The Old Man's Statue: Romans 5.12-21

There was once a man who lived in a quaint village on the coast of the sea. This village was picturesque like you might see in an artists rendering of the typical New England fishing village. This man was quiet and unassuming. He was the kind of man who blended in to any crowd and never stood out. No one would have ever noticed him except that he had a passion. He loved the sea. He wanted everyone to be able to share in the love of his life. The problem was that the village was surrounded by cliffs. The rapidly changing tides made the waters around this village often dangerous and even the most sea-faring of captains could quickly find themselves in danger.

The old man had a plan. He began organizing a volunteer coast guard. He trained the volunteers on navigating the treacherous currents. He trained the volunteers on open sea rescue techniques. He supplied the village with a safety net so all the people could enjoy the sea, without worrying about getting in too much trouble. One foggy evening, the old man heard cries for help coming from the nearby cliffs. He awoke with a start. He tolled the bell, but no one came. He had a decision to make. Should he go out alone – something he trained the volunteers never to do – or should he wait for help? Should he go rescue the people himself, or should he compound their danger by waiting for help? He went alone.

When he arrived, he found a vessel with a dozen or so people on board including women and children. It was taking on water as it had been dashed upon the rocks. He tied the boats together and as they listed together, he got every man, woman and child aboard his boat. As they returned to harbor, they all watched helplessly as their boat disappeared beneath the fury of the seas.

Word spread quickly throughout the town as the sun peaked above the now quiet seas to the east. This quiet, unassuming, ordinary man was a hero. The town council called an emergency meeting. After a brief meeting, the bells of the town hall beckoned everyone to come for a special town-hall meeting. At the meeting, the community decided to commission an artist to sculpt a statue in the man’s likeness to honor his work with the coast guard and to remember this amazing act of bravery.

One year later to the day, the town was gathered yet again. This time, however, it gathered on the town square. In the middle of the crowd was a large tarp. With a quick woosh, the tarp was removed and the statue was unveiled. The crowd erupted in cheers as all the crowd applauded this brave man.

For years this statue stood as the centerpiece of the quaint harbor town. But one night, some youth from a nearby village came to town looking for trouble. They were loud and obnoxious. They egged windows and they slashed tires. Then they came upon the statue. At first they egged it too, but then they spray-painted it, then they began climbing on it, and pushing it and pulling it, until finally it toppled over and lay – smashed to bits – on the ground.

READ ROMANS 5.12-21

This season of Lent is a reminder that we are all sinners and it was because of our sin that Christ suffered death and was buried. Paul explains our sin and our guilt by drawing our attention to yet another story. It too is a story of one who has a passion. It too is a story of one with a great love. It too is a story of a creation made in the likeness and image of the loving one. It too is a story of that beautiful creation being smashed and shattered, lying helplessly in pieces on the ground.

That one who is full of love is God. The fullness of God’s love moved him to create a whole race in God’s own image. We are that creation: you and I, our friends and family, those who live in the next house over and those who have no house to call their own, the most innocent of all babies and the most guilty of death row inmates. Whether Christian or Muslim, gay or straight, black or white, we are all the same. The Almighty Creator crafts us each in the image of his holy-love. The divine Word of God brings us each into being from the dust of the earth. The very Breath of God breathes each us to life. We are all the same, in the life business together.

And we too are all together in the sin business. I can just image a young child sitting around the dinner table. As all little children are, this one too is quite inquisitive. She asks, “Daddy, Mommy, why is the world so evil? How did sin get in the world?” Mommy and Daddy look at one another. Mommy speaks. “Well, you remember how you asked how the whole earth got here and we told you the story of Creation? Do you remember Adam and Eve? Well Adam and Eve lived in a garden and God told them they could eat anything they liked except for the fruit of one specific tree…” You all know how the story goes.

Paul explains it for us. Sin entered the world when Adam sinned. The presence of sin in the world is not because God put it here. Sin entered the world, and with it all kinds of evil leading to death, when Adam chose his own way rather than Gods. It is interesting that though we usually understand Adam as a specific person, the name Adam means “humanity.” In Adam’s act, all of humanity stands united as we face the consequence of sin, which is death. And so, Paul says, when Adam sinned, we all sinned and for our sin we will all die. We lie together on the ground, the image of the creator smashed to bits within us.

During Lent, we stand united as the holy church of Christ – just like we all stood together in Adam – recognizing our sin; recognizing our guilt. Our standing together becomes kneeling together as we confess together that we have sinned, that we fall short of the glory of God. United we sinned, united we confess. But the focus of Lent is not the sin. The focus of Lent is the cross. It has been said that a Christian is but a sinner who gets up facing the cross. And so Paul says, just as one man’s sin condemned us all, so one man’s righteousness justifies us all. Just as by one man’s disobedience, the many became sinners, so too by the one man’s obedience the many will be made righteous.

Just as we all stand united in Adam, so too we all stand united in Christ. In Adam we all sin; in Christ we all are saved. In Adam we all find death, in Christ we all find life. Just as we were made sinners by the act of the one man, so to by the act of the ONE we are all given a free gift. That gift is our freedom; that free gift is a new life. That is truly good news.

But the news just keeps getting better, for the free gift is not like the trespass. How so? Two words: much more. The free gift is much more than the trespass. The free gift is far greater than the trespass. Paul is quite explicit about how abundantly greater the gift is than the trespass. It is certain that sin entered the world. It is certain that the world in which we live is deeply sinful. It is certain that we are all condemned to die. Aside from taxes, death is the only certainty we have in life. But, Paul says, if that much is certain, then it is much more certain that the gift is given freely to the many. If death is certain, it is much more certain that in Christ we all have life. So regarding the reality of the gift, we can be much more certain than we are of the reality of sin. Regarding the effect of the gift which is life, we can be much more certain than we are of death. The gift is much more than the trespass. The gift is far greater than the trespass.

There is one other way the gift far surpasses the trespass. That is the quality of the gift. Now, I suppose it would suffice for the gift to equal the trespass. It only makes sense that we only pay back that which we owe. So I suppose the gift would simply have to forgive us of our sins. “Therefore just as one man’s trespass led to condemnation for all, so one man’s act of righteousness leads to justification and life for us all.” And there it is. By Jesus’ act of righteousness we are all justified and have life. There is really no need to go any further. But Paul doesn’t stop there. He says much more, for even the quality of the gift is far greater than the trespass. “For by the one man’s disobedience the many were made sinners, so by the one man’s obedience the many will be made righteous.”

Not only does Jesus justify us – not only does he free us from death and give us life – he does much more. He doesn’t just forgive us our sins, he purifies us from all unrighteousness. The season of Lent is captured in one small but profound prayer. “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right Spirit within me.” Yes, He forgives us. Yes, He gives us life. But he goes much further and he does much more. He makes us righteous. He makes us holy, just as He is holy.

