And, in fact, it is  resurgent today, disguised as “new age” spirituality.

But this viewpoint is completely at odds with the understanding of those who had known and followed the man called Jesus of Nazareth. “New age” spirituality or “old age” Gnosticism—it’s all the same. It tries to remove the truth and the power from the story of Jesus, who was immersed in the waters that would sweep us away. And much of what we refer to as the New Testament was written to counter the teaching of the Gnostics.

Bearing that in mind, consider again the story given to us by Luke. Here is God’s own divine, perfect Son. He is coming—as an authentically human person—to be baptized by John in the Jordan River. In doing so, he is identifying himself with human imperfection, and with our human need for repentance and forgiveness. And Christ’s identification with us is so complete as to embrace even our mortality and our sinfulness. To the Gnostic, this was unthinkable!

Yet, that’s exactly the picture of Jesus which the gospel writers paint. He is, indeed, the God of heaven come to earth. He is also the man of earth who ascended into heaven. This is the motif of incarnation, which repeats itself over and over again in the canonical gospels.

Was there a gulf of some kind between God and humanity? Well, yes, there was. The Gnostics were partly right about that. In the Old Testament, we hear quite a bit about the holiness of God and the sinfulness of human beings.

But the God of the Bible is different from the God of the Gnostics in a very important way: the God of the Bible wanted to bridge the gulf. The God of the Bible—the God whom we worship as our heavenly Father—desired, above all else, reconciliation with us. He longed for it so much that he found a way to accomplish it.

He became one of us. You can’t get much more reconciled than that!

In the man Jesus, God becomes absolutely identified with us. That is the message underlying this baptism account—just as it is the message underlying the story of Jesus’ birth, life and death. That’s why we say we celebrate the Baptism of Christ: it is good news for us.

And here comes another very important point. On “Baptism of Christ Sunday” Christians are urged to remember the significance of their own baptisms.

Just as—when Jesus was baptized—he identified himself completely with us, so also are we—in our own baptisms—completely identified with him.

In other words, through our baptisms, we are united with him. That includes being united with him in his death upon the cross, where his work of reconciliation reached its climax. But it also includes being united with him in his resurrection, which is our promise of eternal life.

That’s not to say there is anything magical about the water of baptism. We are united with Christ when we accept him as our Saviour and Lord—and baptism is but a sign and symbol of that unity. But it is an important symbol, and a dramatic sign. Writing to the Christians in the city of Rome, the apostle Paul stated it this way:

Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life. For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his. (Rom. 6:3-5)

So, in what—at first—looks like a pretty straightforward account of Jesus’ baptism, there’s a lot going on behind the scenes. And much of it would have been more obvious to its first readers than perhaps it is to us. But what it is, above all, is good news for us. We are united with Christ. We are reconciled to God. What better news could there be?

That doesn’t mean life is going to be a bed of roses. It certainly wasn’t, for Jesus.

It doesn’t mean we will never suffer, or be disappointed, or experience misfortune. But it does mean that—whatever life brings us, good or bad—Jesus faces it along with us.

It isn’t knowledge or high intellect that makes us fit for dwelling in the presence of God. Insight does not make us holy or pure or beautiful. No. What saves us is the active and powerful love of God for each one of us. What saves us is God coming among us as one of us. It is the sacrifice of Jesus that delivers us from sin and death.

It is a dynamic love that redeems us—the kind of love a parent has for a child; the love that says, “I will stand in front of my daughter and shield her from harm.” The love that says, “I will forgive my son, and give him another chance.” The love that says, “I will take my children’s place, and suffer the injury meant for them.”

This is the gospel we preach. Thanks be to God for it.

TEXT: Matthew 2:1-12

… 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 2:9b-11)

This year, Epiphany Day—the Day of Revealing—falls upon the first Sunday of January. That doesn’t happen very often. To mark the feast, some will bake a Kings’ Cake.* Some will exchange gifts of jewellery or perfume. Some will—ceremoniously or otherwise—remove their Christmas tree.

Me? Today I offer you worship leaders a liturgy for Epiphany Day. It includes a candle-lighting ritual (you’ll need three candles, preferably coloured gold or yellow or white) and I have conceived it as a way to begin the service.

Here it is. I hope you find it useful …

CALL TO WORSHIP:

Today we remember the Magi—the “Three Kings” of the familiar carol. In reality, they were not “kings”—although, to the poor Jewish peasants who beheld them, they must have looked the part. Also—if you read the gospel account carefully—their number is not specified. But however many of them there were, they brought to the Christ Child three gifts: gold, and frankincense, and myrrh.

All of these were precious, and expensive—and worthy gifts for a newborn king.

Gold can represent our gifts of substance. [light first candle]

Livelihood easily usurps the place of life … unless life is dedicated to God, revealed in Christ. Think about it: how much of our anxiety is caused by clutching at things? And worrying about money? And fretting that, however much we have, it will never be enough? Financial resources can be used to promote the greater good … or they can be hoarded and held prisoner for use by a privileged few. Gold challenges us to open our hearts and hands.

Frankincense was burned as part of temple worship in the ancient world. [light second candle]

Because it is a fragrance, it can represent what someone has called “our inner treasure of thought and influence.” Think about it: the music that most enthralls us is essentially religious, and our greatest architecture is but prayer cast in stone. All of our thoughts and aspirations and achievements are worthy only when they are marked by reverence. Frankincense challenges us to worship—in spirit and in truth.

