Luke 1: 26 – 38

            Have you ever felt small or unimportant? On the job, at school, within an organization you belong to, or even in your family, have you ever felt that your opinion did not matter, your contribution was not valued, or  your presence was not even noticed? Have you ever felt insignificant, as if you could not possibly make a difference?

            In today’s reading, we meet someone who, by all rights, should have felt unimportant and powerless, insignificant and small.  As a female, Mary belonged to her father until she married when she would belong to her husband. She was young in a society that valued age.  Her family held no lands, owned no wealth, and wielded no power.  She lived in a small town, in Galilee—a backward frontier state, rather than in Jerusalem, the center of Jewish culture.  She was Jewish when the Romans ruled the known world. 

By all that mattered, Mary was unimportant, powerless to make any kind of difference in any sphere of her world.

            And yet, it is she the angel Gabriel visits.  It is she, among all other people, who has found favor with God.  It is in her response to Gabriel’s greeting that we begin to see why Mary is extraordinary.  For she is perplexed, greatly troubled by the angel’s greeting.  Mary remembers her Jewish history well enough to know that visits from divine messengers generally preface challenges.  She understands there is more to this greeting than “Hello, Mary.  Did you know that God finds favor with you?”

            The news that she will deliver a son, is neither surprising nor unwelcome.  After all, bearing children is expected in the marriage contract her parents have entered into with Joseph.  And sons were more welcome than daughters in this time and culture.  What is surprising is what she is to name her son.  Instead of Bar Joseph—son of Joseph, she is to name him Jesus—Yeshua, in Hebrew, which means “God saves.”  Then there’s this talk about of her son on David’s throne.  Revitalizing a Jewish kingdom means wrestling out of the Roman emperor’s iron grip.  I imagine it’s the name and the throne that put this wise Mary on her guard.  Is this angel suggesting her son will be born outside of her betrothal?  Is this angel proposing sedition? 

            So, Mary asks, “How?  How can this happen when I am a virgin?”  But behind this question is “How?  How can God consider me favored but deliberately put me in danger?”  For if Mary does become pregnant with a child who is not his, Joseph can have her stoned to death.  And renewing David’s monarchy, revolting against the Romans, is a capital offense.  What did I say earlier?  Divine messengers tend to preface challenges.

            So how does Gabriel propose to ease Mary’s concerns?  He tells her, “God will take care of you. Through the power of the Holy Spirit, your son will reign over a kingdom that will have no end—not enclosed by geographical or physical features, not bounded by time, not subject to any person or power other than God.  He tells her, “Through the power of the Holy Spirit, you, Mary, will bear God into the world.”   And Gabriel concludes,  “For with God, nothing will be impossible.”

             This week I found many different images for Mary’s annunciation.  I want to share 3 with you that illumine her response. 

http://www.ibiblio.org/wm/paint/auth/rossetti/annunciation.jpg  (1849 – 1850 painting by Dante Rosetti)

Here, is a Mary backed into a corner, a fatalistic Mary, a Mary who feels she has no choice.  I can almost hear her response to Gabriel.  “Okay, let it be with me just as you have said.”  I don’t like this perspective of Mary.  For in it, she is just a pawn in God’s chess game.

http://hoocher.com/Lorenzo_Lotto/Annunciation_ca_1527.jpg  (Lorena Lotto,  1534 – 1535)

This Mary is not backed into a corner.  She is not meekly accepting an unwanted fate. This Mary appears to be running away from the angel.  This Mary recognizes she has a choice.  And her response seems to be “No Way!  I am not going to do this!”  It’s a valid response, a response with which many of us are well-acquainted.  And it may well have been her initial response to Gabriel’s message.

http://stmaryskerrisdale.ca/centennial/files/Annunciation-full.jpg

Here, is a Mary who chooses to work with God, a Mary who will be empowered by the Holy Spirit. Here, Mary has heard Gabriel’s message, has thoughtfully considered it and all its implications, and now eagerly embraces God’s invitation to bear God’s son and in so doing to help bring about God’s purpose for humanity.

            This painting reminds me why Luke tells the annunciation story—to emphasize the following.

1.  God acts in human history.  Our relationship with God is not other-worldly.

Our relationship with God involves all that is us—seeing, hearing, tasting, touching, smelling, feeling, knowing, intuiting.  God is with us in the physical here and now!  

2.  God enlists human agency in achieving God’s purpose for creation.  God invites us to work with and for God to re-make, to re-purpose creation into what God originally intended—a place where all are loved and valued and cared for.

3.  With God, nothing is impossible.  With God, expect the unexpected.  Hope for the unbelievable.  Reach for the unachievable. 

            So, if God is with us here and now, not only acting within human history, but also inviting us to be a part of God’s work, none of us is unimportant.  Each of us can make a significant difference.  Like Mary, each one of us is called to bear God into the world—to carry God’s presence in a unique way.

            How might you bear God into the world? 

