Often we might feel hopeless when we look at the state of the world; but throughout time Wisdom has searched for her home and found it amidst similarly hopeful and bleak times. Wisdom has made her home in us and transforms our hearts and minds to see hope where it appears there is none.

Vicar Natalie Wussler
The Second Sunday of Christmas, years A, B, and C
Texts: Sirach 24:1-12; Wisdom 10:15-21; Ephesians 1:3-14; John 1:[1-9], 10-18

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

When we’re faced with hard times, conventional wisdom says to batten down the hatches. To disregard hope for restoration and goodness for all and to focus on what we had control over. 

Right now, that kind of wisdom makes sense. it doesn’t feel like there’s much hope for restoration and goodness. There’s not a lot of faith in our country. And everyday, trust in our fellow humans degrades more and more. Just look at our first few days of 2025 and the war and terrorism, the increasing violence and discrimination we bear witness to. We’re still anxiously anticipating the kinds of terrors our country will endure in the next 4 years and beyond. And each of us are still going through our own pains–like grief, loss, insecurities. We each are constantly being faced with lofty problems with no easy solutions, and we can start to feel powerless. Like the Israelites standing at the banks of the Red Sea, we’re terrified of the roaring waves of chaos and brokenness and sometimes see no way forward. It’s paralyzing and isolating and sometimes we just want to throw in the towel and give up. 

But that’s where God’s Wisdom comes in most powerfully. Because God’s Wisdom gives us the hope to take steps forward when the path is unclear. Wisdom helps us make sense of the world and how we play a role in its healing. Wisdom is a force that pushes us forward when it all feels like it’s too much, that makes a way where there appears to be no way. Wisdom gives us vision to see the world like God sees the world.

So it begs the question–how does God see the world? Going back in Sirach, Wisdom searched high and low to find a home, from the vaults of heaven to the depths of the abyss. No spot was a resting place until Wisdom found the Israelites in the wilderness, an underdog kind of people searching for their home, too, in a time where the threat of empires loomed large. These people were starting to understand who they were as God’s holy people, and getting it wrong more often than not. But Wisdom saw the Israelites as a worthy place to pitch a tent and the Spirit of God rested in the tabernacle, dwelt with the people, and poured out love.

And then, this Wisdom became flesh and dwelt as a person. God put on flesh. God dwelt, literally pitched a tent, amidst us. Tabernacling amongst the people in flesh as God once did in a tent in the wilderness. The Word and Wisdom of God, which existed with God at creation, became a human in a world that was broken, experiencing the crushing grip of the Roman empire, where the poor and vulnerable were marginalized. God saw this world for what it was–all its flaws and all its suffering, all its proclivities toward greed and violence, and still saw a world worth taking on flesh and all it means to be human; a world worth deep and personal love and sacrifice. And through living and dying as a human, Jesus made a way for the Holy Spirit to dwell within each of us. Out of God’s fullness and love for the us, we receive grace upon grace that is the Holy Spirit. Through our baptism, God freely gives us the Holy Spirit, who pitches her tent within us. And this same Wisdom that rested in the tabernacle and was enfleshed as Jesus now abides within each of us. In all our brokenness and suffering, in all the ways we believe we are unqualified bearers of God’s Spirit, in all the ways we believe we don’t measure up, God sees us as worthy homes for the Holy Spirit. We are each tabernacles of God’s Spirit and Wisdom, and everywhere we go, the Spirit and Wisdom of God also goes. 

Instead of giving up hope, Wisdom gives us hope. Despite all the brokenness we witness, Wisdom still sees people who are worth loving and who are worth the risk of living. And Wisdom chooses each of us to do this work. And when we let Wisdom change our hearts and our minds, we see this world, yes, for all its pains and its bleakness, but we also see people worth loving, we see places worth healing, and good work worth doing. As mini tabernacles, we are bearers of healing and love to our weary world. And just as the Word became flesh, each time you act in love, compassion, justice, you are now making simple words flesh. You’re embodying the Wisdom of God in your life, in this community. Wherever you pitch your tent and dwell, you are enfleshing God’s Wisdom and you are bearers of self-sacrificial love. You bring the reign of God we all seek a little bit closer.

