The Gift of Curiosity

John 1:29-42

During these weeks between Epiphany and the start of Lent, we are exploring the gifts of God that keep on giving. Gifts that may not seem like gifts at first glance. Gifts that only God can give. And this week it is the gift of curiosity.

My mother liked to talk about how I would drive her crazy when I was young, by always asking, “Why?” I guess, like a lot of children, I just wanted answers.

I was very curious. Not terribly adventurous – I was cautious about where I went and what I did. But, you find out, curiosity will sometimes lead you right into great adventures.

Think of Moses. Out in the wilderness with the sheep when he sees something unusual in his peripheral vision. It’s a bush that seems to be in flames. Moses was curious; he wanted to know why this was happening, and so he went near to examine this strange thing. That was the beginning of the end of Moses’ normal, boring life and the start of a great new adventure. Not only for him, but all of Israel.

But what if Moses had lacked the curiosity to take a closer look at the bush? How sad.

It’s actually a common tale in the scriptures – a tale of curiosity. Consider all the people who did not run away and hide when the angels appeared. The shepherds in the fields who took up the invitation to go see the newborn child in the manger. Mary, who listened calmly to the angel, asked a question for clarification, then said, “Okay. Let it be.”

Curiosity is a very good thing to have. Curiosity is what led these two disciples of John to break off and start following Jesus. It was John who drew their attention to Jesus in the first place. “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” John said to them, and these guys were off.

I think it is unlikely that either of these men were expecting such a turn of events that day. They had neither planned nor prepared for it, but their curiosity led them.

It is a strange series of events we hear about in this text. Something surprising happened when John’s disciples heard him say, “Behold, here is the Lamb of God.”

Now, Lamb of God was not a title. There was no reason why John’s disciples would have recognized the term and known what it meant. It’s actually an odd name for John to call Jesus. A lamb is meek, mild. Maybe not too smart or too strong. We don’t think of lambs as leaders, do we? We don’t envision ourselves following a lamb.

There is really only one thing they would have associated with the phrase Lamb of God.

This goes back to the book of Exodus, when Israel was enslaved in Egypt. The story says that God visited ten plagues on the Egyptians to compel the Pharaoh to release the Israelites from their slavery. Frogs, locusts, boils, and so on. The final plague being the death of the firstborn sons of Egypt. And so, the story goes, the Israelites were instructed to sacrifice a lamb, and then smear the blood of the lamb on the doorposts of their houses. When the angel of death saw the blood he would pass over that house, sparing them. This is remembered every year in the celebration of the Passover. 

Because of this, all of Israel knows what a lamb represents – sacrifice.

Nonetheless, these two men, disciples of John, followed Jesus. They didn’t know anything about him and, I suppose, they didn’t really know why they were following him. They could not have understood then just what the phrase Lamb of God could have meant about Jesus. Nonetheless, they followed.

When he noticed them he asked, “What are you looking for?” That was a really good question, but they didn’t have a good answer. The truth was, most likely, they didn’t know what they were looking for. How many of us do know what we are looking for? In fact, someone said to me, “I really need some guidance to be able to answer that question.” Most of us don’t know enough to know what we are looking for. So these two men answered his question with their own question – “Where are you staying?”

Which sounds like a non sequitur. And not a very smart question. But let’s give them credit for fumbling through it, staying in the conversation, staying open to whatever might happen next. “Where are you staying,” they asked Jesus.

And it might actually be a better question than it sounds, because in that question, we might hear –

May I go with you?

Can I know who you are?

Will you be my teacher?

Jesus answered them, “Come and see,” which is another way of saying, “Yes.” Come and learn about me, come and work with me, come and begin a new life with me. And they did.  One of these two was Andrew, the brother of Simon. The first thing he did after spending some time with Jesus was to go find his brother Simon and say to him, “Come – we have found the Messiah.” And Simon went with him. 

And when they arrived, Jesus said to Simon, “You will be called Cephas,” which is translated Peter.

Peter, the rock on whom Christ would build his church. This church.

You don’t know, when you say yes to the call, where it will lead you. When I joined the Presbyterian Church, I certainly didn’t know that I would, within a couple of years, be called to serve as a Director of Christian Education for the congregation. And I sure did not know when I said yes to that call that God would soon be calling me to pastoral ministry. 

