The Holy Spirit descends and remains upon Christ at his baptism. In our sacramental lives and the life of our city, this pattern continues to this day. God is continually coming down to stay.

Vicar Erik C. Nelson
January 18, 2026
Texts: Isaiah 49:1-7; 1 Corinthians 1:1-9; John 1:29-42

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

I’ve probably talked about it too much, but in case you haven’t heard, I went to Sweden last summer. And it will surprise no one to hear that I demanded we go into every church we found. One of my favorites was a small village church on the west coast, a church built by my ancestors and their neighbors in the mid-1800s.

In that church, above the pulpit was something familiar but also unfamiliar. They had a bird hanging there, a symbol of the Holy Spirit descending on the preacher. But instead of being all white, like we might expect, it was painted gray and black, with green and purple around the neck.

I asked the steward why they had a pigeon hanging above the pulpit instead of a dove, and she explained that in Swedish, like many other languages, they only have one word for pigeons and doves, because they’re actually the same animal.

When my ancestors heard today’s gospel reading in their heart language, they heard the Holy Spirit descending in the form of a pigeon, the beautiful, clumsy, iridescent gray and black, green and purple birds that lived among them.

As I thought about that, I fell in love with the idea of the Holy Spirit as a pigeon, not a dove.

When we think of a dove, we think of something we see at weddings and graduations, flying away from us. A dove is a pure, white thing, that flies high up in the air, above us all.

When we think of pigeons, it’s very different. Pigeons have lived among us for thousands of years, so this is where they want to be — down here, on the ground, with us. They live with us in the muck and mess of the world.

In our Gospel reading, the main thing the Holy Spirit does is come down and stay. The Holy Spirit doesn’t float above us, staying far off. The Holy Spirit comes down and joins Jesus in the muddy, mucky water of the Jordan River.

That’s what the Holy Spirit always does. That’s what God does. The central message of Christianity is that God comes down to us and stays.

But on days like today, in weeks like the last few, it can be hard to know where God is among us. It’s difficult to see the Holy Spirit descending and remaining.

In some ways, I do see the Holy Spirit in our city. In the midst of our collective heartbreak, I see the Holy Spirit as the community comes together to march for justice and liberation. I hear the Holy Spirit in whistles and horns that warn neighbors to seek shelter. I see the Holy Spirit descending and remaining as volunteers bring groceries to people in hiding. 

But if I’m honest, I want more than that. I want to see God come down in bigger ways. I want to see giant hands coming down from heaven to save us. I wish we didn’t have to march for justice. I wish our neighbors didn’t have to hide. I want God to act quickly and boldly to save us.

I want to believe what Paul says in 1 Corinthians, that we are not lacking in any gift as we wait for the revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ. I want to believe that God will strengthen us to the end.

Even as we wait for God, I do believe that God is faithful.

I see God’s faithfulness in the community coming together in acts of love and service. I see God’s faithfulness in the care this congregation has for each other and their neighbors. I see God’s faithfulness in God’s presence in this place.

A couple weeks ago, on the day our neighbor Renee was shot, I came here to pray in the church. I was moved to tears, thinking about our belief that Christ becomes truly present in this room, every time we gather for worship. Right there. (pointing at the spot where the presider stands to distribute the Body.)

Not in a metaphorical or symbolic way. But we believe that he is really present here. He’s here, in this neighborhood that has experienced far more than its fair share of pain.

Seven blocks from where George Floyd was killed by his government. Six blocks from where Renee Good was killed by her government. In this room, Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God, killed by his government, comes to us. Right here.

Into the most difficult of places, God is always coming to us to stay.

The baptism in the Jordan is the messy beginning of Jesus’s ministry. A ministry that we know can only lead one place: the cross. The ways of this world that demand purity and uniformity, submission and compliance, will always clash with God’s way.

Isaiah reminds us that God loves outsiders. God loves the one “deeply despised, abhorred by the nations.” The one regarded as a “slave of rulers” is the one God uses to cast down the monarchs and chieftains.

