The view from up here

a Sermon for Epiphany 4C
Text: Luke 4:21-30

Please Pray with me: God of Hope and Wonder, we long to be part of your vision for the
world; help us to see you at work in the world and within us. Amen.

Remember, this story is about the cliff.

We came to church this morning feeling that this was an ordinary Sunday. We thought that some semblance of normal was being restored to the world and we could begin to go about our lives as normal. And our first two readings might even seem to reinforce that thinking. And then we get to the gospel.

The Gospel itself looks straightforward or simple enough. Jesus says something, people get excited, then Jesus makes the people mad, so they try to kill him. We might even think that Jesus himself gives us the message of this story: “no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s hometown.” OK. You can’t go home again. Got it. Time to move on!

Except that we can’t move on. Moving on would mean that we ignore the real cause for the outrage. It would mean that the reason for collective violence would be swept under the carpet. That isn’t the gospel. So what caused these family friends, this home congregation, to not only get upset at Jesus, but cause the collective body to intend to murder him?

He told them that they don’t get to be first. That God likes some other people better. And that many of those people would gain power and influence at the expense of the faithful. He put the mirror up to the people and said, in essence:

“When I read from Isaiah these words:

He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.

I didn’t mean that you are the captives or the blind or the oppressed, but that you get the short end of the stick.”

And when Jesus said this, the crowd was going to kill him as a blasphemer by stoning him to death in a way—by throwing him off of the cliff and onto the stones below.

The key, of course was his choice of examples. As long as the poor, the blind, and the oppressed are nameless, “we’re all good”. But when he names gentiles that were given favor over Jewish people in the same boat, they became outraged.

It seems as if we have a hard time with this notion, too. We like the idea of “bringing good news to the poor” as long as we still get to be wealthy (or at least middle-class—which is wealthy by international standards). We like the idea of releasing captives—if they haven’t done anything to us or aren’t considered our property. We like the idea of giving sight to the blind—as long as they don’t see something we’ve overlooked. We like the idea of letting the oppressed go free—as long as they don’t have it as good as we have it. We like to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor—except that we don’t actually want that to happen, because then we all get to move to the back of the line. And after a while, our feet start to hurt because that line looks really long from back here. It seems as if, deep down, we believe that we’re the ones who are oppressed and need saving from the current state of affairs. So when Jesus’s words are only words, we feel good. But when we are asked to live them as the oppressor, we balk.

The truth is that Jesus could walk into most any church in America and grab a Bible, read that passage and say that the people chosen for salvation and authority in the new age aren’t Christian, but are homeless or displaced, are hungry and malnourished, haven’t had access to safe drinking water or doctor care in who knows how long. And the people would be furious. He’d be called a false prophet and run out of town. He’d hear the people shout “That isn’t Biblical” as they drive him away.

But remember, the story is about the cliff.

The location for the story is “the brow of the hill on which their town was built”. Luke gives us an image of a people who live on a hill. This would no doubt be the scene of some wonderful childhood stories of Jesus running through the meadows down in the valley, of clothes hung on lines in the breeze of the hilltop. The town itself could be seen from some distance away—a vision that might cause a weary traveler to want to set down some roots in this beautiful location. From the hilltop itself, an observer could get a wider view of the countryside than anywhere else. Even in military terms, the elevated location would serve as a tactical advantage. In every way, this town is in an idyllic spot.

But this hill also has a cliff—a source of danger for children running around and a temptation for the town’s more malicious members. The cliff may be the hill’s darker side—the drawback for the benefits the people get in living there.

For Luke, the location is the visual and most explanatory part of the story, because Jesus comes up from lower ground and tells the people that they’ve got a great view, that they are great people, but their position also gives them blindspots. That they can’t see everything from this hill. That this hill doesn’t help them see themselves any better or one another any better. The outrage didn’t come out because Jesus said good things about Gentiles, but that Gentiles, even Gentiles that had oppressed Jews, could better know the mind of their God.

That message is Good News, isn’t it? Jesus tells us that God’s vision for the world is bigger than we are. That to be a part of the vision doesn’t require joining an exclusive club with membership dues, name tags, or offices to be held. It merely requires relationship and participation with the vision.

It also means that we don’t have to have all of the answers—and even better—that we don’t! That we can learn from other people and other cultures. That we can gain insight from people that we don’t even know. That we aren’t all that there is, and we aren’t “the best”.

Most important, though, is that it sheds light on the inner darkness. That we like feeling special. We like knowing that someday we’ll each get a chance to give Jesus a hi-five. And we like knowing that our hard work will pay off in some way. That we like being different and we’re worried that if the outsider can have what we have, it won’t be as good.

For us, in this Epiphanytide, the cliff is the source of our great vision and our great hubris. It is the place in which we endanger our own understanding of God by squeezing it too tightly and dashing others to the rocks. But it is also the place in which we can realize that problem—our hard hearts transformed into forgiveness by the grace of God. It is the place of the revelation made blind by our own insecurity—the place in which our innersight may be restored to match or even better our physical site.

May you find yourself awakened and given new sight this day by a God that longs for your collaboration in vision and may that cliff be the site of your greatest triumph.

