Angry?

²¹“You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder’; and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’ ²²But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment; and if you insult a brother or sister, you will be liable to the council; and if you say, ‘You fool,’ you will be liable to the hell of fire. ²³So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, ²⁴leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift. ²⁵Come to terms quickly with your accuser while you are on the way to court with him, or your accuser may hand you over to the judge, and the judge to the guard, and you will be thrown into prison. ²⁶Truly I tell you, you will never get out until you have paid the last penny. ²⁷“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ ²⁸But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart. ²⁹If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. ³⁰And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to go into hell. ³¹“It was also said, ‘Whoever divorces his wife, let him give her a certificate of divorce.’ ³²But I say to you that anyone who divorces his wife, except on the ground of unchastity, causes her to commit adultery; and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery.³³“Again, you have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not swear falsely, but carry out the vows you have made to the Lord.’ ³⁴But I say to you, Do not swear at all, either by heaven, for it is the throne of God, ³⁵or by the earth, for it is his footstool, or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King. ³⁶And do not swear by your head, for you cannot make one hair white or black. ³⁷Let your word be ‘Yes, Yes’ or ‘No, No’; anything more than this comes from the evil one.

Matthew 5:21-37

“Angry?”

It seems odd to me, that after our lectionary passage from last week, ours this week is about grievance and anger, about sin, about the ways we hurt each other, about the brokenness of humanity in the world. If you weren’t with us in worship last week, or even if you were and need a little reminder, we heard these lovely words of challenge, words of hope, words from Jesus in his sermon on the mount: “You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to God in heaven.”

I’m not sure about you, but these words from Christ sound so much more like they’re meant for the end of a sermon, like they’re meant as a charge for the benediction. They’re beautiful and challenging words, hopeful words that prompt us to act in the world—the “go from this place and love and serve in the world” words. But Jesus, wise as he is, doesn’t end his great sermon there—instead he talks about the humanity of the world, the brokenness and sin of the world—anger, divorce, adultery, vengeance. Kind of makes your head spin to go from being the salt of the earth and keeping our lamps out for everyone to see to hearing about the ways we hurt each other and keep each other from being whole. But Jesus knows so much about us, before we can ever know it for ourselves. He challenges us to be salt and light in the world, but he knows the reality—that he is sending us into a world where people are hurtful to each other, where relationships are imperfect, where brokenness is evident everywhere we turn. And even as he charges us, he knows that we ourselves are participants in that world.

Jesus helps us with reality here. There is a lot to deal with in our lectionary passage from Matthew today, almost too much to think about and process at once. For a couple of reasons, I really want to focus on the first part of the passage today—1. While I think adultery and divorce are very serious and real problems in our world today, very much part of our brokenness, very much the result of our anger, I think we could take time on each of these topics in its own sermon. 2. I think we need to think about the brokenness that comes with anger—about its pervasiveness in our world today, about how much worse anger seems to have gotten in our world, about how angry we get and our seeming inability to be able to deal with it.

What is the deal with our anger? Why is it that we are so angry these days? We live in a world where two men, both wanting to take some Sabbath time to watch a movie, get angry at each other because one is texting during the previews. The other man gets angry at him for texting, begins to yell at him, and the one who has been texting throws popcorn at him. While it’s not the most mature response, the other man takes out a gun and shoots him. Kills him. Takes him away from his wife and family, from the world. All of this over a stupid text message. We live in a world where people anonymously attack others on social media or in the comments section of articles online, using their words as weapons and never giving a second thought to it. Don’t know if you’ve ever stopped to read the sections comments of an article, but don’t do it. Just don’t. We live in a world where our very own elected representatives insult each other, some even cussing each other out instead of reaching across the aisle to compromise, either forgetting or worse, not caring that our children are watching them and learning from their modeling. We live in a world where fans of football teams belittle 18-year-old kids when they choose to go and play for their hated rival. We live in a world where young adults, instead of seeking help for their depression and anger, take out assault weapons and mow down classrooms of innocent 5 and 6 year olds, as well as the teachers protecting them. We live in a world where anger is pervasive and compassion and empathy have been lost. We live in a world where so many folks cannot find productive, helpful ways to turn their anger into compassion for others, into reconciliation, into solutions that are peaceful. We live in a world where we have either forgotten how to see others as children of God—just as we are—and love them as such.

