2nd Sunday after Epiphany
January 19, 2020

²⁹John the Baptist saw Jesus coming toward him and declared, “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! ³⁰This is the one of whom I said, ‘After me comes a man who ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’ ³¹I myself did not know him; but I came baptizing with water for this reason, that he might be revealed to Israel.” ³²And John testified, “I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him. ³³I myself did not know him, but the one who sent me to baptize with water said to me, ‘The one on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit.’ ³⁴And I myself have seen and have testified that this is the Son of God.”
  ³⁵The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, ³⁶and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” ³⁷The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. ³⁸When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?” They said to him, “Rabbi” (which translated means Teacher), “where are you staying?” ³⁹He said to them, “Come and see.” They came and saw where Jesus was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. ⁴⁰One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. ⁴¹He first found his brother Simon and said to him, “We have found the Messiah” (which is translated Anointed). ⁴²He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas” (which is translated Peter). – John 1:29-42

In 1963, Martin Luther King, Jr., stood on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial before 250,000 people gathered for the March on Washington in the midst of the civil rights movement, and he delivered what might be his most well-known speech, which contained these words:

“I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident; that all men are created equal.’ I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood. I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today.”

King was a brilliant orator, formed by the profound tradition of preaching in the black Baptist church. While some of his other writings are even more theologically rich, while some of his other writings more thoroughly articulate the pursuit of justice and the role of the church in that work, it is this speech that is most often quoted and remembered. In part it’s the beauty of the speech, in part it’s the timing and publicity of the moment in which it was delivered. But I think part of what captures our attention in King’s most famous speech is that he so clearly lays out a vision of what is not yet realized. This speech is captivating because he envisions for us what is not yet a reality. He says to the nation in 1963, and still today to us who continue to live in a world of profound racial and economic inequality, that there is a possibility of something different. “Look!” King cries out to us, “Look and see what is possible!”

It’s not unlike what John the Baptist cries in our gospel reading today. At this moment in the gospel Jesus is still basically unknown outside of his own community. His ministry has not yet begun. The possibility of the coming reign of God, the possibility of liberation, justice, freedom is just that – a possibility. There is not yet anything public that would indicate Jesus is poised to usher in something new. And yet, John the Baptist can see the possibility. He has a dream of sorts to see the reign of God become reality. And, like King, he doesn’t keep it to himself. He calls out, “Look! Here is the Lamb of God! Look! Here is the one who through forgiveness has the capacity to usher in a new reality!”

I marvel at his capacity, like King, to compel people to see this vision with him, his ability to draw people into the movement by helping them see what is possible, even when the present reality is so far from the future vision. He says, “Look!” and people do, some with enough curiosity to follow Jesus, to begin to join him in the earliest days of his ministry. Some of them are compelled enough to go and tell others, who in turn also begin to follow along. To be sure there are plenty who do not follow, who ignore the invitation to see what is possible or who perhaps are too distracted or too afraid to be among those taking the first steps toward the new reality. But in this moment, the movement begins, or rather a new phase of God’s movement in the world begins.

It’s Jesus who will ultimately do the saving work. It’s Jesus who will bear most clearly, most publicly the pain and suffering, the abuse and rebuke that often comes to those who take steps toward a vision of justice and peace. It is Jesus whose commitment to nonviolent resistance and forgiveness in the face of cruelty and injustice will usher in a new reality in which forgiveness is possible for us and for the world. Though the disciples, and Martin Luther King, Jr., and many others would follow the same path, it is Jesus who leads the work.

What comes into focus in this passage where John the Baptist calls out and the first disciples begin to invite others along for the journey, is that though Jesus does the saving work, we are invited first to see – to behold the vision, even when it is still far off. Then we are invited to be the ones who go out and point the way. Once we have seen, once we have experienced, if not the reality of God’s reign of justice, forgiveness, and peace, then at least the compelling vision of that possibility, then we get to go out into the world and point it out to others. We get to have the opportunity to say with boldness, “Look! Here is the Lamb of God! Look! Here is the beginning of the transformation of our world of pain, injustice, inequality, and fear into a world of love, forgiveness, grace, and peace.”

Now some of you are probably sitting there thinking, “But that’s not my gift, to be out front, talking, proclaiming, inviting.” And, yes, I hear you. One of the things the Forward team has been learning and reflecting on this past year is the way in which we all have different kinds of gifts and that all those different gifts are needed in the work of the church. Some have the capacity to see lots of possibilities for the future, others have the capacity to help us stay rooted in tradition, others help bridge the gap. Some people are the ones out there always inviting people to church, others are the ones quietly caring for neighbors in ways that point, perhaps without words, to the future reality that is possible. There are many ways to experience the vision and many ways to help point toward it in the world.

King was one famous face of a whole movement. He was gifted and particularly suited to be the public face of so many working for justice in different communities and in different arenas. There are other well-known leaders of the movement who don’t have the same name recognition of King: Ella Baker, Ralph Abernathy, Roy Wilkins, James Farmer, Dorothy Height, and many others. Many who put their time, energy, and lives down for the movement. No one of them the one to save the world, but each in their own way pointing to the vision, calling out to others “Look! See what is possible.”

Because once you’ve seen it, once you’ve had a taste of it, once you’ve really envisioned God’s future, one can’t help but be filled with overflowing excitement at the possibility. Each of us has had some kind of encounter with Jesus, some kind of encounter that draws us back here week after week. Some vision of what God has in mind to bring about in the resurrection kingdom. And each week we sing the words of John the Baptist, “Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world,” as we prepare once again to receive the presence of Christ in bread and wine. And there we encounter God again. There we are commissioned again to go out into the world to be witnesses, to notice the signs of God at work bringing about justice, peace, and forgiveness. Whether it’s here in this church community or somewhere out there in the world, we get to participate as John the Baptist and as Jesus’ early disciples to say to others, “Look! The Lamb of God! Here there is forgiveness and peace! Come and see!” until the vision – the vision of John, the hope of Jesus, the dream of King, the hopes and dreams of all of us are gathered into the kingdom of God.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

 

 

