Maundy Thursday
March 28, 2013

Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. ²The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him. And during supper ³Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, ⁴got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. ⁵Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. ⁶He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” ⁷Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” ⁸Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” ⁹Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” ¹⁰Jesus said to him, “One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.” ¹¹For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, “Not all of you are clean.”
¹²After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you? ¹³You call me Teacher and Lord — and you are right, for that is what I am. ¹⁴So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. ¹⁵For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. ¹⁶Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. ¹⁷If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them. ^31b“Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. ³²If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once. ³³Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me; and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, ‘Where I am going, you cannot come.’ ³⁴I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. ³⁵By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” – John 13 (selected verses)

Tonight you are invited to become the body of Christ. God’s call to you through baptism and God’s constant reinvitation to the altar means you are already the body of Christ, but in tonight’s service we enact that reality in some very particular ways.

First we were reconciled, each of us, to God. In case it’s ever hard to the forgiveness offered every Sunday, tonight we made sure you heard it is for you. One-by-one we proclaimed God’s unconditional forgiveness, and we remembered God’s constant willingness to welcome us back into the body of Christ no matter our brokenness or our mistakes. Reconciled to God and to one another we enter these most holy three days at one with God and with one another as the body of Christ.

In a few moments, we will have an opportunity to pick up a towel and basin and wash one another’s feet in the manner in which Jesus served his disciples on their last night together. We will become the body of Christ for one another. We will take on Christ’s servanthood as part of our commitment to Jesus new commandment to love one another. For those who wish to actively participate in the washing and those who participate in song and prayer, it will be not just a symbol of our desire to love our neighbors, but an actual enactment of that love for one another. The body of Christ made manifest in us.

And then we will receive the bread and wine, Christ’s body and blood, as we do every week. United with the saints past, present, and future, we will take into ourselves the body of Christ, given for us. And by receiving Christ’s body, we receive what we are and become what we receive, the body of Christ.

But here’s the catch. This is a dangerous night to be the body of Christ. Because at the end of the service we will hear Psalm 22, the psalm Jesus quoted on the cross. As all the items are removed from the chancel we will be reminded of the night when Jesus was arrested. Tonight is the eve of Good Friday, the day the body of Christ was hung on a cross. Tonight you are invited to become the body of Christ, but tonight the body of Christ is headed to the cross.

This is a dangerous thing we Christians are called to be in the world. It is a dangerous thing to love in the way that Jesus loves. If we’re really going to live out this new commandment it is going to put us in uncomfortable places with people not like us doing things we may not really like.

Following this command, people like Oscar Romero, whom we commemorated earlier this week, became the body of Christ serving the poor in the middle of an armed conflict. He spoke out again and again for basic human rights for the people of El Salvador. He served among the poor and those in need. He put himself on the line demonstrating Christ-like love and was killed for it.

Living out the love that Jesus commands is what put Mother Theresa in Calcutta, and Desmond Tutu in the middle of the conflict over apartheid, and Martin Luther King, Jr. in the middle of the civil rights struggle. But those famous examples aside, just living Jesus’ command to love one another in our daily lives is hard enough. It takes that same deep courage to enact forgiveness freely with the people closest to us and sometimes just to forgive ourselves. It takes tremendous courage to serve those in our community who are hurting and hungry. It takes courage to make ourselves vulnerable, entering into relationship with people who are different than we are.

And often we fail. We do not live up to this commandment to love. As the body of Christ we fall short of Jesus’ self-giving love. But we do not despair. Because if this is a dangerous night to be the body of Christ, it is also a wonderfully glorious night to be the body of Christ. Not just because in service to one another we experience God, though surely that is the case whether in washing one another’s feet here tonight or in the service we live out in our daily lives. But this is a wonderful night to be the body of Christ because we already know the end of the story.

Even as we enter into these three days of contemplation of the mysteries of Christ’s death and resurrection, we approach them as Easter people. We do not pretend to be ignorant of the empty tomb that is coming. We become tonight and every night the body of Christ crucified and risen, restored day in and day out.

It must have been strange and unsettling for those disciples that night who did not yet understand what Jesus had told them about the end. But they listened intently to this commandment: “Love one another as I have loved you.” And they were uncomfortable and uncertain. They did not yet know what that would mean. But in just a few short days they would be free to live it out with the assurance that the risen Christ was alive in them. So friends, I boldly invite you to continue becoming the body of Christ. Serve one another, love one another, and rejoice that God is alive and at work in you.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Fifth Sunday in Lent
March 17, 2013

With thanks to Pastor Dan Wilfrid of Immanuel Lutheran Church in Holden, MA, for providing the framework and significant parts of the phrasing of this sermon.

Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. ²There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. ³Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. ⁴But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, ⁵Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor? ⁶(He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) ⁷Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. ⁸You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”
-John 12:1-8

What would you do if you suddenly received $20,000? You can spend it any way you want. Be honest with yourself. Go ahead and make a list of where it would go. I’ll give you a minute to think about that.

So, what would you do with it? Given that I asked you in the context of a sermon, maybe you said you’d give some of it to the church. I grew up learning to tithe so I’d probably give $2000 to the church in some way. But then there are student loan payments, and paying a little extra on the mortgage. Maybe save a little, splurge on a nicer vacation this year. Maybe you have tuition bills or retirement accounts or maybe just backlogged bills. It would certainly be a nice problem to have to figure out how to spend it, but just to be honest I probably wouldn’t just blow it all on Jesus.

$20,000 is how much Mary pours on Jesus’ feet as they gather for dinner. The oil, according to John’s gospel, is worth 300 denarii. 300 times a laborer’s daily wage. In today’s currency that’s $8/hr, 8 hours/day, for 300 days is $19,200. $20,000 of precious perfume poured out on Jesus’ feet. And the smell filled the whole house.

Judas has his own ideas about how to spend $20,000, wondering why this money wasn’t given to the poor. I don’t know what it would have purchased in Jesus’ day, but today $20,000 could provide 400 starving families with a goat from ELCA Good Gifts to sustain their family and generate income. Or more than 200 children with no food could eat for a year. Or 80 villages could receive life saving mosquito nets to prevent malaria. Or 7 families could have a brand new home after a natural disaster. Mary’s jar of perfume could have done a lot of good in the world.

Maybe you have a more generous heart and side with Mary, but frankly, I’m with Judas on this one. Forget for a moment what John says about Judas stealing from the purse. Maybe he was, or maybe by the time John wrote this the legends about Judas had just turned from bad to worse. Whatever Judas’ motivation, I think John includes his challenge in this story because he wants us to be stuck in the middle. Should I be on Mary’s side or Judas’s side?