Why are we so angry? I googled that very question this week, and there were thousands of responses, which itself says a great deal. Most had deep psychological reasons and responses, but an article from Psychology Today sums it up pretty simply and pretty well: “We are a nation where many of our citizens are overworked, exhausted, financially strapped, alienated, and disconnected. We clock in day in and day out, and very often are left feeling unappreciated and uninspired. Of course we would be upset, agitated, and angry.” Makes sense to me—overworked and underpaid, worried about how to pay our bills, disconnected from each other even when we think there is so much that connects us. It’s so amazing how disconnected we are, especially in our technological world, especially when we think we are more connected than ever. There is so, so much that disconnects us that we have lost the inability to talk with each other and find constructive ways to get rid of our anger. The article goes on to ask: “Does this justify hatred, threats, and malice? Of course not.”

We do live in a world filled with anger, fueled by anger, and Jesus helps us to find constructive ways to deal with it:

You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, “You shall not murder” and “whoever murders shall be liable to judgment. But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment; and if you insult a brother or sister, you will be liable to the council; and if you say, “You fool,” you will be liable to the hell of fire. So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift.”

Jesus has called us, as his followers, to be the light of the world, but he knows that we aren’t perfect. Jesus knows we are sinful people, that we often tear down instead of build up, that we do so much through our anger to harm our relationships. He knows, although we are created for mutual support, we are so prone to the break our relationships with each other and the world. He knows we are people in constant need of reconciliation.

I think it’s vital to point something out here: Jesus doesn’t tell us not to be angry; he knows we get angry, and he knows anger is a valid and important human emotion. Anger is part of the reality of our sinfulness, and because of that, Jesus doesn’t tell us not to be angry. Instead, he gives us constructive, healthy ways to deal with our anger. When we are angry, Jesus tells us to seek reconciliation with that person, to seek forgiveness and love. And then he calls us to come and give at the altar, and to leave our anger there with everything else that we have to offer. Jesus calls us to give everything back to God, to offer our highs and our lows, our gifts and our grievances, our celebrations and concerns—to ask for forgiveness at the altar, and to be forgiven.

Because we have been called as followers and charged to carry our light into the world, Jesus calls us constantly to be in reconciliation with each other. In our loss of empathy and compassion, in our world that seems to be so fueled with anger, Jesus tell us we must be reconciled, to be reconciled before we are ever able to bring our offerings. But how do we do that—how do we seek to be reconciled? For we who call ourselves Christians, we are called to recognize and celebrate that anger and forgiveness go hand in hand. One of my favorite books is called Practicing our Faith, a book of essays about the Christian practices of hospitality, keeping Sabbath, saying yes and no, testimony, discernment—and forgiveness—among them. In his essay on forgiveness, Gregory Jones recognizes that anger is part of life, but tells us that anger and forgiveness must go hand in hand. While anger is a natural emotion, if we don’t deal with it in positive ways, it will keep us down and stew in our soles. In the face of anger, forgiveness is what brings us back to wholeness.

He tells how to practice the art of forgiveness: 1. We become willing to speak truthfully and patiently about the conflicts that have arisen, even if there isn’t agreement about what happened; 2. We acknowledge both the existence of anger and bitterness and a desire to overcome them; 3. We summon up a concern for the well-being of the other as a child of God; 4. We recognize our own complicity in conflict, remember that we have been forgiven in the past, and take steps of repentance; 5. We make a commitment to struggle to change whatever caused and continues to perpetuate our conflicts; 6. We confess our yearning for the possibility of reconciliation.

Sounds pretty easy, right? This is hard stuff, especially when we are stubborn and hurt and embarrassed and sad. But we have to do this, even if it takes repeating the steps over and over again just to get them right. When there is anger, we must bring it to the altar of forgiveness. We must forgive, forgive ourselves to get rid of what weighs us down, forgive to bring about reconciliation with others and wholeness in our own lives, and forgive—most importantly—because we have so often been forgiven by our Lord. Jesus reminds us we truly can’t offer ourselves to our loving God, the God who created us, without first offering, practicing, and asking for reconciliation. Then, and only then, can we come to the altar and truly offer ourselves.