And there will still be days that feel hopeless, days where it feels like the powers of evil, greed, and destruction have the upper hand. Days where we believe we aren’t good enough to be bearers of God’s love and Wisdom and days where the love we bear hurts. And on those days, we can rely on the Wisdom that’s made its home in us to carry us, to catch glimpses of hope, promising that the painful things are not the last things.

And in those moments we’ve been given this Holy community. It’s not a coincidence that the writer of Sirach says Wisdom’s glory is found in the midst of her people. We need each other. We need each other’s stories and we need to hear about the wisdom each of us have learned through our individual journeys of faith. These stories are sacred and they are medicine to a tired and weary soul. Our shared wisdom creates resilience. It gives us the vision to see the roaring seas in our way, and the hope to believe that a path will be made and that God will meet us there. And when we as communities full of wisdom come together, share our stories, and spur each other toward love, we become the enfleshed hope we all crave. A hope that can heal a world worth loving.

In the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

Jesus took on what it means to be human and all the beauty and pain associated with that. Jesus knows our pain and gives us permission to not hide from our humanity.

Vicar Natalie Wussler
Christmas Day
Texts: Isaiah 52:7-10; Psalm 98; Hebrews 1:1-4; John 1:1-14

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

Yesterday, we marveled at the baby born in the darkness of night. At the angels who sang songs of peace on earth. Of the shepherds who ran from their flocks to greet this infant, and the risky love that reverberates through this beloved Christmas story. And today, John gives something very different. “The word became flesh and lived among us” John says. These words aren’t just an interesting theological point that we can debate over. These words are world-altering reality. The Almighty and everliving God had spoken to people through angels, through kings, and prophets to connect with people. And now, God is getting personal. God didn’t send a messenger from afar to declare God’s word, nor did God show up as a transcendent spirit. The Word of God, who has had skin in this game since before time began, put on skin and reached out to us in a new way.

“And the Word became flesh,” John says. These four words are the wonder of Christmas. That Jesus, the very radiance and representation of God’s being, would put on flesh and become fully human. He was the visible expression of the invisible God, speaking to us in a language that we could understand, identifying with the frailties and tragedies of being human. God was getting up close by becoming a person. The omnipotent, in one instant, was breakable. God who was larger than the universe became an embryo that grew in a womb for 9ish months, amidst amniotic fluids, and was born as an infant. This word, the one who sustains the world, chose to be dependent on a young girl. And this holy and saving arm of God transformed into a baby’s grasping hand. Jesus took on everything that flesh entails, weariness, thirst, joy, and the full pallet of human emotions complete with laughter and tears. 

“And the Word lived among us.” Jesus dwelt in the world, “moved into the neighborhood,” as Eugene Peterson of the Message Bible translation says. Jesus was not just an observer of this human story. He fully stepped into our world–in this messy, painful, and beautiful world. This world hurt Jesus as it hurts many of us. He felt the pain of rejection and abandonment. Jesus knows the sting of death and grief. Jesus has been there. And now, we know God through the way the person of Jesus lived in the world, the people he loved, the stories he told, the gruesome human death he suffered, and the resurrection of his human body.

God was not afraid to be a human. But the same can’t always be said for us. Because in so many ways, we hide our humanity. We hide the things that make us look weak. We cover our wrinkles with anti-aging cream. We deny ourselves rest in favor of pushing through and getting a job done. And sometimes we’re not honest with ourselves about how hard life can be. Especially around this time of year, when families gather, Christmas lights shine in shades of neon, when radios blare holiday music that commands us to “have a Holly Jolly Christmas,” being honest with ourselves, with our pains is just that much more difficult. We fear exposing our shortcomings, and hide them away for no one else to see. We build up these walls that separate us from each other, and we all end up feeling like no one else knows our pain.

But God-made-flesh and dwelling with us says that we worship a God who knows all that makes us feel weak and knows the pain we want to keep close to the vest. Jesus looks at you in everything you go through and whispers “me too.” Jesus, being part of the trinity, takes his experience as a person and brings it into the heart of the Triune God. We have an empathetic God who gets us and all of the tragic, weird, and beautiful parts of being human.

