"Signs of God’s Abundance" John 2: 1 – 11

           Weddings—I love weddings.  In my younger days weddings of friends were big, fancy parties where we renewed high school and college acquaintances. Family weddings, then and now, are opportunities to re-live memories, to get a glimpse into the history of family relationships, and to make new memories.  Weddings are celebrations that I eagerly await and remember fondly later.  Are weddings like that for you?  Just last Sunday we all clapped when we heard of DN and AS’s engagement.  I suspect some of us were thinking ahead . . . to an upcoming wedding . . . a celebration to look forward to. 

            Last June, my family traveled to Texas for the wedding of my older nephew.  Arriving in the small south Texas town early Friday afternoon, we were invited to the reception site to meet the bride’s Jeannie’s family.  Her mom, sisters, best friend, and dad were there—completing the decorating.  Her grandmother was putting the finishing touches on the wedding cake.  She’s baked and decorated the wedding cakes of all her grandchildren. And Virginia, the grandmother’s best friend was there, too.  She was making a list of how things would be set out the next day and noting where “extras” were being stored.  Since she is not family, she planned to come to the reception hall right after the wedding—and be an unofficial hostess as guests made their way from the church while the after-wedding pictures were being taken.  Virginia would keep an eye out during the reception so that Jeannie’s family could truly enjoy Steve and Jeannie’s special day.

            Weddings—I love weddings.  I have such high expectations—of a beaming bride and groom, of a lovely ceremony, of a happy celebration—I have such high expectations of weddings, but often something goes wrong.  Has that ever happened at a wedding you attended or planned?  Did something go wrong?  Like widespread flooding on the day of your beautiful outdoor wedding or the groom, delayed in a traffic accident, arriving hours later, hobbling in sporting a still-damp cast?  Something goes wrong at the wedding in Cana—the drinks run dry.  And like Virginia at Steve and Jeannie’s reception, Jesus’ mother, close friend of the family, steps in to avert disaster.  She turns to Jesus and places the situation in his hands.  She sets the stage for the miracle this text relates—the miracle of turning water into wine. 

            The evangelist, John, offers this miracle at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry for theological reasons.  In the miracle, Jesus changes water into wine.  In his ministry, Jesus will re-introduce hospitality and vigor to what had become a closed-off religion.  It is a theology of inclusion rather than exclusion.  The miracle sets the stage for Jesus’ ministry of celebrating “people—people getting married, people being healed of disease and deformity, people enjoying meals together.”[1]  It is a theology of joy rather than drudgery. 

            At the wedding, the drinks run dry.  In the miracle Jesus changes water into wine—150 gallons of water into 150 gallons of wine!  It is a theology of abundance rather than scarcity. 

The steward praises it as the best wine.  It is a theology of quality—God offers the best rather than just making do.  In the miracle, Jesus changes water into wine—using the stone jars on hand and easily accessible water.  It is a theology that from the resources at hand, God will provide. 

            The gospel-writer, John, calls this miracle a sign, drawing our attention away from the water-turned-into-wine and re-focusing us on the one who brought the abundance—the one whose ministry would be a celebration of God’s ever-flowing grace.  The miracle is a sign, focusing on Jesus, pointing out who Jesus is—the one from whose fullness we have all received grace upon grace.”[2] 

            While Jesus performed this miraculous sign, it is a miracle that depended on the servers. Instructed by Mary to do whatever Jesus tells them, they obey. 

The drink has run dry. They don’t second-guess Jesus about the ceremonial hand-washing jars when it’s the wine casks that are empty. The servers don’t question Jesus about using water when it’s wine we’ve been drinking.  Jesus says fill the hand-washing jars with water.  And the servers fill the jars to the brim.  Jesus says fill the drink pitchers from the hand-washing jar.  And the servers dip the pitchers in the stone jars.  Jesus says take this to the steward.   And the servers carry water?  for wine??  to the table . . . And the steward, who was probably thinking, I just love weddings, but something always seems to go wrong, and I think they’re running out of wine here—the steward takes a sip, and it’s the best wine he’s tasted in years!It was a miracle—a miracle of abundance—and a miracle of faithfulness, a miracle of obedience. 