Baptism of Our Lord
January 12, 2020

 ¹Ascribe to the | Lord, you gods,
  ascribe to the Lord glo- | ry and strength.
 ²Ascribe to the Lord the glory | due God’s name;
  worship the Lord in the beau- | ty of holiness.
 ³The voice of the Lord is upon the waters; the God of | glory thunders;
  the Lord is upon the | mighty waters.
 ⁴The voice of the Lord is a pow- | erful voice;
  the voice of the Lord is a | voice of splendor. 
 ⁵The voice of the Lord breaks the | cedar trees;
  the Lord breaks the ce- | dars of Lebanon;
 ⁶the Lord makes Lebanon skip | like a calf,
  and Mount Hermon like a | young wild ox.
 ⁷The voice | of the Lord
  bursts forth in | lightning flashes.
 ⁸The voice of the Lord| shakes the wilderness;
  the Lord shakes the wilder- | ness of Kadesh. 
 ⁹The voice of the Lord makes the oak trees writhe and strips the | forests bare.
  And in the temple of the Lord all are | crying, “Glory!”
 ¹⁰The Lord sits enthroned a- | bove the flood;
  the Lord sits enthroned as king for- | evermore.
 ¹¹O Lord, give strength | to your people;
  give them, O Lord, the bless- | ings of peace.  – Psalm 29

¹³Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. ¹⁴John would have prevented him, saying, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” ¹⁵but Jesus answered him, “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” Then John consented. ¹⁶And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. ¹⁷And a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” – Matthew 3:13-17

What does the voice of God sound like?

I wonder if the voice of God is musical – like the sound of a perfectly tuned symphony – resonating in multiple registers, many notes at the same time all producing together a harmonious song, sometimes shifting from loud to quiet, sometimes involving all the instruments at once and sometimes dropping down to a single solo instrument. Or is it more like the single soprano on my favorite Christmas album recorded in a cathedral, a strong, clear single note piercing the resonant air.

I wonder if the voice of God is the one we hear in nature. The sound of ocean waves, babbling brooks, waterfalls that rush with a deafening roar, rain pitter-pattering on the ground. Or the sound of birdsong, coyote howls, chirping squirrels, and even hissing snakes.

If the voice of God sounds like a human voice, then which one? Hollywood actors who have played or voiced God include Charlton Heston, Whoopi Goldberg, Alanis Morissette, Morgan Freeman, and Groucho Marx. Is God’s voice a booming bass, a soft and soothing alto? Is it shouting or just a whisper?

When bombs blast as they have in Iran and Iraq this week or when earthquakes shake foundations as they have all week long in Puerto Rico, or when wildfires rage as they do now in Australia, I wonder – is God’s voice louder than it all in order to reach the hurting ones with comfort and shout for peace and steady the ground? Or is God’s voice still and small, whispering under it all with words of steady love in the midst of chaos?

Sometimes I think the sound of God’s voice is more like pure, unbroken silence. The kind of silence that simultaneously invites and unsettles, which speaks without words and which holds more power sometimes than thousands of shouting voices.

The psalmist this morning speaks over and over again about the voice of the Lord. The voice of the Lord is powerful and full of splendor. The voice of the Lord breaks the mighty cedar trees, it bursts forth like lightening flashes. The voice of the Lord shakes the wilderness and make the oak trees writhe. The voice of God makes things happen.

We talk about the power of words in our world, and true, words are very powerful. But God’s voice is more than the power to communicate. God’s voice causes things to happen. The poem of creation in Genesis 1 says that God speaks the world into existence. The voice of God creates from nothing.

And it’s the voice of God that always strikes me when we read the story of Jesus’ baptism. Yes, the interaction with John and the dove and the being driven out into the wilderness. But every time, the voice of God: “This is my Son, the beloved, with whom I am well-pleased.”

That voice, powerful and full of splendor: does it whisper those words so that everyone leans in to hear or do they boom from the heavens causing everyone to take a step back? How does Jesus feel in his body the sound of God’s voice in this moment?

Of all the things God might have spoken just then…instructions for what to do next, words of warning, a motivational speech, God speaks belovedness. God names Jesus as son and calls him beloved. I wonder that we forget that as we ponder what the voice of God sounds like.

Too often consciously or not, I imagine God’s voice speaking things like “Come on, get going, lots to get done!” or “You know you really shouldn’t have done that.”  Or “I need you to get this list of things done on my behalf.” But when God’s voice breaks open the heavens to speak, it’s not with any of those words, not warning or reprimand, instructions or motivational speeches. It’s with a message of belovedness.

Not that those words are all just warm and fuzzy. Jesus is about to embark on his ministry, one in which he will be argued with, ignored, chastised, misunderstood, threatened, and ultimately killed. He needs to be grounded in his belovedness to face all of that. He goes into ministry in a world that is very broken, full of hurting people and the need for peace and wholeness. If he’s going to do the work of justice-making and peace-building then he’s going to need to recognize his own belovedness and the ways in which that belovedness is spoken to others.

Sometimes it would be easier to hear instructions or warnings or even reprimands. Because something in us can make rational sense of those things. Something in us can choose to believe them or not, follow them or not. But love. Love spoken from God, the God who speaks things into existence. When the voice of God says that, there isn’t really any choice but to fall into it. The ways in which that love motivates us to the justice-making and peace-building work in the world is not so easily ignored.

And we do, siblings in Christ, hear that voice of God in our own baptisms. The voice of God that speaks creation into being also speaks belovedness into being for you. And God speaks it in whatever way you need to hear it now in whatever voice you need to hear ti. Yes, God also speaks words of call and words of challenge, words of direction and correction. But first God speaks your belovedness and names you as children of God.

It’s that belovedness that sustains us through all things, that belovedness that sustains us even through death. On Friday we laid to rest the ashes of Jill Johnson, a long-time member of this congregation who lived to be 99. That’s a lot of years – many years full of good things, but also struggle, pain, grief, loss, and challenges of all kinds. At her death as we do at every one in the church, we recalled God’s promise of baptism, the promise that sustains us through all the challenges of living and carries us forward into God’s loving arms in our dying, God’s promise of baptism that speaks belovedness into being for us.

