Sermon September 12 2010 “Growing into . . .”

Jeremiah 4:11-12, 22-28

Psalm 14

1 Timothy 1:12-17

Luke 15:1-10

“Growing into . . .”

I’ve never been completely lost—not knowing exactly where I am—but the thought has always scared me. I can’t say the same thing about my spiritual life. Though I’ve always been a part of church, I feel like the pathway to the times in life when I have been closely connected to God hasn’t been straight forward. In my own life, I have struggled and experimented and wandered as I have sought to connect to God in a way that is genuine and true to the person that I believe God has created me to be. In my own life, I have sought redemption from other people’s ideas of who I should be, the lies that I thought were truths.

The basis of Jesus’ message, his life, death and resurrection is the need we have—and have always had—to be redeemed from slavery to sin, affliction and/or painfully lived lives. Redemption from sin may be primary the sin we commit individually—slavery to sin may also include how we are caught up in net of sin that we weave together as friends and family, even as communities and nations.

Slavery to affliction and painfully lived lives often flows out of the systems of sin in which we exist—though the complexity of those systems may be far beyond our comprehension. Diseases, illness, injuries—physical, mental and emotional can enslave us broadly and deeply due to the sin interwoven into the structure of all nations, corporations and in every human system. Families perpetuate sin, so do cultures of communities, companies and industries—all of them in particular, yet very familiar ways.

The heart of the message today is our need for growth out and away from that slavery to sin—wherever it is and wherever it comes from. All of us are sinners—and all of us have been enslaved by it in different degrees. All of us participate in the systems of sin—and all of us help to cause others pain through those systems. We need, all of us need redemption and the freedom that is brought to us in the message of the scripture.

Even the message that is brought to us through the prophet Jeremiah—not the most grace-filled text in our cannon—leaves the people of Israel with a glimmer of hope for themselves and the world in which they lived.

As God brought a word of judgment to the people, as God spoke through the prophet Jeremiah, it seems as if hope is lost.

For my people are foolish,
they do not know me;
they are stupid children,
they have no understanding.
They are skilled in doing evil,
but do not know how to do good.[1]

Jeremiah is witness to God’s utter disgust with them as he looks on in a vision.

I looked on the earth, and lo, it was waste and void;
and to the heavens, and they had no light.
²⁴ I looked on the mountains, and lo, they were quaking,
and all the hills moved to and fro.
²⁵ I looked, and lo, there was no one at all,
and all the birds of the air had fled.
²⁶ I looked, and lo, the fruitful land was a desert,
and all its cities were laid in ruins
before the Lord, before his fierce anger.

27 For thus says the Lord: The whole land shall be a desolation;[2]

God is taking them down—God has decided that the whole system of the nation, Judah, Israel’s remnant, had to be dismantled. Jerusalem, the seat of government and the seat of God’s worship were to be taken away. When God steps away—the place might look the same, yet feel empty. Jeremiah’s vision saw a world of desolation when God’s hot wind of judgment came.

Yet even in all of this—in Jeremiah’s vision of desolation, waste and void, darkness, destruction, fruitful land turned to desert, God’s fierce anger—part of God’s message is that “I will not make a full end.” Desolation is not then end, even if it looks that way. Dry desert and dark skies would be terrorizing.

And God’s anger brought on by the foolishness of God’s people would be a weight of shame and guilt upon their hearts. When we are most honest with ourselves, each one of us have had to acknowledge that at times we were skilled in doing evil, but do not know how to do good. Those times when our hearts are hard and angry—we are in need of the hope that God’s anger end and that God’s love is eternal.

The scriptural thread we follow today continues through the gospel lesson’s assurance that God’s realm is for the lost. The Pharisees appear again in opposition to Jesus’ way of interacting with those in the community. They grumble at his fraternizing with the sinners. So he tells them a parable. A parable is told by Jesus to reveal the truth of God’s reign in our lives, tells us what the reality of God’s existence is about. Just like in the first testament, God’s concern was for the wanderer—the lost and the endangered. Jesus pointed out that if they had had the lost sheep, endangered by its own lack of direction, it would be sought by them because the 99 were safely in the enclosure at home.

The sheep that wandered of its own accord is brought back in great joy—even though it wandered away by choice and endangered the rest of the flock.