            We often experience abundance at weddings—the abundance of good wishes and support offered by family and friends, the abundance of memory-making and memory-reliving, the abundance of hope and expectation for the couple’s future, the abundance of food and drink, of noise and laughter.

            As at the wedding in Cana, I believe we have experienced a miracle of abundance here at First Presbyterian Church, Paola, KS.  The occasion of our annual congregational meeting is an appropriate time to look back on the previous year.  We celebrate a miracle of abundance—of quantity and quality. In 2012, we had more opportunities to serve, study, worship, and play together.   In 2012 we grew deeper in faith—some of us in small group Bible study, some of us in private daily devotionals, some of us in re-newed mission work, some of us at camp.

            On this occasion, we celebrate a miracle of generosity.  Heeding God’s call to share in abundance, through our gifts to a matching grant—“Kids for Camp”—we sent 3 of our children to Heartland Summer Camp and 3 of our “tweens” to the fall Tween retreat—the first of our children to attend overnight camps in several years.  On this occasion, we celebrate miracles of abundance and obedience.  It was determined our exterior needed a major, unplanned restoration—tuck-pointing.

God provided through the generosity of 3 designated gifts and an unexpected inheritance. 

            We began 2012 with a budget deficit and a determination to be faithful to God’s call to mission and ministry in this community—regardless.  And God provided. Guiding us in using our resources wisely, giving us faith to continue the work God calls us to do here, and working through various individuals in the congregation who responded to God’s generosity in their lives with extra gifts, God provided.  We celebrate a miracle of abundance.  We began the year with a budget deficit, and God provided so that we ended the year with an actual surplus.

            The steward thought the host had brought out a cache of quality wine that he had hidden until mid-way through the reception.  But the servers recognized the miracle with which they had conspired.  And the disciples accepted the miracle to which they were privy. Like the disciples, may our eyes be opened to see the miracles God will work in 2013.  Like the servers, may we respond to Jesus’ commands—and be agents of miracle-making.  May we place ourselves in the context of a wedding feast, celebrating what God has already done and expecting that God will do even more.  May we be freed from the perception of “running out” and may we live in the reality of God’s abundance.  Amen. 

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[1] Robert M. Brearley, “John 2: 1 – 11—Pastoral Perspective.”  Feasting on the Word, Year C. vol. 1. Edited by David L. Bartlett & Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.  p. 262.

[2] John 1: 16 Common English Bible

"Dearly Loved" Luke 3: 15 – 16; 21 – 22

          “The story you are about to hear is true.  Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.”[1] 

            When he was 21, Matt, made some poor choices.  He found himself arrested, charged, convicted, and jailed.  Although his mother, Sally, was angry with Matt—his irresponsibility, his lack of forethought, his denial of the ethics she had taught and valued—although Sally was angry with Matt, she stood by him.  She asked our church to pray for him.  She asked our pastor and others of us in leadership to write character letters to the judge.  She visited Matt regularly.  She shared his address with those whose letters and cards would uplift him.   Sally told Matt, in words and through her actions—you’re not alone.  We’re in this together.  We’re in this together.  That’s a vow I’ve come to expect in the context of family.

            We’re in this together.  I’ve always wondered why Jesus—God’s son, the Savior of the world—participated in John’s baptism of repentance.  It didn’t make sense to me that the One whose way John prepared, the One who would baptize with the Holy Spirit, the One who was God incarnate joined in a baptism of repentance.  Repentance means turning back towards God, re-aligning one’s life with God.  Jesus was already headed in the right direction.  His life was already aligned with God.  I didn’t lose sleep over it, but it didn’t make sense to me—until my reading this week.  Perhaps “Jesus presented himself for baptism as an act of solidarity.”[2]  In other words, Jesus was baptized to signify, “We’re in this together.”

