Unwrapping the Layers

Epiphany 2020 Matthew 2:1-12

            Our grandson, Alex, will turn 10 this month. At our family Christmas gathering just a little over a week ago, a gift he received was wrapped in a very special way. Tearing through the paper that wrapped his gift, he found – another layer of wrapping paper. He tore through that layer of paper and revealed another. He tore through that one, and you can guess – there was yet another layer of wrap, and on and on it went through a dozen layers covering his new book.

            Alex is old enough to have had great fun with this, and to have been a great sport about it, never getting frustrated, only more excited as he made his way through each layer, until he reached the real gift.

            The Gospel of Jesus Christ is a lot like that gift, with layer after layer of meaningful history and detail wrapped around the God’s greatest gift to us.

Today is the Twelfth Day of Christmas, the eve of the day we – and much of the Christian world celebrates as the Epiphany. Today we read of the coming of the magi, and God’s work in and through them. The Gospels reveal to us the various ways in which God is revealed or ways in which God reveals something essential through the real gift of Christmas, Jesus.  

            The magi represent yet one more layer of wrapping removed as we seek the meaning of the ongoing gift of Jesus to the world.

Contrary to popular and traditional images of them, the strange visitors from a foreign land were neither kings – magi were more like magicians or astrologers or even men who belonged to a priestly caste from the Eastern religion, Zoroastrianism – nor do we know for sure how many of them there were – the Church probably settled on the number three because three gifts are listed in the gospel, though many Orthodox denominations have twelve magi who came.

Thanks to the King James translation of the bible, the magi are often referred to as “wise men”.  What makes them “wise” however, isn’t their background or origins, but their obedience to the divine message given to them in a dream, not to return to Herod but to go home avoiding him – and to seek the child worthy of their homage. The Bible doesn’t name them – though again, tradition has filled in that detail and given them the names Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar.

            What we do know is that they were likely wealthy, were certainly Gentiles, they came a great distance from the eastern part of the continent, and they came because of astral events or signs they observed in the heavens. Finally, we know that they were compelled to follow those signs until they arrived in Bethlehem of Judea. There, asking around, they finally discover the Holy Family, and worship the Holy Child.

            Jesus is that child, born into a dark, dangerous, and inhospitable world. Herod the Great was a vassal king of Rome. He did not come to power through a royal line of succession and could therefore be considered an unqualified or illegitimate king by those he was sent to rule over. He was therefore particularly sensitive and insecure in his ability to hold on to his power and became fearful when he heard a child born in Bethlehem was being identified as “king of the Jews”.

Of course, we know that it was not his intent to worship, but to murder Jesus. And we know that being unable to find him, he ordered the murder of the innocents – all those baby boys two years and under found to have been born in the region identified by the magi. In his insecurity, through his fear, Herod represents the evil and darkness that work to deny Jesus his rightful place and purpose.

            But God will not be thwarted. God makes himself known through his divine Son, Jesus Christ. The magi know it. And we who believe in Jesus know it. And through this story we become aware that God’s love and salvation are sent not just to a select group of people, the Jews, but to the whole world.

God is there through the darkness and in the light.

            And, God has made his love and mercy plain to us in the Holy Child, Jesus Christ, our Savior.

We still live in a dark, dangerous, and inhospitable world. We still live in a world where those in power are insecure and fearful of losing their power. We live in a world that still seeks to extinguish the true grace and hope of God, who broke the power of death and illumines the way to life and immortality through the Good News of Jesus Christ. But the Epiphany makes plain to us the power of God to thwart evil and grant us his goodness and mercy.  

            For God saves us and calls us to live a holy life; to discern the false claims of divinity and favor on any human being. Through layers of grace God will defeat those who seek to do evil to the innocent of the world and on those who believe in him. By shining the light of His glory, which leads the way to Jesus, God reveals his plan to save us, a plan centered in godly grace and love.

            When we look upon Jesus, and when we come to know his words and deeds, God’s character is shown to us. Through the layers of his teaching, his example, and his cross, God’s character and plan for us are revealed. When we meditate upon his sacrificial death, and when his resurrection is revealed to us, Jesus uncovers God’s compassion and mercy to us.