Jesus, who generally speaking stands with the poorest of the poor, very clearly sides with Mary on this one. Now I’ve been in the church long enough to be a little uncomfortable standing on the side opposite Jesus. It’s just that I’m not like Mary. I am not inclined to spontaneity in any fashion, including, for the most part, in my charitable giving. If I had a $20,000 jar of oil sitting around, I would have a plan or six for what to do with it. I would have researched the best market price and calculated a good time to sell it. I wouldn’t go around pouring it out in one sitting, not even on Jesus. And I would be enraged if someone like Mary swooped in and did something so reckless.

But then, Jesus didn’t raise my brother from the dead. At least not in the miraculous way that he had raised Lazarus from the tomb, rolling back the stone after he had been dead four long days. John makes sure to tell us that Lazarus, newly raised from the tomb is sitting here at the dinner table when Mary does this. Mary’s spontaneous, extravagant, generous outpouring makes sense and was nothing more than fitting when measured against the extravagant, generous grace and mercy of the God who in Jesus had just called Lazarus out of the tomb.

So maybe the problem is not with Mary and her reckless behavior, but with us, or at least with me. Either I haven’t experienced such overwhelming blessing from God, or more likely I’ve been quick to forget or blind to it in the first place.

To put it another way, it’s people who have experienced God’s rescue from the depths of grief and despair, people who have experienced the horrible stench of a four-day old tomb who find that they need a pound of perfume to celebrate resurrection. It’s not a matter of right or wrong or better or worse. It’s more a matter of what response fittingly expresses gratitude for one’s awareness and experience of God’s mercy and grace.

I have continued to be amazed that this congregation set aside $________ of its capital campaign money to fund new mission projects. That’s 2 jars of perfume. It strikes me as a bold and faithful commitment to ministries we didn’t even yet understand. Now we had some ideas, we had seen God’s providence to us, but like Mary, I’m not sure we really fully understood what it was that we were doing. Sure we had evidence of the resurrection sitting at our table, but we didn’t really yet understand the power of what God still had in store for us. We poured out those jars of perfume, and continue to pour it out that we as a congregation might be free to give generously and spontaneously to those projects where God is stirring up new life. That outpouring has gone to help get Craig’s Door off the ground, to start up a lecture series for the enrichment of the whole community, and to fund children and youth projects. That outpouring prepared the way for God’s power of new life to become active in ways we didn’t even yet imagine. And I guarantee you that God is not yet done.

So I’ll ask the question again. If you were to unexpectedly come into, let’s say $20,000, what would you do with it? How much of it would you spend, save or give away and on what and to whom? If you had just been the recipient of an extravagant outpouring of God’s mercy and grace; if Jesus had just healed or even brought you or someone you love back from the dead; or if in some unfathomable act of love God had just run out to welcome you home like a lost child, or had baptized you into Jesus’ own death and resurrection and promised you new life as a free gift, then gathered you as part of a community of equally, richly blessed people and invited you with them to come to a special dinner with Jesus and with those who have died and come to new life gathered around that same table, and you had a jar of $20,000 perfume, or perhaps even a life with talents, abilities, resources and connections worth many times that, what would you do? What would seem fitting?

You might want to think fast, because that supper is about to begin.

-Pastor Steven Wilco (again, with thanks to Pastor Dan Wilfrid who deserves the credit for significant parts of this sermon)

Third Sunday in Lent
March 3, 2013

At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. ²He asked them, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? ³No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. ⁴Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them — do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? ⁵No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.”
⁶Then he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. ⁷So he said to the gardener, ‘See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?’ ⁸He replied, ‘Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. ⁹If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.'” – Luke 13:1-9

As Lutherans we don’t usually hear a lot of judgment preached from the pulpit. I tend to think we hear enough judgment in the world that merely mentioning it is enough in many cases to call to mind the burden of the world’s dysfunction and our own complicity in it. The transformative work of the good news, we Lutherans hope, is what will spur us to action in the world. But today’s texts are challenging. Each one calls us to task in some way for what we have done and left undone. Even Jesus, who last week was wrapping us under his wing like a mother hen, responds to a question with measured compassion and a call to repentance.

This beautiful passage from Isaiah begins with an invitation to eat and drink without having to pay for it. Freely offered sustenance for us and for all, but then a reminder to forsake the ways of the wicked. This feast and this promise is offered to those who return to the Lord, repenting of their wrongdoing. The call of the prophets is always back to justice in the land. God is near and that drives us to care for the widow, the orphan, the childless. But how often do we place ourselves at this feast and assume the verses about repentance for others. Sometimes I think we get the impression that we’re talking here about other communities and not our liberal enclave in the Pioneer Valley. But the issue of fair and affordable housing is once again on the pages of our local Amherst Bulletin this past week. As tempting as it can be to point fingers of judgment toward others, we are not perfect ourselves.

In Corinthians today, Paul recalls the wandering in the desert. We usually frame that story in the context of God’s liberation from oppression, God’s dwelling with them and with us through wilderness journeys, and God’s providence in bringing if not them, then at least their descendants to the land flowing with milk and honey. But Paul puts the story in the context of the harsh warnings meted out by God in those forty years of desert wandering. They are warnings to repent, to trust in God’s providing and to be holy people of God. “Watch out!” he says to those who like the Israelites who did not remain faithful. We might be tempted to judge those unfaithful Israelites. They should have been so grateful for God’s liberating them from Egypt that they wouldn’t fall into idolatry and unholy living. But then how often do we forget to be grateful for the blessings extended to us, putting other things ahead of God.

And then Jesus responds to the unspoken questions of the crowd. You know these questions, you hear them in popular discourse all the time. Were those people killed by Pilate because they were wretched awful people? Did the tower of Siloam fall on the people because they were wicked? Did Hurricane Katrina come because of the debauchery of one kind or another associated with New Orleans? Did the Haiti earthquake come because they weren’t being Christian enough there? Thankfully, Jesus says that is nonsense. That is simply a human way of trying to feel safe and in control. And we all do it in some way. In our thinking if we can create a reason for bad things happening, especially one that blames the other, then maybe we will know how to avoid it happening to us. In case you didn’t hear it the first time, Jesus says the world doesn’t work that way. But then Jesus does not exactly end with a comforting message either. In fact, he says, sin does abound in our world. In fact all of us will perish as a result of sin in the world. Some happen to be caught up by natural disasters, and others will live to old age, but no one escapes the evil of the world or the pain of death.

There it is, a clear call from God to repent of individual and communal sin, all of us, every one, no chance for putting the blame on someone else. There is no escaping it in the texts today. But then Jesus tells this parable: A man plants a tree in his vineyard, and after three years it does not bear fruit. He tells the gardener to cut it down, but the gardener begs for one more chance, so the man gives it just one more year.

The traditional interpretation is this: God, the vineyard owner demands fruit from his trees, that is, from us God’s people. Jesus is the gardener who begs for another chance, steps in to prevent harsh judgment from God, who is only willing to give us one more year. So you’d better get moving your time is short.