             Isn’t that what the doctrine of incarnation is all about?  As Jesus the Christ, God fully took on humanity—all that it means to live and breathe, to work and play, to feel and do, to die—God fully took on humanity, so that we would finally understand.  God loves us so much that God says, “we’re in this together—you and I.  I’m here, no matter what.”

            “When everyone was being baptized, Jesus also was baptized. While he was praying, heaven was opened.”[3]  On the eve of the beginning of his ministry, Jesus is baptized, and according to Luke, he responds with prayer.  Prayer is communication with God.  Because our Bible is a book of words, our window, our frame of reference into Jesus’ prayers is verbal.  We read the words attributed to Jesus in prayer, and we may fall into an expectation that our prayers must contain words.  I think not. Prayer does not have to be verbal.  We can share our feelings, our hopes, our dreams, our fears, our desires with God through images, music, emotions, and movement.  Jesus responded to his baptism with prayer—maybe a verbal prayer, perhaps a prayer of posture, possibly a prayer of pure emotion.  Jesus responded to his baptism with prayer.

           

            While he was praying, heaven was opened 22 and the Holy Spirit came down on him in bodily form like a dove. And there was a voice from heaven:[4] "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased." [5]   God responded to Jesus’ prayer.  Prayer is communication with God, and communication is generally dialogue, not monologue.  So prayer involves our listening as well as our sharing.  Our listening may come in solitude, silence, and stillness or it may come in the boisterousness of physical activity.  Our reception may be fine-tuned indoors or it may be that it is outdoors where our God-antenna works best.  We may not audibly hear God speak to us, but we may find conversations with trusted friends offering us God’s response.  We may not audibly hear God’s voice, but we may feel God’s presence.  We may not hear God, but we may see God’s response in creation or in relationships or in art.  

            We’re in this together—Jesus and us—so I’m going to ask you to close your eyes for a moment and enter this very short biblical story.  Picture yourself in the water of baptism—you may be standing in a river like Jesus was or in a baptistery or you may be held in someone’s arms in a sanctuary next to a font or you may be somewhere else. Picture yourself in the water of baptism.  Breathe deeply, and open yourself to communication with God—open yourself to prayer.  Now, receive God’s response to you—“Welcome to my family. You are my dearly loved son.  You are my beloved daughter.  I am well-pleased with you.”  Breathe deeply again and open your eyes.

            We’re in this together—the ministry, the mission that this church is called to do.  We have leaders—deacons to help us focus on the needs of our community. We have leaders—elders to provide for opportunities of worship and study to nurture our faith, building us up as Christ’s disciples.  We have leaders—elders to guide us in being faithful stewards of what God has given us. We have leaders—elders and deacons—but we are all in this together.  Each of us is an important and necessary member of this family of faith gathered here.  When any one of us is absent, we are missed.  The banter around the family dining table is off-key when a voice is missing.  The household doesn’t run smoothly when any one member ditches their chores. We are all needed—gathered here at the baptismal font to be affirmed, gathered here at the Lord’s Table to be nourished, and sent out to share good news, to care for others and to bring them back to the font and the table to be affirmed and fed.

            Dearly loved, baptized in water, touched by the Holy Spirit, wrapped in prayer, we’re in this together—you and I and Jesus. We’re on this journey of life together. We’re in this family of faith together.  We’re in this together.

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[1] Opening lines from “Dragnet” radio and television series—1949 - 1970

[2] Robert M. Brearley.  “Luke 3: 15 – 17, 21 – 22: Pastoral Perspective.” Feasting on the Word. Year C. vol. 1. Ed by David L Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009. p. 236.