Being called through signs

a Sermon for Epiphany (C)
Text: Matthew 2:1-12

God of Hope and Wonder, as you gave these Magi signs, you give us signs that we might follow. We will listen as you keep calling us to service. Amen.

I have to confess that I always assumed that I would be watching cartoons as an adult. Since most of us love them as children, I assumed that would continue, and thanks to the Cartoon Network and Adult Swim, adults can like cartoons. What I didn’t expect is that I would spend 30 minutes every evening watching Nick Jr., the cartoon network for preschoolers. Over the last couple of weeks, they have been advertising a new Dora the Explorer episode: “Dora Saves Three Kings Day”. Now, I’m not a big Dora fan, and I didn’t watch this particular episode, but the title points out how we often envision the day. Three kings, travel from the Orient, carrying gifts solemnly to be delivered to the baby born 12 days earlier. A fascinating story, if not altogether accurate.

Much of the story, as we remember it, has the spaces filled in by tradition. Matthew doesn’t say how many Magi there are, but we think of three—one for each gift given. The word magi has the same root as magician, but we take these individuals as men and as royalty, naming them kings. A more accurate title might be stargazer or astrologer. They are also likely to have come from Babylon, not the Orient. In other words, Three Kings Day this is not.

So let us instead consider what the original version of the story might mean for us. The word magi in other parts of scripture is actually derogatory and suggests a charlatan, like a snake-oil salesman. That Herod would enlist such a group is interesting. They were already tracking an astrological event and were looking for something or someone, the new king of Israel. Whatever the case, these were a collection of people covering a long distance with attendants and a caravan following them, traveling a long way to visit God’s son. The Jewish authorities just down the road didn’t make the trip, but people from a foreign land did.

And they came because of a prediction. They saw a sign in the place they look for signs—the sky, and specifically among the stars, it took the form of a single star.

We tend to think that signs come to us like a paddle upside the head or a loud booming voice from the heavens—kind of like the one Jesus gets at his baptism. Something big and bold and flashy. We think that is how it all works. But signs can be much more personal and elusive. They come in the places you look, but not necessarily the form you expect. This is more like the form of God’s messenging service than direct visits from angels or in natural disasters.

This morning, we celebrate the Epiphany, derived from the Greek epiphaneia which means ‘manifestation’. In common terms, we think of having an epiphany—a moment of realization or clarity—or perhaps more literally, the manifestation of incredible insight. Considering that definition, we might be tempted to go back to Dora’s ‘Three Kings Day’ and call it good. But for us, epiphany isn’t simply about the visit from the magi. The other gospel reading for today is the baptism of Jesus. Next week is the wedding at Canna and so on, concluding with the Transfiguration. These passages cover not only the beginning of Jesus’s earthly ministry, but include actual manifestations of the Spirit and a new vision of things to come.

And because of all of the fireworks in these passages, we might overlook one simple truth: God spoke. And he directed the Magi to the Son.

We’re often challenged by God’s speaking in our lives. Sometimes we don’t like the timing. Sometimes we don’t like the challenge given us. Sometimes we don’t think we’re worthy. But we’re all here today because, in some way, we were called to be here, coming from all over the place. It is all the more special because we are about to demonstrate our faith and commission some wonderful people to service, to respond to the call that God has given to them. Today, one of the traditional days for baptism, we will have two, Alexander and Francesca. We will commission them to lifelong service and witness of God’s love. And we will all swear to lift both of them up and raise them in a healthy and spiritual way. In this way, we are all called to this service, not only as witnesses, but as guides and supporters of a new life in faith.

We also will commission our new vestry. These leaders, called from within the church will be given responsibility for much more than the financial health of the parish, but the direction and leadership of our ministries and our future. God has touched each of them for leadership at St. Paul’s and in the Diocese of Atlanta.

It may be easy to see these baptisms and the vestry commissioning as simply public acts—things done in front of the community. In this view, the gathered people are passively witnessing the events as they unfold. But for us, and for our theology, these are powerful moments, representing the collective voice of the congregation. WE are baptizing these two beautiful Christians and vowing to stand with them and hold them up. WE are commissioning this vestry to serve this year with dignity and honor. WE are responsible for helping these magi find God’s son, in a strange town, in a strange place, by the light of a brilliant star. This is our calling today. Let us follow Him.

Looking for superpowers

a Sermon for Christmas 2C
Text: Luke 2:41-52

Please pray with me. God of Hope and Wonder we thank you for families, friends, and most of all, our relationship with you. May we continue to learn how to love you and be your children. Amen.

There are a few strange things you probably noticed this morning in our gospel from the evangelist we know as Luke: The holy parents forget Jesus in Jerusalem; Jesus just hangs out in the Temple for 3 days; Jesus talks back to Mary when she comes to collect him. OK, maybe that last one isn’t so strange, considering the Jesus of this story is a pre-teen. Sorry to those in this room in the 11-13 range, but many adults have come to see this as the unfortunate byproduct of your hormones. Hey don’t look at me—I’m just reporting what I hear! My kid’s not even 2.

