Study Format:
1. Read passage aloud. What did you notice in the reading? What words or phrase caught your attention?
2. Read passage aloud a second time. What questions would you ask the text?
3. Read passage aloud a third time. What do you hear God calling you to do or be in response to this text?
Interesting Ideas to Consider:
• The crowd initially responded favorably to Jesus’ remarks, with varying degrees of approval and skepticism. “Is this not Joseph’s son?” could be read as both surprise and disbelief that the kid they knew has become so admired.
• Verse 23 “Doctor, cure yourself”, the word “yourself” can be read as singular, a comment to Jesus from the crowd, or plural, a reflection on the whole community. Culpepper wonders if reading it in the plural means Jesus understood the crowd’s reaction to be positive, and were thinking of how great it would be for them to have the Son of God be from their town, how much glory and favor they would receive. But Jesus was telling them that this good news was not only for them.
• This story is found in all four Gospels, Matthew 13:54-58; Mark 6:1-6; John 4:43-45. But only Luke locates it this early in the Gospel. Everyone else had it happening in the midst of Jesus Galilean ministry, Luke placed it at the very onset. What point might Luke be making by moving the story here?
• Verse 30 “But he passed through the midst of them and went on his way” – the Greek word “went on” poreumai, is the same word Luke used to describe Jesus journeying to Jerusalem. There is a sense of purpose in the moving.
• Quote from Culpepper: “The paradox of the gospel, therefore, is that the unlimited grace that it offers so scandalizes us that we are unable to receive it. Jesus could not do more for his hometown because they were not open to him. How much more might God be able to do with us if we were ready to transcend the boundaries of community and limits of love that we ourselves have erected?”
Works Sourced:
Culpepper, R. Alan. “The Gospel of Luke.” The New Interpreter’s Bible Volume IX. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1995.
The extraordinary can look so ordinary
Thursday, January 28, 2016
Monday, January 25, 2016
Fulfilled Today: A Sermon on Luke 4:14-21
When the big Powerball drawing took place a few weeks ago, I did not buy a ticket. I told myself I didn’t buy a ticket because I wasn’t really sure where they are sold, and it would be an extra stop, and I didn’t have cash. But as I thought more about it, I realized the truth was I did not buy a ticket because I did not want to win. Now, I realize that not playing the Powerball because you’re afraid you might win is like not walking in the rain because you’re afraid you might not get wet. There was an equally likely probability that playing Powerball would result in me winning Powerball as there would be in every single raindrop in a hard summer thunderstorm to somehow managing to miss hitting me, but there you go. That was my total rational for not joining in the Powerball frenzy a couple of weeks ago as the payout reached the record total of one point five billion dollars. I didn’t join in this mass cultural movement, because I was afraid I might win, and I didn’t know what I would do with that much money.
Now, that fear in and of itself might seem a little strange. After all, who wouldn’t want a little bit more money?! But one point five billion is a lot more money; and I wondered about how that kind of a windfall might change me. Would I be a good steward of that kind of wealth? How would my relationships change, would people treat me differently, want things from me? Would my friends become uncomfortable around me? How would it change my work? There is no question that suddenly being in possession of that much money would change everything about my life, the question I didn’t have the answer to was how. Would the good changes outweigh the bad? So, in the end, I decided in the end that the two dollars it cost to buy a Powerball ticket was better spent on coffee, which would provide me immediate gratification in the short run, and way less stress in the long run, and so that is what I did. Sorry Trinity, I gave up our shot at Powerball glory in exchange for a decaf Sumatra at Brownstone. We will have to find another avenue to pay off the roof.
What I was really afraid of in having even the possibility of winning Powerball was not having a lot of money; it was the change that having a lot of money would inevitably cause. And Powerball being a ridiculous example notwithstanding, I think my hesitancy of having even the most remote possibility of being changed in such a drastic way gets to a more universal truth, that change, good or bad, is scary. It is oftentimes more comfortable to stay with what is familiar rather than change. Even when we know the situation we are in is bad, and the change will be for the better, there is the temptation to follow the easier and more comfortable route of staying where we are rather than take the risk of becoming something different. But changing, pushing through the discomfort to a new and different place, is the only way we grow. So what does Powerball have to do with our Gospel text for this morning? This text is from the very beginning of Jesus Galilean ministry, the first two verses provide a framework for what this ministry will be about. “Then Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding country. He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone.” Jesus’ Galilean ministry is a ministry of teaching, powered by the Spirit. The location of this will be synagogues, situating it within the proper context of religious education. The result of this ministry is praise, and its extent is for all.
So Jesus and this Spirit-powered, praise-creating, all-welcoming ministry showed up in Nazareth, “where he had been brought up,” and to his “home synagogue,” if you will. This would have been the place he’d worshipped since he was just a little child. Filled with people who’d know him forever, who’d known his parents since before Mary was an unwed mother, since before Joseph was a reluctant stepfather. They’d seen Jesus take his first steps, listened to his first stuttering Hebrew recitations, cheered his first shaky expositions of scripture. And now, here he was home again, the local boy made big. They’d certainly heard the report about him that had begun to spread through all the surrounding country, and they couldn’t wait to welcome him home. When the Sabbath day arrived, worship unfolded like it would on every Sabbath. As was the custom, the reader would stand and accept the scroll given to him by the attendant, find the marked place, and begin to read. But Jesus, upon being handed the scroll, did something different. Instead of reading the section given to him, he unrolled the scroll further, finding a certain passage of scripture. The Gospel doesn’t mention it, but you can hear the scurrying that would have followed this departure. Imagine the look on my face, if Ellis had gone rogue this morning and decided to read a different text then the one I expected him to. David and I choose hymns and liturgy based on knowing the text ahead of time, what a scramble would ensue if we had to rethink everything on the fly.
So Jesus stood up, unrolled to a totally unexpected passage of scripture, and began to read: “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, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” The people are already not quite sure what to do with this unexpected break from tradition. And then Jesus calmly handed the scroll back to the attendant, and sat down to preach. Now this again would be all in line with expectation, it was customary to sit down following the reading, and to teach from a seated position. The eyes of everyone in the synagogue fix upon him, relaxing into return to normalcy. And then, Jesus delivered his one-sentence sermon on the text. “Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”
Can you imagine the response to that? This is Jesus, Joseph and Mary’s kid. They’d watched him grow up, and here he is claiming to be the one Isaiah had foretold. They’ve known this verse from Isaiah their whole lives, heard countless sermons on that future day when a leader would come with the Spirit of the Lord, who would bring good news to the poor, proclaim release to the captives, delivery of sight to the blind, who would set the oppressed free, and proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor. They were so familiar with the words of this reading, that the words in some ways had ceased to have meaning, they were just words, promise of a future someday that was well out of their imagining. And, quite frankly, it was easier that way. As great as it would be to have the captives set free, the blind see, the oppressed go free, and the year of the Lord’s favor upon them, they knew that such radical good news would mean that their lives would change. In positive ways, certainly, but maybe also in ways that were hard. Better, easier, to live in hope for such a day, to rest in the promise that such a day was possible, then to actually have to deal with the upheaval of the coming kingdom of God. But then Jesus showed up and told them, “Today this scripture is fulfilling in your hearing.” Today is the day you’ve been waiting for your whole lives. Today good news is upon us, today the captives are free, today is the year of the Lord’s favor. You are in bondage no longer, for today, right here, right now, God is with you.
Sisters and brothers in Christ, in this Epiphany season we celebrate that today, this scripture is fulfilled in our hearing. Today, and every day, when we gather around water and word, when we eat the bread and drink the wine, we experience the kingdom of God in our midst, we are in the year of the Lord’s favor. And this encounter changes us. In this encounter with the good news, we discover that we are free from the captivity of sin and death, we find our eyes open to the world around us, we find the weight of oppression, of all that would seek to hold us captive lifted from us, and we are in the Lord’s favor. Change is hard. There is comfort in captivity, in oppression, in being stuck in the familiarity of our expectations, in not being able to see the brokenness of the world. But these words from Jesus promise us that we do not go alone into this new and unfamiliar world, but Christ goes with us. Christ walks alongside us, proclaiming to us the good news, helping us to shake of chains of fear and unworthiness, and live into the promise of this new life.