            Carol, a single mother, wanted to join a Sunday evening counseling group.  But she could not afford a weekly babysitter for her kindergartner son.  So, the parents of one of his classmates invited him to come over and play with their child every Sunday evening.  A weekly playdate—that’s no big deal, it’s insignificant—or so these parents thought.  After a few months, Carol shared with this couple that she could not have gotten through that time without the support group.  And it was only because her son was playing at their home each Sunday evening, that she was able to attend the group meetings. How did this family bear God’s presence into the world? in a weekly playdate.  Did they make a significant difference?  For Carol, they did. 

            Each one of us is important in God’s plan.  Like Mary, we can choose whether and how we respond to the challenging invitation to bear God into the world.  Yes, each one of us is called to carry God’s presence into a world that hopes for, longs for, aches for it.  Listen . . .  what divine invitation is being offered to you?  Will you respond, “Here I am, the servant of the Lord.  Let it be with me according to God’s word.”

Let us pray:

Living God,

Who gave to Mary anxious questioning,

faith to believe, and the space to say “yes,” 

Keep us alert for visiting angels,

to hear your call,

to be honest yet faithful,

and know that for you,

nothing is impossible, in Jesus Christ.  Amen.

(prayer from Brian Wren, Advent, Christmas, and Ephiphany:  Liturgies and Prayers for Public Worship.  Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008.  p. 66)

Oaks of Righteousness--Isaiah 61: 1 - 4, 8 - 11

            Thirty years ago, interviewing the very private actress Katherine Hepburn, Barbara Walters posed the question, “If you were a tree, what kind would you be?”  Hepburn replied “an elm” and gave reasons for her choice.  Watching that interview, I was surprised she had not replied “an oak.”  After all, in southeast Texas—where I grew up—the oak is a magnificent tree, growing in the rich soil of the bottomlands.  In Texas, the oak is a symbol for grace, strength, and longevity—3 traits I observed in Katherine Hepburn.  At the time of the interview, I was living in Austin where downtown there stood a vigorous, mighty 500 year-old oak tree named “Treaty Oak.” 

It is the lone survivor of a grove of oaks sacred to the indigenous Tonkawa and Commanche native Americans.  If Barbara Walters had asked me what kind of tree I wanted to be, I would have replied “an oak!” 

            In today’s text we hear, “They will be called oaks of righteousness.”  Isaiah is speaking to and about the Jewish exiles who have returned to Jerusalem.  All those years in captivity—time enough for 2 generations to be born and grow into adulthood—all those years in captivity, the exiles had longed for their homeland, Judah.  As the older generations told their stories, the younger ones listened and learned of days of glory, of a strong and fortified Jerusalem, of a fertile land with thriving vineyards, of a people chosen and blessed by God.  The exiled people wept over what was lost until the prophet Isaiah brought them words of hope—words we heard last Sunday.  God saying, “Comfort my people.  Tell them they have served their time. Tell them I am making a smooth, level road to speed my reunion with them, a road for them to travel with me back to Judah.”  Those words brought hope to the Jewish people living in captivity—hope that God had not abandoned them, hope that God would lead them back home.

            And they did return to their homeland.  When, Cyrus, king of Persia defeated Babylon, he not only released the Israelites, but he also commissioned Jewish leaders holding positions of power within his empire to lead the exiles home and to oversee the rebuilding of their temple.  Imagine how hopeful the exiles must have been as they traveled—home to their land, home to their temple, home to their dreams of renewed glory.

            But when they arrived, they found devastation.  The temple, razed to the ground at the end of the Babylonian siege 50 years before, was still in ruins.  The city, although inhabited, was not fortified and resembled a rambling outpost more than the capital city of a God-blessed people.  The land, once dotted with well-tended vineyards and olive groves barely sustained those who currently inhabited it.  There was much to do and few resources from which to draw.  Imagine how the enormity of the task of rebuilding tempered their joy at returning home. It is to this group of people—several years after their return from exile, tired from laying the groundwork for rebuilding, disappointed with the results so far, still just barely getting by—It is to this group of people that Isaiah speaks the words from today’s text—words of encouragement.

            Empowered by God’s spirit Isaiah promises restoration and renewal.  Empowered by God’s spirit, the people will complete the rebuilding.

            Isaiah speaks words of hope.  The people will be oaks of righteousness.  “The biblical oak was an evergreen tree . . . never shed[ding] its leaves . . . it always seemed to remain ‘alive.’”[1] God is promising life—flourishing life—for the people.  They will be oaks of righteousness.  The righteousness referred to here is not strict adherence to rules or regulations.  Righteousness here is relational. 

            They will have a burning compassion for others.  The land will be cultivated, so that none will go hungry.  The city—including its infrastructure and economy—will be rebuilt so that all will be able to work and contribute to the community’s life.  The temple will be restored so that everyone might worship the sovereign God who brought them out of exile, the faithful God who promised to bless all peoples of the earth through them, the loving God who created them for relationship.