You know, when I first read this passage, I got a little sad it was our lectionary text for this beautiful baptism day. Seriously—who wants to hear a sermon about the reality of anger in our world at the same time we celebrate this beloved child of God? But the more I thought about it, the more lovely and challenging it became for me. In the sacrament today, we have celebrated together as we have thanked God for the waters that wash us clean and welcome us into community. We have given praise for this beautiful child whom God has called beloved. And, yes, we have promised—every single one of us—to help raise him in the faith, to tell him stories about Christ, to pick him up when he falls, to surround him with the love of God. We have made a covenant with God, but can we truly keep our end of the covenant as long as we are angry? As long as we hold grudges? As long as we refuse to ask for forgiveness or offer it ourselves? Can we keep this covenant if we are angry and not shining our lights of Christ for everyone to see? God has made promises to us and is constantly faithful to the covenant—can we say the same? The waters have washed Robert clean, and have done the same for every single one of us. God has made promises, has claimed Robert as beloved and done the same for every single one of us. Perhaps it’s time for us to keep up our end of the deal and live as children of light, as the salt of the earth, as people of reconciliation. Thanks be to God.

The God-Revealers

²⁴ Now they had been sent from the Pharisees. ²⁵ They asked him, “Why then are you baptizing if you are neither the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the prophet?” ²⁶ John answered them, “I baptize with water. Among you stands one whom you do not know, ²⁷ the one who is coming after me; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal.” ²⁸ This took place in Bethany across the Jordan where John was baptizing.

²⁹ The next day he saw Jesus coming toward him and declared, “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! ³⁰ This is he of whom I said, ‘After me comes a man who ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’³¹ I myself did not know him; but I came baptizing with water for this reason, that he might be revealed to Israel.”³² And John testified, “I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him. ³³ I myself did not know him, but the one who sent me to baptize with water said to me, ‘He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit.’³⁴ And I myself have seen and have testified that this is the Son of God.”

³⁵ The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, ³⁶ and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” ³⁷ The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus.³⁸ When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?” They said to him, “Rabbi” (which translated means Teacher), “where are you staying?”³⁹ He said to them, “Come and see.” They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. ⁴⁰ One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. ⁴¹ He first found his brother Simon and said to him, “We have found the Messiah” (which is translated Anointed). ⁴² He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas” (which is translated Peter).

⁴³ The next day Jesus decided to go to Galilee. He found Philip and said to him, “Follow me.”

John 1:29-43

"The God-Revealers"

 I think John the Baptist is a fascinating character in our Biblical witness—portrayed in different ways throughout the Gospel. Matthew tells us that he is clothed in camel’s hair and lives on wild honey, helping us to imagine that he is like a mountain man, existing only on what he can scrounge up, probably with a long beard and torn clothes and holey shoes. We hear that he has many followers, constantly preaching to them about baptism and repentance for their sins. Mark’s gospel portrays John in much the same way, but leaving out his harsh “brood of vipers” message to the Pharisees who challenge him. Luke details John’s story in a new, sweeter way, telling us the story of his family, his birth to an older childless mother, his birth that signaled the way for the birth of his cousin to a younger mother, the birth of Jesus. I love that Luke’s gospel tells us that John leaped in his mother’s womb, was born to a father who proclaimed him as a prophet in his infant days.

John is born to be a prophet, to prepare the way for all of his followers, all of us--to prepare the way for Christ who was coming into our midst.  He is born to reveal Christ for all of us. And that’s exactly where John’s gospel starts in its description of him. The rest of the gospels have enlightened us on John’s life, but this gospel, as it tends to do, doesn’t waste time with description or story or narrative. It just dives in:

            “Who are you?” John is asked.

                        “Not the Messiah.”          

            “Alright, then. Are you Elijah? The prophet?”

                        “Nope.”

            “Then who the heck are you?”

“I am the voice of the one crying out in the wilderness, make straight the way of the Lord.”

John, of course, in his own way, tells all those gathered there, that Jesus Christ is coming their way. He prepares the way for the Lord, for the Lamb of God, to come into their midst. He gets them ready. He tells them that he has baptized with water so that Jesus Christ might be revealed to all of them, so that he might come to baptize them with the Spirit.

