Trust the Comma and the Gate

George Burns and Gracie Allen were one of the greatest comedic duos in history. They were inseparable on the radio, on stage, and on television. Their television show was on from 1950–1958. After having some heart trouble, Gracie decided to retire. George attempted the show without her for one year, but it didn’t work without Gracie. She died of a heart attack in 1964. When George went through her papers, he found a note she wrote to him, which included the line, “Never place a period where God has placed a comma.” Never place a period where God has placed a comma. George Burns took this reminder from his beloved that his life on earth wasn’t over yet. He went on to continue acting, directing, and writing until he died at the age of 100 in 1996, always missing Gracie, but continuing to truly live his own life. 

A reminder that came from deep love, even in grief, “Never place a period where God has placed a comma.”

In today’s reading from John, Jesus introduces us to a radical idea that echoes in Gracie’s note. He says, "My sheep hearmy voice." Notice the tense. He doesn't say the sheep heard the voice of God back in the days of the prophets, nor that they will only hear it in the life of the world to come. Jesus speaks in present tense and John preserves that tense. Jesus is speaking, the Creator is speaking, the Spirit is speaking. Right now. 

Often, the story of our faith can feel like something long ago and far away — a collection of periods and finished chapters. The saints, the apostles, the reformers, the mothers and fathers of our faith — they lived ages ago. We sometimes talk as though the "voice of God" is something confined to ancient parchment. 

But Jesus describes a living, breathing relationship, an active communication and calling. Jesus tells us that to be called His followers, his people, sheep of his fold, and lambs of his flock means to still be listening to his voice. To hear His voice today is to recognize that the Divine is still speaking. There is a voice of Love and grace that is louder and more persuasive than all our modern noise, but we must pay attention to how we’re tuned to hear it and listen. 

Jesus warns us about that modern noise, the misdirecting sounds, and loud untruths. He speaks of the thief who comes to "steal and kill and destroy." These thieves don't just try steal our peace; they try to steal our future by lying about God’s punctuation and our identity as valuable and treasured.

A thief is always a master of the premature period. They whisper:

"You've made too many mistakes; your story is over." (Period.)

"This sickness is the end of you." (Period.)

"You’ll never understand the Bible, so you should quit trying." (Period.)

“No one will believe you now, so you might as well keep lying.” (Period.)

“It doesn’t matter if you keep going. No one cares.” (Period.)

These voices try to convince us that the gate is locked, that our purpose has expired, or that God has stopped speaking. They want to trap you in a finished chapter, convincing you that there is no "next" in your walk with the Shepherd. But a voice that tells you God is done with you is never the voice of the Shepherd. You matter. Your presence matters. You are part of God’s beloved creation. And you are defined by God’s love for you, not anything you’ve done. A sentence is never too long for one more comma and a new clause in God’s handwriting. 

Jesus corrects the thief’s grammar by declaring, "I am the gate." In the life of a shepherd, the gate functions as a comma. It is not a wall; it is a point of transition that swings in both directions.

There are seasons when the world is too loud and predators are too close. The shepherd guides us through the valley, by still water, and into the gate to take refuge in the fold. Here, the comma represents a pause—a place of rest, healing, and protection. We find "pasture" for our souls.

But the sheep do not stay in the fold forever. Jesus says they “will come in and go out.” The gate swings outward. This is the comma of service. We are led out into the world to be the hands and feet of the Shepherd, witnessing the protection and provision that only come from love and care and a deep understanding of our continuing story. 

Jesus grants a powerful promise: "I have come that they may have life, and have it abundantly."

Abundant life, a life where we are followed constantly by goodness and mercy, is found in the rhythm of the gate—the "in and out" of a life led by His voice. When we try to place a period on our lives — deciding we are too old to serve, too broken to be used, or too comfortable to change — we miss the abundance.

Gracie Allen knew that even in grief, God wasn’t finished with George. Jesus proclaims that even in our failures or our fears, He isn't finished with us.

Reject and renounce the false periods that come from thieves, that diminish your worth, that make you feel small, that make you question God’s work in your salvation. Listen for the Shepherd’s voice. Look and listen for the signs and words of love. Let Christ draw you into the fold when you need rest, and follow Him out into the world where He leads you to mission. Trust the comma, trust the Gate, and live the life that is truly full.

Amen. 

A Political Gospel (Sermon)

Transfiguration Sunday: Year A: Exodus 24:12-18; Psalm 99; 2 Peter 1:16-21; Matthew 17:1-9

I know, and you know, that people do not like sermons they perceive to be "political." Many come to church hoping for a break from the endless news cycle and its doom, gloom, and overwhelming encroachment on peace of mind. Desperate for good news, they implore the pastor: "Stay away from politics... just preach the gospel."

But what is that gospel, exactly? Does it mean hearing the story of Jesus on the mountain today as a mere special effects show, with no assessment of why the Law and the Prophets—represented by Moses and Elijah—stand there with him?

We know that when people say "the sermon was too political," they often mean "I heard something that made me uncomfortable." The reality of biblical preaching is a focus on people and the situations that affect them. We cannot avoid how the written word of God has life and breath and shapes the world.