These are strange things, for sure. How could Mary and Joseph be so careless with Jesus, the Son of GOD? After the strange circumstances of his conception and birth, the angel visits, and the prophecies, how can they not check whether or not he was on the caravan? That he was, in fact, playing with the other kids? But I think this reveals more about us than about them. About our priorities and the way we govern our lives.

But really, most of us don’t have our minds on Mary and Joseph, anyway. Our minds aren’t really on the 12 year-old Jesus, either, but on the 30 year-old Jesus as a 12 year-old. Like a fiancée discovering their love’s baby books, yearbooks, and family photo albums, we’re looking for clues into the Jesus we know by looking at his past. We want to know more about him; as if discovering what his favorite food was might help us to grow spiritually. So this…this is really about us. And since we treat Jesus as some kind of superhero, looking at Jesus’s past is an attempt to discover what Superhero Jesus was like as a child. We look for evidence of superpowers to answer the unanswerable theological questions that have haunted Christianity for centuries. Was he born with superpowers, or did they show up at baptism? Does Jesus know who he really is, or does he merely have a hunch? Does he understand the world at birth, or does that understanding just show up one day, or does it only happen in death? These dizzying questions circle around the Scripture and we hope that they can get answered because really, deep down, this is merely part of our own pursuit to better understand him and his nature. In this way, the story of the pre-teen Jesus is full of new confusions.

It says in verses 46-48:

After three days they found him in the temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. And all who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers. When his parents saw him they were astonished;

This is perhaps the closest thing we have to seeing pre-teen “superpowers”. Jesus was “sitting among the teachers…And all who heard him were amazed”. We might be tempted to see that what was amazing about his teaching was his age. That the maturity of his answers were beyond the ability of a “normal” 12 year-old. But I think that’s weak. Especially in light of our modern bias against the wisdom of youth. No, I’m more inclined to see it plainly—Jesus, at any age, gave some pretty solid answers. At the same time, it also didn’t say that he answered well—it says that they were amazed. This is the same word used in later chapters in the crowd’s response to Jesus’s miracles. There is something remarkable about this adolescent, isn’t there?

It is that moment in the Scripture, when the teachers are amazed and the parents come in and are astonished that helps us understand what it means to move from the Incarnation in the birth of Jesus to the ministry of Jesus’s later life. This pre-teen Jesus is on the cusp of living into his called life. It would have been common in Jesus’s time to not see Jesus at 12 as a boy, but as a young man. The teenage years were seen as full maturity. Similarly, if Jesus were following the rabbinic traditions at the time, by the age of 12, he would have memorized all of Scripture and would soon be exploring Midrash and all of the great questions of Judaism. In other word, at 12, Jesus might reasonably be considered a budding academic. And further, those sitting around him in the Temple aren’t likely to be 70 year-old graybeards, but young men, many of which could very well be in their late teens and twenties.

What is most profound, therefore in this Scripture is not a revelation of Jesus’s childhood, but a defining moment in Jesus’s maturation and the revelation of Jesus’s adulthood. One scholar highlights an interesting textual shift in the midst of this reading. He points out that the story begins from the parent’s perspective. After they come to the Temple and find Jesus, the perspective shifts onto Jesus. In verse 51, the perspective is singularly about Jesus. It says:

Then he went down with them and came to Nazareth, and was obedient to them.

The story becomes centrally about Jesus. The text itself narrates Jesus’s independence from his parents, even as he succumbs to their direction and instruction. In many ways, this is a demonstration of Jesus’s maturity and adulthood—that he is able to follow his calling from GOD by being obedient to his parents, even after the point in which he no longer needs to.

In finding a ‘Father’ that takes the ‘top spot’ from Dad, Jesus is making both a deeply human and deeply spiritual decision. This is small comfort for parents that are dreading the onset of their own kids’ budding adulthood. But this is more than maturity and the passage of time; more than some imposed sense of wisdom or a practiced custom. This is, instead, the image of one who is changed through his new relationship with GOD and with the world. And each of us is given that opportunity to be changed—whether we like it or not.

As the children of parents who had trouble with our growing up; as children of parents who reluctantly allowed us to move out on our own; or as parents, with children at home or children long gone we are all in the midst of following GOD’s call and exploring the redefinition of relationship that comes with it. For many, this can be a traumatic time, full of confusion and even estrangement. But it is necessary, if not inevitable.

We often speak in our culture of growth and maturity as loss—a loss of innocence, as well as a loss of peace and harmony and a loss of dependent relationship. But rarely do we see what is gained. As each of us is separated from our families and customs, and as we bind ourselves to GOD through faith, we gain community. We gain new family. We gain the fullness of GOD’s love and a multitude of ways to love GOD back. We (St. Paul’s) are a product of that love and that relationship.

I don’t have answers to all of our questions…but I do have faith in those who ask them. I have faith that people of all ages are looking for a better relationship with GOD. I believe that in their hearts, whatever their age, resides the wisdom of GOD’s love. That, in our midst, there are apostles who will soon lead, prophets who will soon speak, and teachers, doers, and healers discovering their calling. If we are willing to cast ourselves in with God.

May we each continue to explore GOD’s work for us, help one another discover our spiritual gifts, and be a family-of-origin for world-changers. Amen.