            The people will be oaks of righteousness.  Listening to Isaiah’s prophecy, they probably did not feel strong, faithful, alive—like mighty, evergreen oaks—not yet.  But God’s promise, spoken through the prophet begins the cultivation of these seedling people.  They will, in time, grow into majestic oaks of faithfulness and righteousness.  They and their descendents will cling to these words for 500 years—awaiting God’s anointed one, the Messiah, who will bring good news to the afflicted, freedom to the captives, and usher in not the year of the Lord’s favor, but the reign of God here on earth.

            Can these words of promise and hope, spoken over 2500 years ago to Middle Eastern people returned from exile in a foreign land—Can these words speak to us—free, 21^st century Kansans?  

            What do we know about rebuilding, restoring, renewing?

            What do we know about much to do and few resources upon which to draw?

            What do we know about being tired from long, hard labor?

            What do we know about recapturing glory days? 

            We are well-acquainted with these challenges. So, Isaiah’s prophecy of promise speaks to us, too. We will be oaks of righteousness.

            For through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus the Christ, we are planted in fertile, river-bottom land. Through the power of the Holy Spirit we are cultivated to grow in our faith.  God’s love shines on us, and God’s grace rains on us, nurturing in us a burning compassion—invigorating us to love—to love God with all our heart and soul and mind and strength and to love others as we love ourselves. 

            Like all trees, we begin as a seed; we start small.  Our roots must reach deep into the earth before our seedling grows very thick or tall.  Our roots must reach out underground for nutrients and deep moisture before our branches are covered with leaves.  It is this deep rooting in faith that prepares us to be shade from heat and shelter from storm for those who find their way to our grove. 

            Two Sundays ago I shared with you that this Advent, I would “Keep Watch” for Christ’s coming by attending to Christ’s presence in my day-to-day life.  I said I would ponder the question, “When was I closest to Christ this week?”  Keeping Watch for Christ’s presence is a way of sending my roots deep into fertile soil that will help me grow into an oak of righteousness. 

            Although that Sunday, I shared a “closest to Christ” moment for that week, I did not intend to use you as my accountability group during Advent. But last Sunday afternoon, one of you said to me,  “Mari Lyn, I’m going to hold you accountable.  You did not tell us in worship today how you experienced Christ in your life this week.  And I want to know.”

            So, I will share with you:  Two weeks ago I found myself in Christ’s presence through hospitality.  During that week, several different people took time from their days to sit and visit with me, to share their memories, their hopes and dreams, and their fears.  In the gifts of their time and open communication, I was in Christ’s presence.  These people were oaks of righteousness for me, and their hospitality nurtured this sapling. 

            When was I closest to Christ this past week?  On Wednesday evening, I came here, to this sanctuary and listened as the choir practiced for tonight’s Vespers service. As their practice flowed from greetings and laughter to introspection and song, their music washed over me like rain on the leaves of a tree.  It seeped into the trunk of my oak soul.    

            Isaiah’s prophecy includes us.  We, too, are acorns (oak seeds) planted by God. In this season of Advent, as we prepare ourselves for Christ’s coming, may our roots dig ever deeper into the soil of God’s Word, and may they draw moisture from God’s loving presence, so that we, too, are filled with the hope of becoming oaks of righteousness.

(The photograph of Treaty Oak was found at http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3552/3411898690_afe65d6240.jpg)

---

[1] (George A. F. Knight. Isaiah 56 – 66:  The New Israel. International Theological Commentary series.  Grand Rapids:  Wm B. Eerdmans, 1985, p. 56.)

"Prepare the Way for the Lord" (Isaiah 60: 1 - 11; Mark 1: 1 - 8)

       Prepare the way for the Lord. Raise up the valleys, lower the mountains and hills. Make the rough ground level.  Make the rugged places smooth.

            These words remind me of traveling with my family.  When I was a child, we took long vacations, driving across the country to visit historic and inspiring sites.  Traveling on I-20 in west Texas, I remember asking my Daddy “Why did they tear up the hills like that when they built this road?”  For rising up on either side of us on the interstate was part of the inside of the hill—exposed rock.  Why did they blow up the hill to put the highway through it?  Why not make the road go up and down the hills.  My Daddy told me they build the roads somewhat level because cars labor going up and down steep hills and people can travel faster on level roads.  (Actually, anyone who knew my Daddy knows his answer was much more involved with the history of road building for the pioneers and the science and math of angles of incline.)


          Kevin and the girls and I also drove long distances for our summer vacations.  The mountains in New Mexico and Colorado were favorite destinations. After we bought a 4-wheel drive SUV, we got brave and ventured out on routes such as “Oh My God” Road.
  

We traveled roads that twisted and turned along switchbacks, gravel and rock roads, narrow roads with no guardrails between us and the downside of the mountain. Roads that were anything but straight, level, or smooth.  Oh, the sights were beautiful, but the drives were long and bumpy and at times a little scary.

            Our Old Testament text today says: Prepare the way for the Lord.  Make a smooth, level, straight highway so that the Lord may come quickly.