But the conversation that leads Jesus to use this parable is one in which the crowd is following our human tendency to judge others. So perhaps instead of the traditional interpretation we could look at this passage and consider whether we are masquerading as vineyard owners. Perhaps we are the ones walking around meting out judgments. We see God’s call to action in the world, God’s call to justice and uprightness, and we start to feel like maybe it’s our job, too, to send the message of judgment to our neighbors. For instance, if only God would take care of those other Christians who give us a bad name. I actually heard a version of that this week in conversation on campus. In fact, I’ve said some version of it myself at one time or another.

But God’s message to us, is to give our neighbors, all of them, one more chance. Give it one more year to grow and change. And what I find so heartening about these passages is that their writing spans centuries. In fact if we consider the story of the exodus wanderings retold by Paul, the content spans more than a millennium. A millennium’s worth of give it one more year. A millennium’s worth of years of God carefully tending our trees to bear fruit in the world. A millenium’s worth of love and care and second chances.

We so often fail to get it right. We so often fail to even know what is right in the first place. We live in a complicated world where the lines between good and evil and even between right and wrong are not always clear. Sometimes we try to make them so. We try to enact the judgment better left to God’s wisdom. We try to explain the pain and suffering we see around us as punishment for what we do not get right. We try to control God’s complex and wonderful world in ways that God will not own.

So hear in the readings today a Lenten call to action. Hear the call to stand with those who are oppressed, to live lives that shine forth with the gospel, to love God and neighbor, and to leave judgment in God’s hands. But hear also God’s promise of one more year. One more year to receive the tender care of God the gardener, one more year to try again bearing fruit in the world, one more year learning to live into God’s love, and then another and then another until you and me and all of creation are brought into the promise of this world renewed and restored.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

 

 

 

Second Sunday in Lent
February 24, 2013

One option that has always intrigued me, though I have never worshipped regularly in such a space, are the sanctuaries that have glass walls looking out over their surroundings. Of course this is popular if your church is built on a particularly beautiful spot in the mountains, on a lake, or at the beach. But I’ve also seen it in the middle of very busy cities. A glass wall behind the altar and pulpit allow the worshipping assembly to observe the people walking by, the traffic on the street. And, of course, it allows them to look in. I’m afraid if I worshipped in one of those places regularly I would have trouble deciding where to keep my focus, that there might be so much going on that seems important, where should I put my attention?

Paul’s concern as he speaks to the Philippians in today’s reading is for those whose focus is in the wrong place. Those who are enemies of the cross of Christ, he says even with tears of sadness for them, have their minds set on earthly things: Their god is their belly and their glory is in their shame. They have, it seems, misfocused their energy on acquiring for themselves things to make them happy.

But it is a constant dilemma for us as Christians – where is our focus going to be? We all can acknowledge that excessive greed is bad. But where is the limit? At what point do we cross the line from providing for ourselves and our families to consuming more than our share? We can agree to simplify our living, but it’s quite tricky in our modern Western culture to really get out of the systems that hold us in bondage to earthly things. It’s also quite easy to get overwhelmed by the news, by the tragedy, the violence, the hatred that seems so insurmountable. If our focus is solely on the troubles of the world we can easily fall into despair.

On the other hand, I suspect we can all agree on the danger of becoming so spiritual that we cease to be concerned about the things on the earth. It’s the classic story of the church that prays for the hungry without actually a thought to getting them some food and challenging the systems that perpetuate hunger in the world. As we’ve been studying Revelation in our adult forum, I’ve been surprised in my reading at how many people in our world don’t have concern for the environment because they are waiting for God to destroy the earth and start over again with only the Christian religious. Those are extremes, of course, but it’s easy for us to slip into our regular church-going patterns and even our regular patterns of caring for those in need without really focusing on the problems in the world.

Where should our focus be in worship? And where should our focus be as we live our lives as Christian people in the world?

Jesus faces a similar dilemma in the gospel reading today. The Pharisees, who perhaps in this instance speak with genuine concern, come to tell Jesus that Herod is after him. Call it earthly or call it spiritual, they assume Jesus’ focus is on his own safety. But Jesus is clearly focused on the work that needs to be done: “I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work.” His focus is on Jerusalem, on God’s people who are in need, on even the people who will reject him, kill him, and on the people who have over and over again forsaken his protection and care. Whether earthly or spiritual, Jesus will not let fear for himself overshadow his focus on his mission.

He goes on to compare himself to a mother hen. Not the most valiant of earthly creatures, perhaps not the ideal person to go up against Herod the fox. But the hen will die protecting her chicks, I’m told, if their roost catches on fire. The hen will shelter the chicks who do not know the dangers they face. The hen’s focus will be only on holding and protecting the chicks who do not even know they need it.

All of this brings to mind one of those sanctuaries that has an open glass window. On the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem there is a chapel called Dominus Flevit – that is, the Lord cried. It’s on the traditional site where according to a later story in Luke’s gospel, Jesus weeps over the city of Jerusalem. Tears of sadness for the things the city and its people would endure. Not unlike the texts today, he expresses his sadness for the ways in which God’s people everywhere will reject God’s offer of comfort and grace.

In that tiny stone chapel on the Mount of Olives there is a window over the altar. If you were worshipping there, sitting on one of the benches facing the altar, you would be able to see through this window to the skyline of the old city of Jerusalem. The ironwork of the otherwise clear glass window contains a chalice and a host. As you look out on the city, it is framed and held by the presence of God. A city in which spiritual roots are both its life-blood and the cause of much of its distress. A city whose very earth is under dispute. That city is held constantly by this image of God made flesh for us.

It is that image of the chalice and host of the Eucharist – the place where most tangibly, the spiritual and the earthly become one – that holds Jerusalem. The place where all of our misguided attempts to fill our bellies with the things that do not satisfy are met with the presence of God. The place where our spiritual notions and our lengthy doctrines are met with simple bread and wine. The place where our wandering focus is directed both to God and to justice and peace for the world.

What if we imagined today, that this wall behind me was full of windows? What would we see going by as we worshipped? Would we see metaphorically all that awaits us when we return to the world? Would we literally see friends and strangers walking and driving by? And how would this cross and this altar reshape what we saw? How would they reshape our focus on the earth around us? How would it refocus our worship itself to let the world into our worship in such a vulnerable way?