So, in conclusion, I still don’t think I’ll buy a Powerball ticket. The coffee at Brownstone is really good, and way more dependable. Though, if you’re into that sort of thing, please play responsibly, there’s no harm in dreaming. But better than dreaming, is the tangible promise that we will all receive in a few minutes, that the risen Christ meets us here and transforms our lives with his grace. Today, and every day, this scripture is fulfilled in your midst, and everything you know, everything you are, will be changed by the encounter. Thanks be to God. Amen.
Now, that fear in and of itself might seem a little strange. After all, who wouldn’t want a little bit more money?! But one point five billion is a lot more money; and I wondered about how that kind of a windfall might change me. Would I be a good steward of that kind of wealth? How would my relationships change, would people treat me differently, want things from me? Would my friends become uncomfortable around me? How would it change my work? There is no question that suddenly being in possession of that much money would change everything about my life, the question I didn’t have the answer to was how. Would the good changes outweigh the bad? So, in the end, I decided in the end that the two dollars it cost to buy a Powerball ticket was better spent on coffee, which would provide me immediate gratification in the short run, and way less stress in the long run, and so that is what I did. Sorry Trinity, I gave up our shot at Powerball glory in exchange for a decaf Sumatra at Brownstone. We will have to find another avenue to pay off the roof.
What I was really afraid of in having even the possibility of winning Powerball was not having a lot of money; it was the change that having a lot of money would inevitably cause. And Powerball being a ridiculous example notwithstanding, I think my hesitancy of having even the most remote possibility of being changed in such a drastic way gets to a more universal truth, that change, good or bad, is scary. It is oftentimes more comfortable to stay with what is familiar rather than change. Even when we know the situation we are in is bad, and the change will be for the better, there is the temptation to follow the easier and more comfortable route of staying where we are rather than take the risk of becoming something different. But changing, pushing through the discomfort to a new and different place, is the only way we grow. So what does Powerball have to do with our Gospel text for this morning? This text is from the very beginning of Jesus Galilean ministry, the first two verses provide a framework for what this ministry will be about. “Then Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding country. He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone.” Jesus’ Galilean ministry is a ministry of teaching, powered by the Spirit. The location of this will be synagogues, situating it within the proper context of religious education. The result of this ministry is praise, and its extent is for all.
So Jesus and this Spirit-powered, praise-creating, all-welcoming ministry showed up in Nazareth, “where he had been brought up,” and to his “home synagogue,” if you will. This would have been the place he’d worshipped since he was just a little child. Filled with people who’d know him forever, who’d known his parents since before Mary was an unwed mother, since before Joseph was a reluctant stepfather. They’d seen Jesus take his first steps, listened to his first stuttering Hebrew recitations, cheered his first shaky expositions of scripture. And now, here he was home again, the local boy made big. They’d certainly heard the report about him that had begun to spread through all the surrounding country, and they couldn’t wait to welcome him home. When the Sabbath day arrived, worship unfolded like it would on every Sabbath. As was the custom, the reader would stand and accept the scroll given to him by the attendant, find the marked place, and begin to read. But Jesus, upon being handed the scroll, did something different. Instead of reading the section given to him, he unrolled the scroll further, finding a certain passage of scripture. The Gospel doesn’t mention it, but you can hear the scurrying that would have followed this departure. Imagine the look on my face, if Ellis had gone rogue this morning and decided to read a different text then the one I expected him to. David and I choose hymns and liturgy based on knowing the text ahead of time, what a scramble would ensue if we had to rethink everything on the fly.
So Jesus stood up, unrolled to a totally unexpected passage of scripture, and began to read: “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, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” The people are already not quite sure what to do with this unexpected break from tradition. And then Jesus calmly handed the scroll back to the attendant, and sat down to preach. Now this again would be all in line with expectation, it was customary to sit down following the reading, and to teach from a seated position. The eyes of everyone in the synagogue fix upon him, relaxing into return to normalcy. And then, Jesus delivered his one-sentence sermon on the text. “Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”
Can you imagine the response to that? This is Jesus, Joseph and Mary’s kid. They’d watched him grow up, and here he is claiming to be the one Isaiah had foretold. They’ve known this verse from Isaiah their whole lives, heard countless sermons on that future day when a leader would come with the Spirit of the Lord, who would bring good news to the poor, proclaim release to the captives, delivery of sight to the blind, who would set the oppressed free, and proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor. They were so familiar with the words of this reading, that the words in some ways had ceased to have meaning, they were just words, promise of a future someday that was well out of their imagining. And, quite frankly, it was easier that way. As great as it would be to have the captives set free, the blind see, the oppressed go free, and the year of the Lord’s favor upon them, they knew that such radical good news would mean that their lives would change. In positive ways, certainly, but maybe also in ways that were hard. Better, easier, to live in hope for such a day, to rest in the promise that such a day was possible, then to actually have to deal with the upheaval of the coming kingdom of God. But then Jesus showed up and told them, “Today this scripture is fulfilling in your hearing.” Today is the day you’ve been waiting for your whole lives. Today good news is upon us, today the captives are free, today is the year of the Lord’s favor. You are in bondage no longer, for today, right here, right now, God is with you.
Sisters and brothers in Christ, in this Epiphany season we celebrate that today, this scripture is fulfilled in our hearing. Today, and every day, when we gather around water and word, when we eat the bread and drink the wine, we experience the kingdom of God in our midst, we are in the year of the Lord’s favor. And this encounter changes us. In this encounter with the good news, we discover that we are free from the captivity of sin and death, we find our eyes open to the world around us, we find the weight of oppression, of all that would seek to hold us captive lifted from us, and we are in the Lord’s favor. Change is hard. There is comfort in captivity, in oppression, in being stuck in the familiarity of our expectations, in not being able to see the brokenness of the world. But these words from Jesus promise us that we do not go alone into this new and unfamiliar world, but Christ goes with us. Christ walks alongside us, proclaiming to us the good news, helping us to shake of chains of fear and unworthiness, and live into the promise of this new life.
So, in conclusion, I still don’t think I’ll buy a Powerball ticket. The coffee at Brownstone is really good, and way more dependable. Though, if you’re into that sort of thing, please play responsibly, there’s no harm in dreaming. But better than dreaming, is the tangible promise that we will all receive in a few minutes, that the risen Christ meets us here and transforms our lives with his grace. Today, and every day, this scripture is fulfilled in your midst, and everything you know, everything you are, will be changed by the encounter. Thanks be to God. Amen.
Thursday, January 21, 2016
Conversation Points for Luke 4:14-21
Study Format:
1. Read passage aloud. What did you notice in the reading? What words or phrase caught your attention?
2. Read passage aloud a second time. What questions would you ask the text?
3. Read passage aloud a third time. What do you hear God calling you to do or be in response to this text?
Interesting Ideas to Consider:
• Jesus’ ministry in Galilee is described from the beginning as being “filled with the power of the Spirit” (4:14). The role of the Spirit in Luke is one who “leads, fills, and empowers for prophetic work” (Reese). C.F. Zechariah (Luke 1:15, 67-79), Elizabeth (1:41), Simeon (2:25-32), and John (3:16).
• These opening verses provide a guide for how Jesus’ ministry will unfold. His work will be teaching, the setting often synagogues, powered by the Spirit, resulting in praise, and extending to all.