There is a newer translation of the Bible called “The Message.” It uses language that is a bit more contemporary, and it has really helped shed some new light on this passage for me. Verses 29-31 of our passage read this way:

The very next day John saw Jesus coming toward him and yelled out, “Here he is, God’s Passover Lamb! He forgives the sins of the world! This is the man I’ve been talking about, the One who comes after me but is really ahead of me. I knew nothing about who he was—only this: that my task has been to get Israel read to recognize him as the God-revealer. That is why I came here baptizing with water, giving you a good bath and scrubbing sins from your life so you can get a fresh start with God.”

I love the language that is used for Christ here—that Christ the Passover Lamb, the one who is born to forgive the sins of the world, comes to us as a God-revealer. John has been born to reveal Christ in our midst, to help us find a way to prepare for him. And Christ has come. He has been born into our world once again, born to be the God-revealer for us, born to help us discover and see and celebrate God in our midst. Verse 19 of our chapter reminds us of this when it tells us “no one has ever seen God-it is God the Son, the Christ, who has come to make God known.” John the Baptizer prepares the way for Christ to come into our midst, reveals him for all of us, and Christ has been born to reveal God in our lives.

John is gathered with many that day so many years after Christ’s birth, standing with the Pharisees, with the disciples who have been following him, with so many others who may not even have heard of Jesus, when Christ comes their way. “Here he is,” John says, the Lamb of God, the one who forgives the sins of the world, the one who baptizes with the Spirit, the one who reveals God for us all.”  And then on the next day, Jesus the God-revealer comes into their midst again. When they naturally begin to ask all of the questions they have saved up for him for so long, Christ’s answer to them is pretty simple: “Come and see.” Come and see. What an invitation. Christ begins his God-revealing by giving them an invitation, an invitation to come and see what might happen, to come and see how their lives might be transformed, to come and see and follow him.

I think it’s really fascinating that our passage as given in our lectionary ends with verse 42, where Jesus gives Simon a new name—Cephas, Peter. I love the idea that Christ renames us when we are called to him, gives us a new identity in him, gives us new life in a way. I love that we have just celebrated the birth of Christ, who, in the river is claimed and renamed and called as God’s beloved. Christ shares that baptismal identity with Simon when he is renamed as Peter. The imagery of renaming in this passage is beautiful and deep, but it is so tempting for us to stop there, to think, “Well, I’m good to go. I’ve been renamed in Christ. I’ve been reclaimed in Christ. I’m done.”

But that’s not enough. We’re not done. As people who have been claimed and given a new identity in Christ, we have so much more to do. We have to do his work, follow him, as verse 43 reminds us. Jesus makes his way to Galilee, finds Philip, and simply says, “Follow me.” I think it’s pretty vital verses 42 and 43 be read and heard together—Christ tells us: “You have been given a new name, a new identity in me, so come, do my work, be my hands and feet in the world, follow me. I have come to be a God-revealer to all of you, and now I’m calling you to do the same for the rest of the world.” Christ has been born into our world, and now he is foreshadowing his death—that he won’t be in the world for much longer, that we will then have to take up his message of forgiveness and grace, of welcoming and healing and acceptance and love.  The invitation to come and see is given. But the invitation cannot stand alone. The invitation comes with expectation—the expectation that we are to be Christ’s hands and feet in the world, the expectation that we are to be God-revealers to the rest of the world, especially when Christ won’t be here to do it himself. Come and see. Follow me. 

There is a beautiful prayer attributed to Teresa of Avila, a 16^th century Spanish mystic. Listen to her words:

                        Christ has no body now on earth but yours,

                                    No hands but yours,

                                    No feet but yours.

                        Yours are the eyes through with to look out

                                    Christ’s compassion to the world;

                        Yours are the feet with which he is to go about doing good;

                        Yours are the hands with which he is to bless men now.

What stunning words from a faithful woman. Because we have been claimed in the waters of baptism, because we have heard the stories of Christ from God-revealers of our own, we are called to be God-revealers ourselves, to share the stories and love of Christ in the world. One of my seminary professors and dear friends, Rodger Nishioka, reflects on Teresa of Avila’s poem as he talks about incarnational theology. He says, “Incarnational theology…is the idea that we are called to be Jesus Christ to the world. At its foundation, incarnational theology reminds us all that God became incarnate—became flesh—in Jesus Christ to embody fully God’s love for the world. Teresa of Avila takes this incarnational theology one step further and calls on us to incarnate Christ in our own selves and to love the world as Jesus did.”