[3] Luke 3: 21 (Common English Bible)

[4] Luke 3: 21b – 22a (Common English Bible)

[5] Luke 3: 22b (New Revised Standard Version)

Stargazing Matthew 2: 1 - 12

      Stargazing—2 of my favorite movies have stargazing scenes in them.  In the “Lion King”— Timon the Meercat, Pumba the warthog, and Simba the lion and are lying on the ground, looking up at the stars in the night sky.  Pumba says, “Have you ever wondered what they are?” and Timon says “I don’t wonder.  I know. They’re fireflies that somehow got stuck in all that black stuff.”  Pumba disagrees—“I always thought they were great balls of gas burning millions of miles away,” he says.  And Simba, the Lion King-to-be says, “Someone once told me they were great kings of the past, watching over us.”

            In “Last of the Mohicans”—the star-crossed lovers, Cora and Nathaniel lying on the ground, look up at the stars in the night sky.  Nathaniel offers these stars as monuments to the brave, hard-working pioneers who settled the fierce, wild frontier.

            Stargazing—do you have any memories of star gazing?  . . . My first and best memories of stargazing are with Kevin—whose description of his summer internship at McDonald Observatory (along with his long, wild-looking hair) first attracted me to him.  In the first years of our marriage, traveling from Austin to Snyder on Thanksgiving eve nights, Kevin would talk about the stars and point out constellations such as Orion’s belt.  Driving in dark, towards desolate west Texas, away from the light pollution of Houston and Austin, I had my first glimpses of the Milky Way galaxy.

            Stargazing—Looking at the stars, pondering their distance from us, wondering whether or not they are actually still burning when their light finally reaches earth—stargazing places us in the context of a vast universe and reminds us of the omniscience, the providence, and the power of the One who created it all.

            This story begins with stargazers—not amateurs like the characters in the movies I mentioned, not even pseudo professionals like Kevin with his astronomy degree.  This story begins with professional stargazers—scholars who studied both the stars and the ancient writings that related natural phenomena with prophecy and portent.  These professional stargazers notice a new, a different star in the night sky. Researching ancient writings, they conclude it heralds the birth of a new Jewish king.  Some of them stay where they are, content with their data, their research, and their conclusion—content with their knowledge.  But some of these scholar/stargazers are moved by the portent of this new star.  They are physically moved—to travel, to journey to the land of the Jews and lay their eyes on this new king. 

            So, they set out for Jerusalem, the centuries old capital of the Jews.  Covering the 500 mile distance . . . a few miles a day . . . the magi travel days, weeks, months in  their caravan of seekers and servants and gifts.  Arriving in Jerusalem, instead of finding the new king, they are met by an old king, an anxious king.  Reading from different translations we hear that upon the arrival of the magi, King Herod was troubled, perturbed, frightened, terrified.  And the anxiety this king is feeling at the arrival of the magi spreads throughout Jerusalem.  Anxiety does that sometimes, doesn’t it?   One person’s anxiety insidiously spreads and infects the whole community—holding hope hostage, chipping away at even rock-solid faith.  Herod’s anxiety spreads even to the magi—these hopeful seekers who have journeyed so far and so long. 

            Consulting his own Jewish scholars—not ones who gaze at the stars but ones who pore over the scripture, King Herod sends the magi on their way—away from the Jewish capital, away to the backwater town of Bethlehem.   For Bethlehem had been named when Micah foretold the birth of a king who would shepherd—who would tenderly care for—his people.  

             Back on the road again, away from the too early stop at Jerusalem, away from the anxious Herod, the magi once again see the star that inspired their journey, the star that heralds the birth of this almighty and all-caring king. The magi see the star again for the 1^st time since leaving Babylon, and they are overwhelmed with joy[1], filled with delight[2]; they cannot contain themselves[3]. Somehow, the star guides them to a humble house in which resides a young mother and father and a toddler/baby.  Somehow, the magi understand that within this humble dwelling, to this peasant family, in the form of this powerless child—they are in the presence of the king the star foretold.  Somehow, the magi understand that even more—they are in the presence of God. God is revealed in this child.  Epipahny.  So they worship him. They worship the child—offering him gifts fit for a king but not gifts fit for a god.

