Sermon for the First Sunday after Christmas Day, Year B, "After Christmas Morning," Luke 2:22-40

 Sermon 12/27/20

Luke 2:22-40

After Christmas Morning

Here’s a confession for you: As far as I can tell, I actually haven’t preached on this text, this story of Simeon and Anna meeting the baby Jesus, a text that appears in the lectionary once every three years, since before I was a pastor. I preached on it last in 2002, when I was a guest preacher at my childhood church, filling in for the pastor on the Sunday after Christmas. It’s not that I don’t like this passage of scripture. It’s just that it always appears on the first Sunday after Christmas day, and even though I might be in worship on the Sunday after Christmas with my congregation, I hardly ever preach. Instead, I usually do hymn stories about Christmas carols, or read several Christmas poems, or something else that requires a little less preparation on my part, a little gift to myself after making it through however many Christmas Eve services I’ve had during the week. Honestly, I also kind of consider it a gift to my congregation - a Sunday of worship without a sermon - because the Sunday after Christmas Day tends to be a little lighter in attendance - people are traveling and tired - and I figure those who do show up the Sunday after Christmas get the treat of indulging in extra carol-singing without taxing their minds on listening to a sermon. (No such luck for you today, friends!) 

But I also think that there’s a very real sense, as soon as December 25th draws to a close, that Christmas is “over,” and I think many people are just fine with that idea. People seem ready to move on as soon as all the presents are opened. They’re ready to clean up the decorations and straighten up the house and pack everything away and start to try to figure out just how many pounds they gained in eating Christmas cookies and looking forward to trying New Year’s resolutions one more time, and this year, especially, I think people are really really ready to leave calendar year 2020 in the past, and flip to 2021 and the hope of better things to come. And I get that - I can relate to some of those feelings. Can you? 

But aside from the fact that the liturgical season of Christmas only begins on December 25th, and ends on January 5th, the day before Epiphany, that December 25th-January 5th are the true twelve days of Christmas - aside from that, I’m more interested in the fact that it seems like we put so much energy in getting to our destination - destination Christmas - carefully planning and preparing, waiting and longing all throughout Advent - that we forget to think about what happens when we arrive. What happens when we’ve made it to Christmas Day, and we celebrate Jesus being born into our hearts and lives and world once again. We’re here! Now what? It make me think about my journey to ordination - my call to ministry story, and all the years it took from first thinking God was calling me to be a pastor to actually being ordained in The United Methodist Church. It took about 9 years, start to finish. And getting through all those steps to be ordained was my focus for so long. It was special journey in my life, meaningful and challenging, and I did it! But somewhere along the way, I forgot to think about what would happen when I arrived at my “destination” of ordination. I believe God’s call on our lives is always ongoing - it doesn’t end. But I had been treating my ordination like an ending in my mind, instead of the beginning of whatever God had been preparing me for. 

I wonder - have we been doing the same thing with Christmas and Jesus? We spent a lot of time getting ready for Jesus to arrive as the Christ Child once again - and now he’s here! Glory to God! But I wonder if we’re not so fixed on the excitement of having reached the “destination” of Christmas that we forget to pay attention to the Christ-child who is here, among us. I wonder if we’re not ready already to check “done” on our to do list next to “Christmas 2020,” without figuring out what it means now that Jesus isn’t just coming, but arrived.  And so I’m glad we have this opportunity today to explore the story of Simeon and Anna. After all, the text we read from today is still part of the birth story of Jesus, taking place just a short period after Jesus’ birth, taking place, actually, before the Magi are thought to have visited the by-then-toddler Jesus. 

This text, known as the Presentation of Jesus, is thought to take place 40 days after Jesus’ birth. In accordance with the law of Moses, Mary and Joseph take Jesus to Jerusalem to be presented and to offer a sacrifice to God in thanksgiving. Luke lets us know that Mary and Joseph are poor - something we can conclude by the sacrifice he says they bring - turtledoves or pigeons. In Jerusalem, they meet Simeon and Anna. Simeon, we’re told, had learned by the Holy Spirit that he would see the promised Messiah before he died. And the Spirit guides him to the temple when Jesus’ parents bring him for presentation, revealing Jesus to be the one he’s waited for. For Simeon, Jesus is the end of his waiting, but the beginning of God’s plan of salvation. In Jesus, Simeon says, we have a light not just for Israel, but for all people. Simeon tells Mary that Jesus will bring about the falling and rising of many in Israel. Jesus will reveal the inner thoughts of people’s hearts. And Jesus will bring Mary soul-piercing grief. I wonder how Mary and Joseph processed his words? I’m sure they thought back on them years later, as Jesus’ ministry, death, and resurrection unfolded. We read, too, of Anna - she’s called a prophet. She’s an elderly widow, and she stays at the temple, worshiping, fasting, and praying. When she sees Jesus, she praises God. She tells everyone about him, especially those who are longing for the redemption of God’s people - because that’s what she sees in Jesus: God’s redemption. Finally, Luke tells us, the Holy Family returns home to Nazareth. And Jesus, we read, grows strong, is filled with wisdom, and has God’s favor - God’s grace and love - resting upon him.

We hear how Simeon and Anna react when they finally meet the longed-for Jesus. For them, it is a destination reached, absolutely. But it is also a beginning, a turning point. God is here in the flesh - and that’s not the conclusion - that’s the launching point for God’s plan of redemption, for bringing people back into right relationship with God and one another, for enacting God’s vision of love and justice for the world. It’s the beginning for Jesus, who will grow in strength, wisdom, and love, preparing to pour out his whole life for us, that we might understand God’s commitment to being in relationship with each one of us. 