You know, one thing leads to another. But God always knows the plans God has for us. Sometimes it involves some pretty tall orders – ask any of the Hebrew prophets, they knew all about that. 

Another person who knew all about how hard the call of God could be was the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King. It is his life we remember this weekend with gratitude. King was a person who had to stay curious. No matter what happened to him, no matter how much cruelty others threw at him, he kept his heart open, he practiced compassion. There were so many who regarded him with hate, but he responded with love. I don’t think there is any possible way to do that without curiosity about people and a desire to understand them, to know their heart. 

God simply asks us to come and see, to be curious … to trust … to take the next step with Jesus.

From that first step, each day is another yes, another step in the life of discipleship. We don’t know where that life will take us, but the only way we will stay on the path is to greet each day with a heart and mind that are open. Curious. Willing to be formed into the shape of Christ.

What about you? Would you call yourself curious? Are you willing to learn and be changed by what you learn? 

When Jesus asks you, “What are you looking for,” will you be bold enough to try and tell him? 

When Jesus invites you to, “Come and see,” will you trust enough to go, taking that next step?

No matter what else your call entails, at its most basic, the call of Jesus is about following this particular way that he will show you. And you will see this is a way that leads with love.

May you stay curious. May you stay on the Way. And may you always lead with love.

The Gift of Community

Matthew 3:13-17

The Baptism of the Lord Sunday is a good time for us to remember our baptism, which is something we share with Jesus. He was baptized by John in the Jordan River. John didn’t actually want to baptize Jesus, He protested, “I should be baptized by you! Why are you coming to be baptized by me?” 

John wasn’t wrong about this. But Jesus was doing something new. With his life, Jesus was writing a story – a story about who we are as human beings. A story about a family knit together by love and faith. A story that began long before he was born and continues long after we are gone. 

Jesus submitted to John, letting himself be submerged in the river, and when he rose up from the water a voice from the heavens was heard saying, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

I can imagine standing along the shore watching, along with so many others, seeing him rise up from the water, hearing these words from the heavens, and feeling such an indescribable yearning. I, too, long to be loved. I, too, long to bring someone happiness. 

It is the kind of thing anyone wants and needs to hear. It is the kind of thing we all need to know – that someone finds us delightful, that someone feels happiness because of us. And there is good news: This is the kind of thing that God offers to each one of us – and one of the ways God does this is through baptism – but perhaps most importantly, by placing us in a community of the baptized.

When we are baptized we each become a part of the story. We are adopted into the family of God, brothers and sisters to Jesus who is the firstborn in a very large family. As adopted members, we begin to learn the customs and the values of this new family. We learn that in the family of God we share one another’s burdens and celebrate one another’s joys. We learn that the needs of one become the shared needs of all, and the wealth of one contributes to the wealth of all – this is what it is to be the church. We work together, we grieve together, we celebrate together. When we are baptized we have this amazing gift poured out upon us: the gift of loving community.

In our baptism we make promises to be Christ’s faithful disciples, obeying his word and showing his love. For many of us these promises were made by others on our behalf. Nonetheless, these are the promises each one of us is meant to grow into. No one, no matter their age, comes into this family fully formed. Each one of us, with the loving support of this community, is fashioned into the image of Christ. 

The community is essential for this. Not one of us can walk this walk alone. We need the whole community – for support and encouragement, for strength and accountability. And it is for this reason that it is not only the baptized who make promises. The entire gathered community makes promises too. Each time we baptize a child of God, we promise to be there for them.

Because this walk of discipleship is not a self-guided tour. It is not an independent study we design for ourselves. The walk of discipleship is a team effort that we all promise to be a part of. It is truly a beautiful thing.

And it is the core of our identity. When we are baptized and become a part of this community of faith, we are, in certain ways, setting ourselves apart. Please understand, this apartness is not about being special or better than anyone else. We set ourselves apart only in the sense that we are committed to a special way of life. As it says on every package of Hebrew National kosher beef hot dogs, we answer to a higher calling.

When we follow in Jesus’ path, the rules include the things we remember he taught. Love not only your friends but also your enemies. Treat others in the way you would want to be treated. Practice radical forgiveness.

Following this way of Jesus means setting ourselves apart from the ways of the world. And that is not easy. But the community we are baptized into gives us strength to resist when we need to. 