            Why is haste so important?  God’s people are in Babylon—in despair.  For 50 years they have been exiled from their homes, their land, and their temple.  They feel like they have been exiled from their God. For Jerusalem and the land surrounding it was the place of God’s promise to their patriarch Abraham.  It was the place of God’s promise to their ancestors, the Hebrew slaves fleeing Egypt.  It was the place ruled by God’s promised dynasty—King David and his descendants. It was the place of the temple where the people worshiped God.  It was the place where the stone tablets containing God’s law where housed. To be cut off from the land of God’s promise, to be cut off from the rulers anointed by God, to be cut off from the place of worship was to be cut off from God.  God’s people, banished to Babylon, feel banished from God.

            The prophets of the time immediately preceding the exile—Jeremiah and Ezekiel—laid the blame for the fall of Jerusalem, the devastation of the land of Judah, and the exile to Babylon squarely on the shoulders of the Jewish people and their leaders.  Time and again, God had tried to call God’s people back to right relationship, but they had not responded.  Now, 50 years after they had been marched away from Jerusalem, these exiles—and their children and grandchildren born in captivity—hear from God through the prophet Isaiah— “Comfort my people.  Tell them they have served their time. Tell them I is making a smooth, level road that cuts a straight line from Jerusalem to Babylon.”  You see, God is making a road to speed God’s reunion with God’s people.  God is making a road to speed the people’s return to the place of promise. They will be restored.  Even though they have not been faithful to God’s covenant, God is faithful to them. God says, “Tell them I am preparing the way.” 

            This is truly a message of hope to the exiles. God is on the way—not as a judge, for God has forgiven them.  God is on the way, coming as a gentle shepherd drawing them close to God’s heart.

            While we may not have been banished from the place of our roots, Isaiah’s words offer us hope, as well.  For at some point in our lives, we, like the Jews in Babylon, may find ourselves in despair—feeling cut off from God.  Worrying how to pay for unexpected bills, lamenting a relationship that seems to lie in ruins, fearing a doctor’s diagnosis, grieving the death of someone we love, we may find ourselves losing hope—feeling exiled from God—abandoned and alone.  But this text tells us, that when we despair, God prepares a way to be with us, to assure us of God’s loving presence, to draw us as close to God’s heart as a shepherd holding a lamb to his bosom.  In the midst of such despair, this text gives us hope.     

            In our New Testament reading today, we hear the same words.  “Prepare a way for the Lord. Make straight paths for him.”  But these words, spoken at a different time—500 years later, to a different audience—descendents of the Jews who had returned to their homeland, through a different prophet—John the Baptizer, these words, spoken here, have a different meaning. For John the Baptizer calls the people to prepare the way for the Lord.  Not a physical road for the people to travel along, the straight path to which John the Baptizer refers is a metaphor.  For it is the rough places of their hearts which must be made smooth.  How? Through repentance.  By turning back towards God, the people will be forgiven.  John’s baptism with water is a public commitment to prepare the way for the Lord in their lives.  John the Baptizer promises their repentance prepares their hearts, their minds, and their lives for the transformation they will experience when the One who is more powerful than he arrives.  For that One will baptize them with the Holy Spirit. And who is this One coming after John the Baptizer?  Who is this One who is more powerful than he?  It is Christ.  Christ is coming. 

            So John’s message reminds us of Advent.  Advent—a time of hopeful expectation, a time to prepare for the way of the Lord, a time to prepare for the coming of Christ.

            Last Sunday, I offered that, as part of my own Advent preparation, I seek to be aware of Christ’s presence in my day-to-day life.  How else can we prepare the way for the Lord?

            Perhaps we can prepare ourselves by heeding the call of John the Baptizer.  We know, that through the grace of Jesus Christ, we are already forgiven, but that does not preclude our repenting—our turning back towards God—our re-focusing on God.  Perhaps we can re-focus through daily prayer, study, or reflection.  In the Spirit Box, I invited our children to try out daily reflection by reading the Advent pages I gave them, lighting a candle, and singing with their families.  Perhaps you could try that, too.  I didn’t print copies for each of you, but our church's webpage  has a link to an Advent resource online. 

            If we truly want to invite Christ into our lives this Advent, we need to prepare the way—prepare the way of our hearts through prayerful reflection.

            How do we know that we need to prepare? God says “I will send my messenger ahead of you . . . a voice of one calling in the wilderness.” In both our texts today, God calls someone to be the messenger—someone to bring the good news:  “You who bring good news . . .  lift up your voice with a shout, 
lift it up, do not be afraid; say . . . , ‘Here is your God!’” (Isaiah 40:9 CEB)

            Perhaps you are the messenger this season who will bring hopeful news of comfort and peace to someone who despairs. Perhaps you are the messenger who will invite a friend, neighbor or a co-worker to worship and fellowship.  Perhaps you are the messenger who will befriend someone who is lonely.  Perhaps you are the messenger who will visit someone who is homebound.  Perhaps you are the messenger who will offer a smile of kindness and a word of thanks to a harried store cashier.  Perhaps you are the messenger who will sort, display, and provide warm clothes through our Thrift Shop.  Perhaps you are the messenger who will collect or distribute food for Operation Christmas.  Perhaps you are the messenger who will wrap gifts with Cops for Tots.  Perhaps you are the messenger who will greet people with the sound of the Salvation Army bell.  Perhaps this season, you are being called to be the messenger to prepare the way for the Lord for someone else.

