Testimony

Sermon preached Sunday, December 10, 2023, the Third Sunday of Advent, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour, in North Chesterfield, VA. 

It might seem like a bit of déjà vu this morning. It’s the second week in a row that we’re hearing from John the Baptist—just from a different Gospel. The message is generally the same: there is still the quotation from Isaiah about the voice crying out. But, in this morning’s reading, the focus is on John’s role as “the one who testifies,” and not just the one who cries out or the one who baptizes.

John, in this morning’s reading, is first and foremost a witness who testifies to the identity of Jesus and the power of God.

And John is not the only one to testify in this way.

Later, Jesus will have a conversation will a woman at a well and she will share her encounter with her town. The evangelist writes, “Many Samaritans from that city believed in him because of the woman’s testimony…” (4:39)

Jesus tells the disciples, “You search the scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life; and it is they that testify on my behalf.” (5:39)

When Jesus enters Jerusalem on what we now call Palm Sunday, those who had witnessed him raise Lazarus from the dead were there as well and it is written, “So the crowd that had been with him when he called Lazarus out of the tomb and raised him from the dead continued to testify.” (12:17)

There are more examples. The Gospel of John is filled with person after person recognizing who Jesus is and then sharing that witness, telling others about who Jesus is and what Jesus has done.

They are testifying to God’s work of salvation, done in coming to live in our world, to die in our world, and finally to rise again among us. They are testifying that “God so loved the world that—“ Can you finish the sentence? It’s from the Gospel of John. “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.” (3:16)

John the baptizer is questioned by the religious authorities because they aren’t sure he has the right to testify. They aren’t sure he has the right to speak about God in this way.

This Advent, I want you to think about your own testimony. If someone asked you to share your faith, what would you say?

Would you talk about baptism and how God has claimed you and promised to love and forgive you?

Would you talk about communion and how Christ has promised to meet us there and feed us with himself?

Would you talk about the hope of the resurrection and how you trust that God has the final word?

What would be your testimony?

It’s important to know what we might say, and it’s important to not be afraid to share our faith. We don’t need to stop people on the street and make them listen to us against their will. We don’t need to broadcast in some of the obvious ways that probably make many of us uncomfortable—but our faith is meant to be shared: in words, and in deeds.

We share our faith by recounting God’s acts in our lives. By showing compassion for others. By advocating for justice and mercy. By fighting for peace in a world bent on war and violence. As Christians, our testimony can take many shapes.

Ultimately, though, it’s Jesus’ own testimony that is critical.

Seven times, in the Gospel of John, Jesus says, “I am.” Think about that for a second. In our reading this morning, John is asked, “Who are you? Are you Elijah? Are you the prophet?” And he responds with, “I am not.”

While John is reminding people of who he is (a witness) and who he is not (the Messiah, Elijah or the prophet), Jesus declares, “I am.”

I am…what, exactly? What does Jesus say about himself?

“I AM the bread of life.” (John 6:48)

“I AM the light of the world” (John 8:12)

“I AM the door” (John 10:9)

“I AM the good shepherd” (John 10:11)

“I AM the resurrection and the life” (John 11:35)

“I AM the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6)

“I AM the true vine” (John 15:1)

Over and over again Jesus not only provides rich imagery for who he is and what his work will be, but he also asserts that he is.

This is not a far-off promise and some fuzzy, nebulous dream. Jesus is.

Jesus is present, Jesus is ready and Jesus has work to do—in the world and in each one of us.

And that work? That work of justice and peace and compassion and light? That work becomes our testimony. Through us, God continues to find ways to testify to who God is and what God does.

Testimonies of hope, grace, and love.

Amen.

A World Turned Right-Side-Up

Sermon preached Sunday, December 3, 2023, the Second Sunday of Advent, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour, in Chesterfield, VA.

The readings we have in church each Sunday go in a three-year cycle. Last year, most of the readings were from the Gospel of Matthew, right up until we began Advent last week. So, this church year, most of our readings will be from the Gospel of Mark. Not all of them: Mark is the shortest of the Gospels and we’d run out of material. To fill out the calendar, there’s a healthy dose from the Gospel of John, too.

If you’ve never sat down and read each Gospel from beginning to end, you might not realize the extent to which each Gospel has its own unique voice, its own unique characteristics. Each Gospel writer has particular words they are fond of, each highlights different aspects of Jesus’ life and ministry.

As I said, Mark is the shortest Gospel. It is spare on the details—it’s been described that he’s like a beat reporter, or a court stenographer. “Just the facts, ma’am.” For example, Jesus’ 40 days in the desert being tempted by the devil gets exactly one sentence. Mark doesn’t include any pieces of narrative that he doesn’t think are essential.

Which brings us to the reading from today. This is the very beginning of the Gospel, the first eight verses. Mark gives us an unusually large amount of detail: quotations of John, citations of scripture, a depiction of how John looked…so, obviously, it’s got to be important! It’s also important to point out that this is where Mark believes the Gospel should begin: with John the Baptist, not with the birth of Christ. Mark doesn’t have the story of Jesus’ nativity. For Mark, this proclamation by John the Baptist is much more vital.

Why? Why does Mark choose to begin here?

It’s a common saying that the purpose of the Gospel is to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. In other words, the Gospel brings hope to people who are hopeless and points out hypocrisy and sin among those who have forgotten the most vulnerable in favor of their own benefit.

This is essentially what John the Baptist is doing! He is proclaiming the word of God, preaching baptism for the forgiveness of sins. For people who know they are sinful and in need of grace, this is wonderful news! For people like Herod, who don’t want to admit they’ve done anything wrong, he is disruptive and a nuisance. His words comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.

We know this to be true, don’t we? When justice comes, it is a relief to many and, to others, it might feel like a punishment. Think about the civil rights movement. For people of color, it meant not having to live as second-class citizens. For many white people, it meant giving up a certain sense of superiority and systemic power. The loss of privilege can feel like oppression if one has always been privileged.

Comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.

John the Baptist announces the coming of Christ, the one who will feed his flock like a shepherd, who will gather the lambs in his arms and carry them. (Isaiah 40:11)

…The one who will baptize us with the Holy Spirit.

The one who will call disciples and make them fish for people. The one who will cast out demons and heal many. The one who will still storms and walk on water and feed multitudes. The one who will be arrested and beaten and crucified. The one who will die and rise again.