It’s that word of belovedness that sustains this community week after week, year after year, through ups and downs, through every transition and change that comes along. It’s that belovedness that holds those in our extended community who are sick and in pain. It’s that belovedness that holds those who have lost lives and homes and loved ones this week from violence and natural disaster.  It’s that belovedness that is stronger than anything that comes to us, stronger even than death. That is what the voice of God speaks to you today. A voice powerful and full of splendor, a voice that shakes the cedar trees and bursts forth in lightning flashes. It shouts over the racket and whispers to your soul “You are my beloved, with you I am well pleased.”

-Pastor Steven Wilco

 

2nd Sunday of Christmas
January 5, 2020

 ⁷Thus says the Lord:
 Sing aloud with gladness for Jacob,
  and raise shouts for the chief of the nations;
 proclaim, give praise, and say,
  “Save, O Lord, your people,
  the remnant of Israel.”
 ⁸See, I am going to bring them from the land of the north,
  and gather them from the farthest parts of the earth,
 among them the blind and the lame,
  those with child and those in labor, together;
  a great company, they shall return here.
 ⁹With weeping they shall come,
  and with consolations I will lead them back,
 I will let them walk by brooks of water,
  in a straight path in which they shall not stumble;
 for I have become a father to Israel,
  and Ephraim is my firstborn.

 ¹⁰Hear the word of the Lord, O nations,
  and declare it in the coastlands far away;
 say, “He who scattered Israel will gather him,
  and will keep him as a shepherd a flock.”
 ¹¹For the Lord has ransomed Jacob,
  and has redeemed him from hands too strong for him.
 ¹²They shall come and sing aloud on the height of Zion,
  and they shall be radiant over the goodness of the Lord,
 over the grain, the wine, and the oil,
  and over the young of the flock and the herd;
 their life shall become like a watered garden,
  and they shall never languish again.
 ¹³Then shall the young women rejoice in the dance,
  and the young men and the old shall be merry.
 I will turn their mourning into joy,
  I will comfort them, and give them gladness for sorrow.
 ¹⁴I will give the priests their fill of fatness,
  and my people shall be satisfied with my bounty, – Jeremiah 31:7-14

See also Ephesians 1:3-14 & John 1:10-18

One of our bedtime books is called Sometimes Rainby Meg Fleming. Its simple and beautiful poetry begins, “Sometimes drizzle, drip-drip drain. Sometimes picnic, sometimes rain.” The book takes you through a year highlighting the joy and sometimes frustration of the changing seasons. Sometimes picnic, but sometimes rain. In winter, sledding fun but frozen toes and sometimes boring but also full of wonder. In spring, “sometimes clear, bright and growing” but also “so much melt the mud is growing.” It has become a meditation for me on living in the moment with what is – sometimes picnic, sometimes rain – and, with every turn of the page, change. A new season, a new movement, a new shift in the reality of the world. With all the ups and downs of the seasons, with so much change, the book ends with the words, “Sometimes wandering, far or near. Always knowing someone here. Always ready. Stay or roam. Always welcome…always home.”

When we read this book Chanel often asks what the ending means: always welcome, always home – kids often ask the most poignant questions! What does it mean to be always home, to always know a sense of welcome even when change is constant and when the ground seems to shift beneath our feet.

We’ve just observed the passing of another year, a notable if ultimately arbitrary threshold, an opportunity to reflect on where we’ve been and what we might want to do that is new or different in the coming year. The transition comes in the midst of a holiday week when school is off, and even some workplaces are closed. Many families and friends gather and travel. Routines are thrown off, which adds to the feeling of standing in a threshold, the place that is neither before nor after that is neither here nor there.

And here we are as a congregation standing in another threshold, another in-between time. After less time than we imagined when we first began our relationship as pastor and congregation, we now stand at another turning point as I prepare to move in a few short weeks to a new call and this congregation will once again be in a pastoral transition. You’ve done this before. Many routines will carry forward. But it is a time of change, a time when other routines will be thrown off. Just like the turn of the new year, this point becomes a marker along the congregation’s journey.

The Hebrew people whom Jeremiah is addressing in our first reading were also in a time of transition, a threshold of sorts. We’re not 100% sure exactly when these words were first spoken and then recorded, but it was sometime in the decades of their national, tribal identity falling to pieces as larger, stronger empires took control of their land, their way of life began to crumble, and their leadership often changed or faltered. Whether they were watching their neighbors fall and anticipating the day when they, too, would succumb, or whether these words were first spoken to those who had already lost their homeland and were living in exile in a foreign land, the words are spoken to reassure people living with change beyond their control. Not only had they been forced from their homes, they had been separated from their community and dispersed to various parts of the empire. They had certainly seen some die in the violence of the takeover. Their religious practice was difficult to hold onto so far from home, especially when their practice had been so tied to a sense of place that was now far away.

This time of transition, this liminal space, this threshold that is neither quite here nor there in the life of their people, is the context for God’s message of hope to them through Jeremiah: “See, I am going to bring them from the land of the north, and gather them from the farthest parts of the earth, among them the blind and the lame, those with child and those in labor, together; a great company they shall return here. With weepingshall they come, and with consolations I will lead them back, I will let them walk by brooks of water, in a straight path in which they shall not stumble; for I have become a father to Israel.”

More easily said than believed, perhaps, when a sense of being home, of being settled, of being grounded in a place is thrown off. It can be challenging to hold on to hope when we are mired in the mess of transition. And let’s face it, the church in the 21^stcentury is in constant transition. Your Forward Leadership team just returned from a retreat that marks the end of the first year-long phase of this program that seeks to discern mission and ministry in a changing and challenging context. It’s a program with lots of questions and few clear, simple answers. Even for those of us who have participated in all the programs and retreats, and who have valued the work it has inspired, it can feel hard to find solid footing, to say, “Yes, this is it, we’ve figured it out.” I have enjoyed and been honored to do that work with you, but it’s ultimately the work of the whole congregation to sit in the questions together, to engage the struggle together, to talk openly and honestly with one another about what the future holds. It’s the work of the whole congregation to echo the promises God speaks through Jeremiah, to remind one another of the promises God has made to accompany you, even when things crumble around you, when things seem uncertain, when the path forward is unclear.