            Prepare the way.  When Kevin’s brother and sister-in-law lived out in the country, they had a ½ —mile long dirt driveway.  Now over the course of a west Texas year, with sun and rain, heat and ice, snow and wind, their drive got bumpy with ruts and wash outs. People would not visit them if their cars were going to bottom out driving up the driveway.  So when Jack and Barbra wanted company—especially when they wanted to host the big family get-togethers and reunions, they had to prepare the way—the driveway.  They had to haul in more dirt to fill in the holes, pack it all down and grate it smooth.

            During this Advent season, what roads are you called to make straight?  Whose way to the good news of God’s presence and love and grace are you called to make smooth?  Prepare the way for the Lord.






  

           

(My apologies to the artist of the beautiful piece at the top of today's entry to the blog.  I failed to keep records of how I found it.

The picture of  "Oh my God Road" is from http://inlinethumb36.webshots.com/42083/2471250910101960247S500x500Q85.jpg

My apologies to the photographer of the straight highway heading to the mountains.  I cannot remember the search I tried to find it.)

Stay Awake! Mark 13: 32 - 37

            Stay awake!  That was our watchword Thursday night.  For only the 2^nd time in our lives, Kevin and I became caught up in Black Friday sales.  Stay awake!  The store opened at midnight, and Kevin planned to be there to buy a flat screen TV. You see when we moved out of seminary housing this summer, we gave away our old TV.  We thought—we’ll be so busy with pastoring congregations, we won’t have time for TV.  We won’t miss it.  But now that we’re settled, we find we do have some time to watch a show or a movie.  We do miss the nightly news.  So when the TV sale was advertised, Kevin decided he’d stay awake for Black Friday. 

            He prepared for the purchase—collecting information about the TV.  Would it hook up to my computer?  Could we use it with our old PlayStation? What options were available with and without cable?  He prepared for the transport—noting dimensions and weight.  Would it fit in the car?  Would he need help carrying it?  He prepared for the experience—resting in the late afternoon then inviting the girls and me into a rousing board game Thursday night.  He was able to stay awake.  When he arrived at the store, it was crowded.  Lots of other people had stayed awake, too.  Stayed awake for the beginning of the Christmas season.

            The Christmas season?  Is it already that time of year?  Yes and no.  It’s already the commercial Christmas season—with wish lists and sales. It’s already the social Christmas season—planning and attending parties and teas and get-togethers. It’s already the community Christmas season—lighting the Christmas tree on the square and enjoying all the decorations on the Christmas home tour.  But on our Christian calendar, in the seasons of the church, it is not yet Christmas.  It is Advent.  It is a time to prepare our hearts, our minds, ourselves for the coming of Christ.

            It is a time of the already and the not yet.  We remember and celebrate the coming of the Messiah as a vulnerable human baby. We remember and celebrate Jesus’ birth 2000 years ago. We remember and celebrate God becoming one of us. This is the already.

            In today’s scripture, Jesus says, “Stay awake!”  But he’s not talking about a Black Friday sale.  He is referring to keeping watch for God’s presence here among us. For Advent is also a time that we anticipate with hopeful expectation Christ’s return— when God’s justice will be fully realized here on earth. God’s justice—that those who are weak and vulnerable be lifted up by those who are strong and powerful.  This is the not yet.

            Not yet are all the hungry fed. Not yet are all the sick healed. Not yet are all the grieving comforted. Not yet are all the lonely visited.  Not yet do all persons experience abundant and eternal life. 

            If we want to see Jesus, then we must wake up and respond to the needs of those who are weak and vulnerable.  In so doing, we move from the already into the not yet.

            Stay awake! In this time of the year—the commercial, the social, the community

Christmas season—it is so easy to be busy—busy planning, baking, shopping, partying.  It is easy to be so busy with Christmas season activities that we fail to prepare ourselves for the coming of the Christ.  Engaged with the activity around us, we fall asleep to the spiritual season. Jesus says, “Stay awake! Be alert!  Keep watch!”

            I invite you to keep watch for Christ this Advent season—to seek his presence.

            In my last year of seminary, I met weekly with three other women students.  We supported one another—emotionally, spiritually, physically, and intellectually. 

And we held each other accountable to the spiritual disciplines we chose to practice.  One of the questions we answered to the group was “When was I closest to Christ this week?” or “When was I most aware of Christ’s presence?”  Knowing that I would be asked this question every Wednesday morning at 8 a.m. motivated me to keep watch, to be alert for experiences of Christ in my day-to-day life.

            I confess that since the 4 of us graduated and moved away from seminary, I have been lulled into a kind of sleep.  I have not regularly considered “When I was most aware of Christ’s presence this week?”  I pledge to you that during Advent I will resume pondering this question. 