The one who will be the embodiment of God’s reign of justice and peace for all people. The one who protects the vulnerable and dismantles oppressive systems. The one who came to save all people, not just the people we like.

Not all these things are good news to the people John is preaching to. If the status quo has been working for you, why would you want it to change? If the way things are benefits you, why would you want to give it up? If we’re comfortable with world as is, these words are afflicting. If we’re comfortable now, we actively oppose ushering in the reign of God because things are working out pretty well for us.

But when we let go, when we relinquish control, when we stop fighting God’s purpose for us, we are able to clearly see the incredible things God can do and see that those things are infinitely better than any supposed comfort we might create for ourselves.

We may lose some of our wealth because we are sharing more of it, but we will gain compassion and joy.

We may lose some of our privileges, but we will gain relationships with people.

We may lose the illusion of safety and security based on isolation and exclusion, but we will gain encounters with more of God’s children than we might have before.

We may lose everything we think we can’t live without, but we already have all we need in Christ.

If Advent reminds us of anything, it is the fact that when God is involved, things change.

This is a poem written by Mark Oldenburg, a friend, pastor, and retired professor of worship at United Lutheran Seminary in Gettysburg. This text has been set to music and I was first exposed to it several years ago. In the words, we explore two key people in the nativity narrative, Mary and Herod, and how Christ coming into the world changes the world they live in. It begins with the phrase “This is the Night,” a phrase usually used to announce the Easter Vigil, recalling how the night the resurrection happened changed everything. Oldenburg reminds us that the miraculous events of Christmas carry the same weight and importance as Easter. Resurrection cannot happen without incarnation. Listen to what he says:

“This is the night

dark turns to light

silence to song

weak into strong.

For with this birth

God enters earth,

our death to take,

our chains to break.

This is the night.

O Mary, trust that you will bear

the child, the Christ, the Word,

whose life and death bring to birth

a new and better world:

a word where all the last are first

and all the lost are found;

a world where low are lifted high—

a world turned upside down.

O Herod, clinging to the old

and fearful of the new:

you need not kill this newborn king;

his world will welcome you,

where every voice will bear a song,

and every head a crown;

a world where crimes are washed away,

a world turned upside down.

God, comfort us with confidence

that Christ will all transform

and, through us, fill this present age

with hints of what’s to come,

where all shall share the banquet feast

and over-flowing cup;

a world aligned with your own will—

a world turned right-side-up.”

(Rev. Dr. Mark Oldenburg, “A World Turned Upside Down,” written for Music, Gettysburg! Christmas Offering, 2017)

Be reminded of that this Advent. We prepare the way of the Lord, the way of the one who will change things, who will restore creation, who will put everything right-side-up.

Amen.

How Will You Bear Witness?

Sermon preached Sunday, January 15, 2023, the Second Sunday after Epiphany, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

A colleague posted on a clergy Facebook page, “Well, who’s got something new to say about John the Baptist?” If you’ve been in church through Advent and even up to last week, you know we’ve had quite a few Gospel lessons telling the story of John and his preparations for Jesus. It starts to feel a little repetitive, but luckily each portion of text we’ve read has had it’s own nuance.

Today’s account of John comes from the Gospel of John (incidentally, these are not the same man). Words mean a lot to this Gospel writer and he is particular about the words he chooses. Any miraculous deed Jesus does, for example, is called a “sign” and not a “miracle” because they only serve as signs that point to the power of God. So, in his telling of the story of John the Baptist or Baptizer…he never calls him that. John is not the baptizer…he is the witness.

What does a witness do? They testify. They testify to what they have seen and heard and know to be true. John’s testimony is what he declares as Jesus comes walking towards him: “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!” The next day, he does the same thing! He sees Jesus and calls out, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” His testimony is so compelling that even two of his own disciples begin to follow Jesus.

The idea of Christian witness, of our witness, is a complicated issue. What should our witness consist of? How should we share it? Who should we share it with? What are the best strategies? These are arguments and discussions that fill evangelism committee meetings around the world. The thing is, no one idea or style works in every culture or in every time period.

There used to be a time in this country when the most effective evangelism you could do would be to walk around the neighborhoods closest to the church and introduce yourself, maybe bring along some nice baked goods, and invite someone to your church. This just isn’t the case anymore. The drop-in culture that used to exist, when you might expect someone to stop by unexpectedly at any time has changed.

Nowadays, most people don’t appreciate an unanticipated visitor. They’d prefer to have time to pick up the house or get changed out of their sweats, or maybe they are just enjoying a day at home and don’t want to interact with other people. More and more folks don’t want to answer the door at all if they don’t know ahead of time that someone is coming by. You can see, then, why this door-to-door strategy just doesn’t work as well anymore. The well-meaning congregation members doing this work often come off as pushy or intrusive when before they would simply come off as friendly.

So, you’re probably asking, well, what then? What are we supposed to do? What strategies do work?

I wish I could give you a ten-point list of things to do that would get this church full and bursting. …but I can’t. No one can. Evangelism is an experimental process and the goal should not be more members for the church. The goal of evangelism should be that more people are able to experience the love of God. If that compels or encourages them to attend worship with us, great. But that’s not the purpose. And if we approach evangelism with a “butts and bucks” mentality, we will almost certainly fail.

People can sense when they are being used, when others aren’t being sincere with them. If we are just angling for warm bodies, we are missing the point entirely. We are sent out to proclaim the Gospel of Jesus simply so that others might know what a loving God we have—nothing more, nothing less.

All that being said, perhaps we need to look at Jesus’ own strategy in John’s gospel.

As Jesus is walking by John, John yells out that this is that Lamb of God. Curious, two of John’s disciples end up following Jesus. Eventually Jesus turns around sees them following him. He asks them, “What are you looking for?” They ignore his question and respond with, “Rabbi, where are you staying?” And what does he say in response? “Come and see.”

Come and see.

Such a simple phrase and yet it ends up being all these first disciples need. They came and saw and then later told others about their experience and those others also came and saw. Jesus’ first disciples came about as a chain reaction of coming and seeing and then witnessing to it all.

So, let’s expand on that. What might it look like for us to invite someone to come and see? What might be contained in that?