• Luke 16-20 describes the normal practice of worship in a first century synagogue. A reader would stand to read from the scroll and then sit to exposit on the reading. The one difference is by this time there would be a set triannual reading cycle (much like our lectionary). Luke seems to indicate Jesus choosing his own passage to read and exposit. He goes “off lectionary” if you will.
• The passage Jesus read comes from Isaiah 61:1 and 58:6 • This is the first reference to the poor (ptochoi) in Luke, though it was hinted at in the magnificat. God’s care for the poor is a major theme for Luke.
• “The year of the Lord’s favor” in Isaiah is a reference to the Jubilee year. In Leviticus, every fiftieth year was to be set aside as a time of liberation and restoration. Slaves were to be set free, debts forgiven, and land returned to its original owners. In Luke 4:21, Jesus pushes the concept of a Jubilee year from an every 50 years event, to a radical change in society overall. Instead of a set Jubilee year, in Jesus liberation and restoration becomes the norm.
Works Sourced:
Culpepper, R. Alan. “The Gospel of Luke.” The New Interpreter’s Bible Volume IX. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1995.
Reese, Ruth Anne. “Commentary on Luke 4:14-21.” Working Preacher. January 24, 2016. < https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2741>.
1. Read passage aloud. What did you notice in the reading? What words or phrase caught your attention?
2. Read passage aloud a second time. What questions would you ask the text?
3. Read passage aloud a third time. What do you hear God calling you to do or be in response to this text?
Interesting Ideas to Consider:
• Jesus’ ministry in Galilee is described from the beginning as being “filled with the power of the Spirit” (4:14). The role of the Spirit in Luke is one who “leads, fills, and empowers for prophetic work” (Reese). C.F. Zechariah (Luke 1:15, 67-79), Elizabeth (1:41), Simeon (2:25-32), and John (3:16).
• These opening verses provide a guide for how Jesus’ ministry will unfold. His work will be teaching, the setting often synagogues, powered by the Spirit, resulting in praise, and extending to all.
• Luke 16-20 describes the normal practice of worship in a first century synagogue. A reader would stand to read from the scroll and then sit to exposit on the reading. The one difference is by this time there would be a set triannual reading cycle (much like our lectionary). Luke seems to indicate Jesus choosing his own passage to read and exposit. He goes “off lectionary” if you will.
• The passage Jesus read comes from Isaiah 61:1 and 58:6 • This is the first reference to the poor (ptochoi) in Luke, though it was hinted at in the magnificat. God’s care for the poor is a major theme for Luke.
• “The year of the Lord’s favor” in Isaiah is a reference to the Jubilee year. In Leviticus, every fiftieth year was to be set aside as a time of liberation and restoration. Slaves were to be set free, debts forgiven, and land returned to its original owners. In Luke 4:21, Jesus pushes the concept of a Jubilee year from an every 50 years event, to a radical change in society overall. Instead of a set Jubilee year, in Jesus liberation and restoration becomes the norm.
Works Sourced:
Culpepper, R. Alan. “The Gospel of Luke.” The New Interpreter’s Bible Volume IX. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1995.
Reese, Ruth Anne. “Commentary on Luke 4:14-21.” Working Preacher. January 24, 2016. < https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2741>.
Monday, January 18, 2016
The Voice of the Lord: A Sermon on Psalm 29 and Luke 3:15-17, 21-22
I want to start out this morning by talking about the Psalm. We don’t usually get to pay much attention to the psalm, but this one is such an especially good one, that I thought it might be fun to unpack it a bit this morning. And as a fun bonus, it’s printed in your bulletin. So if you are the sort of person who likes to follow along, you’re welcome to do so. I’m just sort of going to stair step right on through it.
“Ascribe to the Lord, O heavenly beings,” it starts. “Ascribe to the Lord glory and strength. Ascribe to the Lord the glory of his name; worship the Lord in holy splendor.” Psalm twenty-nine is an enthronement psalm, probably one of the oldest, and its purpose is to demonstrate God as the all-powerful ruler. Three times in those first two verses the psalmist commands the heavenly beings to ascribe, to attribute, to give credit to God for God’s glory and strength, for the glory of God’s name, to worship God as one would a sovereign. “Heavenly beings” literally translates to “sons of gods.” Lower case “g” there, these are not God’s children like we think of Jesus. The psalmist is probably referring to the gods worshipped by other nations; it is a demonstration that all the deities of the other nations are subservient to the One God. This pantheon of other gods concept might sound confusing to our modern ears, so let’s phrase it this way. The dictionary definition of god lower case “g” is “a spirit or being that has great power, strength, knowledge, etc., and that can affect nature and the lives of people.” Lower case g gods then are the things that we give our lives to that do not bring us life. They are the voices that say that ultimately we are in control, that our efforts can ensure our own security. The people of the ancient near east gave them personifications, names and identities. We might think of them more as distractions, but they are the same. Gods of success and wealth, gods of greed and power, gods of addiction, gods of the smartphone, of instant gratification, of you need to do/be/look like/own this in order to have value. Lower case g gods are all the forces in our lives that seek to name us or control us, to call us less than we are, and keep us captive from ourselves. The psalmist commands to all of those gods who think they have power, “ascribe to the Lord, glory and strength.” It is the Lord, not those lower case gods, who has power, who has glory, who has strength, who is to be worshipped. Those lower case gods are put in their place by the power of the Most High God.
The Psalmist goes on: “The voice of the Lord is over the waters; the God of glory thunders, the Lord, over mighty waters.” This phrase “the voice of the Lord” shows up seven times in the psalm. Seven is the number for perfection or completeness in the Hebrew Scriptures; so we see the Lord’s voice, represented by the seven-fold repetition, is all-powerful, perfectly complete in its power. This complete, all-powerful voice is over the waters, waters representing both the Mediterranean Sea, the sea representing chaos, the place of sea monsters and the source of uncontrollable storms. The waters also evoke images of the waters of creation, the cosmic waters from which God’s voice called creation into being. “The God of glory thunders,” thunder would have been the loudest sound the psalmist could have imagined. It is a sound that you feel as much as you hear, that shakes your very bones with its crashing. It is destructive and uncontrollable. It announces lightening, fire that rains down from heaven.
It is not just the sea which is God’s domain, but the wilderness as well. Verses seven and eight, “the voice of the Lord flashes forth flames of fire. The voice of the Lord shakes the wilderness, the Lord shakes the wilderness of Kadesh.” So powerful is the voice of the Lord that the world itself is shaken. Even the powerful cedars of Lebanon are broken, even the oaks whirl at the sound of God’s voice, and in God’s temple, all who gather to worship God, say “Glory.”
And what do we take from this powerful display of God’s sovereignty? Verses ten and eleven. “The Lord sits enthroned over the flood;” another reference to God’s power over chaos and destruction, “the Lord sits enthroned as king forever. May the Lord give strength to his people! May the Lord bless his people with peace.”
What a great psalm to read on the day the church has set aside to celebrate the baptism of Jesus. A psalm that invites us to marvel in the power of the voice of God to whom all heavenly beings ascribe glory, the voice that both thunders over the waters and brings God’s people peace.
As we transition into the Gospel reading from Luke this morning, I invite you first to remember back a few weeks ago when we heard the story from Luke two about how on the night of Jesus birth, suddenly the sky over the hills around Bethlehem were filled with a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and speaking aloud these words, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors.” Do you hear any similarities between the song of the angels and the song of the psalmist?
Fast-forward thirty years and only a handful of verses from that moment, and you get to where we are today. Jesus, the one at whose birth the angels sang, is standing in line with “all the people” waiting to be baptized. That’s one of the things that’s unique about Luke’s account of the baptism narrative, there’s no real fanfare around it. No conversation between John and Jesus, no special proclamation of the coming of the Lord. John announced Jesus’ arrival, as it was foretold John would at his birth, and then, in the three verses our lectionary left out for some reason, John is removed from the scene, imprisoned by Herod, so there can be no question at the baptism that Jesus is the clear successor to John, the one for whom John was to prepare the way.