Consider our reading from Exodus 24. In that text, Moses isn't just taking a hike; he is entering a cloud of glory that looks like a "devouring fire" to the people below. He is there to receive the Law—the very blueprint for how a liberated people should treat one another, how they should handle property, and how they should protect the vulnerable. The very cloud that is the "glory of the Lord" is delivering the "justice of the Lord"—affecting not only the freed Israelites but also anyone else who lives with or near them.

Psalm 99 reiterates the theme. The psalmist declares that our God is holy, yes, but also specifically praises a ruler who "loves justice" and has "established equity." To praise the holiness of the Divine while ignoring the Divine demand for equity is to read only half the page.

When people ask for an "apolitical" gospel, they are often asking for a safe, spiritualized myth. But in 2 Peter 1, the apostle is adamant: "We did not follow cleverly devised myths." He is talking about the Transfiguration. He’s saying, "I was there. I heard the voice from the Majestic Glory." Peter insists on the reliability of this message. Why? Because the early Christians were living in an Empire that claimed the Emperor was the "Son of God." For Peter to stand up and say, "No, I saw the real King on a mountain, and his name is Jesus," was the most politically subversive thing he could do. It was a declaration that the current power structures were not ultimate.

In Matthew 17, we see Jesus transfigured—his face shining like the sun. But look at who is with him: Moses, who stood up to Pharaoh, and Elijah, who stood up to King Ahab and Queen Jezebel. They are not talking about "spiritual" abstractions. In the broader context of the Transfiguration story, they are discussing his "exodus"—his departure which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.

The original Exodus story featured a despotic ruler, a hardened heart, and a struggle for freedom. By standing with Moses and Elijah, Jesus is signaling that his mission is a similar type of exodus. He is focused on the freedom that comes from being in relationship with the God of released captives. To appreciate the fullness of the Incarnation, we must recognize that Jesus pursued justice throughout his life. The truth that makes us free is political because it affects people. We cannot ignore it.

If we are to pretend there are no politics in scripture, we must ignore the cloud that overshadows Peter, James, and John. We must ignore the fact that Peter’s first instinct was to build "dwellings"—to institutionalize the moment, to stay safe on the mountain.

But the voice from the cloud interrupts him: "Listen to him!"

Listening to Jesus means following him down the mountain. It means following him into the valleys where people are sick, where children are afraid, and where the "powers that be" are crushing those without the power or platform to be heard. To strip the Transfiguration of its political implication, we must water down the command to "Listen to him" into a mere suggestion for private meditation.

Here we stand on Transfiguration Sunday, about to enter Lent. We are on a mountain peak with Jesus, and while we can see the empty cross from here, we are compelled by the Holy Spirit to proceed into a season of reflection and repentance.

In the Christmas carol O Little Town of Bethlehem, we sing about the will of God becoming flesh and resting in a manger. We sing: "The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight"—"thee" being both the town and the infant Jesus.

Those hopes and fears are not just "spiritual" anxieties; they are the concrete fears of people living under occupation, the hopes of those who hunger for justice. They were the realities for the people of the first Exodus, the Temple congregation singing the psalm, the crowds who followed Jesus, and the people who received the epistle from Peter in hope.

Our faith cannot be untangled from the political realities of our day, nor from our prayer that God’s "will be done on earth as in heaven." Each time we say those words, we are asking God for the courage to be part of accomplishing that will.

Let it be our hearts and minds which are transfigured today. Let it be our spirits which shed the fear of "being political" in favor of the courage to be biblical. Let it be our lives, transformed by the grace which has met all our hopes and fears, that compel others to seek a Divine will of love and justice—in the mundane and in the political.

Amen.

 

Through the Door Into Something New

Text: John 1:29-42

The season of Epiphany, which we are in right now, can get a little lost in the church year. Coming between Christmas and Lent, it is a curious, transition space with John the Baptizer, the call of the disciples, and early teaching and miracles. In this season, we are asked to look at the same world we’ve always known and see something entirely different.

That need for epiphany- a new way of seeing happens for the people in today’s gospel. John, son of Zechariah, is standing by the Jordan, at the edge of the wilderness. He’s doing his thing: wearing odd clothes, eating strange food, preaching repentance, dunking people in the muddy water, challenging the status quo. People are coming to see him because he is interesting, but they know what to expect as they come. One day, John looks up and sees Jesus walking toward him.

John doesn’t just say, "Hey, there’s my cousin." He says something that would have greatly surprised his listeners: "Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world."

To understand why this was such a shock, and why it signaled a massive "something new" was happening, we must look backward. When John calls Jesus the "Lamb," he is invoking one of the deepest, oldest memories of the Jewish people: the Passover.

Recall the shape of the Exodus story. The Israelites were enslaved in Egypt. They were stuck in a cycle of generational trauma, forced labor, and hopelessness. Through Moses, God promised freedom. Freedom, liberation, a new beginning requires a marking—a boundary between the old life of slavery and the new life of the wilderness.