That promise that echoes is every one of our readings today is that we have been adopted as children of God. Sometimes there is rain on our picnic. Sometimes there is change we can’t control. Sometimes a pastor leaves before anyone expected. Sometimes death visits too soon. Sometimes empires crumble. Sometimes the rug gets pulled out from under our feet in any number of challenging ways.

I wish I had a crystal ball to tell you how this congregation’s story will turn out. Part of me wishes I got to spend a little more time on the journey with you to wherever that is. I wish I could at least leave you with some clearer answers. But that is not God’s promise. God’s promise is that wherever you go, however far you wander, whatever surprises you, discourages you, threatens you, whatever befalls you for good or ill, that you are always welcome and always at home in God, as a member of God’s family. John says “to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God.” Paul in Ephesians says “God destined us for adoption as children…we have obtained an inheritance, having been destined according the purpose of him who accomplishes all things according to his counsel and will.” They both echo Jeremiah, “I have become a father to Israel.”

You are children of God. The ground may shift. Your world may, in fact, crumble. It might rain on your picnic. Winter might bring frozen toes. Spring showers might bring muddy days. But none of that can change that there is a place for you and for everyone in God’s family – a home that you can rest in wherever you go and whatever comes your way, a place set for you at the table to be renewed and refreshed for the journey, a place where you are always welcome and always home.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

First Sunday of Christmas
December 29, 2019

¹³Now after the magi had left, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, “Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.” ¹⁴Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, ¹⁵and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, “Out of Egypt I have called my son.”
  ¹⁶When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the magi, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the magi. ¹⁷Then was fulfilled what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah:
 ¹⁸“A voice was heard in Ramah,
  wailing and loud lamentation,
 Rachel weeping for her children;
  she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.”
  ¹⁹When Herod died, an angel of the Lord suddenly appeared in a dream to Joseph in Egypt and said, ²⁰“Get up, take the child and his mother, and go to the land of Israel, for those who were seeking the child’s life are dead.” ²¹Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother, and went to the land of Israel. ²²But when he heard that Archelaus was ruling over Judea in place of his father Herod, he was afraid to go there. And after being warned in a dream, he went away to the district of Galilee. ²³There he made his home in a town called Nazareth, so that what had been spoken through the prophets might be fulfilled, “He will be called a Nazorean.”- Matthew 2:13-23

Imagine with me, as theologian Serene Jones does in her book Trauma and Grace,* a conversation on a hill outside Jerusalem a few decades after our gruesome gospel reading in which Herod orders the slaughter of innocent children. Imagine on this hill…it is late afternoon on a Friday, just before the Sabbath is to begin. It is year 30 in the Common Era, give or take a few years. Two women cross paths on the road. Both are weeping. At first they do not look at one another because each is consumed in her own grief. But something causes them to pause, look up. Maybe it is that each recognizes the weeping of another mother who has lost her child.

One is Mary. Her son has just given his final breath. Crucified for claiming to be God’s flesh on earth, for provoking and threatening those in power, for his commitment to unconditional love. But to Mary, he is the one she birthed in a lowly stable, the one she nursed and cared for. The one she loved and cherished. She had been treasuring the wondrous and mysterious things that had surrounded his birth and his life, pondering them in her heart. And somehow she is not entirely surprised by this ending, though it rips her to pieces. Her grief is new and raw.

The other woman on this hill might be any one of those unnamed mothers whose grief is older but still sometimes raw and always painful, grief that has been carried long like a weight that will not be sloughed off. She is one of the mothers of children slaughtered by Herod in a fit of fearful rage at the idea of another king born in his own kingdom. We might call this woman Rachel, after the matriarch of the Hebrew people named in the quotation from Jeremiah in the gospel reading today – the one who died in childbirth and who from her grave weeps for all her children – the ones faced with famine, the ones sold into slavery, the ones wandering in the desert, the ones exiled to a foreign land – that’s where Jeremiah picks up her weeping – and now she weeps for the young infants slaughtered in and around Bethlehem by a tyrant afraid of an infant whose unusual if small bunch of supporters claim as a king. Rachel weeps for her children says Matthew, quoting Jeremiah, refusing to be consoled, for their children are no more. For grieving parents, for Mary or Rachel or any of the unnamed women who lost their children to famine, disease, war, or genocide, there is no word, not even a word from God, that will console them. There is no way to undo, to go back, to feel better. There is no reason, no platitude, no divine plan, no making sense of tragedy of this scale, no making sense of tragedy at all.

These two women whom we imagine meeting on the hill outside Jerusalem, they are relevant to us not only as figures of history but also as stand-ins for all the weeping and grieving that has taken place since and which continues to take place today. Millions of refugees await permanent homes in Kenya, Jordan, Sudan, Pakistan, at our own country’s southern border and even in present-day Bethlehem, many of whom have lost children to war or famine or the flight from unspeakable violence. Parents are separated from their children by economic hardship and cycles of abuse and addiction they cannot break out of. Gun violence continues to rip children away from parents, even at the places that are supposed to be the safest. Children are still sold or taken into slavery. Global epidemics arise faster than cures can be discovered and distributed, and children still die of preventable childhood illness. Climate change is only accelerating famine: “A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation. Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they were no more.”

There is no divine plan that explains this violence. There is no word of consolation that makes it better. There is only weeping on the hillside. But these two women are not alone. There is another mother with them on the hillside whose weeping joins theirs. It is the holy parent whose love for their own child crucified on a hill ruptures the very heart of God. It is the holy parent whose love for their own children killed in Herod’s senseless rage ruptures the very heart of God. It is the holy parent whose weeping for all her children who have died will not be consoled. There is no divine plan that explains the violence, no divine word capable of consoling the grieving parents. There is only the presence of a God, weeping and inconsolable at the pain that we cause one to another in this world.

Christmas is not only about the birth of the infant Jesus, it is about the incarnation of the divine in the midst of human pain and suffering. It is about God as the mother of all creation, weeping inconsolably at the pain that exists in the world. It is about God manifest in ourmidst, weeping ourtears with us. It is a day, a season, like Good Friday and its companion Easter, that can hold in its breadth the pain and suffering along with the seeds of resurrection.