God shows us strength through vulnerability, salvation through sacrifice. Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God, takes away the sin of the world, not through conquest with angel armies or heavenly occupation, but in his love poured out for us in his innocent suffering and death.

God in Christ has already reached his arm down from heaven to save us, stretching them out on the cross. Showing us an embrace wide enough to take in the whole world.

On the cross, Christ took all our pain, all our suffering, all our heavy burdens upon himself.

And in his dying, he overcame death. He passed through the pain and the grief and the weight of this world, and overturned it all. So now we have the promise that wherever we encounter death, God has new life waiting. Resurrection is coming.

As Jesus says to the disciples, “come and see.” I say come and see new life in the middle of a land under imperial occupation. In a city that knows too much tragedy, in the heartland of a rotting empire, eternal life springs forth.

New life springs forth in our sacramental life, as God comes down to us and stays with us. New life springs forth in the life of this city, as neighbors come together and sacrifice for each other, giving up their time, money, privilege, safety.

As followers of Jesus, there is no promise that our days will be easy. We have no guarantee of safety. But the promise we have is the promise that we are God’s beloved. The Holy Spirit has come down to us and remains with us now.

The Holy Spirit keeps coming down to us. Again and again and again.

And so, we live, filled with the Spirit. The Spirit whose iridescent beauty finds us in the muck and mud and mess and leads forever into new life.

Thanks be to God.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

On Reign of Christ Sunday, the church considers what it means to follow a crucified king. Jesus rules from the cross, extending his mercy and compassion to all. As followers of Christ, we reject all forms of violence and instead go out to serve.

Vicar Erik Nelson
The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 23 C
Texts: Jeremiah 23:1-6; Psalm 46; Colossians 1:11-20; Luke 23:33-43

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

Every Sunday, there’s something I notice that I don’t think many other people do.

In all the dozens of hours I’ve spent sitting right there, (point to my seat in the chancel) I’ve always looked up in the south chancel window, and looked for the ear.

Out of context, that ear in the stained glass seems totally random. But in context, it serves as a powerful object lesson.

This ear comes from Luke 22, the chapter directly preceding today’s Gospel reading. As the temple guards came to arrest Jesus, one of Jesus’ followers did something totally expected, totally natural. He wanted to defend Jesus. So he took out his sword and struck one of the attackers, a slave of the high priest, cutting off his ear.

Jesus’s response to this episode, though, tells us a lot about his identity as our ruler. He said, “no more of this!” picked up the ear, and healed the slave.

This episode is an example of what happens when we misunderstand what kind of king Jesus is, and what his reign looks like.

We often think Jesus needs us to take up swords to defend him. Sometimes these are literal swords, like the episode in the garden. But often we also see Christians tempted to take up the sword of the state or the sword of scripture to cast down their enemies.

But this is not the kind of leader Jesus is.

Jesus is a ruler whose reign is marked by tenderness and mercy. He loves his enemies and makes room at the table for everyone.

In Jeremiah, God is the one who gathers us up, mending our damage. In the Psalm, God breaks the bow and shatters the spear. In Luke 22, Jesus heals the slave’s ear.

And in Luke 23, Jesus gives us an even deeper insight into the reign of Christ, that is marked by forgiveness, compassion, and promise.

In the beginning of the reading, they take Jesus up to the place where criminals were taken to be killed. Of course, Jesus was not a criminal. He did nothing wrong.

But his life was a threat to his rulers. They saw the way he welcomed outsiders in, and went to the margins, and they heard him say that this was the way of God, his Father.

And this combination — claiming his identity as the Son of God, the long-awaited Savior-King, and challenging these old orthodoxies and strict binaries — led to the arrest and sham trial that got him killed.

As they took him to the hill and nailed him to the cross, they mocked him and jeered at him. All four Gospels tell us about the sign they made that said, “King of the Jews.” This was a funny joke to the Romans. They wanted to send the message that this is what happens when you challenge the empire.

And his response to that was only, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.”