In that first Passover, the role of the lamb was specific and visceral:

Each family took a lamb, "without blemish." It was an asset, a sign of their livelihood. After killing the lamb, they were told to take the blood of that lamb and smear it on the doorposts of their homes. That blood was a sign. It identified who belonged to the God of life, to the covenant of life. When the plague of death passed over Egypt, those marked by the lamb were spared.

 

The lamb was the bridge. It was the price of the exit ramp from Egypt. Without the lamb, there was no exodus. Without the lamb, they remained slaves.

So, when John points at Jesus and says, "There is the Lamb," he is telling the crowd: The exit ramp is here. The time of enslavement to your old ways, your old habits, and your old systems is over. God is once again trying to lead you into freedom, into a new way of being, into a bondage of mercy and justice.

The hardest part of faith—and frankly, the hardest part of being human—is recognizing when one way has served its purpose and is no longer doing what it was meant to do.  In that time, we often cast about and resist change, even when we know in our heart that it is time to be open to something different and, even, new. 

The Baptizer is the ultimate model for this. John had a successful ministry! He had disciples. People were coming to him, and he was pointing them to a new way of living in and for God.  But the moment he sees Jesus, he points away from himself. He realizes his role was to prepare, not to possess.

How do we know when it’s time to do something new? How do we recognize our own "Lamb of God" moments?

In the text, two of John’s disciples hear him speak and they immediately start following Jesus. They don’t wait for a three-year strategic plan. They feel a tug. Usually, when God is calling us to something new, there is a holy restlessness. The old "Egypt", the old addiction, the old habit, the old way of relating to friends, family, or neighbors, starts to feel cramped. The space becomes tight because your capacity is bigger.

When Jesus realizes he’s being followed, he turns around and asks a question to anyone who would follow him: "What are you looking for?" 

He doesn’t ask, "What do you want to do?" or "Where do you want to be in five years?” He asks about the hunger of their hearts. To do something new, you have to be honest about what you are actually seeking. Are you seeking comfort? Or do you want to be in the company of the "Lamb" who changes everything?

The disciples answer with a question: "Where are you staying?" And Jesus gives them the only answer that matters: "Come and see." Newness rarely comes with a map. It comes with an invitation to walk. You don't get the clarity beforeyou start moving; you get the clarity while you are in motion. The disciples stayed with him that day. They sat in his space. They listened to his breath. They didn’t learn everything in the first day, but they gained enough wisdom and clarity to stay for a second day and so on. Learning the shape of something new takes time and trust.  

There is a beautiful, quiet detail at the end of this passage. Andrew, one of those two disciples, goes and finds his brother, Simon Peter. He tells him, "We have found the Messiah."

Think about the courage that took. Andrew had to leave John —his teacher, his mentor, his "safe" religious home—to follow a carpenter from Nazareth. Andrew had to trust that this Lamb was indeed a doorpost to pass through for life, for freedom, for God’s future of hope for the world.

We each must ask ourselves: what is my Egypt? What is the thing that is keeping you from the new place to which God is calling? Is it a grudge you’ve held for years? Is it your judgment of people whose lives do not look like yours? Is it the idea that the church or the town or the community should always be the same? Imagine what it would have meant for the enslaved Israelites to have been more afraid of the unknown than they were of Pharaoh or the horror of his rule.

John stood at the edge of the water and had the grace to say, "He must increase, but I must decrease." He recognized that the Lamb had arrived to take the sin of the world—including our corporate sin of resisting the call of the will of God.

The Lamb of the first Passover was about protection for a night in order to make the journey to freedom. The Lamb of God that John points to is about liberation for a lifetime. Jesus remains on the move, speaking to us and asking, "What are you looking for?"

If we indeed want to follow where he goes, if we indeed want to be like Jesus, then when he says, “Come and see”- like Andrew and Peter before us, we go. The blood is on the doorpost. The way is open. The new thing has already begun.

Amen

 

 

The Constancy of Christ

 Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever. - Hebrews 13:8

In every conversation about societal change, people who seek wisdom from the Bible turn to this phrase. Maybe not every person, but these words show up in each argument. 

Once this phrase appears, the person using it has shut down. They’re no longer open to holy imagination, reason, or even (eyeroll) the devil’s advocate. They’re done. 

Bear in mind, please, that people used these words to justify the chattel slave trade, the subjugation of women, the forcible removal and attempted extermination of Native peoples, the right to “subdue” the land without thought for renewal or regeneration. 

The sameness of Christ has been invoked to support antisemitism, racism, LGBTQ+ shaming and harm, marginalization of those with mental illness, harm to neurodivergent folks, people who are divorced, people with physical illnesses, and the list goes on and on. 

There is no one reading this who hasn’t been harmed by these arguments, directly or indirectly. 

If the constancy of the nature of the Divine, especially in Jesus Christ, is thrown down to show that Jesus dislikes the behavior that I dislike, I might as well allot time in my week to polish the golden calf I’ve made of my own understanding, my own comfort, and my own expectations. 

If Jesus hates who I hate and loves who I love… then the message of Jesus is not good news for me or anyone else. 