Christmas is about that incarnation in Jesus beginning to grow into fullness, that incarnation bearing the weight of those tears in the world in ways that blossom into healing for the broken, forgiveness for the sinner, peace for those at war with each other, and even resurrection that Jesus imparts to the child of Jairus, the child of the widow at Nain, and for Lazarus, who is someone’s child. Christmas is only the beginning of that story unfolding, the tiny spark of God’s incarnation in all of history.

Christmas is only the beginning of the story that nears its fulfillment some 30-odd years later on a hill outside Jerusalem, a hill just within view of the one where two weeping women cross paths. It is on that hill that God does bring to completion a plan – not a plan for consolation but a plan for resurrection. There is nothing that can make us feel better about the violence, nothing that can soften this harsh text, as much as we might want to just a few days after Christmas. But there is, present in the dying one, present in the grieving one, the God of life who is working out resurrection. There is the beginning of the promise for us now.

It is Christmas, still. Which is why we remember that we have within us both the presence of God weeping with us in our sadness, pain, and grief, but that we also have the seeds of resurrection in us, waiting to grow into fullness – through the cross, but ultimately on to God’s new life for us and all the world.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

*This imagined conversation which Serene Jones writes is not copied here but it is the basis of what I share in the first paragraphs of this sermon in my own words. She takes it further and discusses the rich dimensions of the imagined encounter and what that means for our understanding of trauma and God’s grace. It begins on page 107 in the first edition of her book Trauma and Grace.

First Sunday of Advent
December 1, 2019

[Jesus said,] ³⁶“About that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. ³⁷For as the days of Noah were, so will be the coming of the Son-of-Man. ³⁸For as in those days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day Noah entered the ark, ³⁹and they knew nothing until the flood came and swept them all away, so too will be the coming of the Son-of-Man. ⁴⁰Then two men will be in the field; one will be taken and one will be left. ⁴¹Two women will be grinding meal together; one will be taken and one will be left. ⁴²Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. ⁴³But understand this: if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, the owner would have stayed awake and would not have let the house be broken into. ⁴⁴Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son-of-Man is coming at an unexpected hour.” – Matthew 24:36-44

Imagine those times you’re driving down the highway, traveling some normal, appropriate speed, or if you’re me, maybe even pushing the speed limit a little, and seemingly out of nowhere a car comes racing past weaving around traffic like a bolt of lightening. Even a careful driver would be hard pressed to notice it coming and only some kind of superpower of sight could make out the license plate before it zooms on.

It’s the kind of experience that can make your heart skip a beat, the kind of thing that leaves you a little startled or rattled. It can make you hyperalert or so distracted you can’t focus again for a minute. It can even make you question what you just saw, your perception of reality, and forget where you’re going.

Like a thief in the night, Jesus says, is the coming of the kingdom of God. Or…maybe like a speeding car. No one knows when it is coming, not even Jesus. Just like the days of Noah, he says, when all but Noah and his family were surprised by the flood that swept them away. Like two workers in a field, one swept away the other still plowing along. Like two women grinding meal, one swept away the other left grinding away.

Popular culture and lots of misunderstanding has amplified this passage into something people call the rapture, the idea that on some future day the faithful will be swept suddenly into paradise while the rest are left to their own devices in a world of suffering and pain. But not only is Jesus not clear about which ones get swept away and why and how and to where, he’s also not laying out a systematic theology of a rapture. He’s admitting that even he doesn’t know when this thief in the night is coming.

What Jesus really wants to say about the coming day – about which know one really knows anything – is to be prepared. Hmm…you might ask, then, how does one prepare for something that comes speeding up so fast you aren’t even sure it’s really there? How can you prepare for the unexpected?

Sometimes our Advent preparations end up being about our attempts to create something picture perfect. If it isn’t the lead up to a perfectly cooked Christmas dinner eaten by a harmonious family surrounded by Martha Stewart quality décor and the perfect gift for everyone on your list, then maybe it’s the idea that somehow through our preparation, by our Advent devotion or prayer or repentance or whatever we try to do, that we could somehow bring about our own and our loved ones’ happiness and health. I think in these church year seasons that lead into big festivals we can sometimes consciously or unconsciously begin to feel as if we must work our way toward God’s kingdom, bring ourselves up to the level of preparation that would tip the scales toward whatever our idea of the coming reign of God looks like. Subtly we take on responsibility not just for creating the perfect holiday but creating the perfect world. But that’s God’s work. Ultimately this season is more about attentiveness to the surprising ways that God appears when we least expect it.

Now that doesn’t mean our preparation, our waiting, doesn’t come with some work to be done. If we were to draw from our Isaiah reading this morning, one key preparation would be to beat swords into plowshares. For the prophets, this time of readiness sounds not like jingle bells but like the clanging of iron being molded by the blacksmith’s hammer. It’s the sound of war being turned not just into peace, but into community. It is not just the destruction of weaponry that Isaiah calls for, but the coming together of warring factions into communities that have the capacity to produce food to nourish one another. Instruments of harm become instruments of food production and community. That can sound a little pie-in-the-sky in a world filled with violence, but consider these modern examples of Isaiah’s call lived out…

Activist Pedro Reyes in Culiacan, Mexico, the city in that country with the highest rate of gun deaths has collected 1,527 guns and turned them into 1,527 shovels which will be used to plant 1,527 trees in the city.

In the 90’s there was a project in Russia to turn uranium from nuclear warheads into the kind of uranium that could power local communities.

Or an artists’ collective in Palestine that has taken shards of broken glass from bombings and other violence and turned them into artwork to promote peace and tell the story of their communities.

Or think about all the ways that people who have experienced violence and harassment have turned that into the power of community. When a few years ago there was yet another wave in the news of men who abused and harassed women, most of whom were not being held accountable, it launched an international movement of women who said, “Me, too!” It made more space to speak the truth in public, it developed more networks of support, and it started, at least a little bit, to bring about greater accountability. I think there’s a bit of turning swords into plowshares, there, too.

These are just some of the big and small ways that people are preparing for the coming of Christ by beating swords into plowshares. Over time these things do gain power and momentum and open up new ways of being together in the world. Yet none of them alone or even all of them together can fix all of human history or change entirely our human capacity for violence and our susceptibility to pain and suffering. What they can do, besides making small inroads to the kingdom of God, is begin to help us see something new. They begin to help us see new possibilities. They begin to open up hope for us. They call us back to the promises God has made to come to our world again and again. They remind us of the promise of God not to abandon us. And they remind us that sometimes the kingdom of God is sneaking up on us and sometimes zooming right past us before we even begin to realize it.