Lent calls us to refocus ourselves, to let go of the things that draw our focus away, to simplify our lives, that we might be free to shift our focus to the one who holds us. Jesus the mother hen, Jesus the bread and wine, holds our world, and holds our spiritual lives, and holds us, now and always.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

 

 

 

First Sunday in Lent
February 17, 2013

I love the series of children’s books by Laura Numeroff that started with If You Give A Mouse A Cookie. In case you’re unfamiliar with these books, the first involves a friendly mouse and generous boy who offers this friendly mouse a cookie. But beware, because if you give a friendly little mouse a cookie, he will want a glass of milk. And if you give him a glass of milk, he’ll want a straw, a napkin, and a mirror to check for milk mustache, and if you give him a mirror he will realize he needs a haircut, and well, you can imagine the rest. Before you know it, a whole day’s worth of events result in the mouse wanting another cookie. It’s a warning tale – don’t go down that road because you’ll never get off of it.

Sometimes that’s a good thing. The devil’s temptations for Jesus start out with little offers that seem to open up to bigger and deeper things. If only you just turn these stones into bread. But then what comes next? If only you just throw yourself off the pinnacle of the temple to show your glory, if only you just bow down and worship me. The first two, at least, sound harmless enough. What’s wrong with feeding a natural hunger? And really what would be so wrong with a little demonstration that might draw people in to Jesus? And really, if Jesus gave in just this once, maybe he could do some real good with all that power and authority the devil promises. If only you did just this one little thing… Better not to start down that road.

What are your ‘if only’ statements? If only I could pay off my debt load, then I’ll be able to be live more securely. If only I could get that new position at work, things would be a lot easier in my life. If only I could find the right person to be with, then I would be happier. If only I could manage my health, my habits, my tendencies, I would be more satisfied. Of course, it’s never only. Temptation is like that. There’s usually a next “if only” statement waiting when the first is fulfilled, because if you give a mouse a cookie, watch out.

But what about when our “if only” kind of thinking keeps us from following a good path? What about when we are tempted to do something good? If only we could be like Jesus. If only we could respond to the temptations that come running after us every day with scripture, grounded in God’s goodness rather than our fears and desires about what is next.

Paul’s call to us in today’s reading from Romans sounds a little like that kind of if only statement. If only you confess with your lips and believe in your heart. Of course, if only we could all do that, things would go a lot more smoothly for us. If only we could trust in God’s righteousness for us… If only we, like Jesus, could call on the Lord in the moments when we try instead to save ourselves. But sometimes recommitting to our faith journey can seem like a daunting task, like there might always be a next thing to take on, and maybe it’s better not to start down that road.

Paul is inviting us to consider the ways in which belief slowly changes us, not just in our relationship to God but in relationship to everything. Paul is inviting us to a deeper understanding of faith and to a richer trust in God. Paul is inviting us to take the word on our lips and into our hearts in such a way that belief pours out of us. What a great invitation for Lent! But it sounds like such an impossible task. If only we confess and believe, then great. But if we have days of doubt, or days where we fail to trust completely, or days when we question the theology of any given expression of the church, then what? If I try to engage my head and my heart in my faith more deeply and I fail, then what?

I think sometimes we are afraid to tackle new spiritual practices or new ways of engaging our faith because we think about all the things that come with it. We try to tackle everything all at once or put the focus on our shortcomings. We try to take on faith as if it is one big lump to be swallowed whole with all the history of church, the whole Bible, and all the prayer practices of every time and place. We say things like if only I could just pray every day for 15 minutes, but we don’t do it because the first day we forget or don’t have time, we think it’s all over. Or we say if only I read so much scripture that it infused my being and I could respond to temptation every time just like Jesus did, but then we despair when we can’t remember the verse we memorized last week.

As we think about simplifying this Lent, maybe we need to look at something more realistic for our lives, and try not to worry about what happens next. As we consider Paul’s invitation to believe more deeply in the God who loves us and saves us, maybe instead of trying to tackle everything all at once we need to start this week with considering one small aspect of our faith this week. What is one line from the Apostles’ Creed to ponder this week? Or choose a single line from today’s readings that you want to ponder. Or memorize one verse of scripture from today’s readings. And don’t worry if you can’t remember it next week. And don’t worry about what that might inspire you to do next. We too often underestimate the power of small things, disregarding that which doesn’t seem like a worthy enough goal.

And we’re free to do it, and free to mess up and outright fail. We’re free to try Lenten disciplines and to move forward with our lives whether we follow them or not. We’re free to explore the things we say and the beliefs we hold because God has a different set of if only statements for us. If only you knew how much you were already loved, you might see the blessings poured out for you. If only you knew that you are worth the world to God, you might come to enjoy life more fully in the moment. If only you knew that nothing in heaven or on earth can separate you from God’s love, you might be free to live into that love. And who knows what that could lead to. Because surely if God is going to give a mouse a cookie, God is already waiting with a glass of milk.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Transfiguration of our Lord
February 10, 2013

²⁸Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. ²⁹And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. ³⁰Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. ³¹They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. ³²Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. ³³Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah” — not knowing what he said. ³⁴While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. ³⁵Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen listen to him!” ³⁶When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen. – Luke 9:28-36

You could blame it on the information age or 21^st century technology that puts the information of the entire world literally in our pockets, but I think it’s always been the case. We humans are, on the whole, people who like to jump to solutions. We like to be able to name the problem, lay out the solution, and execute it with precision. Don’t like the way you look? Choose from any number of diet plans, cleanses, over-the-counter treatments, or even surgery. Don’t like something about your personality? I almost guarantee you there is a self-help book out there somewhere with 10 steps to a better tomorrow. Easy fixes for the surface level problems.

Pastors are notorious for this, too. The first session of Pastoral Care 101 usually starts with something like, “You are not there to fix people’s problems.” But believe me, all of us try at some point. At our first call theological education event the week before last we were in small groups sharing ministry challenges and opportunities from our contexts and working together to open those up for each other. We had a very strict outline for our conversations. The hardest part of the whole 45 minutes for just about everyone was not jumping to the 5 minutes allotted for problem solving. The other 40 minutes were designed for listening, questioning, wondering, and sitting with the challenges. It is simply much harder to dwell there in the mystery, wonder, and confusion. We would much rather name a quick fix, or even a complicated one as long as we can line out the steps to achieve it.

I hate to give Peter too hard of a time for his comments in the midst of Jesus’ transfiguration, but it strikes me that he is doing exactly what we all try to do – come up with a solution. In this case, the problem is that suddenly Jesus is revealing a more recognizable form of glory and they want to hold on to it. What if this is it and we miss it? Did anyone bring a camera to capture it? Is someone taking notes? Peter’s solution is to put up a memorial, a marker, a dwelling place. This is not bad, of course. People have been doing this, sometimes at the direct command of God, for centuries. Setting up stone markers, establishing an altar at a place of significance, making a dwelling place on holy ground. It helps us remember and hopefully connect to those mountaintop experiences.

