The only way people know of God’s love for the weak and faint and weary and lost and oppressed is through us: when we embody God’s love in the world. That’s the whole point of it all.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Fifth Sunday after Epiphany, year B
Texts: Isaiah 40:21-31; 1 Corinthians 9:16-23; Mark 1:29-39

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

“Have you not known? Have you not heard?”

How should we hear Isaiah’s tone? Frustrated? (How do you not know this already?) Or excited, breathless? (Have you heard? Do you know?)

Isaiah asks if we’ve heard and known two huge, seemingly opposing, things about God. First, God is the unequalled creator of all, sitting above the heavens, to whom the stars are like a fabric God can spread wherever needed.

Following that, the second “have you not known?” is hard to grasp. Have you not heard, Isaiah says, that God cares for the most vulnerable? God gives power to the faint, strength to the powerless. Those who wait for God will lose their weariness, will run, be lifted up like eagles.

God is so great we’re tiny grasshoppers, Isaiah says. Yet God notices when we stumble, when we’re so exhausted we can’t move. This is the consistent witness of the Hebrew Scriptures: however great and mighty God is, God sees all pain and suffering and struggle of God’s people, and comes in love, giving life and hope and healing.

But what tone of voice should we use to hear Isaiah? Surprise, that people still don’t know this truth about God? Or maybe sadness: “Haven’t you heard? Don’t you know?”

Because, given how God’s people, people bearing Christ’s name, act in the world today, it’s fair to wonder how anyone would know Isaiah’s astonishing good news about God.

We despair almost daily at the witness we hear from Christians today.

People bearing Christ’s name vote enthusiastically for child molesters and defend sexual predators, claiming they and the people they vote for are godly people. People bearing Christ’s name work overtime to create laws that crush the poor, laws that destroy families in the name of safe borders, laws that benefit wealthy white men while depriving the neediest of essentials for living. We make the sign of the cross on ourselves, it hangs prominently in our worship, yet people still use this sign of God’s undying love as a sign of hatred and terror, still burn it on neighbors’ lawns, use it to frighten those of different faiths.

If you’re looking for Christians to help, this is a country where you’d better not be weak, or weary, or faint, or exhausted; it’s not a country where you’d want to be a stranger, or to be different from others.

How could anyone know? How could anyone hear? That’s the more sensible question. As people of faith, who bear Christ’s name, it’s deeply painful to see the kind of God that our fellow Christians controlling our current political climate trumpet across our country. If people who knew nothing about God listened only to the loudest Christians in our country, they’d run in the opposite direction.

But listen, my sisters and brothers: there is still great hope.

See our Gospel today: the Incarnate Son of God acts just as Isaiah says to expect. If Isaiah’s God came and took human flesh, it would look just like Jesus. Healing a mother-in-law of fever. Standing in the midst of a huge crowd after sundown, healing all who come.

In Jesus, God’s Christ, we see the truth about God’s love for the weak and weary and broken of this world.

And notice something else: Jesus doesn’t work alone.

Remember a couple weeks ago, a little earlier in chapter 1 of Mark, we heard Jesus promise to teach his followers to fish for people? Look what they’re doing. They’ve got it down.

The disciples know Simon Peter’s mother-in-law is suffering, so they tell God-with-us, who heals her. That’s not all. Sometimes crowds find Jesus, just show up where he is. Not here, not in Capernaum that day. Andrew and John, Simon and James, whoever else is following, they bring people to Jesus.

As soon as Sabbath was over, “they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons,” Mark says. It’s these followers who witness to the healing love of God in the world, who bring those who suffer to the God who cares, the God who heals.

This is the way God will bring healing, and the only way people can know, through us.

It’s the way of Christ, from the beginning. Paul today talks about how he puts himself in the shoes of whomever he’s reaching, whether they’re Jews or Greeks, strong in faith or weak, to better reach them. He might be a little over-confident that he can be all things to all people, but he’s doing the job we’re all called to be and do: bring people to God’s love and healing.

And these folks don’t just hand them off to Jesus. These first followers became God’s embodied love themselves as they traveled the land after Pentecost. They didn’t proclaim God’s good news in Christ to gain members of churches. They proclaimed God’s love because they wanted everyone to know, everyone to hear. They wanted everyone to be able to answer Isaiah’s questions with yes.