God has been revealed to us in so many different ways, and God has given us a Son who was himself baptized so that we could also be claimed in the new identity that flows over us through the baptismal waters—and because of that new claim and identity, we ourselves are called to be God-revealers.

But, folks, we have some work to do. Three major surveys have come out over the last few years from the Barna Group, the Public Religion Research Institute, and the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life, each concluding that younger folks are increasingly leaving and staying away –or worse—never even darkening the doors—of our Christian churches because they describe Christians as judgmental, hypocritical, homophobic, out of touch, and exclusive. One response even added that we are the antithesis of love. If we say that God is love, but as God-revealers, we’re coming off as the antithesis of that, that’s not good at all. I’m not sure about you, but those descriptions don’t sound very God-revealing to me. Oftentimes it seems that the predominant voices of Christianity are reality tv stars with really sketchy exegesis or preachers on the university concourse screaming at students that they are going to hell. It seems that those voices are politicians on every side of the aisle who tear others down using religion as a weapon. At it worst, it seems that those voices come from churches who do so little to protect the youngest and most vulnerable ones in our midst or tell others that, because of who they are, they are sinful and disgusting and unwelcome. Do these sound very God-revealing to you?

God’s Passover Lamb has been born in to the world again for every single one of us, born to walk the earth for us, born to teach us and chide us, born to challenge us and change us. Christ is born into the world to baptize us and make us into something new, born to claim us and redeem us. Christ has been born to die for us and proclaim Easter resurrection for us.  As God has been revealed to us through Christ, we are called to follow and be God-revealers ourselves. Teresa tells how to do it—to use our hands and feet, to be the eyes through which the world sees Christ, to act with compassion, to BE compassion, to do good in the world, to bless as we have been so greatly blessed. The Lamb of God has been born and baptized for all of us. And we have been called to follow. It is up to us—in everything we say, in everything we do, in every way we are, in every way of our being—to ask ourselves this: “Am I being a God-revealer today? Are we?” Thanks be to God.

Light in the Darkness

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

John 1:1-5

There was a sweet, young, talented, and faithful young woman, a teenager who was a member of my former church. She and her family drifted in and out of church life, sometimes leaving for stretches of time, sometimes coming back for others. We would let them family know that we were missing them, ask them to let us know if there was anything we could do. During one of those stretches when her family was gone, someone let me know she was struggling, had spent some time in the hospital for depression. I called and asked if we could have lunch, and she seemed delighted at the invitation. She told me that she had been depressed, struggling with her classwork, been turned down for the high school cheerleading team, had been the subject of some pretty vicious rumors that had turned into bullying at her school. Feeling helpless, she had taken some pills, not enough to end her life, but enough to get the attention and garner the help that she so clearly needed. I listened to her, asked her questions, prayed with her. She asked me where I thought God was in all of this, whether God had heard her prayers, whether people at the church would judge her, asked whether God was angry with her for taking the pills. She expressed a lot of doubt; told me she had the impression that people of faith were always happy because they loved Jesus enough, that maybe God was blessing them because of their faith and cursing her because of her doubt.

I told her that, without a doubt, I knew that God loved her because God created her, that God I really believed God was sad, but not angry, when she took the pills. I told her that I truly believed God was walking with her because of Isaiah’s words to us of God walking through the rivers and fires with us. I told her that people at the church, especially a Southern one, might appear happy, might always say that they’re fine when asked, but that every single person in the congregation had struggled at some point. I told her that some of them might be doing well at any certain moment, not feeling like they were in a world of darkness—but that we had all experienced darkness at one point in our lives, if not many points. I told her that, when Southern folks—especially at church--say, “I’m fine, thank you,” when asked how they are, it might be nice, but it’s also a disservice. I told her it’s fine to say, “I’m just alright,” or “I’m making it minute by minute,” or “you know, today is really a hard day.” If the church isn’t a place where you can share the darkness of your pain, after all, where can you?

Folks, that’s the reality of the situation. We live in a world where there is lots of light, in a world where there is lots of darkness. For every child who is well fed and sheltered, there is another child who doesn’t know where their next meal is coming from or where they will lay their head that night. For everyone who is surrounded by loved ones, there is someone who feels like there is no one there to love them. For every couple who seems so happy together, there is another couple whose differences simply cannot be overcome. For every person who has more than they could ever need, there is someone else who wonders if they will ever earn another paycheck. For every Christian who seems happy and never seems to express a doubt in the world, there is another one who is sad and expresses every doubt there is to express. Lots of light and lots of darkness.