But something was keeping Peter from being fully present in the moment. Maybe it was the fear that this glorious moment would not last, that perhaps this is all they have been waiting for and they fear what will happen when it is over. Maybe it’s fear that Jesus won’t come to them in glory again. Perhaps beneath it all Peter and the others are still processing what Jesus has just explained to them that he must suffer and be killed. Maybe deep down they want a way to hold on to Jesus in this moment rather than explore that more challenging road. Or maybe Peter is just excited and wants to put that energy into something rather than dwelling in the moment of joyful exuberance.

But in this moment when Peter opens his mouth they are all enveloped by God’s presence. A mysterious cloud-like manifestation of God comes down around them. Like a blizzard of shiny white snow they are lost in the beautiful and chilling presence of God. It’s as if God is saying to them, just this once, be here in the moment, right now. Just this once don’t worry about how this moment will feel tomorrow, or how you will explain this to your companions, or how this whole experience will translate into mission and ministry.

A few months ago I participated in a day-long retreat with leaders from around the New England Synod to work on strategic directions for mission. By the end of the day we were surrounded by sheets of chart paper with all the ideas and all the synod committees and all the ministries of the synod. Someone voiced what many of us were thinking – “Ok, now we have to streamline all these things under the newly designed strategic mission.” While emphasizing that relating to these new directions was important, the leader cautioned us against organizing everything too much. “Sometimes,” she said, “God does God’s best work in the midst of all this messiness.” I haven’t forgotten that. Because I was like Peter, ready with a solution, when what was needed was to revel in the cloud, to dwell in and even celebrate the messiness of God’s work around me.

I find it interesting that God comes as a cloud. It is not comforting to them. Instead it terrifies them. God obscures the whole situation more than clarifying it. The cloud surrounds each of them, but also isolates them from seeing their companions and these mysterious visitors speaking with Jesus. God does not come as the answer or the problem-solver. God comes in mystery and terror and confusion, so it’s no wonder Peter is anxious to get some clarity.

And clarity is important. This congregation worked hard to name and communicate its values and its vision for ministry. We articulated involvement in the community, care and concern for engaging the faith of our young people. We seek to be joyful, caring for one another, stewarding our resources and our earth. I am amazed at the ways those things have transformed us as a community and communicated God’s love within and beyond our congregation. Articulating those values has translated into new and exciting things happening.

But we also must be willing to enter into the cloud, to dwell in the awe-inspiring, confusing, holy presence of God. We also must be willing to enter into prayer, like Jesus on the mountaintop, that we might experience God at work. I think that is a challenge for us as a congregation in our life of faith together. I wonder if we give ourselves enough time and permission to be in the moment with God. Do we let ourselves sit and dwell with the one who surrounds us with a mysterious and loving presence? Whether that is a moment of glory, or a moment of disappointment, or a moment of confusion, or pain, or excitement, do we take time to be there in the moment?

Peter and James and John are forever transformed. But they are not transformed because they figured out what was going on. They are not transformed by learning more fully who Jesus is. They are not transformed by building a tabernacle. They are transformed by Jesus’ glory and by the presence of God surrounding them like a cloud.

I would love for us as a community, especially as we begin the season of Lent this week on Ash Wednesday, to find a way to live sometimes in that cloud. What would it be like for us to develop patience with God’s apparent lack of clarity? What would it be like to imagine Lent as dwelling in the cloud before Easter rather than a journey through or toward something? What would it be like to be really present in the moment when we pray or when we share together the bread and wine? What would it be like for us to hold our concerns about programs and committees and plans and ideas in prayer before we jump to the answer? It’s far more challenging that it sounds, at least for me. But we are not alone

The one thing that is clear about God’s presence in this mysterious and glorious transfiguration is the voice, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” This voice is very much directed at the disciples and to us. This is the one – listen to him. When it’s hard to understand exactly what he is saying, when it is hard to make sense of what Jesus’ glory is all about, when what he is saying goes against the grain of modern culture, when he says things that are challenging and hard to hear, listen to him. When you are dwelling in the confusion and waiting for clarity, when you are in despair and wanting an answer, when you are in the company of the apostles wrestling with what to do next, you are not alone. The voice of God speaks clearly to us: Jesus is here, walking with you in the cloud. You are not alone. Follow the voice of the one who gives you life. Amen.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

 

 

Fourth Sunday after Epiphany
February 3, 2013

Then [Jesus] began to say to them, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” ²²All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth. They said, “Is not this Joseph’s son?” ²³He said to them, “Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb, ‘Doctor, cure yourself!’ And you will say, ‘Do here also in your hometown the things that we have heard you did at Capernaum.'” ²⁴And he said, “Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s hometown. ²⁵But the truth is, there were many widows in Israel in the time of Elijah, when the heaven was shut up three years and six months, and there was a severe famine over all the land; ²⁶yet Elijah was sent to none of them except to a widow at Zarephath in Sidon. ²⁷There were also many lepers in Israel in the time of the prophet Elisha, and none of them was cleansed except Naaman the Syrian.”²⁸When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with rage. ²⁹They got up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff. ³⁰But he passed through the midst of them and went on his way. -Luke 4:21-31 (See also 1 Corinthians 13, the second reading of the day)

Kids reach a point early on when they realize that they don’t get to do all the things that grown-ups get to do. As kids first start eating at the table some of them see that what the others are eating and drinking isn’t what they get to eat and they want to know where theirs is. When treats are passed out at school they want to make sure they get an equal amount. They want their fair share. They don’t understand why older siblings get to do things they can’t or why their younger siblings get to do things at an earlier age than they did. Where’s my fair share? But of course it’s not just kids who want that – we adults can be pretty anxious about getting our fair share, too. I hope it goes without saying that equality and equal opportunity are important, even essential, values. But when it comes to comparing ourselves to millionaires and billionaires, sometimes we start wondering about our fair share.

That’s what’s going on in today’s gospel reading – an unhealthy dose of people wanting their fair share. Jesus has come home to preach in the synagogue. He read to them a beautiful passage from the Isaiah scroll. And they are at first quite pleased. But then Jesus, as if he couldn’t just be happy with a nice sermon that made everyone feel good, starts to tell them he isn’t there to do miracles. I’m inclined to think that particular problem was just the tip of the iceberg. But nonetheless it starts to tip the scales against Jesus. They’ve heard about his preaching and maybe some miraculous deeds in the other towns in the area. Particularly in Peter’s hometown of Capernaum. They’re not asking for special treatment from Jesus just because they raised him in their village, but they want what’s coming to them.

I think what really gets them is Jesus’ next statement. He tells them that his ministry is going to be like that of Elijah and Elisha in that he has come not just for the people of Israel but for the outsiders, too. Elijah passed up hoardes of hungry widows in Israel to go to the widow at Zarephath in Sidon. Elisha ignored all the lepers in Israel but healed Naaman the Syrian. It’s not just the question of why some people get healed and others don’t. It’s the question of why someone outside God’s chosen people get the miracles when no one in Israel gets one. And in this synagogue at Nazareth, in the very heart of their faith and identity as God’s chosen people, Jesus is preaching about going out to serve the other. Jesus isn’t coming to them first.