The courage to stand up against evil when we see it. 

And I will tell you honestly that the events in Minneapolis this past week, the killing of Renee Good and so much of what was said afterward just feels drenched with evil.

There are stories about Martin Luther, about how much he valued baptism as a sign of God’s grace and blessing. On his journey of faith. Luther found himself standing against the authorities who were executing injustices against the people for whom they were responsible. Luther’s faith and conscience would not let him stay silent on this. And so he put his own safety on the line to speak the truth against evil.

He often felt the burden of this, the sheer terror of being in a fight against the forces of evil. In these moments Luther’s response was to stand and shout to the evil around him, “I am baptized!”

Knowing that his baptism equipped him with all he needed to stay on this way.

There are moments in our lives when we feel the weight of evil. To stand alone against it can feel like an impossible ask. But this is when the community of the baptized is most important. To hold one another up, to remind one another of the power in our baptism to follow the way of Jesus and stand against evil.

When you are called to the waters of baptism you are called into this beautiful community in which we share our strength, our hope, our love. We walk this way together.

The baptismal promises we make are all about that. As God said to Israel: Do not fear. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; when you walk through the fire, I will be with you. “Because you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you.” So it is that, through Christ Jesus, God says this very thing to all of us too.

And through our baptism, our adoption into God’s family, we make the same promises to one another: Do not fear. When you pass through the waters, when you walk through the fire, we will be there for you. You are loved, just as you are.

This is the story Jesus was writing when he stepped into the Jordan and walked toward John.

This is the story we are adding to whenever we baptize a beloved child of God.

This is the story of who we are, and we must continually tell the story about who we are, in what we say – but even more in what we do. The world will be a brighter place when we let God’s mercy flow through us.

It all begins with water.

Where there is life. There is love. Where we come together and remember who we are.

Photo Credit: Author

The Gift of Unexpected Gifts

Matthew 2:1-12

I wonder if you all received what you wanted to receive this Christmas. Perhaps you received some surprises. Good surprises, I hope.

I have a childhood memory of opening a gift from my mother and being disappointed by it. It wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t want to be a rude and ungrateful child, but I couldn’t seem to hide my disappointment. She kept watching me and she asked, “Don’t you like it?” I think I said yes, I do, but not very convincingly.

I was disappointed in the moment. Later I grew to like the gift very much, and I tried to tell her that often. Although I don’t think it made up for the poor way I received it.

Receiving gifts can be fraught with difficulties. Very often there are expectations we have with one another – that the gifts given and received should be approximately equivalent in value, that they should reflect a good understanding of the person they are given to. Sometimes we give a person something that we like, because we don’t actually know what they like.

Sometimes gifts come with strings attached. I’ll give you a gift that is supposed to make you forgive me for something I did wrong, for example. Or perhaps the gift I give you is intended to make you indebted to me. Have you ever had the experience of someone asking you why you gave them a gift? Sometimes there is an assumption that there are strings attached.

The best gifts are those given freely, with no strings, no expectations, no assumptions. And that seems to be the kind of gifts the magi brought to the baby Jesus.

There is no shortage of jokes about the inappropriateness of these gifts – when was the last time you saw frankincense at a baby shower? Despite our modern take on these items, they actually were very meaningful. Gold, frankincense, and myrrh were gifts that you would give to a king. Frankincense is a fragrant resin that can be used as a perfume or incense. Myrrh would be used for anointing. And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how gold is useful.

Yes, I suppose they were not the most practical gifts – although I imagine they could have been sold for something they needed more – but the point is they were meaningful. These gifts clearly said, “We know who you are. We understand your worth.”

And that was all. The magi opened their chests and presented their gifts. Then they picked themselves up and returned home – by another way, because remember that King Herod was waiting for a report on where he might find this newborn king. This, then, was another gift the magi gave the holy family: they went out of their way to save the child from the wrath of Herod.

The magi didn’t hang around and watch the family to make sure they were using the gifts appropriately. They didn’t tell them what they ought to do with these gifts. They didn’t ask for anything in return. I know Mary didn’t even write them a thank you note because she wouldn’t have had a clue where to send it. The gifts these men gave were freely given, with joy, generosity, and gratitude.