So we know Jesus is coming. We know he is more powerful than John, we know he will baptize with water and spirit, we know John is not even worthy to untie the thong of his sandals, but at verse twenty-one, Jesus hasn’t done anything yet. No miracles, no healings, no crowds flocking to hear him teach. There were angels at his birth, a brief appearance in the Temple at age twelve, but other than that, Jesus is just a guy standing beside the Jordan River with all the other people, patiently waiting his turn to be baptized.
But after the baptism. After “all the people were baptized, and when Jesus had also been baptized…the heaven was opened.” The heaven was opened, you can’t miss the radical intrusion here, God is not subtle. The boundary between heaven and earth set in place at creation is bodily ripped in two by the in-breaking of God at Christ’s baptism.
And then, “a voice came from heaven.” A voice from heaven. Remember the power the voice of the Lord carried in the psalm? The voice that soared over the waters and drowns out thunder, who breaks the mightiest cedars and causes the oaks to whirl, that same voice roared out of heaven and said to Jesus, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” The very beginning of Jesus ministry is marked by this declaration that he is Beloved, and that with him God is well pleased. Beloved is a word only used in Luke to describe Jesus. It is spoken here, it will be spoken again at the transfiguration. And to be well pleased is an attribute of God. God is well pleased with Jesus, in the song of the angels in Luke two, peace is for those with whom God is well pleased, and in Jesus’ teachings, he will talk of how it is in God’s good pleasure to give the kingdom. Everything that Jesus does in his ministry, every sermon, every lesson, every healing, every greeting, every meal with a sinner, every relationship restored, his death on the cross and his resurrection from the dead, every single part of it is predicated by this one declaration made at his baptism, that the identity of Jesus is Beloved and the nature of the Father is well pleased.
Dear friends in Christ, THAT is what we celebrate throughout this whole epiphany season, but especially on this Baptism of our Lord Sunday, that it is the nature of the all-powerful, all-glorious voice of the Lord to open up the heaven and proclaim to us “you are my child, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.” Because it is in these waters that we are adopted into God’s family, that we too become children of God. Which means all those little “g” gods we talked about in the beginning of the sermon, those little “g” gods that would seek to define us, to name us, to claim us as their own, those little “g” gods are silenced by the voice that booms over the waters, that shakes the mighty cedars, that proclaims us beloved. And those little “g” gods tremble at the sound of this voice.
Baptism is not a pretty, gentle, church event where we dress in white and sprinkle water on our heads. Baptism is the in-breaking of God in our midst. It is God who risks everything, who shakes the powers of heaven, to appear in bodily form and declare us Beloved. Baptism isn’t something we remember, something we can pull off the shelf and think about with gratitude, and then put back on the shelf and forget about it. Baptism changes us. Not once, but every single day, in powerful and glorious and unexpected ways. The epiphany, the revelation of God we celebrate this season, is the voice of the Lord whose mighty declaration rings so loudly that it drowns out all those lower case “g” gods who would try to name our identity, who would try to call us less than we are, who would try to hold us captive, to say that we cannot, or we are not, the voice of the Lord booms over all of those lower case “g” gods with this one unshakable identifying phrase, “you are my Son, you are my Daughter, the Beloved.” Why? Because it is the nature of the Father to be well pleased. Amen.
“Ascribe to the Lord, O heavenly beings,” it starts. “Ascribe to the Lord glory and strength. Ascribe to the Lord the glory of his name; worship the Lord in holy splendor.” Psalm twenty-nine is an enthronement psalm, probably one of the oldest, and its purpose is to demonstrate God as the all-powerful ruler. Three times in those first two verses the psalmist commands the heavenly beings to ascribe, to attribute, to give credit to God for God’s glory and strength, for the glory of God’s name, to worship God as one would a sovereign. “Heavenly beings” literally translates to “sons of gods.” Lower case “g” there, these are not God’s children like we think of Jesus. The psalmist is probably referring to the gods worshipped by other nations; it is a demonstration that all the deities of the other nations are subservient to the One God. This pantheon of other gods concept might sound confusing to our modern ears, so let’s phrase it this way. The dictionary definition of god lower case “g” is “a spirit or being that has great power, strength, knowledge, etc., and that can affect nature and the lives of people.” Lower case g gods then are the things that we give our lives to that do not bring us life. They are the voices that say that ultimately we are in control, that our efforts can ensure our own security. The people of the ancient near east gave them personifications, names and identities. We might think of them more as distractions, but they are the same. Gods of success and wealth, gods of greed and power, gods of addiction, gods of the smartphone, of instant gratification, of you need to do/be/look like/own this in order to have value. Lower case g gods are all the forces in our lives that seek to name us or control us, to call us less than we are, and keep us captive from ourselves. The psalmist commands to all of those gods who think they have power, “ascribe to the Lord, glory and strength.” It is the Lord, not those lower case gods, who has power, who has glory, who has strength, who is to be worshipped. Those lower case gods are put in their place by the power of the Most High God.
The Psalmist goes on: “The voice of the Lord is over the waters; the God of glory thunders, the Lord, over mighty waters.” This phrase “the voice of the Lord” shows up seven times in the psalm. Seven is the number for perfection or completeness in the Hebrew Scriptures; so we see the Lord’s voice, represented by the seven-fold repetition, is all-powerful, perfectly complete in its power. This complete, all-powerful voice is over the waters, waters representing both the Mediterranean Sea, the sea representing chaos, the place of sea monsters and the source of uncontrollable storms. The waters also evoke images of the waters of creation, the cosmic waters from which God’s voice called creation into being. “The God of glory thunders,” thunder would have been the loudest sound the psalmist could have imagined. It is a sound that you feel as much as you hear, that shakes your very bones with its crashing. It is destructive and uncontrollable. It announces lightening, fire that rains down from heaven.
It is not just the sea which is God’s domain, but the wilderness as well. Verses seven and eight, “the voice of the Lord flashes forth flames of fire. The voice of the Lord shakes the wilderness, the Lord shakes the wilderness of Kadesh.” So powerful is the voice of the Lord that the world itself is shaken. Even the powerful cedars of Lebanon are broken, even the oaks whirl at the sound of God’s voice, and in God’s temple, all who gather to worship God, say “Glory.”
And what do we take from this powerful display of God’s sovereignty? Verses ten and eleven. “The Lord sits enthroned over the flood;” another reference to God’s power over chaos and destruction, “the Lord sits enthroned as king forever. May the Lord give strength to his people! May the Lord bless his people with peace.”
What a great psalm to read on the day the church has set aside to celebrate the baptism of Jesus. A psalm that invites us to marvel in the power of the voice of God to whom all heavenly beings ascribe glory, the voice that both thunders over the waters and brings God’s people peace.
As we transition into the Gospel reading from Luke this morning, I invite you first to remember back a few weeks ago when we heard the story from Luke two about how on the night of Jesus birth, suddenly the sky over the hills around Bethlehem were filled with a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and speaking aloud these words, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors.” Do you hear any similarities between the song of the angels and the song of the psalmist?
Fast-forward thirty years and only a handful of verses from that moment, and you get to where we are today. Jesus, the one at whose birth the angels sang, is standing in line with “all the people” waiting to be baptized. That’s one of the things that’s unique about Luke’s account of the baptism narrative, there’s no real fanfare around it. No conversation between John and Jesus, no special proclamation of the coming of the Lord. John announced Jesus’ arrival, as it was foretold John would at his birth, and then, in the three verses our lectionary left out for some reason, John is removed from the scene, imprisoned by Herod, so there can be no question at the baptism that Jesus is the clear successor to John, the one for whom John was to prepare the way.