PAUSE

When the sun rose the next morning, the town’s people didn’t know what to do. The image of the beloved was shattered and destroyed. So they called the sculptor. They begged her to come quick. When she arrived in town they quickly brought her to the town square where her masterpiece lay unrecognizably, in pieces on the ground. They begged and they pleaded for her to find a way to put the statue back together and restore it to its original beauty.

The sculptor collected all the pieces, took them back to her studio and began the difficult and painful task of recreating this work of art. One year later, to the day, she was finally done, she covered it and brought it back to the town square. The people waited with baited breath to see if she had been able to make it as it was. With the familiar woosh, the statue was revealed and the people gasped. “You did not restore this statue to the way it used to be!” the people questioned. “No,” said the artist, “I did not. It simply would not do to restore the statue, I recreated it and now it is much more than it ever was before.” She was right. For now the statue was far greater: much larger, much stronger and much more beautiful than any of them could have imagined.

The people wept with joy. They mayor stepped forward to greet the magnanimous sculptor. A smile radiate across his face. “How can we ever thank you,” asked the mayor. The sculptor looked first across the crowd and then deep into the mayors eyes. “You owe me nothing,” she said as she embraced the mayor in her arms. “Consider it,” she said, “a free gift.”

To the glory of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Transfiguring our worship - Matthew 17.1-9

Today we celebrate the Transfiguration of our Lord. As we will see, the story has much in common with Moses’ ascent up Mt. Sinai as well as well as Christ’s own Baptism. Understanding the Transfiguration may be a bit easier if we could read Greek, for the word from which we get Transfiguration is metamorphothe, a word that is probably better understood by us than is Transfigure. We think immediately of the fuzzy caterpillar, which withdraws within its cocoon and emerges a magnificent butterfly. That said, I must confess to you all I am always a bit dumbstruck by the prospect of putting the Transfiguration of our Lord into words. As the great George Buttrick noted, “I have never dared preach on the Transfiguration: it is the shekinah [the glory] of the New Testament. I shield my eyes and bow my head…” With such a posture, let us hear the Good News of our Lord Jesus Christ, as told by Matthew. Matthew 17.1-9. Hear the Word of the Lord.

READ TEXT

Did you catch any of the parallels? If you recall, the Baptism of Christ was the first Sunday of this season of Ordinary Time and today is the last Sunday of Ordinary time. So the two stories make somewhat of bookends around this season. Let’s start our look there, with the bookends. Both stories revolve around the central character of Christ, and both develop with a profound theophany. A theophany is an epiphany (you all remember what that is right? When someone gets it!) about God. It is when God reveals Godself in a dramatic way. Both stories are theophanies where God is revealed in Christ. In both stories, God is revealed visually and audibly. In the Baptism, God is revealed as a dove, and in the Transfiguration God is revealed in a cloud. The truly striking similarity is the voice of God. In both instances, the voice of God says, “This is my son, whom I love. With him I am well pleased.” So here we see God, at the major shifts in Jesus’ life, giving love, affirmation and authority. It happens both when Jesus’ life transitions from preparation to ministry, and when his life transitions from ministry to the cross. God is there.

The startling similarities are even greater as we consider the Old Testament lesson we looked at with our children. It is a part of the larger story of the people of Israel. Israel’s story really comes to life as they emerge from the waters of the Red Sea and into freedom. Their faith is put to the test as they wander through the wilderness. Often they grumble about being hungry and thirsty. The wilderness of temptation is sometimes too much to bear. Then we come to our lesson for today. Moses goes up the mountain, and spends six days there as God’s glory appears in a cloud as an all-consuming fire. On the seventh day, Moses is called for a face to face with God. Thus he enters the cloud, receives the law, and is sent back to his people only to find they have grown tired of waiting and built for themselves an idol. Back to life as usual.

In a very similar way, Jesus ministry came to life as he came out of the waters of baptism. Following his baptism was a period of intense temptation. It was a period including the traditional story of temptation but also including Jesus’ struggle with that which lay ahead and his announcement that indeed he must die. Jesus’ trip up the mountain, like Moses’ happens after six days. The glory of God is revealed in a cloud and the voice of God is spoken audibly. The stories are eerily familiar.

So why do we spend our time looking at all the similarities? Because it will help us to note the differences. There are several differences, but one stands out true to the spirit of Transfiguration. That difference is seen in verse six. “The disciples were terrified and fell face down on the ground.” I talk quite frequently of worship as our response to the revelation of God. Finally, the disciples get it. Finally, they fall down and worship the Lord. Finally they give a proper response to recognizing God in their midst.

We must be careful not to be too harsh on Peter, James and John. Moses & the Israelites had their moment as we saw today. The ending of that story is quite telling. Moses spent forty days on the mountain receiving the Law. When he descended back to the people, what did he find? He found worship. But it wasn’t worship of God – it was worship of a golden calf. In his anger, Moses shatters the stone tablets. He confronts Aaron. Aaron makes excuses. Moses gathers the Levites. The Levites kill 3,000 of their friends and family. This is a far cry from falling face down in worship.

In the story of Christ’s baptism, you recall, John and Jesus debate about who should be baptizing whom. Jesus finally wins, he comes up out of the water, God descends in the form of a dove, God’s voice proclaims the divine sonship of Christ, and Jesus heads straight for the wilderness, where, like the Israelites of old, he was tested. No mention of worship there either.

The disciples’ falling on their faces stand out because Matthew wants it to be perfectly clear that the only fitting response to God revealed in Christ is worship. The disciples fell flat on their faces with fear we are told. It may sound strange, but their fear really helps us to understand the nature of our worship. Their fear will also help us transition into the Lenten Season that will begin Wednesday as we celebrate the Service of the Ashes.

Holy fear is not that much unlike terror fear. It is a result of realization that two unlike things, that cannot exist in one another’s presence, are indeed together. For instance, I hear a window break – I hear footsteps. I know someone is in my house and both of us cannot exist peacefully there together. Or you go to work in the mill. When you are around a blast furnace, or molten metal, I dare to say there is probably a healthy awareness that you cannot exist in the presence of that heat. You would be completely and instantly consumed. I think it is fair to call that awareness fear. Aweful tragedy occurs when that fear disappears. When that fear quits producing precaution – when that fear abates and you are not as careful as you ought – when fear recedes and you no longer respect the thing to be feared, bad things happen.

At the Transfiguration, the disciples come to an awareness that they are in the presence of holiness. They realize, instantly, when confronted with the holiness of God, that sin and holiness do not mix. Darkness cannot exist in the presence of light. Because of sin, humanity cannot exist in the presence of divinity. The disciples are suddenly quiet aware of this and are helpless to do anything but acknowledge the holiness of God, while at the same time acknowledging their own unworthiness, and they fall face down – call it fear – call it worship – call it whatever you want.