            Their story ends in much the same way it begins—with a journey—a journey back home—a long, journey with the caravan of seekers and servants, tents and food and a story to tell.  In the presence of the Christ child, they are changed, and they return home . . . by a different way.  Changed, they return home with a story to tell, a message to deliver, good news to share.

            We are like these magi.  God is revealed to us—in the small details of this beautiful earth God made, in the vast scope of the universe God created, in the words which relate God’s continued activity in human history.  God is revealed to us, and we are not content to sit with this knowledge, this revelation.  Instead we are moved—physically moved to journey—to journey together.  God is revealed to us, and we journey together to lay our eyes on and our hands on God’s manifestation—God’s epiphany—to come to know Christ, the Word made flesh.  God is revealed to us, and we are moved to journey together—looking for signs of God’s presence, studying God’s word, worshiping with one another, and sharing good news. 

            We are like these magi.  Too soon, we may think we have reached our destination—settling in to a rhythm of weekly worship and study, paying off a debt, calling a full-time pastor.  And each time, we think we have arrived, as we begin to settle in, we are met with some anxiety—infecting us with doubt, weighing us down with fear, holding hope hostage. In the darkness, we see the star again, and we realize we need to move on, to continue the journey.  The star hasn’t stopped guiding us.  So we move—we physically move—our weekly Bible study opportunities increase, we invite our children to fully experience worship with us, we build intergenerational relationships.

            We are like these magi.  We meet the Christ—child and king, teacher and healer, community activist and table host.  We meet the Christ, and our journey continues.  We respond to God’s gift of the Christ—his love and grace—and to Christ’s gift of the Holy Spirit—her power and fellowship—we respond to God’s gifts with gifts of our own.  We share the good news that God is here among us.  We continue our traditional mission, we plan for new mission—like collaborating with Heartland Camps for a day camp here. 

            We are like these magi.  Moved by a new star, we find ourselves on a journey—together. Like these magi—may we hopefully continue this journey, seeking epiphanies.  May we hopefully seek the revelations of God’s presence with us, the revelations of Christ’s work among us, the revelations of the Holy Spirit’s power sustaining us.  Amen. 

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[1] Matthew 2: 10  New Revised Standard Version

[2] Matthew 2: 10  The New Jerusalem Bible

[3] Matthew 2: 10  The Message, a paraphrase by Eugene Peterson

Connections Luke 1: 26 - 45

39 Mary got up and hurried to a city in the Judean highlands.[1]  Eugene Peterson paraphrases it in his The Message, 39 Mary didn't waste a minute.[2]  

            I made the drill team, I got a part in the school musical, I aced my Chemistry exam, I’ve been accepted to graduate school, I got the job —all good news—significant news that we want to share.    We’re getting married, we’re having a baby, they accepted our offer on the house, we’re going to be grandparents—more good news, perhaps life-changing news that we want to share  . . .  Have you ever had news—life-changing, significant news—that you couldn’t wait to share . . .  And you knew exactly who you would tell first.  Maybe it was your parents, your best friend, your mentor—it was your go-to person.  You were excited, and you knew they would share in that excitement.

            I’ve been suspended from school, my job is part of the down-sizing at work, we’re getting a divorce, my children don’t think I can live independently any more . . .  Have you ever had news—life-changing, significant news that you didn’t want to share but you needed to share? Sometimes we need to share our news because we need clarity, we need affirmation, we need support.  News—life-changing, significant news— A joy shared is doubled; a grief shared is cut in half. 