So we know Jesus is coming. We know he is more powerful than John, we know he will baptize with water and spirit, we know John is not even worthy to untie the thong of his sandals, but at verse twenty-one, Jesus hasn’t done anything yet. No miracles, no healings, no crowds flocking to hear him teach. There were angels at his birth, a brief appearance in the Temple at age twelve, but other than that, Jesus is just a guy standing beside the Jordan River with all the other people, patiently waiting his turn to be baptized.
But after the baptism. After “all the people were baptized, and when Jesus had also been baptized…the heaven was opened.” The heaven was opened, you can’t miss the radical intrusion here, God is not subtle. The boundary between heaven and earth set in place at creation is bodily ripped in two by the in-breaking of God at Christ’s baptism.
And then, “a voice came from heaven.” A voice from heaven. Remember the power the voice of the Lord carried in the psalm? The voice that soared over the waters and drowns out thunder, who breaks the mightiest cedars and causes the oaks to whirl, that same voice roared out of heaven and said to Jesus, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” The very beginning of Jesus ministry is marked by this declaration that he is Beloved, and that with him God is well pleased. Beloved is a word only used in Luke to describe Jesus. It is spoken here, it will be spoken again at the transfiguration. And to be well pleased is an attribute of God. God is well pleased with Jesus, in the song of the angels in Luke two, peace is for those with whom God is well pleased, and in Jesus’ teachings, he will talk of how it is in God’s good pleasure to give the kingdom. Everything that Jesus does in his ministry, every sermon, every lesson, every healing, every greeting, every meal with a sinner, every relationship restored, his death on the cross and his resurrection from the dead, every single part of it is predicated by this one declaration made at his baptism, that the identity of Jesus is Beloved and the nature of the Father is well pleased.
Dear friends in Christ, THAT is what we celebrate throughout this whole epiphany season, but especially on this Baptism of our Lord Sunday, that it is the nature of the all-powerful, all-glorious voice of the Lord to open up the heaven and proclaim to us “you are my child, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.” Because it is in these waters that we are adopted into God’s family, that we too become children of God. Which means all those little “g” gods we talked about in the beginning of the sermon, those little “g” gods that would seek to define us, to name us, to claim us as their own, those little “g” gods are silenced by the voice that booms over the waters, that shakes the mighty cedars, that proclaims us beloved. And those little “g” gods tremble at the sound of this voice.
Baptism is not a pretty, gentle, church event where we dress in white and sprinkle water on our heads. Baptism is the in-breaking of God in our midst. It is God who risks everything, who shakes the powers of heaven, to appear in bodily form and declare us Beloved. Baptism isn’t something we remember, something we can pull off the shelf and think about with gratitude, and then put back on the shelf and forget about it. Baptism changes us. Not once, but every single day, in powerful and glorious and unexpected ways. The epiphany, the revelation of God we celebrate this season, is the voice of the Lord whose mighty declaration rings so loudly that it drowns out all those lower case “g” gods who would try to name our identity, who would try to call us less than we are, who would try to hold us captive, to say that we cannot, or we are not, the voice of the Lord booms over all of those lower case “g” gods with this one unshakable identifying phrase, “you are my Son, you are my Daughter, the Beloved.” Why? Because it is the nature of the Father to be well pleased. Amen.
Thursday, January 14, 2016
Conversation Points on Luke 3:15-17, 21-22
Study Format:
1. Read passage aloud. What did you notice in the reading? What words or phrase caught your attention?
2. Read passage aloud a second time. What questions would you ask the text?
3. Read passage aloud a third time. What do you hear God calling you to do or be in response to this text?
Interesting Ideas to Consider:
• V. 16-17 has parallels in all the Gospels (Mark 1:7-8; Matt 3:11-12; John 1:26-27). But unique in Luke, “the people” rather than the authorities question whether John is the Messiah, and they were “filled with expectation” instead of opposition.
• The move from “crowds” earlier in Luke 3:10, to “people” in Luke 3:15 demonstrates Israel’s receptivity to God’s work among them.
• Each of the Gospels treats the baptism of Jesus differently. Key differences in Luke and how they help to support areas of importance in Luke:
• It is described after John is imprisoned (Luke 3:18-20) – a mark of succession from John who will “make ready a people” (Luke 1:17) to Jesus
• Prayer is emphasized – Luke emphasizes prayer practices. John’s birth announced during a time of prayer (1:10), Jesus prays at important moments in his ministry: before calling the disciples (6:12), at Caesarea Philippi (9:18), before the transfiguration (9:28), before his death (22:40-46), on the cross (23:34, 46), as the disciples prepare for the coming of the Holy Spirit (Acts 1:14).
• The spirit descends “in bodily form” – signs of Jesus as the apocalyptic (revealed) fulfillment. The opening of heaven is an apocalyptic motif in the Old Testament, having the heavens open at Jesus baptism marks Jesus as the fulfillment of Israel’s hopes. The “bodily” descent links with the “bodily” form of the risen Lord. • Coming of the Holy Spirit on Jesus marked the start of his public ministry. When the Holy Spirit shows up, things happen (Acts 2:1-20).
• Two descriptors of God’s relationship to Jesus – “the Beloved” and “with whom I am well pleased.” “Beloved” is a term reserved for Jesus in Luke, at the transfiguration (Luke 9:35) and in the parable of the wicked tenants (Luke 20:13). “Well pleased” is a attribute of God, when the angels announce God’s favor (2:14), God’s gracious will to hid the revelation from the wise and to give all things to the Son (10:21-22), God’s good pleasure to give the kingdom to those prepared for it (12:32). The baptism then reveals both Jesus’ identity and God’s character.
Works Sourced:
Culpepper, R. Alan. “The Gospel of Luke.” The New Interpreter’s Bible Volume IX. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1995.
1. Read passage aloud. What did you notice in the reading? What words or phrase caught your attention?
2. Read passage aloud a second time. What questions would you ask the text?
3. Read passage aloud a third time. What do you hear God calling you to do or be in response to this text?
Interesting Ideas to Consider:
• V. 16-17 has parallels in all the Gospels (Mark 1:7-8; Matt 3:11-12; John 1:26-27). But unique in Luke, “the people” rather than the authorities question whether John is the Messiah, and they were “filled with expectation” instead of opposition.
• The move from “crowds” earlier in Luke 3:10, to “people” in Luke 3:15 demonstrates Israel’s receptivity to God’s work among them.
• Each of the Gospels treats the baptism of Jesus differently. Key differences in Luke and how they help to support areas of importance in Luke:
• It is described after John is imprisoned (Luke 3:18-20) – a mark of succession from John who will “make ready a people” (Luke 1:17) to Jesus
• Prayer is emphasized – Luke emphasizes prayer practices. John’s birth announced during a time of prayer (1:10), Jesus prays at important moments in his ministry: before calling the disciples (6:12), at Caesarea Philippi (9:18), before the transfiguration (9:28), before his death (22:40-46), on the cross (23:34, 46), as the disciples prepare for the coming of the Holy Spirit (Acts 1:14).
• The spirit descends “in bodily form” – signs of Jesus as the apocalyptic (revealed) fulfillment. The opening of heaven is an apocalyptic motif in the Old Testament, having the heavens open at Jesus baptism marks Jesus as the fulfillment of Israel’s hopes. The “bodily” descent links with the “bodily” form of the risen Lord. • Coming of the Holy Spirit on Jesus marked the start of his public ministry. When the Holy Spirit shows up, things happen (Acts 2:1-20).
• Two descriptors of God’s relationship to Jesus – “the Beloved” and “with whom I am well pleased.” “Beloved” is a term reserved for Jesus in Luke, at the transfiguration (Luke 9:35) and in the parable of the wicked tenants (Luke 20:13). “Well pleased” is a attribute of God, when the angels announce God’s favor (2:14), God’s gracious will to hid the revelation from the wise and to give all things to the Son (10:21-22), God’s good pleasure to give the kingdom to those prepared for it (12:32). The baptism then reveals both Jesus’ identity and God’s character.