If you are approaching this afternoon or this week anxious that you will not be accepted as you are, Jesus gets it.
If you are looking forward to leaving this place and spending your day in the warm embrace of loved ones, Jesus gets it.
If you are feeling alone or rejected this Christmas season, Jesus gets it.
If you are despairing at the state of the world, Jesus gets it.
If you are doubting if God is even listening to you, Jesus gets it.
Jesus has been there. 

This God-child we witnessed being born last night can relate to what we go through. We don’t have to hide ourselves. We can come out of the shadows and experience the light and healing that is found in the word-made-flesh. We can bring everything to God, Our pain, our brokenness, and our vulnerability., and trust that Jesus will meet us where we are, saying “me too” and walking with us all our days.

Last night, as the lights dimmed and the church was all shadows, one candle shined, and slowly, more candles lit and the room was brighter. We could see each other. And that’s what happens when we are honest with ourselves and each other. And as we are empowered by our vulnerable, empathetic God who weeps and laughs and is tangible, we can embrace the very human parts of ourselves and realize that the world needs those parts of us. This world needs our stories. So we can come out of hiding and live as our authentic selves. And we, too, can look through tears into the eyes of the other, be vulnerable, and whisper “me too,” and call each other out of hiding to assure each other that we are not alone. And no amount of secrecy, shame, or suppression can overcome the love that is shared when communities of people live in vulnerable authenticity and all are accepted with open arms. We can encourage each other and release God’s empathetic love for us into the world, one vulnerable moment at a time, following in the footsteps of the Word-Made-Flesh.

In the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

 

Joy overflows from God’s own heart, through us, and to the whole world. It’s always accessible to us. Joy is a way we can resist the powers of evil and darkness. 

Vicar Natalie Wussler
Third Sunday Of Advent, year C
Texts: Zephaniah 3:14-20; Isaiah 12:2-6; Philippians 4:4-7; Luke 3:7-18

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

“Rejoice in the Lord always, again I say rejoice!” 
“Shout aloud and sing for joy!” 
“Rejoice and exult with all your heart!”

Our scriptures sing praises full of joy that sound good to our weary hearts. When joy finds us, it is a welcome guest. It reminds us that there is good and love and beauty in this world. It gives us an abiding sense that we are loved and held as we go through life. Joy shows up in so many ways—in the love shared between friends and family, in a meal that reminds you of how good food can really be, in twinkling Christmas lights that color night sky, in our pets, in people acting with kindness to each other, in the nature, in that still small voice that shows up when it has no business to and assures us we’ll make it through whatever chaos we’re facing. Joy exposes a glimpse of God’s reign and fills us with a hope for the fullness of God’s presence on earth.

But joy is elusive and fleeting. Here one moment and gone the next. And as much as we want joy to be an ever-present guest at our table, it can often feel like a long-distant friend. And this world gives us more than enough reason to pay joy no mind as we go through the motions—surviving one heartache to the next. We are surrounded by evil and death and these glimpses of God’s reign on earth can become reminders of how far we are from it. We know God is working in the now, but we long to witness the restoration of all things that will happen in the not yet and we become weary in the waiting. We long to know a world without shame, without oppression or grief, without violence, without insecurity and sickness, without greed. We desire a world that is safe, one where all people live in peace, where everyone has what they need to lead abundant lives. But often that kind of world feels so far away from us, and so does joy. How can a world like ours ever rejoice?

Our texts are shining lights in our weariness. Because none of them are written when we’d expect joy to show up. Isaiah proclaims joy to Israelites around the time of the exile. Zephaniah spends the most of the book warning of God’s judgement and then pivots to promises of joy and deliverance in these last few verses of the book. And Paul writes to the Philippian church in prison but is completely assured in God’s love. Where is their joy found?

