Archives for December 2019

Matthew’s account of Jesus’ birth is a complicated human story that is still tragically relevant in our context. The incarnated God is, and always has been, deeply present in the broken places of our world, and God grieves with us every instance of violence and suffering.

Vicar Bristol Reading
First Sunday of Christmas, Year A
Text: Matthew 2:13-23

Matthew’s Gospel is missing all the familiar, sentimental elements of the Christmas story. In Matthew’s narrative about Jesus’ birth, there are no cattle lowing at the manger-side, no surprised shepherds cuddling their sheep, no glorious angels singing alleluia.

Instead there’s a family of scared refugees and a man driven mad by power.

That man was Herod, a Roman-appointed ruler of Judea, the region where Jesus was born. Herod feared the loss of his authority so much that he was willing to do anything in order to eliminate potential rivals. He’d been told there was a new “king,” born in Bethlehem. But, deceived by the visiting magi, he was unable to clearly identify the newborn Messiah, so Herod ordered the execution of all male babies in Bethlehem who were near Jesus’ age. This may have meant the death of some twenty children, an unnecessary and horrifying tragedy.

The holy family, Joseph, Mary, and Jesus, were warned by God of this coming violence, and fled in the night. They ended up in Egypt, of all places, the land where their ancestors had once been enslaved. And they lived there for a few years, until Herod’s death allowed them to return to their homeland. Even then, it wasn’t safe for them to go back to Judea, so they settled in Galilee, a few days’ travel north.

This is the Christmas story in Matthew: a tyrannical ruler, a traumatized community, and a displaced family. Like so many stories in the Bible, it’s a sad and scary story, and it’s a really human story.

From the perspective of the people experiencing all this, it must have been hard to see the bigger picture, to understand how all of their lives were intertwined, to understand why this was the way God’s salvation came into the world.

Mary and Joseph were just starting figure out how to be a family together, when they were called to follow God’s lead into the unknown. Their fates were caught up with the decisions of the Magi, those foreign strangers who decided to defy Herod, at great risk to themselves, in order to protect the holy family. Jesus did survive Herod’s wrath, but many in the Bethlehem community did not. So the fate of those grieving families, too, was caught up in the events of Jesus’ birth.

And the Gospel writer makes it clear that all of these people were part of the longer arc of Israel’s history. In Matthew’s account, we hear echoes of Rachel, the great Matriarch from whom Jesus is descended, and of Pharaoh and Moses. We hear the voices of the Hebrew prophets who longed for the peace and justice a Messiah would bring – a Messiah who has at last been born in Bethlehem.

Matthew evokes these sacred stories, then weaves them together with the narrative of these first century people. The result is a tangle of human stories and relationships.

And at the center of this complicated mess is God, born as a tiny, vulnerable baby, the light in all the darkness. Jesus, God incarnate, is caught up in all this humanness.

From his birth, Jesus’ life is under threat. The Son of Man has no place to lay his head. Jesus’ human existence is marked by suffering, rejection, and violence, start to finish. This is not a savior who shrinks away from the gritty realities of what it means to be human. Christ will embody divine love as a human person. Throughout his ministry Jesus will be a presence of healing, mercy, and compassion among the people he encounters. He will declare that all people, even enemies, are worthy of love.

That commitment to love will eventually get him killed. Although Jesus escapes death as an infant, he accepts death as an adult. He goes to the cross out of love for all creation, and even as he faces death, his words and actions speak forgiveness in response to violence.

God is in the midst of the whole story of human history, not as the cause of suffering but as one who suffers. This means that you don’t have to wonder whether or not the Creator of the universe understands or cares about your suffering because God has suffered – for you and with you. None of the violence in this human story is God’s intention. God’s dream for creation is one of peace; Christ’s kingdom is not of this world.

Perhaps the hardest part about Matthew’s Christmas narrative is how timeless it is. The horrors of this ancient story are painfully familiar to all chapters of history: tyrannical leaders imposing violent rule on poor people, families becoming refugees to protect their children’s future, the senseless death of innocent people. We know these stories in our time, too.

We are closing out a decade during which authoritarian leaders across the world stage enacted oppressive policies,  millions of people became refugees fleeing from violence, and, in our own nation, hundreds of children were shot in their own schools.

Our wailing and lamentation joins that of Rachel, just as the tears of the Bethlehem community did following Herod’s actions. We grieve every instance of suffering, displacement, and violence.

And we know that God grieves them, too. If our hearts break for these things, we can only imagine how much more God’s heart breaks. God doesn’t look away from the cruelties of our world, but comes to be with us in the most broken of places, and to overcome the greatest darkness with the light of love.

When Matthew says that Rachel is weeping for the children she has lost, he is quoting from the book of Jeremiah. And in the book of Jeremiah, Rachel’s cries do not go unanswered: God hears her and God responds with a word of comfort. “There is hope for your future,” says the Lord (Jeremiah 31:17).

There is hope. God’s reminder is that the grief is not the end of the story: there is a future. When the night seems impossibly dark, there is a dawn of tomorrow yet to come. That doesn’t mean there isn’t incredible pain today; it means that, through God, there is hope to hold on to, always. Loss and death are not the end: that truth is part of the incarnation story, too, because resurrection is part of the incarnation story.