We are mere mortals, and we have no business mingling with the likes of God. We have all sinned. We have all fallen short of the glory of God. We are all unworthy to be in the presence of such an awesome and holy God. And yet, so often we treat worship like we are going over to Bill and Ted’s house to watch a football game. So often we treat worship like a phone call to our cousin Eddy. So often we treat worship like a family reunion so distracted by chitchatting with those around us that we miss the profundity of coming into the presence of God.

There is only one reason we are able to enter the presence of Almighty God, and that reason is Christ. The only reason humanity and divinity can come together is because it came together in Christ – fully God and fully human. The only reason we sinful mortals can enter the presence of His Holiness is because our sin has be covered, and we have been redeemed by the blood of Christ – the perfect sacrifice. They only reason we who are in the dark can come into the presence of the Eternal Light is because the eternal light came to us in the person of Christ – the resurrection – who endured the darkest of darkness and transformed it into the light of holiness. He came, he died, he was raised again. Now he lives forever in each one of us so that we too may be transformed… we too may changed… we too may metamorphosized… we too may be transfigured so that our lives now shine, like Christ’s, with the light of his glory and holiness. How great is our God! And all we can do is fall flat on our faces, filled with fear and trembling, awe and worship to the glory of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

The Cost of Discipleship...the cost of change

Last week, as you remember we talked about the call to discipleship. We talked about what a disciple was in Jesus day. We compared a student with a disciple. We even talked about some of the things I believe are necessary to a life of discipleship: community, accountability, outreach, service and care. Being a disciple means not only do we study scripture to know God through Christ, but it means doing the things Christ did so we can become just like Christ. A disciple is one who becomes what the teacher is. The goal of Christian discipleship is Christlikeness, or holiness of heart and life.
This week we are going to conclude our look at discipleship by looking at the cost of discipleship. In economics, they teach that everything has a cost. Did you know there is a cost to sitting in my living room on Saturday afternoon and watching Ohio State football? Even though my TV is paid for, and even if my I didn’t need cable to watch TV, there would be a cost. Watching that game cost me a fishing trip, it cost me a date with my wife, it cost me whatever else I could have done with that time. Everything we do costs us something. So what is the cost of discipleship?
Let’s find out together as we hear from the Gospel according to Matthew, chapter 4, verses 12-23. Matthew 4.12-23. Hear the word of the Lord.

READ MATTHEW 4.12-23

This passage is really the passage that moves Jesus into public ministry and introduces the key theme of Matthew’s story of Christ. It begins with a transition from John’s ministry to Jesus’. John is imprisoned and Jesus is turned loose. Another Messianic prophecy is fulfilled and Jesus begins preaching the very same message John preached, “Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is near.” And away he went.

As he went, he ran across a couple of brothers: Peter and Andrew. They were fishing. They were working. They were learning the family trade. Remember the educational system in Jesus’ day? If they were working, if they were learning the family trade, then they were drop outs – they weren’t the best of the best. Jesus turns to them and says the famous words, “Come, follow me, and I will make you fishers of people!” What did Peter and Andrew do? They at once, immediately, I mean right now, dropped their nets and followed. And away they went.

A little farther up the lakeshore, they bumped into the competition. Another boat was fishing. In it were two more brothers – James and John – and their father Zebedee. Remember the educational system in Jesus’ day? If they were working, if they were learning the family trade, then they were drop outs – they weren’t the best of the best. Jesus stops, turns to them, and called them too! They immediately, at once, I mean right now, left the boat and their father behind and followed Jesus. And away they went. To change the world.

Now I want to ask you, what is the cost of discipleship? Let’s start by reviewing the obvious – what we have always been taught. What did being a disciple of Jesus cost these four brothers. It cost them nets and boats, it cost them their father. It cost them their career and it cost them their family. Those are no small potatoes. And just incase giving up career and family isn’t enough, consider what career and family mean. What do they mean to us?

Now lets say you meet a new person. What do you ask them? You most likely ask them their name. Names are important. They tells us who we are. They tell us where you come from. When people meet Antonina, they immediately know something about her. They know her family is Italian. They know something about her. This is especially obvious here, in a small town. Last names, family, means everything. Oh, you’re a Winstell, or you’re a Fiala, or you’re a Dorand, a Wells, a Turner, a Sutherin. Just the other day I was in Lowe’s. The cashier said she was a Mosti. I don’t know her, but I know Mosti is a Toronto name. Names – family – are significant. Names are our identity. For better or for worse, we are our family. The disciples left their father behind. They gave up their family. Discipleship cost them their identity.

Let’s talk a little about fishing, since it is one of my favorite things. Fishing was their career. Jesus came up to Andrew, Peter, James and John with they were at work. Now not only did following Christ cost them their identity, it cost them their career. At first, we might all rejoice because to follow Christ, they walked off the job. But let’s consider for a moment the implications of leaving your job. A job, as you all understand very well is not just a job. A job is a paycheck. A paycheck is a roof over your head, light and heat, food on the table, clothes on you back, school supplies for the kids. A job is health insurance. A job is retirement. We could sum it all up by concluding that a job is security. I think you all probably understand that better than most.

I also think you all understand, probably better than most, what happens when all of a sudden that job is gone. The paycheck is gone. The health insurance is gone. The retirement is gone. Your security is gone. Your way of life is gone. Everything changes when the job is gone. All of life is touched dramatically when there is no reliable paycheck. So what was the cost of discipleship? Identity? Security? Who you are? Your way of life? How others see you? What or who you depend on from day to day? It all changes.

Or maybe even better, it is all transformed. Let’s get back to the fishing. Jesus didn’t just call them away from their fishing job, he transformed their fishing job. He fulfilled, if you will, their fishing job. “Come,” he said, “Follow me. I will make you fishers of men.”

I think, sometimes, that this is where we get a little bit of a wrong idea. We talk about fishing, and we think of the movie, “A River Runs Through It.” We think of quiet afternoons, waist deep in some stream, silently launch a small feather fly into the waiting mouths of beautiful trout. The sun shines bright, the wind gently blows, a small campfire smolders on the shore just waiting to fry the delicious trout.

This picture, this “I’d Rather Be Fishing” type of image completely misses the mark. Perhaps a better picture of fishing, as understood by the disciples would be The Discovery Channel’s, “Most Dangerous Catch.” Anyone seen it? It is set on the Baring Sea between Alaska and Russia, in the wintertime, during crab season. Just a handful of men, alone on a boat, fishing round the clock, battling darkness and weather and icebergs and mammoth waves that would make the noblest of us quiver.