            In our relationship with Jesus, our Lord and our King, God is revealed through our own merciful deeds; in Christ-like love that shapes our words, our actions, our thoughts and our prayers, His love is known. Our devotion to Jesus is shown as we die to sin and serve as his compassionate hands and heart to the poor, the despised, the weak and the rejected people of the world.

            God delivers hope to the hopeless in the light of eternal life given to those facing death, and to those persecuted, wounded, and murdered because of their religion, race, or identity, and those who stand for God’s forgiveness and mercy.

            The Good News of Epiphany is that as God once revealed himself through the small child of Bethlehem and through the gifts offered him by the magi, God continues to reveal himself through the ongoing gifts he gives through Jesus. As we linger in the light of the star, let us renew our commitment to sharing this good news with the world.

Amen.

             

             

           

           

           

Come and See What I See

Psalm 139 (with 1 Samuel and John1:43-51)

So, here we are, in the midst of Epiphany, this season of the church year that spans the time between Christmas and Lent, a time of revelation and discovery; Who is Jesus, really? And what do we make of his divinity? How is it that he calls us to be his disciples?  How is it he calls me?

And yet, we are called. Each and every one of us here are called to be witnesses of the many ways that God is revealed through Christ, and that Christ is revealed as the Son of God. Each one of us is called to take part in that revelation. Each of us is called to invite others to come and see.

Part of the discovery part of epiphany remains not only to see who Jesus is, but also how God, through Jesus invites, engages and blesses us in the work of the epiphany. Us. You and me. We who often feel ill-suited, ill-equipped, and unequal to the task of discipleship. And yet, by the grace of God, a God who knows us better than we know ourselves, not only is Jesus revealed, but we are indeed called. Come, follow me.

Themes of God’s knowing and calling are reflected today in both the Old Testament reading about the calling of Samuel, and in the gospel text which forms the call story of both Phillip and Nathaniel. God’s intimate knowledge of each individual shapes God’s call to each as well.

In the Old Testament lesson we meet the young boy, Samuel, as he is called by God, a God he doesn’t even know yet, a God as yet unrevealed to him. God persistently calls to him, until with the help of Eli, Samuel finally comes to understand what is happening and is prepared to respond.

In our gospel lesson, an inquisitive Philip is also called by Jesus, called to follow him. And then, Philip invites his friend Nathanael to come and see who this Jesus is. Jesus engages conversation with Nathanael that reveals that Jesus knows too much about Nathanael for Jesus to be anything but divine. So Nathanael, too, hops on board as a disciple of Jesus, inviting others to “come and see.” So, you probably see where this is going, right?

You and I each have our own call story too, and we are invited to take part in revealing who Christ is to others. We, too are supposed to invite those we meet to “come and see.” And yet we know, don’t we, that we are not prepared, not equipped, and on most days, feel unequal to the task of doing what those disciples did.  We live in a different time and place than they did. We can’t do it. No!

And yet…..when it comes to calling the seemingly ill-equipped, incapable, and unsuitable and making disciples of them, God has something like xray vision. Because….

God’s “seeing” far surpasses anything we know through what we experience as the sense of sight. God’s “sight” in fact, renders God not only all-seeing, but all-knowing, all powerful and everywhere present, and God “sees” us in ways that have to do with much more than mere sight, in ways that are so vast and all-encompassing, in ways that we can never fully explain or understand. All we can do is respond, and then like Philip, invite others to Come and See for themselves.

God’s intimate knowledge of us, is truly, beyond our understanding. It goes to the core and essence of who we are, not only as human beings set within the framework of families and human systems, but also as eternally known and created, and eternally beloved of God.

The powerful words and images of the psalm we read this morning describe God’s inscrutable way of knowing each of us, and that knowledge is celebrated by the psalmist. The psalmist begins with this confession:

“You have searched me, LORD, and you know me.

       You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.

                   You discern my going out and my lying down;

                             you are familiar with all my ways.”

God is indeed all-knowing; God knows all about me. And you. And Samuel and Phillip and Nathanael. All of us. None of the details of our lives, or our character, of who we are or how we are formed is unknown to God.