Works Sourced:
Culpepper, R. Alan. “The Gospel of Luke.” The New Interpreter’s Bible Volume IX. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1995.
Monday, January 11, 2016
Magi: A Sermon on Matthew 2:1-12
We’ve really been making the grand circle tour through the birth narratives this Christmas season. On Christmas Eve we heard the story from Luke, about how Mary and Joseph traveled to Bethlehem for the census, and the angel appeared to the shepherds who came to worship the infant Savior. Last week was the birth narrative from John, which started at the very beginning of creation itself. And this morning, we hear Matthew’s version of the famous story, this one with no shepherds or census, but instead with wise men from the east following a star to bring gifts to honor the newborn King of the Jews. Our nativity scenes tend to mesh this whole thing together, turning the manger scene into a menagerie, with sheep and shepherds, camels and kings, stars and angels, cows and even the occasional lobster, spilling out from the stable. But the Gospels themselves don’t do that. Instead, each writer tells the narrative a little bit differently. While the central facts remain the same, Jesus was born in Bethlehem to parents Mary and Joseph, miraculous events heralded his birth, then he moved to Nazareth, where he grew up, the details themselves are different. As an aside, the fact that the birth narratives don’t agree actually makes them more believable for me. Anytime you have multiple narrators telling a story, you would expect them to bring in different details. Were all the birth accounts exactly the same it would be easy to discount them as just a story. But precisely because the Gospel writers retell the events differently, I can lean into the central truth of the narrative, that promise that to us is born, in the city of David, a savior, who is a king like no king the world has ever known. So let’s dive in this morning, and see what truths the writer of Matthew has for us.
First off, the arrival of the wise men happened well after the birth of Jesus. We celebrate Epiphany twelve days after Christmas, but they could have come up to two years after his birth. Long enough that verse eleven tells us that the Holy Family has moved into a house in Bethlehem.
And who were these wise men? Tradition has called them kings, an idea that actually came from the Isaiah text we heard this morning, which said that “kings would come to the brightness of your dawn,” set the number of them at three, based on the three gifts, and even gave them the names of Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar. The Bible itself actually gives us none of those details. We don’t know how many of them there were, we certainly don’t know their names. What we do know is they were definitely not kings. Scripture calls them Magi, a word which means “wise men” or “astrologers.” They were probably Zoroastrian priests from what is now modern day Iran, who specialized in the study of astrology and the interpretation of dreams. What is important for Matthew is they were not Jews, they were practitioners of a totally different religion. They had no access to the Torah or its wisdom. And yet, they, not Herod, the allegedly Jewish ruler of Judea, but these pagans are the ones who are able to follow God’s guiding and find the Messiah. Herod purported himself to be a faithful Jew. It was under his leadership that construction on the second Temple began, the crown jewel of the Jerusalem skyline, the center of Jewish faith and hope, the very dwelling place of God. Herod was a follower of Torah, he claimed faithfulness to its teachings, he was around all of the greatest scholars, he of all people should have been able to find the birthplace of the long-promised Messiah. Yet when the magi appear, bringing news of Christ’s birth, Herod has to send them to find Jesus, and bring back word to him of the location of the child. My colleague Tom Ott from First Congregational calls this conversation between Herod and the magi one of the very first interfaith dialogues.
Of course, one has to wonder if, like so many interfaith dialogues, this one was ruined from the start because Herod went in totally close-minded. Because it seems possible that Herod could not find the Messiah because Herod did not want there to be a Messiah. Faithful Jew though he may have claimed to be, Herod was first and foremost, a pragmatist. One of the universal truths across all the Gospel birth narratives is the introduction of what will become the central conflict of the life of Jesus, the conflict between the powers of this world and the power of the Most High God. A conflict that eventually led to Jesus being put to death on a cross, the preferred method of execution for Roman political prisoners. Of course, God then gets the last laugh when Jesus rose from the dead, destroying not only the world’s attempts to get rid of Jesus, but the very power of death itself.
But we’re not quite there yet. This morning, the conflict is small yet, just some foreigners telling King Herod of a baby born King of the Jews. A problem for Herod, certainly, but not one so big that Herod could not yet stop it. You see, even though Herod claims to be a faithful Jew, and may even have seen himself as a defender of the rights of his people, what Herod really is, is a faithful lover of power. Herod has the Torah, he has the writings of Isaiah and the other prophets, he has everything he would need to know of the coming Messiah. But Herod saw Jesus not as hope, but as a threat. Because in Herod’s worldview, there was already a king of Judea, and there simply was not room for another one. This baby, Herod knew, was a threat to the carefully amassed kingdom he had created.
And so God didn’t use Herod to lead us to Bethlehem. God used magi, wise men from the east, priests of another religious tradition, to point us the way to the Savior of the nations. What unexpected guides these strangers in a strange land are for us. They come, they kneel at the feet of the Christ child, they shower him with gifts of gold, and frankincense, and myrrh. Gifts, by the way, with their own depth of meaning. All incredibly rare and valuable, they are gifts worthy of a king. But there is more to them than their value. Frankincense and myrrh are spices. Their oils were used in coronation ceremonies to anoint the newly crowned kings. But they were also used in burial practices, anointing bodies for the grave, as the women would come to do to Jesus after his death on the cross. In these gifts, the magi prefigure the whole of the Gospel story, that this child is a king whose power is made known through death. And then, after leaving their gifts, they left, as suddenly as they came, by another road, so as not to return to Herod, back to the east, back to their study, their families, their lives. They never converted to Judaism, they never show up again at all. But they, these foreign priests, are the ones who throughout all of time have played the role of the ones who lead us by the light of a star to the cradle of the Christ child.
The gift that the magi give us is the promise that God leads us through all sorts of people. God’s leading and guiding and shaping in our lives is not contained to appointed religious leaders, educated teachers, worldly authorities. In fact, if Herod is any example, the authorities can, and often do, get it wrong, very wrong. No, God is too big, to powerful, to all-encompassing to be constrained like that. And in fact it can be in conversations with people who see the world, and even God, different than we do, that our own faith can be stretched and strengthened and deepened. We can come to know God better by following for a time along the path of another, who can lead us to a different perspective, a fuller picture of our creator God.
The other gift of this story is that we too can be magi. We too can lead others to the Christ child, even when we ourselves do not exactly know what we are following. The magi did not know where the star would lead them. They could not know. And yet, it is by their leading every year that we come to see the great epiphany, the great unveiling of the one who is God born among us. And so, like the wise men, we can trust, that our best following, whether or not we know where we are going, or even what we are looking for, can and will lead us to the presence of God. Because in the end, it is not the following that matters. What matters is that God wants to reveal Godself to us. And God will stop at nothing until the wonder is revealed. Thanks be to God. Amen.
First off, the arrival of the wise men happened well after the birth of Jesus. We celebrate Epiphany twelve days after Christmas, but they could have come up to two years after his birth. Long enough that verse eleven tells us that the Holy Family has moved into a house in Bethlehem.
And who were these wise men? Tradition has called them kings, an idea that actually came from the Isaiah text we heard this morning, which said that “kings would come to the brightness of your dawn,” set the number of them at three, based on the three gifts, and even gave them the names of Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar. The Bible itself actually gives us none of those details. We don’t know how many of them there were, we certainly don’t know their names. What we do know is they were definitely not kings. Scripture calls them Magi, a word which means “wise men” or “astrologers.” They were probably Zoroastrian priests from what is now modern day Iran, who specialized in the study of astrology and the interpretation of dreams. What is important for Matthew is they were not Jews, they were practitioners of a totally different religion. They had no access to the Torah or its wisdom. And yet, they, not Herod, the allegedly Jewish ruler of Judea, but these pagans are the ones who are able to follow God’s guiding and find the Messiah. Herod purported himself to be a faithful Jew. It was under his leadership that construction on the second Temple began, the crown jewel of the Jerusalem skyline, the center of Jewish faith and hope, the very dwelling place of God. Herod was a follower of Torah, he claimed faithfulness to its teachings, he was around all of the greatest scholars, he of all people should have been able to find the birthplace of the long-promised Messiah. Yet when the magi appear, bringing news of Christ’s birth, Herod has to send them to find Jesus, and bring back word to him of the location of the child. My colleague Tom Ott from First Congregational calls this conversation between Herod and the magi one of the very first interfaith dialogues.