God lifts up with wings like eagles through our love and care. God strengthens the powerless through our vulnerable giving and loving. God raises up the exhausted, feeds the hungry, heals the sick, breaks the systems that oppress, through us. That’s how people hear and know.

This is why we are anointed as Christs ourselves. It’s the whole point.

What we despair seeing done in the name of Christ today has been done by Christians for a long time.

But there have also always, always, been Christs in the world living the love of Christ at the same time, through whom people heard and knew of God’s love. Christians invented the Holocaust and executed it, but there were also Christs throughout Europe embodying the sacrificial love of God who stood against such hate. We might not be at that level yet in our country, but we all still have this calling, this gift: you are Christ. We are Christ. We can make a difference.

And we already have. People have heard and known God’s truth already, through us. Through many others around the world. Through you others have learned God’s compassion, have experienced God’s healing, have found welcome, and rest, and nourishment, and hope.

So we’re not starting today. We’ve been at this awhile.

But today, like every time we worship, we are re-centered in Christ’s love, we’re lifted up and our weariness is taken away. We leave here refreshed and ready for another week of being the embodied love of God in our broken world.

There are always going to be plenty of people who take their own hate and fear and prejudice and try to bless it with the name of God.

Thanks be to God, there are also lots of us, here and across this world, who try to do the opposite. Who have learned the joy of self-giving love, of vulnerability, of sharing. Who have been so shaped by God’s forgiveness and grace that it flows out of our words and actions. We fail sometimes. We might not be as loud. We don’t make the headlines (but God never meant for that, anyway).

We just go out with the heart and eyes and hands and love of God, and start spreading the news in our bodies, voices, and lives that the God of all time and space actually cares about the least, the weak, the weary. And when we show up, as Christ, that’s when people will know. That’s how they’ll hear.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

 

In Luke’s Gospel, the Holy Spirit starts her work through a few chosen people. It’s easy to envy these people their clarity – of course Simeon could be faithful when the Spirit was directing him! – but that same Spirit is filling and guiding us now.

Vicar Jessica Christy
Presentation of Our Lord
Text: Luke 2:22-40

I wonder if Simeon woke up that morning knowing that the day had finally come. When the Holy Spirit tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Now, today is the day,” what was that like? Was it a voice? A vision? A sensation in his bones? What does it feel like to be grabbed by the Spirit?

Because Luke tells us that the Spirit had a special role in Simeon’s life. Not just that, he says it three times in a row: the Spirit rests on Simeon, she reveals to him that he will see the messiah in his lifetime, and when the time comes, she guides his steps to the temple. Simeon has been eagerly waiting for the Christ, but he has been living with the Holy Spirit for a long time. Because of the Spirit, he can live in the marvelous hope that he will witness God’s salvation. Through the Spirit’s eyes, he can see that a poor young couple is God’s chosen family, and that their ordinary baby will deliver his people. And it could only be the movement of the Spirit that builds such instant trust between Mary and Simeon, that she places her newborn into the arms of a stranger. The Spirit transforms his life, his sight, his relationships. Because the Spirit is upon him, Simeon can see God’s reality shining through the surface of the world around him, and that changes everything.

But what the Spirit reveals to Simeon isn’t entirely joy and light. He sees that the arc of this baby’s life isn’t going to be an easy one. He blesses the little family, and then he confirms what Mary already knows: her child is going to bring turmoil into this world. Mighty people are going to be brought low, and lowly people are going to be lifted up. Jesus is going to reveal things that the world would rather keep hidden, and so people are going to resist him, resent him. None of this is news, but then Simeon goes farther. He tells Mary that this turmoil is going to touch her. A sword is going to pierce her soul. This precious, promised baby is going to bring her unimaginable pain. Simeon has seen God’s salvation, and yet he knows that the world isn’t quite saved. Not yet.

This could be reason for mourning or fear, and yet Simeon rejoices, because by the Spirit, he sees through the pain to what lies beyond. There’s going to be hurt and confusion, but out of those wounds will come God’s salvation. He isn’t going to see God’s plan fulfilled, but he’s seen its beginning, and he knows how it will end: with the glory of Israel, the illumination of the whole world, and the healing of the nations. Whatever conflict is coming, the Spirit has shown him that conflict will not have the last word, and so he can depart in peace.