Since our faith tradition firmly asserts the mercy of God in Christ as gospel (good news) for all people, then the living out of that faith means examining what we’ve been taught and how I show up in the world. Are our words and deeds showing forth Christ’s love and grace, inclusion and hope, mercy and justice? 

“But Jesus would never want people to continue in sin.” This is true. It is also true, however, that the only sinner I am able to correct is myself. Herein lies the consolation of the constancy of Christ. I am going to sin through things done and left undone, what is said and left unsaid. The sameness of Christ from day to day means the consistent truth of forgiveness, guidance, and connection to the Creator. My sins do not create a chasm of varying depth and breadth, depending on how much I am forgiven and claimed. Jesus’ consistent and gracious presence eliminates those things and, by His example, leads me to better behavior. 

If or when we use the verse, “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever” as a way to shut down conversation, then the words are no longer good news. They have become a weapon we are using to shape the world the way we want it. This way leads to death- death of the conversation, death of relationships, death of community, death of the hope of God’s will being done on earth as in heaven through our hands, feet, mouths, and ears. 

When we invoke the constancy of Jesus, God’s son, to say, “This is how it is”, we are no better than the folks in the parable who sit themselves right down next to the host, at the top of the table, in the place of honor. (Luke 14) Jesus warns that kind of thinking will lead to shame when a person is asked to move on down to a less prominent seat. It can happen to me, to you, to any of us. 

The humility that is needed in our time, the humbleness of heart that can end bullying, division, all the “isms”, and the taking of God’s name in vain by asserting zeal God would not own… that softness of heart comes in considering the constancy and consistency of Christ to be a comfort and tool for hope, not a weapon or a punctuation mark on an argument. 

 Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever. This is not an invitation for us to harden our hearts or close our minds. It is meant to be the everlasting arms that surround and guide us into new growth, new understanding, and new life every day. For the gospel to be good news for us, it has to be good news for everyone. And the constancy of Christ is definitely good news in a world desperate for it. Let us bear it in truth with soft hearts, open minds, and deep faith. 

 

Amen. 

At What Cost?

Scripture: John 2:1-12

A sermon is best presented as a smooth stone, something the Holy Spirit has worked on in me and then I present to you, with the Spirit’s help. You can then turn that stone over and over, seeing how it reflects brightness and absorbs shadows.  

A good sermon has heft, as well as tiny flaws- keeping you focused on the perfect God and not the imperfect preacher. If the standard for a good sermon is a smooth stone, as I just said, then today- I do not have a good sermon. Today’s words, with no less help from the Holy Spirit, have a ragged edge. This sharpness has snagged at me this week and resists polishing. 

 

It is not lack of preparation that has retained this unpolished roughness; it is the difficulty of the question at hand. The texts of the day bring us to a question that cannot be answered in this life, not without great risk to integrity and faithfulness. This is my content warning. While there are some smooth edges ahead, this sermon is more of a cutting tool than a polished comfort object. 

 

When Jesus’ ministry formally begins in the gospel, according to John, he is at a wedding with his disciples and his mother. In Matthew, Jesus preaches, heals, and casts out demons. In Mark, Jesus preaches, casts out demons, and heals. Same actions, different order. In Luke, Jesus preaches, escapes a death threat (Luke 4:28-30), casts out demons, and heals people. A little extra excitement there, but same story. 

 

Why, then, does John start with this sign of water into wine?

 

A small segue into vocabulary: The author of the fourth gospel does not use the term miracle, or any similar word, in this book. Instead, the writer employs the term “sign”. Water into wine, healing of a blind man, speaking to a Samaritan woman, raising Lazarus from the dead- all of these are signs of God’s presence in Jesus and in the world. They are not miracles- one-off demonstrations of power. They are signs- indicators of the holy in the world and divine power at work. John 1:16 notes “from his fullness, we have all received grace upon grace”. The author does not use the word grace again but shows what it looks like through the signs Jesus works in the world. 

 

This sign, the sign of up to 180 gallons of good wine, is more than an indicator that God understands hospitality and reveals that understanding through Jesus. The sign of water into wine illustrates two very specific verses from John. 

 

John 1:18 No one has ever seen God. God the only Son, who is at the Father’s side, has made God known.

 

John 10:10 The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.

 

The sign of water into wine is a clear revelation through Jesus of the nature of God and the divine desire for us to have abundant life. God’s will is not for any person or other aspect of creation to scrape by a meager existence with little joy and rare celebration. God’s intention, as revealed through 180 gallons of good wine, is for us to live well, in harmony together, and with our needs met, so much so that we shall not want. 

 

None of this is difficult so far, right?  If I stop here, we have a smooth stone to hold. 

 

… but I’m going to go on. (You’re not surprised.) 

 

Here is the jagged edge in this story, the part that will not let go of me, the place where I continue to wrestle for a blessing in the hopes that I might limp away. 

 

When Jesus’ mother asks him to do something about the dwindling wine supply, he tells her, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” And his mother tells the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” 

 

His hour has not yet come. 

His hour has not yet come. 