Now fishing is not a leisure time activity for the crews of these boats. It is a way of life. It is quite fulfilling. It is quite rewarding. It is quite challenging and dangerous and always changing. It is hard work, it is frustrating, it is discouraging at times. These fishermen have to be good at what they do if they are going to catch fish. They have to be students of the skies, students of the seas, students of the time of day and time of year, they have to be watch the winds and the currents. Why? They just want to catch fish.

How many fish do you suppose I’d catch if I tied on a rubber worm and never used anything else? Not very many. Why? Fish change. When the wind changes directions, the way a fish acts changes. When the barometric pressure changes, the way a fish acts changes. When the water temperature changes, the way a fish acts changes. When the water level, or the time of day, or the time of year, or the color of the water changes the fish change. And what happens if the fish change but I don’t? I don’t catch fish. I don’t catch fish I starve. I starve, I die.

So let’s recap just a minute. What is the cost of discipleship? A new identity, and new way of life. It is rewarding and fulfilling, but it is hard work. It is willingness to change, it is stormy seas and bitter winds. It has its share of dark nights. Nights so dark, seas so rough, that all seems to be lost. Is your head spinning yet? Are you feeling overwhelmed yet? You feeling like the fog is rolling in and the darkness is settling? You feeling apprehensive? Unsure? Lost? You are not alone.

Let’s backtrack just a little, because this is where the really good news comes in. Matthew really depends on Old Testament prophecies, and on Jesus’ fulfillment of the prophecies. Here he quotes Isaiah, “the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light.” Two things strike me. We are all taught that when we become lost, the best thing to do is to sit down and stay put. In the midst of all the cost talk, I feel quite inadequate, quite unsure, quite lost. The fog has rolled upon us, the darkness has settled in our heads are spinning. He have sat down. We have stayed put. The world is changing so fast. People are so different than they used to be. Perhaps you have sensed this change. Becoming overwhelmed by the change and the darkness, we did what we have been taught. We sat down. We stayed put.

But now, in Christ, we have seen a great light. I used to think about this light in terms of light driving out the darkness, but against this backdrop I can’t help but think of the light kind of like a star. My grandfather was a navigator on B-29s and B-52s. He navigated by the starts. It could be pitch black, darkness all around, but if you could make out a handful of stars, you could set a course and get back on the right path despite the darkness around you.

I don’t know how you view this world in which we find ourselves. I don’t know what you think about all this talk of change. The world changing, the church changing to reach out to a changing world. I know these days can be tough. I know change is not a pleasant prospect. I know for many of us ministering in the world is a dark, intimidating, and sometimes scary prospect. I know the cost of discipleship is high, but I also know that there is a great light. And if we will always keep focused on that light – if we will always walk together toward that light – then all the other stuff will fall into place.

Yes the cost of discipleship is high. Yes there will be many dark nights. Yes being a fisher of men is hard work, scary, and means we will have to give up the way of life we knew to adapt to the changing of the fish. But in Christ, God has given us a beacon, a guide, a compass so that even in the darkest of times we can still make our way toward Him. To the glory of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

The Call of Discipleship - John 1.35-51

This morning’s gospel lesson is from John’s telling of the Good News. It introduces the theme of discipleship. This week and next, we will be hearing the calls of some of the disciples. In hearing these stories, we will look this week at what it means to be called by Christ. Next week we will be looking at the cost of following Christ. Before we get John’s gospel, though, a little background will be a lot helpful. Watch this:

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READ John 1.35-51

I ran across that video clip as I was preparing for this past Wednesday’s lesson. Then as I began preparing for the next couple of Sundays, I was amazed at how well the two matched. Hearing the Scripture in the context of 1st century Judaism makes a world of difference as we try to understand its implication for holy living. Take, for instance, this idea that Jesus calls you to be his disciple.

To us, that sounds nice, but it really is not all that much to be excited about. If we put a little different spin on it, however, it may sound a little better. As Rob Bell pointed out, society in Jesus’ world revolved around religion. Not so much in our world. Our world seems to revolve more around entertainment. Sports, Hollywood, Television, the internet. You get the idea. Now football is especially big here in Toronto. Kids start playing Titans as soon as they can carry a ball and run. Every boy, it seems gets a start in Titans. The better you are, the longer you play. If you were not very good in Titans, you quit and prepare for life with the rest of us commoners.

But, if you were good in Titans you get to play for the Red Knights. Maybe you were a legendary Red Knight, but maybe you were just average. If you were just average then you find a job in the real world with the rest of us commoners. But, if you were good as a Red Knight you get to play some college ball. And on and on it goes. Imagine, one day a limo pulls into town and out steps Big Ben Rothlisburger. He walks over to Clark Hinkle stadium. He walks out on the field and says, “Hey you! That’s right…you #2 (or Fiala, or Miller, or whoever). Get in. I’m taking you to Steelers camp and I’m going to teach you myself how to be a great NFL quarterback.” – Now that’s a call. That would make the front page of “The Toronto Scene.” That would be breaking news on channel 9. That’s how we hear these stories of commoners being called to follow Christ.

In our story, two invitations stand out. One was issued to Andrew. The other to Phillip. The two go hand in hand. In the first episode, Andrew and another unknown man were disciples of John the Baptizer. When Jesus was revealed as the Messiah, verse 37 tells us “they followed Jesus.” It is interesting how John uses “follow.” In this instance, John uses “followed.” It is a past action. It is a completed action. They started, and they finished. It is done. It is once and for all. They had to decided if they should go all in, or if they should fold. They chose to go all in.

In the very next verse, however, John uses “follow” in a much different way. Before they followed. Now Jesus sees them following. This is quite an important distinction. Here, following is a present action. It is a continuing and ongoing activity. It is not something they did once upon a time; it is something they are doing now. It is not something they did and now they’re done; it is something they continue to do.

What’s more, it is also a future action. It is something they must keep doing. “Rabbi, where are you staying?” they asked as you recall the many times your children got tired on the long drive to Grandma’s house. “Are we there yet?” Jesus response is profound. It is truly fascinating. He simply says, “Come and see.” It is an invitation. It is an invitation to keep following. It is an encouragement to not grow weary and give up. It is a clear statement about the ongoing nature of discipleship.

But the scene quickly changes direction and so must we. We are introduced to another would-be disciple. His name is Phillip. Jesus, we are told, goes looking for Phillip. We don’t know how Jesus knows of Phillip. We don’t know why Jesus wants to find Phillip. We simply know that Jesus approaches Phillip with yet another invitation. “Come and follow me.” As we saw in the video, “Come, follow me” was a standard phrase of acceptance that was spoken by a rabbi to a prospective disciple. The implication is clear. Christ called Phillip to be his disciple, and to all that being a disciple entailed.