Gift giving can seem so complicated in our world. It is very hard to escape the unrealistic expectations and obligations – both the giving and the receiving can be fraught with distrust and cynicism. It is so complex, I wonder if we are even able to recognize the kind of generosity the magi offered when it is offered to us. Perhaps we feel embarrassment because we don’t have something of equal value ready to give back.

One thing we try to learn in church is that God’s giving is not transactional. God does not give good gifts to us in the expectation that we give back. After all, we know that we are simply unable to offer anything of such great value. God gives to us out of love – that’s it. 

And in the community of faith we practice this same thing: to give when it is needed, not expecting anything in return. To give out of love. And by the same token, to receive freely and gratefully the gifts that are offered.

We don’t always know the real value, in the moment such gifts are received. We might not be all that gracious about God’s gifts – unexpected and surprising as they often are. It is quite possible Mary and Joseph puzzled for days over the strange gifts of the magi. But the magi didn’t worry about that – they had moved on.

In this season of Epiphany, let us spend some time pondering the gifts we are offered and those we offer to others. Gifts that are hard to give, sometimes; gifts that may be even harder to receive.

Let us begin this season and this new year with thankfulness for the many gifts received, and let us set our intention to practice open-hearted generosity, offering God’s precious gifts to the world. 

Meanwhile, In the World

Matthew 2:13-23

Like many families, in our home we want everything to be beautiful and joyful and satisfying on Christmas. We want everyone to feel comfortable and loved and content. And we do a pretty good job of it, it seems. Yet the real truth of Christmas has the power to come through any shiny veneer we might put on it.

In Matthew’s gospel, we hear about the angel who came to Joseph and told him not to be afraid; the one who is responsible for Joseph being there when Mary’s child was born. And we hear about the Magi who followed the star all the way to Bethlehem where they knelt before the child and offered gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Both are beautiful pieces of the story we cherish and retell each year. 

But no sooner have the Magi left when we hear that an angel has once again visited Joseph in a dream and warned him to escape from the wrath of King Herod. The infant’s life is in danger. So Joseph flees with the mother and child, all of them becoming refugees in Egypt.

It is not hard to understand the danger they were in. Herod had been alerted that there was a newborn boy who was destined to be king. And clearly Herod is the kind of ruler who suffers no challenge to his authority. He is brutal, ruthless. 

Herod is so enraged when he learns he was outfoxed by the Magi, he orders a massacre of the infants throughout Bethlehem. An astonishing display of evil. Mary’s child is safe, thankfully. Yet there is communal grief at the loss of so much life. A slaughter of the innocents.

As Matthew tells this story I am sure that he is thinking how everything about Jesus the Messiah is rooted in Israel’s history, and he is surely thinking about the long memory of loss for the people of Israel. Specifically, he is thinking about the exile in Babylon that Israel endured hundreds of years before Jesus was born. It was the end of the kingdom of Israel, as it had been for centuries. The Babylonian army conquered Jerusalem and destroyed the temple, and the people were taken into exile at the mercy of their captors. 

When the people were deported they passed through Ramah, the place where Rachel had been buried, centuries before. Rachel was the beloved wife of Jacob, the grandson of Abraham. Jacob loved Rachel at first sight, and so he asked her father, Laban, for her hand in marriage.

Jacob was sly, but Laban even more so. Laban negotiated seven years of labor from Jacob for the reward of Rachel, which Jacob happily agreed to. But on the day of his wedding, he was tricked by Laban into marrying Rachel’s older sister, Leah, whom Jacob did not love. Jacob then worked another seven years to earn Rachel as his second wife. Jacob the Trickster met his match in Laban.

Even though Leah was the first wife of Jacob, she was always in Rachel’s shadow, because she was not the desired one. This must have been so very hard for Leah, but Rachel suffered deeply as well. Rachel watched her sister, Leah, give birth to one son after another, while she, Rachel, remained childless. 

Finally, after many years, Rachel was blessed with a son – Joseph, who became Jacob’s favorite child. And then she conceived again and bore a second son. But Rachel did not live to enjoy this blessing. She died in childbirth.

As she was dying, the story goes, Rachel named her newborn son, Ben-Oni, which means “Child of my sorrow.” 

