6th Sunday after Epiphany
February 17, 2019

¹⁷Jesus came down with the twelve and stood on a level place, with a great crowd of his disciples and a great multitude of people from all Judea, Jerusalem, and the coast of Tyre and Sidon. ¹⁸They had come to hear him and to be healed of their diseases; and those who were troubled with unclean spirits were cured. ¹⁹And all in the crowd were trying to touch him, for power came out from him and healed all of them.
  ²⁰Then Jesus looked up at his disciples and said:
 “Blessed are you who are poor,
  for yours is the dominion of God.
 ²¹“Blessed are you who are hungry now,
  for you will be filled.
 “Blessed are you who weep now,
  for you will laugh.
  ²²“Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son-of-Man. ²³Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets.
 ²⁴“But woe to you who are rich,
  for you have received your consolation.
 ²⁵“Woe to you who are full now,
  for you will be hungry.
 “Woe to you who are laughing now,
  for you will mourn and weep.
  ²⁶“Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets.” – Luke 6:17-26

This morning I have a story to tell you. It’s not my story. Originally it was written by Anne Hebert, though a number of preachers have retold it in various versions, so perhaps you’ve even heard it before. It’s called “The Pointless People,” and it goes something like this:

In the beginning, God created human beings and sent them to frolic in the garden. They played and they played. They danced and they sang. They jumped and they leaped. They splashed in the river. They rested in the shade and basked in the sun. And life was good.

Until someone came along – some say it was a snake, but others whispered and pointed fingers at some of the other people around – in the end it doesn’t really matter who it was. The suggestion began to circulate that all this fun was a waste of time. It was all useless and pointless, unless of course you figured out a way to keep score. Points – now that’s fun. Points will tell you who is the fastest and best, who has the best voice and the nicest clothes. Oh, you can set up points for just about anything the people soon discovered. Instead of having fun they spent their time arguing about the rules and just how you could get ahead.

Pretty soon the whole world was out to get points. Anyone who didn’t have points was ignored and forgotten. People were always comparing the point totals and worrying about getting ahead. They were always a little jealous of some neighbors who had much and secretly smug about others who didn’t have as many points. They still did some of the same things but when they ran it was a race, when they jumped in the water someone gave them a score. The best dancers and musicians got more points. They no longer frolicked. And a lot of people didn’t stop to rest anymore. And it wasn’t as much fun. But pretty soon no one remembered any other way.

But God did. And God was a little bit angry, but mostly really sad to see what had come of the world. So God tried a new way. God came to live among the people and began to go around, frolicking a bit himself, but earnestly and joyfully reminding people that points didn’t really mean anything and that maybe it would be more fun without them. He hosted pointless picnics for thousands, pointless banquets where the guest lists got thrown out. He gathered a few of the people who didn’t have very many points to join him. A great many people were intrigued, but not so much they were ready to give up earning their points. In the end some people were so angry that they had to end him once and for all. And they thought they did, until three days later they found some of those followers frolicking away from his tomb shouting with joy about something called resurrection. And somehow that message about living without points lived on anyway.

Others tell that story better than I just did, but I tell you this quick version now because in our gospel reading we have just caught Jesus laying it out for the crowd that the point systems we know and love don’t actually matter. It’s a crowd of people longing for healing, people hungry for bread and hungry for wholeness. A crowd of curious onlookers and people with power. It’s a crowd of locals and neighbors and foreigners. It’s in-crowd folk and hangers-on. It’s a mix of every body. And I think Jesus looks out and sees what starts to happen in every crowd – people starting to compare their points. And he starts trying to explain this again.

Blessed are the poor. Blessed are the hungry. Blessed are the weeping. Blessed are the reviled. Huh? What is he talking about? That sounds awful! But wait – he’s not done: Woe to the rich. Woe to the filled. Woe to the laughing. Woe to the ones that get lifted up. Wait! That’s not how the points work, Jesus!  You have it all backwards!

I don’t think Jesus is saying there’s anything nice or good or something to aspire to in being poor, hungry, weeping, or reviled. He’s not suggesting that the poor are extra virtuous, that the hungry have some better access to spirituality, the weeping are somehow better off because they can only go up from there. Poverty is exhausting and difficult. To be really profoundly hungry, to wonder where your next meal is coming from, to not be able to feed your family is awful. You see, Jesus isn’t suggesting we just change the rules so that those with the fewest points win. I think he’s suggesting we stop keeping score altogether.

And I don’t think he’s saying that the rich, full, laughing people are terrible people or outside God’s blessing. I sure hope not. Because while I might have challenges here and there – everyone does – I fall squarely in the “Woe to you” category. And I don’t think it’s a prescription for socialism, where everything gets redistributed so that everyone has just enough to live on, though I do think Jesus is probably appalled at the wealth disparity in our world, the way in which some live so far beyond their means while others starve. But I think Jesus is saying that when they realize their money and power isn’t going to save them, when werealize our trust in our own power and the world’s point system isn’t enough to keep us from dying and losing it all anyway, when we confront the reality that our comfort comes all too often at the expense of someone else’s, we are going to be really shocked to realize that we get resurrected into a kingdom without any points to tell us who’s more blessed than whom, and maybe that the things we thought were such blessings weren’t really so important after all. That’s honestly hard news to hear – these upside-down blessings and woes.

So maybe for the sake of those of us who are among the poor and hungry in one way or another and for the sake of those of us who need to have our point system challenged, it would be helpful to think about some modern beatitudes. Most of these are borrowed from Pr. Nadia Bolz-Weber’s fine book chapter and sermon on Matthew’s version of the Beatitudes:

Blessed are the agnostics and they who doubt; those who aren’t so sure of themselves that they can’t still be surprised. Blessed are those who have nothing to offer. Blessed are the preschoolers who cut in line at communion. Blessed are they for whom death is not an abstraction. Blessed are the mothers of the miscarried. Blessed are kids who sit alone at middle-school lunch tables. Blessed are the laundry guys at the hospital. Blessed are the sex workers and the night-shift street sweepers and the plow drivers. Blessed are the undocumented immigrants and the asylum seekers and the war-torn refugees. Blessed are the seniors who have been told they have nothing to contribute. Blessed are the wrongly accused and the condemned. Blessed are ones weeping over loved ones shot and killed this week. Blessed are the burned out social workers and the overworked teachers. The list goes on and on until blessing is bestowed in every lonely, hurting corner of the earth. [Note: Some of these are quoted from Bolz-Weber directly, others are added and/or rephrased.]

Probably somewhere in that list is something that challenges each of us, maybe something that touches each of us deeply. Some place in which we find ourselves unexpectedly blessed and probably some place we have failed to convey blessing on someone we thought didn’t have enough points. Maybe somewhere in that list or somewhere out in the world is something that makes us start to question the points we assign to just about everything in the world.

Wherever you find yourself in that list of blessings and woes, come join us at this point-less table, by which I mean come have a meal where your points don’t matter and you can’t earn or lose any by coming. Come receive Jesus. Receive blessing to know that whatever you tell yourself, whatever anyone else tells you, that you are beloved. Receive here the challenge to go out into the world and upend the systems that fail to bless far too many people. And maybe, just maybe, come back from the table with a spring in your step, ready to throw out your points and join Jesus again in a resurrection frolic in the garden.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

5th Sunday after Epiphany
February 10, 2019

¹In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of The Lord’s robe filled the temple. ²Seraphs were in attendance above the Lord; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. ³And one called to another and said:
 “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts;
 the whole earth is full of the glory of the Lord.”
⁴The pivots on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called, and the house filled with smoke. ⁵And I said: “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the Sovereign, the Lord of hosts!”
  ⁶Then one of the seraphs flew to me, holding a live coal that had been taken from the altar with a pair of tongs. ⁷The seraph touched my mouth with it and said: “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.” ⁸Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I; send me!” ⁹And the Lord said, “Go and say to this people:
 ‘Keep listening, but do not comprehend;
 keep looking, but do not understand.’
 ¹⁰Make the mind of this people dull,
  and stop their ears,
  and shut their eyes,
 so that they may not look with their eyes,
  and listen with their ears,
 and comprehend with their minds,
  and turn and be healed.”
 ¹¹Then I said, “How long, O Lord?” And the Lord said:
 “Until cities lie waste
  without inhabitant,
 and houses without people,
  and the land is utterly desolate;
 ¹²until the Lord sends everyone far away,
  and vast is the emptiness in the midst of the land.
 ¹³Even if a tenth part remain in it,
  it will be burned again,
 like a terebinth or an oak
  whose stump remains standing
  when it is felled.”
 The holy seed is its stump. – Isaiah 6:1-13