Of course, there’s the obvious answer: we might invite someone to church, to come and see what God is doing here, in this place, when we gather for worship. That, for some folks, can be a powerful way of witnessing. Maybe they are looking for a church home. Maybe they are searching for a worshipping community that they can enter into. For those folks, an invitation to worship might be just the thing!

For others, though, the worshipping body might not be the thing that helps them see God the most. If we invite them to come and see, where else could we invite them to see God at work? Where else might they encounter Jesus?

Maybe it’s in volunteering! Maybe you help out put together lunches for Richmond Friends of the Homeless and invite someone to help you out. Maybe there’s another organization you give your time to. Maybe you meet up on Saturday mornings with the men’s group or Esther Circle. Maybe you just want a friend to go shopping with you while you pick out food to bring in and donate or while you’re buying gifts for Christmas Mother. It could be as simple as that—doing something that you feel called to do in service to others and letting someone else bear witness to it.

Maybe, more than that, it’s just the way you live your life: the way others see you live your life. If someone were to “come and see” your day-to-day living, what would they see? Now, none of us are perfect and we all make mistakes, but what would the greater trend be? Compassion? Justice? Grace? Or selfishness, a me-first mentality, and a refusal to forgive?

In the calling of these first disciples in the Gospel of John, it is their experiences that lead them to Christ. They spent time with John and through that, heard his testimony about Jesus. Then, they went to Jesus and it was their encounter with him, staying with him that day, that led them to share their own testimony in turn. John’s preaching was one thing…but it wasn’t the only think that led people to Christ.

There’s a popular quote, often attributed to St. Francis of Assisi, maybe you’ve heard it before: “Preach the Gospel at all times—if necessary, use words.” Our words are powerful and, for some, they can be the doorway to a life of faith or deeper engagement. But, for others, our actions have a far greater impact.

Think about your own life, your own faith. What first brought you to church? Maybe your parents. Maybe a friend’s invitation. Maybe a sense you should come that was triggered when you drove by. Maybe something else entirely.

…but what is it that keeps you here? What is it that keeps you engaged with God? I’d be willing to be it isn’t someone else’s words. It isn’t just the recounting of stories in the Bible—it’s what God has done for you and what God is continuing to do in your life. You’ve felt the Holy Spirit moving and seen incredible things happen that can only come from God.

So, bear witness, my beloved siblings, in whatever way works for you. Live the story of God’s love in your words and in your deeds. Invite the world to “come and see.”

Amen.

What’s in a Name?

Sermon preached Sunday, January 8, 2022, Baptism of Our Lord, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

Names can have a lot of power. When we are born, names are often the first gift we are given. We have nothing in the world, no power, no wealth, no possessions, but then we are given a name—something that will belong to us for the rest of our lives. Even if we change our name, that first name will still be a part of our history.

Names are reflections of our identity, of our culture, and of our values. You share names, especially, last names, with people who come out of a similar culture. Your name might reflect a greater trend in society, when every other kid in your class had the same one. I grew up with more Katies and Ashleys than I was able to keep track of! Your name might even be one you chose as an adult, to better reflect who you understand yourself to be.

Names tell us to whom we belong. Shared family names carry weight. For those of you who have gotten married, or chosen to change your last name for your partner, I’m sure your original family name still has significance, as you celebrate traditions that came from the “Jones” side of the family or the recipe that you had every Christmas Day growing up in the “Smith” household.

Names are funny things because they both reinforce our ties and connections to others, all while keeping us independent. Our last names bind us together. Our first names assert our individuality. Names serve a lot of different purposes. Names have power.

Being called by our name is even more powerful. Sometimes it’s a silly thing: picking up our coffee at the Starbucks counter, or finally being called back to the doctor’s exam room after a long wait. There is great stock placed on being called the right name or the wrong name. Being called the right name feels good, feels right, feels validating. Being called the wrong name, however, can be frustrating, upsetting, or even feel dismissive.

What name we are called tells us who knows us well and who is a stranger. When telemarketers call and ask for “Rebecca Ajar,” I know immediately that they do not know me. And that doesn’t even scratch the surface of nicknames or pet names, the names that are only reserved for certain people. Do you have a name that only one or two other people use? It’s a special feeling, isn’t it, knowing that you have this relationship that is unique and important and valuable.

Our family knows our name, or names—the things we are called by and known as. Our friends know. Our coworkers, our acquaintances that we see occasionally as we go about our lives. All of these people know us and know our name…at least one of our names. …and so does God. God knows every name we have…and calls us by it.

 

We heard from the forty-second chapter of Isaiah this morning, but in the next chapter, God says something remarkable. “Thus says the LORD,” says the Prophet Isaiah, “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.” (Isaiah 43:1-2)

“I have called you by name, you are mine.” What beautiful words from the mouth of God! God, the incredible creator of the entire universe, is telling us, in no uncertain terms, that we are loved and we are God’s. We belong to God and God has given us a tangible sign of that love and belonging—God has given us baptism.

This morning we celebrate and commemorate the baptism of our Lord. Jesus, after his birth, after his presentation at the temple, after the wisemen have left, after his family fled to Egypt and returned, after growing up and becoming an adult in Nazareth, Jesus comes to the Jordan River to by baptized by John, along with everyone else waiting along the banks.

Jesus’ was baptized, and it’s like our baptism, but it is not the same. It is instead an inaugural event. It is the first baptism in a new kind of baptism. John’s baptism is for the forgiveness of sins. He proclaims that the one coming after him will baptize with the Holy Spirit and with fire. Later, Jesus tells his disciples to baptize in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Jesus’ baptism is not to forgive his sins. It is instead a sign. As the Holy Spirit comes down from above, the voice of God is heard: “You are my son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” Jesus’ baptism tells us who Jesus is, just as our baptisms tell us who we are.

In our own baptisms, we are claimed and named by God. We are joined to Christ in the waters of baptism. We are joined to Christ, we have died to sin and been risen to new life. We have been given a new identity with our brothers and sisters in Christ. It is almost as if the sky opened again, for each one of us, and the Holy Spirit descended and the voice of God spoke again from the prophet Isaiah: “I have called you by name, you are mine.”