The “why” questions of human suffering, loss, and injustice are still with us, as they have been for generations and generations.

All our human stories – past, present, and future – are tangled up with one another, in ways beyond what we can see from our perspective. And as we see in the incarnated Christ, God is not distant from any of it, but deeply present in all of it.

God’s presence is not an answer to all your questions; God’s presence is a constant in the midst of your questioning. In all the complexities and tragedies of the human story, God is there. Matthew’s story begins with Emmanuel, God become human to be with us, and the Gospel ends with these words, spoken by Jesus: “Remember, I am with you always…”

Amen.

We are sentinels on the lookout for signs of God’s presence in the world, and we joyfully share the good news of Christ’s presence with the world.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Nativity of Our Lord
Texts: Isaiah 52:1-3, 6-10; John 1:1-14

Even though we spend four weeks of Advent getting ready for Christmas, it’s hard to really feel ready when Christmas actually gets here. It’s hard to take in the true meaning of this day. Maybe it’s because December is so full of holiday festivities and time seems to speed up as the month goes on. Or maybe it’s because the message of the incarnation gets lost amidst the cultural messages about Christmas.

But set all that aside for a moment, and hear this incredibly good news again: the light of Christ is here, dispelling all the world’s darkness. The light of Christ is here! This is what you’ve been waiting and watching for all Advent. Are you ready for it? What will you do with this news?

If you need a model for how to respond to long-awaited good news, you can look to the Isaiah text we read this morning.

In Isaiah’s context, Israel has been invaded and conquered by a foreign empire, Babylon. The Babylonians have destroyed the holy city of Jerusalem and forcibly exiled many of the Israelite people. Beyond the sheer physical destruction of this war, the people are also suffering spiritually: they’re afraid that God has rejected and abandoned them.

There are some, though, who are hopeful that God will still come and save them. Like sentinels, they keep waiting and watching for a word from God.

Sentinels were in charge of the city’s protection. They stood watch through the long nights, peering into the dark, hoping for dawn. Others could rest in safety because the sentinels were on guard. If the enemy arrived, they would sound the alarm and raise the city from sleep. But they hoped that, instead of attack, they would see deliverance. So they waited.

To be clear: the ancient Israelites waited for God a lot longer than four weeks. They waited for generations.

But eventually, a herald arrived bearing a message from God. Having traveled hundreds of miles over mountainous terrain, the messenger is too tired to manage more than succinct sentences. The Hebrew conveys just single words: “Peace,” “Good News” “Salvation”! This is God’s word for the beleaguered Israelites! Can you imagine how it would have felt to receive this news of victory after so many  years of waiting?

This means the end of war, the end of exile. This means return and rebuilding. It had looked like all was lost, but now this messenger proclaims that God still reigns. No enemy, not even Babylon, is strong enough to defeat God.

Now, the sentinels are ready to respond to this good news. They raise their voices, but instead of calling the people to battle as they’d expected, they call the people to celebration: “Wake up! Get dressed, get going! God is here!” For so many years, their plea had been, “O come and ransom captive Israel,” but now they cry, “Rejoice! Rejoice!” What has been subjugated is made free. What has been broken is made whole. God has spoken, and God’s word proclaims liberation.

The sentinels don’t just tell the good news; they sing it, as loudly and joyfully as they can. Their song is so persuasive that even the ruins of Jerusalem find a voice and join the chorus, and that music can be heard even to the ends of the earth. Everyone everywhere will know that God has been faithful.

Now that’s how you respond to good news: You join all of creation in a mighty anthem of praise to God! You sing a song so joyful that it brings ruined places to life.

This Christmas morning, we’re a long way from ancient Israel, but there are still so many ruined places in our world, even in our own hearts. Babylon, the imperial enemy of the Israelites has long since turned to dust. But, other oppressive empires have arisen in its place throughout the centuries. Other peoples have been exiled. Other nations have faced war. The powers of evil still threaten. The question is still asked in the darkness: Has God abandoned us? Will God come for us?

But, like Isaiah’s sentinels, you have received a message of good news in the midst of a hurting world: God has not abandoned you, and God has come for you, bringing peace, goodness, and salvation!

God has come in a surprising and unexpected way, to be sure. God has come as a baby, the word made flesh as John says, a living, breathing person who dwelt among us and showed us the face of God.

That person brought life and light for all people, even though the world rejected him. Even the enemies of sin and death are not strong enough to defeat God, and no amount of darkness can overcome the light of Christ. Nothing can ever separate you from the love of the Triune God. Emmanuel, God-with-us, means God with all of us, God everywhere, forever. What good news!

So go share this good news!

The promise of the incarnation isn’t only about Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem all those years ago. Christ is still coming into the world, this and every day. All of creation is “charged with the grandeur of God,” as the poet says.¹ God’s presence is everywhere.

You are the sentinels on the lookout for signs of that presence. And when you find it, you are the ones who call out to everyone: “Wake up! See that God is here! And here! And here!”