¹Once while Jesus was standing beside the lake of Gennesaret, and the crowd was pressing in on him to hear the word of God, ²he saw two boats there at the shore of the lake; those who were fishing had gone out of the boats and were washing their nets. ³Jesus got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon, and asked him to put out a little way from the shore. Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat. ⁴When Jesus had finished speaking, he said to Simon, “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.” ⁵Simon answered, “Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets.” ⁶When they had done this, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to break. ⁷So they signaled their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both boats, so that they began to sink. ⁸But when Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’ knees, saying, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!” ⁹For Simon and all who were with him were amazed at the catch of fish that they had taken; ¹⁰and so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. Then Jesus said to Simon, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching human beings.” ¹¹When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed Jesus. – Luke 5:1-11

My own call story to ordained ministry involved no miraculous visions of God, no miraculous catches of fish. In fact, nothing that seems particularly miraculous at all. But I recognize something of my own call story in the ones we just read: it did involve the same kind of skeptical resistance that seems common to so many Biblical call stories.

The first time I have a clear memory of someone suggesting to me that I should become a pastor, I wanted to laugh out loud. I was too shy and too polite to laugh in the face of an adult, but my 12-or-13-year-old self wanted to respond, “But real people don’t become pastors!!” Even though I was old enough to know better, some part of me thought pastors just emerged fully formed and existed only in the church building or at church functions. Normal people, which I suppose even if I couldn’t articulate it at the time, meant broken people who don’t always feel confident or have the answers, people whose faith wavers and wonders, people who make mistakes. Thosepeople don’t become pastors. Needless to say, even though there was no profound vision or miraculous sign, I think God was at work, because from that brief comment on, the idea never let go of me. And ordinary and flawed as I was and am, I did become a pastor.

Today we get two of the many great call stories in the Bible. Isaiah, minding his own business, has a vision of God. And, according to the history he himself knows, people who see God face-to-face, drop dead. And if that weren’t enough he sees the seraphim, angels. But not the cute-faced chubby little cupids we’ll see plastered all over this week for Valentine’s Day. No, these are fiery serpentine creatures with six wings who are more intimidating than comforting. And Isaiah says, “Whoa! Not me. No. Normal people don’t see God. Normal people don’t go prophesying. People like me are just trying to mind our own business!” And God touches his lips with a burning coal, which, honestly can’t help God’s argument that much if he’s trying to convince Isaiah to be the prophet of God’s message, a message in that moment of history that was mostly of doom and gloom. Burning coals? No thanks, not for normal people either. And finally God asks, “Now, whom shall I send?” And most people read this as if Isaiah all of a sudden jumps up shouting, “Oo! Oo! Pick me! Pick me!” But I kind of wonder if instead he slowly takes a few steps back, sheepishly looks over his right shoulder than his left hoping that somehow there might be crowds of other people there to answer the question. Until he realizes that God is essentially just asking him. And he replies, “Um…I guess….you could, if you really want to, send me?”  Isaiah is just an ordinary person, with ordinary dreams and ordinary problems. And God steps in and makes him a prophet. Not an easy job, but one that God equips him to do.

And Simon Peter is pretty ordinary, too. He gets up in the morning to fish. He mends nets, he catches fish, he cleans them and sells them. He makes just enough to eke by, just enough to put a simple meal on the table most nights. And then he goes to bed, gets up the next morning to do it all again. He’s a hard working guy, maybe a little rough around the edges. Not a bad guy, but by no means perfect either. And along comes Jesus, who’s never fished a day in his life, giving fishing advice to this man. But maybe he’s heard something of Jesus already, maybe he’s even met him, or maybe he just wants to prove the guy wrong. And he casts the net one more time, knowing it will be empty because the fish just aren’t swimming into the nets today. And up comes a catch of fish beyond what this fisherman has ever seen in his life. The nets are breaking, the fishermen are falling into the water, the boats are sinking under this miraculous catch. And finally ashore, Simon Peter realizes he isn’t worthy of standing in the presence of this miraculously abundant teacher. And Jesus responds with an invitation to follow, an invitation, in fact, to be at the start of a whole new way of understanding who God is, to be among the first to share the good news with the world. An ordinary fisherman, invited to do the work of God.

Ordinary people, called to do extraordinary things. Because when they encouter God, even the most ordinary of tasks, the things they have done day after day of their lives, becomes infused with the miraculous. Both Isaiah and Simon Peter are blown away, nearly crushed by the abundance of God. For Isaiah it’s the abundance of the vision of God enthroned in majesty and glory. For Simon Peter it’s the catch of fish that nearly capsizes his boat. God shows up and they are physically, mentally, and emotionally crushed by the abundance of God. That sounds terrible, and in a way it sort of is. It’s grace so overwhelming that it makes them realize their own inadequacy. It’s the moment in which they are so fully confronted with God that they realize they can’t live, much less succeed, without God.

One way to say that is to say they recognize their own sinfulness. And we assume that the response of God to sin is forgivenss. Let me be clear that God’s response to sin and brokenness is absolutely one of forgiveness. But God’s response to human brokenness, especially perhaps the kind of brokenness that manifests as our not feeling worthy or not feeling capable enough or courageous enough, God’s response to thatkind of brokenness, that kind of sin if we want to use that word, God’s response is call. A call to do the work of God in the world, call to proclaim the good news in whatever way your daily life allows. God’s response to Isaiah, to Peter, to you and me, is something like, “Yes, of course you’re not perfect, of course you’re going to mess it up, of course this mission is more than you can handle. But that’s what I’mhere for, so come on! Let’s go!”

And that’s how very real people, very ordinary people, get called by God to do something profound and world-changing. But here’s the thing – that means you, too. I don’t throw my own call story in with Isaiah and Simon Peter because I think it’s worthy of being lifted up as a lofty and important calling. I lift it up because I recognize my own ordinariness and the ways that God uses me anyway. And because from time to time I, too, receive the gift of being utterly crushed by the abundance of God’s grace, so overwhelmed by God’s generosity and love that I cannot imagine how I could stand up in the world again. Sometimes it’s communion, the power of God’s very self given for you, for me.  That bread and wine is the presence of God as magnificent as the vision Isaiah has of God on the throne. Sometimes it’s splashing in the waters of the font, remembering the unequivocal welcome into the family of God. Often it’s the space of silence and a carefully worded question my spiritual director offers that allows an image of God to form in my mind. And it’s there I hear the voice of call again – call not just to my work as a pastor, but call to my work as spouse, parent, friend, citizen, human being.

And I believe wholeheartedly that you, too, are being called. You, too, are imperfect people who have gifts and skills alongside a history of mistakes and missteps. You are being called by God. So I want to offer you three questions in light of these call stories. Where have you been overwhelmed by God’s abundance? What is God calling you to at this moment of your life? And what message are you telling yourself to avoid that call?

Because all of us receive an invitation to serve God in our lives and all of us at one time or another try to wriggle out of that call. We tell ourselves that regular people can’t do evangelism. Real people don’t change the world. Average people don’t stand up and proclaim God’s word. Ordinary folk don’t walk around living out radical love for the poor and hungry. But, in fact, they do. There are only ordinary, normal, everyday people, no matter how famous or seemingly important.

As a church, too, we sometimes miss the incredible gifts God has already given to us. We worry that we are too old, too small, too poor, too whatever for God to use us. Here at Christ the King we think we’re just ordinary. But that’s exactly the point. We are just an ordinary church, and God shows up in our midst every week – every day, knocking us over with grace, and giving us a call to share the love of Jesus. We do well to open our hearts and minds to explore just what that call looks like for us in this place and time, but let us not think we are no longer called just because we can’t see past our ordinariness.

And maybe, just maybe, in all that exploring of call, we might start to realize that there’s another lie we’ve been believing– that ordinary people don’t get resurrected either. We sometimes think and often act as if God can’t or won’t bring us back from failure or defeat, as if God might not actually bring us back in the end from death itself. All too often we wonder if we do enough, have enough, are enough. And God must just smile and laugh and say, “Of course you’re not. Welcome to the resurrected kingdom of God where you have a place, and a call, and the joy of God’s love forever.”