Now don’t get me wrong, they are probably nice people and they certainly would raise money for the Widow’s Assistance Fund and the Leper Relief Program, but God is their God and they want some help, too. They aren’t asking for more, but just a little help here and there, what’s owed them, just what’s fair.

It’s the same kind of thinking that is at the heart of the ongoing immigration debate in our country. Who gets to have a share in what our country offers for better or worse? Do citizens get first dibs on the best jobs and all the resources? I think most people care about the others, those from other countries, but there is a persistent nagging questions of “What happens if I don’t get enough? What happens if they get their share before I do?”

I think it’s also at the heart of the conversation that is going on in the church about how the nature of the church itself is changing. Having spent the better part of last week with first call pastors and a group of mentors from around the northeast, I heard a lot of conversations about the shift away from the institutional church as we understand it today. It’s not the first shift of its kind, but it creates a lot of anxiety about change and about security for what we know and love. It’s a much more complicated way of being the people of God. If God’s action is not limited to within the church, then it becomes much harder for us to contain it, name it, and count it. And at the end of the day I think it makes us nervous for ourselves and our investment in the church that those people out there, the ones who don’t necessarily show up in the pews on Sunday have a share of God’s love and grace, too, and they sometimes get theirs first.

Ultimately, though, this is all scarcity thinking. Those in Nazareth who want to make sure that Israel gets its due. Those today who want to make sure that we get our country’s blessings first. Those who don’t mind evangelism as long as it doesn’t change the way the church functions. It starts from the assumption that there isn’t enough. It assumes that God has a limited store of blessings and that we need to make sure we get our share. But thankfully that’s not how God works.

If the crowd at Nazareth hadn’t tried to run him off the cliff, Jesus might have gotten to that point. He might have reminded them that God’s mercy and abundance is enough to go around. He might have reminded them that even though God comes first to the poorest and most vulnerable, that there is a never-ending store of mercy and love and grace for them and for everyone. It’s hard for us, when our prayers go unanswered, and when we see that not everything is quite fair. But our God is something more than fair. Our God is the one who empties himself for us. It’s not fair, but it is grace.

Now that makes ministry as the people of God a much more complicated task because it’s more about grace than about being fair. It’s more about living into Paul’s vision of love than it is about getting all the doctrines right and checking off the things we’re supposed to do. If we speak in tongues, but have not love, we are noisy gong. If we have prophetic powers or understand all mysteries and all knowledge, if we have faith that can move mountains, even if we have all of the miracles Jesus can offer, but have not the love of God, we are nothing.

We will have an opportunity today as we meet as a congregation for our annual meeting to give witness to that grace active around us. We will have a chance to look over what God has done among us through you and your gifts in the past year. And we will take time to look ahead at what we hope and pray God will do among us in the coming year. We will have opportunity to celebrate that God has dealt with us with profound grace beyond anything that is fair.

It can be tempting in ministry and in life to grab on to easy solutions or to demand miracles from God for ourselves and for our communities. I hope that even in the midst of God’s profound abundance for us, we continue to see new avenues and new openings for God to be at work in our congregation.

Because week after week we celebrate God’s abundant gifts to us. We celebrate the God that comes into our lives not to deal with us fairly but to deal with us gracefully, walking right through our anger and resistance that we might learn to grow into lives that embody that same grace for the world. Thanks be to God.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Third Sunday after Epiphany
January 27, 2013

Then Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding country. ¹⁵He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone.
¹⁶When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, ¹⁷and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written:
¹⁸“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
¹⁹to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”
²⁰And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. ²¹Then he began to say to them, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” – Luke 4″14-21

It was an ordinary Sabbath at the synagogue in Nazareth. Most of the people gathered together that day expecting the usual routine. They came and sat down in their regular pew. They greeted their familiar friends and made small talk about the unusually cold weather and whether they liked the Ravens or the 49ers for next week’s Super Bowl. They wondered who had signed up for coffee hour that day and what they would have to eat after worship. When they opened the bulletin to browse the announcements until worship started, they were pleased to see that a child who had grown up in their community was back to read the scriptures for them. Maybe that now grown-up child’s Sunday school teacher was especially proud. It was an ordinary Sabbath at the synagogue in Nazareth.

But then Jesus’ presence often has the power to transform the ordinary into something extraordinary. Jesus at the start of his ministry causes quite a stir in their midst. With this particular reading and with his commentary, the people are at first excited then deeply disturbed. I won’t ruin the story, because we get the ending in next week’s gospel reading, but when the people turn on Jesus the story becomes a real cliffhanger – really, Jesus literally gets run to the edge of a cliff. Jesus turns this into a rather unusual day for those who came for their weekly gathering.

And yet nothing he says or does seems that out of place. What strikes me about the part of the story we have in our text this morning, is that it describes exactly what would happen on any other Sabbath. In fact Luke makes a point of reminding us that Jesus was there because he was always there. That’s what he did on the Sabbath. He grew up being in this place, and when he left home or was traveling he found a place in the local synagogue in whatever town he happened to be. And Luke tells us that Jesus had been teaching in the synagogues of the surrounding countryside. He was used to this and was coming home to read and teach there, too. Perhaps he even read the same reading as he had elsewhere because it had been what he was reflecting on in that time of his ministry. So far nothing so unusual.

In fact, I wonder if it isn’t so unusual for him to say, “Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.” It sounds to me, though I have no historical evidence to back this up, like the kind of liturgical response we might use today. At the conclusion of the scripture reading we say, “The Word of the Lord. Thanks be to God.” Or some congregations say, “Word of God, Word of life. Thanks be to God.” After the gospel we say, “The Gospel of the Lord. Praise to you, O Christ.” What if we were to say, “Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing. Thanks be to God.”? What if we really believed that every week the hearing and the proclaiming of scripture in word and song, really did something, really changed us.

Whether we are aware of it or not, it does. The scriptures shape us and give us a framework for who we are and whose story we are a part of. It’s not just the reader of the scripture who is transformed, but all of us are transformed by the reading and hearing. In our Old Testament reading the words of the Torah have the power to draw the people together as they return from exile to rebuild their community. It has the power to make them into a people again. It has the power to rekindle faith in the face of painful history and difficult work. Today we sang as our opening hymn, “Thy Strong Word.” We sang that it has the power to cleave the darkness, to make us righteous, to give us lips to sing God’s praise. Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.

Today the words we read, God’s words, have the power to anoint us to be, like Jesus, the bearers of good news. The words that transform the water at our baptism anoints us to be agents of good news for the world. Jesus does not invent this work. It is not new, and he can point to scripture to prove it. Isaiah proclaimed that this is God’s work which is gifted to people to carry out among one another.