His hour has not yet come. 

 

The gospel according to John is divided into two sections, the book of signs, which goes through the raising of Lazarus, and the book of glory, which goes through the post-resurrection appearances. In John, Christ’s glory is revealed in his faithfulness through death and God’s same faithfulness through the resurrection, thwarting death’s alleged power. When Jesus speaks of his hour coming, he is referring to this time of glory. Jesus knows, as does his mother, that once God’s presence is revealed in him, human resistance to God’s grace and glory will begin. Are 180 gallons of wine worth that risk? The beginning of what will stir up anger, rejection, and plots to kill him until one succeeds? 

 

His own mother says yes. She knows what her yes means. She knows the cost of this sign of God’s presence. She can look at her adult son, seeing the baby he was, the child, the young man… and still she says it is time. And she knows the cost. 

 

Jesus’ death is not inevitable in terms of being required. It is inevitable because people resist grace, stonewall against repentance, and will run toward false gods like a sense of control, political power in this world, and judgment of others before they will yield to divine mercy and abundant grace. 

 

This water into wine came at a high cost. From the moment the steward sips the wine and calls the bridegroom, the clock (sundial?) has begun toward human rejection of Christ and an attempt to kill God’s presence in the world. 

 

This is the jagged edge of this sermon. Do we truly ever consider what grace costs God? 

 

I have received some excellent questions lately about how we can discern if something that happens is from God. The tension in this question comes from the fact that just because God permits something to occur does not mean that God caused the thing to occur. I will say that again: just because God permits something to occur does not mean that God caused the thing to occur. 

 

In John, the word we use for world is actually cosmos. As in, “for God so loved the cosmos”. God is present in the cosmos. God is active in the cosmos. God is still speaking in the cosmos. 

 

But at what cost to God? 

 

When we are trying to discern what God does and how God acts, we must weigh the cost to the divine, even though we cannot fully understand it. 

 

We know that God in Jesus was willing to begin the dangerous journey to the cross with 180 gallons of good wine. Each healing, each sermon, each exorcism from there on out was a step toward human rejection and divine suffering because of brokenness. Yet, God considered it worth the cost. 

 

What does it cost God to heal some people through death, rather than through medicine or miracles? 

 

What does it cost God when people count material possessions as blessings, but reject the teachings of Jesus about caring for others? 

 

What does it cost God to pour out love for creation, but to see human beings only partially embrace their vocation of stewardship of the earth? 

 

What does it cost God to know that Jesus promised to draw all people to himself, and yet we fight over who is in and who is out? 

 

What does it cost God to witness some people being healed because of their access to medical care, while others suffer or live in fear? 

 

What does it cost God to desire, deeply, abundant life for all of us and to watch us hesitate, hedge, and hem and haw about irrelevant things? 

 

What does it cost God to have brought humanity to deeper and deeper understanding about the wonders and mysteries of all that is, only to see us reject science, medicine, and reason for our own misunderstandings? 

 

What does it cost God to bring forth grace upon grace, in creation, in our relationships, in possibility- over and over, year after year, until the end only God knows? 

 

This is the jagged edge of this sermon for me. It is the side of the solid rock which I cannot smooth out for myself or for you. 

 

What does it cost God? 

 

I have no idea. 

 

I cannot imagine. 

And, in this area, I am not willing to risk being wrong. 

 

All I comprehend, in the end, with this rough edge in my hand, is this small balm: 

 

There are costs to God, beyond our knowing. 

 

And yet God charges us nothing. 

And that alone is the only good sermon. 

 

Amen. 

Expectations (Sermon)

 Sunday, 7 February 2021- Year B

Mark 1:29-39

We know that we are called to the imitation of Christ. Not only is modeling Christ Jesus part of our mission statement, but Ephesians 5:1 tells us to imitate God. This imitation happens through, and only through, the help of the Holy Spirit. The Spirit is gifted to us, yet many of us struggle with the modeling we are called to for the sake of the world. 

In today's gospel, Jesus does something that most of us would find nearly impossible. On his first day in ministry, he calls disciples, he teaches in the synagogue, he heals a man possessed by demons, and then he heals Simon's mother-in-law. That's a pretty full day. 

When that day ends, word has circulated quickly enough that people are crowded up to the door of Simon's house with their own sick and demon-possessed people. 

Sidebar: what's the difference between sickness and demon-possession in Mark? It is likely that what people called demon-possession in Jesus' day were illnesses that seemed to have no external cause. Epilepsy, strokes, or even something like heart palpitations, alongside mental illnesses, would have seemed out of the blue and certainly caused by evil forces. Sicknesses that came from bad food, skin diseases, or the sanitation issues of the time might have seemed more self-evident, requiring basic healing as opposed to an exorcism. This is the end of the sidebar. 

Back to Simon's house, after the Sabbath has ended, the crowd is gathered with their sick and their demon-possessed. Jesus heals many of them. Many, but not all? Why doesn't Jesus heal them all? 