-Pastor Steven Wilco

3rd Sunday after Epiphany
January 27, 2019

 

Sometimes we feel like there are too many words and not enough action. But sometimes words are the action. While we don’t want to just sit around and talk about things, there are times when a carefully spoken word changes the reality around us. This is called performative speech. Think marriage vows…with the words, “I do,” promises are made and someone proclaims a sentence that in fact makes a couple married when they were not before the words were spoken. Or “I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” With word, and, yes, water, a person becomes baptized. Or much simpler and ordinary: “I promise to do the dishes tonight.” The dishes aren’t done, but a promise now exists because it has been spoken. Or when the promise is broken, someone says, “I apologize.” And, perhaps, “I accept your apology.”

But let’s be honest about this kind of speech – it’s not always so joyful. “You are under arrest. I sentence you to prison. We declare war. I resign. You’re fired.” All these things create a new reality in their being spoken, a reality perhaps at least someone doesn’t want to be created. Speech can create, but it can also un-create. Though it’s not technically an example of performative speech, hate speech and even simple name-calling creates or uncreates a reality, too. “I hate you. You’re worthless. We don’t want your kind here.” It speaks into being un unwelcome or hostile environment. And heard enough times, speech like that – and much worse, of course, that doesn’t deserve repeating – can shape those who hear it such that they internalize it. Someone else’s words create internal experiences for us that change and shape who we are – for better or worse.

Today’s readings are full of performative speech. In the book of Nehemiah, which even the most active of Bible readers rarely find themselves reading, we hear the story of God’s people returning from exile. There had been generations of failed leadership, tribal struggles, war with neighboring peoples. And, as often happens, an empire emerged that was powerful enough to destroy what was left and drive at least many of the people away from their homeland. Generations more lived in a foreign land struggling to find new expression for their faith in a different context. And now, some of the people have returned to Jerusalem. They have tried to make a new life in a home that they have known only in the stories of their grandparents and great-grandparents. They are trying to negotiate the ways their faith has grown differently than the faith of those left behind. They are trying to seek hope in the midst of ruins just beginning to be rebuilt.

And so Ezra calls them together and together they read. They read the promises of God to their ancestors. They read the stories of liberation from oppression. They read the stories of God’s vision for justice, for rest, for wholeness of person and community. And, just as it does when we gather on Sunday to hear the scriptures read among us, it creates a new or at least renewed existence. To hear the old stories of God’s promises made and fulfilled through all manner of trial and hardship has the power to create faith and hope in us. Words are read, promises are spoken, a new reality is created.

And even more so when Jesus stands in the synagogue to read scripture. He returns to his hometown synagogue now an adult who is beginning a ministry. All the eyes are upon him as he takes the scroll of the prophet Isaiah and finds the place: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. The Lord has sent me to proclaim release to the captives, and recovery of the sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” To people who largely still experienced a difficult life living on the economic margins of the empire it probably sounded like a pipe dream, something far off in a fairy tale land. But Jesus pauses and says to them: “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” What they may not yet see is that in reading this, in placing God’s promise yet again in a new place, a new context, Jesus creates the reality of the promise all over again. Speaking the words creates the freedom of which it speaks.

And, yet, their troubles, ailments, poverty persists. The God of life has stood among them and proclaimed their release and yet they remain bound as ever. It’s what we experience to – the already and not-yet of God’s promise. Jesus has come, freedom has been proclaimed. But we remain caught up in all the same kinds of things that perpetuate oppression and poverty. We participate, most of us, as both victims and perpetrators. We are both the ones hurt and the ones hurting. We hold grudges, we cling to privilege at the expense of others, we speak division and violence into being, we alienate parts of the body of Christ by ignoring them, tokenizing them, walling them off. We still live among ruins and feel the weight of captivity.

And yet the words are spoken into our midst every Sunday. Today, in your hearing, the fulfillment of God’s promise. The God who spoke the whole of creation into being, speaks words of liberation and freedom and restoration in our midst, week after week after week. God says, “You are my beloved, with you I am well-pleased.” And it is so. God says, “Your sins are forgiven.” And it is so. God says, “This is my body given for you.” And it is so. God says, “You are blessed.” And it is so.

We so much more easily believe the things that tear us down and tear others down. We live as if to be set free might leave us unprotected and alone. We live as if setting others free might cause us to lose what we have. But into the midst of it all is God speaking to us over and over again, reminding us of the promises of old and speaking them anew in ourtime and place. God is calling us to speak with care, to speak justice and freedom, to speak love and welcome, to speak peace and hope, to speak all those things into existence. But even more than that God is speaking us into being over and over again. Renewing and resurrecting us from our failures and setting us free from the things that bind us, giving us new life every day. And calling us beloved. And when God speaks, it comes into being. Amen.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Epiphany
Sunday, January 6, 2019

¹In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, magi from the East came to Jerusalem, ² asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” ³When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; ⁴and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. ⁵They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet:
 ⁶‘And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
  are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
 for from you shall come a ruler
  who is to shepherd my people Israel.’ ”
  ⁷Then Herod secretly called for the magi and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. ⁸Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.” ⁹When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. ¹⁰When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. ¹¹On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. ¹²And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road. – Matthew 2:1-12

Throughout college I worked as student staff at the campus chapel, spending time there most days of four years in school. It was their practice to give graduating seniors from the chapel staff a framed print, usually of a Bible verse. I was given this print, not a Bible verse, but as far as I know an unattributed quote. It has ever since hung near my desk to remind me to follow its sage advice. I think, perhaps, I had spent enough time with the campus pastors that they knew me pretty well and knew what kind of advice I probably needed to read and reread. It says:

“If, as Herod, we fill our lives with things, and again with things; if we consider ourselves so unimportant that we must fill every moment of our lives with action, when will we have the time to make the long, slow journey across the desert as did the Magi? Or sit and watch the stars as did the shepherds? Or brood over the coming of the child as did Mary? For each one of us, there is a desert to travel. A star to discover. And a being within ourselves to bring to life.”

This brief statement says a lot of things all at once. But more than anything it makes me think about the magi and their journey to see Jesus. Their journey had so many parts that it is a miracle in and of itself they made the journey at all.

Long before the star appeared in the sky over Bethlehem, these magi, whoever exactly they were, however many of them there were, they were people who watched. They observed. They spent hours perhaps every night watching the stars, discerning their patterns. Likely they were Zoroastrian priests who were searching for a sign in the stars of a the miraculous birth of more of God’s prophets. These were people who dedicated their lives to observing the ordinary looking for the miraculous, knowing that perhaps for whole generations there would not be a miraculous star to observe (though surely they saw many magnificent night skies). It is not a job I have patience for – to sit and watch and perhaps likely never see what one is looking for. This requires a deep and abiding awareness of the present that I struggle at times to find. I am much more like Herod who is busy paying attention to all the wrong things and letting myself get caught up in fear and anxiety, becoming reactive.

But back the magi…Having observed the star they make a decision to go and see. This, too, is amazing. How often have we observed something wonderful, even miraculous, and decided not to pick up our lives and follow it? How often have we decided it must not be for us or that we aren’t worthy or that we shouldn’t get involved in whatever it is that is going on? Or we decide we just don’t have the time and energy.

And then they have the arduous journey. At any point they might well have turned back. They might have risked thieves on the road, places of scarce water and food. They left behind their homes and communities. It cannot have been easy. The arrival of Jesus might be wonderful and miraculous, but it does not make their lives easier, rather it makes them harder. There are times, too, in our lives when following Jesus, or even seeking Jesus in the midst of all the other things that demand our attention, requires a difficult journey, hard decisions, perhaps periods of personal discomfort.

And after all that, they can’t even find what they are looking for. They have to stop and ask for directions. These are experts in observing the skies, people of deep spiritual understanding, and even they need help on the journey. And not just help from other people like themselves, but help from people very much unlike themselves. They needed the help of a crooked king and scribes from a tradition foreign to them. To find Jesus they needed to build connections in the communities along their way. They needed to bridge the divide they might have perceived between themselves and the other. They had to engage those they might not have known, those they might not have liked, those they considered to be not so spiritual. And it’s thatencounter that finally leads them to Jesus. Perhaps we too need to get out of our churchy circles and build bridges with unexpected partners. Maybe we will discover Jesus that way, too.

