You are the light, the anointed one, sent in the Spirit to drive away the shadows and darkness of this world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Third Sunday of Advent, year B
Texts: John 1:6-8, 19-28; Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11; with references to Matthew 5:14-16

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

John the Evangelist spends a lot of time telling us what John the Baptizer is not.

John is not the Light no darkness can overcome, the evangelist says, he came to testify to the Light. When asked who he was, the evangelist says John made it clear. Are you the Messiah? No. Are you Elijah? No. Are you the prophet promised in Deuteronomy to come as a new Moses? No.

No, John said. I’m the one crying in the wilderness, prepare the way of God. I’m not worthy to tie Messiah’s shoes. The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world is coming, and I’m nothing like that One.

We can relate. Today Isaiah proclaims the job description of the One who is coming, the One the Spirit of God fills: this One will bring good news to the oppressed, bind up the brokenhearted, proclaim liberty and release to the captives, and comfort all who mourn. This is the Light of the World the evangelist declares that can overcome all darkness and shadows, the Light who reveals the heart of God.

That doesn’t sound like us. If asked, we’d probably join John and say “you’re thinking of someone else, Jesus, the Christ, God-with-us. We can tell you about him, testify to him. But we’re not anything like that.”

And yet, we are. You are.

You are the light of the world, Jesus says. (Matthew 5:14) Do you think he doesn’t know you?

You’re anointed, too. In Hebrew, that’s “Messiah,” in Greek, “Christ.” Maybe you’re not “The Messiah,” capital The, capital M, but you are messiah, anointed, Christ, in your baptism. You were given light at your baptism and told to carry it into the world to shine Christ’s light into all corners.

Which means along with Isaiah, and with Jesus, who first claimed these words in his sermon in his hometown, you, also, can say, “The Spirit of God is upon me, because God-Who-Is has anointed me to bring good news to the oppressed, anointed me to bind up the brokenhearted, anointed me to proclaim liberty and release to the captives, anointed me to comfort all who mourn.”

That’s your job, too. Because you . . . are the light of the world.

And what might happen if you shone your light on the pain of this world?

What good news could you bring to those who are oppressed? You could find your own place in the task to make this a society of justice for all, of equality and fairness for all, especially those who are crushed by our society because of who they are, whether their gender or color or class or education or ethnicity or whatever.

How could you bind up those who are brokenhearted? Your kindness could knit mourning and broken hearts together in healing. And you can be grace to those brokenhearted who have caused or received so much pain they feel trapped in it, and perpetuate it, and help end that cycle of revenge with your grace.

What freedom can you proclaim to those who are captive to systems beyond their control, and what liberty to those imprisoned and thrown away? You could support leaders who seek to dismantle unjust systems, and bring freedom to those trapped in them, and leaders who seek to heal society rather than build bigger walls and stronger prisons.

You are the light of the world, Jesus says. In your baptism into Christ you’re not just carrying God’s light into the world, you are God’s light. You can do all these things with the Spirit’s grace.

Because you don’t want to hide your light under a basket, Jesus also says.

It’s easy to assume you’re not the one God needs. That you can’t do much with your life and abilities. That the problems of the world are too much. But the Spirit of God has anointed you, Isaiah says, your baptism says, made you Christ. The light of God is in you, and already has been shining out on your world through you and making a difference, if you just look back and see.

So don’t worry so much about what you can’t do. Christ is far more interested in what you can, with the Spirit’s grace.

There’s a marvel about light that we sing at every Easter Vigil.

In the great Exsultet which begins the liturgy, we sing of the wonder of the light of the Paschal Candle which – unlike most things we know – isn’t diminished when it’s divided, it’s expanded. The light of a single candle will break the darkness of a huge room. But if someone places their candle next to that wick and ignites it, the light is greater, not less. The more candles that are lighted, the brighter the room is. So you can carry your light and light others with it, and let that stream again and again into the world. Until the dawn breaks over this world for all God’s children, and creatures, and creations.

You’ve known this since you were a child, by the way. You learned to sing, “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine. All around the neighborhood. All over the world.”

It turns out it’s not a children’s song. It’s the song of the Triune God’s dreams for you. Go ahead and sing it, and see where God’s Light will shine through you next.

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

The Triune God is patiently waiting for you, because you are a critical part of God’s restoration of all things.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Second Sunday of Advent, year B
Texts: 2 Peter 3:8-15a; Isaiah 40:1-11; Mark 1:1-8

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 are you waiting for from God?

Are you hoping for what Isaiah promises, that God will restore a broken world? These exiles lost everything, including their homes, suffered invasion and destruction, and now receive God’s comfort. A road will be made to bring them home. So they’re told to hope for God to come and shepherd God’s people, gather them up, feed them, and lead them home.

Are you waiting for that kind of restoration from God? It might feel like an empty promise. To hear that God is coming to make things new, and live in a world that’s spiraling into madness, with threats of fascist dictators here, and devastating war and violence in the Middle East and Africa and Ukraine.