This all happened near Ramah, while the family of Jacob was journeying toward Bethlehem. They buried Rachel in the place where she died, then journeyed on. The legend holds that Rachel could always be heard weeping for her children, by those who passed by her grave. And the memory of Rachel weeping stays with Israel through the centuries, through the suffering – from exile to oppression, from pogroms to holocaust – Rachel weeps for all the children.

The story Matthew tells does not let us forget the world. All our efforts to make it sparkle and shine and ring with joy do not erase or cover over the truth. We live in a world where, as one preacher said, “children are killed, and continue to be killed, to protect the power of tyrants.”

Matthew does not let us forget the harsh realities of this world. Nor does he try to pretend that the birth of Christ eradicated them. Even while it mars the holiday gloss, this is not an unwelcome message. Matthew’s honesty is an affirmation of what we know in the deepest corners of our heart. Every one of us knows suffering. Every one of us has experienced having our hearts broken. Every one of us has, at one time or another, felt the acute pain of knowing the inordinate number of ways humans cause harm to one another. We haven’t yet figured out how to escape such realities – although perhaps we should not want to escape.

One of the Christmas traditions in our home is to read Mary’s Magnificat together. After we have opened all the gifts and when we sit down together at a table laden with an abundance of good food. Before we begin to eat, I read Mary’s song from Luke, and every year I am reading it through my tears. 

“My soul magnifies the Lord,

    and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,

for he has looked with favor on the lowly state of his servant…

He has brought down the powerful from their thrones

    and lifted up the lowly;

he has filled the hungry with good things

    and sent the rich away empty.”

We hear these words Mary sings as an already accomplished but not yet seen truth. Mary proclaims the power of God to restore shalom to the world, and her song affirms her faith that this divine power is on the move, in our midst. 

I feel that it brings some sense of balance to our celebration, something we must acknowledge. Because if the world had been rid of all evil, if everything were roses and sunshine and happiness all the time, we would have no need for a Savior. And, we know, it is not like that. The world we live in shows us evidence every single day of how much we need this incarnate God.

Because everything we see in Jesus the Christ shows us that it is actually possible to embody peace. To restore shalom to the world God created and called good. Jesus shows us the way of peace.

And so we weep with Rachel for all the suffering and loss in the world. We lament that innocents still are made to suffer at the hands of tyrants, that hungry children still wait to be filled with good things. Troubles did not disappear because Jesus was born. The birth of Christ did not change this in one fell swoop. But the incarnation of God has the power to change the hearts of every one of us. As Jesus embodied God, we may follow him and become the embodiment of peace.

May we know this at Christmas, and always. 

Slow Work, Good Work

I learned something new this week: Christmas Eve marked 70 years that the North American Aerospace Defense Command has been tracking Santa’s sleigh. According to the story I read, it started in 1955 when a child tried to call a Santa hotline, but accidentally called this defense agency and got Colonel Harry Shoup on the line. Initially the Colonel was confused, but he recovered quickly and realized the opportunity here. From that point on they made it their responsibility to track Santa’s sleigh on Christmas Eve, providing regular updates on the sleigh’s location. Every year, they answer phone calls from children around the world, assuring them that all is well and Santa is on his way.

It’s a truly unique way that our military offers protection and assurance to the citizens of the world. A kinder, gentler face of our fighting forces – but apparently all in line with the image they wish to project, of defending and serving for the sake of peace and well-being.

As much as we rely on the military – for this specific purpose as well as many other ways they serve – we know on Christmas Eve that there are even bigger movements afoot. On this night we remember how God moved into the world to usher in the divine reign of peace – a peace that no human efforts can create or even imagine.

On this night we remember when God moved into a neighborhood that had been longing for peace for thousands of years.

The story of this night, the story of God’s coming, takes us to Bethlehem, a place far away from here, but not all that different. When we think of Bethlehem we tend to think of our creches, with the baby in the manger, the shepherds and magi worshiping the babe, Mary and Joseph reveling in the holy mystery, the angels watching from above, the animals of the fields at peace amongst all these visitors. They sit on our mantelpiece or our table.

But we know that Bethlehem is a real place that has been in existence for thousands of years, in a region of the world that has known almost continual strife, with rival powers seeking to control the land and the people there. A little town that stands in the shadow of an important city, which itself has been subject to much tension and violence. This is the place where God chose to touch earth. Bethlehem, the house of bread.