Do you remember the day you were baptized? Do you ever think about it? I was an infant, only about two weeks old when I was baptized. I don’t remember anything, except what I’ve seen in pictures of my Lutheran pastor Grandpa Schmitt holding me in front of a font in Hobbs, New Mexico. Is it any different for you? Were you baptized as an infant? As a teenager? As an adult? Were you baptized in a church or in the ocean like a friend of mine from high school? Was your family there and supportive or were you instead only surrounded by friends from your church community?

Truth be told, we’re not always great at remembering and recognizing our true baptismal identity in our daily life. It doesn’t really matter how the baptism happened. We believe in one baptism for the Christian church and believe, along with most other Christians, that any baptism in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, regardless of denomination is holy and true. I think, however, that we could do a better job of remembering that baptism is a life-long journey and vocation. It is not a one-time event so much as it is a starting point for our life in Christ and Christian community.

How can we live this way? Maybe starting by marking yourself with the cross when you pray or when you are feeling discouraged. Use that sign of the cross to remind yourself that you are a child of God. Martin Luther suggested that in the morning, as you wash yourself, you can splash around with the water a bit, reminding yourself of the water splashed on you in your baptism. As you encounter people with whom you disagree, as things happen that upset you or as you get frustrated or angry with people in or outside the church take a moment, stop, and think about your baptism and how they are a child of God as well. Think about how you are joined together with them in Christ and perhaps that will change the way you deal with that conflict.

Let’s take a minute and remember our baptism together. When we baptize, we make the sign of the cross on a person’s forehead. Look at the person next to you. If you’re sitting alone, you might need to shift a little bit to find a partner. Everyone have someone? Good.

Here’s what you’re going to say: [The Person’s Name], child of God, you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever. I’ll repeat it: [The Person’s Name], child of God, you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever. As you say it, trace a cross on the person’s forehead.

[When all have completed it:]

How do you feel? I hope you feel treasured and renewed. Baptism is incredible. It’s remarkable and life changing. It never goes away—it is a constant. We are irrevocably changed and connected to one another and to God. There is nothing we can do about it. We are named. We are claimed. We loved. We are God’s.

Amen.

John the Pointer

Sermon preached Sunday, December 4, 2022, the Second Sunday of Advent, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

Last week the Gospel was about the sudden coming of the Son of Man. Today we hear about John the Baptist crying out to prepare the way of the Lord. These two weeks are a good reminder that our church year calendar doesn’t move chronologically the way our other calendars do. We move thematically, and Jesus telling us to watch and John telling us to prepare is a great example of that. In both cases, Jesus is already born and already grown. This order reminds us that Advent is not just about Christ being born two thousand years ago, but the ways Christ continues to come to us in the present, and the way Christ will come again in the future.

I really love John the Baptist. He would definitely make the cut if I had to name my top ten characters in the Bible. He is passionate. He is stubborn. He is undeterred in his mission—he is called “the Baptist,” after all. I wonder, though, if perhaps that title is a misnomer…or if not the wrong title, than not the only title. I wonder if he might also be known as “John the Pointer.”

A few minutes ago I talked with our youngest members about how different things can point us to God and how we, too, have the honor, the opportunity, the responsibility to be pointers ourselves.  Everything we do, every interaction we have, even every act we do in private…all of it can be used to point away from ourselves and towards God.

And what kind of God are we pointing towards? This morning’s readings give us some great insights.

Isaiah points toward a ruler who will follow in the line of David. Hear the words again:

²The spirit of the Lord shall rest on him,
the spirit of wisdom and understanding,
the spirit of counsel and might,
the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord.
³His delight shall be in the fear of the Lord.
He shall not judge by what his eyes see,
or decide by what his ears hear;
⁴but with righteousness he shall judge the poor,
and decide with equity for the meek of the earth;
he shall strike the earth with the rod of his mouth,
and with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked.
⁵Righteousness shall be the belt around his waist,
and faithfulness the belt around his loins. (Isaiah 11:2-5)

These words describe the longed toward ruler, but we know that they also describe Jesus. We know that they also describe our God who came to live and dwell among us. This is a God who is just and faithful, filled with righteousness.  And as the passage continues, we see that this is also a God who brings about peace:

⁶The wolf shall live with the lamb,
the leopard shall lie down with the kid,
the calf and the lion and the fatling together,
and a little child shall lead them.
⁷The cow and the bear shall graze,
their young shall lie down together;
and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.
⁸The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp,
and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den.
⁹They will not hurt or destroy
on all my holy mountain;
for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord…” (Isaiah 11:6-9a)

Predator and prey, lying together. Venomous snakes and a young child playing together. All of creation, finding a way to live in peace—including humanity. There is no longer a desire to dominate, or to hurt, or to exploit. All is at peace.

But it doesn’t stop in Isaiah. In his letter to the Romans, the apostle Paul speaks at length about who our God is. And our God is one who welcomes. Paul reminds the church in Rome that our God of “steadfastness and encouragement” has welcomed us and brought us together—and that God is at the heart of this complex unity.

In both cases, Isaiah and Paul are also “pointers.” They are also individuals who used their lives and their voices to direct people’s gaze and attention to who God is. Isaiah, Paul, John…and us. All are people called to highlight the wonderful qualities of God and direct people’s gaze to God’s work.

There is a note of caution here, though. Sometimes we forget about our role. Sometimes we turn inwards. It’s more than tempting to try and direct the focus to ourselves. We love for people to notice when we’re excelling. We feel validated when people acknowledge our hard work. We want people to see us…and we tend to not care as much about whether or not our lives are pointing to God. We say to ourselves, “It’s all about me, it only matters how I am effected, I am at the center of it all.”

When we do this, we run the risk of ending up like the Pharisees and Sadducees that John was railing against. The Pharisees and Sadducees disagreed about some issues regarding scripture and theology, but both groups had very specific ideas about how one could live righteously and be in a right relationship with God. The problem was, John saw these people caring more about keeping themselves in power and authority than about whether or not people were experiencing God’s grace. They were making sure that laws and rules they helped to enforce were being obeyed. In other words, they were pointing to themselves, not God.

We often hear about these people and assume that there’s no way we’d ever be like them. Surely John would never be yelling at us from the banks of the Jordan River! Surely we’d never lose sight of what’s really important! …and yet we would…and yet we do.