In fact, the psalmist goes on,

“Before a word is on my tongue you, LORD, know it completely.

          You hem me in behind and before, and you lay your hand upon me.

                   Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.”

Picture the work of a potter, whose hands enfold and surround a shapeless lump of clay, hands cupped behind and before. Not only does the potter enfold the shifting footprint of the vessel, but slowly, in ways both subtle and profound, the potter exerts creative energy into the substance.

The potter shapes it, fashions it, as an embryo is fashioned and shaped in the womb. As God has shaped and formed each of us in God’s own creation and so, deeply, profoundly, knows us.

I remember holding each of my children for the first time. I well remember my wonder at beholding each tiny finger, each little toe. I remember breathing in the scent of their being, and my amazement at the fully formed little human being who had so recently taken up residence inside of me.

A little human being who, until his birth, lacked identity. Except to God. For, long before the child took her first breath, God knew her completely. Knew each hair and every wrinkle.

The words of this psalm remind us of God’s intimate knowledge and deep relationship with each of God’s children from the beginning….and even before then….in a relationship that will continue, forever.

And yet, the truth of the matter is the kind of knowledge that is described in this psalm elicits complex feelings within us – “is too wonderful for me.” The following verses, which we did not read this morning tell why.

Listen to these words:

“Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?

          If I go up to the heavens, you are there;

                   if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.

                             If I rise on the wings of the dawn,

                                      if I settle on the far side of the sea,

                                                even there your hand will guide me,

                                                          your right hand will hold me fast.

If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will hide me

          and the light become night around me,’

                   even the darkness will not be dark to you;

                             the night will shine like the day,

                                      for darkness is as light to you.”

Frankly, there are times when we, - I - want desperately, to hide. I want to hide from my own thoughts and actions which can be, let us say, less than flattering. I want to hide from my weaknesses and my ignorance. I want to hide from my failures; from my sin; from my infirmities and griefs.

According to the American Psychiatric Association, I am not alone. Our desire and need to hide from what ails us is evidenced by our often fatal attraction to and relationship with mind-altering, pain-numbing, grief-escaping, self-medicating drug and alcohol use and abuse and other destructive behaviors.

Seminary professor Shauna Hannan writes,

“Some people struggle with a fear of really being known even as they desire to be known. Some go to great lengths not to be known by hiding their true identities even (especially?) from God. It cannot be assumed that verse 7 is received as good news for all.

“Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence?”

“Being so close to God is as burdensome as it is beautiful,” Hannan writes.

The Psalmist admits, one cannot flee from the one for whom darkness does not overwhelm. Why would he flee from something beautiful? For some the thought that God lurks and works even in dark places,” like the “depths, or, as some translations render the word, “Sheol,” and in the womb! might be burdensome.”

But our psalm continues,

          “… you created my inmost being;

                   you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

                             I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

                                                your works are wonderful, I know that full well.”

This psalm reveals to us a God who knows all that there is to know about us. “Knowing” and “knowledge of” are critical elements of meaningful relationships, and this psalm reveals God’s deep knowledge of every aspect of our being. And yet, knowing us so intimately, still God loves us and God calls us to be God’s disciples. Come and see. Follow me.

God calls to us in our hiding places, in our sleep, in our waking, in our working. God’s creative powers reside deep within us, seeking ongoing relationship with us;

God hems,

          God knits,

                   God knows us intimately, is with us at all times.

                             We are all works of God. Come and see.

From that very intimate, knowing, discerning place, God comes to us and God calls us. As God persisted in calling Samuel until Samuel was ready to hear the call; as Jesus called the earliest disciples when they were open to following him. God, who knows our strengths and weaknesses, who knows us with a knowing beyond all telling is calling us; come and see

Come and see my beloved Son, the one in whom I am well pleased. Follow him. Come and see. In the ordinary encounters of our lives, every single person is an image of Christ, a piece of the knowledge of God, possibilities to share the peace of God in the world.  

And so, Jesus calls us to be epiphany for others. Come and see.

Seeing and revelation are closely tied; discovery and understanding are similarly related to one another. As disciples of Christ, these terms and concepts are important to us – because they tell us something about our relationship to this God who has come among us and has pitched his tent with us, continually revealing profound love for all the hurting places, helping us to discover the vast workings of God and God’s continuing creative work within each of us – shaping us, forming us in ways both subtle and profound.