How about for us, friends? Now that we’ve finally seen Jesus, what do we have to say to him? What have you been longing to say to Jesus? What have you been waiting to tell him? And what will you do because he’s here? And how will you make sure that Jesus’ birth isn’t just a completed task that you’ve checked off your list, but the life-changing, world-changing event it really is? The Christ Child is here! What will we do because of God-with-us?  

As I reflect on Simeon and Anna meeting Jesus, I’ve been thinking about what I have to say to Jesus this Christmas: 

Jesus, I am so thankful you are here, because it feels like we need you now more than ever.  

Jesus, this year has been so challenging in so many ways. But in you, there is such hope for the future. Help me to live into the life of discipleship you’ll model for us. 

Welcome, Jesus, our true peace. Help me to be a messenger of peace.

Jesus, I think you arrive to set us right in our relationship with God and one another. Sometimes I’m more interested in being set right with God, but not so much with other people. Help me. And sometimes, I’m interested in being set right with God, but only if it is easy. Help me. 

Jesus, I think you change our world. And sometimes I want that. But sometimes I want everything to just stay the same too. Help me take risks, by your side. 

Jesus, even in the act of your birth, you were breaking down barriers, smashing expectations, and speaking truth to power. Help me be less afraid of speaking up and speaking out in your name. 

Friends, Christmas Day 2020 may already be behind us. But a child has been born to us, to the world. We’ve been expecting this Christ-child - and now this child, Jesus, the Christ, is looking expectantly back at us. What will we say? What will we do? For our eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation, and glory for your people. Thanks be to God. Amen. 

Sermon for Christmas Eve, "We Know by Heart," Luke 2:1-20

 Sermon 12/24/20

Luke 2:1-20

We Know by Heart

I didn’t decorate much for the Christmas season at my apartment in New Jersey. Of course, I knew I would spend the last part of Advent and all of Christmas in Syracuse with my family, so decorating a place I wouldn’t be in seemed a bit silly. But also, most of my Christmas decorations are in a storage unit here in East Syracuse, and my apartment in New Jersey is tiny, and I couldn’t give up valuable space in my apartment to decorations that would come out only for a few weeks a year. I do miss, though, my collection of nativities. I have several beautiful nativity sets that have been purchased by me or gifted to me over the years, and I love seeing all the different ways different artists and different cultures have envisioned the scene of Jesus’ birth, beautiful, creative, and moving. The sets are all different - some include 2 or 3 wisemen, or none at all. Each has a different variety and number of animals thought to be witnesses of Jesus’ birth. Some include just a crib of straw for Jesus, and others include a stable, the humble shelter where we typically envision Jesus’ birth taking place. Which nativity set do you think most represents the true picture of Jesus’ birth? 

During Advent, I saw an article posted several times on facebook, written by Ian Paul titled, “Jesus wasn’t born in a stable—and that makes all the difference.” His basic point is that the story of Jesus’s birth in Luke does say Jesus is laid in a manger, but it doesn’t say he was born in a stable. And the word that we read as “inn” - as in, “there was no room for them in the inn” can mean inn - but it can also mean “place to stay.” So, it was too crowded where Mary and Joseph were when Mary gave birth, but they weren’t necessarily in a stable behind an inn, but perhaps in the lower room of a family member’s home that also would hold the animals - hence the manger, the feeding trough, when Jesus was born.

 Well, of all my nativity sets, certainly none of them depict the holy family in the lower room of some family member’s home. So what do I do with this information about Jesus’ birth, assuming it is, or at least that it could be true? Does it matter if we’ve been picturing Jesus’ birth wrong? Do I need to scrap the nativity scenes I treasure, and look for a new one? Do the details make a difference? My mom has been doing an online Bible Study at her church this advent, University UMC in Syracuse, and she’s been asking some similar questions. The book that they were using for their study suggested that some of the “facts” we learn about the events surrounding Jesus’ birth aren’t quite right, or that we’ve misunderstood them. For example, the author suggests that there might not have been a census, or that people didn’t travel to their ancestral homes, or other nuances to the details we know from Luke’s account. At first, my mom found all this new information pretty troubling. She’d never heard anyone suggest that not everything unfolded just as written by Luke. 

But then, she started thinking. She thought of a math problem - those word problems you get on math worksheets when you’re in grade school. “If Bobby has 5 apples and Susie has 3 apples, how many apples do they have all together?” Finding out that there’s no real Bobby and Susie with apples, she said, doesn’t change the truth that five apples and 3 apples totals 8 apples, and that’s the point of the story to begin with. The truth doesn’t change, and that’s the only reason for the word problem to exist. The details of the problem help us figure out the answer, set the scene, draw us in. But the answer doesn’t change. 