            “When was I closest to Christ this week?” On Monday and Tuesday I read to our pre-school classes.  One little boy ran up to me, threw his arms around my waist, and with a big smile on his face announced, “I have been waiting for you.”  In his simple, joyful reception, I experienced Christ’s presence. 

            During Advent, I invite you to join me—asking yourself at the end of each week—When was I closest to Christ?  Perhaps in anticipating answering this question, you will find yourself fully immersed in Advent—preparing for Christ’s coming.

            The good news is that God is here among us—already.  In this Advent season may we wake up and see that.  May we wake up and live life fully—stepping out into the not yet!  May we wake up and serve the One who was, the One who is, the One who always will be—Jesus the Christ.  

             

Seeing Jesus in the Least of These--Matthew 25: 31 - 46

          Most of you know that I grew up in another denomination.  Part of that upbringing was memorizing scripture. Today’s text is one of those passages I memorized oh so many years ago.  Recently I met another Southern Baptist-turned Presbyterian.  We reflected that while we collected quite a few scriptures for our memory, we often did not understand them.  For we were not encouraged to question, or wonder about, or reflect on what they meant.  My first response to this text was fear.   I could not help but wonder, at the last judgment,  would I be a sheep or a goat?  Would I be placed on the king’s right hand—the place of favor, or on his left—disfavor.  Would I be invited to  “inherit the kingdom prepared for me from the foundation of the world” or would I be commanded to depart from the king—banished to eternal punishment?  It is a frightening text for a youth take in without reflection, without discussion, without understanding.  Have any of you ever read this text and wondered the same thing?  “Where am I in this text?  Am I a sheep or a goat?” 

            If you have, I invite you to approach today’s scripture from a different perspective. 

Rather than looking for ourselves here, let’s look for Christ.  After all today is Christ the King Sunday, the last Sunday of the liturgical year, the end of the church seasons calendar.  It is fitting that today’s scripture emphasizes Christ’s ultimate sovereignty. Here Jesus refers to the Son of Man coming in all his glory; he describes a judgment scene, and the king is the one pronouncing judgment. Christ is that king.  And in that, there is hope. For the one who judges us is also the one who gave his life for us.  The one who judges is the one who redeems.  Where is Christ in this text?  Christ is the one with ultimate power.

            But where else is Christ in this text?  He is in the powerless.  Christ is in the forgotten, in the one who has need—the least of these.  And there is hope in that, too.  For it reassures those who suffer that we do not suffer alone.  Christ suffers with us. 

            Last weekend I heard a first-hand account of the hope that stems from Christ’s suffering with us.  One of the teaching elders examined on the floor of the presbytery meeting was Dr. Cynthia Rich Holder.  She shared her experience of living and working with the people of Madagascar—an island off the east coast of Africa.  Madagascar is a place of suffering.  In the last few years, the Malagasy people have endured poverty, disease, military coups, famine and international sanctions.  Despite what many of us would consider interminable hardships, the church in Madagascar flourishes.  It flourishes because for the Malagasy Christians salvation and healing are one in the same.  It flourishes because the Malagasy people know Christ’s presence in their suffering, and his presence heals them.  Christ the savior, is Christ the healer. It is from this text—as well as other texts—that they, like other powerless people are empowered.  For in this scripture, they and we hear that Christ is with the least of these members of his family.

            Like the 2 parables we’ve examined the last 2 Sundays, this text turns the disciples’ and our focus away from the end times and to the present.  This text says, “Don’t look for Christ at some time in the future—as if he is far away.  Look for Christ here, with you now.”  And where does this scripture tell us we will meet Christ?  Where will we meet the king of kings?  Will we meet him in places of honor or in people of power?  No, we will meet Christ in the powerless, in the forgotten.  We meet the Lord of Lords in the least of these.  This text must have been important to Mother Teresa, for in her autobiography, she said that every one of the untouchables—the sick and dying people that she helped in India—were Jesus in disguise.

            To understand this text better, we move beyond looking for Jesus, and we consider our response to him.  Being a follower of Christ is not just about recognizing Christ’s grace freely poured out for us.  Being a follower of Christ—his disciple—is about how we respond to that grace—whether and how we let it change our lives.  In this text, Jesus suffers with the least of these. He says, “I was hungry . . . I was a stranger . . . I was sick . . .  In this scripture Jesus suffers with the least of these, but who responds to the suffering ones?  The sheep—those placed on the king’s right hand. I was hungry, and you fed me. . . I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink . . . I was a stranger, and you took me in . . . I was naked, and you clothed me. . . I was sick, and you cared for me . . . I was a prisoner, and you visited me . . .  Who responds to the suffering ones?  Christ’s disciples—you and me. 