            The Gospel According to Luke begins with life-changing, significant events for 2 cousins—Mary and Elizabeth.  Long-married to Zechariah, the middle-aged Elizabeth has all but given up on the dream of having a baby.  And yet, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, she becomes pregnant.  A few months later, her much younger, engaged but not yet married cousin, Mary, learns that she too is pregnant.  In 1^st century Palestine, under Jewish law, news of a pregnancy was not necessarily good news to a betrothed young woman.  If the unborn child she carried was not her fiancée’s, she could be executed for her (well what else could it be?) infidelity.  So the news the angel Gabriel brings to Mary, while life-changing and significant, is not necessarily good news.  It is fearful, maybe condemning, possibly life-ending news.  Mary needs someone to share her news with, someone who will receive it without judging her.  Mary needs someone who can help her make sense of this news, someone who can perhaps reframe it as wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles.  Mary needs someone who understands God’s hand in her particular situation.  Mary needs a go-to person.  So she travels to her elder cousin’s home, and there Elizabeth responds with just what Mary needs—acceptance, affirmation, and support.  God has blessed you and [God] has blessed the child you carry.[3]

            I believe Mary hurried to share this unexpected, significant, life-changing news with Elizabeth because she realized Elizabeth could be her go-to person.  But that conclusion would come only if she and Elizabeth had been previously connected with one another in some significant way.  Reflecting on this scripture, reflecting on Elizabeth and Mary—older, wiser woman and adolescent girl—I started thinking about inter-generational connections.  Many of us have fond memories of time spent with our grandparents or with special aunts or uncles.  Some of us have special memories of trusted teachers, coaches, mentors.  Perhaps, among them, were our go-to persons.  Inter-generational connections . . .

            Each Sunday of late, I’ve noticed GW sitting with P and P .  As they greet her, she shows off her new shoes or her new hairstyle.  She tells them about activities at school.  And they listen attentively, affirming her.  They applaud her accomplishments and encourage her conversation.  They guide her worship.  Now G is already surrounded by a large and loving multi-generational, blended, extended family.  But I can’t help from wondering how God might use this budding relationship with these “extra” grandparents in the future as G grows from childhood into adolescence—adolescence, a time when we need multiple strong, loving connections. 

            Speaking of adolescence—I think about the connections I see forming here between adults and our youth.  D & J Mc, JM and SB are weaving a beautiful tapestry of relationships with our middle schoolers.  Studying the Bible, asking questions and pondering possible answers, sharing concerns and praying together—in Sunday School, we’re making connections.  One month a hayrack ride and hot dog cookout, the next month an evening of caroling and chili, and in January, an ice-skating adventure in the city—through fun and fellowship, we are making connections.   We are forming relationships and maybe finding or becoming go-to persons.

            Connections—our need for connections does not depend on age or gender.  Our opportunities to connect are not limited to worship, study, and fellowship.  I am reminded of this when I visit the Thrift Shop on Tuesday mornings or hear about the goings on there on Thursday mornings.  A group of anywhere from 4 – 6 women, gather every Tuesday and Thursday to sort through items and set up the Thrift Shop for the upcoming Saturday sale.  Some women come every Tuesday and Thursday; some every Tuesday or Thursday; some once a month; some when called; some show up because they had an intuition (I’m going to call it the Holy Spirit speaking) that they were needed.  As they work, they share—they share joys and concerns.  They laugh and cry together.  They are community.  They are connecting through this Thrift Shop mission. 

            Our need for connections does not depend on age or gender.  Our opportunities to connect are not limited to worship, study, fellowship and mission.  Once a month, a group of men who worship at different churches in Paola come together.  They share conversation and breakfast.  Then they pray together—through the power of the Holy Spirit, these individuals are connecting with one another, their families are being connected, and the connections between our churches are strengthening.

            Connections—Elizabeth was Mary’s go-to person.  She trusted Elizabeth to welcome her as she was, not as society or her culture might expect her to be. Through Elizabeth Mary received the affirmation she needed—the angel’s pronouncement is good news.  All will be well.  Through their devoted connection, Elizabeth was able to perceive and then prophetically proclaim to Mary— God is working in your life to keep God’s promises, to extend hope for the future, and to bring light into a dark world.