How long can we reasonably wait for this restoration? Isn’t urging patience just pushing off legitimate concerns and anxiety about our world into a “never will happen” future?

But maybe you’re waiting for God to do what 2nd Peter expects: wipe the slate clean.

There’s clearly some hope in the early Church for God to make a new heavens and a new earth, in their own lifetimes. Jesus spoke of it last week, Peter does again today. Some hoped God would start over to make all things new.

So there are apocalyptic promises of stars falling, moon and sun darkening, or, as we heard today, the heavens set ablaze and destroyed and the elements melted with fire. Surely if the world is as buried in problems and suffering as it seems, this is worth hoping for. Just start over, God.

But this is a beautiful creation, too. There’s still so much love happening in our homes, our city, our nation, our world, so much grace and hope. There’s still beauty and wonder in the trees and stars and flowers and lakes and whales. Why should God destroy all this just because we’ve made a mess of things?

And if this is our hope, urging patience means ignoring all the problems, avoiding trying to make a difference. If we’re getting a whole new thing, why does it matter?

And into the middle of these two visions steps our old friend John the Baptizer.

Right on cue, Second Sunday of Advent, here he is on the banks of the Jordan. And his call is to you. To me. To all. Repent – that’s John’s invitation. John is the great U-turn sign of Advent. He stands in our road, waving his arms, saying “you need to turn around, you’re on a path that leads to death.”

He’s tied to Isaiah’s promise of a straight, flat road prepared for God’s coming. But his view of the road is that it’s your path needs straightening, my path. John says that God’s Anointed is nearly here. But if we’re going in the wrong direction, we might miss it.

So John has no patience whatsoever. His urgency is unmistakeable: come to the water and wash your old life away, and turn around. Forgiveness of the past path is a part of it. But as John makes clear in Matthew and Luke, the new path you’re invited to walk involves changed behavior, changed lives. Fruit of repentance, like giving away your second coat, helping your neighbor, carrying their burden.

But John talking of repentance next to Isaiah and 2nd Peter opens up a wonder and awe we rarely consider.

Listen carefully. The One truly waiting in Advent, the Patient One, is the Triune God.

God is patiently waiting, our second reading says, for exactly what John called for: for all to come to repentance, to turn around their lives, find God’s path of wholeness and healing for them and the world. God isn’t slow to keep the promise of restoration. It’s God’s patience that somehow all might turn around that explains why we’re still here.

This clears up a lot. If God is going to destroy all and start over, then, as Jesus said last week, we have no idea of the time. We certainly have no say whether God chooses this or not. So we can safely ignore this whole apocalyptic possibility. If it happens, it happens. All we can do, Jesus said, is be about our work.

Which leads us back to Isaiah, and God’s restoration of a broken, suffering world. Because – and we know this well from Jesus – if God is going to care for all the sheep, gather them up, feed them, bring them home, it will be through you and me and all who follow the way of Christ. And God patiently waits for you and me to repent, turn around, find God’s path that leads to all God’s sheep safe and secure.

And if this is so, consider, Peter says, how you will live. Consider, John says, if you need to turn.

Neither gives a lot of helpful detail. You’ll have to sort out that in your own life. Peter asks what kind of lives of holiness and godliness you might live, finding a way to be at peace. How might your life be more tuned to God’s way, God’s love, God’s healing? Peter asks.

John’s call to turn around is its own answer. What in your life harms you, hurts someone else, harms the world? What habits, ways, plans, finances, opinions, keep you from freely being a part of God’s restoration? If Jesus needs you to feed God’s sheep, what turn-arounds will you need today, tomorrow, next week, to do that?

John also promises you’ll have help. His water baptism was symbolic washing, reminding people of their repentance. But the Anointed One of God baptizes with the Holy Spirit, he says. God’s Spirit lives in you, gives you insight into what turns to make on the path, sometimes even calls out in John’s voice that you’re going the wrong way. Listen for that voice, that Wisdom. But also trust this: you have the strength of God’s Spirit to help you in this turning, too. You’re not doing this alone.

The Triune God’s playing a long game here.

A thousand years is like a day to God, and a day like a thousand years. We’re not remotely capable of such patience, to lovingly wait and watch as each child of God chooses whether to turn around, to turn into God’s way or not. So it can seem as if nothing is ever getting better.

But if you’re waiting for God to act, you have your answer. God’s waiting on you. So, dear ones, consider what kind of person you want to be in leading a life of holiness and godliness. God loves you so deeply, so permanently, so inviolably, that God will patiently wait for you to decide what you will do about this world, about your life. But God also knows how amazing it will be when you and I and every child of God turn and join in the way of restoration and healing God is making.

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

You are beloved to God, safe in the Triune God’s love now and always; will you help the children of God who are in need of love themselves?

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Reign of Christ, last Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 34 A
Texts: Matthew 25:31-46; Ezekiel 34:11-24

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

If you’re looking for hope in these parables, this is a hard one.