What matters most about the story of Christmas, the story we know by heart? What’s the essence, the truth that Luke is telling us, unfolding in the midst of shepherds and angels, trips to Bethlehem and bright stars in the sky? I can’t help but flashing to Linus, trying to explain to Charlie Brown what Christmas is really all about in A Charlie Brown Christmas. Linus declares that he can tell Charlie Brown what Christmas is all about, and in his speech, he focuses on exactly what I’d say is the heart of the Christmas story too. Linus shares the words of the angel, God’s messenger, and the words sung by all the messengers in God’s angelic chorus. First: “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day ... a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” and then “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!” Jesus is born - and God’s messengers tell us why that’s important: Jesus is good news, great joy in the flesh, so no need for fear. Jesus’ arrival is meant for all people. This Jesus is a savior, the messiah, the anointed one, reigning in God’s name. And the rest of the angels offer us more, a blessing: Glory to God in heaven, and on earth, peace for all those God favors. And hopefully many of you remember from worship on Sunday - God’s favor doesn’t mean favorite. Favor means God’s grace. So the angels announce an offering of peace on earth for all those to whom God has shown grace - in other words, peace for all of us. Jesus is born, so fear not, but instead be full of joy. There’s good news: Jesus comes to save us all, and God, who shows us grace, wants us to experience peace on earth. That’s the truth of Christmas. God comes to be with us, as close as possible, in the flesh, in person, as one of us, to bring us grace, peace, and joy. Whether we know for sure if Jesus was born in a stable or a guest room, behind an inn or among family, we know why Jesus was born. And that’s the truth that matters to me.  

I want to share with you some words from Scott Erickson, author of a book called Honest Advent. His reflection, I think, touches on some of these themes we’ve been thinking about. He writes about the story of Jesus’ birth: 

It’s assumed that Mary rode on a donkey, but the Bible doesn’t say she did. ⁣

⁣It’s assumed there was an innkeeper, but it doesn’t mention one anywhere. ⁣

⁣It’s assumed there were three Magi, but it doesn’t give a number of those who showed up. ⁣

⁣It’s assumed there was a star overhead when Jesus was born, but it doesn’t say that either. ⁣

⁣It’s assumed that Jesus was born in a stable, but all it says is that He was laid in a manger - and that could’ve been any number of places. ⁣

⁣Christmas comes with many assumptions—some helpful, some not so much. ⁣

Spirituality also comes with many assumptions, and the ones that fail us are the ones we make about what it’s supposed to look like, who is worthy for it to happen to, and what kind of outcome it’s supposed to have for us. Assumptions like . . . ⁣

⁣

You should be more than you are now to be pleasing to God. ⁣

⁣Your weaknesses are in the way of God’s plan for your life. ⁣

⁣Your lack of religious excitement disqualifies you from divine participation.⁣

⁣You’re probably not doing it right.⁣

⁣Other spiritual people have something you don’t have.⁣

⁣

⁣Our assumptions hinder our spiritual journey in all kinds of ways, and the antidote to assumption is surprise. The surprise of Christ’s incarnation (Beth: God being with us in the flesh) is that it happened in Mary’s day as it is happening every day in your lack of resources, your overcrowded lodging, your unlit night sky, your humble surroundings. ⁣

⁣

It’s a surprise that life can come through barren places.⁣

⁣It’s a surprise that meek nobodies partake in divine plans. ⁣

⁣It’s a surprise that messengers are sent all along the hidden journey of life to let you know you are not alone.⁣

⁣It’s a surprise that you will be given everything you need to accomplish what you’ve been asked to do.⁣

⁣It’s a surprise that nothing can separate you from the love of God.⁣

⁣Nothing can separate you from love. Your assumptions believe there must be something that can . . . But surprise! ⁣Nothing can. ⁣

May you thank God with joyful surprise at how much you have assumed incorrectly. ⁣

***

I love this reflection, that invites us to imagine how looking again at the story we’re sure we know by heart can still shake us up, stir our hearts, change our world, even while I love that the truth of Jesus’ birth and what it means is unwavering: A savior is born. God is with us. Grace for all. I love all of my navities. But pretty nativity scenes aren’t what makes me want to devote my life to following in the ways of Jesus. That’s not what makes me prepare my heart for the weeks of Advent to receive the Christ child into my life anew. They’re not putting a call on my life to love as God has loved, showing grace in abundance and working for peace on earth. What does inspire me, what I hope is driving you too? The truth: “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day ... a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” Thanks be to God! Amen. 

1. Paul, Ian, “Jesus wasn’t born in a stable—and that makes all the difference,” PsePhizo, 20 November 2020, https://www.psephizo.com/biblical-studies/jesus-wasnt-born-in-a-stable-and-that-makes-all-the-difference/. 

Sermon for the Fourth Sunday of Advent, Year B, "Favor," Luke 1:26-38

 Sermon 12/20/20

Luke 1:26-38

Favor

It feels very strange to be dropping in to Advent here at the close of the season, when Christmas Eve is nearly upon us. Already, you’ve been worshipping together and been preparing for the coming of the Christ child, even if virtually, but I haven’t been part of that preparation, even though I’ve been worshipping (online) too with a faith community in New Jersey. Still, the blessings of being connected as siblings in the body of Christ means that in our various places, we have been thinking about the peace, hope, joy, and love of Advent, that we have been singing some of the same tunes, and certainly, we have been about the same work of preparing our hearts and lives for Jesus. 

Today, we’re turning our attention to a familiar text: a passage from the first chapter of Luke when the angel Gabriel tells a young woman named Mary that she will be the bearer of a child, God’s child, who will be the savior of the people. We probably mostly know this story, but it is always good to take another look. The text starts by saying that “in the sixth month” a messenger from God named Gabriel is sent to a town in Galilee, Nazareth, to a young woman named Mary, who is engaged to a man named Joseph. Joseph is a descendent of David, the favorite king in Israel’s history. The “sixth month” that the text mentions refers to the months of Mary’s cousin Elizabeth’s pregnancy with a child we will know as John the Baptist, mentioned just before our text for today.