Today begins the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. There is no time like the present to invite, to embrace, and to extend the invitation for others to come and see. This news of a God who knows us so intimately yet chooses to call us, chooses to invite us and chooses to call us to do the same is amazing and exciting aspect of the revelation and discovery of which we each play a part. May you be the epiphany light that shines the light on the Messiah, Jesus Christ, the one who came that all might have life. Amen.

Soaked in Water and Wonder

Mark 1:4-11 

        Sam describes a daily ritual in his life. Every night, he and his wife meet in the kitchen to prepare dinner. They each sip from a glass of wine as they talk, and laugh, and sometimes, even dance the stresses of the day away.

        Together they chop and saute and simmer away the day’s problems. Their daughter Lacey comes in after a little while, and sets the table. They light candles, hold hands, pray, and share the dinner meal together. This time is sacred time for the family. In a deep way, it binds them together.

        Julie has a ritual too. Each day she comes home from work, shucks off her “business attire,” pulls on her comfy sweater and lounge pants, and washes her face. This is her way of symbolically shucking off the concerns and demands of her high-pressure job, of washing away the detritus of her long commute, of the worries of the day that still linger, and easing into her evening of activities or relaxation or rest. There is something sacred for Julie, too, in this symbolic transformation she makes, day after day.

        People engage in all kinds of rituals, for all kinds of reasons.

        The most common reason may be the belief (or hope) that the prescribed actions within the rituals will provide some kind of comfort, reassurance, or sometimes perhaps, protection.

        Rituals somehow bring about or mark a change. A change in focus; a change in essence of the person, place, or time; a change in status or condition.

Think about it. What rituals might you engage in, daily or othewise?

        Sometimes, rituals tie us in some way, to others. As vulnerable, finite beings, we often rely on rituals because they reassure us that we are not alone or that we are part of something larger than ourselves, or that we have the ability to tap into powers greater than ourselves, through the actions of our rituals.

        Rituals may, in fact, provide an entry point into membership of a group or community. They may convey a new identity in some way. They provide meaning. They are at the core of the communal activity of most religions.

        At the beginning of our worship service today, we engaged in a ritual when we remembered and gave thanks for Baptism. Perhaps you even got a little bit wet. Again. As you once did, when you were baptized.

        Now, the truth is, that you may or may not, literally remember your own baptism. Perhaps you were old enough that you remember the day—if nothing else, remember getting your head wet, remember the prayers and celebration that may have followed.

        For many of us, any actual memory of our baptism has been provided to us by our parents or other relatives, or by pictures that were taken that day, or other mementos that may have been saved, because we were too young to form those memories for ourselves.

        But we need to remember. Because Baptism means something, and yet, that meaning often gets lost in all the packaging.

        Baptism is seen by many people as a ritual itself—it may be understood as an action that brings comfort, or reassurance, or protection and identity to the person being baptized—which, I suppose you could say is at least partially true. But we miss the real meaning of Baptism if we only see it as a ritual to be performed, a rite to accomplish. The fact of the matter is that it is not our action, it is not what we do, it is not all the movements, words, clothing and celebration that form our rituals around it that make Baptism the holy and sacred gift that it is.

It is what God does in us through this spectacular gift of love and mercy that is at the heart of Baptism. Baptism matters.

        In a world where life itself seems some days to hold less and less worth, where we constantly hear about bombings and shootings, about hit-and-runs and the lives of little children coming to tragic, horrific ends Baptism matters. Indeed, in a world where death constantly beckons, where health fails and cures don’t always exist, Baptism matters. For the forgiveness of sin and the promise of everlasting life, Baptism matters.

        And in our gospel today, we read about Jesus’ own Baptism. And we have to wonder, don’t we?  How is it that the sinless one is first revealed and met through a ritual of repentance?

        Why in the world would Jesus, the Messiah, need to be, choose to be, baptized? Why did this one of whom John the Baptist spoke, this one who, John identifies as, “more powerful than I,” of whom, John said, “I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals,” present himself to be baptized in the waters of the Jordan River?