Here is exactly where understanding Jesus’ world revolutionizes how we understand this passage, and how we understand discipleship. It is one thing to be a student. It is quite another thing to be a disciple. A student seeks to learn what the teacher teaches, to in turn understand the teacher. The disciple seeks to know what the teacher knows and to do what the teacher does so that she can be in every way like the teacher. The student’s goal is knowledge. The disciples goal is identity.

For instance, the United States military employs many students of radical Islam. By studying radical Islam, the military knows what radical Islam teaches and in turn understands radical Islam in such a way that they can better predict terrorist activity and protect from terrorist attack. Being a student of radical Islam is quite different than being a disciple of radical Islam. The disciple of radical Islam seeks to know what radical Islam teaches so that the disciple can do what radical Islam does and be what radical Islam is.

Jesus calls us to follow him. It is a call that is much more than simply being a student of Scripture. It is a call that demands we become disciples of Christ. It is a call that is much more than knowing or understanding Jesus. It is a call that demands we know and understand Jesus in such a way that we are compelled to live as he lived, to do what he did, and to be in every way like him. Any student can answer this question: “What would Jesus do?” But it takes a real disciple to do what Jesus did.

This, by the way, is exactly why when we talk about discipleship we are not just talking about Bible studies. This is exactly why we also talk about community. How does your Sunday School class build community? How does your class provide a place for people to belong? How does your class help people to know one another and be known by one another? How does your class include people in the life of the church? Community!

This is exactly why we also talk about accountability. In what ways are the members of your Sunday School class accountable to one another? In what ways does your class confess sins to one another? In what ways does your class forgive and encourage one another? Accountability!

This is exactly why we also talk about outreach. To whom is your Sunday School class reaching out? To whom is your class opening itself up? With whom is your class actively sharing the Good News of our Lord Jesus Christ? Outreach!

This is exactly why we also talk about service. Who is your Sunday School class serving? What is your Sunday School class doing to serve the church? The community? The world? What acts of service is your class doing together? Service!

This is exactly why we also talk about care. How is your class caring for one another? How do you celebrate your classmates successes? How do you mourn your classmates’ loss? How do you visit them when they are sick? Or provide for them when they are in want? Care!

Discipleship is not just knowing Christ. It is being in every way like Christ. Jesus call to follow is both a call and a promise. It is a call to be his disciple. It is a call to be in every way like him: thinking as he thinks, doing as he does, loving as he loves. It is also a promise, that if you will come and follow him, you will become in every way like him.

You’re not so sure, are you? I can tell by your body language. You think its quite a tall order, expecting that people will be in every way like Christ. It is! You’re not so sure, are you? I can tell by your body language. You think there’s no way a person like you could come close to being in every way like Christ. Well, there is only one way to find out. You’ll have to come and see.

To the glory of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

The Baptism of the Lord

This morning our worship is focused on one very specific, very pivotal, and very important scene from the life of Christ. It is so important, in fact, that it is included in each one of the Gospels (a claim that cannot even be made for the Nativity narratives). Although the story is told quite differently in each of the Gospel accounts, in each one of them this scene acts as a bridge. This bridge spans the two distinct portions of Jesus’ life: the preparations of his youth and the ministry of his adulthood. In each case, the bridge acts as both a culmination of that which came before, and an inauguration of that which was to come. And so, without further ado, let us here the story of Jesus’ Baptism as told by Matthew in chapter 3. Matthew 3.13-17 – hear the Word of the Lord.

READ TEXT

This story, as we noted before, is a very important scene in the life of Christ. So too is it a controversial one. The controversy is about why Jesus needed to be baptized at all. When I was a child (OK, OK, I’m still very much this way), I needed one question answered if I was going to do anything. That question is “why?” Why can’t I play in the street? Why can’t I stay up to watch the 2nd half of Monday Night Football? Why should I do this homework? Why should I eat my vegetables? Why do I have to jump through all these hoops? Why? Why? Why? And if you can’t tell me why – if you can’t give me a good, well reasoned, logical answer for why we do what we do – then I’m quite simply not interested in doing it.

John’s baptism was a baptism of repentance and confession. Repentance is for sin in one’s life. Christ was sinless. So why, then, was Christ baptized? This was, and is still, a major point of contention. You can see the uneasiness as we note the way the Gospel writers craft the story. Mark, like some of us, just ignores the problem and hopes it goes away. John, like some of us, talks around the issue on his tiptoes – perhaps giving John an out when he says that he did not recognize Jesus until the dove descended on the Christ. Luke is my favorite, as he, like many of us, rearranges the facts just a little to take off some of the pressure. He moves the story of Jesus baptism after John is imprisoned and never suggests directly that John was the baptizer of Jesus.

Matthew is the only one of the four to take this challenge head on. He includes, in his telling, a conversation. It is a conversation about just this problem. And O what a conversation it must have been. John, the radical desert preacher of hellfire and brimstone, all decked out in his splendiferous fur coat, with his long flowing beard matted with gobs of left over honey, and with a few remnants of the morning’s morsels of locus legs stuck between his teeth – and Jesus, the strong and compassionate carpenter’s son, the son of God, the sinless Messiah whose way John was preparing. What a sight! What a pair! What a conversation!

It was Jesus who came to John. He went deliberately with only one thing on his mind: baptism. Jesus wasn’t going down to visit his cousin. Jesus wasn’t a follower of John who was convicted and persuaded and felt a need to repent. No, Jesus came with purpose and with determination. This is not a trip to the market just to see if there is something that looks good. No, this is a quick trip to Stacey’s to pick up that cup of sugar you need for your Christmas baking. It is intentional and it is all about baptism.

John is preaching and baptizing, baptizing and preaching when Jesus crests the sand dune along the river Jordan. Somewhat of a hush falls over the crowd as Jesus makes his way to waters edge. He told John exactly why he was there, and John told Jesus exactly why this makes no sense. “You are the Messiah.” “You are the one I’ve been preparing these people for.” “You are the son of God.” “You are the one who is greater than I, the one whose sandals I am not even worthy to tie!” “What is my baptism to the Messiah?” “It is you who should baptize me, not I baptizing you.”

Basically, John is asking the same question that I love to ask, “Why?” Basically, John is asking the same question Christians have been asking for 2,000 years, “Why did Jesus need to be baptized?” It is a legitimate question. It is an important question.
Most people’s answer boils down an issue of solidarity, and it typically goes something like this:

“With his baptism Jesus fully identified with fallen humanity. Matthew has already tipped his hand in this regard. On page one of his gospel he lists forty-two men in Jesus' genealogy, then four women with unsavory pasts. Tamar was widowed twice, then became a victim of incest when her father-in-law abused her as a prostitute. Rahab was a foreigner and a whore who protected the Hebrew spies by lying. Ruth was a foreigner and a widow, while Bathsheba was the object of David's adulterous passion and murderous cover-up (Matthew 1:1–17). These women stick out like a sore thumb; but they nevertheless formed part of Jesus' family of origin.”