And so the magi arrive, bearing their gifts, gifting more than anything their presence, that is their p-r-e-s-e-n-c-e, their being present. They show up, they offer themselves. They behold the mystery. They do not fully understand. They do not develop a program or create a set of judgments about the world. They stand in the presence of the holy. Perhaps they give a deep bow. Perhaps they stand in silence. Maybe they sing. But they stand in the presence of the holy and let themselves experience it, something else we might learn from the magi.

And, finally, they return home. But on the advice of a vivid dream they go home by another route. Their encounter with Jesus – that is not just meeting the infant but the whole encounter with the holy from watching to journeying to heading home again – their encounter with Jesus changes something. It sends them home in a new way. It opens up new pathways for them.

Oh to be the magi! What gift that all would have been. Even the long waiting, the long journey, to be transformed by the presence of Jesus. Instead, as the print on my wall reminds me when I dare to read it, I am all too often more like Herod. Not malicious, though by many accounts Herod was. Not evil, as I’m sure many made him out to be. But having filled life with so many things that it becomes hard to make the journey. It becomes hard to notice the star. It becomes hard to bear gifts and to be present. It becomes hard to take new pathways. It becomes hard to make out the presence of Jesus.

Friends, it is hard. And we do well to think about the way our lives are shaped and how we might begin to make room for all of that, to claim our worthiness for the waiting, the watching, the journeying, the being present. To claim the boldness that God has given us. For there is indeed, as the print says, a journey for us and a being within ourselves coming to life.

But for now, you have come here. To this place. Some of you came this morning just from next door. Others of you from farther. Some of you were literally born in this congregation, others of us had paths to this place that wound through other communities. You have come seeking something, drawn in by something. And here we are. And here is Jesus. There will be new paths, new journeys, new ways of discovering Jesus. But for now, rest for a moment. Because you offer here your being present. And here is Jesus. Jesus in the words of scripture. Jesus in the bread and wine at the table. Jesus in your fellow magi next to you in the pew.

And even when you aren’t here. Jesus finds a way to you, a way to meet you on your journey. A way to lead you and push you, a way to comfort and protect you, a way to bring you courage and hope, a way to join us up with fellow travelers. And always, always, the presence of God drawing us in and bringing something new to birth in us.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

First Sunday of Christmas
December 30, 2018

¹²As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. ¹³Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. ¹⁴Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. ¹⁵And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in the one body. And be thankful. ¹⁶Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly; teach and admonish one another in all wisdom; and with gratitude in your hearts sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs to God. ¹⁷And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God, the Father, through him. – Colossians 3:12-17

⁴¹Now every year Jesus’ parents went to Jerusalem for the festival of the Passover. ⁴²And when he was twelve years old, they went up as usual for the festival. ⁴³When the festival was ended and they started to return, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem, but his parents did not know it. ⁴⁴Assuming that he was in the group of travelers, they went a day’s journey. Then they started to look for him among their relatives and friends. ⁴⁵When they did not find him, they returned to Jerusalem to search for him. ⁴⁶After three days they found Jesus in the temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. ⁴⁷And all who heard Jesus were amazed at his understanding and his answers. ⁴⁸When his parents saw him they were astonished; and his mother said to him, “Child, why have you treated us like this? Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety.” ⁴⁹Jesus said to them, “Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” ⁵⁰But they did not understand what he said to them. ⁵¹Then Jesus went down with them and came to Nazareth, and was obedient to them. His mother treasured all these things in her heart.
  ⁵²And Jesus increased in wisdom and in years, and in divine and human favor. – Luke 2:41-52

If we were looking for a definition of how we want to be as people and how we want to be as church, Colossians 3 would be a pretty solid one: “clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. ¹³Bear with one another and…forgive each other…clothe yourselves with love…let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts…be thankful.”

Ok, any questions? Should we just go do that, now? Of course! And at the same time, of course we are not able to do that all perfectly all the time. Maybe we do alright a lot of the time. Sometimes we fall pretty short of the ideal. But mostly it’s not a matter of not knowing what we need to do. We know the goal, but we are on a lifelong journey of learning to live it out. I hate to tell you but there won’t be a magic day for each of us when we finally learn how to do this and then we’re all set. We will always be learning.

Which is why I love this unique story about Jesus. It’s the only story we get of Jesus in childhood – the only snippet between birth and ministry at around 30 years old. It’s a story of what it means to be an adolescent exploring independence and boundaries with parents. It’s a story that resonates with any caregiver who has lost a young one in a crowd. It’s a story that resonates with anyone who’s ever been a teenager wanting some time away from their parents. But if we take seriously the divinity of Jesus, if we believe what we confess that Jesus is fully God even as he is full human, then this is a story about God learning.

It’s easy to miss in all the other interesting details of this story, but Jesus is sitting at the feet of the temple teachers and learning and asking them questions. Perhaps much of the art depicting this scene, including the art on our bulletin cover, has gotten into our minds, and we picture a young Jesus holding court at the temple, lecturing the adults. But this is not what the text presents to us, nor the style of teaching that centuries of rabbis have used. What the text tells us is that Jesus was listening and asking questions. He was a star student, clearly: asking good, deep questions that created amazement at his understanding. But he was a student engaged in a traditional Jewish way of learning through dialogue and questions.

Already in Jesus’ time there were a plethora of voices in debate about how to truly take seriously the scriptures that guided their faith and life. There was an ongoing debate about what those scriptures meant with each new challenge that was presented to them with each new day. Even as wise teachers instructed the young, the young participated in this debate with their questions.

And so Jesus, God made flesh, sits at the feet of the teachers and engages the debates. And Jesus learns something. Learns many things, even. Imagine this, the God of the universe, the creator of all things, has, for the first time, fully and completely inhabited human flesh, and so now has the opportunity to engage these debates in a new way as Jesus’ body grows and changes and God experiences human life from inside. The mystery of the incarnation we celebrate this whole Christmas season is that God is experiencing something new by being human among us.

To learn fully what this human being thing is all about requires dialogue with others. And this is a fundamental characteristic of God, one that isn’t unique to Jesus but represented in other stories throughout scripture – that God is in ongoing conversation with human beings, that as God’s creation evolves and changes, so, too, does God just for being in relationship with us who are evolving and changing. God chooses to be in a relationship of mutual learning with us. And God does this not just from a distance with humanity as a whole but in one-on-one ways. God sits out ourfeet, too, eager to learn about us and our experiences, eager to know what it is that makes us tick. Eager to understand our deepest needs and desires, our fear, our hopes, our dreams. And God learns. God learns about us, God learns something new about grace.

Because grace isn’t just one thing that God pours out the same day after day. Grace is a unique response to each of us every moment. Grace is the power of love we need in the face of particular needs, particular failures, particular faults, particular good days and bad days. Grace is new for God every moment because the grace we need each moment is new and different.

I have to imagine that this is a piece of what Jesus is learning sitting in the temple with learned rabbis and other students. Learning what it means for grace to be new in every new place, with every new person, in every new time. Jesus is learning what God’s love looks like in Jerusalem, in the temple, and for his own life back in Galilee. What does it look like to live the pure and unbounded love of God in this body in this place and time?

And if God is learning, I think that gives us a call to be learning, too. It means that even when we get it right, even when we clothe ourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. When we let the peace of Christ rule in our hearts. It means we don’t stop there. It means we haven’t mastered it. Instead it means we are called to keep moving forward into the next moment, the next opportunity to see how all that manifests itself the next day. And we’ll fail at it again at some point – this is part of learning – making mistakes, then making amends and moving forward anew. It means we are called to keep engaging the question of how to live outå our faith in each new day.

It also calls us as the church to be a learning organization. This is something people are talking about in the business community and the non-profit management world, but at the heart it’s also a faithful way to be in the world. It means that one of the important ways we work to meet our goals is not just to figure out how to do something but also to shift our culture as a community to be one that is always learning, reflecting, asking questions. Some kinds of things – including being a faithful community – don’t tend to have the kind of work that you can figure out how to do once and just keep doing it. Becoming a learning organization means cultivating the kind of environment where we can raise questions, take risks, and not be satisfied with something going well or going poorly. If as a congregation we want to better serve families and young people we have to think about how to sit down at their feet, so to speak, to listen and learn. And then we have to learn not to make assumptions that once we’ve understood something about it that we’ve understood everything about it. God’s being a learning and growing God calls us to be learning and growing people, always asking ourselves, one another, and the community how we can better live our faith, how we can better live God’s grace.