I think that teenager expressed something fascinating to our lives as Christians today—the kind of “theology lite” out there—the belief that if you just love Jesus enough, trust him enough, if you just take him into your heart, that you will never go through pain again, be threatened again, experience brokenness and sin again. I think that kind of theology is pervasive in the South, especially, pervasive in some of the growing churches of our world. If I am just faithful enough, we trick ourselves into believing, then everything will be happy and fine and perfect. Everything will be all light and no darkness.

But that’s not reality. We live in a world that can oftentimes be dark, oftentimes experience the pain of brokenness, a world that always experiences the result of sin. Some of the most faithful people I know, folks who are some of the strongest believers in Christ, are people who are struggling mightily with darkness right now. One of my dear friends lost her mom to Alzheimer’s in February and her niece to an awful accident in June. Another dear friend is dealing with a scary medical situation that no woman should ever have to deal with, especially at her young age. One of my friends is hurting because he fell deeply for someone, allowed himself to think that there might be a future after much loneliness in the past, only to discover that the person he fell in love with is too scared and scarred to open herself up to the possibility of love. Two of my tailgating friends lost three members of their family suddenly last week in a car crash. That is a lot of darkness for these friends of faith, friends who believe wholeheartedly that Jesus Christ has been born for them, faithful folks who proclaim Jesus Christ as their Savior, and, yes, friends who currently have lots of questions about doubt and faith for him. Even to the most faithful among us, the world can oftentimes seem like a very dark place.

But in the midst of that darkness, there is great news to share, to tell, to believe--a child has been born for us. Did you hear that??? A CHILD HAS BEEN BORN FOR ALL OF US. Do you believe it? A savior has been given to us, a baby has been born to bring light to us. And part of that great news is that it was even dark for him—he was born in a smelly, gross barn with no sturdy shelter over his head, threatened by a king who was scared to death of this little baby, born to a mom who was warned by a prophet that a sword would pierce her soul. But, even in the midst of that darkness, that little baby was born to bring light.

And that is why we celebrate this day—Jesus has come into the world for every single one of us, for those of who are happy and those who are sad, for those who don’t have a care in the world and those who struggle with the world every minute. Jesus is born to bring light into the darkness of the world. I love how Ann Weems puts it:

Not celebrate? Your burden is too great to bear? Your loneliness is intensified during this Christmas season? Not celebrate? You should lead the celebration . . . For it is you above all others who know the joy of Advent. It is unto you that a Savior is born this day, one who comes to lift the burden from your shoulders, one who comes to wipe the tears from your eyes. You are not alone, for he is born this day to you.

Jesus Christ is born into our world once again, born to bring light to those who struggle in darkness. Isaiah foretells the story for us: “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness, on the light has shined…for a child has been born unto us, a Savior given to us…and he shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”

It is indeed time for us to celebrate the Christ child who has been born for us, for those who are living in darkness, for those of us who are living in light. It is time for us to celebrate, and how can we not? A Savior is born, born to lift our burdens, born to wipe away the tears from our eyes, born to bear our dark sorrows, born to forgive and save. A Savior is born, born to bring light, as John reminds us: “All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being, in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” The light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it; the darkness has not and will not overcome it. Our Savior has come into our world to shed light, to overcome the darkness, to bring peace. Thanks be to God.

That's How It Ought to Be

For I am about to create a new heavens and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating; for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy, and its people as a delight. I will rejoice in Jerusalem, and delight in my people; no more shall the sound of weeping be heard in it, or the cry of distress. No more shall there be in it an infant who lives but a few days, or an old person who does not live out a lifetime; for one who dies at a hundred years will be considered a youth, and one who falls short of a hundred will be considered accursed. They shall build houses and inhabit them; they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit. They shall not build and another inhabit; they shall not plant and another ear; for like the days of a tree shall the days of my people be, and my chosen shall long enjoy the work of their hands. They shall not labor in vain, or bear children for calamity; for they shall be offspring blessed by the Lord—and their descendants as well. Before they call I will answer, while they are yet speaking I will hear. The wolf and the lamb shall feed together, the lion shall eat straw like the ox; but the serpent—its food shall be dust! They shall not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain, says the Lord.