Zephaniah says the rejoicing begins in God’s own heart. “The LORD will rejoice over you!” “God will exult over you with loud singing!” We increase God’s joy. God delights in you and me, and all those who are chasing God’s path of love and mercy. God’s joy is overflowing and spills over to us. And we can lean on the Triune God to fill us up with this contagious joy, one that is not fleeting. It’s always near because God is always in our midst. God rejoices first and gathers people into God’s own heart and embraces everyone, even the outcast. No matter what this world says about you, and no matter what you are facing, God comes near to you and joy is always accessible to you.

“Rejoice in the Lord, always,” Paul says. Always. Joy, for Paul, doesn’t depend on what’s happening in our lives. Paul is a prisoner of the Roman empire, with death looming as an ever-present threat. And yet, he rejoices and does it “in the Lord.” Paul is drawing from the joy that begins in the heart of God and brings it to every part of his life. Paul’s joy is cultivated by the ways God has faithfully sustained him, most notably through people. For Paul, joy is not something we wait to happen to us. It’s an act of resistance against the powers of evil and death. It’s not about rose-colored glasses or finding silver linings. Joy does not negate our suffering, it sustains us through everything and says that our weariness does not have the final say. We can always carry joy with us because we’re rejoicing in the Triune God. And no matter what is happening around us, Paul says we always have reason to rejoice. Because we can turn to God in everything. This joy moves us to thanksgiving even when we don’t know what’s going to happen. Because we lead first with confidence that we will be supported and sustained in many and various ways by the One who is faithful. This joy nourishes us with the peace that surpasses all understanding and casts out fear, because we are drawn into a deeper relationship with God. This is the tenacious joy that gets people out of bed in the morning. It’s food for the journey, even on the hardest days.

“What, then, shall we do?” the crowds ask John the Baptist. And though John’s delivery about how to live a life of faith transformed by the Holy Spirit is harsh, his words give us a guide on what to do with our joy. Overflowing first from God’s heart through us, we pour out this tenacious joy into the whole world. And it can start simply, by sharing whatever you have, whether it’s a coat, food, words of encouragement, a shoulder to cry on, or even a smile shared with a stranger. With each small act of love increasing the joy in others until all people are able to bask in the joy of God.

In this season of Advent, we are a people who are waiting. Waiting for the fullness of God to be born in this world as a baby. We’re waiting for an inbreaking of God’s reign. And this waiting can leave us weary. But joy tells us that God’s reign is brought to birth through each of us. We become active participants in the joy and hope that we long for and essential agents of restoration in this world. And that’s how our weary world can rejoice. Through outstretched arms and coats shared. Through hope against all odds. Joy is not far away, it’s right here. It’s waiting to be grasped, lived out, and given to all people.

In the name of ☩ the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

Jesus knows the ways we worry, but asks us to believe that our lives are more than the things we worry about. When we trust in God, rather than worrying about the things of this world, God reminds us of who we are, assures us of God’s faithfulness, and increases our capacity to love our neighbors.

Vicar Natalie Wussler
The Day of Thanksgiving
Texts: Joel 2:21-27; Psalm 126; Timothy 2:1-7; Matthew 6:25-33

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

“Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothes?” Jesus asks. And it’s a good question. Because while many of us here thankfully don’t have to worry about what we will eat, drink, or wear on a daily basis, unlike most of the people listening to Jesus, we do worry about a lot of other things–our financial security, our cars, our jobs, our homes, the state of the world and how it will affect us, our loved ones, and millions more. Jesus asks us, are our lives not more than these things? This question is hard for us, because these things are at the core of the ways we live our lives. Of course we need basic necessities like food, water, and shelter. But Jesus says that our life, our value, and our worth should not be in the things that give us earthly security. Jesus is rightly saying that once we value these things above God, worry often follows.

Because worry says that our security and identity are wrapped up in material things. It causes us to see our lives through a tunnel vision of all that we do not have and all the ways we are not enough. We start to believe we are nothing beyond what we have and what we produce. We hear these messages from our world all too often, and they strike fear and worry into our hearts, a worry that causes us to respond with fear, not with love. It provokes us to put our security in our wealth, in what we do, and how much influence we have. We begin to let the world forge our identity, instead of God.