But in that challenging and difficult calling, let us not forget the grace of a learning and growing God. A God who meets us each new day to linger with us, maybe longer than it seems God should be supposed to. A God who listens and asks questions to deepen an understanding of who we are. A God who seeks to know us deeply so that grace might be offered for us in the way in which we most need it. That is why we return again and again to the same scriptures year after year. Why we return to the many of the same hymns season after season. Why we gather week after week to hear the words of grace and forgiveness, to receive the body and blood offered to us in grace. Because each year, each season, each week, each day God is learning and growing with us and the grace offered today is offered in new ways and to new depths because we and God have grown and changed. That is the peace of Christ that dwells in our hearts and invites us into a life of thanksgiving.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Christmas Eve
December 24, 2018

¹In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. ²This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. ³All went to their own towns to be registered. ⁴Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. ⁵He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. ⁶While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. ⁷And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.
  ⁸In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. ⁹Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. ¹⁰But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: ¹¹to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. ¹²This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” ¹³And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying,
 ¹⁴“Glory to God in the highest heaven,
  and on earth peace among those whom God favors!”
  ¹⁵When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” ¹⁶So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. ¹⁷When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; ¹⁸and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. ¹⁹But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. ²⁰The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them. – Luke 2:1-20

The night we have been waiting for is here. Week by week we have been lighting more candles on our advent wreath. Waiting. Hoping. Adding more and more flickering flames as the nights grew longer and colder. Finally all the candles are aglow, the lights reminding us that Christmas has finally arrived.

The night we have been waiting for is here. We have been decorating our homes and our church. Lights twinkling in the darkness. Perhaps, too, the wrapping of presents, the baking of cookies, the preparations for dinner, the waiting for Santa’s arrival. All in hopes of seeing the warm glow of joy on the faces of loved ones, perhaps to hold at bay feelings of grief and loss and sadness that so often also bubble up this season.

The night we have been waiting for is here. The world seems to be falling apart. Natural disasters abound like the tsunami in Indonesia this weekend. Political fights affecting so many families this holiday season. War and violence continue, including in modern-day Bethlehem, the city we read and sing about tonight. And we have been promised on this night hope and joy. We have been promised on this night a savior to come among us. We have been promised a new kind of life with God dwelling among us.

The night we have been waiting for is here. To you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. We have sung the familiar carols. Heard the familiar story. Mary and Joseph, tired from travel, lodge in the only place they can find – among the animals. Mary gives birth. Though we didn’t read Matthew’s account of Jesus’ birth we remember the star that appears above, a bright beacon of light that shines down on magi far away inviting them to travel afar to this savior of the nations. We read, of course, of the angels appearing to the shepherds. Into an otherwise ordinary night sky, a glowing angel to make an announcement, and soon a bright array of the whole heavenly host singing “Glory to God in the Highest!” The most joyful, beautiful, boisterous sound – perhaps even with some of them ringing their bells! And bright. Brighter than we can perhaps imagine, maybe almost blinding the sleepy-eyed shepherds. They go and see, for they, too, have been waiting, hoping, longing for a savior. And they find there…a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger?

It’s here perhaps that we pause and wonder just what kind of salvation this is. Because all that waiting, all that hoping, all those promises of light and life, and we, along with the shepherds receive a baby. Not exactly what they thought they were waiting for. Maybe not a solution to all they want fixed in their lives. And, honestly, sometimes it seems, even at Christmas, like we don’t even manage to make it to the manger with the shepherds to see that much. Sometimes the long-awaited Christmas arrives and we feel more like most of the people the night Jesus was born…asleep in our beds, oblivious to the new arrival, sleeping away without having noticed the shining star or the angelic appearance, still dwelling in darkness. So often it can feel like Christmas comes and we are still hoping. Still waiting. Still wondering when salvation will come.

We can believe God’s great Christmas gift, and yet it still sometimes feels we are wandering around looking for the light of Christ to come shining in. We light candles, hang our Christmas lights, sing our angel choruses. And there perhaps we will see a glimpse, catch a glimmer of hope, a taste of what we have been hoping for and longing for.

But this Christmas, in the moments when I find it difficult to make out the Christmas light, I’m finding hope in the story of another light twinkling in the sky. One we simply don’t think about this time of year, one that come out only in the warmest days, seen only on the year’s shortest nights. The light of fireflies glowing in the sky. There is something magical about them, something magnificent and full of wonder. But they are only around a few short weeks before they lay their eggs and disappear. But those eggs quickly hatch as little worms that live for nearly a year under the soil. They crawl around, glowing away where no one can see them. Hidden from our eyes, forgotten from our minds, but no less alive and shining bright for our lack of awareness. Eating, working, growing bigger, brighter, stronger, ready to emerge and dazzle the world. They will live like that until very near the summer solstice when they will nestle into a mud chamber and in a matter of days transform into the fireflies we know. The ones we will see flying about flashing their wonder-inducing display of light. It gives me joy to know that under the cold soil, under the blanket of snow that will soon coat the ground, beneath our feet and forgotten, shines that warm summer glow already. We may not see it yet, but glows nonetheless.**

Maybe this Christmas you are feeling full of hope, full of a sense of God’s come to dwell with you in the messy, dirty details of your life. I hope you see bright beacons of hope warmly glowing like the gentle radiance of a newborn baby in the manger. I hope you are surprised by good news, with angelic radiance shining bright. But for those who still feel asleep, or who are still looking down at the dirt and wondering when your light will come, I hope you know somewhere, somehow that God has already come to shine in your life. The promise of Christmas is God taking flesh to know the depth of our lives. Not only long ago and far away, but in every new place and time. So whether we see it tonight or not, whether we receive the long-awaited promise tonight or not, the promise is there, the light is shining. Jesus has come and the light of the star, the light of the angels, the light of the Christ child shines bright out in the open, but it shines, too, for all those who missed the wondrous birth, who missed the announcement of God with them, those who still long for the awaited promise. And the light of Christ shines even deep in hidden places working away in our world even unseen by our eyes and unknown to our minds, the Christmas light is full and bright. It is growing bigger and stronger all the time, preparing for the moment when that light will burst forth again even more fully in a way that all creation will see and experience. But for now, in the long nights of winter, in the dirt and mess of our lives, Christ has already come to dwell among us! Alleluia!

-Pastor Steven Wilco

**This image of the firefly has stuck with me from among many wonderful images in Gayle Boss’s All Creation Waits: The Advent Mystery of New Beginnings, the book that has been my daily devotional through the Advent season this year. It provides marvelous description after description of the way in which God’s creatures survive the long, cold winters in northern climates, and hints at the way in which their preparing and waiting reveals to us something about our own preparing and waiting for God’s promise to be fulfilled. 

Third Sunday of Advent
December 16, 2018

⁷John said to the crowds that came out to be baptized by him, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? ⁸Bear fruits worthy of repentance. Do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. ⁹Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.”
  ¹⁰And the crowds asked him, “What then should we do?” ¹¹In reply he said to them, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” ¹²Even tax collectors came to be baptized, and they asked him, “Teacher, what should we do?” ¹³John said to them, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.” ¹⁴Soldiers also asked him, “And we, what should we do?” He said to them, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.”
  ¹⁵As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, ¹⁶John answered all of them by saying, “I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming, the thong of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. ¹⁷With a winnowing fork in hand, he will clear the threshing floor and gather the wheat into his granary, burning the chaff with unquenchable fire.”
  ¹⁸So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people. – Luke 3:7-18    

You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath?!

Actually, no one had to. I imagine that even in John’s time people could feel judgment day coming. They feel the weight of broken lives and a broken world.

Maybe we no longer fear lightning bolts from heaven or fire and brimstone from above to cast judgment on us. But we are people who know judgment. We live in a world in which we are constantly evaluated. Bad service at a restaurant? Write a Yelp review and watch their reputation plummet. Make the kind of mistake that goes public? The internet can make sure that never really goes away. Have a disagreement with someone? Watch email or social media blow it out of proportion in no time. Judgment abounds.

Even if, despite John’s prophecy, we don’t spend a lot of time in our day worrying about Jesus coming back winnowing fork in hand to burn the chaff with unquenchable fire, we do recognize the reality that there are enough nuclear weapons to destroy life as we know it on the whole planet many times over. We recognize that the rate of climate change is unprecedented and threatens to undermine civilization. It’s the potential of a collective judgment day just on the horizon.