        Perhaps the way in which Mark chooses to begin his gospel provides some insight into these questions. 

        While both Luke and Matthew begin their gospels with the nativity of Jesus, full of images we can visualize and memorize, images like Mary’s and Joseph’s incredible journey to Bethlehem, like angelic visions and angel song, like a brightly shining star and the shepherds who followed it, like a sweet manger scene; and while John begins his gospel with the poetic description of Jesus as God’s eternal Word, and the Word taking on flesh, and God’s glory being revealed in this Word who brings Light and Life, Mark takes us to the river. Mark begins his gospel with this Epiphany, with this revelation of who Jesus Christ truly is. Mark gives us this baptismal scene.

        John, who, we remember, is Jesus’ cousin, the one who leapt in his mother, Elizabeth’s womb at the Virgin Mary’s visit, is in the wilderness, calling people to repentance and inviting them to be baptized, and announcing the one who is coming…..

        Baptism as ritual was nothing new to many of those in ancient Judaism, who viewed it as a religious cleansing, a washing with water, signifying purification or consecration, not only for the purpose of extinguishing the guilt of transgression, but as a ritual of holy living, to prepare for the attainment of a closer communion with God.

        But then, Jesus enters in. Literally. Jesus enters the waters of the Jordan. Perhaps, Jesus entering those waters is meant to help us recall all the water-tales of the Scriptures, beginning with the first reading and the water story of Genesis, where the Spirit of God moved over the face of the waters and God created the world. 

        Or the flood story where God uses water to make a new creation, saving Noah and his family. Or the exodus story where God uses water to free the Israelites from slavery as they cross through the sea, with God creating a wall of water for them on their left and on their right so that they can walk on dry land to freedom.

        As they journey through the wilderness God provides water from a rock so they may never thirst. And when they reach the end of their wandering, God brings them into the Promised Land through water, to the land flowing with milk and honey and the fulfillment of God’s promises. That water is the river Jordan. The same water we find Jesus in.

        Pastor Virginia Cover writes that perhaps all this water-talk is meant to remind us that God is faithful throughout the generations. That God shows up in the water, to make good on God’s promises. That God uses water to shape identities and reveal who God is. And so, at the beginning of this gospel, at the beginning of this Epiphany and this story of the revelation of Jesus Christ, Son of God, Jesus enters in.

        Here is where Mark’s story stands in stark contrast to the nativity scenes we have so recently left behind. Here the story of Jesus’ Baptism stands in stark contrast to our own sweet, tender and tame baptismal photographs and remembrances.

As we read this gospel, we come to understand Baptism is not about us and what we do, it is about God and what God has done in Jesus Christ. When it comes right down to it, Jesus’ Baptism bears little resemblance to comforting, familiar ritual we know.

Because at Jesus’ Baptism the heavens are torn apart. Ripped to shreds.

Cover points out that the same Greek verb used here appears later when Jesus breathes his last and the curtain of the temple is torn in two. Ripped to shreds. Literally.

The curtain of the temple: that barrier between God and the people, the symbol of God being separated from us is ripped to shreds. And here in this gospel, at his Baptism we find Jesus, in the waters, ripping stuff to shreds as a preview of more to come because in his death and resurrection he will rip apart anything, and everything that might try to separate us from God.

        He will rip it up and he will soak it with water—with tears as he weeps for the city, for the 12 killed in Paris, for the hundreds lost in an airline, for a bicyclist lost to a senseless accident, for all those lost to violence, or neglect, abuse or addiction; for those immured in illness; for all who grieve and long for a different world, for healing and peace.

        This same Jesus, upon whom the Spirit descends from that torn-apart heaven, will soak us all with water, flowing out from his side—a healing balm for all who hurt or long for forgiveness. This is Mark’s epiphany story. This is who Jesus is—the One who comes to the under-water places, the messed up, torn-apart places in our world and in our lives. The places we think will never be put back again. Jesus, the revelation of the love of God, meets us under the waters and pulls us up to forgiveness and healing; pulls us out to freedom and truth-telling. 