Jesus is capable of healing them all, but some people do not want to be well. I don't mean that in the sense that they would prefer to malinger and drag out their suffering and gain attention for it. I mean that some people have struggled for so long that they feel unable to imagine a life of wellness, a healed existence. It seems likely to me that there were probably those among the crowd who wandered up themselves or who were dragged by family members but had no interest in what Jesus offered. They didn't think it would work or they numbly submitted to healing prayers, but immediately dismissed the possibility of such efforts working. 

I am not saying that people don't get well in that time or in our own because they don't want to, even though that can happen. I am saying that Jesus offered a powerful gift of healing for them and, for whatever reason, they were unable to receive the gift. They were not more powerful than God, nor were their illnesses or nor the demons that possessed them. They had simply stopped believing anything could change and therefore nothing did. How often have you been in that situation? Believing that what exists simply is and nothing can be done about it. These simple sentences remind us that no one's suffering, pain, or possession is God's will, but suffering continues when we refuse to believe that healing, that wholeness, that a different way of being is possible. 

So, what is it that Jesus does that would seem impossible for us? It's not the healing. We are entirely equipped to be part of how God brings healing, including through exorcisms, in the world. What we would find difficult is something else.

After the full evening of healing people, Jesus appears to have slept and then awoken early to go and pray. Simon and the others hunt for Jesus. Though in English, our translations say they looked for him, the Greek implies that they hunted him down. He went to get away and they pursued him. 

Why would they do this? 

The night before, they get their first taste of Jesus-mania. Everyone wants to come to see Jesus and they are known as Jesus-adjacent. Perhaps they can trade their closeness to Jesus for favors, for funds, for fame. With stars in their eyes, they hunt Jesus down so he can come back and keep doing these miraculous things, acts with the potential to change the lives of these fishermen. 

But Jesus didn't come for fame and fortune. He hasn't called the disciples so that they can be his managers and his entourage. 

Here we see the contrast between how regular humans act and how Jesus acts. 

Jesus tells the disciples that it is time to leave Capernaum and to go to other villages. He wishes to go and carry his message, and his healing powers, elsewhere. 

You can easily imagine Simon and the others spluttering, "But, but, but... we have it good here. People will come to us. You don't need to travel, Master. Let's set up here. There's a crowd up at the house and Mom is feeding them. You don't want to disappoint them, Jesus." 

But Jesus is not focused on human disappointment. Then, as now, disappointment with Jesus doesn't come because Jesus fails, but because our expectations for Jesus are misplaced. 

Unlike most of us, Jesus can see the desires of the world, the desire to be liked or loved, the desire to be influential, the desire to be surrounded by people who admire you... Jesus can see all these things and turn away from them to do what God wills. 

God's will was not to make Capernaum into a destination city. "Come see the MIRACLE WORKER! Step right this way! See demons cast out before your very eyes! Just 1 shekel! Half-price for kids." 

God's will was (and is) for Jesus' power- his teachings, his healings, his provisions- to be spread throughout the region and the world. Jesus can reject what the world offers for the sake of God's desire, God's will, God's expectations. 

I cannot imagine how disappointed Simon and the others must have been to go back to the house, gather up their things, and tell the crowds, "He already left." The dreams of their own glory were fading before their eyes and as the gospel goes on, we see they didn't let go of those dreams so easily. 

Jesus moved on, not staying where the story would become just about him. He kept traveling to spread the gospel, the good news, of God-with-us, of the nearness of the kingdom to as many people and as many kinds of people as possible in the time he had. 

This brings us to what it means to model Christ Jesus. Are our actions oriented toward getting the most likes, being the most known, having the most glory? Do we make choices based on what is popular with our family or our friends or in our community? Are we willing to set those things aside if it means being more aligned with what God wants? 

This is a fine line to travel because it is easy for us to embrace an unpopular opinion and say, "Well, even Jesus couldn't please everyone." Modeling Christ Jesus, though, never calls for taking the devil's advocate stance. It calls for carefully reflecting on our choices, our words, and our actions. Is what we are doing, or leaving undone, part of God's will for the world? Does it bring healing, wholeness, or hope? Does it reveal and support the growth of the Spirit's fruits- love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, or self-control? If not, perhaps it is a behavior or a habit that needs to be exorcised, cast out, for the sake of modeling our Savior? 

Also, what do we expect of Jesus? Are we like Simon and the others, hoping for glory on the Savior's coattails? Or do we trust that Jesus has already exceeded anything we could expect of a Savior- an inseparable connection with God, amazing grace, the sending of the Holy Spirit? What are our ongoing expectations of our Lord in light of what He has already done? 

As we go forth today, may God help each of us to live in and for Jesus, even more fully. May our faith in Jesus be increased such that we do not live for our own glory, but for His. And may we seek every opportunity to model His love in a world that needs to know such compassion, such mercy, and such peace. 

Amen. 

Into Our Blind Spot

Fourth Sunday in Easter

John 10:1-10

It is a dangerous thing to preach about sheep to people who know more about sheep that you do. I’m not quite that dumb. I have nothing to say about ranching, sheering, lambing, or butchering. I won’t offer comment on fodder, spacing, or breeds. I do have a comment on sheep physiology, though. Even that is risky, but I did a lot of research (science reading, not theological) and I did attempt to talk to a couple people about my questions. 