We’ve been hearing Jesus’ parables for six months, and you know what I’m going to say: after Gethsemane, the cross, and rising from the dead, Christ doesn’t do these judgments. So all that is left is invitation to follow, to serve, to share, to plant, to love, to be generous.

But this one feels different in a few ways. You can’t hope the main character isn’t Christ. It’s not a sower, or a vineyard owner, or a master, or a bridegroom. Jesus refers to himself as Son-of-Man and king.

The problem isn’t minor, either, like forgetfulness, or fearful hiding of treasure, or struggling to grow. Here real people suffer from real needs, and some people don’t take care of them.

And the judgment isn’t vague. Not outer darkness, or wedding doors slammed, or vineyards taken away and given to someone else. The threat here is eternal fire prepared for the devil and the devil’s angels.

It’s not really even a parable. Apart from the metaphor of shepherd and flock, this is direct teaching. Do what Christ wants in this life or you’re going to be in the torment of fire in the next. God seems to agree in Ezekiel. Some of God’s sheep have gotten fat, using up all the resources, and polluting what’s left so that a whole lot of God’s sheep are suffering, sick, hungry. Sound familiar to us? And God wants to punish the fat sheep.

Now, if this parable is as bad as it seems, there’s also clarity.

The only problem here is lack of knowledge. Everyone in this story is a subject of Christ, and every one clearly wanted to serve Christ in their life. Some cared for those who were hungry and thirsty, those who lacked clothes or were strangers, those sick and imprisoned. Some didn’t.

But all were surprised to realize that Christ was that hungry, thirsty, naked, alien, sick, imprisoned person. Those on the left would have helped had they known that. The others didn’t need to know in order to help.

So, worst case scenario, if I’m wrong and there’s a judgment day coming where you’ll be separated out because of how you did, Jesus has given you a great gift. Unlike everyone else in this parable, now you know that Christ is in anyone who struggles or is in need. If you want to serve Christ, serve them. If you want to see Christ, see them. Take care of them. There’s no need to fear the fire or any judgment. You have all you need to pass with flying colors and go to the right. Done.

But does the Shepherd King have any say over how you understand this teaching?

At the end of God’s condemnation in Ezekiel, God promises to raise up a Shepherd who will care for the sheep and feed them. But surprisingly, all the sheep – even the fat polluters – are under that care. And the Shepherd and Sovereign in the parable who returns at the end of time and deals with the sheep and goats in the flock is the promised Shepherd of Ezekiel, Christ Jesus, God-with-us.

Since this Sovereign, this Shepherd, is the one telling the parable, and the one dying and rising, and the one returning at the end of time, does Christ get to decide what’s really going to happen? Because if so, then you’re going to have to start seeing this parable the way I’ve been telling you you can. The way Christ does.

You see, Christ the Good Shepherd consistently wants only two things.

Christ wants to have one flock, everyone together, no one lost. In Matthew 18 Jesus says even 99 isn’t enough, all 100 must be safe. It is not the will of his Father in heaven, he says, that a single one be lost. In John 12, Christ promises to draw all things into God’s life when he is lifted up on the cross. In John 10 the Good Shepherd promises that the flock is bigger than we can imagine, that there are sheep you and I don’t know. And there will be one flock and one Shepherd, he says. The whole creation is redeemed and loved by the Good Shepherd. No one goes into the eternal fire.

That’s the Shepherd’s will. So – does the Good Shepherd get what the Good Shepherd wants?

Also, Christ wants all the Triune God’s sheep to be healthy, fed, cared for, safe. So, changing Ezekiel, instead of wiping out the fat sheep, Christ asks the fat sheep to quit polluting and start caring for the thin sheep. It’s not about the separation, or the eternal fire. The Shepherd has lambs in pain, and needs his followers to provide for those who hunger and thirst, to clothe and shelter those exposed and vulnerable, to care for the sick and the imprisoned, to welcome the stranger.

Peter cursed his way to unfaithfulness in the midnight hours before Jesus’ death, three times swearing he’d never met Jesus. After Easter, Jesus gives him three more questions, asking, “do you love me?” Each time, when Peter said, “yes,” Jesus said, “feed my sheep. Take care of my lambs.”

That’s the Shepherd’s will. So – does the Good Shepherd get what the Good Shepherd wants?

And can you hold these two things together instead of being afraid?

First, that you are absolutely, indisputably, unquestionably safe in the love of the Triune God now and forever, no matter what. The Shepherd loves you and all people and all things, and will look for you whenever you’re lost, will always care for you and hold you and nothing – nothing – can snatch you or anything else out of the Shepherd’s grasp. Jesus promised. What if you lived your life trusting you were that loved, that safe?

And second, that you are needed. There are people who are starving, people who don’t have clean water. People without clothes or shelter, who are sick or imprisoned, who are strangers and don’t know who can help.

And all Christ your Good Shepherd wants is that if you can help, you will. You will take the love that is yours from God and share it. Use it. Be Christ to all in need.

Your Good Shepherd loves you, now and always, and has need of you. It’s that simple.

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