When Gabriel arrives, he says to Mary, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” We read that Mary is perplexed by the messenger’s greeting. She ponders, we read, “what sort of greeting” this is that God’s messenger brings. I wonder exactly part of his hello she’s pondering. Is it that he says she’s favored? Or that God is with her? Or maybe both of those things are perplexing to her. At any rate, the messenger senses that part of her perplexed response is actually fear, and he tells her not to be afraid because, as he says for a second time now, Mary has “found favor with God.” And then he drops the astonishing news: Mary will have a child to be named Jesus. And this child will be called “the Son of the Most High,” and he will inherit from God the throne of David, the seat of authority of all Israel. This child will reign over Israel forever, an unending reign. If Gabriel meant to comfort and alleviate how perplexed Mary was, he can only have accomplished the opposite, because of what he says to her! What Mary hears from Gabriel is something that would be blasphemous to claim. To claim your child is God’s child, an anointed one, a messiah, who will reign over Israel forever? Blasphemy. A crime to claim. Punishable words. 

Mary seems to take it in stride. We don’t know anything about her aside from what this passage tells us. We don’t know why she’s able to handle this enormous, life and world-changing news from Gabriel. But Mary asks just one question in response to Gabriel’s announcement: How can this be? Gabriel says that the Holy Spirit will come upon her, the Most High will overshadow her, and her child will be of holy birth, of holy origin. Well, that clears things right up, doesn’t it? He tells her about Elizabeth, that she, too, is expecting a child, an elderly woman thought to be barren. And Gabriel sums up the nature of this news: “For nothing will be impossible with God.” Mary asks no other questions. Instead, she agrees to this whole plan: “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” And with that, Gabriel leaves her to her thoughts. 

Aside from hearing a beloved story, what’s the message for us in this text? I think sometimes that Advent and Christmas are so rightfully special to us - we love the sacred season, and we love telling the story of Jesus’ birth. But I wonder if the story has become so special that we lose sight of our place in the story. As I was thinking about this, my attention was drawn back to the opening lines of our text. Greetings, favored one. God is with you. You have found favor with God. I think we hear those phrases: “Greetings, favored one,” and “You have found favor with God,” and we think of it as, “Greetings, favorite one,” and “You are a favorite of God.” And this makes sense to us, because, of course God would choose a favorite human to be the mother of Jesus, right? Maybe not the favorite, but certainly one of the best of the best? Mary is favored - a favorite - and therefore she’s a good choice to carry the Christ child. 

But - the Greek word in the text that we read as favored doesn’t mean favorite at all. What it means is “one who has been shown grace.” And that changes everything. Because if we’re trying of figure out where we stack up as a favorite of God’s, it is easy to convince ourselves we’re not at the top of the list. But if the question is: to whom has God shown grace? Well, it turns out we have everything in common with Mary. Grace is love that isn’t deserved. Not that we don’t deserve love. It’s just that grace is love that we don’t have to earn - we get it for free. There’s nothing we have to do or can do to be worthy of it. It’s a gift. God’s free gift of love and blessing without price. God’s practice of unlimited second chances. Forgiveness whenever we ask for it. Loving us even when we screw up. And God’s grace extended to all, even when we can’t believe God could love us, and even when we can’t believe God could love the people who drive us crazy, who we can’t stand, who we consider not just unlikable, but enemies. They get God’s grace too. Grace is God’s gift. And to receive God’s favor is just another way to say to receive God’s grace. So, favored ones? That’s Mary. But it’s also you and me. Because I’m quite sure - 100% positive - that you and me - we’re recipients of God’s love, poured out freely over us, in unending abundance. How has God shown grace to you? I want you to think about that, how you would answer that question. Write it down if it helps you think through your answer. Talk to a friend about it, or someone in your family. How has God shown grace to you? I know that God has loved me even when I’ve felt very unlovable. I’ve received God’s forgiveness even when I’ve disobeyed God in the same way I have before and sought the same forgiveness I’ve asked before and committed to do better with the same words I have before. How has God shown grace to you? 

So, if - since - God has shown grace to you, just as God has shown grace to Mary and to all of God’s people, since God favors you and me like God favors Mary and all God’s people - then there’s no difference between you and Mary in terms of who God might pick to do God’s work. In fact, I think God is choosing you to do God’s work. Where the difference might enter in is in how we respond to whatever God chooses us for. Mary listened to Gabriel’s words. She was confused at first, but listened for clarification. She heard God’s vision for the world, and the role she was called to play in it. She asked the question she needed to, but she accepted God’s answer, as improbable as it seemed. And then she said yes to God’s vision. 

What will we say? I think we want to say yes to God, but part of saying yes means believing in the impossible. “For nothing will be impossible with God” Gabriel says. Do we believe that? Really? We do learn to believe the impossibly bad. The impossibly bad seems somehow easy to believe, despite the craziness of it. After all, this year with Covid, which has altered our reality in nearly every aspect - it has a sense of unreality to it, doesn’t it? And yet, at this rate, I think we’d believe nearly any bad news that unfolded for 2020. We make jokes about it, about all the strange things of 2020. So, if we can believe the impossibly bad, can we believe the impossibly good? Do we trust God? Nothing will be impossible with God. And if everything is possible, and if God favors us, shows grace to us, then we can say yes to God with confidence. Mary tells Gabriel, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” She’s saying, “Let it be like you say. Let it happen just as you have said.” Can we say the same? Do you want God’s vision of hope, peace, joy, and love, of justice and righteousness for the world to become a reality? Then let’s answer God: “Yes. Here we are, your servants. Let it happen just like you are saying it will.”  