The Pauline message this first letter to Timothy continues to remind us through this set of scriptures of how we are redeemed by Jesus Christ from being lost, from being enslaved to sin—our own individual sin and the systems of sin that surround us. We are reminded that Paul was “formerly a blasphemer, a persecutor, and a man of violence.” [3] In the life of Paul, we are made aware of God’s tremendous generosity and love, the grace he needed to participate in God’s growing realm. Paul’s life before he met Jesus on the Road to Damascus was one of religious fervor—but after his eyes were opened he could grow in relationship to God rather than growing in anger as he had before.

In his life, we have an example of confession—not to downplay our individual worth in the eyes of God, but to give God glory in our salvation, transformation, and growth. We are called to consider the regrets, harmful actions and shame of our past lives, calling upon Jesus for our salvation and being honest about our continuing need to be reconciling to the immortal, invisible God we worship. Imagine that you are called upon to complete Paul’s confession, “I was formerly . . .” What have you given up to the life that God has called you to live? What can you give up to grow in faith and spiritual relationship to God?

What Paul acknowledged and raised in gratitude was his own growth and transformation—celebrating the new life that was given to him. The example of Paul reminds us that his praise flowed deeply and widely from his gratitude for all that God had done raising him from a life of violence. He raises to God a joyful verse of praise, a joyful Amen or Yes of delight!

What we also learn from Paul’s life is that the depths of our sin our slavery to violence and corrupt systems are why we need God—or from the gospel we learn that we need God because we are lost and we are all lost.

We are called to grow into the life that is most genuine and connect us most truly to God. When we run from God’s path—like Paul—we are lost and confused. When we connect with God, we are connected to the one who is our home. Our connection to God means that wherever we are—we can be growing in faith and growing toward the one who wants what God has created in us.

We are surrounded by the life-giving, love-filled and glorious God drawing us toward the person God knows that we can be. In our gratitude to God’s work through Jesus, our Lord and Savior, we can lift up our whole lives in praise: in our actions, service and compassion.

We can lift Paul’s closing doxology or song of praise sharing in his gratitude—

Deep honor and bright glory
to the King of All Time—
One God, Immortal, Invisible,
ever and always. Oh, yes! And Amen.[4]

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[1] Jeremiah 4:22

[2] Jeremiah 4:24-27a

[3] 1 Timothy 1:13a

[4] 1 Timothy 1:17 The Message, Eugene Peterson.

Sermon August 29 2010 Jeremiah 2:4-13 Psalm 81:1, 10-16 Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16 Luke 14:1, 7-14

“A Friendly Invitation”

The story of faith is punctuated and saturated with God’s invitation to a relationship with God. Humanity’s experience with God comes to us through scripture. God invited Abraham and Sarah in their homeland and the descendents of their descendents the twelve sons of Israel or Jacob who ended up in slavery. These are the stories that continuously remind us of God’s relationship with human beings. Yet in the midst of our remembering, because we are who we are, human beings, there are always differences among people about how to be most faithful and true to what God values and desires for human beings.

We debate the best ways to be faithful; we seek to do our very best because we want to remain in relationship to our God. We do this by taking several things into consideration: we look to humanity’s previous experiences to God in scripture, we work from the experiences of other Christians and people of faith since the time of scripture and we decide from our own experiences how we have related to God.

We often have differences when we begin to emphasize the ways we decide. Using scripture, tradition (or the experiences of those who have preceded us) and our own experience can sometimes mean deciding which one is most important. These three are often the source of argument among people of faith—including those arguments within scripture. And as the letter to the Hebrews advises, whatever our disagreement, we are called to find the common ground of mutual love.

Scripture itself tells stories of difference in faith, Jeremiah’s prophecy concerns how Israel ignore its past, tradition AND scripture, and were relying on their own wisdom. Jeremiah’s prophecy, the Word of God, calls them to remember by focusing on what they were missing.

“⁶They did not say, ‘Where is the Lord
who brought us up from the land of Egypt,
who led us in the wilderness,
in a land of deserts and pits,
in a land of drought and deep darkness,
in a land that no one passes through,
where no one lives?’
⁷ I brought you into a plentiful land
to eat its fruits and its good things.
But when you entered you defiled my land,
and made my heritage an abomination.”[1]

Jeremiah’s prophecy reminds them that ignoring their relationship with God means ignoring all God has done with and for them and means that God will let them try and be their own salvation which it means that they will fail. Their failure might make some rich, but will assure that there will be lost time and depth in their relationship with God.