Do not stay silent: let your words and your actions proclaim what God has done for you. Let your life embody God’s shalom. You have seen God’s face in the person of Jesus, so now you are called to live with the same compassion that Jesus did. You are sent out to do that work of healing and liberating, to be part of God’s mission to bring wholeness and freedom to all people in all places. God’s mission set in motion here at Christmas, with a tiny baby, salvation in the most unlikely way.

You’re ready for this news: you know what to do in response. You celebrate it! You give praise to God with your whole heart, with your most joyful song. The waiting can feel long, but the good news always arrives. God always shows up. God’s love always wins.

Believe that this good news is for you and for all creation: God is here, with you always, and God is bringing you peace, goodness, and salvation. Go bear that news to the world.

Amen.

1. This is a line from Gerard Manley Hopkins’ poem “God’s Grandeur.”

Mary smuggled God, smuggled Love Incarnate, into the world in her own body. Now you can, too, until Love has brought all things into God’s heart.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Eve of the Nativity of Our Lord
Texts: Luke 2:1-20; but using 1 Corinthians 13 and John 1 and Genesis 1 as the core.

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

Love is patient. love is kind.

Love is not envious . . . or boastful . . . or arrogant . . . or rude.

Love does not insist on its own way; love isn’t irritable or resentful.

Love doesn’t rejoice in wrongdoing – love rejoices in the truth.

Love bears all things, trusts all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never ends. (1 Corinthians 13:4-8a)

But that means:

Love is extremely vulnerable. Love gets taken advantage of.

Love will not fight fire with fire, so love will get burned.

Love will not use force against force, power against power, so love will be hurt, sometimes even killed.

So: if you are the Triune God, a being whose identity is relationship, whose breath is love within yourself, between Father, Son, and Spirit, whose life together is one and yet three, lived in a dance of love, and you long to share that love, what do you do?

You take a great risk and open a space within your life, your dance, your love, for a universe.

In creating all things, God made room within the Triune dance for a rich, diverse, ancient, and awesome beauty, room for stars and galaxies, creatures and dark matter, planets and comets, water and earth and fire and air, a universe beyond our imagining.

And God said, “this is good.” And the plan we have heard is that all along, from that first “this is good,” the Triune God hoped to draw this universe, this creation, even this tiny planet, into the life of God, into the dance.

Love, patient, kind, never-ending, would be the song the universe would sing in harmony with the Creator.

But in this, another great risk couldn’t be avoided.

For love to be what it is in God’s heart, it must be freely given and received, chosen and lived. If Love at its center will not force its own way, then this universe must be given freedom to be. To choose. To live.

Even if that universe, or even just one species on one tiny planet on the edge, decided not to love, not to join the song, not to enter the dance, this was the only way love as the Triune God lives it could be truly love for the creation, too. The dance is what it is, and must be freely chosen.

So, as witnesses of faith have spoken for millennia, have written in our holy Scripture, God continues to reach out to draw all creation, all things, into God’s heart, God’s life. To join the dance of love.

But – and this is really important for you tonight – what will God do with those who refuse the dance, who turn from the love? Who put up walls of hatred and division against their own people? Who build systems to crush some of God’s children while benefiting others? Who live lives that seem only interested in themselves, not in joining the dance of God, the dance of creation, the dance of love?

How could the Triune God, not willing to break the way of love, break through walls, and dismantle systems, and draw back into God’s heart a species that seemingly doesn’t want to be there?

Well, God does what we humans have learned to do in the same situation: God sneaks in.

Even in our broken world, life finds a way in where it seems blocked. People sneak things across borders, sneak people across. Things are hidden, brought in, and revealed. We learned this from God.

Because from the beginning of our human existence, when it was clear we were not going to love each other or God, God started sneaking in. Talking to individual people and revealing love and mercy. Abraham and Sarah, Moses, the prophets. God found ways to get the word into the world.

But tonight we rejoice at the fullness of God’s plan here. If we would not be drawn into God’s heart, God would have to enter our world in person. To show Love’s goodness by sharing our existence. To be a face, a voice, a Love we could follow back to God.

In short, as a wise theologian has said, “Mary smuggled God into the world in her own body.” ¹

Mary smuggled God in. And God, as we have said, is love. Patience, kindness, joy, endurance, hopefulness, truth, without ending. Mary smuggled the Triune Love into the world in her own body. And that changed everything.

Because if you are the Triune God who made all things, you know how those things work.

You know that single drops of water can wear great canyons out of the hardest stone. That a tiny seed stuck in the crack of the greatest wall will grow a plant that will break that wall apart. That if even the life and love of God were absorbed in the power of death, that heart of life and love would break death itself apart into nothing.

So, Mary smuggled God into the world in her own body. And suddenly love’s inside the wall, a part of the system, sneaking into hearts and minds, and changing them. Being that seed growing inside the wall and eventually breaking it apart, that bug in the system that eventually brings it to its knees. Even ending death.

In this baby, God, Love Incarnate, smuggled never-ending patience, kindness, joy, truth, endurance, hope, humility, into a world to plant those seeds. So that such love would grow and eventually win over this species of God’s children, and bring this planet into the great dance of the universe in God.