We succeed in our favorite hobby or in our job or in our relationships and chalk it up to our own talent or drive. We contribute to charities or social welfare organizations and pat ourselves on the back for how great we are.

There are countless ways and countless times that we forget who we are and forget whose we are and end up working only for our own glory or recognition. At those times, we can give thanks because God is always there.

God is always there to call us home, to call us back to repentance, to use other people around us as “pointers” to direct our gaze and to remind us of our baptismal vocation. Do you remember what commitments are made in the rite of baptism? I’ll remind you: “to live among God’s faithful people, to hear the Word of God and share in the Lord’s supper, to proclaim the good news of God in Christ through word and deed, to serve all people, following the example of Jesus, and to strive for justice and peace in all the earth?” (ELW) In other words, we commit to being “pointers,” both individually and as a community.

And it is through this community, through these commitments, that the lives we lead point to God more effectively than any other kind of evangelism, even that of a wild man on a riverbank. We point for ourselves. We point for others. We rely on our siblings in Christ to help us see. So live your life. Live your life, all the while pointing to the God who loves you, who forgives you, who brings peace and reconciliation, who welcomes you to this table, who creates unity, and who will always call you back.

Amen.

God Brings Us Along

Sermon preached Saturday, July 10, and Sunday, July 11, 2021, the Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, at Grace Lutheran Church in Westminster, Maryland. 

Well, there’s nothing like a beheading to start off preaching in a new congregation, am I right?

It’s definitely one of those stories that you finish reading and say, “The Gospel of the Lord…I think? I think there’s good news in there somewhere?”

And, truthfully, when this lectionary text comes up, it’s mostly this part about the beheading of John is the part that tends to draw our focus. That’s the headline. That’s the big take away. But, I don’t know, this time, it hit differently. I meet for text study with a few other pastors and all of us, for maybe the first time, were drawn to the other part of the reading—the part that’s actually happening in real time.

We get a flashback, triggered by the buzz happening around Jesus and his disciples. Herod hears about all these things that the disciples are doing and you can almost imagine the old sitcom blur-out as he remembers John and that night at his birthday banquet. He had John arrested, but was “protecting him,” as the text tells us because he apparently liked listening to him, despite not always understanding.

But, of course, his wife did not. And when push came to shove, Herod’s care for John only went so far. When push came to shove, Herod needed to keep the peace in his home, at this party, and in his kingdom, no matter the cost. And so Herod, deeply grieved, we’re told, but without protest, has John killed and his head brought out.

Yet even in the midst of this violence, John’s disciples were not deterred. They came and retrieved his body and continued his work. The mission continued, despite the efforts of Herod and Herodia.

A similar story is told in Amos. We only hear a snippet of it this morning, but Amos is called to be a prophet, to speak the word of the Lord to a kingdom who doesn’t want to hear it. After many attempts to make people hear this proclamation, he is expelled and exiled and, according to apocryphal accounts, eventually killed by the ones he confronted.

Today’s readings give us just two examples of the ways in which, time and time again, people are called to share the word of God and others reject them because it is too hard a Word. A Word that challenges norms and expectations. A Word that calls for sacrifice and selfless acts. A Word that requires humbling oneself and risking power and influence.

Amos.

John the Baptist.

And, we know, in time, Jesus.

Most of the time, we identify with these prophetic voices—or at least we want to, right? We want to be the ones on the front lines proclaiming God’s Word! We want to believe that we are taking the risks, that we are being vulnerable, that we are on the right side!

…but I think it’s more accurate to say that sometimes that’s us. And sometimes, too often, we are like these folks who run scared, who react defensively or violently, who only believe that something is God’s work if it already aligns with what we believe to be true. I’m not saying that any of us have had someone beheaded, but it’s not always that extreme. When we are faced with something new or something that confronts our own weaknesses or that challenges us to look at something differently, we push back.

How many times to we reject something because it would upset our status quo? And before we get our defenses up, let’s talk about some of the ways in which this plays out, particularly in congregation life. Some might ring true for Grace. Some might not.

How many times do we say, “Well, we tried doing that once fifteen years ago, but it didn’t work, so we shouldn’t try it again.”?

Or, “This is way music has always been done here.”?

Or, “We can’t use that space for that new ministry because it’s always been used for this other ministry, even though this other ministry hasn’t really been very active in recent years.”?

Or, “We’re already welcoming, why do we have to be explicit about who is welcome here?”

Or, here’s a big one for us right now, “As long as they don’t change my worship time, it’s fine!”?

Did any of that resonate with you?

Now, let me be clear, not everything new or different or disruptive is automatically God’s will. That would be unfair and untrue to say. But it would also be unfair and untrue to say that it is God’s will that things be constant forever, that they grow stagnant and stale and that we clutch on to them to the detriment of where the Spirit might be calling us.

No, our God is a moving God, a changing God, a God who is always in conversation with what has been to shepherd us into the remarkable possibility of what could be.

We need look no further than scripture, where we are shown account after account of God leading God’s people into something bold, something new, while never fully abandoning what God has called good in the past.

Even God’s most destructive action, the flood, did not fully wipe out what had been! Humanity and every living creature was carried in safety on the ark.

When it’s put this way, it might be easy for us to get on board, because we know that, in the end, it works out: the dry land reappears after the flood. The Israelites make it to the promised land. The exiled people of God return and are restored. Jesus rises from the dead. The early church and the message of Jesus spreads quickly and takes hold in pockets far and wide.

But we cannot pretend that these things all happened in a vacuum, in a tidy, sanitized bubble that did not require sacrifice and bravery and trust in God. We can’t forget that the flood happened. We can’t forget the wandering in the wilderness and the desire to return to the known quantity of Egypt. We can’t forget that before the disciples began sharing the good news of Jesus’ resurrection, they huddled together in a locked room because they were afraid.

Because there will always be resistance, from within as well as from without.

There will be people who are not part of our community who might deride our efforts, or mock our beliefs or say that we’re overstepping into things a church shouldn’t be involved in and that we should “stay in our lane.”

And there will be people within our community who will worry about how much it will cost. Or who we might offend as we seek to include more in the mission of God. Or who will be more concerned about losing their perceived position of power than with whatever the Holy Spirit has in store.

Yes, there will be resistance, as there has always been.