This means that each of us, by the power of God through the words spoken to us, are the ones who set the captives free and restore sight to the blind. But I want to be careful that we don’t understand this as just doing good stuff for those in need. This isn’t only about doing community service through the church, or even about changing unjust systems. It’s about being and embodying this freedom in all we do.

Scripture doesn’t just call us to special ministries or exceptional acts. What I love about this account is that the reading of scripture transforms this ordinary day into something wholly out of the ordinary. In fact, maybe what is more accurate is that the word makes the people gathered in the synagogue with Jesus aware of the presence of God in the midst of their ordinariness. The reading of scripture in Nehemiah makes a community out of the people who are already gathered. The reading of scripture in Luke makes God’s anointing and God’s vision for the world come to life before their eyes. The word of God in our worship makes ordinary bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ for us.

And the words of God have the power to transform the things we do not just on ordinary Sundays, but also on ordinary Mondays and ordinary Tuesdays. The words of God that call us to be bearers of Good News call each of us to live out the service in different ways. Parents who bathe and change their infants, or make lunches, or help with homework are opening a way for God’s freedom in the world. Teachers and students are finding a way together to open the doors to new worlds of understanding. Artists are setting free our imaginations to understand the world in new ways. Friends who take the time to listen and to share of themselves open our eyes to things we have been blind to before. In the lives we lead and the work we do and the relationships we have, God anoints us to be bearers of Good News for this world.

Today your lives are proclaimed holy to God. On this ordinary day when you came to gather at church on Sunday, the word of God transforms who you are today and everyday to be the holy people of God: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon us, because he has anointed us to bring good news to the poor. He has sent us to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” Today. Today, this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing. Amen.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Second Sunday after Epiphany
January 20, 2013

For Zion’s sake I will not keep silent,
and for Jerusalem’s sake I will not rest,
until her vindication shines out like the dawn,
and her salvation like a burning torch.
²The nations shall see your vindication,
and all the kings your glory;
and you shall be called by a new name
that the mouth of the LORD will give.
³You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the LORD,
and a royal diadem in the hand of your God.
⁴You shall no more be termed Forsaken, 
and your land shall no more be termed Desolate; 
but you shall be called My Delight Is in Her, 
and your land Married; 
for the LORD delights in you,
and your land shall be married.
⁵For as a young man marries a young woman,
so shall your builder marry you,
and as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride,
so shall your God rejoice over you. – Isaiah 62:1-5

On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. ²Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. ³When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” ⁴And Jesus said to her, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” ⁵His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” ⁶Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. ⁷Jesus said to them, “Fill the jars with water.” And they filled them up to the brim. ⁸He said to them, “Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward.” So they took it. ⁹When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom ¹⁰and said to him, “Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now.” ¹¹Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him. – John 2:1-11

Try to remember the last wedding you attended. Maybe it was for a friend or a family member. Maybe you just attended as a guest or maybe you had an important part. Maybe it was even your own. What stood out to you about the wedding? Was it something about the way the decorations came together perfectly, or was it something that left you feeling uneasy? What did the wedding bring to mind for you? Was it thoughts about the couple making vows to one another, or was it something in your own life, your own relationships that permeated your thoughts that day?

You wonder what it was like for the couple getting married in Cana. Did the couple know each other well or was this arranged by their families? Was everyone getting along or were there underlying tensions in this multi-day feast? Had they already had a long, heated conversation about how much wine was needed before the moment when it ran out? No matter what the experience at that wedding or any wedding, there are always significant risks involved in getting married. And running out of wine, no matter how culturally significant in Jesus’ time, was the least of those risks.

The couple has taken significant risk just to make it to that point. The risk of first beginning to date, the risk of sharing their love, the risk of opening themselves up to one another. And then the decision to get married. It’s a risky thing to do these days with staggering statistics of divorce and domestic violence. Even if you have the best relationship, one that lasts a lifetime, I haven’t met a couple yet who hasn’t had a difficult time or two. Even if everything goes smoothly, it’s still a risk, because in most cases, sooner or later, one partner must experience the loss of the other.

When we enter into relationship with anyone, whether romantically or otherwise, it requires risk. It requires us to open ourselves to being hurt or disappointed along with being filled with joy and excitement. We shouldn’t ever take it lightly, but we also can’t plan for every eventuality.

In these Sundays after Epiphany, when we read the stories of Jesus beginning to reveal himself and his kingdom, feels a little to me like dating. We met Jesus when he appeared at Christmas as an infant and as a boy in the temple. Now, with these stories of Jesus coming into his ministry we are in the getting-to-know-you stage, figuring out if this is a partnership that will work. Is this miracle worker the one for us?

In today’s reading from Isaiah God speaks these beautiful words to the people of Israel: “… as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice over you.” Given the struggles of marriage – the broken relationships around us, the horrifying prevalence of domestic violence, the infidelity that is commonly reported about our celebrities and about our friends – it makes me question the image of God as bridegroom. Even if God holds up God’s end of the bargain, is it safe to take the risk of relationship? Is it worth the potential hurt and disillusionment when things don’t go as we expect? If life isn’t going to be perfect after God proclaims God’s love for us, is it really worth the risk?

Yet it is that risk of profound grief and sadness that makes the image of God as bridegroom so incredible. Because whether we are ready to plunge into this or not, God has taken that incredible risk. God is the bridegroom who risks loving even at the possibility of rejection. God is the bridegroom who risks loving even with the assurance that the beloved will die. We do not know how and when we will let one another down. We do not know how and when we experience tragedy and death. But God knows that each of us will mess up and let God down. Each of us will experience profound pain, and ultimately death. And still God takes delight in us. God still comes to love us unconditionally. God still commits to share our pain along with our joy. We have a God who risked creating the world in the knowledge that the created ones would rebel. We have a God who risked entering into a covenant with the people of Israel to bring them to the promised land knowing they would wander and disobey. We have a God risked loving the people who have been victims of gun violence. God has taken that risk with people in Syria who are hungry and dying. God has taken that risk with victims of natural disasters. We have a God who came into the world as a human being, knowing that to express the divine love for the world would result in death on the cross. We have a God who took the risk, and who still day after day takes the risk over and over again to love us – to love you and to love me – like a bridegroom.

This is not the cliché that says, “It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” We could debate that merits of that sentiment, I’m sure, but God’s statement to Israel and to us is so much more profound. God’s commitment is more than any human husband or wife can accomplish. God’s promise to us in Isaiah is this: “For Zion’s sake I will not keep silent, and for Jerusalem’s sake I will not rest, until her vindication shines out like the dawn, and her salvation like a burning torch.” Our promise is that God, through Jesus, took on the risk of death and also triumphed in resurrection.