And maybe we don’t literally keep a record of our wrongs, but even before we’ve put our hand all the way into the cookie jar, we feel within ourselves the wrongness of what we are doing. It doesn’t stop us from doing what isn’t right, what isn’t good for us or for our neighbor, but we physically feel the judgment within our bodies when we do it.

And most of us have internalized not just that we have done things wrong but that we are wrong. We are the kind of people who do wrong things. For whatever reason, most of us have some part of us that has been shamed into hiding, some part of us we are convinced makes us bad people or at least not good enough people. We have voices, actual or imagined, that tell us we are not worthy. Too often, we imagine it is God’s voice speaking judgment upon us. Too often we mix up our own harsh inner voice, the world’s harsh critiques with God’s voice calling us to a new reality, a new kingdom.

In a sense the coming wrath is already here. We already know judgment. It’s a constant part of our lives. No one had to come tell us to flee from it. We’re already running from it when we wake up in the morning.

Even when we try to offer praise, genuine appreciation of someone else’s gifts, we often offer a judgment statement in its place. There have been studies that suggest that if we, for instance, praise someone for being smart, that the person takes it in as a value judgment. They recognize they have been evaluated, even if they’ve come out to the good. They are less likely to try something new because they wonder if the judgment will come out positive the next time. If instead the praise takes the form of observing accomplishments, naming effort and engagement, especially celebrating appropriate risk-taking, then the person is more likely to try something new, to take another risk.

It’s not that we can’t ever say something nice about someone – compliments are well and good. But it’s to say that we quickly fall into evaluative mode and that most of us can be a little afraid to try something new because we are afraid to fail. The possibility of judgment, the possibility that we will be thrown out with the chaff into the unquenchable fire, often leads us to a place of fear. And fear tends to make us shut down, turn inward, pull whatever we can in close and hope for the best. Like the crowds in our reading clinging to their ancestry in Abraham, we resort to tribalism, to holding on to our in-group mentality. Judgment tends not to make us generous, because that requires a willingness to enter into vulnerability.

Which brings us back to John’s fiery sermon in the wilderness. “Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. So the crowds asked him, “What then shall we do?” The judgment they have been fleeing is being reflected back to them yet again. But John’s response is simple: If you have two coats, give one away to someone who has none. If you have two items of food, give one away to someone who has none. Whatever your vocation in the world, do it with integrity.

Really? The ax is at the root of the tree and you just want us to share our coats? It’s as simple and as complicated as that. It’s complicated because at least some of you are thinking what I’m thinking… there’s the early fall jacket, the late fall fleece, the heavy winter coat, the spring raincoat…as long as I only have one of each….And we’ve already missed the point. Many of us rightly fear judgment day because for God’s reality to take hold in our broken world most of us are going to have to give some stuff up. For many of us some actual stuff, like some food and coats so that everyone has enough. But also our pride, our wealth, our power, our self-righteousness, our self-centeredness, our prejudice. There is plenty of chaff to throw into the fire in order for God’s kingdom to grow into reality.

But John’s advice is not to hunker down, to dig deeper, to try harder, to be somebody you’re not, to wall off the world, to count your losses and hope for the best. It’s to open yourself up. Make yourself vulnerable. Live now with the kind of freedom that exists in God’s kingdom, in the place where everyone has enough and everyone is valued, where everyone knows that they are God’s priceless treasures. If only, John says, we could live in that freedom now. If only the coming judgment would set us free instead of making us a prisoner to fear. If only we could let go of all the judgment that has already come our way and live free again.

Because that’s how God approaches the world of judgment. When the ax is at the root of the tree, when the fire and brimstone are stoked hot as they can get, when judgment is about to overwhelm the world, God offers a part of God’s self. God sends the Christ in human flesh, as a tiny child. Into a world that judges his generosity with harshness, that disregards him and his refusal to operate by the world’s harsh rules. In the face of judgment God offers us generosity more than we can imagine. That’s what John is doing in the wilderness, that’s his invitation to us: Rejoice! God’s generosity is pouring out again in your midst. So get ready. Open yourselves up. Participate in the kind of life-giving, freedom-creating generosity that God is already using to bring the world to a new reality. Because the time is here, the time is now, God’s love is poured out for you.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Second Sunday of Advent
December 9, 2018

“Blessed be the Lord God of Israel,
    for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them.
⁶⁹ He has raised up a mighty savior^[g] for us
    in the house of his servant David,
⁷⁰ as he spoke through the mouth of his holy prophets from of old,
⁷¹     that we would be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us.
⁷² Thus he has shown the mercy promised to our ancestors,
    and has remembered his holy covenant,
⁷³ the oath that he swore to our ancestor Abraham,
    to grant us ⁷⁴ that we, being rescued from the hands of our enemies,
might serve him without fear, ⁷⁵ in holiness and righteousness
    before him all our days.
⁷⁶ And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High;
    for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways,
⁷⁷ to give knowledge of salvation to his people
    by the forgiveness of their sins.
⁷⁸ By the tender mercy of our God,
    the dawn from on high will break upon^[h] us,
⁷⁹ to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,
    to guide our feet into the way of peace.” – Luke 1:68-79

In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler^[a] of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler^[b]of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler^[c] of Abilene, ² during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. ³ He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, ⁴ as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah,

“The voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
‘Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight.
⁵ Every valley shall be filled,
    and every mountain and hill shall be made low,
and the crooked shall be made straight,
    and the rough ways made smooth;
⁶ and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.’” – Luke 3:1-6

I was reading picture books this week, as we do a lot in our house these days, and I pulled out one of my new favorites. As we read, I couldn’t help but discover some resonances with the scripture texts for today that were also bouncing around in my head. So even though most of the kids have gone downstairs for Sunday School, I’d like to read you this book: Life by Cynthia Rylant and Brendan Wenzel.

[For blog readers…at this point I read the book and showed the illustrations. Without sharing the whole copyrighted text, the idea is that “life begins small…and then it grows.” With beautiful illustrations and short but profound text it reminds us to look to the wisdom of creatures and creation, to accept that there are times of wilderness, and that in spite of that there is always life beginning and growing….just go read it 🙂 ]

This story gets me every time I read it. The first thing that jumped out at me relates to our “psalm” for today. It is one of the rare times in the lectionary when we read a Biblical song from outside the book of psalms. The words we read responsively this morning are the song of Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist. It’s a song the author of Luke’s gospel places in the mouth of Zechariah when John is just a few days old. He is not yet the fiery preacher, wilderness wanderer, radical baptizer. John is a tender and fragile newborn. And yet in this moment his father Zechariah sees something transformative. He sees that “life begins small…and then it grows.”

When he and Elizabeth, were, and I quote now from the Bible, “getting on in years,” God blessed them with a child long after they had thought it possible. An angel appeared to Zechariah to tell him, and because he was, rightly so, rather skeptical, the angel left him mute for some months as the child grew in Elizabeth’s womb. It wasn’t until the child was born and named John that Zechariah’s mouth is opened and this song comes pouring forth: “Blessed are you, Lord, the God of Israel, you have come to your people and set them free. You have raised up for us a mighty savior…you promised of old to save us…to show mercy….you swore to our father Abraham: to set us free from the hands of our enemies. And you child, [John who will be known as the Baptizer]….will go before the Lord to prepare the way…and the dawn from on high shall break upon us…and guide our feet into the way of peace.” Now, granted, John’s was an especially miraculous birth. It was marked by strange and unusual visions and promises. But Zechariah is able to see in this infant God’s coming salvation, to believe the promise spoken to him by an angel, to look with great hope through this infant to the promised future for all of God’s people. To sing this bold song takes someone who recognizes that “life begins small….and then it grows.”

I’m often looking for big solutions. What’s the thing that will really transform our lives? What’s the big, grand vision for thriving ministry in the 21^stcentury? What’s the way to achieve peace among all nations forever? What’s the way to make my whole life more enjoyable, productive, meaningful? What will swoop in and fix things once and for all? And I can get so busy looking for those big solutions that I miss the small ways that life begins. I’m a big believer in the idea that while we have to keep advocating for peaceful solutions on a global scale that we can actually make an impact also by seeking greater peace in the tiny interactions we have with the people around us. Not that I am always successful at doing that. But maybe when a small gesture of peace or kindness is extended to us, when we are given the grace to extend such a small gesture of peace and kindness to someone else, perhaps we, too, could sing a bold song like Zechariah, a song that celebrates the tiniest ways the new life emerges in us, in our communities, and sees there the fulfillment of God’s salvation promised of old already breaking forth among us, because “life begins small…and then it grows.”