Isaiah 65:17-25

Over the past several months, our UKirk students and I have been studying different images of God found in the Bible—the beautiful images of God as our Creator and sustainer, God our shepherd and salvation, God who is our rock. When we talked about the image of God as rock, we talked about the different ways upon which God is our cornerstone, the one in whom we build our faith on, the one who holds us up and never lets us crumble. We discussed how we build with rocks and stones, how God is a fortress around our lives, how God builds us up. But we also spent some time discussing what else we can do with stones—about how a woman was almost stoned to death in the Bible, about how we can use stones to tear down, about how we are so apt and quick to throw stones at each other. We discussed how, especially now in this social media world, it is so easy to throw rocks at each other, to call someone stupid or make fun of their lives or to tell them that they are less than nothing, so easy to tear someone down using their social or political or religious beliefs as the stones that bruise and harm so easily—so easy to do that across internet lines because we never have to look into the eyes of the person we are tearing down.

We live in broken and fearful world, a world where brokenness and sin often pervade our lives and always threaten to tear us down. I was appalled to listen to an interview this week, the story of the woman who first appeared on the front page of the website for the Affordable Care Act. She is a beautiful woman with gorgeous light brown skin, a permanent resident from Colombia whose husband is a US citizen, whose son was born here, who is applying for US citizenship. She simply posed for a stock photo, not knowing where and when the photo would be used. It just so happened that her photo was used on the front page of the website, and because of all of the problems with it, her face has been scrutinized by the press and the public, she has been called “glitch girl,” even described as having “the most despised face on the planet.” No one ever stopped long enough to think about her, about the fact that she had absolutely nothing to do with this website or the ACA—but even if she had everything to do with it—she still shouldn’t have been torn down. No one stopped to think that she is a person just like the rest of us, created and worth. An example of our broken and sinful world.

All we have to do is stop and look to see the brokenness around us. We see the brokenness of people who do not have enough food to eat, of food banks who don’t have enough food on their shelves to help. We see the brokenness of our priorities when we hear about who might possibly run for president 3 years from now before we see pictures of typhoon destruction in the Philippines, before we stopped to pray for the lives lost. We see the brokenness of our government representatives of all parties, representatives who would rather retreat to their own corners and throw rocks at each other than sit down, compromise, and come to sensible solutions together. We see the brokenness that comes with addiction when we see a Canadian mayor who lashes out instead of seeking help. We see the brokenness of the world as we are approaching the one year anniversary of a school massacre—and we are too crippled and scared and polarized to either do anything about an ill person who has nothing to lose or the weapons that enabled him to so easily take the lives of 20 babies with him. Every day we see the brokenness of families and friendships, of relationships and lives. And so often it seems like there is nothing we can do. A broken and fearful world, indeed.

But when we feel we are most lost, most helpless, Isaiah gives us a new vision, tells us what God is going to do in the Kingdom of heaven:

For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating; for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy, and its people as a delight. I will rejoice in Jerusalem, and delight in my people; no more shall the sound of weeping be heard in it, or the cry of distress…The wolf and the lamb shall feed together…they shall not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain, says the Lord.

Isaiah gives a new vision of a new heavens and a new earth, not a vision of brokenness and sin, but a vision of newness, of wholeness, of holiness. Isaiah gives us a vision of transformation where everything is made new, a new creation where the most vicious animals will hang out with the least, where there will be joy instead of sorrow, where distress will turn into delight.

It is indeed a beautiful vision of a new heaven and a new earth. And how tempting it is for us to believe that this is solely a vision of the future, of the time when we will leave what we know of this earth and draw nearer to God in the death that leads to new life. It is so tempting for us to leave it there—that this is what life will be like when I get to heaven, that it will never be like this here on earth. But, as Presbyterians, we believe differently. As Presbyterians, we believe that the church exists to do these 6 great things: to proclaim the gospel for the salvation of humankind; to provide shelter, nurture, and spiritual fellowship of the children of God; to maintain divine worship;to preserve the truth; to promote social righteousness; and to exhibit the Kingdom of Heaven to the world.