Of course, one has to wonder if, like so many interfaith dialogues, this one was ruined from the start because Herod went in totally close-minded. Because it seems possible that Herod could not find the Messiah because Herod did not want there to be a Messiah. Faithful Jew though he may have claimed to be, Herod was first and foremost, a pragmatist. One of the universal truths across all the Gospel birth narratives is the introduction of what will become the central conflict of the life of Jesus, the conflict between the powers of this world and the power of the Most High God. A conflict that eventually led to Jesus being put to death on a cross, the preferred method of execution for Roman political prisoners. Of course, God then gets the last laugh when Jesus rose from the dead, destroying not only the world’s attempts to get rid of Jesus, but the very power of death itself.
But we’re not quite there yet. This morning, the conflict is small yet, just some foreigners telling King Herod of a baby born King of the Jews. A problem for Herod, certainly, but not one so big that Herod could not yet stop it. You see, even though Herod claims to be a faithful Jew, and may even have seen himself as a defender of the rights of his people, what Herod really is, is a faithful lover of power. Herod has the Torah, he has the writings of Isaiah and the other prophets, he has everything he would need to know of the coming Messiah. But Herod saw Jesus not as hope, but as a threat. Because in Herod’s worldview, there was already a king of Judea, and there simply was not room for another one. This baby, Herod knew, was a threat to the carefully amassed kingdom he had created.
And so God didn’t use Herod to lead us to Bethlehem. God used magi, wise men from the east, priests of another religious tradition, to point us the way to the Savior of the nations. What unexpected guides these strangers in a strange land are for us. They come, they kneel at the feet of the Christ child, they shower him with gifts of gold, and frankincense, and myrrh. Gifts, by the way, with their own depth of meaning. All incredibly rare and valuable, they are gifts worthy of a king. But there is more to them than their value. Frankincense and myrrh are spices. Their oils were used in coronation ceremonies to anoint the newly crowned kings. But they were also used in burial practices, anointing bodies for the grave, as the women would come to do to Jesus after his death on the cross. In these gifts, the magi prefigure the whole of the Gospel story, that this child is a king whose power is made known through death. And then, after leaving their gifts, they left, as suddenly as they came, by another road, so as not to return to Herod, back to the east, back to their study, their families, their lives. They never converted to Judaism, they never show up again at all. But they, these foreign priests, are the ones who throughout all of time have played the role of the ones who lead us by the light of a star to the cradle of the Christ child.
The gift that the magi give us is the promise that God leads us through all sorts of people. God’s leading and guiding and shaping in our lives is not contained to appointed religious leaders, educated teachers, worldly authorities. In fact, if Herod is any example, the authorities can, and often do, get it wrong, very wrong. No, God is too big, to powerful, to all-encompassing to be constrained like that. And in fact it can be in conversations with people who see the world, and even God, different than we do, that our own faith can be stretched and strengthened and deepened. We can come to know God better by following for a time along the path of another, who can lead us to a different perspective, a fuller picture of our creator God.
The other gift of this story is that we too can be magi. We too can lead others to the Christ child, even when we ourselves do not exactly know what we are following. The magi did not know where the star would lead them. They could not know. And yet, it is by their leading every year that we come to see the great epiphany, the great unveiling of the one who is God born among us. And so, like the wise men, we can trust, that our best following, whether or not we know where we are going, or even what we are looking for, can and will lead us to the presence of God. Because in the end, it is not the following that matters. What matters is that God wants to reveal Godself to us. And God will stop at nothing until the wonder is revealed. Thanks be to God. Amen.
Thursday, January 7, 2016
Conversation Points for Matthew 2:1-12
Study Format:
1. Read passage aloud. What did you notice in the reading? What words or phrase caught your attention?
2. Read passage aloud a second time. What questions would you ask the text?
3. Read passage aloud a third time. What do you hear God calling you to do or be in response to this text?
Interesting Ideas to Consider:
• Like in Luke and John, the birth account in Matthew functions as an introductory summary of the meaning of Jesus life, death, and resurrection. By casting Jesus in opposition to the political leadership, Matthew is prefiguring the later rejection of Jesus by the chief priests and Roman leadership.
• Matthew is the most Jewish of the Gospel writers, by which I mean Matthew is the most concerned that Jesus be seen as fulfilling the promises made in the law and the prophets regarding who the Messiah would be.
• Unlike Luke’s Gospel, Matt 2:1 is Matthew’s first attempt to set Jesus in a historical context vis-à-vis the political leadership. Matthew 1 takes great care to place Jesus within the religious genealogy, but it isn’t until 2:1 where the time (days of King Herod) and place (Bethlehem) are revealed.
• Magi is a transliteration of the Greek work μάγοι, meaning “wise men” or “astrologers,” or (in Acts 13:6, 8) “magician” or “sorcerer.” It was a priestly class of Persian or Babylonian scholar of astrology and the interpretation of dreams. They represent pagan (gentiles) who, without the revelation of the Torah, come to find the Messiah. Following a star links both pagan beliefs that the birth of new rulers were announced through stars and the Jewish tradition of the Messiah being the “star out of Jacob.”
Works Sourced:
Boring, M. Eugene. “The Gospel of Matthew.” The New Interpreter’s Bible Volume VIII. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1995.
1. Read passage aloud. What did you notice in the reading? What words or phrase caught your attention?
2. Read passage aloud a second time. What questions would you ask the text?
3. Read passage aloud a third time. What do you hear God calling you to do or be in response to this text?
Interesting Ideas to Consider:
• Like in Luke and John, the birth account in Matthew functions as an introductory summary of the meaning of Jesus life, death, and resurrection. By casting Jesus in opposition to the political leadership, Matthew is prefiguring the later rejection of Jesus by the chief priests and Roman leadership.
• Matthew is the most Jewish of the Gospel writers, by which I mean Matthew is the most concerned that Jesus be seen as fulfilling the promises made in the law and the prophets regarding who the Messiah would be.
• Unlike Luke’s Gospel, Matt 2:1 is Matthew’s first attempt to set Jesus in a historical context vis-à-vis the political leadership. Matthew 1 takes great care to place Jesus within the religious genealogy, but it isn’t until 2:1 where the time (days of King Herod) and place (Bethlehem) are revealed.
• Magi is a transliteration of the Greek work μάγοι, meaning “wise men” or “astrologers,” or (in Acts 13:6, 8) “magician” or “sorcerer.” It was a priestly class of Persian or Babylonian scholar of astrology and the interpretation of dreams. They represent pagan (gentiles) who, without the revelation of the Torah, come to find the Messiah. Following a star links both pagan beliefs that the birth of new rulers were announced through stars and the Jewish tradition of the Messiah being the “star out of Jacob.”
Works Sourced:
Boring, M. Eugene. “The Gospel of Matthew.” The New Interpreter’s Bible Volume VIII. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1995.
Tuesday, January 5, 2016
In the Beginning: A Sermon on John 1:1-18
In the beginning.
In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth.
In the beginning was the Word.
In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.
Then God said, “Light, come into being.” And light came into being.
What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.
And God saw that the light was good. And God separated the light from the darkness. And there was evening, and there was morning, the first day.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.
Then God said, “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the wild animals of the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth.”
He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.
So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them. And God blessed them.
And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.
God saw everything he had made, and indeed, it was very good.