      There is more good news for us in this Word, for this Jesus meets us in the water and changes our baptism from ritual action to life-saving, life-giving transformation. Thus transformed, our Baptism offers us light illuminating, grace-full, mercy-full communion with our Lord and Savior, and it indeed means something. It is a game-changer, as Jesus leaves behind the mark of the cross on us. Jesus washes away the guilt of our sin, Jesus baptizes us with the Holy Spirit, tearing apart our brokenness, ripping to shreds the effects of our pain, and bringing about the healing of the nations.

       By his baptism, Jesus has once again proclaimed his commitment to be alongside us, in repentance and sorrow, in forgiveness and new life. Joyfully, Baptized in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, we are washed in water and Word, sealed with the cross of Christ and proclaimed “Child of God.” In mercy and in love, we are united with Jesus in death, in life, and all eternity.

Amen.

Revolution

John 1:[1-9], 10-18

Greetings to you, my brothers and sisters in Christ, on this, the Second Sunday of Christmas; a Sunday in which we in the church are focused, one last time this year, on the gift of the child born in Bethlehem. Our crèche is still sitting, now, so close to Epiphany with the Magi approaching the stable, right here, front and center. Tonight has long been known as twelfth night, the eve of Epiphany, and according to the old English Christmas Carol, “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” we are preparing to receive the gift of twelve drummers drumming.

Meanwhile, though we may find ourselves in the Christmas season, waning as it is, the rest of the world has already moved on. The year has turned – and we are already several days into a new year, with new challenges and new possibilities. Merchants are displaying Valentine’s Day wares.  You’ve probably already hung your 2014 calendar, you might be in the beginning stages of gathering your documents together for tax season, and you’ve probably even made your New Year resolutions, if you do that kind of thing – and as we are only five days into the New Year, so far, chances are you’ve even kept the resolutions you’ve made – so far.

I’ve seen an AT&T commercial a few times in the past couple of weeks. In it, there is a man sitting at a pint-sized table with a group of small children in what looks like a preschool or kindergarten classroom. He begins a brief conversation with the children, asking an open-ended question – a really risky thing to do with small children, as I have learned the hard way in children’s sermons over the years.

In this ad, the man begins by asking, “Is it better to be more reliable or less reliable?” Of course, the kids all answer, in unison, “More reliable.” So far, so good – I’m sure this is the answer that man is looking for, given that it is a commercial for AT&T, after all. Then he asks the kids, “Why?” One little boy answers in all sincerity, “So you can keep your New Year’s revolution.”

“A New Year’s revolution! Oh no! What are you going to do?” the man asks, in mock alarm at the thought of kindergartners in revolt. (Which, I admit, is a pretty scary thought!)

The boy then answers, “I would have more time to eat jelly beans this year.”

Relieved, the man responds, “Oh, so it’s not so much a revolt, more just like you eating things that are bad for you.”

“Yeah,” answers the little boy, nodding.

“I can deal with that,” the man responds.

This commercial gave me a chuckle at first, but then I got to thinking about the intersection of these words - resolution and revolution – in the Christmas story. Let me explain.

As Christians, we know Christmas not just as a holiday or festival, but rather as a time that witnesses to a reality that permeates our whole life. While God’s love for God’s creation and people has not changed from the beginning of time, in the birth of the savior, God’s tactics for how that love is made manifest not only changed but ignited a revolution.

In the past, God resolved to love, provide for and accompany God’s holy people into the Promised Land in a covenant relationship. And when the people’s sin and corruption and betrayal repeatedly broke that covenant, rather than cut them off forever, God did something revolutionary; God resolved to save God’s beloved from sin and death by entering the world in fleshly form. And God’s revolutionary presence in the world upset things so much that, in John’s words, “his own didn’t know him……they did not accept him.” Instead, they killed him and hung him on a cross. But God’s revolution in Christ Jesus prevailed in victory over death and the grave in the resurrection of Christ.

Our revolutionary reality is that in Christ, God inhabiting human form, God taking on flesh, makes us new. David Lose writes, “God has become flesh, entering a world of sin. God goes to the cross and dies. God becomes our dust so that we are given God’s life and resurrection. The sacred enters the profane and the world will never be the same.” That, my friends, is revolutionary. And it is balm for a world thirsting for peace and for justice.