So, my friends, what do you want to do with this grace?

Our brother Paul of Tarsus heard the song and sang us the shape of this Triune Love in words we can understand. And even live. Patience. Kindness. Joy. No arrogance, no boasting. Just truth, and trust, and never-ending, enduring, love.

Might you be willing to smuggle God into the world in your own body yourself?

It’s risky, of course. Love is vulnerable, can be hurt. You might get taken advantage of. But your holy and Triune God says, “join the club – that’s what happens for me, and will for you.”

But in this mystery of God, when you smuggle God in, Love becomes Incarnate, embodied, in you, and starts cracking everything open in this world that seeks to crush it. You become part of God’s underground, God’s secret, hidden, work, that keeps popping up in all sorts of inconvenient ways for the powers that seek to stop it.

Until even this planet, and this species of God’s children, join the great dance of God’s Love.

Like Mary, all God needs from you is a yes.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

¹ A profound line borrowed with thanks from my dear friend, the Rev. Dr. Will Healy, whose wisdom has blessed me for years, and with thanks to God for his forty years of faithful ministry as he retires this Christmastide.

You are needed by God for the Incarnation of God’s love into the world, maybe in ways that seem small, but are still challenging to you: don’t be afraid, then. God is with you.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Fourth Sunday of Advent, year A
Texts: Matthew 1:18-25; Isaiah 7:10-16

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

Maybe . . . maybe you also need to take Joseph of Nazareth seriously. ¹

It’s not obvious that you should. Joseph is barely in the Gospels. Only Matthew gives any part of his point of view, and after the escape to Egypt, Joseph disappears. Except for when his twelve-year old son says, “you’re not my real father” after being absent for three days.

Joseph isn’t the one Mary’s first-born son called the greatest ever to be born of a woman. That’s the great forerunner of the Messiah, John the Baptist. Joseph isn’t asked to carry the Savior of the world in his own body, and become beloved to two millennia of people. That would be Mary, the Theotokos, the one who bears God into the world.

But Joseph is worthy of your serious attention, nonetheless.

Hear again the greeting from God’s angelic messenger in Joseph’s dream.

“Do not be afraid,” the angel said. Pretty common greeting. God’s angels often say this. Mary heard it at the beginning. So did the Bethlehem shepherds. Jesus essentially said “don’t be afraid” to John the Baptist last week. But Mary and John had critical jobs they were asked to do for God’s mission, big jobs that certainly could frighten. The shepherds were about to see a terrifying mass of angels in the sky.

What fear did the angel want Joseph to put aside? “Don’t be afraid to get married,” the angel said. That’s it. Go ahead and take Mary as your wife. It’s an anti-climactic mission compared to the others. Marry this woman, and don’t be afraid of that.

Joseph’s job in the Triune God’s entering human life is to be a husband. To provide for this mother and this child. To protect them, even from hateful kings. Over the years, the Church has called Joseph of Nazareth “the guardian.” That was the job.

And yet, and this is what you need to notice, he still was told not to be afraid of this calling.

That’s not as easy as it sounds.

Trusting God enough to follow God’s call, trusting that all will be well, even in your confusion or fear, isn’t easy. King Ahaz of Judah couldn’t do it. Or didn’t want to. As we heard a couple weeks ago, he was wicked, and didn’t worship the God of Israel. But Isaiah still told the king, as he trembled in fear under the threat of Assyria and anxiety over the northern alliance, “ask the God Who Is for a sign. Trust God will be with you. Don’t be afraid.” Ahaz refuses.

Isaiah gives him a sign anyway. “Immanuel,” Isaiah says. A child will be born with a name which means “God-with-us.” God is with you, Ahaz, even though you’re a terrible king and a wicked person. God will protect Judah, and before a child can be born and weaned, this political crisis will be over.

Joseph was also asked to set aside his fear and trust God.

Marriage wasn’t what he was really afraid of. He was engaged to Mary, after all.

But in light of Mary’s pregnancy, he faced shame and scandal and humiliation among his fellow townspeople. He faced the loss of his hopes and expectations that he would have a quiet life, working his trade, raising children to carry his name and his bloodline to the next generation. There was plenty to fear.

And even if they had more children, which Scripture says they did, he would never have a first-born son with Mary, and with this particular child he’d always be in a supporting role. A side player. Just there to protect and keep safe, and, we hope, to love. Mary would be called Mother of God. “Father of God” wasn’t Joseph’s call.

Joseph’s call diminished his expected role as father and head of the family, and, hardest of all, required him to believe Mary’s story about the pregnancy. That great pain hovered behind all this.

But of course, his role was critical. Mary needed to give birth safely. This child, God-with-us, would be vulnerable for years and needed to be fed and clothed and cared for and kept safe until he could do what he needed to do. A poor, single mother, without means of support, fending for herself and her child in the world is never a safe reality. Joseph’s role, small as it was, was absolutely necessary for God.

That’s what Joseph needed to trust. To set aside his fear about.

That’s why Joseph of Nazareth is so important to you.