Did you catch that last one? As Presbyterians, as Christians, as people of faith, we are called to exhibit the kingdom of heaven to the world. We are called to exhibit a kingdom where the crying and sorrow will come to an end as joyfulness and rejoicing lead the way; where people will not die young, but live full lives; where no one will go without shelter but instead live with roofs over their heads; where there will enough food and labor for everyone; where families are blessed instead of cursed, where animals and creatures of all kinds will no longer recognize their differences and exert power over each other, but instead lie down and coexist peacefully with each other.

David LaMotte, our keynoter at least year’s college conference, is a singer/songwriter, but most importantly, a Rotary Peace Fellow who constantly works to help us find peace in a broken world—or better put, he works to inspire us and help us find ways to usher in the kingdom. He talked to our students about call and service in January. Listen to his words:

What we do is about how we engage with the world. We care about the kingdom coming here and now. It’s our job to figure out how to invite the kingdom into our world. Change is always happening. You are invited by God into the process of creating the world. You are part of the partnership with God. God wants to move in you and God is moving in you. And we think, “I run into the things that trouble me. I want to have an impact, and I want to be engaged but say instead, ‘Who am I to do this? I’m busy. I don’t have the gifts required to help in this situation.’” But God has other plans.

Yes, the great news is that God has plans for us, plans that we could never, ever begin to imagine or dream on our own. God, through Isaiah, gives us a new vision of a new heavens and a new earth, a new earth that is possible in the here and now if we simply get out of God’s way and stop being stubborn and hopeless, if we let God work through us. It is so easy for us to stop and look at all the pain around us and think, “There’s no way I can help everyone, stop all of the pain, heal all of the brokenness around me. I can’t do it. I don’t have the time. I don’t have the energy. I don’t have the gifts. And I can’t do it all, so why even try?”

I think about our time in Haiti, about how many times I looked around and saw a woman my age in a bed dying from AIDS, looked to the next to see a teenager suffering from yellow fever, simply to look at another and find an older woman covered in boils with a stinch so bad I almost vomited. It was so much to take in, and I walked out of the room, sat on a bench, and started to cry: “Why try to help any of this if I can’t solve it all?” That kind of fear is paralyzing. It is so easy to wallow and squander our lives away, to get lost in those things that simply make us stop in our tracks and think that we can’t go on, but we can’t. We can’t shut down because we have been forgiven, and in that forgiveness have been given a glimpse of the new heavens and the new earth. And because we have been given that grace, we have to do something with it. We have to do what we can, one step at a time, one moment at a time, in response to God’s gifts of creation and life, God’s gifts of forgiveness and grace. In the Feasting on the Word commentary, Mary Eleanor Johns beautifully describes how we are called to usher in the kingdom one moment at a time:

The text describes radical transformation of living conditions in the new Jerusalem, including low infant mortality, housing and food for all, and sustainable employment. Such details push us to focus on the manner in which Christ’s church participates in his messianic rule…We are able to give one drink of cold water at a time. We are able to bring comfort to the poor and the wretched, one act of mercy or change at a time. One book given, one friendship claimed, one covenant of love, one can of beans, one moment of commendation, one confession of God’s presence but for the asking, one moment in which another person is humanized rather that objectified, one challenge to the set order that maintains injustice, one declaration of the evil that is hiding in plain sight, one declaration that every person is a child of God: these acts accumulate within God’s grace.

Because of the grace given to us, we are called to respond with grace, to see the pain and suffering and brokenness around us and do what we can—one drink of water at a time, one declaration at a time, one thing given at a time, one challenge at a time. We are called to celebrate God’s kingdom in heaven and called to usher that kingdom in on God’s earth, to create peace wherever we can.

Our children just sang in the best:

You be the lion, fierce and wild.

I’ll be the lamb, so meek and mild.

We live together happily,

That’s how it ought to be.

You be the lion brave and bold,

I’ll be the lamb with heart of gold.

We get along in harmony,

That’s how it ought to be.

Peace, good will to all the earth

Sang the choirs at Jesus’ birth,

But this world needs us today.

Pointing out the way.

So you be the lion filled with pride.

I’ll be the lamb and walk beside.

We’ll make the dream reality,

That’s how it ought to be.

We will follow God’s command,

Spread the word through all the land,

Scatter love on every hand,

Cause that’s how it ought to be! See!

Out of the mouths of babes. We live together happily, we get along in harmony. We’ll make the dream a reality. Scatter love on every hand, because that’s how it ought to be. See!? Thanks be to God.