From his fullness we have all received grace upon grace.
In the beginning.
In the beginning there was no form, no matter, substance, no shape. In the beginning, the earth was a formless void.
But there was something. In the beginning was the Word. With God, was God. In the beginning was the Word.
And then, into this vast nothingness, God spoke. Or, better put, God sung. With a wind, with a breath, with the Spirit, God sent the Word, God’s voice out over the vastness and called out. With the Word, God sung out light, and light came into being. And then, suddenly, in the vast dark nothingness, light shone. And God saw that it was good.
And from there, God went on. Again and again, God sung into the vastness, sending out the Word in melodies of increasing complexity. The song God had begun as a single note took on depth and breath and movement as God added more and more pieces to create a symphony. And as God sung, as the Word traveled, the nothingness took shape. Waters and sky, land and seas, plants. The sun and the moon, birds for the air, fish for the seas, wild animals, cattle, and all that creeps upon the earth. And God saw that the song was good, and God saw that creation was good.
But the song, though beautiful, was lacking something. There was no harmony to the melody, no dissonance to add creativity. So God sung again. And through the creative power of the Word, God created humanity. And humanity was different than the rest of creation, because humanity too could sing. Created in the image of God, God gifted humanity with its own voice, its own power to build and to shape and to sing things into creation. And humanity added its own voice to the song, and God saw that it was very good.
And for centuries, millennium, God and humanity sang together. And God was delighted with the people’s improvisations. But sometimes, the people would become too creative, too confident, too eager to carry the song alone. And the melody would become lost in convolutedness, muted by people’s desire to hear its own song over the tune of creation. So God would enter into creation, turning the song back to the original melody. God sung through the trust of Abraham, through the dreams of Joseph, through the voice of Moses. God sung through prophets and kings, psalmists and teachers. And the people responded in echoes to God’s song.
At times the melody seemed lost, the song hopelessly drowned out by the abuse of the Pharaohs, the war drums of the Assyrians, the oppression of the Romans. Sadness and grief, illness and anxiety could make the song almost silent. But no matter what happened, what crises arose, what darkness enveloped, the song carried on. Even in the darkest, deepest places, over crashing symbols or in crushing silence, still the song carried on.
But the people would not listen. Would not quiet their own voices to hear the strains. Instead they insisted on singing their own song louder to fill the void. And the louder they sang, the further their melody drifted from the song of creation, the more dissonant and jarring the melody became.
And so, God sent a new riff. God sung into creation a bridge, casting the tune off into a completely new direction. This bridge was again the Word, with God from the beginning. But this time, the Word became flesh and entered into the song of the people. Instead of shaping the people’s song, this time the Word learned the song of the people, and sang alongside them. From within the people’s own song, the Word brought them back into accord with the melody of God. And what had been a division, two voices singing in opposition, was one song once more. Still creative, still harmonious, still dissonant, unique and strong, but united once more by the Word made flesh, who ordered humanity’s song.
This new song burst into the world in a stable in Bethlehem. It sung to kings and concubines, lepers and legislators. It blessed a feast of bread and fish, brought forth an abundance of wine for a wedding, made mud that caused the blind to see, wept at the tomb of a friend. On a dark Friday afternoon, it died on a cross. And for three long days the song felt silent. But the silence was a rest, not the conclusion. Deep in the earth, the song still went on. And then, in the glorious blaze of a Sunday dawn, the stone rolled away to reveal the empty tomb, the song bursting forth in trumpets and cymbals and shout of Alleluia.
The song ascended into heaven. And in tongues of fire the song carried on through the church. Fractured, imperfect, dissonant, and grace-filled. The song is carried in word and water, bread and wine, fellowship and prayer and praising. All of it, all of us, new chords, new harmonies, new improvisations, to the old, old song of God’s love. Amen.
In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth.
In the beginning was the Word.
In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.
Then God said, “Light, come into being.” And light came into being.
What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.
And God saw that the light was good. And God separated the light from the darkness. And there was evening, and there was morning, the first day.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.
Then God said, “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the wild animals of the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth.”
He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.
So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them. And God blessed them.
And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.
God saw everything he had made, and indeed, it was very good.
From his fullness we have all received grace upon grace.
In the beginning.
In the beginning there was no form, no matter, substance, no shape. In the beginning, the earth was a formless void.
But there was something. In the beginning was the Word. With God, was God. In the beginning was the Word.
And then, into this vast nothingness, God spoke. Or, better put, God sung. With a wind, with a breath, with the Spirit, God sent the Word, God’s voice out over the vastness and called out. With the Word, God sung out light, and light came into being. And then, suddenly, in the vast dark nothingness, light shone. And God saw that it was good.
And from there, God went on. Again and again, God sung into the vastness, sending out the Word in melodies of increasing complexity. The song God had begun as a single note took on depth and breath and movement as God added more and more pieces to create a symphony. And as God sung, as the Word traveled, the nothingness took shape. Waters and sky, land and seas, plants. The sun and the moon, birds for the air, fish for the seas, wild animals, cattle, and all that creeps upon the earth. And God saw that the song was good, and God saw that creation was good.
But the song, though beautiful, was lacking something. There was no harmony to the melody, no dissonance to add creativity. So God sung again. And through the creative power of the Word, God created humanity. And humanity was different than the rest of creation, because humanity too could sing. Created in the image of God, God gifted humanity with its own voice, its own power to build and to shape and to sing things into creation. And humanity added its own voice to the song, and God saw that it was very good.
And for centuries, millennium, God and humanity sang together. And God was delighted with the people’s improvisations. But sometimes, the people would become too creative, too confident, too eager to carry the song alone. And the melody would become lost in convolutedness, muted by people’s desire to hear its own song over the tune of creation. So God would enter into creation, turning the song back to the original melody. God sung through the trust of Abraham, through the dreams of Joseph, through the voice of Moses. God sung through prophets and kings, psalmists and teachers. And the people responded in echoes to God’s song.
At times the melody seemed lost, the song hopelessly drowned out by the abuse of the Pharaohs, the war drums of the Assyrians, the oppression of the Romans. Sadness and grief, illness and anxiety could make the song almost silent. But no matter what happened, what crises arose, what darkness enveloped, the song carried on. Even in the darkest, deepest places, over crashing symbols or in crushing silence, still the song carried on.
But the people would not listen. Would not quiet their own voices to hear the strains. Instead they insisted on singing their own song louder to fill the void. And the louder they sang, the further their melody drifted from the song of creation, the more dissonant and jarring the melody became.
And so, God sent a new riff. God sung into creation a bridge, casting the tune off into a completely new direction. This bridge was again the Word, with God from the beginning. But this time, the Word became flesh and entered into the song of the people. Instead of shaping the people’s song, this time the Word learned the song of the people, and sang alongside them. From within the people’s own song, the Word brought them back into accord with the melody of God. And what had been a division, two voices singing in opposition, was one song once more. Still creative, still harmonious, still dissonant, unique and strong, but united once more by the Word made flesh, who ordered humanity’s song.
This new song burst into the world in a stable in Bethlehem. It sung to kings and concubines, lepers and legislators. It blessed a feast of bread and fish, brought forth an abundance of wine for a wedding, made mud that caused the blind to see, wept at the tomb of a friend. On a dark Friday afternoon, it died on a cross. And for three long days the song felt silent. But the silence was a rest, not the conclusion. Deep in the earth, the song still went on. And then, in the glorious blaze of a Sunday dawn, the stone rolled away to reveal the empty tomb, the song bursting forth in trumpets and cymbals and shout of Alleluia.
The song ascended into heaven. And in tongues of fire the song carried on through the church. Fractured, imperfect, dissonant, and grace-filled. The song is carried in word and water, bread and wine, fellowship and prayer and praising. All of it, all of us, new chords, new harmonies, new improvisations, to the old, old song of God’s love. Amen.
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