Monday, January 13, 2025

Come As You Are

Isaiah 43:1-7

Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

This Sunday we 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, because he knew Jesus did not need the repentance he offered. John was right; Jesus was a model of humanity in every way. He was our exemplar for how to live into the image of God. But I imagine this was the reason he wanted to be baptized, to show us the way in this as in everything.

He submitted to John in the river, along with all the others, then he came to shore and began to pray. At that moment the heavens opened, and a voice said, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” 

“With you I am well pleased.” Not all translations put it the same way. Some versions say, “You bring me great joy,” or, “In you I find delight.” But the one I appreciate the most is in the Common English Bible, which says, “In you I find happiness.”

Which is the kind of thing anyone wants and needs to hear from a parent or a loved one. It is the kind of thing we all need to know – that someone finds us delightful, that someone feels happiness because of us. It is the kind of thing that God offers to each one of us – and one of the ways God does this is by placing us in a community of the baptized.

When we are baptized we are adopted into the family of God, brothers and sisters to Jesus, 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. 

As we read in the scripture, “just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. For in one Spirit we were all baptized into one body.” 

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. To follow Christ’s word and example, to show his love.

But I am afraid that we sometimes fail to remember these promises.

I listened to some friends talking about what a beautiful community the church is. One after another they described situations in their lives where the church had stepped in to offer support when it was needed. And while I could add my own stories of compassion, I also have memories of a different kind of church experience. Through most of my childhood, when my family was going through some very tough times, we did not experience that kind of love from our church. We did not feel the church being there for us when we needed it. We did not feel the embrace we needed, but rather judgment that only piles hurt upon hurt.

There is something deeply troublesome about the church exacerbating the pain on one of its own, of not being there to support their brothers and sisters in their suffering. It seems to me a tragic failure to live into our baptismal vows.

Kim and I once lived in a small town – a little smaller than Salisbury. It was the kind of place where, if you asked for directions to the bookstore, people would say, “It’s down near the old A&P.” But the A&P had been gone for many years, so anyone who actually needed directions wouldn’t find this helpful. People sometimes said that if you moved to this place from somewhere else, you would never, ever feel like a native; that you have to have generational belonging to really feel like you belong.

And I wonder if the church is like this too.

You wouldn’t notice it, probably, if you feel that sense of belonging. But the challenge is this: every single member of the family should have that same sense of belonging, that same sense that we are all in this together, and we are there for one another.

The baptismal promises we make are all about that. As God said first to Israel: 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: We will be there for you. You are precious in my sight, you are honored, and I love you.

Wow. Right?

Truly, there is nothing I want more than for every child in our congregation to feel our love, our delight, our joy and happiness when they are in our midst. And there is nothing more critical about being the body of Christ than that every member of the body knows this one thing: when you pass through the waters, when you walk through the fire, we will be there for them. You are loved, just as you are.

Remember the promises of your baptism.



Monday, January 6, 2025

How Do We Know

Isaiah 60:1-6

Ephesians 3:1-12

If I start the sentence, “How do you know…” and I invite you to finish it, what comes to mind? 

How do you know if someone loves you? How do you know if this is the one you should marry? How do you know if this is the right job for you? How do you know when it is time to make a change? How do you know?

These are the kinds of questions that fill our imaginations. I don’t often wonder “how do you know if the milk has gone bad?” Because, you know. Things like that are simple and empirical. The “how do you know” questions that hold your attention are different. We know how to solve an arithmetic problem by learning the steps and practicing. We know if we have the right answer because there is a right answer and it’s the same for everyone. Two plus two always equals four, so you know.

But there are many questions in life that cannot be answered that way. And these are by and large the kinds of questions grappled with in the scriptures.

How does the prophet Isaiah know that now is the time to arise, to shine? How does he know that the light has come? 

How did Elizabeth, the wife of Zechariah, know that her young cousin Mary was the mother of her Lord?

How do the shepherds in the fields know that the child who has been born was the Messiah?

How did the magi know that the star they were following would lead them to the newborn king?

How did the apostle Paul know that he was called by Christ to serve the mission to the Gentiles? How did he know, when he was knocked to the ground by a flash of heavenly light, when he heard the voice speaking to him, when he lost the ability to see, how did he know that his life was irrevocably changed?

Some would say that the way you know is that suddenly there is no other choice. Isaiah could see nothing but the light of God’s glory, could do no other than to proclaim this message of hope. 

The shepherds in the fields knew that they simply could not remain where they were. They could do no other than to follow the command of the heavenly host.

The magi knew the power of their dreams to speak truth to them in a way that no human voice could speak. They knew that they could do no other than to follow the star that led them across miles and miles.

Some would say that you know something is right and true when you can do no other than to pursue it. That does not make it easy, though. It certainly was not easy for the magi. It was not easy for Mary or Elizabeth or Joseph to trust the message they had been given from an angel, from a dream, from a vision.

It was not easy for the priest Zechariah, when the angel Gabriel visited him. He asked the question, “How will I know,” not in a wondering way, but in a challenging way, a doubtful way. Which was a foolish thing to do, when the angel took away his power of speech, so he could ponder these things in silence.

Some would say it is a mystery, how you know. Indeed, it is a mystery. You can’t know the steps to follow, you can’t know the source of the revelation, not in any way that we want to know things. All revelation comes from God and, of course, there are real limits on what we can know of God.

There is mystery, Paul uses this word several times in the letter to Ephesians – four times it appears just in this passage. 

There is mystery in the passage from Isaiah, although he doesn’t use the word, but all that he describes conveys a sense of awe, of holy mystery.

How do we know these things? We know by the experience. We know by what our senses know: a star, a dream, a blinding light. A voice that speaks to us and maybe to no one else. A sense of shimmering joy, elation. A sense of peace, the kind that passes understanding. A sense being drawn in. One of the tenets of our Reformed faith is that God’s grace is irresistible – simply irresistible! You know by the flame that ignites within you and smolders, and glows. You know by what you know.

And yet –

The knowing is open to more. The knowing of epiphany must be very wary of putting down a period. Is God finished speaking? Has revelation ended? Is it possible for us, mere humans, to put a limit on God’s divine wisdom, on the extent of God’s love? 

There are very few things I know for sure, but I see that throughout the scriptures, when there is more light given, there is more love. When Isaiah says, “Arise, shine, for your light has come,” we know that the dark days of exile are past, and that God’s grace will shine on Israel.

When the shepherds and the magi see the brilliant light in the sky, we know that God has opened the door and reached out to draw these outsiders inside. When Paul was blinded by the light on the Damascus Road, he knew that this was a turning point in his life, which would from now on be devoted to carrying the good news of God’s grace far and wide.

Paul did not know, at first, where he would be sent. He did not realize that the calling, the commission placed on him, would take him to the outsiders, the whole Gentile world. But soon he did know.

The knowing of epiphany is a strange thing. It can be wild, unexpected. It is ever-expanding divine love.

This light, this love, was there for the people in the time of Isaiah. It was there for the people in the time of Christ’s birth. and the light shines on.

This light, this ever-expanding love is here for us. The light that darkness cannot comprehend or overcome, as we read in the Gospel of John. The light has not left the world. It never will.

It is a mystery that draws us in.

More light is yet to be seen. Keep watching, keep listening, for God is not yet finished.