For while it is still true that through God’s love we are given all we need to live and to love in harmony with one another and with God’s whole creation, sin persists. We find ourselves in conflict, broken, disappointed, defeated, and wandering. The Old Testament text from Jeremiah today reflects experiences of the people of God in the time of exile, but it also describes our own condition: devastated and lonely, lost, experiencing life filled with zigzags, detours and derailments; we find ourselves stumbling, staggering, and falling down. Yet unfailingly, God responds to our overwhelming need, and guides us back to brooks of refreshing water through baptism, where our mourning is turned into joy.

In our gospel text today, John’s Christmas confession extends beyond the baby born in a lowly stable and wrapped in cloths and laid in a manger. It is the belief that he existed before creation and comes to us and lives among us now; that he was always and is always participating with us as we explore what living as heirs of God’s magnificent reign of love means in our lives. In Christ, God is revealed. In Christ, God becomes known. In the Word, this incarnation of God born of Mary, Jesus the Christ, God’s revolutionary stand is burned into the history and life of the world.

As we gather today, we still have the nativity scene here to remind us of the Christmas story that we heard on Christmas Eve. That story includes a baby in a manger, parents traveling to Bethlehem, angels, shepherds, and a star. Later, it includes the magi, too. In our gospel text today, John gives us a version of the Christmas story as well. In John’s rendering, the attention shifts from Jesus’ birth story, to ours. For in this text, we are reminded of our birth as children of God – that, Jesus came into the world so that we – you and I might become children of God.

In John’s telling of the Christmas story, there is no baby, no manger. There is no report of parents traveling to Bethlehem. There are no angels, no shepherds, there is no star nor report of magi bearing gifts to greet the newborn king. This is no historical account of the birth of Jesus Christ, the messiah. Instead, in the gospel of John, we get a statement of faith about God’s incarnation, “And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only begotten son, full of grace and truth.” And it is through this Word, the only Son of God that the fullness and true extent of God’s love becomes known to us and is shared with the entire cosmos, and it changes everything.

For those facing despair, the Word gives us cause to take heart and realize that we are not alone, and that these trials will not overcome us. The revolutionary Word of God is a word of hope for all people. The revolutionary Word of God, whose coming has made us children of God, refuses to allow our lives to be dominated by the trials we face, nor by the circumstances in which we find ourselves. It will not allow us to be identified by the clothes we wear or the color of our skin; it does not count our age or gender, accomplishments or sexuality, the measurement of our intellect or bank balance. God’s revolutionary Word became human and entered the struggle of human life as love incarnate, as God’s inclusive word of compassion, forgiveness and reconciliation with and for a fallen world. Revolutionary indeed.

Kae Evensen writes, “Our lives are messy stuff but God entering every corner of the world means that there is no place God is not: the linen cloth that held the Christ child becomes the Veil that has been torn, and from it we are unbound. Jesus is in our midst. Now, sins are forgiven, wounds are healed, the dead will rise.”

What is ordinary now bears the extraordinary, revolutionary promises of Christ. Promises like unconditional love, salvation, grace and mercy extended to all people.

As God’s resolution for the salvation of humanity took on the form of revolution with the birth of Christ, as God joined intimately with the whole of humanity, God invites each of us to join the revolution as well. We are called as children of God and heirs together in Christ to share the love of God within this world in which we live. Jesus comes into our midst calling us to revolution as well. We are invited as children of God to resolve that we will follow in the Way of Christ, forgiving, healing, and disturbing the status quo that denies the reality of God’s sovereignty. To follow through on this resolution means that we will revolt against all forms of slavery, oppression, discrimination, injustice, poverty and hatred.

On this Sunday and every day may it be our resolution to actively take part in the revolution of God in Christ. In this most powerful, meaningful, transformative revolution, led by God and demonstrated in the live, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, let us bear witness to the miracle that takes place not only in a stable in Bethlehem but each and every day within the hearts of every child of God. May we declare with every sound of the drum that as we have received from God grace upon grace, we resolve to dedicate our lives to the peace, equality, love, mercy, and care for all of God’s creation and for all people.