“On page two, Matthew then honors the pagan magi from Persia who worshipped Jesus with their gifts. Page three brings us to his baptism. To air brush this fully human Jesus is to fall prey to something like the second-century heresy of docetism (from the Greek dokeo, "to seem or appear") that claimed Jesus only "seemed" human. Surely he couldn't have been polluted by our material existence! In trying to "protect" Jesus from a genuine human nature, we do the exact opposite of what he himself does in his baptism; instead of insulating himself from us, he fully participates with us.”

This is a fairly typical response to the question of Jesus’ baptism. It is a good response to the question. It is a true response to the question. But I am not convinced it is the best response to Jesus’ baptism. I think Jesus’ own words form the best response. Jesus says, “Permit it at this time; for in this way it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness.” Or said another way, “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” Or said yet another way, “It should be done, for we must carry out all that God requires.” What is Jesus answer? Jesus answers, “I need to be baptized because the Father requires it.”

It is difficult response to hear. It is a difficult response to accept. “But,” perhaps John said, “Why does the Father require it? It just doesn’t make sense. I just don’t understand. I don’t get it. It is illogical. Why? Why? Why?” Like little children incessantly pulling at Dad’s pant leg, or at the hem of Mom’s skirt, we want to know why! Jesus answers, “It must be done because the Father requires it.” For Jesus, it is not a matter of reason, or logic, or even of theology. It is a simple matter of obedience.

What happened when Jesus and John obeyed? The most spectacular thing happened. The heavens opened up. Those who had eyes to see saw the Spirit descend on Jesus. It was a revelation. Another epiphany if you will. It was the power of God being given to Christ. It was the authority of God invested with Christ. It was God’s anointing of God’s prophet who came that all might see clearly the perfect image of God, and that all might see perfectly the Kingdom of God.

Those who had ears to hear, heard the voice of God say, “This is my dearly loved Son, who brings me great joy.” The affirmation of the Father’s beloved Son reverberates of Psalm 2, “You are my Son, today I have become your Father.” In this psalm it is the king speaking to his son – who himself is a king sharing in the father’s reign. In Matthew it is also the King…the King of all kings who speaks these words to his Son. This Son too is himself a king sharing in the Father’s reign and reigning in the Fathers kingdom. And yet the second half of God’s affirmation echoes the prophecy of Isaiah that Chuck read for us. “Look at my servant, whom I strengthen. He is my chosen one, who pleases me” – who brings me great joy. The Isaiah passage begins an extended passage known as “the suffering servant passage” that draws to a close in chapter 53 with images of the servant being “despised and rejected,” “pierced for our rebellion,” “crushed for our sins,” “beaten so we could be whole,” “whipped so we could be healed,” “oppressed and treated harshly, yet never said a word,” “condemned,” “struck down,” and “buried.” The Matthew story begins the ministry of The Suffering Servant whose life would come to an end as he too crucified also for us under Pontius Pilate. He suffered death, and was buried.

And so, God in all his fullness was revealed in this divine moment. It happened because Jesus obediently entered the waters of baptism. Despite a lack of understanding – despite an inability to answer the why question – Jesus was obedient. As a result of Jesus’ unquestioned obedience, the glory of God was seen in the world. The power of God was known by the world. The grace of God was given to the world. Because of Jesus’ unquestioned obedience, the work of God was able to be done in the world and the world was able to see and know God.

Unquestioned obedience is the soil out of which the church and the kingdom grow. Now I am not saying we should never ask why. We should always ask why. We should always have a good reason for doing what we do. We need to know why we worship. We need to know why we have discipleship. We need to know why we reach out. We need to know why we have Sunday night church. We need to know why do M&M. We need to know why. We must have good reasons. And the things we do must fulfill and accomplish those reason or else we ought to be doing something else that will.

Occasionally, however, we will presented with moments like this one in the life of Christ where there is no obvious reason why. Those times are most pivotal in our ministry to the world because those times require great faith. Those times require simple obedience. If the glory and the power and the grace of God are to be seen in us – if the work of God is to be done through us – we must follow with humble obedience. We must always know why, but perhaps sometimes the best reason why is, “because God requires it.” To the Glory of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Who's Ready for an Epiphany?

As we gather this morning to celebrate the Epiphany of our Lord, we do so amidst a fair amount of ambiguity. There is always a tension between knowing what is historically true and what is theological truth. We know very little of what is historically true about Epiphany. What are magi? Where are they from? How many of them were there? How long did they travel? When did they arrive? Many theories abound. Some say they were kings. Some that they were wealthy and highly educated philosophers. Some say they were diviners in the dark arts. Some say they were complete frauds. Some try to isolate an area of their origin such as Arabia, Persia, or some other eastern nation. Some say there were three, while some say there were a multitude traveling together with safety in numbers. Most agree that their journey was a long one, but when they arrived is much debated. Most think it was a few years after Jesus’ birth, but some maintain a nearly immediate arrival. We really do know very little of what is historically true about this incident.

It’s a good thing for us then, that we are concerned not with what is historically true. Our concern is to discern the theological truth of the story. That truth starts with the name given to our celebration. Epiphany. Epiphany means revelation or illumination. When one has an epiphany, one has a revelation. I love watching people when you tell a joke. You can always see on their face when the get it. That getting it is an epiphany. Perhaps it could be better understood as that moment of illumination – when the light bulb comes on in your mind. When the truth sinks in and you have that “Aha” moment. That “aha” is an epiphany.

Let’s turn to our Gospel reading as we read of that first Epiphany and try to glean a little theological truth as we close out our Christmas season. Matthew 2.1-2. Hear the Word of the Lord.

READ TEXT

In the story there are several characters. The obvious ones are the Holy Family, the King Herod, and the Three Magi. We can think about the truth of Epiphany from a number of different perspectives. We could compare the two Kings of the Jews: Herod and Jesus. We could compare the responses of Herod and the Magi. But those are a little too obvious for me. There is another set of characters that are only secondary in appearance, but which have thoroughly captured my imagination this week and which I believe to be of utmost importance to the truth of Epiphany.

The magi, quite naturally, come to Jerusalem looking for a newborn King of the Jews. It is likely that they would have been searching out Herod as a new king would naturally be his son. When Herod heard news of these foreign dignitaries poking around town asking about a new King of the Jews (and knowing that he hadn’t recently given birth) was quite concerned. And so our characters enter the story. King Herod usually has no use for the Jewish religious leaders, but this day he had.

He assembled all the chief-priests and all the scribes. He asked them, “Where is the Messiah to be born?” Like the good religious leaders they were, they rattled off the appropriate memory verse. “And you, O Bethlehem in the land of Judah, are not least among the ruling cities of Judah, for a ruler will come from you who will be the shepherd for my people Israel.”