Sheep have excellent vision- in their peripherals. Due to having eyes on the side of their heads, they can see things sneaking up on them from the right, left, and behind. This is called monocular vision, which means each eye has its own field of view and the eyes do not share a field of view. Binocular vision, what humans have, is when both eyes receive the same information at the same time- in the best of circumstances. 

Due to monocular vision, sheep can see to their sides and when they lower their heads to graze, they can see very well around them. However, monocular vision does sacrifice depth perception. This means sheep can have a small blind spot right in front of them, when their heads are raised. You may observe this if you see a sheep run into the fence instead of going through the empty gate. 

The author of Psalm 23 spent enough time with sheep to be able to perceive some of these realities of sheep physiology. Guiding sheep to green pastures not only meant taking sheep to fresh graze, but also guiding them over changes in terrain that might make them balky. Leading them beside still waters meant bringing them to safe places to drink. In a desert climate, stagnant water could create illness. A still pond, perhaps fed by a stream, could help thirsty sheep, but they might need to be watched if it was a deep pool. 

Monocular vision offers safety in the periphery, but as sheep evolved superior vision from side to side- they sacrificed vision that looks up. Since sheep have been domesticated for thousands of years, sheep haven’t often needed to look up into trees to watch for predators. Shepherds do that. This means that traveling through a valley needs the shepherd to be with the sheep because the sheep are not able to look up at the terrain where threats might be present. 

Shepherds were used as a metaphor for good kings in the Hebrew scriptures (Old Testament). Shepherds cared for an important resource- sheep. Shepherds provided for the needs of the sheep, kept them safe, and guided them through all kinds of weather and terrain. Thus, these seemed like transferable characteristics for a good king. This meant that the king’s people, then, became synonymous with sheep. While this metaphor has often meant associating people with the worst (often imagined) qualities of sheep, the whole purpose of the comparison was about the king, not the people. 

Jesus as the Good Shepherd, then, is not about us as sheep, but about who He is and what he does. We have binocular vision- seeing ahead of us. Yet, we also have a blind spot there. We do not know the future. Rather, we have to trust the shepherd who provides for our needs, guides us to safety, and accompanies us through treacherous times and places. This same shepherd seeks us out when we stray and guides us back to the fold. 

Trusting in Jesus’ voice and his provision is what it means to have abundant life. Unfortunately, many of us like the idea of trusting, but find the execution difficult. Following Jesus into our blind spot definitely means acknowledging that we are not in control. 

When we instead look to the sides, where there are many temptations, or back, to what we knew before, it is very tough to move forward in faith. Thus, the Church and church people often intellectualize faith- making it about “believing” the right things, meaning knowing the right information in your head. Jesus, however, has never described faithfulness in this way. Particularly in the Fourth Gospel (John), faith equals abiding with Jesus. This means pitching your tent in Jesus’ campsite and following his rules. It also means recognizing that the ways of the world do not offer you the abundant life- peace, joy, and grace- that can only come from the Good Shepherd who provides for your needs. 

In this time of change and stress, what we can see to the sides and behind us is often far more appealing that the unknown future. We are tempted by voices that promise things that seem to give a better sense of control or offer choices that open doors we wish weren’t closed. If we wish to be disciples of Jesus, to be the sheep of His flock, then we must weigh these voices against His voice. We must carefully compare what they offer us against what our good Shepherd offers. 

This way of living can be tough. It may put us at odds with others in our family, in our community, even in our church. Yet no one else in these settings offers us what Jesus does- provisions, safety, accompaniment, and guidance in all situations. The leading we need- into the blind spot of the future- should only be entrusted to a Shepherd who is willing to die for us (and who already has). 

Amen. 

Christmas or Easter?

I have a problem. 

It is my problem and it doesn’t have to be yours, but I need to talk about it.

I want Christmas to be as important theologically as Easter is. 

I know that you probably think they are and, thus, my problem isn’t really a problem 

Hear me out. Please. 

I think Christmas is very important theologically, but between commercialism and problematic thinking about God, we have lost sight of how to understand Christmas. 

Easter is also important, but between commercialism and problematic thinking about God, we have lost sight of how to understand Easter. 

I cannot do much about commercialism. (I can remind you about the sin of idolatry.) 

I can try, with the Spirit’s help, to do something about problematic thinking about God. 

First things first: Jesus was always going to be born. 

We learn in John 1 that the Trinity has always existed as the Trinity- meaning there has always been One God with Thee Persons- co-equal and of the same substance. 

We learn in Philippians 2 and Colossians 1 that Jesus is the firstborn among creation. So that eternal Word (through whom all things were created) took on flesh in a specific time and place. Whether the time and place were always destined can be debated, that Emmanuel (God-with-us) was always going to live for a time as one of us cannot be debated. 

In particular, the Hebrew scriptures hold prophecies about human leaders- kings and governors. Those persons who have been gifted by God with a specific type of faith (Christianity) are able to also interpret those scriptures in the light of Christ. 