            Connections—they are like a web that binds us together in love.

            Connections—how might we form relationships in which we accept each other as we are, and not as we are expected to be?  Connections—what good news comes from the connections we are forming?  Connections—what darknesses will our relationships bring light to?  Connections—to whom do we offer hope by extending our hand in friendship, our ear in listening, our time in conversation, our hands and feet in service? 

            Connections—may our connections help us share the good news not only in this Christmas season, but in all seasons, at all times, wherever we may find ourselves.  Joy to the world.  Christ is born.  Let earth receive our loving, gracious, ruler—Christ the child, Christ the king, God incarnate.  Hallelujah!  Amen. 

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[1] Luke 1: 39 Common English Bible

[2] Luke 1: 39 The Message, a papraphrase of the Bible by Eugene Peterson

[3] Luke 1: 42 Common English Bible

Waiting--Philippians 4: 4 - 7 & Isaiah 12: 2 - 6

           Advent is the church season when we watch and wait, preparing for the comings of Christ.  During Advent we look for signs of Christ—signs of God’s ever-abiding presence.  And, we engage in being signs that Christ’s work continues here and now.  We proclaim good news to the poor, release to captives, recovery of sight to the blind, and freedom to the oppressed.  During Advent we prepare the way for the Lord—the way into our personal lives and into our community.  We engage in prayerful reflection and we serve others—guiding their faith development and meeting their physical, spiritual, and emotional needs.  Advent is the church season when we wait expectantly—we wait for the comings of Christ.

            Waiting—I’m a product of the early Walt Disney fairy tale mentality.  “Someday my prince will come.”  My senior year in college, I was waiting for my “prince”—my special someone to marry and share my life with—and I was getting impatient.  None of my relationships seemed to carry the promise of life-long, loving commitment.  By the time I graduated from UT Austin, I had become despondent in my waiting.  I had begun to think that perhaps I would be the 1^st person in my extended family who did not get married. I wonder if any of you know something about that kind of waiting.  Looking back—with what my Daddy always called 20/20 hindsight—I can see that I did not have to wait very long before I met and married my soul-mate.  But at the time—in the waiting—it seemed like forever.

            Waiting—In April of 1983 my mother told our Big Mama, “Guess what . . . I’m going to be a grandma!”  Big Mama said, “Oh, Mari Lyn & Kevin are going to have a baby.  I’m so excited!”  And my mom said,  “No, Kevin is still in graduate school.  It’s not Mari Lyn & Kevin who are having a baby.”  And my Big Mama said, “Well, don’t tell me it’s C and A.  I’ve given up on waiting for them.”  Well, it was my brother and sister-in-law, C and A. After 6 years of marriage—what apparently felt like forever for Big Mama—they were getting ready to welcome another generation into our family. I wonder if any of you know something about that kind of waiting. 

            Waiting—sometimes we choose to wait—like C and A with lil C, and sometimes we are forced to wait, like me with “my prince.” 

            Waiting—In the Philippians text R read, the apostle Paul is waiting.  Writing his letter to the church at Philippi, Paul is waiting for a verdict. Accused of fomenting rebellion against the Roman empire—proclaiming Jesus is Lord (instead of Caesar is Lord), Paul awaits a verdict—an outcome of life or death.  Under house arrest in Rome, Paul waited over 2 years before his case was heard.  And in the midst of his waiting, in the uncertainty of his sentence, Paul writes about being joyful, hopeful, and trusting.

            “Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say rejoice!”. . . 6 Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. 7 And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” [1]  Now how could Paul—waiting to hear whether he would live or die, whether he would be set free or be imprisoned—how could Paul be joyful, content, thankful, and hopeful in his waiting?  I have such a hard time waiting in regular, everyday situations.  Without a book to read to distract my thoughts, I get anxious waiting for my doctor, dentist and even hair appointments! In what could have been the darkness of despair, the silence of isolation, the paralysis of fear, Paul waited in the promise of God’s presence, in the hopeful expectation of God’s providence, and in the present joy of the Lord.  Turning everything over to God—naming his fears, shouting his frustrations, acknowledging his anger, stating his needs, revealing his wants—turning everything over to God, Paul let go in his waiting.  Paul’s relationship with God defined his waiting.