Herod immediately hatched a plot. He sent for the magi. He told them he too wanted to worship this newborn Messiah. He sent them to Bethlehem to find this newborn. And he only asked that they return to give him news of who the Messiah is and where he can be found. So the magi turned their aim toward Bethlehem, the little town just a few miles outside Jerusalem. The rest of the story is quite familiar to us. The magi find Jesus; bow down and worship; and present him with gifts. A series of dreams warns both the magi and the Holy Family, and everyone escapes safely from Herod’s treacherous scheming.

So here is my question: what happened to the Chief-Priests and Scribes? On the one hand are the magi. They are gentiles. They are not Jews. They are not looking for a Messiah. They are not looking for God. They are not looking for a Savior or for anything other than a new born king. And yet, they seek out this child. They look upon his face, and they see the light. They have an epiphany. They get it. They realize this is no ordinary baby they are seeing, but they are in the presence of God Almighty. They fall flat on their faces and they worship the Christ-child.

I ask again, what happened to the Chief-Priests and the Scribes? Unlike the magi, they know the Hebrew Scriptures inside out. They have devoted their lives to learning the sacred texts and the sacred tradition. They know their faith inside out. They even know the Messiah is to be born in Bethlehem. Unlike the Magi, they are looking for a Messiah. They are looking for God. They are looking for a savior, a redeemer, and for one who will restore them and their people. If anyone should have seen the signs … if anyone should have sought out the child … if anyone should have bowed down and worshipped God incarnate in the little child it was these religious leaders. And so I ask again, what happened to the Chief-Priests and Scribes?

You all remember Andre Agassi. He was a very popular tennis star in the late 80’s and early 90’s. He had long hair and was known as the “Rebel.” He was the rock star of the tennis world. He became one of the greatest ever. Then something strange happened. He started gaining a little weight, he battled with injuries, his game slipped noticeably. He took some time off, got back in shape, and returned to the game – playing at the level he was used to. When asked about the turn of events he reflected. He noted how he got out of shape. “Playing at the top levels requires you,” he said, “to be light on your feet so you can change and react to the ball.”

What does that have to do with the Chief-Priests and the Scribes? I suspect they became out of shape. They became comfortable and content with their faith. They rested on their knowledge of text and tradition. They got spiritually fat and inflexible. The Messiah did not come as they expected, and they were too fat, too inflexible, and too planted in their ways to adjust to the change thrown at them.

Isn’t it strange how the church seems to spread the fasted in places we least expect? We would expect the church to be growing like wildfire here in America where we all know Christianity so well… where we know the sacred texts and the traditions of the faith so well. We don’t expect the church to grow so rapidly where no one has every heard of it, or Christ, or Christianity before. We don’t expect it to be growing in third world countries where no one has ever read or even heard the Bible. And yet quite the opposite is happening. Here in America and in Europe, where Christianity was the norm, churches are decreasing, but in Africa, Asia, and South America…what is called the global south, the church is raging on. Why?

I suspect the American church has gotten comfortable and content. We know this stuff. We know our Bibles, we’ve been going to church forever it seems. As is usually the case comfortability and contentment have led us to quit growing and to quit learning and to quit stretching ourselves. We have found our place and we like it here. We have become fat. We are no longer light on our feet. We are no longer able to change enough to keep up in a fast changing world. In the story of the Magi, both Herod and the Magi see Christ for who he is. Both respond differently, but both have an epiphany. Strangely, the only ones who do not share in the epiphany are the Priests and Scribes… the religious establishment… the church.

The Christmas story tells us that Christ is born into the world. The Epiphany story tells us that some will see him and some will not. Some will embrace him and some will not. Some will bow and worship and some will not. Some will partner with him in mission and some will not. The question for us is are we fit enough to recognize him when he comes? And are we light enough on our feet to change enough to respond when his coming is not as we expect?

I am always excited about New Years. It is a chance for new starts, for new dreams and for new goals. Since coming here I have been a part of many conversations – in this church, with other pastors, with community members in general – about why churches in Toronto seem to have such a tough time growing. I haven’t been here long enough to have a real clear answer, but I do know the problem is not with God. God is revealing himself today in our community just as he did that Christmas night and just as he did back in “the good old days.” This year will be a very good year. It will be a very tough year, but a very good year. This year we have to decide if we will cast our lot with the Priest and Scribe who are too set in their ways to recognize the work of God in the world, or if we will join the Magi in seeing him, recognizing him, and bowing to worship him. We have to decide how important it is to us to do the work of Christ. We have to decide how flexible we are willing to be to work where he is working. We have to decide how light on our feet we can be, changing in response to the needs of our community and the working of God therein. The good news of Christmas is: God is alive! God is here! And God is working! The challenge of Epiphany is: See Him! Recognize Him! Respond with Him! To the glory of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Christmas in Context

Christmas is one of those times we all look forward to each and every year. We all have images in our minds of the perfect Christmas. Usually it looks something like a Norman Rockwell painting inside a giant snow-globe. The town is quiet and still. The air is filled with the sounds of carolers standing beneath the street-lights singing Christmas blessings to all who pass by. A gentle and steady snow falls making way for a white Christmas. These kinds of nostalgic daydreams set the stage for a perfect Christmas.

There is this expectation of quiet beauty that accompanies Christmas. Perhaps it is more of a hope than anything else, but none can deny there is something mystical about Christmas that turns the ordinary Ebenezer Scrooge into the most benevolent of philanthropists. Even our Christmas carols help reinforce this sense of Christmas magic.

“Silent night! Holy night! All is calm. All is bright.”

“What child is this who lays to rest, on Mary’s lap is sleeping?”

“The cattle are lowing the baby awakes, but little Lord Jesus no crying he makes!”

It is all so quiet. It is all so still. It is all so holy. It is all so perfect. This morning’s Gospel lesson, however, snaps us out of our winter wonderland and forces us to smell the salts of reality. And O how the holy and silent night so quickly changes. Our Gospel lesson is from the Gospel according to St. Matthew 2.13-23. Hear the Word of the Lord.



Now that we are all awake, lets take a quick look at this Christmas story, to see what our rose colored glasses have helped us to miss, starting with the setting for the story. The Christmas story is set in a stable in Bethlehem. Somehow, the stable has become quite romantic. A dark night, a bright star, angels above, sheep and cattle and shepherd, a feeding trough made into a cradle. We see this in our mind and it evokes such pleasant sentiments. But I am here to tell you there is nothing at all romantic about a barn!

I’ve spent a lot of time around cows in barns. They were not pleasant places to be. Most barns where animals live are muddy and musty. The dirt floors become mud with spilled water and other liquids that are deposited on the ground. The smell can become quite overwhelming. The animals are noisy and always milling about. Usually there are mice scampering in the feeding troughs trying to find any last morsels. There is certainly nothing nice about a stable.