If only we could see all these ways in which that happens every day in the world. It’s easy to hear about the coming day of the Lord and look around at the state of the world and land solidly in a state of despair. Even if we aspire to the kind of peacemaking work that is part of God’s kingdom, even if we prepare our hearts and our communities and our planet for the resurrection life God has promised us, we find ourselves inevitably falling short.

Except that despite all that, sometimes the grace of God comes flying up so fast that we aren’t prepared for it and we aren’t quite sure what it even was, except that is disrupts our life in ways that reshape us going forward. Sometimes grace wells up within us or flows around us in ways that surprise and startle us. And maybe more than anything, those moments heighten our awareness if only for a bit. Even fleeting moments of grace, things that in retrospect seem small, can be enough to make us sit up and stay prepared for more to come. That’s what Advent is about – the power of God to race in and surprise us in ways that heighten our senses, perk up our awareness, and develop our preparedness for the coming kingdom of God, that will surely speed into our lives when we are least expecting it and in the most surprising of ways.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Christ the King Sunday
November 24, 2019

³³When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. ³⁴⟦Then Jesus said, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.”⟧ And they cast lots to divide his clothing. ³⁵And the people stood by, watching; but the leaders scoffed at him, saying, “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!” ³⁶The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine, ³⁷and saying, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” ³⁸There was also an inscription over him, “This is the King of the Jews.”
  ³⁹One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding Jesus and saying, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” ⁴⁰But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? ⁴¹And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” ⁴²Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” ⁴³He replied, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” – Luke 23:33-43

Ok, don’t settle into your pew to listen just yet. I’m going to ask you, as you’re able, to get up and move. I want you to hear this sermon from a different place in the room. If you sit on this side, move to that side, or if you sit in the back move forward. When I say go, find a different spot in the room to sit. I know some of you have roles that require you to sit somewhere in particular – it’s ok, you can go back after the sermon is over. Ready? Go.

…Now. Look around you. This room is a bit narrow and the seating options only so many – the effects might be more dramatic were we in a bigger room. But do you notice anything different? Do you notice anyonedifferent? Does it feel different?

The forward leadership team has been practicing this kind of exercise around our church building – outside and inside, we’ve been trying to put ourselves in the shoes of a visitor to our community. What do they see? What do they notice? What does that communicate about who we are? And we’ve noticed that when we stand in a different place, look with different eyes, we start to notice some different things. Maybe you noticed today when you came in that some things were rearranged in the gathering area outside our worship space. The Forward team wondered what it would be like to look at that space a little differently. When we start to question the things we do every week, suddenly we start to see new things and it starts to spark new ideas. Maybe we’ll like it, maybe not – nothing is permanent, but together we’re going to try standing in a different place.

Today is Christ the King Sunday. It’s the church festival and title for Jesus after which our congregation is named. It’s this day that we wrestle with just what it means that Christ is king. And I think the way we understand the kingship of Christ depends on where we sit:

Those who experience oppression might from their position see the kingship of Christ as the military victor who has the power to turn the tables on oppressive leaders, hold back unjust armies, and set free those who have been literally enslaved or imprisoned. Those who experience relative comfort and wealth might see Christ the King as the steady monarch who protects and sustains the kingdom. Those with chronic diseases, pain, or injury might see Christ the King as the universal healer who rules even over the things that destroy and ravage our bodies. Those who feel wronged by others might see side of kingship that is responsible for meting out judgments and justice that will serve everyone and bring all things into alignment with the values and principles of the kingdom. Those whose focus is primarily on what happens after we die might see Christ’s kingdom as a heavenly realm beyond our earthly troubles, while those whose focus is on bringing the world as we know it closer to God’s way of being might see more clearly Christ’s rule over our lives now.

All of these have some merit. None is a complete picture alone. And there are many more dimensions to this than can be named right now. But where we sit matters. We see things differently and experience things differently depending on where we sit in the world. And that includes who and what we understand God to be.

But it matters, too, where Jesus sits. Today we might be tempted to imagine Jesus seated at the right hand of the Father, the Biblical and creedal language that places the resurrected Jesus reigning from heaven. Perhaps we imagine a gilded throne and jeweled scepter. At least I do, even if I don’t mean to. I wonder that when we see Jesus sitting on such a throne we can’t help but see God as judge of our actions, as one to whom we must prove ourselves worthy, one who is perhaps distant and even sometimes seemingly unattainable. Christ enthroned in heaven is powerful, important language – Biblical language! – to describe the rule of Christ. But not the whole picture.

In our gospel reading today, Christ is not on a gilded throne, but rather hung from the cross with criminals hung to the right and to the left, one taunting, the other begging. In this day that is supposed to bring together all the understandings of Jesus that we have explored in the course of the church year – the infant in the manger, the emerging rabbi, the miracle worker, the healer, the forgiver of sins, the advocate with the poor and outcast, the dying one, the resurrected one, the sender of the Holy Spirit. On this day that is meant in some ways to pull all those threads together into the power and rule of Christ, Jesus is on the unexpected throne of the cross.

Of all the places to choose for a throne, Christ the King chooses to rule from the place of the crucified. This is the position from which God sees the world, the lens through which we, too, are invited to view the kingdom of God. It is the opposite of our world’s understanding of power. God’s crowning moment is placed among criminals, suffering and dying. This says something about who our God is. Of all the ways in which God operates it is at the cross that we as Christians turn first and foremost to understand the nature of God. God moves from the heavenly throne to the manger, to the margins, to the cross and tomb to see the world from our perspective, to join us in our struggle, our pain, and our dying.

It’s this perspective that shapes God’s understanding of us and our world. It doesn’t mean that God doesn’t hold us accountable, it doesn’t mean that God doesn’t hold cosmic power and bring about justice. But it does mean that God receives our taunts and rebukes, our anger and accusation from the place of understanding the depth of brokenness from which it comes. And it means that God receives our pleas to rest with Christ in paradise from the understanding of how desperately we long for God’s redemption and freedom. God sees us not as the broken ones we are, not as criminals whose value is diminished by our actions, not as subjects to be ruled or overpowered, but fellow sufferers standing with Christ at the threshold between life and death, afraid and in pain, longing for hope and wholeness, love and grace.