Here’s what Joseph is for you: someone who does a critical job for God, only it’s one that’s barely noticed, that to the world looks unimportant, that might even cause embarrassment or sadness, that needs a change of expectations.

But it was also a job only Joseph could do. In this whole story, only one person was engaged to Mary, chosen for him by his family and hers. No one on this planet was in Joseph’s position to be guardian for her and for this baby.

Joseph asks you a simple question: what if you’re like me, and there’s something that only you are suited for, something God needs for only you to be and do as God’s Christ in the world? And what if it’s not very important? What if it seems insignificant? What if it means sacrifices for you? What if it’s being the person in your family and among your friends who guards the love of God, makes sure it’s revealed and lived in your life? Would you be willing to do that?

Now can you understand the angel’s greeting: “Don’t be afraid”?

God will ask you to do something today, or tomorrow, that will cost you in some way, but that only you can do. Maybe your expectations about how your life will go, or what you deserve will have to change. Maybe it will be inconvenient, or make you fear embarrassment, or be really challenging.

Maybe you won’t ever get an angel visit – or even an angel in a dream – though some certainly have experienced that, even to this day, and perhaps even in this community. But God gets the message through, always, and the call, always.

And always, God’s message to you is: “don’t be afraid to do this. To be this.” God’s message to Joseph (and to Ahaz, if he’d have listened), and to you, is “I am with you.” Emmanuel. My Spirit is in you, giving you courage and hope, to do what I need you to do.

And therefore, all will be well. Even if it’s sometimes hard to see that can be true.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

¹ Borrowed from the opening line of Vicar Bristol Reading’s powerful sermon from last week, 3 Advent A, with thanks. Go read it. Better yet, watch the video at the link below. – J. C.
https://www.mountolivechurch.org/2019/12/15/impossible/ 

John the Baptist’s example shows us that faithful commitment to Christ means trusting and serving God even when you’re uncertain how things will turn out.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Third Sunday of Advent, year A
Texts: Isaiah 35:1-10, Matthew 11:2-11

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

You need to take John the Baptist seriously.

Yes, I’m talking about the guy who lived in the wild, wore animal skins and foraged for food. I’m talking about the guy who went around shouting about winnowing forks, impending wrath, and baptism by fire. You need to take him seriously.

Too often John is portrayed as some kind of social aberration, a madman who behaved the way he did because he was unhinged. But John was a prophet, a sage, a truth-speaker. He was one of many people in his day who understood that an ascetic life in the wilderness could foster deep spiritual wisdom.

He was widely known and well respected. He wasn’t crazy. He was disciplined; he was zealous. He was committed to his mission, and his mission was to point to Jesus Christ.

John gave everything for that mission. He staked his career, his reputation, even his life, on the truth of Jesus Christ. At the point in Matthew’s Gospel that we read this morning, John has been imprisoned by King Herod, who will eventually execute him. John’s ministry was ending as Jesus’ ministry was beginning.

That means that John, the great forerunner of Christ, did not get to experience Jesus’ ministry for himself. He did not hear Jesus’ teachings, witness Jesus’ healings. He was not there when Jesus died on a cross, or when Jesus conquered death.

Although he didn’t see these things himself, John continually insisted that Jesus was the promised Messiah. He believed that Jesus was Emmanuel, God come to earth.

Yet despite this profound trust in who Jesus was, John was still afraid. He was afraid that he’d led people in the wrong direction, pointed to the wrong person. While he was in prison, John had heard stories about what Jesus was up to, and they didn’t always make sense to him. They didn’t always fit his expectations. John had given everything for Jesus, but he was still uncertain.

So he sent a desperate message asking Jesus, “Are you the one, or are we to wait for another?” Facing the end of his life, John wondered whether or not he’d gotten it right. He just wanted to be sure.

Jesus responded that he was bringing healing and liberation for all people, especially those who struggle the most.

The way Jesus described his ministry echoes ancient words from the prophet Isaiah. We heard those words this morning. Isaiah’s vision paints a picture of the new life that is possible through the Messiah.

It is a transformation so complete that it’s like the harsh Judean desert turning into a lush oasis. Plants can grow, animals can thrive. The very landscape itself becomes an expression of joy! People who are weak in body find strength. Those who suffer in spirit find healing. There are no barriers to keep people from flourishing. And this notoriously dangerous wilderness is now made safe for everyone. Anyone can find their way through. No one gets lost. No one gets hurt. This is how Isaiah imagines the miraculous restoration God brings: it is total social and ecological renewal.

It may be difficult for you here this morning, in the land of 10,000 lakes (currently 10,000 frozen lakes), to grasp just how incredible this vision of a blooming desert would have sounded in its original context.

But you know exactly what it’s like to hear a vision of peace and harmony for the world and think, “No way. That’s impossible.”

A community in which no one is afraid and everyone is safe. That seems impossible.
A time when suffering minds and bodies are healed seems impossible.
A place where all people are welcomed seems impossible.
A landscape in which all species of plants and animals can thrive seems impossible.

When we look around our world, we don’t see an oasis. We still see the metaphorical desert.