Jesus knew how worry warps our lives, and so he says before all these things, before food, water, or clothes, to seek first the reign of God and God’s righteousness. God’s reign welcomes and loves the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, and the persecuted. It makes room for everyone. No exceptions. God’s reign, not security in material things that are here one day and gone the next, is what we should seek. And in the seeking, you will find God and God will help you find yourself. 

You are a beloved child of God, above all else. You are loved beyond all reason or measure by the God who created the universe, who provides for the lilies and sparrows, who knows you and cares for you deeply. That’s the God who is with you. Your identity does not rest in material things, it rests in the love that God has first shown you. You can rest from the weariness of worry and trust in God’s love that is at work within you.

And when our identities are secure in God’s love, we’re reminded of God’s faithfulness, to us and to people throughout time. “Do not fear, be glad and rejoice, for God has done great things,” says Joel to Israel, after a major drought and plague of locusts ends. God’s faithfulness to the Israelites brought joy to their hearts and helped them move forward in courage and thanksgiving. We too are empowered by the ways God shows up in our lives. Even in the midst of the struggles of this life, we too can respond in thankfulness for all God has done for us. 

During my second summer trip with youth at my previous church, we were traveling to Whiteville, NC. Our first day landed us at a church in Dayton, OH. The next morning we woke up and hopped in our vehicles, only to find out the bus wasn’t starting. We were stranded with no shelter, no extra food, and no way to get all our students from Ohio to North Carolina. Worried is a bit of an understatement. How and when would we get out of Ohio? Where would we sleep that night? How would we give our students a good experience? Our anxiety made it hard to see a way out. But things started to shift. Our hosting church let us stay for an extra night, and made sure we had enough food and water. Some church members even got our students discounted tickets to a waterpark nearby. We found van rentals and had just enough adults to drive them. And, most miraculously, our students had positive, optimistic attitudes the whole time. They treated us and each other with grace and kindness. We were surrounded by generosity and saw God in every detail. We couldn’t help but thank God. And slowly our worries about the bus, getting to North Carolina on time, and keeping our students content disappeared. And we were on our way the next morning.
From droughts to buses breaking down, thankfulness helps us set our worries aside, because we have confidence in our God who has been with us and worked through us in all kinds of difficult times.

And as we are held together by God’s faithfulness, seeking God’s justice and love for all in the world, we walk with so many other beloved children of God. This reign of God is a community, bound together in love for our neighbor and thanksgiving for God, a community that is salt and light to the earth, where people live in humble service to one another. Where God’s will is done on earth as in heaven. And as security in the things of this world becomes trust in our good God, we are assured that God gives us what we need for this journey. And as worry is replaced with God’s love, we are reminded that we draw from an ever-flowing spring that increases our capacity to love our neighbor. And in our abundance that first comes from God, we pour out to all those in need, inviting them to the ever-growing table that ensures all are satisfied. And then people are fed, given drink, and clothed, given more than enough. That’s when tears transform into shouts of joy. That’s when all these things are added to us.

In the name of the ☩ Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

Our texts give remind us that faithful people have lived through times of anguish, and as we live through times of great unraveling, we are called to be Christian community with one another. This gives us the strength to move through difficult times.

Vicar Natalie Wussler
The Twenty-sixth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 33 B
Texts: Daniel 12:1-3; Psalm 16; Hebrews 10:11-14 [15-18] 19-25; Mark 13:1-8

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

It’s Scripture like this that we don’t want to hear in times like today. They paint bleak pictures that don’t feel like good news to our weary souls. We read about times of anguish, wars and rumors of wars, famine and temples crumbling. Jesus’ words here terrified the disciples. All they’d ever known would soon come tumbling down around them. At the oppressive hands of Rome, the very dwelling place of God on earth would be leveled to the ground, with not one stone left. It’s an absolutely devastating scene. And consider Daniel’s context–set during the Babylonian exile experiencing their own time of anguish with everything the Israelites knew turned up-side-down. 

These writers are speaking into their current-day realities, but they feel far too close to home. Because all around us, things feel like they’re crumbling down. That grief, fear, and anger from last week has not disappeared. As the reality of our years to come set in, there’s lots crumbling down all around us. Trust in our leaders, trust in our fellow Americans, our hope, systems and structures that do their best at providing for the most vulnerable around us. The grief, fear, and anger does not stop at the political landscape. Today you might be carrying a crumbling relationship or you may have just received some news that upends your world or you may just be feeling hopeless. The truth is, we’re often in the midst of something crumbling down around us.