What a way to start your life. I guess the silver lining is that the stable was in Bethlehem. Everyone knew the Messiah was to be born in Bethlehem. Maybe that slow start in the stable is back on track. Maybe Bethlehem is the key. Then again, Bethlehem doesn’t last long does it? Joseph is warned in a dream that he must leave, and so, in the still of the night, the young family packs up and leaves. Where do they go? We would expect that the messiah would go to Jerusalem. Just the opposite really happens. The family journeys first to Egypt, then to Galilee, and finally they settle in Nazareth. These travels do not represent a rise to power, but rather a downward spiral toward irrelevance. Consider the stops on the journey.

“Egypt is a land with ambiguous connotations. It is, of course, the place of bondage from which God had to deliver the people in the exodus. But it is also sometimes a place of refuge. Another Joseph, who was also guided by God through dreams, once brought his family here. And, as it turns out, Jesus' sojourn here is a brief one. Soon, the family is directed back to Israel, where they belong. But, alas! Another problem arises, and they wind up settling in Galilee.

“Galilee was commonly known as ‘Galilee of the Gentiles’ (Matt. 4:15). Though once a part of the northern kingdom of Israel, the land had never really been recovered since its fall to the Assyrians, and it was now widely populated with ‘foreigners.’ The Jews in Judea considered Galilean Jews only a step above Samaritans. Settling here was definitely not a wise career move for anyone who wanted credentials as a Messiah.


“Nazareth is even worse. This little agricultural village, with a population of about 500, was so insignificant that, at one time, some historians and archaeologists denied that such a place had ever existed. "Can anything good come out of Nazareth?" may have been a proverb of the day. Certainly, these words of Nathaniel recorded in John’s gospel would have represented a popular sentiment” (from Mark Allen Powell).

This Christmas story, this story of the Messiah, is not really looking so rosy is it? When we consider the situations that go along with the setting, the Christmas story becomes even less snow-globish. Why were they in a barn in the first place? Tradition tells us that it is because there was “no room for them in the inn.” Coming to Bethlehem for the census means Bethlehem is home and they must have had family there. Why come home and not stay with the folks? I’ll tell you why. It was quite shameful to be with child and without husband. Many of you grew up in an era where young teenage mothers were sent to homes to spare the honor and dignity of parents. Usually a nice story was made up about how little Mary went away to visit grandparents, or to go to boarding school, or because there is no room for her in the inn. Make up whatever story you want, but the bottom line is Mary brought shame on the family, and the family wants nothing to do with her. Mary is sent away, to the home for unwed mothers, to the stable, or to wherever because the family disowns her.

And what of Jesus escape to Egypt? Well, you remember that line from Away in a Manger: the one about the little Lord Jesus no crying he makes? I highly doubt Jesus did not cry. But even if he didn’t, Matthew tells us that soon the whole city of Bethlehem was filled with crying. Herod was on the loose. He was plotting. He to had heard rumors, seen signs, and read scripture. He knew what might be unfolding. The angels brought the shepherds great tidings of good news. But to Herod, this news was not good. The rise of the Messiah would mean the downfall of his reign. So he decided to kill all the baby boys. That way this Christ-child would be killed for sure and his reign would be secure. Babies cried as they were massacred. Parents watched as their newborn treasures were stolen from them. How quickly the holy and silent night changes into evil and mournful nights.

How’s that for a Christmas story?

As soon as we snap out of our own snow-globe Christmas scenes, we find that Christmas comes for us, like it did for Christ, in the midst of a pretty painful and even evil world. Our world is not all that different. Anyone know a dysfunctional family? Anyone know a pregnant, unwed mother. Anyone heard in the news recently any stories about governments making war and killing innocent people to advance their own causes or protect their own power? Anyone heard in the news recently any stories of world leaders killing opponents to assure their own power? Myanmar anyone? Bhutto anyone? Anyone?

That is the setting for Christmas. Not some White Christmas, Norman Rockwell, Winter Wonderland. Real life, real pain, real suffering, real oppression, real evil. When we remove Christmas from its real life setting, we get a beautiful story. When we leave Christmas in its context, we get Gospel. We get Good News. Where, you ask, is the good news in all that? Jesus enters a world of real pain, of serious dysfunction, a world of brokenness and political oppression. Jesus was born an outcast, a homeless person, a refugee, and finally he becomes a victim of an oppressive government. Jesus is the perfect savior for outcasts, refugees, and nobodies.

That’s what it meant to be a Nazarene you know: an outcast, a refugee, a nobody. (Which is why, by the way we are named The Church of the Nazarene: we were to be a place where an outcast could be welcomed in, a refugee made to be at home, and a nobody could be somebody). That's how the church is described in scripture time and time again - not as the best and the brightest - but those who in their weakness become a sign for the world of the wisdom and power of God. That is the truth of Christmas and we must be careful not to lose this connection to the truth of the story because it is that story that shapes our identity as the people of God.

It is very interesting how Matthew tells the story of Christmas. As stories go, one stands head and shoulders above all others in the Jewish faith. The story of the Exodus is remembered and rehearsed annually at the Feast of Passover. The Jewish people arrive in Egypt when Joseph, lead by God in a dream, takes his family there. There was a great slaughter of children at the hands of Pharaoh. When God delivered them from Egypt they were forced to wander for years in the wilderness before they were able to enter the Promised Land.

Jesus, in Matthew’s story, becomes a part of that story. Joseph takes him to Egypt lead by God in a dream. The holy family escapes the massacre of young children. God delivers them from Egypt, but they are prevented from going straight home. Jesus must live in the wilderness of Galilee and the desert of Nazareth for years before being able to arrive in Jerusalem. Jesus walks with the Jews through their history, embracing his identity and their identity as people of YHWH.

But Matthew does more than that. Matthew recasts the central story of the Jewish faith to become the central story of the Christian faith. Christmas is a story of deliverance. The exodus was but a foreshadowing of deliverance God would provide to the world. God’s deliverance came to the Jew’s in the exodus, to Christ through this morning’s story, and to each of us in Christ. The Christmas story is our story. It is the story of incarnation. It is the coming of God as a human. But more than that, it is the coming of God as one of us. In his coming is our deliverance.

Like the Jews, we too remember and rehearse the story every year. We do it at Christmas, but the real miracle of Christmas is that incarnation happens all the time. It happens every time we bring light into darkness. It happens every time we bring peace into violence. It happens every time we bring hope to the hopeless, joy to the grieving and the depressed and loved to the lonely and unloved. The miracle of Christmas is not that it happened once, long, long ago on some utopian silent and holy night, but that it happens now, as it did then, when the love of God is born into the muck and the mire of every day life. To the glory of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.