God has favored you. You are favored by God, because God has shown you grace upon grace. In terms of what qualifies people for service to God - you and Mary, Mother of Jesus the Christ? You’re on equal footing - favored by God. God is with us, just as God was with her. On this fourth Sunday of Advent, the Sunday of Love, let us be confident that we are loved by God without measure. And since we are so loved, we are also chosen, called, and equipped to be God’s servants in the world, called to be messengers of God’s love, each in our own way. Even me, and even you. Because nothing is impossible with God. Here we are! Let it be just like God says. Amen. 

Grandpa's Garden

This post is adapted from a journal entry for a class I'm taking this fall at Drew Theological School, Christianity and Ecology with Dr. Laurel Kearns, as I start my PhD program.

The Drew Theo Community Garden

I promise all of my journal reflections and other writing for this class won't be about my Grandpa, but he's been on my mind a lot lately. It was just the anniversary of his death, which happened when I was an undergraduate student. I had spent most of the summer visiting him everyday because I managed to get a job just down the street from where my grandparents lived.

My Grandpa was very ill for the last couple of years of his life, so the summer before he died I was gardening in his yard on my own, without his guidance. I felt very inadequate to do it without him there, guiding me. My vegetables did not turn out well that season, but the flowers I planted just bloomed and bloomed and bloomed. Everyday I was able to cut a bouquet of flowers for him and bring it in and set on his bed stand. I felt like the garden was blooming for him.

Summer came to a close, and I had found myself wishing all summer that he would die before I had to go back to school. It sounds like a strange thing to wish for, but by that time it was very evident that he was near the end of his life, and I really wanted to be there along with the rest of my family when he died. But, he's a stubborn thing, and he did not comply with my wishes! Instead, he died in the short interval between when I returned to school to get settled in for the semester and the beginning of classes. This was right at the start of my second year in college. At the time, my family was very strapped financially. I was going to school in Ohio, and it was extremely cost prohibitive for me to come home for the funeral. They would have made it happen if I had pushed it, but I knew how much it would set my whole family back to fly me home and get me back to school again. We decided I would not attend.

Grandpa's Garden, October 1998. 

So, my mourning was a strange "suspended" thing. I came home for the first time in October, and I remember walking through the house where my grandfather had lived for my whole life, for decades, and finding it so strange that he was not there. I took some time to go out to the garden by myself, and I found such a surprise blessing: Flowers were still blooming. Everything was overgrown and looked so unkempt and so ignored, but there were so many flowers. I cut a whole mess of them. I took a "selfie", back in the days when I had to do that with an actual camera. It's not a great picture, but I have kept it all these years because it reminds me of that trip to the garden.

 

October, 1998. 

As I sit here at the Drew Theo Community Garden while I watch it being watered, and I see how it's a bit overgrown and unkempt (since students have been mostly absent because of Covid-19), I can't help but think of that season in my life, and Grandpa's garden, and flowers that bloom sometimes in spite of us and sometimes because of us and sometimes just because that's what flowers do. Bloom. Life and the weeds and tangles and messes. Life in the midst of death.

Sermon for the Tenth Sunday after Pentecost, Year A, "Take Heart," Matthew 14:22-33

Sermon 8/9/20

Matthew 14:22-33

Take Heart

In our gospel lesson for today, Jesus has been having a really long day. We seem to jump into the text mid-story. “Immediately Jesus made the disciples get into the boat,” we read. For this to make sense, we need to know immediately after what this takes place. So we need to flip back to the beginning of Matthew 14. At the start of the chapter, we hear about John the Baptist, cousin to Jesus, and perhaps more importantly forerunner and messenger to Jesus, being beheaded by King Herod after a time of imprisonment. John’s disciples make sure Jesus knows what has happened. And when he hears the news, he withdraws by himself in a boat to pray. He needs some time to grieve and reflect. He doesn’t get it, though, because when he gets off the boat at the other side of the lake, he finds that the crowds have already beat him there, and are waiting for him. Jesus doesn’t turn them away though. Instead, he looks on them with deep compassion, heals their sick, and eventually feeds them too, 5000 plus people in a miraculous feast. The disciples had wanted Jesus to send the people away, but Jesus wants to nourish them, body and soul. Finally, after all this, after this long day, finally, Jesus can have some time alone. Instead of sending away the crowds, it is actually the disciples whom Jesus sends away first after the impromptu meal. He has them get back into the boat and head again across to the opposite side. Then Jesus sends the crowds home, and then, he goes up the mountain to pray by himself. 

When evening falls, though, the disciples find themselves stuck in the middle of a storm. Their boat is still far from shore, and they’re being tossed around by the waves and wind. They spend an anxious night on the boat, but early in the morning, they see a figure walking toward them on the water. At first, they’re terrified. In fact, the text doesn’t tell us that they’re afraid in the storm - they’re afraid when they see someone walking on the water. Is it because they don’t know who it is? Evidently, at first they think Jesus is a ghost. Are the waves and wind obscuring his identity? Or is it just the sheer impossibility of what is happening - a person walking on water - that they can’t identify him? 