But we know that we have a faithful God who doesn’t give up on us and who is with us every step of the way—even when we are like Herod, seeking to keep our peace and power at any cost. God will challenge us, comfort us, cajole us, and care for us wherever we find ourselves on this path.

God is always moving forward to new life and renewal and toward the fulfillment of God’s mission—and God desires to bring us along. Sometimes joyfully, sometimes dragging our feet or kicking and screaming.

God is faithful and is there every step of the way.

Amen.

Beginnings

Sermon preached Sunday, January 10, 2021, Baptism of Our Lord, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA. 

So it’s the beginning of a new year. That’s what I’m reminded of everyday as I struggle to end my dates with a “1” instead of a “0.”

It was a tough year. So many of us are more than happy to bid goodbye to 2020.

We celebrated the new church year way back in November! The church calendar rebooted with the first Sunday of Advent, and our preparatory journey to the cradle of Christ. Today we’re celebrating the baptism of Jesus—another beginning, the beginning of Jesus’ ministry on earth.

Beginnings are all around us. What beginnings are you facing? Maybe there are some exciting ones! A new job, a new home, a new child in your life, whether it’s your own son or daughter, a grandchild, or part of another close friend or family group. Some beginnings are simply exhilarating, aren’t they?

…but then there are those beginnings which are tougher. Perhaps the beginning of being unemployed. The beginning of living without a loved one around anymore. The beginning of dealing with or treating an illness once it’s been diagnosed. Beginnings are often very scary. We don’t know what to expect from them. The very nature of them mean that they have not been experienced before!

Today’s readings are all about beginnings, too—did you catch that?

In the first reading from Genesis, we start at the very beginning—the creation of the world! God speaks light and there is light! Day and Night are created and named and thus creation has begun.

In the second reading, Paul comes to Ephesus and finds disciples who have been faithful in following Jesus, but have not been baptized and have not received the Holy Spirit. Paul baptizes them himself and when the receive the Holy Spirit, they immediately begin speaking in tongues and prophesying—this new, more focused phase of their discipleship has started.

And, finally, in the Gospel reading from Mark, Jesus is baptized by John in the Jordan River. In this moment, when the Spirit descends on Jesus like a dove, Jesus’ ministry is kicked off!

The beginnings don’t come from nothing—they don’t come from a complete blank stage. Rather, these beginnings come from God entering our world and, through a new beginning, bringing about good. Because whatever beginning God makes will indeed be good.

In Genesis God is faced with a formless void of earth. The universe is chaos, churning water in the deep and darkness everywhere. God enters in and begins creation: “Let there be light.” And God saw that the light was good. Not only did God change the world with those few words, but God changed the world for good.

In the case of the Ephesian disciples, they think they are doing their best. They are following Jesus as best as they can, trying to live faithful lives. Paul joins them and informs them that they need to be baptized. They agree, God enters in, in the person of the Holy Spirit, and they are changed forever. Their lives will never be the same again, but their lives have been changed for good. They can now preach about the Holy Spirit, whom they had never heard of before! They can prophesy! They can speak in tongues! They can more effectively spread the Gospel.

And finally, at the beginnings of Jesus’ ministry on earth, God enters in again. Jesus is immersed in the water and as he is coming up, the skies are torn apart and the Holy Spirit comes down. A new beginning, marked by this coming of the Holy Spirit, has been embarked upon. And the voice from heaven says “…You are my Son, the beloved; with you I am well pleased.” Another way to translate this: “You are my Son, the beloved; I find goodness in you.” Once again, God calls this new beginning good.

Today we celebrate this baptism of Jesus because it is important. Jesus’ baptism changed everything for us. Because of Jesus’ baptism, our baptisms do more than free us of our sins. Because of Jesus’ baptism, we are forever called children of God through ours.

Saint Paul writes, “Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized in his death? …if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.” (Romans 6:3,5)

Martin Luther wrote that “To be baptized in God’s name is to be baptized not by human beings but by [God’s own self].”

Baptism has given us one new beginning: a once-and-for-all reconciliation with God. But baptism also gives us the opportunity for a new beginning each and every day. Our baptism is a calling—a calling to love and serve our neighbor as ourselves, to share the good news of Jesus Christ, to work for peace and justice, to live in harmony with creation. And every single day we have the chance to live out that calling again. Think of it as a “daily garment” that you wear as you leave the house. [Luther’s Large Catechism: Concerning Baptism]

If you are always wearing your baptism, what might that mean? What can our baptisms cause to happen in us? What can our baptisms cause us to do, if we let them? Does our baptism call us to merely survive, or to live? There’s a difference there!

What might it look like if you took your baptism to heart and attempted to wear it proudly and vibrantly, day after day. Would you speak differently? Would you act differently picking out vegetables in the grocery store? Would you have more patience when you drove? Would you be more gracious to the rude person who cuts in front of you at the cashier at Target? Would you be more generous when asked to contribute to a good cause?

Embracing our baptismal identities like this can be really hard and really scary. Frankly, it’s usually easier to be standoffish, or to keep our guards up, than to engage people and be prepared to love them no matter what they do. If we allow ourselves to be vulnerable, we can get hurt…and no one wants that. But to fully reap the rewards of living freely as God’s people, we need to live confidently in God’s grace.

Because as we have seen, God entering into our lives is never neutral. When God enters in, it is always for good. At creation, God saw that the light was good. At Jesus’ baptism, God saw that he was good. And in every way God enters our lives, God will see to it that it is good.

Not perfect. Not without fault. Not free of conflict, or confusion, or hurt, or pain, but good. Life-giving. Life-fulfilling. Purposeful. Serving the will of God and God’s desire for reconciliation with all of creation.

“It is good.”

Thanks be to God.

Amen.

What Shall We Cry?

Sermon preached Sunday, December 6, 2020, the Second Sunday of Advent, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA.

The Gospel of Mark opens with no preamble. There is not listing of Jesus’ lineage, no birth story, no cosmic origin narrative of how the Word came to be. Instead, Mark gets right to the point:

“The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”

We began a new liturgical year last week, and that means that most of our readings this year will come from the Gospel of Mark. Mark is like the court stenographer of the gospel writers. He is concise and spare in his details. Everything in his gospel happens with a sense of urgency—one of his favorite phrases is “and immediately,” as he describes how Jesus moves about the countryside. He likes to get right to the point.