But what do we do in the meantime? What do we do when the wine runs out? What do we do with our broken and imperfect human relationships – marriages, and friendships, and families, and congregations? We hope and trust. We pray for an end to suffering. We seek to be God’s hands in the world around us, reaching out with tangible support – money, food, clothing, shelter. We pray for the healing of human relationships, we pray for those couples we see get married that we know will face some kind of hardship before it is all over, and we seek to be God’s hands in the world, supporting each other in what are often difficult circumstances.

And to strengthen us in our hope and our journey, God provides for us a foretaste of the great wedding banquet. Here in this place we feast on bread and wine. We feast with the saints of God, not on the bad wine, but on the best wine, on the wine that Jesus transforms into himself – with the people close to us who are suffering and grieving, and with suffering people far away that we will never meet, and with all those who are at rest with the bridegroom. We feast as one people, bound together by God’s risky love.

In this wedding meal, and in our lives, know that God has made a sure and certain promise to you and to me. A promise to stop at nothing until we are safe. A promise to walk with us through hardship and through death. A promise to walk down the aisle with us, God’s most precious beloved ones, into life forever. Amen.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

The Baptism of Jesus
January 13, 2013

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; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. ¹⁷His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”
¹⁸So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people. ¹⁹But Herod the ruler, who had been rebuked by him because of Herodias, his brother’s wife, and because of all the evil things that Herod had done,²⁰added to them all by shutting up John in prison.
²¹Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, ²²and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” -Luke 3:15-22

(With appreciation to Peter Lockhart, whose blog was a significant part of the inspiration for this sermon.)

Do you ever find a gap between your expectations and your actual experience? I learned that lesson early. When I was spending time with family after Christmas this year, my parents retold a story from when I was still rather small. For Christmas that year I desperately wanted a toy that I had seen advertised on TV. It was a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles tabletop hockey game. It looked really fun when they played with it on the commercial. I could see myself playing it for hours having as much fun as the kids on the commercial were having. My parents lovingly fought the lines at the toy store to purchase this item. I was thrilled on Christmas morning. That is, until I actually played with it. Much to my surprise, it didn’t actually reproduce the fun that was being had on the commercial. It was poorly designed, hard to use, and soon relegated to the corner of the playroom while other unanticipated gifts from that Christmas became treasured things. It was an important early lesson in the lack of truth in advertising, and a chance for me to see the way in which experience doesn’t always live up to expectations.

And that’s how today’s Gospel reading starts. The people were filled with expectation. Right before this passage begins, John the Baptist was laying out a way of life. He preached repentance – turn from your ways. If you have two coats, you’ve stolen one from the poor. If you have too much food, some of it belongs to your neighbor. The tax collectors came and they were told only to collect what was owed. The soldiers came and they were told not to use their power to extort money.

This sounds pretty good. John seems to be ushering in an era of goodwill in which everyone is cared for, everyone has enough, and those who abuse power will live in harmony with everyone. The people are understandably filled with high expectations. Maybe with a vision like that they could even get past the nasty language about the winnowing fork and the burning of the chaff with unquenchable fire. They had hopes for their world, for an end to their suffering and frustration. They had hopes for the future.

But we know that reality doesn’t always live up to our expectations. Because in the end power wins again. Herod, a different Herod than the one who was scheming in last week’s gospel, gives in to pressures and has John arrested. This one who preached the good news to the people is silenced. So much for this utopian world he said was coming.

Have you had any expectations fall through lately? Maybe it’s that thing you’ve always wanted that you finally saved up money to buy and it hasn’t changed your life in the way you thought? Or maybe your job isn’t quite what you thought it would be when you started? Or your relationships haven’t gone according to the plan you imagined in your head when you started out? You thought that this stage of life would be different than it turned out to be?

I’m not saying we can’t all point to a lifetime full of blessings, too. But we have to face the failure of our expectations over and over again. We live in an imperfect world that doesn’t follow our preconceived plan for our role in it.

I wonder what Jesus’ expectations were when the Holy Spirit descended like a dove on him. What kind of expectations come with that? Expectations to solve all the world’s problems? Expectations to usher in the kind of kingdom that John had been talking about where everyone cares for one another and no one has too much or not enough? Expectations to be all things to all people?

But we know what actually happens. Jesus dies on the cross and on the one hand it changes everything for us. Through death and resurrection the world is upended. And on the other hand it isn’t. All those people filled with expectations for a utopian world are still disappointed. Despite a few miracles, which were more the exception than the rule, and despite a crew of misfit followers left to carry on the mission, this messiah didn’t live up to John the Baptist’s advertisement.

Do we tend to think of our lives of faith the same way? It seems to me that our baptisms ought to change everything for us. It seems that if we just live our lives of faith that the world will be transformed. Our hard work on behalf of the disenfranchised should pay off because God is in our work. Our vibrant ministry should communicate the good news of God’s love to the whole community because God’s Spirit has descended upon us. Our lives should go smoothly because the Spirit within us will guide our steps in paths of righteousness. Our world should be a wonderful place for all to live because God has called the church around the world to this work.

But it isn’t. Our expectations for what will happen aren’t always met. God hasn’t swooped in like a dove to fix everything. God has blessed us and God has worked miracles in our lives. But most things are still the same.

Except for one important detail that is present in every account of Jesus’ baptism. Except for one important detail in every one of our own baptisms. When the Spirit descends on Jesus, the voice from heaven says to him, “You are my Son the beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

We are called by this Spirit to an amazing and challenging ministry. John’s fiery sermon reminds us to give our extra coat away, to do what is right in God’s eyes, and warns us that there are consequences for us when we don’t. It’s easy to say and hard to do, even with the help of the spirit. But whether we succeed or fail. Whether the world is changed or not. Whether we feel good about it or not. The voice came down to Jesus and the voice has come down to us, “You are my son. You are my daughter. The beloved. With you I am well pleased.”

And that’s what we have to sustain us and encourage us. That’s what we have to fill us with the energy and will to carry out John’s admonitions. When it becomes hard to navigate the world around us as people of faith, when our efforts seem to go unnoticed or they fail to meet our expectations. When our attempts to produce faith in God or in ourselves fall short, that voice comes down again, as unexpected and unanticipated gift: “You are my daughter. You are my son. The beloved. With you I am well pleased.”

As sons and daughters, we sometimes have high expectations. We have expectations, some of which inevitably will not be met. But we have a dedicated and loving parent God, who blesses us with so much. But whether things are going well or not, whether it feels like the world is changing in the ways we hope that it would or not, we have a wonderful and unexpected gift at each and every turn. In spite of our expectations, and beyond our wildest imagination, we have a voice from God in our lives. And that voice echoes here today in water and bread and wine, and that voice echoes every day of your life to fill and sustain you:  “You are my son. You are my daughter. The beloved. With you I am well pleased.”

-Pastor Steven Wilco