Jesus knew that the world protects power at any cost. Jesus knew that his ministry that challenged unjust systems and structures would be met with deadly force by the ones with the most committed to maintaining those structures. 

We sometimes put the blame only on the religious leaders who handed him over to be executed. Or we point only at the Roman politicians and soldiers, as they were ones who actually carried out the killing.

But we don’t see the ways that our own systems today continue to crucify Jesus. The image of God is seen in every unhoused neighbor who shivers in the cold tonight. Christ is crucified again and again whenever we act with callousness and cruelty against other children of God.

And yet we hear Jesus say, in the face of such violence and cruelty, “Father forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.”

Jesus offers his killers — and us — forgiveness.

And in response to those grace-filled words, Jesus faces more cruelty. “He saved others; let him save himself. If he is the Messiah of God, God’s chosen one!” and, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!”

In the face of this mockery, Jesus was silent. Ironically, the things these soldiers said were true. Jesus could have saved himself. He could have called down armies of angels to defend him from death.

And yet he chose to stay there, refusing to inflict more violence, in a violent world, showing us a surprising, paradoxical image of God’s power. God’s love and power is shown to us most clearly in Christ dying for his friends.

The thing a bully wants most is a response. In his silence, Jesus didn’t give these soldiers what they wanted. In his silence, I hope these soldiers heard the shameful cruelty of their words.

In the face of our mockery, in response to our hard hearts, Jesus here gives us an opportunity to recommit ourselves to his way.

And in this last interaction, with the two other crucified people, Jesus shows us an image of his way… he shows us what his reign is like.

This first criminal continues the mockery, and in response to it, Jesus continues to be silent. 

The second criminal rebukes the first, confessing both his own sin, and Jesus’ innocence. His next line to Jesus, I think, reveals his guilty conscience, the deep shame he carried inside him.

He has faith that Jesus will enter into his kingdom, but he thinks he can’t come along. It’s not a kingdom for people like him. He says, “Jesus remember me,” because he thinks there’s no way he could deserve to be in that place. He could only be a memory.

But the way that Jesus responds overturns his expectations. He overturns our expectations. He shows us that the way of God, the reign of Christ, is marked by abundance and mercy. He tells him that today, you will be with him in Paradise.

Thank God that second criminal got to hear those words of life.

But my mind also goes to that first criminal. The one who, in the depths of his pain and anguish and grief, mocked Jesus.

I believe that those words of life were for both criminals hanging there. Those words of life were for the Roman soldiers who nailed him to the cross, and the religious leaders who ordered it. Those words of life are for us.

In his death, rising, and ascension, Christ broke the power of sin, death, and the devil.

In the midst of the crucifixion, Jesus remained the image of the invisible God. Our reading from Colossians tells us, “through Christ, God was pleased to reconcile to God’s own self all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of Christ’s cross.”

Thank God that we hear those words of life. We are reconciled to God. I tell you that today you will be with Christ in Paradise.

And it’s not because of any of our good works, and can’t be prevented by any of our wrongdoing. Before and beyond anything we do or don’t do, Jesus has told us that, “today you will be with me in Paradise.”

But thankfully, we don’t have to die today, in order to get there. In a few minutes, as we come forward to the table, to receive Christ’s body and blood, we will experience a moment with him in Paradise. 

But as we come to the table, we’re not meant to just stay here. We receive the body of Christ so that we might be the body of Christ in the world.

We come and receive Christ’s abundance that we might go and give from our abundance.

When we leave today, we bring Paradise with us. Every time we follow Christ’s example of forgiveness, compassion, and promise, eternity breaks into the everyday.

The reign of Christ is a now and not-yet thing. He reigns among us now. And he will come again to reign among us forever. All the wars will end. All the systems of oppression will be broken. All will be fed and warm and safe.

But we don’t have to wait until then to do the work. We can end conflict in our lives. We can work to overturn systems of oppression. And we can feed the hungry and clothe the naked and shelter the homeless now.

And in doing so, today, we will be with Christ in Paradise.

Thanks be to God.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.