            We respond with acts of mercy—plainly stated, simple acts of mercy—feeding hungry people.  That may mean sharing canned goods, peanut butter, and produce through PACA food bank.  And it may mean offering those who hunger for God’s word

and thirst after Christian fellowship a place at Christ’s table.  We respond with acts of mercy—plainly stated, simple acts of mercy—welcoming the stranger.  It may mean greeting those who walk through our doors on Sunday morning.  And it also may mean seeking out and inviting people who would not think about coming through these doors except for your personal invitation.  Your personal invitation offered on the job, at the bunko party, in the YMCA class, on the golf course, or at school.  We respond with acts of mercy——plainly stated, simple acts of mercy—caring for the sick.  It could be driving people to doctor’s appointments.  And it could be listening to someone who is heartsick over broken relationship, visiting someone who is depressed, or taking a plate of home-cooked food to a homebound person.  Christ is indeed with those in need.  And it’s Christ’s disciples who respond to the needs.  We do it because that is what it means to follow Christ.  That is how we love God with all our heart and soul and mind and strength.  That is how we love others as we love ourselves. 

            In the text, the sheep are surprised to learn that in tending to the needs of others, they have tended to Christ himself.  And they are surprised to inherit Christ’s kingdom.  They had no expectations.  They merely acted out of gratitude for the love God had given them in Christ.  They did not perform heroic acts of sacrifice or believe in a certain doctrine or pray a certain way.  They enter into joy with simple acts of compassion. 

            Jesus said, “What you do for the least of these . . . you do for me.”  One contemporary theologian, John Buchanan, says,  In these words are three profoundly important ideas.  The first is about God.  The one who sent Jesus is not some heavenly supreme being far away from us.  God is here—in the messiness and ambiguity of human life.  If you want to see God, look at those who are vulnerable.  Look at the least of these.  The second is about discipleship. Discipleship is not about having theologically correct ideas.  Discipleship is about practice—giving ourselves away in love—to the least of these—just as Jesus did.  The third is personal.  God wants each one of us to live the truly authentic human life for which God created us.  But to do that, we have to stop centering on ourselves and turn our attention outward to others.  God wants us to know that to love is to live the abundant life.

            What about our love?  If our love is weak, we may be spiritually ill.  Each fall I visit my doctor for an annual check up. I had to find a new doctor this year.  My doctor performs a physical exam, runs tests, and then shares the results with me.  If those results are out of certain bounds, my doctor and I discuss and implement a course of action.  So, my annual checkup is a time to take stock of my overall health, a time for the doctor to diagnose possible illness, a time for me to reshape my living habits, a time to regain my health.

            Today’s text is not meant to frighten us.  Instead it is like an annual physical exam.  Using it, we can take stock of our spiritual health.  Are we looking for and finding Christ in the least of these?  Are we responding to the needs of those who are powerless and friendless, those who are sick, those who lack physical comforts?  If not, perhaps it’s time to discuss and implement a course of action with the great physician, Christ, the healer.  A course of action that will help us regain our spiritual and our communal health. A course of action that will draw us closer to the King of Kings, the Lord of Lords.  A course of action that will draw us closer to the God who creates, who loves, who forgives, who nourishes, and who empowers—each one of us.        

Risky Faithfulness--Matthew 25: 14 - 30

           Many of you know my recent history—that in the last 3 ½ years, I resigned from a long and successful career in public education to go to seminary, that we put the only house our daughters knew on the market and sold or gave away many of our belongings to move into a 2-bedroom seminary apartment, that I applied for a pastoral residency knowing that I would not be placed in our even near my native state of Texas, that we came here, my accepting this call when Kevin did not yet have a call.  Knowing all that, you would probably find it difficult to believe that I do not consider myself a risk-taker. 

            For you see, playing it safe was valued in my family of origin.  Taking risks was not.  Having begun to learn the clarinet in junior high, I did not try out for oboe or bassoon when I reached high school.  There were too few spots for those instruments, and I had already begun to secure a place in the 1^st clarinet section.  In my senior year, I ran for secretary—not president—of the National Honor Society.  Three others were running for president, and no one else for secretary.  Although history was my college major and my passion, I signed up for student teaching in my minor—math because school districts posted more math openings than history jobs.  Play-it-safe . . . avoid risks . . . that was my motto.

            Imagine, if you will, my sense of injustice when I first read this parable.  For the prudent servant, the one who does not gamble, the one who makes sure not one cent of the master’s money is lost, is labeled wicked and lazy.  Imagine my horror when the master banishes him into the outer darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth. 

            Where is the grace in that?  Well, maybe if we rotate this parable, turn it around, and

look at it from a different angle we’ll see some grace.  Let’s consider the perspective of the man who entrusts his property to his servants. The master chooses servants from his household who should know him well, servants he has taught and for whom he has been a model.  These are the ones he chooses to entrust his estate with.  He gives responsibility to each of them, according to their abilities—not overburdening any one of them.  He hands out talents.  A talent was the equivalent to what a person could earn in 15 years.  That’s a lot of money!  To one servant, he gives 5 talents, to another, he gives 2, and to the 3^rd servant, he gives 1 talent.  Each servant receives a supremely generous opportunity.   