Jesus immediately comforts them, though: “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” It’s me. You know me. I’m not here to frighten you. I’m someone you can trust. Peter, always quick to act, always bold, always the first to take a risk even if he blunders while doing it, says, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” I don’t know if Peter says this to test Jesus - is it really him? - or to test himself - if Jesus can do it, I can too! But Jesus responds simply, “Come.” And Peter does! He gets out of the boat, and starts walking on the water toward Jesus. 

But suddenly, the absurdity and impossibility of what he’s doing seems to strike Peter, and he starts to sink. “Lord, save me!” he cries. Immediately - notice the repeated theme of the immediacy of Jesus’ response - immediately Jesus reaches out his hand and catches Peter. He chides Peter, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” They walk on water back to the boat, and the wind ceases. Witnessing all this, the rest of the disciples worship Jesus, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.” Just after our text closes, Jesus is back to it: they arrive on the opposite shore, the crowds greet Jesus, and he heals their sick. 

I have some questions when I read this text. I’ve often thought of it as an encouragement for us to “step out of the boat,” to be risk-takers in our faith, or as a reminder not to look down, but to keep our eyes on Jesus, as it is only when Peter pays attention to the wind and storm that he starts to sink. (1) But what Peter does is really pretty amazing. He sees Jesus walking on water - miraculous - and decides that he can do what Jesus does. He’s not just full of himself for thinking this - Jesus frequently encourages the disciples - and us to - to understand that we can do what he does. He wants us to do what he does. In fact, part of his reason for being, for coming, for teaching is so that we will imitate him, serve like he serves, care like he cares, love like he loves. Even if Jesus is always the Savior, he’s into power-sharing. He doesn’t lose any authority by empowering us to do what he does. It only shows how strong God is, the way God doesn’t need to control and intimidate and impress. Peter shows that he believes that he can do what Jesus does, just as Jesus taught him to do. 

What stands out to me, though, is that Jesus calls Peter, “You of little faith.” Jesus’ tone suggests Peter could have, should have been most trusting, knowing that he could walk on water to Jesus, no problem. And I can’t help but feel like Jesus is being hard on Peter a bit. I mean really: I’m pretty sure I’d be one of the other 11 disciples still in the boat wondering if Jesus was a ghost or not. At least Peter gets out of the boat, right? Shouldn’t Jesus just be telling him, “Awesome job, Peter! I’m so proud of you!”? What do you think - is Jesus too hard on Peter?    

***

Last summer, after some hemming and hawing about their decision, my brother and sister-in-law decided to get a swimming pool. It didn’t get installed until late in the season, and they didn’t get the yard around it landscaped like they wanted, so it was hard for anyone to get in and out of the pool, and then it was September and cooling off and they decided they would just wait until the next summer to actually open it up. They almost started to regret their decision to get a pool - until this summer rolled around, and they and my nephew and niece, 13 year old Sam (yes, he’s 13 now!) and almost-6 year old Siggy are home all the time because of the pandemic, and there have been no vacations, and no hanging out with friends, and other people trying to get pools are on long waiting lists - and suddenly, their decision to get a pool seems like a brilliant idea! And having been spending a lot of time in the pool myself, I have to agree! I think Sam and Siggy (and their parents too, really) have been in the pool everyday that it is remotely nice enough to swim. Sam has had years of swimming lessons at the Y, and he’s like a fish in water, and loves to swim underwater and do somersaults and dive for diving sticks. I remember that as a toddler, he was pretty afraid of even having pool water touch him, so I love seeing how adept he is, how much he’s matured.  

Siggy, though, is still learning how to swim. She does just fine with a floaty ring around her waist, but she’s only just learning how to doggy paddle on her own. She’s pretty anxious still about getting her face wet, getting water in her nose, accidentally going under water. She can make it about 1/2 way across the pool with a doggy paddle though. I love watching her learn. Between her parents and her grandma (before her shoulder surgery) and her big brother and her uncle and her Aunt Beth, she’s got lots of folks around who are willing to help her. I’ve noticed, though, that she’s sort of figured out our different teaching personalities, and lets us help her according to whatever learning mood she’s in. On one end, my mom, Grandma to Siggy, is the most likely to make it easy for Siggy, hold her close, and give her extra support. On the other end, my brother Jim, Siggy’s dad, is the most likely to push her, making her swim a little farther than she intended, and challenge her to push outside her comfort zone. Sometimes what Siggy seems to need is the unwavering assurance that no one will let go of her, that we’ll hang on to her every second, that she’s never in one second of danger in the pool, that she can relax and we’ll keep her safe. But if she just had that, I’m not sure she’d ever learn to be a strong swimmer. She also needs to know that she can do more, that she can learn, that it can be hard but if she practices and practices, she’ll be able to swim on her own, and be a strong swimmer at that. We’d never let Siggy truly struggle in the water if she needed help, ever. But we’ll teach her how to swim, and sometimes that means making her do what she doubts she can do. Really swimming will be so much more rewarding for her than hanging out in her ring float forever!

I had that image of Siggy learning to swim in mind as I thought of Peter walking on water. Take heart - Jesus is not going to let you drown. Again and again and again Jesus says, “Don’t be afraid.” He’s with us. That’s kind of his thing - God with us is Jesus. Take heart. But we’ve had ample opportunity to know that, to trust that. The other disciples in the boat? They’d just come from seeing Jesus make a small amount of loaves and fish into a meal for thousands, and they’re surprised he can walk on water? Already, he’s sent them out to heal and preach on their own, given them authority and power to do that. Already, in fact, they’ve been there when Jesus calmed a raging storm. They know they can trust Jesus, and they know that with Jesus, who does amazing things, they can do amazing things too, in God’s name, in God’s serve. We know it too. And still Jesus will remind us: Take heart, don’t be afraid! 

And so even though Jesus will remind us, he’ll also challenge us, just like Siggy needs encouragement to swim farther than she thinks she can. Jesus is going to entrust everything to the disciples and to us. The folks responsible for welcoming the reign of God on earth are us. We’re the messengers entrusted with the good news of grace. We’re the ones commissioned to be the hands and feet of Jesus in the world. And so when we start sinking, despite all that we know about who Jesus is, about how God loves us, about what Jesus empowers us to do, then, yes, I think Jesus will scold us too with a “you know better” like he offered to Peter. He’ll challenge us to go deeper in our discipleship than we thought possible. He’ll challenge us to be more fully committed and more fully committed until we’ve given our whole selves to God. Jesus wants us to do what he does: Love with compassion. Serve all. Put ourselves last and others first. Champion the oppressed. And do what seems impossible, until God’s ways are our ways on earth and in eternity. Even as we’ve stepped out of the boat and walked on water toward Jesus, he’ll be giving us yet another challenge. Take heart - don’t be afraid. Jesus won’t let you sink. And in fact, he thinks you can walk on water. 

Disciples, students, do what their teacher does. Jesus is a challenging teacher. And he’s a teacher we can trust with our lives. Take heart, and do what he does. Amen. 

Kindle Book Giveaway: Singing at the Table

From 3am EST Friday, August 7th, 2020 until 2:59am EST on Thursday, August 20th, 2020, I'm running a book giveaway on Goodreads. You can find my author page on Goodreads here, and click below to enter to win one of 20 free copies of the Kindle version of Singing at the Table, my book of sung communion liturgies. 

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Singing at the Table

by Beth Quick

Giveaway ends August 19, 2020.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

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Sermon for the Ninth Sunday after Pentecost, Year A, "Something to Eat," Matthew 14:13-21

Sermon 8/2/20

Matthew 14:13-21

Something to Eat

Can I make a confession? Sometimes, lulled by the familiarity of a scripture text, I forget to be wowed by what I’m reading. It’s a shame, for many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that we have so very little recorded from Jesus’ life and works that it is a serious flaw to be less-than-dazzled by anything we get to read! But it’s also a shame because it means that I’ve probably stopped engaging with the scripture text in a way that helps me learn, dig deeper in faith, and be transformed in my discipleship because of my encounter with Christ in the scriptures. I’ll admit that the account of the Feeding of the 5000 is one of those texts that I sometimes overlook because “I know it already.” 

But it’s worth a closer look because this event is one of the very few stories that appear in all four gospel accounts. There are very few events, particularly outside of the death and resurrection of Jesus, that appear in all four gospels. As similar as Matthew, Mark, and Luke are to each other, still they each have many of their own stories, and each of them exclude some of the stories for one reason or another. And the gospel of John is usually going off in its own direction altogether. So when an event occurs in all four gospels, we should stop and take notice and ask questions. Clearly, the event must have some particularly strong meaning and message to be so included. One such event is what we call “The Feeding of the 5000.” Of the miracles of Jesus, it is the only one recorded in all four gospels, and in fact, two gospels, Matthew and Mark, include two feeding miracles. There is, of course, some variation in detail, in specifics, but all four gospels carry the same essence. Today, we’re looking in particular at Matthew’s account. And I wonder, given my confession about sometimes feeling un-wowed by such a miraculous event - what’s so special about this that it is important to every gospel writer to include it at least once. Let’s take a closer look.  

When the text opens, Jesus has just received some bad news. Jesus receives word that John the Baptist, his cousin, has been put to death after a time of imprisonment by Herod. Jesus is reeling. He’s in pain, he’s grieving. And maybe he’s even feeling the weight of knowing exactly what happens to people like John and like Jesus who rock the boat and speak truth to power. And in that frame of mind, Matthew tells us that Jesus takes a boat by himself to try to just get away. He needs some time alone. But it isn’t to be. The crowds hear that Jesus has taken off by boat, and they decide to find him, going by foot around the lake, so that by the time Jesus comes ashore from the boat, a crowd is all ready to greet him. I’m not sure how you’d feel in Jesus’ place, but I can imagine how I would feel, being overwhelmed and just wanting some time to myself, only to find a crowd waiting. I’d want to turn around and get back on that boat. I might feel a little cranky, or resentful. I might burst into tears at the thought of having to deal with a whole crowd. 

But Jesus, Matthew tells us, looks at the crowd and is filled with compassion for them, and begins curing the sick they have brought to see him. The word here used for Jesus’ compassion is my favorite Greek word. It’s a mouthful of a word: splagchnizomai. It means literally that we’re so moved with concern that our insides are kind of churning with the deepness of our care. It’s like when we say “our stomach is twisted in knots” over something. That’s how Jesus looks at the crowds. And in fact, this word is applied almost exclusively to Jesus in the Bible. Jesus himself uses the word in Luke’s gospel to describe how the father of the prodigal son feels and sees when he first glimpses his wayward child returning home to him. It is in this way, with gut-churning compassion, that Jesus most often looks at the crowds in the Bible, and the way he looks when he comes ashore and sees them waiting for him. 