But as wonderful and prophetic as Zechariah’s song is, I have to think Zechariah isn’t exactly hoping for the kind of life for his son that we find John living when we arrive at our gospel reading. The angel who announced his birth had hinted at this kind of ascetic life, but few parents I know hope their children become the oddball in the desert, shouting strange and sometimes angry messages, living off bugs and honey, and eschewing civilization. Preparing the way of the Lord sounds like such a noble and stately vocation until we see what it actually means. Making a way in the wilderness sounds like a great idea until you’re out in the hot, barren desert leveling mountains and filling valleys, doing the backbreaking and lonely work. It’s not always work that makes you friends.

And that’s the second reason I think the book I shared with you resonates with today’s texts and one of the reasons that I love this book so much. So many reflections on creation and on life point us to the happy, joyful, traditionally beautiful moments. But this book acknowledges that “life isn’t always easy. There will probably be a stretch of wilderness now and then.” That there may come a time when “it seems nothing beautiful will come your way again.” It names that spending some time in the wilderness is part of what it means to be alive, to be living in the real world.

It helps, especially in this season of waiting, to acknowledge that sometimes we dwell in places that feel barren, where we feel cut-off from our neighbors, when we face scarcity that seems insurmountable. We experience perhaps periods where depression shadows over our lives, whether ordinary sadness that comes and goes or clinical depression that keeps us from seeing light. Some people experience poverty that makes every moment a struggle just to survive. Some people find themselves in jobs or relationships or other settings that while on the surface seem fine, drain the soul from one’s being. Whether a real desert with wild animals or the more shadowy moments of our lives, the wilderness can feel threatening, both because real dangers lurk and because we are unfamiliar with the landscape or perhaps all too familiar with it that we cannot imagine much else.

That we always meet John the Baptist in Advent, not just as the infant cousin of Jesus, but as the fiery, wilderness preacher, is no accident. Like most of our advent texts it can feel out of place in the midst of the commercial and cultural Christmas season that promises abundance and happiness at every turn. John’s presence gives permission for our wilderness experiences.

But it also gives us signs of hope. The wilderness feels like a barren place without much to offer. Yet John manages to make a living. He does find water in a dry land, enough to baptize countless crowds. He finds food, if a little bit odd. He finds enough to make clothing and stay alive. He discovers perhaps that the wilderness has its own gifts of life to offer if we are willing to look close enough. Perhaps we find there neighbors who care, someone to sit in our wilderness with us. Perhaps we find there resources we weren’t aware were within us. Or we discover that some kinds of wilderness hold their own beauty if we only look at it differently.

But whatever treasures there are, the wilderness is a tough place to make a go of things, and John is out there, John is here today, to proclaim the making of a road, a way. He proclaims that “wilderness eventually ends, and there is always a new path to take.” Perhaps this is a road that will offer a way out of our wilderness, a road to someplace more full of life. But more specifically it is a road intothe wilderness for God. John calls for preparation, for the hard, dirty, difficult work of making a road, because ready or not, God is coming into our wilderness, coming to bring us life in the midst of it. Coming to be in it with us. Coming to show us new things growing to fruition in our world. Because wilderness or not, we sometimes miss the small ways that life begins in our midst. We often miss the roads God has already forged into our lives. We often miss the hope that dwells just within our reach. We often miss that God’s new life, God’s salvation for the whole creation is already being born among us, already beginning to grow. So perhaps we can notice together what God is already doing and begin this season to proclaim that life has already begun small, and it is growing.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

1st Sunday of Advent
December 2, 2018

[Jesus said:] ²⁵“There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. ²⁶People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. ²⁷Then they will see ‘the Son-of-Man coming in a cloud’ with power and great glory. ²⁸Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”
  ²⁹Then Jesus told them a parable: “Look at the fig tree and all the trees; ³⁰as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near. ³¹So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the dominion of God is near. ³²Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all things have taken place. ³³Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.
  ³⁴“Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day does not catch you unexpectedly, ³⁵like a trap. For it will come upon all who live on the face of the whole earth. ³⁶Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these things that will take place, and to stand before the Son-of-Man.” – Luke 21:25-36

[Jesus said:] ²⁵“There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. ²⁶People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.

TheCamp Fire in Californiaclaimed the 14,000 homes, 514 businesses, 4265 other buildings, and nearly 100 lives with over 200 people still missing. Deadliest fire in the state’s history. [Note for readers: numbers via the linked article as of 11/28/18)

Thousands of people are waiting at our country’s southern border fleeing unimaginable violence and utter economic disaster, hoping for asylum under international law. Some of them, including children, were tear gassed to keep them from approaching the border.

According to some lists, there are 5 major wars and areas of violence going on in the world, which have together claimed the lives of more than 100,000 people just this calendar year. There are more than 50 identified smaller conflicts, some of which have been going on for decades.

Poverty rates in the world are down from a few decades ago, but 1.3 billion people still live in extreme poverty and another 2 billion eke out an existence on less than $2.50 US dollars a day.

A recent report warns of dire consequences related to climate change even in the best scenario. Billions of dollars damage to the economy. The poorest communities hit the hardest. Everyone affected. The possibility of even worse.

[Jesus said:] ²⁵“There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. ²⁶People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.

Well, there you go. If you’re looking for a sign, take your pick. Those headlines are all from the last couple of weeks. And that’s just what rose to the surface of national news.

I want to be clear, I don’t think the world today is any more broken than the world of 50 years ago or 500 years ago or 5000 years ago, though perhaps we have the technological capacity to reap consequences undreamed of in previous generations. But there are signs in every generation of the world going to hell in a handbasket. So Jesus isn’t trying to get us predicting something about the end of the world as we know it. So what is Jesus doing by drawing our attention to these signs on this first Sunday in Advent?

I think Jesus is making an invitation, one that lectionary blogger Debie Thomas thoughtfully outlines as 5 invitations that I’ll use to invite you – and myself, too – into this season of contemplation and preparation.

One: An invitation to tell the truth. It’s not that we all walk around trying to make up lies, but a lot of the time we do try to sugar coat hard truths and dance around difficult topics. We employ all manner of euphemisms to talk about death as if we can avoid it’s hard reality. We tune out of the news because a lot of the time the hard truth of the world is too much for us. More than anything we put on masks to hide our pain, our hurt, our anxiety, and, perhaps most of all, our faults and failures. In advent, instead we try to be honest about what life is really like. We tell the truth that often our lives aren’t as together as we’d like. The world we live in is in crisis. Let’s be honest that we need someone to save us from our world and from ourselves. We’ve tried our best to do it and the real truth is that we’ve fallen way short of fixing things.

Two: An invitation to yearn. While we’re being honest about things, let’s be honest about what we really want. Not about what we really want on our Christmas lists, but the deep longing we have for wholeness. So often our corporate prayer language, and perhaps for many of us our private prayer language, too, is tamed down. Dear God, perhaps you could help me out here.  Bless the sick, the poor, the dying. Comfort us when we hurt and are grieving. Help people in any kind of need. When what we really want to say in the midst of the sun and moon and stars falling from the sky is something more like – Get down here right now, God! End all this terrible, awful stuff right now, or else. Destroy weapons of war. Obliterate cancer. Sit the poor down in comfortable houses with a feast of their favorite foods at every meal. Rip down the dividing walls we build that end up pinning us in. And while you’re at it keep me and my loved ones from dying. We would do well to borrow language from the psalmists in the advent season – in any season – language that calls forth God’s action in bold and colorful language. In advent we give ourselves permission to yearn for something more, something better, something not so broken.

Three: An invitation to wait. Once we have named the reality as we see it and called on God with great boldness to come down, we might well think God would just come right now and fix it. But we know that isn’t our experience. We know that everything we long for won’t be dropped in our lap tomorrow. Advent is an acknowledgement that we are still waiting, that our whole lives are a time of waiting. Waiting for God’s coming to renew and resurrect us. It’s not so much that we’re waiting for something, not so much that advent is about waiting for Christmas, or waiting for a miracle tomorrow (though I believe that miracles do indeed happen if not always in the way we expect). Instead advent is more about waiting insomething. Waiting with eyes wide open in the world as it is and holding on to that yearning for the world as it could be. Advent honors that our whole lives are lived in that watchful, expectant waiting for what God will yet do among us.