And the point at the beginning of this gospel is the proclamation of John the Baptist—the voice of one crying out.

You could say that this morning’s readings are all about voices and those voices crying out.

The prophet Isaiah tells of a voice crying out: “In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord!”

A voice tells Isaiah, “Cry out!” and Isaiah asks, “What shall I cry?”

And John the baptizer appears in the wilderness, where the voice is crying. John the baptizer, this intense, unusual character.

John cries out to prepare the way of the Lord. What shall you cry? The same thing! We lift our voices with the baptizer and yell, “Prepare the way of the Lord!”

That’s what we cry. And how does the world respond? What does the world cry back?

The commercials on the television and radio cry, “Spend!”

The pundits and commentators on the news and internet cry, “Argue!”

The ones who have been hurt and seek to hurt in return cry, “Hold grudges!”

Sports teams, uncompassionate businesses and divisive leaders cry, “Win at all costs!”

And collectively, the world together cries, “Forget who created you! Forget whose you are!”

In essence, the world again and again cries out, “No!”

As so, in this season of Advent, we stand with John the baptizer in the wilderness, raising our voices and calling for all people to prepare the way of the Lord—the way that responds to the world’s “No” with a firm, resounding “Yes!”

When the world says death—God responds with life. When the world offers nothing but despair—God offers hope. When hate seems to be the prevailing emotion—God counteracts with love. And when it seems like all the world does is take—God continually gives and gives abundantly.

This is the path we are called to follow. This is the good news we are called to announce. This is the way we are called to prepare.

Prepare the way of the Lord, the way of God, a way that looks like compassion, love and welcome as opposed to ignoring both the stranger and neighbor around us. The way of God that we enter into in our communal worship: where the table is open to all who hunger and thirst and the font makes us one in Christ.

Prepare the Way of the Lord!

Cry it out!

Amen.

Rejoicing

Sermon preached Sunday, December 16, 2018, the Third Sunday of Advent, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA. Audio can be found here.

I can’t remember if I’ve ever mentioned this before, but I was John the Baptist. It was my senior year of high school and our Spring musical was Godspell. It was great. My theater teacher set the play in a grungy urban landscape and my costume consisted of a beanie, dirty trench coat, and a tye-dyed t-shirt with the words “God Speaks” printed on the front. I had a spray bottle, the kind you see people with on street corners who are eager to wash your windshield for a bit of cash.

I opened the play by singing “Prepare ye the way of the Lord,” and then immediately entered into a diatribe: “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come!” I got to be angry and sarcastic and biting and, well, it was fun. Who doesn’t love the chance to scold and mock and whip-up crowds? This is John in Godspell. Energy and anger and passion.

In truth, John is not all that different from the prophets who came before him. If we look at the prophetic books of the Bible—Isaiah, Jeremiah, Habakkuk, to name a few—we see this time and time again. The prophets should, proclaim, declare God’s judgement on the people, usually for their turn to idolatry or their mistreatment of the poor, or, usually, a combination of the two. They warn people what is to come if they don’t change their ways.

…but then, it changes. While the prophet certainly has harsh words, that is never where the prophet ends. Eventually, the prophet gets to good news, to a promise from God that everything will be made right.

Our first reading from Zephaniah is a perfect example of this. Zephaniah is only three chapters long and the first two and half of those chapters is judgement and dire predictions. Zephaniah warns of the coming “Day of the Lord” and urges the people to repent and mend their ways. Then, halfway through Chapter 3, the tone abruptly changes and we hear this song of joy:

 ¹⁴Sing aloud, O daughter Zion;
shout, O Israel!
Rejoice and exult with all your heart,
O daughter Jerusalem! (Zephaniah 3:14)

On and on he goes, celebrating the goodness of God and exuding confidence that God will make everything right. In all the prophets, God’s judgement is always followed by God’s word and the fulfillment of God’s promises.

John the Baptist follows this same pattern, even if it doesn’t immediately sound like it. Hear again the judgement:

“You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? ⁸Bear fruits worthy of repentance. Do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. ⁹Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.” (Luke 3:7b-9)

Trees cut down and thrown into the fire for not bearing good fruit, for not bearing the fruit of righteousness. Simply being descendants of Abraham is not enough. John then goes on to answer some questions about how to live in this new way: share your clothing and food, don’t take advantage of others, live in peace. …and then comes the good news:

“I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. ¹⁷His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.” (Luke 3:16-17)

This is good news, as unlikely as that might seem, with all the talk about unquenchable fire.

It’s good news because it means that God is coming to make things right, to do away with all the things that seek to destroy us and keep us from abundant life.

Those things will be cut down. Those things will be thrown into the fire. God will separate out our sin, our individual and corporate complicity in unjust systems and oppression, our greed, our selfishness, just as the harvester separates out the wheat from the chaff. And everything that hurts us and that hurts others is burned. Done away with. And we are left whole and holy. Beloved children of God, baptized with the Holy Spirit and with the cleansing fire of righteousness.

This is good news and cause for rejoicing!

Today is the third Sunday of Advent. Historically, Advent developed as a penitential companion to Lent and held the same kind of somber notes as those six weeks in preparation for Easter. Since Advent had this more subdued nature, the Third Sunday was seen as a break—the JOY Sunday! It has been called Gaudete Sunday, after the word for “rejoice” in Latin. Even though our observance of Advent has changed over the centuries into something more about quiet expectation instead of penitence, you can tell by our readings that this is still the Sunday of Rejoicing.

Other aspects remain, as well. The color for Gaudete Sunday is Rose, or pink, which is why our third candle in the wreath is a different color. If we wanted to go all out, we could even change all the paraments, but it’s not really necessary and, well, we don’t own any rose paraments!

Regardless, this is a Sunday of joy and rejoicing—of celebrating what it truly means to have God come and live among us and change the world as we know it. In just a few minutes we’ll sing our hymn of the day. It’s a beautiful tune that highlights the longing we feel for God’s presence and God’s light in our lives. The last verse speaks to the promise we celebrate:

“Shine your future on this place,

Enlighten every guest,

That through us stream your holiness,

Bright and blest, bright and blest;

Come down, O Sun of Grace.” (ELW 261 “As the Dark Awaits the Dawn”)

Even in the midst of this troubled world, even when faced with violence and injustice and death and pain and suffering, even when our hearts are heavy with grief, the Sun of Grace comes to us, shining among us and illuminating a splendid future. So, this morning, let’s rejoice together.