We see gun violence and hate crimes that are devastatingly common, millions of people who lack access to adequate healthcare, institutions entrenched in racism and prejudice, habitat loss and climate change that are decimating biodiversity.

Will God in Christ really transform all this?

If you have asked this question, then know that you are not alone. Long ago, someone asked this same question from a prison cell: “Are you the one who will save us, or not, Jesus? Because, right now, to me, it seems impossible.”

If this is your prayer, then know that you pray alongside John, that courageous prophet who gave everything he had for the sake of the Gospel, even though he couldn’t see the ending of everything he’d worked for. In the midst of his uncertainty, in the midst of his fear, he believed that God could still – somehow – bring restoration through Christ. He held on to the vision of a desert in bloom, even though he hadn’t yet experienced it.

You can hold on to that vision, too. That vision was given to you for a time such as this.
A time when you trust God but you’re still not sure how things will work out.
A time when you are committed to the work of the Gospel, but you’re overwhelmed by all the hurt in the world.
A time when you look back on a life of faithfulness but still experience doubt.

This is why you need to take John the Baptist seriously: Because his example shows that faithful commitment to Christ does not mean you’re not afraid: it means you trust God in the midst of your fear. You rely on God’s promises even before you have seen them be fully realized. You don’t have to have all the answers before you join God’s mission. You offer your life in service to the Gospel, as John did, and you keep pointing to Christ.

Because your skills, your voice, and your witness are needed. You are a part of the restoration that God is working in the world. The God you trust has also entrusted you to be the hands and feet of Christ.

And when you’re afraid and change seems impossible, you can come back to this good news: you’re putting your trust in a God who makes the impossible possible,
a God who makes a way where there is no way, like water in the desert;
a God who brings good news to the poor;
a God who comforts the suffering;
a God who lifts up the lowly, who provides for the hungry, who brings the dead to life.

You’re trusting a God who keeps promises, even when they’re beyond your lifetime. God can see the end of the journey, even when you can’t. And God goes with you every step of the way, even through the desert.

Amen.

You are filled with the Spirit, anointed by God, filled with wisdom, understanding, and all those gifts of the Spirit, so that you might live as Christ and bring about God’s reign of peace.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Second Sunday of Advent, year A
Texts: Isaiah 11:1-10; Matthew 3:1-12; Romans 15:4-13

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

Judah was in a terrible situation.

Now nearly three hundred years after David’s great kingdom split in two, the northern kingdom, Israel, was pressuring Judah to join an alliance to resist the great empire Assyria, an empire which eventually destroyed the northern kingdom. The heir to David’s throne, Ahaz, was wicked, didn’t worship the true God, even burned up one of his sons as a sacrifice, and wasn’t capable of leading well in this crisis. David’s family, the tree of Jesse, had seemingly come to an end, at least in terms of worthy kings. The tree looked about to be cut off, left as a stump.

But Isaiah declared a dead stump isn’t always dead. A shoot, a new growth, would grow out of that stump, a faithful and righteous ruler in David’s line was coming. One filled with God’s Spirit, like David. The spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of God, the spirit of delight, would be in this Davidic ruler.

And peace would come from this ruler’s reign. Natural enemies would live in peace and quietness together. The poor would receive justice. The meek would receive fair and equal treatment.

Now, Ahaz’ son, Hezekiah, was faithful and righteous, and a good ruler, and perhaps Judah saw him as the fulfillment of this prophetic promise. David’s tree wasn’t fully rotten and dead, after all.

But about 700 years later, the disciples of Jesus of Nazareth, risen from the dead after his brutal execution, did a bold thing with these words.

They said: Jesus is the shoot from the stump. The Davidic kingship had completely died out by Jesus’ day, a true dead stump. Jesus, of David’s family, was humiliated and crucified. Truly dead. Yet now he was and is alive, raised. Life from death, just like the green shoot.

And the Spirit of God was clearly upon him. If anyone had the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of God, the spirit of joy, it was Jesus.

Isaiah’s peaceable kingdom lived in him, too. He lived non-violently, preached peace, and even let his own people kill him rather than lift a weapon. He proclaimed God’s love and mercy, and showed it in his own suffering and death for the sake of the world. In Jesus they saw a glimpse of this new reign of God. Just as David and all his line were anointed God’s servants, literally God’s Christs, God’s Messiahs, so too was Jesus, they believed. It all made sense. So the Church boldly claimed these verses for the Christ, the Son of God, and so we still do.

But pay attention, because we’re about to do something even more wondrously audacious.

This morning we will take an eight-month old baby girl and claim this Messianic promise applies to her. That she’s our sign of God’s new life in a dying world.

We’ll first baptize her with water in the Triune Name, as Jesus commanded. That’s not as shocking.

But then we will lay hands on her head and pray, “Sustain her with the gift of your Holy Spirit: the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord, the spirit of joy in your presence.” Yes. We will claim those words are hers.

We’ll then anoint her head with olive oil, just like King David himself. She will become an anointed one of God, just like King David. Just like Jesus. Literally a Messiah. A Christ.