Myrrh is a resin extracted from a kind of small, thorny tree. [light third candle]

Throughout history, myrrh preparations have been used as perfume, as medicine … and in the science of embalming. Because of this latter application—and its association with funerary rituals—myrrh can represent our human sorrow and suffering. This bitter gift is—however strangely—often the most difficult thing for us to give to Christ. Think about it: we prefer to keep our troubles to ourselves, don’t we? And yet, in the Christ Child, we meet the very One who urges us to cast all our cares upon him. Myrrh challenges us to trust.

To lay before the Christ Child, each king brought his best. To worship him, let us bring our own.

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*https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/King_cake

 

TEXT: Luke 2:1-20

Our gospel text is, of course, familiar to us as Luke’s account of the nativity—the birth-story of Jesus Christ.

It is a text comprised of three paragraphs. The first paragraph recounts the journey of Mary and Joseph to Bethlehem, where God’s greatest gift—Jesus—is presented to the world; the second paragraph relates how angels announced his birth; and the third paragraph describes how the shepherds responded: “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.”

Gift, announcement, and response. And at the heart of each of the three paragraphs we find the phrases, “laid him in a manger” and “lying in a manger.” A manger—a feed-trough for animals to eat from.

Who would have expected to find a Messiah lying in a manger in a stable in Bethlehem in Judea?

And who would have expected a king to be born into thisfamily—to this poor carpenter and his young fiancée? Jesus was born not into royal luxury, but into impoverished squalor—to a frightened young woman in a cattle-stall, with farm animals looking on.

Thus, into our midst came the King of Glory!

By taking on humanity in this unexpected way … I wonder … what was the Lord of the Universe trying to say? What kind of statement was he making?

When Jesus grew to manhood, he became a teacher who, very often—to most of those around him—appeared to be speaking in riddles. When he wanted to communicate sublime truth, he would tell a story. We call them “parables.”

I wonder if—even in his birth—Jesus was telling us a story. I wonder if—in his birth—he was acting outa parable.

From highest heaven, he came to dwell with the lowest of humanity. He was born into miserable circumstances, to a young, unmarried woman about whom many tongues must surely have wagged. Angels came from heaven to announce his birth—but chose to deliver the glad tidings to shepherds. Not just ordinary working people, mind you—but poor, lowly, smelly-from-the-field, avoided-by-polite-company, flea-bitten shepherds!

Preaching at the National Cathedral in Washington DC in January, 1998, William Sloane Coffin said: “At Christmas the word of the Lord hits the world with a force of a hint. And while we are profoundly moved by God’s love in person on earth lying helpless in a manger, still, in our heart of hearts, wouldn’t we really prefer God to be God rather than to become the frailest among us?” ¹

I wonder: is this birth-story itself a parable telling us that in Jesus God sought to redeem and sanctify human existence in all its forms? No one would have been surprised to find the holy child in a palace nursery—but lying in a feed-trough? If a manger can cradle the heavenly child, then surely every human circumstance can be infused with holiness.

And so, surely, can every human heart! Just as Christ came into human history and sanctified a lowly stable, can he not come into myheart—and yourheart—to sanctify, to purify, to transform?

Our Christian tradition hails Christ as God incarnate. Jesus is called “Emmanuel,” which means “God is with us.” In Jesus Christ, we see not a human being becoming God, but God coming into human flesh; Jesus was born intothis world, not fromit. His life is the highest and holiest entering in at the lowliest door.

Jesus is not simply the best human being who ever lived—he is a being who cannot be accounted for by the human race at all! Throughout the gospel story, there is an air of divinity about this man, this carpenter’s son from Galilee. His words, his charismatic presence, the miraculous works he performed—all point to his heavenly origin. And yet, here’s a paradox: Jesus grew up to be a man who said to his disciples, “… the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these …”(John 14:12)

It’s a theme the apostle Paul would later pick up and develop. Writing to the Corinthians, he would say that “the one who is in Christ is a new creation”(2 Cor. 5:17).

To the Galatian Christians—expressing his deep concern for them—Paul wrote: “I am in the pain of childbirth untilChrist is formed in you”(Gal. 4:19).

What about us? Can Christ be“formed in us?”

If Paul was here, I think he might ask us if we have allowed our personal human lives to become like Bethlehem was—a place where new birthcan happen.

Many years ago, the great Scottish evangelist Oswald Chambers wrote: “The characteristicof the new birth is that I yield myself so completely to God that Christ is formed in me. Immediately Christ is formed in me, his nature begins to work through me.”²

“God manifest in human flesh!” This is what is made possible for you and for me, because of that babe of Bethlehem. The Christ-child who was born so long ago comes to us again, seeking to be born into our hearts, and into our lives.

My friends, as this night we come to the Lord’s table with images of manger scenes and shepherds fresh in our minds, let’s remember that the Child of Christmas seeks to be born again in thismoment. As you come forward to taste the fruits of field and vine which remind us of our Lord’s life and death, I invite you also to remember and anticipate his birth—his birth into ourlives.

To allof you—and to eachof you—I say this: Jesus wants your heart as a cradle this night. Jesus came into the world so that we might live through him (1 John 4:9)and so that God might live in us(1 John 4:12).

This is the true gift of Christmas. In truth, let us receive it. And may God grant us grace to receive it with true joy! Amen.

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¹William Sloane Coffin, sermon preached on Jan. 11, 1998 at the Washington National Cathedral https://cathedral.org/sermons/baptism/

² My Utmost for His Highest, reading for December 25.