God moves places to rule from the cross to join us, to see us, to be in us. And from there through tomb and resurrection God comes here in bread and wine to dwell in us. To make us another throne for Christ the King. In sharing Christ’s body, we become the place where God comes to sit. God comes to see us and see our world – our joys and our pain and our hope and our struggle. God joins us there and accompanies us through death into life. And that, is how God chooses to be, how God chooses to rule, how God chooses to be powerful, how Christ chooses to be king.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

 

 

23rd Sunday after Pentecost
     with Celebration of Holy Baptism
November 17, 2019

⁵When some were speaking about the temple, how it was adorned with beautiful stones and gifts dedicated to God, Jesus said, ⁶“As for these things that you see, the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.”
  ⁷They asked him, “Teacher, when will this be, and what will be the sign that this is about to take place?” ⁸And Jesus said, “Beware that you are not led astray; for many will come in my name and say, ‘I am the one!’ and, ‘The time is near!’ Do not go after them.
  ⁹“When you hear of wars and insurrections, do not be terrified; for these things must take place first, but the end will not follow immediately.” ¹⁰Then Jesus said to them, “Nation will rise against nation, and country against country; ¹¹there will be great earthquakes, and in various places famines and plagues; and there will be dreadful portents and great signs from heaven.
  ¹²“But before all this occurs, they will arrest you and persecute you; they will hand you over to synagogues and prisons, and you will be brought before rulers and governors because of my name. ¹³This will give you an opportunity to testify. ¹⁴So make up your minds not to prepare your defense in advance; ¹⁵for I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict. ¹⁶You will be betrayed even by parents and family, by relatives and friends; and they will put some of you to death. ¹⁷You will be hated by all because of my name. ¹⁸But not a hair of your head will perish. ¹⁹By your endurance you will gain your souls.” – Luke 21:5-19

The question is not “if” but “when.”

It is not if nations and empires will crumble, but when. When will another nation become powerful enough and motivated enough to topple us? When will our nation’s deeply embedded sins of greed, pride, and racism cause the pillars to crumble from within? When will ways of life we hold dear cease to be possible?

It is not if the world will end, but when. Advancing climate change and the possibility of nuclear war threaten to bring human communities to their knees within our lifetimes. Things have gone extinct before and humans are not immune to the forces of nature. If we survive that long as a species, eventually the sun will collapse and consume.

It is not a question of if we will mess things up, but when. Before we all go to bed tonight, I guarantee that each of us will have done something that is less than ideal. An uncharitable thought, a comment meant to push buttons of someone in our household, a failure to care for someone in need. After we have confessed sins and received forgiveness, we do not wonder if maybe this will be the last time, but rather we trust in the grace of the invitation to return again, knowing that we will need it sooner than later.

It is not if we will die, but when. Will it be sudden and unpredictable, the swift death of a massive stroke with no prior physical symptoms, or a sudden accident? Will it come from cancer or heart disease? Will it be with a sense of fulfillment and peace or with regrets and missed opportunities?

On this day of baptism, I would love to talk about happier things. When A—’s family asked if we could have the baptism today, I hesitated, only because I knew that the second-to-last Sunday of the church year brings dark and apocalyptic scripture texts. And I considered changing the texts to something better suited to baptism. But as I read them over a few times, I began to see the promise of baptism all over.

Baptism is for exactly these texts. Maybe especially for the baptism of an infant. Because we look at this baby, any baby, and we rightly see hope and promise, potential and joy. But the question is not if she will encounter hard things, painful moments, lasting struggles, and unanswerable questions, but when. She has a loving – and large! – family and a community of support. Her parents will no doubt protect her from all manner of things as well and as long as they can. But even though I don’t know what her struggles will be, I know that no one, not even the cutest infant, the most loved child, escapes life entirely unscathed. Not if, but when.

Jesus, in this text that comes from his final days in Jerusalem before the cross, when resurrection is still a somewhat abstract idea, yet to be embodied by God-made-flesh, invites his followers to look beyond the beautiful temple, the symbols of power and prestige, the sense of trust they have in the world as they know it. He reminds them what deep in their bones they already know, even if they aren’t ready to acknowledge it: that one day it will all come to nothing. There will be wars and insurrections, earthquakes, and powerfully frightening signs. There will be persecution and prison, even or especially for followers of Jesus. Not if the forces of evil will seem to prevail, but when.

So one of the things we are going to do together as part of the baptismal rite this morning, is that we are going renounce evil. I know that sounds like something a little too spiritual or a little too out there for some folks, but we’ve reclaimed in our baptismal rite an ancient practice that three times renounces the forces within us and around us that rebel against God, against love, against peace, against hope. We will stand together and say that we know how powerful those things are, how certain their presence is in our lives, and that God, whom we will then affirm in the three parts of the creed, is more powerful than anything that stands in the way of God and God’s love for us and God’s love for the whole world. That’s what God’s promise is about in baptism, the protection Jesus speaks of – not deliverance from all struggle, but the protection of the love that is stronger than it all for every breath of life and more.

And then there will be water and word, the heart of baptism. Words simple and powerful like the words God used to speak creation into existence. That same God, that same power speaks to A—– today and echoes in the room so that each of us can hear the promises spoken into existence again for ourselves. And water that will not literally drown this precious child of God, but enough water to remind us of the life-giving water that nourishes us and all creation and the power of water to shape and re-shape even the hardest of rocks and the tallest of mountains – a wonderful image of baptism if we will let that promise and power drip slowly over us throughout our lives, shaping and re-shaping us like rocks slowly shaped by water.

And then the oil and the light. Oil for healing balm in the face of all the struggle that is yet to come, marked in the shape of the cross. An embodied reminder that we are one with the body of Christ, which suffered with us, among us, for us, ahead of us. A reminder that God has even walked the way of death that we might trust God as we one day walk that way, too, right into resurrection. And light for vision to see – vision to see beyond the beautiful temples and seemingly strong symbols of power and protection to the reality of the world. And also light to illumine hope in the face of destruction, love in the face of hate, life in the face of death. Light to see what is possible because of God even when our vision is cloudy and dim.