We claim this whole prophecy for Isla today. As God’s anointed, she’ll be filled with God’s Spirit, be a messenger of peace, justice, mercy. Her life will be a sign, a glimpse, of God’s reign of peace and love.

This is a world changing claim we’re making on this little girl, saying, “She is now Christ for us and for this world, God’s anointed.” Little wonder we ask her parents to raise her in the faith, teach her about God, bring her to this worshipping community, give her God’s Scriptures. We need them to, because we also declare that our hope for Isla is that she’ll learn to “trust God, proclaim Christ through word and deed, care for others and the world God made, and work for justice and peace.” She’ll also need her sponsors’ prayers and support, and the love and prayers of all of you for what we claim on her.

But here’s a blessing for Isla: she’s not the only Christ. Not by a long shot.

I can’t begin to count how many heads I’ve laid my hands upon and prayed this prayer at baptism, how many heads I’ve laid my hands upon and prayed this prayer at confirmation. And every time we do the liturgy of affirmation of baptism, we pray this prophetic promise onto ourselves.

Isla joins you in the great community of the anointed ones of God, the Christs God sends into the world. Because, as John the Baptist said today, the baptism Jesus came to bring is a baptism of the Holy Spirit and of fire. Jesus’ Baptism is Pentecost.

At Pentecost, you see that Jesus is just the first step. Now the Spirit of God is upon you, too, and the fire of God’s breath and life in your heart, just as at the beginning. Not John’s destroying fire, but a purifying, cleansing fire that makes you new, and a soul-igniting fire that sends you out as Christ into the world yourself.

Now Isla joins the Pentecost people. We won’t send her out just yet. She needs to live under the promises and care of her parents and sponsors and of us, her community in faith.

But you, and I, we’re sent out now. What does that mean for you?

To claim Isaiah’s Messianic promise as your own means to trust that God’s Spirit is actually in you, as promised. As given in your baptism. It is to trust that you are, in fact, God’s Anointed.

Can you look into your heart and your life for signs that the Spirit of God has come to you? Moments where God’s wisdom gave you clarity, where understanding of who you were and what God was calling you to do came? Moments where you were able to give wise counsel to others as God’s anointed? Where you felt the might of God’s powerful love, the strength of grace and forgiveness within you?

Consider what you know now about God, God’s love, God’s call to you, Spirit-knowledge, that you didn’t know last year. Or ten years ago. Can you see moments when the Holy Spirit has lifted up your heart to God, filled you with joy and delight?

Sometimes you can’t see these gifts at the time, but you can look back on the path and notice what God has done. You can hold Isaiah’s words in your heart and keep watch. Now that you know you’ve had this claimed as a promise for you, you can see it better.

And then you can also live it better.

The Spirit comes, Isaiah says, and John the Baptist agrees, to turn God’s people into people of peace, and justice, and mercy. To change predators into compassionate companions. To create a world where those who are poor finally find justice, and those who are not powerful find equity and fairness.

That’s what the wisdom and understanding, the counsel and might, the knowledge and fear of God, the joy in God’s presence, is for: that you actually live as Christ Jesus lived, and bear this peaceable reign of God in your very body, your voice, your hands, your heart, your life.

Oh, but you say, that can’t be me. I’m really not that important.

I don’t think I have any of those attributes. I certainly can’t do all the things Jesus did. Changing all that’s wrong with this world seems just as impossible as, I don’t know, a baby playing with a venomous snake and being safe, or . . . a wolf napping with a lamb.

But did you not hear? Even if something is as dead as an old stump, God can bring a shoot of new life and nourish the world. Even if the Son of God is dead and gone on a cross, God can raise him up to a glorious life that pours healing into the world.

Stumps can still live. Death can’t stop God’s life. God’s Spirit can do all this in you, and more. And Paul promises you this today: the power of the Holy Spirit will fill you with joy, and peace, and an abundance of hope. Along with all of Isaiah’s promises.

Be audacious, as audacious as we are with little Isla today, and claim this as your truth. Because it already has been declared about you, the Holy Spirit has already been given you, and as we prayed to begin this liturgy, God is about to stir up your heart to live as God’s Christ.

So, as Jesus said last week, wake up. Things are going to start getting interesting for you. And the world is going to be saved along with it.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

 

God is the one waiting this Advent, waiting for you to come and be the Christ for the world you were anointed to be.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The First Sunday of Advent, year A
Texts: Isaiah 2:1-5; Romans 13:11-14; Matthew 24:36-44

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

What if God’s the one waiting for an Advent?

Hoping, praying for the coming of Christ into this world to bring wholeness and life?

Every year we take this season to remember we are always waiting for God’s coming again in Christ. We talk about what it means to be patient for God’s healing of all things.

But what if the Triune God is the one who waits, the patient one?

What if we’ve been looking at Advent backwards?

Isaiah’s pretty clear about this.

In days to come, the prophet says, weapons of war will be reshaped into tools for growing, tools for nurturing, tools for feeding. Weapons of any kind won’t be needed, and the earth’s peoples won’t even learn how to do war.

It’s a beautiful promise. You just might not have heard clearly how it happens, that’s all.