As the day draws to a close, the disciples come to Jesus and tell him, “Look, this is a deserted place, and it’s late. Send everyone away so that they can go get themselves some food.” I don’t know what you hear in their words, but I hear some disciples who felt like I thought I might upon seeing the unexpected crowd. They’re done. Jesus has done what he can, and now, they think, he should just send them away, so that they can get on with their own plans. He’s done what he can. Let them take care of themselves now. 

Jesus isn’t having that. “They don’t need to go away,” he says bluntly. “You give them something to eat.” The disciples are flummoxed. “We only have five loaves and two fish!” they insist. Again, I hear their unspoken sentiments: We have five loaves and two fish – and they’re for us. We have five loaves and two fish – what could they possibly do for a crowd of thousands? We have five loaves and two fish, and we just want to enjoy our dinner. Send everyone away. You’ve done enough. Let them take care of themselves. But Jesus just says to them, “Five loaves and two fish? Give it all to me.” He takes everything they have, gets everyone to sit down. He takes the food, blesses it, breaks the bread, and gets the disciples to start handing things out. “And all ate and were filled,” we read, and the disciples gather up the leftovers, “twelve baskets full.” 

So, what’s so important about this text? Is it just something cool Jesus can do - make a few loaves and fish feed thousands? Or is there more to it? One special thing about the Feeding of the 5000 is that if you read through the text again, you’ll see that it follows the same pattern that Jesus uses in the Last Supper, the communion meal: Take, Bless, Break, Give. In instituting communion at the Last Supper, Jesus takes the bread and cup, blesses them, breaks the bread, and gives these gifts  to the disciples. And here in this miracle story, he does the same: He takes the bread and fish, blesses the food, breaks the bread, and gives it to all the gathered hungry. When he shares in the Last Supper, Jesus asks us to remember him whenever we share in the bread and the cup. And I think we can extend his directive: whenever we share in a meal, whenever we gather together, whether for communion or something more informal like takes place at the miraculous feeding of this large crowd, we remember, we are thankful, and we are mindful of the pattern: take, bless, break, give. 

Jesus takes what we have, and he blesses it. God works with what seems like very little to make something that reaches a crowd of thousands. The disciples didn’t think that they had much to offer, and what they did have, they didn’t seem too keen on sharing. Their strategy was: everyone should just take care of themselves. But in God’s economy, in God’s reign on earth and in eternity, in the Body of Christ, we’re meant to take care of each other. And God can take even what you consider to be hardly worth offering and make it into abundance. How often have you looked at your gifts, your talents, your assets, your life and thought that you couldn’t make a difference in the world? How often have you thought that hunger was too big a problem for you to confront, that poverty was too overwhelming to change, that the “isms” of the world were too hard to tackle? Jesus wants to feed the crowds, and he says to us, “You give them something to eat.” He believes that we have the capacity, the resources, the ability, when we offer what we have to God for blessing. What are you holding back from God, afraid that you won’t have for yourself if you share, or afraid that it simply isn’t “enough” to be of much good? Whatever we have, let Jesus take it and bless it. He takes our ordinary stuff, and blessing it, makes it holy, fit for God’s purposes. And so a little bit of food becomes a feast for thousands. A miracle. Take, bless. 

Jesus takes our brokenness too. Take, bless, break. Think again of the compassion of Jesus that leads him to offer healing and then offer a meal to this crowd. Jesus lets his grieving, weary heart be transformed into a heart of compassion. To be able to turn our pain into care for others is a gift. Two of my favorite books are the Eight Cousins/Rose in Bloom set by Louisa May Alcott. They never gained the popularity of her Little Women series, but they are worth a read if you’re a fan of her writing. In the books Rose is a young woman trying to find her place in the world, trying to live as a thoughtful, ethical young woman, although she has a large fortune at her disposal, and although she is often tempted to spend her days attending parties and spend her money on the latest fashions. At one point in the story, she is feeling distraught and upset. The adults in her life have made some decisions that leave her feeling heartbroken. And in the midst of her anger and sadness, Rose remembers that her great aunt has always told her that when you’re feeling like this, the best way to move beyond your pain is to start serving others. So Rose decides to turn her pain into helping others. Through serving others, Rose is able to gain some perspective, and transform her own feelings into making a positive impact on her community. The pain and sorrow we experience in life is real, and hard. And we can’t always just “snap out of it.” Healing is important. But I believe serving others, loving others, showing compassion to others can be part of that healing. We heal better when we love others than when we are thinking only of our own needs. Offer your brokenness to God along with the rest of your heart, and God will use it to do miraculous things. Take, bless, break. 

And give. At first, Jesus tells the disciples, bluntly, that they should feed the crowds. They don’t think it’s possible. And so Jesus acts in another way. But I wonder: What if they had believed that they could feed the crowds? What if they had found a way? What if they had believed God would work in and through them to make the impossible possible? We can’t know what would have happened then. But we can imagine. And we can commit to believing that when God calls to give, God, for whom nothing is impossible, will enable us to answer the call. Jesus gives himself, gives his heart, gives sustenance both tangible and intangible, and he invites us, empowers us, challenges us to do likewise. Take, bless, break, give. 

It’s a simple pattern that makes space for miraculous happenings. Jesus, take our hearts, our lives, and all that we have. They’re yours. We are yours. Take our ordinary stuff, and make it holy, bless it for your use, for service in your name. Compassionate Jesus, we even hand over our broken hearts, that in our brokenness we might learn to look with the same tied-in-knots vision you have. You give us everything, pouring out your life for us. Help us see what’s possible when we pour out our lives for others. Take, bless, break, give. An ordinary miracle. Amen.