There is a family in Bethlehem who has farmed in the region for over a hundred years. Their name is Nassar; they are Palestinian Christians. On 100 acres they have grown olives, figs, almonds, apricots, grapes, and even wheat. They have lived and worked here through numerous shifts in governing powers: from the Ottoman Empire, to the British Empire, then Jordan, and now Israel. 

The Nassar family has endured the challenges of these shifts and turns: instability, violence, constant uncertainty. They have been witnesses to all the violence surrounding them, and have, themselves, been subject to many threats and violent acts. But through it all, they remember they are children of the Prince of Peace, living in the place where he was born. Their faith leads them to say they will not be a part of the violence and hate. They refuse to be enemies.

They choose to practice hospitality – to everyone. No matter who comes to their farm, no matter what their intentions, the Nassars respond with invitation. They offer tea and a shady spot to sit and conversation. Every time they welcome someone to their farm, the conversation comes around to some of the things Jesus taught, such as, “blessed are the peacemakers.”

They work for peace with every tree they plant, every grape vine they cultivate, every cup of tea they serve. It is slow work. But truly good work.

This path of peace they have chosen, and recommit to every day, is the path that God began in Jesus, from the time the angel spoke to Mary and Joseph and the shepherds in the fields; from the time Mary lay her newborn on a bed of straw; from the time those Magi in the east saw a new star and knew this was something they had to watch and follow, something that would inaugurate a new era. They knew, also, that if Herod had his chance he would try hard to destroy it, and so they wisely didn’t let him have his chance.

Yes, it is slow work. But truly good work.

This is the good news of Christmas: God loved the world enough to send us his beloved Son and show this world a different way. God took on flesh and bone and blood to give hope to a weary and disillusioned world. God chose all these most unlikely people – lowly shepherds of the field, a carpenter, an unwed teenage girl, and some foreigners who studied the stars – these are the people God chose to bring hope into the world.

This is what draws us together to worship in the darkness of Christmas Eve. And in coming together, aren’t we saying that we are a part of this tradition too? We are among the ones God has chosen to bring hope to the world.

This is a story for all of us. Because the world is harmed by power and greed and hatred, but the world may be healed by us, offering the peace of Christ, bringing Shalom, changing the world for good, one person at a time.

Photo: ChurchArt. Com

Child of God

Isaiah 7:10-16

Matthew 1:18-25

I can still remember some of the things people said to us before our first child, Kira, was born. Everybody had some kind of advice – some good, some not so great. One of the things I remember was you should go out on dates, do adult things, just take advantage of the fact that your time is your own. Because that life is about to end.

This is one of the things you sacrifice when you have children. But it’s only one of the things. Lots of things change when you have children no one ever tells you about. You only find out after the fact. They are definitely more expensive than the tax deduction you got, that’s one thing. The last time I slept through the night was over forty years ago, that’s another. You discover ways to worry and sources of frustration that you never knew before. Maybe it’s a good thing that you don’t know all this in advance.

You make many sacrifices when you have a child – this is what we all find out eventually. And so, to the degree that it is a choice, I find it fascinating that so many people do choose it.

For Mary, who was visited by the angel Gabriel and was told that she would bear a son, it was not clear that she had a choice in the matter. I do wonder about it, though. If Mary had told the angel, “NOPE. I’m not gonna do that”; if Mary had turned and run, screaming in terror; even if Mary had politely said, “Gosh, I’m flattered you would think of me for that, but I’m afraid I have to decline”; I wonder if Gabriel would have gone off in search of another candidate.

It is a possibility that Mary had a choice. But it is a certainty that Joseph did. 

When we are introduced to Joseph, Matthew lets us know that he is a righteous man. He and Mary are betrothed, which was binding. It wasn’t a casual thing to break off an engagement for them. It would have been an arranged marriage, according to the custom of the time, and once the families had consented to the match, it was a legal contract. 

During this period, before the wedding took place, Joseph learned that Mary was pregnant. He knew that he was not the father of the child. This in itself was grounds for legal action.

Joseph had some options. He could bring charges of adultery against Mary. If found guilty, which she certainly would be, Mary could be sentenced to death by stoning – a brutal punishment. But Joseph is a righteous man, Matthew tells us. Joseph has compassion for Mary, and he prefers to be merciful. So Joseph decides to quietly divorce her, which was the obvious merciful option. Mary would still suffer the shame of her condition, but it wouldn’t be so damaging. Of course, Mary’s future options would be closed off. Mary would still pay the price. But Joseph could begin again. For him there is the possibility of finding another bride. 

The law would allow Joseph to just walk away from this unfortunate set of circumstances, unscathed. Because, not only can he renounce the engagement, not only can he bring charges against Mary and see her punished, not only can he begin again with a clean slate, all possibilities still open to him – not only all that, but Joseph can also demand recompense. Financial remuneration. The return of the “bride price,” and whatever resources he had already invested in the marriage. 

This financial consideration was among all the options Joseph had before him. In his decision to make a quiet break with Mary, he had already decided to sacrifice the money. He would not make a big public case of it. But about all the other options he had, Joseph was not willing to make additional sacrifices. He’s done. 

So there he is, settled in his mind. Probably not an easy or happy decision. Joseph is disillusioned. With Mary, with the world and all the lousy things that happen on a regular basis. But Joseph decides he’s done. Checking out. He is decided before he drops off to sleep that night.

But then comes Joseph’s surprise. An angel, maybe the same angel who visited Mary, comes to him. “Do not be afraid, Joseph, to take Mary as your wife.”

“Do not be afraid, Joseph. The child she is carrying is from the Holy Spirit. Mary will bear a son. And you, Joseph, are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” 

And presumably also in his dreams, the words of the prophet Isaiah, “Look, the virgin shall become pregnant and give birth to a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel, which means, God is with us.” 

God’s word to Joseph. Matthew’s word to the church: Emmanuel, God with us. 

The word from the angel gave Joseph the courage he needed that night. Joseph would not divorce Mary, he would not walk away from the shame that was upon her, but he would walk with her and help carry that burden. 

He would take this child as his son. He would make all the sacrifices you make in raising a child – and even more. Joseph showed that he was willing to sacrifice his reputation in the world. Because, in the end, what is a reputation worth if it means abandoning the ones who need you? Abandoning the promise – the hope – of the redemption of the world?

Joseph changed his mind that night. He thought he was ready to check out, just pick up his battered ego and walk away. He thought this was a lost cause. Then the angel of the Lord came to him. 

Don’t be afraid, Joseph, to go all in. There will be hard sacrifices, no doubt. But knowing that this child is Emmanuel – that you will have God-with-us living under your roof – doesn’t that make all the difference in the world?

When Joseph said yes, everything in his life changed. And everything in our lives changed. The whole world changed. Emmanuel – God-with-us – brings every one of us together into Joseph’s household, into God’s family. 

Like Joseph, we are occasionally called to change our mind. To make a sacrifice we did not plan on making, to go all in and be a part of the change God is bringing to this world. It will be hard. It just is. But knowing that Emmanuel, God-with-us, lives in our hearts; knowing that there is reason to hold on to hope because of him; doesn’t that make all the difference in the world?

The One We Are Waiting For

Isaiah 35:1-10

Matthew 11:2-11

People often do like a new thing.

Kim and I have recently noticed the presence of a new fast food franchise in our area, which is drawing a lot of attention: Zaxby’s. I’ve never eaten at one, although I have noticed them while traveling. Apparently, they specialize in “chicken fingerz.” I hear they are really good. Every time we have passed the new one in Cambridge we’ve seen a line of cars stretching out on the road. 

That’s just something humans do. When a new place opens up people have to go there and find out what it’s all about. If there is enough buzz, and if it is really good, the energy might sustain itself, and it becomes like the Rise Up drive-through on Riverside Drive.

When we lived in Dayton, Ohio, food trucks were all the rage. A whole culture of food truck connoisseurs loved to talk about their favorites, and one of these was a certain hot dog truck: Zombie Dogz. At food festivals you might see hundreds of people lined up for this one. People would wait two hours in line for a Zombie Dog. And then they would rave about how good it was. It was “amazing” or “to die for.” Best hot dog ever.

Of course, if you have waited in line two hours for a hot dog, what else are you going to say? “It was okay. Not sure it was worth the two hours of my life. But my time isn’t worth a whole lot. So it was okay.”

Who’s going to say that? When we have invested in something, we want to be able to say it was worth it. 

In the big scheme of things, it really isn’t that big a deal if you spend one Saturday afternoon standing in line for a hot dog. If it makes you happy, okay. But what if you became a Zombie Dogz groupie, and you followed the Zombie Dogz truck around to all the food festivals every weekend, and your whole life started to revolve around Zombie Dogz? That would be a big deal. And you might, at some point, have to ask yourself if you have done the right thing, going all-in on Zombie Dogz. 

Sometimes, we have to face the big question about choices we have made: was it really worth it? Was this the right thing to go all in on?

Is this the one we have been waiting for? Or should I keep looking? Keep waiting?

Last week we met John the Baptist at the Jordan River, baptizing and prophesying. He talked about the one who was to come, who would be more powerful than him. He painted an image of a man with a winnowing fork in one hand and an ax in the other, ready to do some damage.

I said then that, although John was right about many things, he seems to have missed the mark about this one. John’s image of a Messiah coming through like a wrecking crew, judging each and every one, as either worthy or unworthy, and clearing out every person who doesn’t make the cut.

This was something John wanted, and perhaps many of the people who came to him for baptism also wanted. To clear away the unwanted ones – the “bad guys” – might mean that Israel could be free again, and peaceful. Clearly, the goal, the strong desire, was for Israel to be freed from their oppression, and John’s hope was for the Messiah to make that happen.

This was the one John was waiting for.

Time passed. John continued his baptizing and prophesying. He continued to get under the wrong people’s skin, looking very much like a threat to the existing order, and eventually King Herod had him arrested and thrown in jail. And as he languished in his prison cell, John had plenty of time to think. 

He began to have some doubts. He wondered if he had made a mistake of some kind. Was Jesus truly the one they had been waiting for, the Messiah? Was he the one who would restore the glory of Israel? 

John had to wonder, because it wasn’t playing out quite like he thought it would. Obviously, because John was sitting in a prison cell, at the mercy of this tyrannical king. 

And Israel still suffered under the iron fist of the empire. 

This was, of course, much bigger, much more consequential, than a choice of hot dog or chicken fingers. This was about life itself.

And for John, there was some urgency in this. How long must Israel wait to be redeemed? How long must he wait in this cell? Is Jesus the one they have been waiting for, or will they need to still watch and wait?

John sends his disciples with a message for Jesus, a simple question: “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” But a simple yes or no answer is not forthcoming. Jesus needs them – needs us – to see for ourselves.

“Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, those with a skin disease are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.” Do you see this? Jesus is making people whole. He is bringing Shalom.

Jesus points to what he has done, what he is doing, and asks John to make the connection. These are the things Isaiah prophesied. These are the things Mary sang about. Look, he says to John’s disciples. You see it all, don’t you? You know this is good news. Redemption is happening now, in this place and time. 

Everything that Jesus is doing, everything he points John to, each of these sights points beyond itself to the one who made this new wholeness possible.

Is this a hard thing for John to see? Possibly. Even though John is a prophet, a man gifted with a vision of God’s plan for Israel, he is struggling to understand how this man Jesus fits the vision. He is not bringing down the powers that are oppressing the people. He is not, as far as John can see, redeeming the nation of Israel.

Even John cannot quite see how Jesus is the one. Yet. Because John, like so many of us, has some preconceptions about what this redemption should look like. 

Perhaps Jesus does not look like a Redeemer, one who beats the bad guys and kicks them out of town. Jesus doesn’t look like Superman. Jesus actually looks quite ordinary. Quite human. A human with an unusual gift for bringing healing and wholeness, one person at a time. Shalom.

The word Shalom, which we usually translate as “peace” really means something bigger than that. The Roman Empire prioritized peace, but by this they meant total compliance with the rule of law. They mean that any disobedience would be dealt with harshly, violently. The peace of Rome required the oppression of many people. But the peace of God is entirely different. 

Shalom is universal wholeness and flourishing, wellbeing, reconciliation. Shalom – the peace of God – stands in contrast to what the world calls peace. 

And so, if John is to get the answer to his question, he will have to get his head around this new idea. We too, will need to understand this idea that, somehow, still feels like a radical concept. That Jesus is not going punch out the powerful to bring them down. But what he is doing is attending to the lowly to lift them up. And he is showing us the way, too.

He is the one we have been waiting for, and he will lead us on that highway in the wilderness, the Holy Way.