Isaiah actually proclaims that all the world’s peoples will come to God’s mountain to learn a new way. God’s teaching will go out from there and spread over the world. All people will learn what it is to walk in God’s way. And the prophet concludes with this urgent invitation: “Come, let us walk in the light of the God Who Is!”

We’ve been waiting for God to bring about the promised peace on earth, good will to all, and we’ve missed this whole truth: it is God who is waiting for us. This Advent, and every day, the holy and Triune God is praying, “please come. Christ is needed in the world, you anointed ones of mine. Come, my Christs, and learn from me, let me shape you in my love, so I can send you out for the blessing of my creation.”

It’s time we took the Scriptures seriously regarding God’s promised hope for this world.

It’s almost never God’s divine intervention. It’s always God choosing people, drawing them close, showing them the light of God’s way, and sending them out.

And you and I, who are baptized in Christ, we even claim that title. You are anointed in baptism, which means you are literally Christ. One in Christ Jesus’ death and resurrection. That’s not just so you know where you’re going after you die. If you are one with Christ, you are joined into the life of the Triune God.

And if you are Christ, the Anointed of God, there’s only one job to do: go out and be the Anointed of God.

And the Triune God is waiting, hoping that you, that I will finally hear what the plan is and act on it.

It’s time for salvation now, Paul says. “So, put on the Lord Jesus Christ.”

The divisions in the Roman churches between Jewish Christians and Gentile Christians can only be healed when they all realize that they are Christ, they are, as Paul says to them earlier, people who are transformed by the renewing of their minds, rescued from their enmity with God, and made into one body. Made into Christ. That’s not a symbol, or a cute way to think of the Church. Christ is a real body, Paul believes, made up of real people who are in fact, Christ themselves.

So “be clothed in Christ,” Paul literally says. Put Christ on as a garment, be covered by the anointing of God, and you will be changed.

This whole section of Romans, of which we only got a small part today, shows what that looks like:

You will love your neighbor, because you are Christ.

You will be kind to those weaker in the faith, because you are Christ.

You will not insist on your own way, because you are Christ.

You will rejoice in hope, you will be patient in suffering, because you are Christ.

You will live in harmony with others, you will live peaceably with all, because you are Christ.

Even if no one else does, you need to be who you are, Paul says. You are needed to overcome the evil of this world with your good. Because you are Christ.

The thing is, God needs weapons changed to tools for feeding. But God needs you to do it. It’s what you’re anointed for.

Every time I lash out at someone, every time you cause another person pain on behalf of your own comfort, we’re just making more weapons.

We may not have the ability to end war on a global scale, though we can certainly work for that, vote for that, urge our leaders toward that goal. But none of that matters if we don’t look at the swords and spears in our own hands, our violent thought, our violent words, our violent actions, and recognize that they must be changed. Jesus clearly preached and lived a way of non-violence, but he did that in a tradition that stretches back at least as far as these words of Isaiah.

Everything that we do matters. Your life affects others. Even things that you do that you aren’t aware hurt others have their impact. And if it harms anyone, then as Christ, you have to ask if you are loving your neighbor as yourself, if you are being peaceable, if you are living a transformed life.

It’s complicated, and it’s inconvenient. More and more people are making you and me aware of how what we do hurts others in so many ways. We’re confronted daily with how our lives are literally weaponized, even without our wanting it to be so. I just recently decided I don’t think I can do business with a company anymore because of the horrible work conditions they subject their workers to. As Christ, as God’s anointed, I’ve decided there are other companies I can use, and until I’m convinced otherwise, I can’t participate in their practices.

God’s waiting, for me, for you, because only you and I can set down our weapons and make them into tools for healing and life.

Only you and I can pay attention to our lives, our words, our actions, consider how our neighbor is affected, and then ask, “what should I do?” This is how together we will end the sin of racism, the evil of sexism, the criminal reality that people starve to death in a world with tons of food thrown away every day, and this is how we will end every problem that harms and even kills God’s beloved children.

And this is why Jesus doesn’t really care about when the world will end. As the Son of God, he says today he has no idea when it will happen. Don’t care about that, Jesus says. Just stay awake, do the job you’ve been called to do, and let the end be what it is whenever it is.

This is why you were anointed. It’s why we were all anointed.

So what are you waiting for?

If God’s plan can’t happen without you, what does that mean for your Advent prayer? If you’ve been called into your life, your family, your community, anointed in baptism for what you and only you can do as Christ, what does that mean for your Advent prayer?

You certainly can continue to pray, “Come, Lord Jesus.” That prayer is answered every moment of your day, every place you are: with your life, and the lives of all God’s anointed.

In our Eucharistic Prayer every week we pray both, “Come, Lord Jesus,” and “Come, Holy Spirit.” And in the prayer for the Spirit we always ask God’s Spirit to move in us and change us in some way. To empower us to be a part of God’s healing and life. To give us what we need to answer God’s patient but urgent Advent prayer, to be what God is waiting for.

The second coming of Christ is you. It’s me. We are who we’ve been waiting for. And with the courage of the Spirit flowing in you, there’s no limit to what God can do for the world through you.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen