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

 

 

Epiphany – January 6, 2013

In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, ²asking, “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 wise men 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

Our text this morning is full of vulnerable people. But in a sense, that’s what Epiphany is all about. Because on Epiphany, this child born in Judea, this Jewish baby born in an animal’s shelter, suddenly becomes a world player, a King. Suddenly it is no longer a small contained, story. It is no longer a quaint account that can be soon forgotten. Because of the star. The star that draws strangers from far off nations. The star that breaks open this mystery to the world makes everyone vulnerable; things are no longer safe and contained.

This story is about magi who make themselves vulnerable. The magi are not Jewish. Sure, they know the Hebrew scriptures, but they also know many other texts. They spend their nights searching the stars for signs that will tell them about the world. A star appears, or perhaps maybe even a series of cosmic events, that catch the attention of these astrologer priests in a far off land. The appearance of the star is significant enough to them that they go off as envoys of their kingdom to greet this new prince. It’s a risky journey, not just because of the travel but because they do not know what it is they are seeking.

These magi travel a great distance not knowing where to go. Perhaps at the palace they begin to sense a problem when Herod does not seem to know what they are talking about. Perhaps they have misread the signs, perhaps they have misinterpreted. What will this mean for their careers? What impact will this have on the kingdoms from whom they come bearing gifts? Do they feel silly when they finally arrive at a humble dwelling with a peasant family, bearing their gifts fit for a king? Their exuberance for this child without regard for protocol makes them vulnerable.

We might like to imagine that these magi who come to worship do so in a way that transforms their lives, that they somehow become followers of Jesus. But the story indicates only that that they returned home in such a way as to protect the baby from the intentions of King Herod. In all likelihood they went back to watching the stars for signs from the gods. They surely had a wonderful story to tell, but apparently they didn’t convert. They remain in some ways vulnerable as strangers to this strange king.

But that is nothing compared to the way that Herod feels vulnerable. The magi show up and tell him a king has been born, one worthy of star in the sky, in his country of Judea! He is suddenly spinning out the possibilities in his head. Who is this? When will he be a threat to me? Who is plotting? Where is this child? Who is pulling the strings?

Herod’s vulnerability has disastrous consequences. When made to feel vulnerable, he does the only thing he can think to do – he employs his power and violence to restore his control over the world. When he realizes he won’t hear back from the magi, he slaughters many to protect his power. That is the dark side of this day of light. The ways in which this event makes us vulnerable can have disastrous consequences when mixed with our world of sin.

But then there are yet others who are vulnerable. Mary and Joseph welcome these strangers into their home. They do not know where they come from or who they are or what gifts they bring. Perhaps by now they are growing accustomed to these strange events and people they do not know knowing something about their child. But they must be still trying to understand what is happening to them, all as they figure out how to parent a child who maybe doesn’t even yet sleep through the night.

Epiphany is about the breaking open of the Christmas story. That warm and wonderful, sweet and cozy story with all its accompanying carols and candlelight is suddenly broken open for the whole world. This story that we thought we could contain and control is suddenly broken open and it makes everyone feel a little exposed.

The church can feel that way sometimes. I often hear people point out that the center of Christianity has shifted now to the southern hemisphere, where churches are growing much faster than those in Europe and North America. But usually I hear that quoted with a sense of fear. We are used to owning the Christian tradition as people of the West. We are used to Christianity looking like us, acting like us, worshipping like us. We aren’t used to songs that speak of God in other languages and with other melodies. When the message of God is broken open to the world it forces us into a place of vulnerability, a place where we do not get to control or command how things happen. It’s part of the challenge of Epiphany to rejoice in this explosion of the good news to the world despite our fear about how that might change us.

It’s hard for us as a church to step outside of ourselves. It’s hard to take on the journey of the magi to see God in unexpected places in our world. It’s hard to invite strangers into our midst, strangers who do not look like us, who do not talk like us, who do not worship like us. It’s hard for us to accept that we aren’t the all-powerful kings we think we are sometimes. We are made vulnerable all the time.

As the story of Jesus continues to expand, as it continues to reach out and touch more and more people, it challenges all of us to confront our vulnerability. But we do so in good company, because there is at least one more person made vulnerable in this Epiphany story. Maybe the most vulnerable person of all.

God is still a baby. God is a vulnerable infant who cannot yet walk or talk or feed himself. And worse yet, his vulnerable presence has been advertised in the stars. Sure the magi bring gifts, but they also inadvertently bring on the murderous rage of King Herod. God is so vulnerable his parents must flee with him to another country to protect him. It is God who on this Epiphany opens God’s very self to the world and to us.

As participants in this cosmic explosion of grace, we are called to be vulnerable – to put out for the world to see exactly who we are and what we believe. When we do so we risk rejection and ridicule. We risk having to expand our ideas about who we are and who God is. But we also open ourselves to a deep and profound encounter with the Christ child in one another and the world around us. As the nations are gathered to the light of Christ, we get to grow and expand and rejoice in the breadth of who God is.