            In today’s Old Testament text, Isaiah’s words were offered as hope to the Jewish people when the Assyrian army overran the northern kingdom of Israel. “2 Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and will not be afraid.”[2] As part of the oral tradition of prophets, these words offered hope for the people of Jerusalem under siege by Nebuchadnezzar 100 years later. “the LORD, is my strength and my shield; he has become my salvation.”[3] And after Jerusalem fell, for the Jews in exile in Babylon for the next 70 years, Isaiah’s words continued to offer hope. “3 With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation. 4 And you will say in that day: Give thanks to the Lord, call on his name;”[4] The Jews in exile looked forward in hope to the time when God would lead them back home to Jerusalem.  And for those people, a couple of generations later who did return, Isaiah’s words affirmed the hope that had lit the dark exile. “Sing to the LORD, who has done glorious things; proclaim this throughout all the earth." 6 Shout and sing for joy, city of Zion, because the holy one of Israel is great among you.”[5]

            Waiting—all of these people were waiting as they held fast to the promises in today’s text—promises offered, for most of them, years before their particular circumstance of waiting. And for the people in Mary and Joseph’s day, Isaiah’s words still offered hope.  The Jewish people had been waiting for 500 years—waiting for their kingdom to be restored, waiting for God’s promised deliverer, waiting for the Messiah.  They continued waiting hopefully because of the promises of their faithful God, promises like the one in today’s text.  “Surely it is God who saves me.  I will trust in him and not be afraid.  For the Lord is my stronghold and my sure defense. And he will be my savior.” [6]

            In our waiting—waiting for school to recess and holidays to begin; for Christmas to come, so we can sing more carols and open our presents; in our waiting—waiting for family relationships to return to a peaceful, happy balance, or for reconciliation with a friend, neighbor, or co-worker; in our waiting—waiting to hear from our college of choice or to hear how the job interview went; in our waiting—waiting for grief to wane, or for healing to begin; in our waiting—waiting for a soul-mate, or waiting for a child, or grandchild or great grandchild; in our waiting—waiting for God’s presence to be made known amidst community and national tragedy; in our waiting, we can hold fast to Isaiah’s promise and Paul’s encouragement. God is our strength. God can be trusted.  God is with us, and God is for us.  In our waiting, we may feel afraid, but we can respond with faith—looking for signs of God’s presence and expecting to find him in people and places surrounding us.  In our waiting, we may feel afraid, but we can respond with faith—laying it all on the line for God to hear—naming our fears, our worries, our frustrations—and then letting God take them, letting God take care of them.  Letting go and moving forward, may we find ourselves at God’s overflowing well of healing and wholeness.  May we experience waters of joy refreshing us and springs of hope flowing through our lives.  May we dip our toes in the pools of God’s presence, providence, and provision and be thoroughly renewed and reclaimed by God’s love.

            In this season of Advent, may our waiting be joyful and hopeful.  Amen.

            Surely it is God who saves me.  I will trust in him and not be afraid.  For the Lord is my stronghold and my sure defense.  And he will be my savior.

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[1] Philippians 4: 4, 6 – 7 (New Revised Standard Version)

[2] Isaiah 12: 2 (Revised Standard Version)

[3] Isaiah 12: 2 (Common English Bible)

[4] Isaiah 12:3 – 4  (New Revised Standard Version)

[5] Isaiah 12: 5 – 6 (Common English Bible)

[6] This is a song I remember first singing in youth group or perhaps as a young adult.  I think it may be “The First Song of Isaiah” by Jack Noble White, edited by Bob Dingley.