I envy Simeon’s clarity. He’s righteous, and patient, and so full of hope. God has given him this amazing gift of experiencing life under the Spirit’s guidance. Not only does he get to see Christ, but he knows that he’s seeing Christ, and he knows exactly what Christ represents. He’s given such perfect insight into God’s plan, and he fulfills his role so faithfully. And it’s a beautiful story, but it’s a hard one to live up to. Simeon feels like one of those untouchable saints. Yes, of course he knows what to do – the Holy Spirit is giving him personal instructions. Where does that leave the rest of us who are waiting and hoping to see Christ? Because in this fallen world, God’s will for us isn’t always so obvious. We don’t always recognize Christ’s presence, or respond when the Spirit is pushing us to get up and go. When we see all the disorder and ill-will around us, we might falter in our hope that we will ever witness God’s salvation. Not all of us will be able to face death with such certainty or such joy. So what does Simeon’s clear vision have to do with all of us who still see God through a mirror, dimly?

But the good news is that Simeon’s gift isn’t anything special. He might look exceptional, but that’s not the story that Luke tells. Throughout Luke’s Gospel, the Holy Spirit is hard at work transforming the world – and she does start with certain chosen individuals. She fills Mary and John the Baptist. She leads Simeon to the temple. She greets Jesus at his baptism, guides him through the wilderness, and enlivens his teaching. But then, at Pentecost, everything changes. The promise that God made to the prophet Joel is fulfilled: “I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh.” Tongues of fire appear over the apostles, and through them, the Spirit fills the assembled crowd. And from there, she spreads like wildfire. When Peter is speaking to a group of Gentiles in Caesarea, she falls on everyone who hears the word. The circumcised believers are astounded by this, but Peter asks them, “Can anyone withhold the water for baptizing these people who have received the Holy Spirit just as we have?” The Holy Spirit is setting the whole world ablaze, and nothing is going to stand in her way.

That same Spirit is in us now. We might not experience that in the same way as Simeon, but our gift is no less than his gift, and we are just as empowered to see this world through Spirit-filled eyes. Like Simeon, we can see through this world’s appearances to recognize God within. Where the world shows us despair, the Spirit shows us hope. Where the world shows us strangers, the Spirit shows us beloved siblings. Where the world shows us the least of these, the Spirit shows us Christ. And where the world shows us death, the Spirit shows us abundant new life. We’re still waiting for God’s plan to be fulfilled, but like Simeon, we know how this story ends. We know that peace and life and love win. That’s not what our senses tell us. That’s not what politics or science or even common sense say, but it’s what our faith tells us, and by the Spirit, we can believe that it’s really true. And that means that we get to carry that truth, that reality into the world.

Like the candles that we carried in tonight, we all bear the Spirit’s flame.  Even if we doubt, or falter, or fail to recognize God’s call, the Spirit has been given to each of us, and she will never leave us behind. Even now, she is filling us with the light of Christ for all the world to see. So with Simeon, we can proclaim: look, Christ is here. God is now healing the world. Come and see for yourself. Come and find God’s light. Come and find God’s peace.

Christ’s authority isn’t imposed or enforced: it is in his very being as God-with-us, the God who astonishingly and foolishly and improbably loves us beyond death.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Fourth Sunday after Epiphany, year B
Text: Mark 1:21-28

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

“He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him. What authority!”

These good folks in Capernaum hear an authority in Jesus’ teaching they’ve never heard before. He spoke in their synagogue and they were astounded.

But then, when the unclean spirit possessing this man recognized the same authority, and obeyed Jesus, these people were amazed beyond description. They “kept on asking one another, ‘What is this?’” You can imagine the buzz, neighbor turning to neighbor, trying to comprehend this new authority they’re witnessing.

But notice they say, “He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him.” “Even” they obey. That implies others recognize Jesus’ authority, too, and are also obeying.

That doesn’t seem to be very common among Christians these days. Obedience isn’t a word we often use.

Do you remember the last time you obeyed someone?

Did something because someone told you to? We certainly tell children to obey lots of authorities, parents, teachers. Did we resent obeying so much when we were young that we don’t want to talk about it as adults? Even the law is disregarded by more and more. So many believe obedience is required only when there’s a risk of being caught in disobedience.

But it also seems rare to hear people in the church decide a course of action by saying simply, “this is what God commands, and we need to obey.” It certainly happens. Maybe many of us here have that as part of our decision-making. But to listen to the way Christians often deliberate, one might think obedience was the least of our concerns.

Maybe the problem is that we don’t permit anyone, not even God, to have ultimate authority over us. Because these people of Capernaum knew what they saw: it was Jesus’ authority, whatever that was, that the unclean spirits obeyed.

But do we like “authority” any better than “obedience”?

Does anyone have authority over your life? Anyone who’s word you must obey? Obviously if you work, your supervisor. But in your daily life?

Law and the government are institutions of authority we are privileged to create and change by election and citizen involvement. But they largely work as authority only because they can back their commands with threats of punishment. Even when we stand up to their authority on moral grounds, when the institutions act unjustly, or do evil, there is a good chance we’ll face punishment.

The Church used to be an authority, with temporal and eternal punishment as the threat. But in the last century many Christians have set aside the Church, whatever they mean by that, as ultimate authority over their actions. Centuries of abuse of that authority certainly contributed to this. But there’s also this modern idea that we each are our own authority, the buck stops with each of us and no one else, and no one can ultimately tell us what to do. That’s effectively ended the Church’s ability to act as authority in people’s lives.

And there’s still the question of God’s authority over us. Must God also step aside in the face of our self-interest, our desire to do what we want, our need to be who we are without change? Must God also be included among those whom we say cannot tell us what to do?

Of course, our answer should be no. As believers, we acknowledge the Triune God has authority over us.

But do we live that way?

It’s hard to separate the authority of God from the authority of the Church. For centuries we’ve been taught they were one and the same. Those in the Church who make pronouncements over people’s lives usually cloak them with God’s authority. So when people start rejecting the Church’s right to tell them what to do, God’s authority also gets left behind.

But Martin Luther taught us that each of us is given God’s Word in its written form, the Scriptures, that we might hear it ourselves, and follow God’s living Word, Christ Jesus our Savior.

The people of Capernaum heard, and were astounded, and agreed Jesus had authority. His authority over unclean spirits was recognized by those spirits and they obeyed him. This story suggests that the others at least were considering their own obedience to this new authority. Maybe we can start there, too.

Now, Mark significantly doesn’t describe Jesus’ authority by explaining his methods of teaching or his style.

That suggests Jesus’ authority came from inside him, not from his rhetoric or technique. Something he carried within himself that was evident when he spoke, when he read Scripture, when he declared God’s will for the people.

We know the rest of the story, so we know what was within him. Jesus was and is God-with-us, the Son of the Triune God in human flesh, who set aside all divine power and glory to become one of us, become family with us. The God who faced death on the cross, rose from the dead, and has begun a new life in the Spirit in all who believe and follow.

Jesus’ authority didn’t come from threats of violence and punishment, either. It also didn’t come from a legal status or a government position. It wasn’t imposed on others. Jesus’ authority was simply who he was. God-with-us, who loved humanity enough to come and be with us, even to the point of dying for love of us.

So Jesus’ authority is the authority of a forgiveness that rejection cannot stop. It is the authority of light that darkness cannot overcome. It is the authority of love that hatred cannot extinguish. It is the authority of life that death cannot destroy.

This is the authority who says, “Follow me.” Obey me.

Because that’s what “follow me” asks. In Christ we see the astonishing, improbable, foolish love of the Triune God for the whole creation, for each of us. That is Christ’s authority. And that authority now says, “Follow me.”

We know what we are asked to do, what obedience is desired. We know the commands. Love. Forgive. Trust God, not wealth or power. Set aside anger. Seek reconciliation. Care for those in need, don’t walk by on the other side. We’ve known what following means for a long time. What’s left for us today is the question of whether we’ll obey.

Maybe, like those unclean spirits, we needed the proper authority to inspire our obedience.

We’ve grown weary of institutions and people seeking to control us, make us do things, weary of such so-called authority.

But now that we see true authority in our midst, Christ’s authority, it’s a different question. Because if the Light that darkness cannot overcome is calling us to follow, when we obey, we’ll find ourselves walking in light, not in darkness. If the Love no hatred can extinguish is calling us to follow, when we obey, we’ll find ourselves bathed in love, shaped in love, not hate. If the Life no death can destroy is calling us to follow, when we obey, we’ll find life in a world that looks like death is winning.

You see, once you recognize the true authority of divine, undying love standing before you, you realize obedience is the path to joy and abundance of life, not a path of drudgery or fear.

This is truly a new teaching, what Jesus offers, with authority. Even unclean spirits obey. What will we do?

In the name of Jesus.  Amen