Let’s celebrate with Zephaniah and proclaim God’s commitment to us:

“²⁰At that time I will bring you home,
at the time when I gather you;
for I will make you renowned and praised
among all the peoples of the earth,
when I restore your fortunes
before your eyes, says the Lord.” (Zephaniah 3:20)

Join in with Paul in his quiet confidence:

“⁴Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. ⁵Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near.” (Philippians 4:4-5)

Echo the Isaiah in our Psalm this morning:

⁵Sing praises to the Lord, for he has done gloriously;
let this be known in all the earth.
⁶Shout aloud and sing for joy, O royal Zion,
for great in your midst is the Holy One of Israel. (Isaiah 12:5-6)

Today is a day of rejoicing!

Amen.

Preparing

Sermon preached Sunday, December 9, 2018, the Second Sunday of Advent, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA.

Welcome to the Second Sunday of Advent. We light one more candle. The sanctuary is now full of decorations. We move along one more week towards the celebration of Christ’s coming among us. It’s a bit more waiting, a bit more preparing, a bit more asking ourselves what it means to make ourselves ready for the Christ child.

Enter John the Baptist: son of Zechariah, prophet, a truly odd man who lived an unconventional life on the edges of society. He said and did things that got him into trouble with religious and political authorities alike. In trying to introduce him, the Gospel writer ends up pulling a reference from the Prophet Isaiah. Luke uses Isaiah’s words to frame who John is. John is the voice crying out.

It’s important here to remember the context in which these words were proclaimed in Isaiah’s time. Isaiah spoke them while the Israelites were in exile. They were far away from home and had no idea if they would ever be able to go back. The Temple was destroyed. Their way of life had changed drastically, and hope was failing. It was in this environment that this prophet has the audacity to provide this vision for the future. It was in the midst of despair that Isaiah offers a confident expectation that things will change. Hear these words from Isaiah again, and imagine what it must have been like to hear them if you were desperately longing to return home:

³A voice cries out: “In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. ⁴Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain. ⁵Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all people shall see it together…” (Isaiah 40:3-5a)

Do you hear the hope? Do you hear the care and the passion and the joy?

When John the Baptist arrived on the scene hundreds of years later, the people had returned to Judea, but there was still longing, still desperation. They were occupied by the Roman Empire and lived as a people kept down and subjugated. They lived their lives in constant fear of violence and persecution. These words from generations before seemed just as relevant as ever. The people in Jesus’ time, like their ancestors, needed hope, something to look forward to, some sign that things would get better.

In both cases—during the exile and under occupation—it is announced that God will make a way. A way for the exiles to return. A way for God to join the people. A way for the promised Messiah to come. A way forward into God’s promised future for all people.

Did you know that this past Monday, December 3^rd, was the United Nations’ International Day of Persons with Disabilities? I didn’t. I didn’t even realize that the Day was a thing, but it has been honored yearly since 1992. I honestly had never heard of it before this year. It wasn’t until two colleagues shared some of their own stories, linked to the day, that I discovered it.

These colleagues are talented pastors who live with disabilities: one was born with spinal bifida and has had to use a wheelchair all her life. The other was born with only one arm. They are tremendous pastors. They are thoughtful theologians who constantly remind me and so many others that wholeness is not somehow being physically “perfect” but about living into the full person God has created you to be, in whatever embodiment that might take.

They both offered up some beautiful and convicting reflections about this day and the many ways in which our world is still inaccessible to many. Just take this sanctuary, for example. Previously, I would have said it is accessible, and it is—for participants. But we have steps all over the chancel. If we wanted someone who used a wheelchair or who was unable to climb stairs to preside or preach or even sing in the choir, we would have to change the way we do things because the space and the ways we use it are not laid out with that in mind. It wouldn’t be impossible, but it would require effort. Accessibility is not often our default.

This struggle was lifted this up and linked back to the text from Isaiah, the text referenced in our Gospel reading this morning. The question was asked: “Did you notice that the reading from Luke 3 is about a God who makes Godself accessible by breaking down every barrier while instructing us to work together with God to make the road straight?”

(Pastor Beth Wartick in a Facebook Post Dated 12/5/2018)

In other words, God becomes accessible to each and every person in every way possible. No gravel or rocks to trip over. No stairs. No walls or barricades. No tricky narrow corridors or too-small doorways. Nothing is going to stop God from being with God’s beloved people.

Her insight made this passage even more beautiful to me…and it goes far beyond just people’s physical limitations! God breaks down intellectual and cognitive barriers. We don’t need to be able to read to hear God’s words of love and promise. We don’t need a big vocabulary or developed math skills. We don’t need an advanced engineering degree to celebrate the complexity of creation. God’s love is for all of humanity, regardless of how well a person thinks they might understand it.

In truth, we see that God is constantly working to break down anything and everything that might keep people separate, keep us desolate or desperate or alone. God works to bring us back into community with one another and with God’s own self.

Ask yourself, “What is trying to keep you from God?”

Is it the voice of self-doubt that says you’re not worthy of God’s forgiveness?

Is it the voice that says you’re not sure if you even believe any of this stuff anyway?

Is it the voice that says you’re not allowed to feel real grief or pain or anger or hurt because a good Christian should only ever feel joy and gratitude?

Is it the voice that says you’re not a good enough Christian? A good enough child? A good enough spouse? A good enough parent? A good enough anything?

God comes to do away with those voices. God comes to do away with the obstacles. God comes to do away with it all.

…and we are called and blessed to join in. We get to join in tearing down structures and standards that keep people with disabilities from full access to participation and leadership. We get to join in dismantling systems of injustice that keep us from seeing, celebrating, and embracing the full humanity of others. We get to join in shutting down all the messages that tell us we aren’t good enough for God.

We hear the voice in the wilderness. We are the voice in the wilderness—crying out for the world to hear:

‘Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight.
⁵Every valley shall be filled,
and every mountain and hill shall be made low,
and the crooked shall be made straight,
and the rough ways made smooth;
⁶and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.’ ”

All flesh. All humanity. All shall see the salvation of God. No exceptions.

This is preparing the way of the Lord.

Amen.