Four: An invitation to notice. That is the heart of Jesus’ invitation today. Notice. Notice the stars falling and the roaring of creation. That is, attend to the present. Notice the fig tree. Notice any tree – the evergreens to remind us of ongoing life in a cold and dark season of the year, and the barren trees to remind us to expect seasons of barrenness in our own lives between seasons of growth and change. Attend to the seas, both the calming sound of the waves rolling in and out and the majestic and terrifying power they hold. Attend to the signs in our own lives that remind us of God’s presence in everything. Attend to the signs in our own bodies – there is so much that our own bodies tell us about the world and about God if we only attend to them closely. We worry so much about what has been and what is yet to come in our lives, in the lives of the church, in the lives of whole generations, that we sometimes miss what God is doing right now, the beautiful and simple things God does in the midst of our waiting and yearning for the radical transformations that are yet to take place. This one is the hardest for me. I’m ready to see what’s next, what God will do with us in ways that make me not so attentive to the present. And I think that’s going to be a tension for us as a church community, rightly in this season looking to what the church will be in the coming years, to not lose sight of the present gifts of God among us.

Five: An invitation to imagine. Having attended to the reality of our world, the reality of the present, the reality of God now in the midst of things and the reality of God’s transformation yet to come, maybe we can begin to free our imaginations. Maybe we can begin to see something differently, to see the reality of our world in a new way, in a way that allows us to understand something new about God and about ourselves. Maybe we can begin to see God’s movement in, with, and under the good and the terrible, the kingdom of God come near in our time, our place, among our terrifying signs of change and distress. Maybe we can begin to imagine a way forming in our wilderness. Maybe we can come to a new awareness of our dwelling in God in the midst of terrible and frightening things and at the same time dwelling in the world God has already transformed. In advent and throughout our whole lives, we stand in that in-between place in the middle of all those signs, in the middle of all those tensions, which is exactly where God comes to be born among us – born in Jesus two millennia ago in the midst of their troubled world and born over and over again today among us in the midst of the troubled world we live in now.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Christ the King Sunday
November 25, 2018

³³ Pilate entered the headquarters again, summoned Jesus, and asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” ³⁴Jesus answered, “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?” ³⁵Pilate replied, “I am not Jewish, am I? Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?” ³⁶Jesus answered, “My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Judeans. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.” ³⁷Pilate asked him, “So you are a king?” Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” Pilate asked him, “What is truth?” – John 18:33-38a

Is Jesus a king? Is he the king?

That is Pilate’s question. Despite whatever political machinations are behind Jesus’ appearance before him, I want to believe Pilate has some genuine interest in the question. If for no other reason than that I think everyone has that question: Is there a real king out there? One who can save us from ourselves and one another? It’s not just a question of whether Jesus is a king but whether Jesus is theking who has come to save us, whether Jesus is the one to finally usher in the world as we want it.

Because kings are so far removed from so many of us, I think it’s easy to project some of our hopes and dreams on someone who claims to be king. Is there a king to restore the world to the way we think things ought to be?

Perhaps if Jesus really were king, our own personal political hopes and dreams would be represented in national, state, and local politics and we could finally set things straight around here. Maybe if Jesus really were king he would finally conquer cancer, dementia, aging, and heart disease. If Jesus were king maybe he would end poverty and homelessness, violence and bigotry, racism and xenophobia. If Jesus were king maybe we wouldn’t have to worry so much about money or, for that matter, about loneliness, anxiety, relationship problems, and more. Maybe if Jesus really were king our churches would be bursting with people ready to serve and sing and praise and pray.

That’s just a starting list of what I’d like King Jesus to do for me. How about you?

I mean, I get that’s sort of an unreasonable and unrealistic list, and however charitable in some ways, it’s downright narrow minded and self-centered in other ways. But, even if we don’t articulate it quite that way all the time, that’s so often what we are really asking of God – to come and fix our world so that things go smoothly for us and for everybody else. When that doesn’t happen we find ourselves asking: are you really the king, Jesus? Or do you just talk a good game?

If we believe the name of the congregation in which we now sit, Christ the King, then the answer for us must be yes – Jesus isking. And yet the world we live in, the kingdom in which we find ourselves citizens, whether we consider that to be our country or even the whole of the human world, that kingdom consistently fails to live up to our expectations and continually fails to meet our demands. So, with Jesus having given a rather ambiguous response back to Pilate’s question, and with our continuing to wonder if Jesus really is in charge of things around here, perhaps it would help to look back on Jesus’ ministry to see just what kind of king he claims to be.

If we just stick to the gospel of John in which this particular conversation with Jesus takes place, the kingdom in which Jesus is sovereign is one in which ordinary, unskilled people, even some who aren’t particularly well-liked or respected in their communities, are selected to positions of servant leadership in the kingdom.

It’s a kingdom in which Jesus shows up to celebrations and when the wine runs out, good food and drink is generously supplied to everyone who wants some.

It’s a kingdom in which the king sits down with a social outcast, a woman from a different place, a different culture – he doesn’t fix her world or issue an edict against the town for ostracizing her. He just simply sits and talks her until she recognizes both herself and the god-in-flesh sitting in her midst.

It’s a kingdom in which the feast isn’t fancy – just bread and fish – but the multitudes are fed with nourishing food and there is more to share when all have eaten their full.

It’s a kingdom in which people get healed – the son of a royal official, a ordinary man with no family or friends to speak of, and a man blind from birth. It’s even a kingdom where the dead can be raised, but not before Jesus stops to weep at the graveside. Not a sweeping away of all sickness, pain, and grief, but in every case the king stops to stand with, be in conversation with the hurt and hurting ones. This is a kingdom in which the king listens and cares.

It’s a kingdom in which the king, having ridden into town on a donkey in the midst of an unplanned and chaotic scene, is found busy bending down, literally on his knees, to wash the feet of others, modeling what it means to be a servant.

In other words, this kingdom isn’t a demonstration of power, but a coming to stand in the midst of a broken and hurting world, coming as a servant to others. So when Pilate asks, I think Jesus doesn’t bother to explain. It’s not a kingship that can be explained in words so much as it can be explained with actions. Jesus’ answer to Pilate’s question is not the words he says in response. Jesus’ answer to Pilate’s question is to take his place on the throne of this kingdom – the cross. The crowning moment for this king is being hung to die for all to see. It’s a kingship almost no one recognizes. It’s a kingship no one really wants.

When I really look at Jesus and his kingdom, I’m not so sure I want that kind of king. I’m not so sure that kind of kingdom is really what I was hoping for. Instead of a kingdom that looks like me, that looks like whatIwant, that serves myneeds, it’s a kingdom which includes everyone, including people I don’t like, people that are different from me, and people that I wouldn’t necessarily invite over for dinner. It’s a kingdom in which I receive healing for brokenness and grace for my errors, but also one that challenges me to open my welcome wider, to imagine a world beyond just what I want, to extend the same healing and grace to others no matter what.

So is Jesus a king? Yes, no doubt. But often not in the way we want or imagine, usually not in a way we recognize. We are stuck in many ways in the kingdom of the world, which offers us illusory hope at best – some moments of triumph perhaps, but in the end always defeat. But the good news is that Jesus’ kingdom, however hard to recognize and however challenging for us at times, we are also already living there, too.

Christ is King not of a future heaven, but of the reality of God breaking in even now. And God has already claimed us not just as subjects, but also as heirs. It doesn’t solve all our problems or make the world the way we want it, but it claims us over and over again every day in the waters of baptism as God’s beloved ones. We are even now members of that kingdom, participants at the feast, sitting at the feet of Jesus, receiving healing and resurrection.

That’s what we proclaim on our church sign. That Christ is King. And that here in this place we seek to be a tiny reflection of that kingdom, that here in this place Christ has already made that kingdom a reality. That despite whatever happens in our lives and in the world, that Christ has already welcomed us in to that kingdom that never ends, the kingdom that can be awfully hard to recognize in the midst of everything we see on a daily basis, but one that has the power to resurrect us to eternal life now and forever.

-Pastor Steven Wilco