And that’s exactly why we need these Scriptures. They remind us that we’re not the first or the last community of faith living in a great unraveling. We follow in their footsteps–struggling in times of anguish and wondering where God is in the midst of it, searching for hope in the rubble and proclaiming good news in impossible times–carrying on as children of God. Because in the chaos of this world, we’re doing the same things in the desolation. We’re striving to build toward the world that Jesus has been teaching about–a world that uplifts vulnerable people, recognizes the widow’s gift as precious, and treats all with love and compassion. These texts remind us that faithful people have lived through times of anguish and figured out ways to live as Christ to one another. So the question is – how will we continue to live as Christ in the turmoil? How will we respond in the midst of the crumbling?

As Jesus speaks with the disciples, he first tells them these two things–Beware and do not be alarmed. Or “stay alert” and “do not be afraid” in some translations. Jesus is not saying all this to scare the disciples, but, instead, to warn them and prepare them to be the church in times of upheaval. “Stay alert,”  Jesus says, to not be misled by those who want to take advantage of the chaos. Don’t let these kinds of people lead you away from God and one another. Stay alert to what God is actually doing during these exhausting times. And do not be afraid when you hear of wars and rumors of wars and when you see the fallout of the chaos. What Jesus says may feel like a tall order for us in times of anguish. Because while we want to have a total faith and trust like our Psalm professes, seeing temples toppled and hearing of wars and rumors of wars, earthquakes, and famines, provokes fear. But Jesus never promised that our lives would be free from pain and fear. Instead, Jesus promises to be with us in the middle of it. Later in this chapter, Jesus says that the Holy Spirit will be with the disciples through all they will experience, an assurance for us that we are not alone.

That’s God’s promise to us–to be with us. In the crumbling, God promises us presence through the Holy Spirit, who abides in our very souls. When we fear, panic, or grieve, we can call on the Holy Spirit to give us wisdom and strength to carry on. This same strength carried the disciples through their own persecution–it is sufficient to give you the hope you need to journey through whatever chaos you may face. God’s presence provides you refuge, counsel, and joy, says the Psalmist. And in God, you will find the strength to not be shaken. God gives you what you need to survive and continue to spread God’s transformative love through the world. God makes Godself known, even during times of turmoil. 

And God shows up for us in one another. The writer of Hebrews knew this. Just listen to these invitations: 

let us approach with a true heart in full assurance of faith, Let us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who has promised is faithful. And let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together.

Us, you and me, together with God. God gives us God’s presence through each other. 

This life of faith is meant to be lived together, especially in times of anguish and turmoil. We need each other. Because in each other, we see the face of God. We find the strength and the hope to carry on, together. We remind each other that God is faithful. As we come before God and confess our hope as one body, we are encouraged to do the work of God in this weary world–to uplift poor and vulnerable people, to live as Christ with one another, prioritizing love and compassion. 

When we are baptized, we are woven into the tapestry of God’s grace, into the family of God, and we are so much stronger collectively than we ever could be separately. With the communion of the saints, we face whatever this world throws at us, trusting that God is with us and holding us together. Let’s not allow our fear, grief, or anxiety to isolate us as it often can, but rather, let’s press into the community of faithful people we are blessed with. Let’s lean on each other and support one another. All while continuing to provoke each other to find courage to act as the body of Christ, because we all have a part to play in God’s good work in this world.

So beloved, let’s keep showing up for each other, trusting in God’s love which connects us all in a tapestry of grace. As we look toward these next years, we may feel overwhelmed at the enormity of what may crumble before us.

But take heart, dear friends. God is at work. In you, in me, in this community, and in millions of people provoking one another to do good things. To work for justice and compassion. To act in love in a world that seems so full of hate. With each good deed creating a ripple that can change tides toward something good.

And church, that is something worth hoping for.

In the name of the ☩ Father, Son and Holy Spirit.