Epiphany, for all its light and joy, is a challenging day as we are called to participate in God’s vulnerability to the entire world. We are called to make ourselves vulnerable to the world around us. But we do so fed and nourished by the one who is vulnerable for us. We do so filled with the knowledge of God’s love and grace for us. We do so filled with light and life and salvation. Thanks be to God.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

First Sunday after Christmas
December 30, 2012

⁴¹Now every year his 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 him in the temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. ⁴⁷And all who heard him 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.” ⁴⁹He 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 he 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

Forget for a moment that you know the words of the Apostles’ and Nicene Creeds. Forget for just a moment all they have to say about Jesus: son of the Father, God from God, light from light, true God from true God, begotten not made. Just for a moment hear this story from Luke’s gospel as the tale of a 12-year-old boy and his parents.

For the sake of the story let’s call him by a more Hebrew version of his name, Joshua. Joshua was tagging along with his parents for their annual trip to the big city to celebrate the festival of the Passover. They are taking a trip from a small town to the big metropolis which is overflowing with people for the festival. Joshua is both anxious and excited, especially in this in-between time caught between childhood and adulthood. He has an opportunity to go away from home, albeit with his parents, and experience once again the hustle and bustle of big city life.

They travel with extended family and community to the city where Joshua longs to be on his own away from his parents. As they celebrate the festival he is trying to discern his place in the order of things. He is navigating that difficult age and figuring out how to be himself. And he, probably like many young Jewish boys, was sitting at the feet of the teachers. To this day in Jerusalem, young Jewish boys sit at the feet of their elders in makeshift classrooms in the large courtyards near the temple mount.

Joshua is reveling in his independence and not aware that his family has long since headed home or that they are anxiously searching for him, their beloved child lost in the big city. Who knows what could have happened to him in this time. But he is happily sitting among the teachers who are listening intently to him. Perhaps he is wise beyond his years, or perhaps these are exceptional teachers who recognize the wisdom of young people. Maybe they are listening to his very real questions about life and faith. Maybe in addition to teaching him they are really listening to the way he is challenging their assumptions with the voice of a child they have long since lost themselves.

When his parents finally do find him he is engaged in conversation, The Message paraphrase puts it this way: “The teachers were all quite taken with him, impressed with the sharpness of his answers. But his parents were not impressed; they were upset and angry.”

Joshua gives them a typical response from someone who is struggling to figure out his place: “You told me to get involved in church so here I am, what are you all worried about?” Those of us who remember being that age or those of us who are living that age now might remember some moments in which we wandered off confident in doing what we thought we were supposed to be doing only to find that we have not adequately informed our parents.

Finally reunited they begin again their journey home, each of them still struggling to figure out how to be a family: Mary and Joseph treasuring the time they still have with him, Joshua still growing and learning to be the person God has called him to be.

If we can take this step back for a moment and see the story not as a tale about Jesus’ wisdom as the Son of God and see it as Jesus living fully into our experience, how does that change our understanding of who God is for us?

Jesus is growing into the person God sent him to be on earth. In this story he is learning to understand and interpret the Torah, he is learning the rhythms of the Jewish calendar that will shape him and shape his ministry. He is drawn into the temple in ways that he does not yet fully understand. He will be back here again. It what will seem like a few short months we will be reading the stories of this child grown up and once again returned to Jerusalem for his final Passover with the disciples. But for today we see him still learning to understand himself.

If we, too, can accept that we are on a journey in which we are very clearly called by God to walk with a mission and a purpose, but that we are still very much trying to figure out the details, perhaps we, like the twelve year old Jesus can begin to live in the moment. Perhaps this story has something to say to us about the ways in which we are always living into the people God calls us to be. If Jesus didn’t have it all figured out, even at age 12, maybe that gives us the space to still be figuring out what it means to be a follower of Jesus in this world that we live in.

In this story, God is present in our in-between times, in the times in which we are searching for direction and wondering about the future. God is present as we anticipate what this new year might bring. For some it may mean new and exciting possibilities, for others it might bring disappointments and loss. But somehow in the midst of that we trust that God is walking with us in those in-between times. We trust that God makes room for us to be lost and to be figuring things out.

And we can trust that in the moments when we become aware of our lost-ness, when we become like Mary and Joseph searching for the center of our very lives, that God’s word that is there to guide us, the same word that Jesus was learning about in the temple courts, the same word that comes down to us in bread and wine, the same word that came down to earth in Jesus himself, that same word that will guide and carry us through.

We, like Jesus, have been adopted into a holy family, a family that worries about us, a family that searches after us, a family that teaches and guides us, a family that loves us through our awkward and in-between moments. Thanks be to God that we have been welcomed through the word of God into this wonderful and mysterious communion with one another that supports us through all our struggles on the journey of faith.