            The first  2 servants do indeed understand their master.  They know what is important

to him, and how he would manage his estate.  So, they trade their talents—their huge sums of money—by taking huge risks.  How else, even in 1^st century A. D. Palestine would you expect to double your investment—except through great risk? These servants know their master, they know he takes risks.  After all, isn’t he taking a risk with them?  So, they follow his model.  Do you hear the joy in their voices when he returns and settles accounts with them? “Master, you gave me responsibility for part of your estate and look, I doubled the amount you gave me!”

            And the master’s response reflects back their joy. ‘Well done! You are good and faithful servants. Because you’ve been faithful over a little, I’ll put you in charge of much. Come, celebrate with me. Enter into the joy of your master.”

            Then, there’s the 3^rd servant.  Even though he’s been living in this household, watching his master, listening to him explain how he operates his estate, this servant does not know his master.  He does not understand what makes him tick.  Instead of using his money to improve the estate, he buries it. He puts it in the ground and walks away from it.  No longer in his possession, he does not have to think about his master’s money or about his master’s estate.  He does not have to think about his master at all in his absence.  He can just continue his regular-day-to-day routine. Go on as if this generous gift was never entrusted to him.  Go on as if he was never offered the opportunity to join in his master’s work, to increase his master’s wealth, to become more like his master, to enter into his master’s joy.  He buries the gift and walks away from it.  He does not let it interfere with his life.  He does not let the gift change him.

            That is why, when the master returns to settle accounts, he calls this servant wicked and lazy.  That is why the master is angry with him, and takes away his talent.  That is why he casts this servant out of the household, off the estate—into the outer darkness.  Because this servant never really knew his master.  Because he did not accept the gift.  He would not let it change his life. 

            In the parable, 3 servants are entrusted with huge sums of money—talents.  But the parable is not about money, nor is it about talents—as in the skills that we possess.  It’s about the gift of God’s grace.  In the parable, a wealthy man entrusts his business with his servants.  But the parable is not about business.  It’s about the church.  In the parable, one servant buries the money entrusted to him—playing it safe,

so that he loses not one cent of his master’s money.  But the parable is not about playing it safe.  It’s about taking risks—the kind of risks Jesus Christ took. 

            This parable is about accepting the oh-so-generous-gift of God’s grace and letting it change our lives.  It is about sharing our experience of God’s love so that others will enjoy it with us.  It is about being faithful disciples.

            Being faithful disciples.  What does that mean?  What does that look like?  Jesus calls us into reconciliation.  So being faithful disciples may mean, admitting our own part in the breakdown of a relationship.  It may mean—saying “I’m sorry.  How can we move forward?”  It may mean communicating—openly and honestly. 

            For his disciples, Jesus called together a diverse group—day laborers, a tax collector, political zealot, and religious fanatic.  Into his table fellowship, he invited those not considered “polite society”—tax collectors, prostitutes, and sinners.  So being faithful disciples may mean opening our building, opening our fellowship, opening our lives to people we have not previously invited.

            Jesus commissioned his apostles to make disciples—by baptizing and by teaching.  So faithful discipleship may mean committing ourselves to study—so that we can engage

these new people we welcome into our building and into our fellowship in relevant Biblically-grounded conversation.  Committing ourselves to study would actually be re-claiming a past tradition of this church.  I have heard members reminiscing—with great fondness—about learning the faith with Miss Bereniece in Sunday school, about being a bluebird—a member of a Sunday afternoon confirmation group, about choosing scenes for the stained glass windows with Miss Pearl, and about delving deep into Bible study led by Bill Funk.

            We are faithful disciples in the risky living and sharing of the gospel—both in our personal, private lives and in our corporate church life. Founded 144 years ago, this church is no stranger to the risky living and sharing of the gospel.  Through 5 building campaigns (1870, 1905, 1928, 1961, and 2000) members of this church provided space to worship, grow, study, fellowship and serve.  This congregation is no stranger to the risky living and sharing of the gospel.  For over 20 years, you have provide affordable ½ day pre-school. This congregation is no stranger to the risky living and sharing of the gospel.

Your Presbyterian Women’s group has a long and rich history of supporting mission—providing clothes for those in need here in our community and providing funds for mission work outside of Paola—through PCUSA programs.

            This congregation is no stranger to the risky living and sharing of the gospel. Four years ago, you stepped out in faith—claiming your Presbyterian heritage, worshiping with one another, and navigating your way through a spiritual, emotional, physical, and financial storm.  You trusted God to be with you, and God was. 

This congregation is no stranger to the risky living and sharing of the gospel.  Less than a year ago, you set out to pay off your mortgage.  You trusted God to provide, and God did.  This congregation is no stranger to the risky living and sharing of the gospel.  3 months ago, you called a recent seminary graduate, a woman, to be your full-time pastor.  We are trusting God to guide us into the future God has planned for us.  And God will.

            Jesus is the master in this parable.  He gives each of us a supremely generous gift of grace.  Through his model—what we see in his life and ministry—he shows us the kinds of risks he took, the kinds of risks he calls us to take.  And he promises, through our faithfulness, we will enter into his joy.

Thanks be to God!