And my personal favorite part of baptism, which is hard to pick, because – clearly – I love baptism! : The prayer for the Spirit. That prayer names what is already true, that God has instilled even in this little one among us today a “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 God’s presence, now and forever.” A—–, you are going to need that Spirit which is already breathing in you with every breath. You, people of God. And me. All of us need that Spirit to face what comes our way. The Spirit to give us words when our own speech fails us. The Spirit to guide us when we are lost. The Spirit to embolden us when we cannot find the courage within us. And the people of God affirming, “Amen,” to it all and welcoming this one into the body of Christ, so that together we are encouraged, together we serve, together we discover God’s mysteries among us.

The question of God’s love for us is not an “if,” but an “always, no matter what.” In baptism, we have an affirmation of the power of God’s love for this child, for all of us children of God, who so desperately long for renewal and hope and resurrection. With water and word, today, every day, we celebrate the promise of God. And together we go out into a world of struggle and pain to be the body of Christ again.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Stewardship Sunday
November 10, 2019

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to throw away;
a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.

What gain have the workers from their toil? I have seen the business that God has given to everyone to be busy with. He has made everything suitable for its time; moreover, he has put a sense of past and future into their minds, yet they cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. I know that there is nothing better for them than to be happy and enjoy themselves as long as they live; moreover, it is God’s gift that all should eat and drink and take pleasure in all their toil. I know that whatever God does endures for ever; nothing can be added to it, nor anything taken from it; God has done this, so that all should stand in awe before him. That which is, already has been; that which is to be, already is; and God seeks out what has gone by. – Ecclesiastes 3:1-15

Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. ‘Teacher,’ he said, ‘what must I do to inherit eternal life?’ He said to him, ‘What is written in the law? What do you read there?’ He answered, ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbour as yourself.’ And he said to him, ‘You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.’

But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbour?’ Jesus replied, ‘A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side.So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while travelling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, “Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.” Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbour to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?’ He said, ‘The one who showed him mercy.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Go and do likewise.’

Now as they went on their way, he entered a certain village, where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying. But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, ‘Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.’ But the Lord answered her, ‘Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.’ – Luke 10:25-42

What time is it? Since last week’s time change, I’ve been asking that question a lot. The button to change the clock in my car is broken, so it’s an hour off now. And with a young child at home who doesn’t yet tell time, the hour shift has thrown off our schedule just enough that I’m constantly pausing to think about what the “real” time is versus the time on the clock. It’s like I’m still stuck in the transition phase between one time and another. What time is it exactly?

The wise writer of Ecclesiastes says that there is a time for everything. But how do we know what time it is? Is this the time for joy or mourning? The time for planting or harvest? The time to seek or to lose? For silence or speech? For birth or for death? What time is it exactly?

So often I feel as if we are caught between different times. When something happens that we want to celebrate, how do we hold also those who mourn the very same event? The church and, therefore, pastors are often invited into moments that celebrate birth or marriage but also sometimes in the very same day tending to brokenness and despair, death and pain. When Jesus comes to dwell among us, is it time to sit and listen like Mary or time to be busy with preparations like Martha? How do we know what time it really is?

In the parable that Jesus tells before he visits Mary and Martha, there is a person in need, someone literally lying on the side of the road. He needs wounds bandaged, he needs rest, he needs safe shelter. He needs someone to come alongside and journey with him. Ultimately he needs a safer road to travel on. The priest and the Levite surely wouldn’t disagree with the idea of helping him, but for whatever reason they have decided that it is not the time to share what they have. It is the outsider who comes along who shares what he has, he empties himself to provide for the one in need, because he recognizes that when a neighbor is in need that it is the time to share ones gifts even if it means great risk to oneself. He recognizes something about the moment and responds. He gives more than is expected and perhaps realizes, when he is confronted by his neighbor in need, that there are gifts he had that he hadn’t even realized were there, gifts his community needed. The Samaritan man realized that it is always time for helping a neighbor in need.

We have been given tremendous gifts. While we often feel as if there isn’t enough – not enough time or money, not enough energy, not enough compassion, not enough of whatever it is we wish we had more of, we believe in a God who gifts us as individuals and us as a community in exactly the ways we need it for the present time. Sometimes we don’t have what we think we will need tomorrow. Sometimes we don’t have the same gifts that we used to have. Sometimes we aren’t sure what we’re supposed to do with the gifts we have. But for now, this moment, this time, God has provided what is needed and we have a tremendous opportunity to share those gifts, not just at church but throughout our lives. It is such an incredible joy to discover the ways in which the things God has given us to share go out into the world. I wish for all of us that we have that experience of joy and blessing of seeing our gifts shared and received by others.

That’s true for our church, too. The gifts we have today are not the gifts we had 10 or 20 or 50 years ago. Not better or worse, but different. They may not feel like the gifts we think we shouldhave. And yet we do have gifts, we have neighbors in need, and, like Mary and Martha, we have the presence of Jesus come to dwell among us. It requires some difficult discernment work to figure out just what time it is and just how to match those gifts with what the world needs. And somehow, like the Samaritan who gave away what he had without any anticipation of return, we have to trust that when we send those gifts out from our congregation and into the community that they will sprout and grow in ways we may or may not get to see the results of.

But what allows us to be generous with who we are and what we have is that Jesus has come to sit among us. Jesus comes as the stranger, the neighbor in need, the trusted friend. Jesus comes in scripture and song, water and word, bread and wine. And we welcome the very presence of God in our midst as we extend that welcome every week to one another and to the community. That’s what we mean when we talk about our WHY statement: To welcome everyone so that all may experience God’s love in community. Whatever time it is now, that’s something that can inform and empower our work. It’s who we’ve been and who we want to be at the same time. And together we have the privilege of sharing our gifts and seeing what God will do with them next. Because God is holding all times and moments together at once.

Each of us has an experience, not only of our gifts being used and shared, but an experience of the gifts and opportunities of this community of faith. And so as we think about what time it is here at CTK – what has been and what is next – I’ve asked three members to share their experience of what this congregation has meant to them and their hopes for sharing our gifts in the future…

-Pastor Steven Wilco