If, within the eternal wisdom and planning of God- the 3in1- the Word was always going to come flesh, what does that tell us about the nature of God? 

Second things second: God is bigger than our understanding. 

When our attempts to explain who and how God is fall short, the problem isn’t God. 

The problem is our language and our human minds.

When we have a failure to communicate with the Divine, it is not God’s inaccessibility or inscrutability that is to blame. 

There are genuine limitations that come with being mortal. 

Our refusal to accept these limitations is a control problem, which is the actual reality of original sin. The snake presents Adam and Eve with the opportunity to know what God knows. I doubt the actual knowledge was as appealing as the idea that if one knows what God knows, one could potentially control what God controls. We still have the phrase “knowledge is power”. Most of us say we want the former, but only because we hope and pray it will deliver the latter.  

Christian theology, in its second thousand years, has painted a portrait of God, the Holy Parent, first person in the Trinity, as angry, insulted, and demanding satisfaction because of the horrible behavior of people. 

Through the doctrine of substitutionary atonement, we have created the picture of God stomping around God’s office, throwing things at the wall, and generally foaming at the mouth. We appease this picture by adding in a meek Jesus who comes to die, in a gruesome way via capital punishment, so that the Holy Parent will be appeased. Thus, divine wrath having been soothed by the holy antacid of crucifixion, we will have less to fear from our Creator. 

-record scratch- 

If point one is true (Jesus was always going to be born), then how long was God mad? Didn’t that make things hard at heavenly staff meetings- with one person (co-equal and of the same substance) so ticked off- that the other two are basically counting down until Plan Appeasement can kick off at a time that will be called 1 A.D./C.E. 

Which brings me to one of the key verses of Advent: “a shoot/branch will grow forth from the stump/tree of Jesse” (Isaiah 11:1). 

If God has been so outraged by human behavior, then why is God bothering to keep promises to people who are so obviously undeserving- like the covenant to David? 

If you are about to say that God is gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, then we have either a God with a split personality (at best) or we have an interpretation problem. Which one of those is preferable to you? 

Third things third: Jesus as the whipping post for our sins is not our only theological option. 

Remember when I said that substitutionary atonement has been the major Christian understanding for the last thousand years. What was the understanding for the first thousand years? 

A concept called Christus Victor. 

In Christus Victor, the second person of the Trinity is relevant and successful from the moment of conception. Both his earthly parents matter- his mother, Mary, because of her willingness to be used for God’s purposes for the sake of others; his father, Joseph, because of his willingness to be used for God’s purposes for the sake of others. 

When the Word is made flesh, named Jesus, and lives, he becomes something more than a body in a holding pattern until he’s reasonably old enough to be crucified and, therefore, calm down the One stomping around in the heavenly office. 

Jesus, fully human and fully divine, thwarts the spiritual and worldly powers that are attempting to derail God’s plans for the world. If Jesus was only going to be born to die for us, he could have breathed his last in the manger. It wouldn’t have mattered how he died, only that he did. 

Instead, he lives. He LIVES. He speaks truth to power- oppressive power from Rome and from some religious leaders, to social inequality, and to the devil. When Jesus speaks truth to power, he also serves to remind people that they are not God. Their attempts at control will not succeed because they are not the ones with the ultimate power. 

As it turns out, no one likes to be told that they aren’t in control or that they are powerless. People then try to control Jesus by killing him. Turns out, he was right. They weren’t in charge and they were not in control of the narrative. 

Jesus’ life is as important as his death. Not merely for moral example, the way that Jesus lived showed how God is victorious over all powers and principalities of the political and spiritual forces that attempt to oppose the divine will. 

Therefore:

If 1) Jesus was always going to be born AND 2) God is bigger than our understanding AND 3) Jesus as the whipping post for our sins is not our only theological option, 

Then- 

Christmas is as important as Easter. Jesus being born among us isn’t just God deciding to enter human history. Jesus being born as one of us is how God- 3in1- demonstrates that God has always been a part of, directing, and being compassionate in human history. Jesus being born into this part of creation reveals that the Holy Parent, the Holy Word, and the Holy Spirit have known since the beginning that we would need a lot of help, direction, and grace. 

Good Friday, the day of crucifixion, shows us the worst of what people can do. Easter shows us that the worst of what people can do is no match for the best of what God does. 

Christmas, then,… Christmas is how God- Father, Son, and Holy Spirit- show us that they are willing to do anything and everything to bring all of creation into alignment, into at-one-ment, with its Creator. 

The peaceable kingdom of Isaiah, the strong words of John the Baptizer about correcting one’s behavior, Paul’ exhortations about inclusion to the Romans in chapter 15 of that letter- they are all ways that people have tried to write about and capture in words some aspect of the nature of God- the one who was, who is, and who will come again. 

And I have just done the same thing. 

I have a problem. 

It is my problem and it doesn’t have to be yours, but I need to talk about it.

Christmas is as important as Easter. 

Christ didn’t come to die for us. 

Jesus was born so that we would understand and be able to trust and live for God. 

Amen.