They were focusing on the word of the priests and rulers and not realizing what God had taught them before—to know that reliance on God would be the only thing that saved them. They needed to remember that they needed to connect to God’s purpose and direction for their nation and their lives.

Yet this kind of debate continued into the New Testament, what is necessary to be faithful. Does God’s word mean this or that? But at the base of it all was still the necessity to nurture a connection to God, and what God’s purpose had been over time.

In the gospel story today, Jesus was invited to a dinner at the house of a leader within the Pharisees. The Pharisees were a group within the Jewish faith that focused on righteous action and faithfulness represented by worship at the temple in Jerusalem. The Pharisees were the ones that cared deeply about their religion, the ones who took responsibility for it flourishing. They were the elders, church council members, Sunday School superintendants and the like of that day.[2] In the gospels it often sounds like Jesus was in opposition to them and that may be true, but they were really the status quo folks in their culture—get along to get along. They were happy to listen to Jesus teach—and to argue as was the tradition within the faith about the details and nuances of following the law.

Jesus’ invitation to the Pharisee’s home may have been and underhanded attempt to get at Jesus, but my inclination is that it was simply a friendly gesture of welcome to wherever it was Jesus’ was at the time. Traveling teachers and preachers were traditionally “wined and dined” by leaders of the community and provided an evening’s diversion, entertaining the guests in the leader’s home with news, stories and whatever particular teaching they offered. Perhaps that was what this evening was meant to be.

And Jesus obliged, he even got into the role of traveling prophet and storyteller immediately—as soon as the guests began to seat themselves around the dining room. When he saw the jockeying for positions of importance—perhaps closer to him a guest of some fame or close to another important guest, or to the host’s table—I can see a smile begin to light his eyes. He understood their inner concern for importance and began to shine the light of truth on their hidden insecurities and anxiety over who ate with whom and who saw them do it.

This kind of understanding of how people work, what people desire that is unhealthy and how we categorize and value ourselves and others is what one writer say is another factor that led to Jesus’ crucifixion. One author “suggested that the reason Jesus gets killed is because he forgives sins, and by forgiving them implies that we need forgiveness. But [the author] also thinks in this week's reading we stumble upon another reason Jesus gets killed: he dares not only to stand outside the social order of his day; he dares not only to call that social order – and all social orders – into question; but he also says these things are not of God. Jesus proclaims here and throughout the gospel that in the kingdom of God there are no pecking orders.”[3]

In the household of God, there is no meritocracy—earning your daily bread doesn’t mean more credit. In God’s kingdom, the household that God runs, we are all of us reliant on grace—gifts freely given, not earned, not even specially ordered for us.

Jesus told the jockeying guests that, basically, to be a part of the kingdom, all of our anxiety about deserving, earning and working hard for a reward is worthless. Jesus told the important, maybe self-important, host that to be a part of the kingdom, he should invite the unimportant, the humbled and the poor to his meals rather than people who would impress, entertain or just be a diversion for the upper echelon of the religious circles they ran in.

Grace also means that—because there is no pecking order in God’s kingdom—none of us deserves God’s love more than anyone else does. It means that when we are offered an invitation from God, we don’t have to deserve it. It means that each one of us is called to offer an invitation to others, too. We can’t expect in God’s kingdom to hang out with those just like us. And if the church reflects God’s kingdom, we can’t expect the church to be filled with folks we understand or even like. The gospel’s good news is that we are all, all of humanity, invited to be in the realm of God—even if we don’t necessarily like everyone else who is invited.

Jesus’ words were made clear to the early church as congregations began to form around the preaching of the goods news of the kingdom and the acceptance of that good news all over the known world. As the writer ended the letter we call Hebrews, he or she offered these final snippets of wisdom or advice for their lives together as Christians. “²Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it. ³Remember those who are in prison, as though you were in prison with them; those who are being tortured, as though you yourselves were being tortured.*”[4] The letter continues in today’s text to encourage reaching out beyond those we know well to receive all that God has given us to receive.

God has given humanity an invitation to be in relationship with God from the time our eyes and hearts were opened in awareness of someone other. An existence beyond ourselves who invited our communication and our love drew us as we were aware of things and beings we could not see and touch. Each of us has been invited by that being to be in relationship. Yet each of us also has been invited to share in that kind of relationship by others, too.

Let’s not refuse God’s gift of hospitality by making it exclusive to ourselves. Let us focus the lives we live inside and outside these four walls by relying on God to guide and lead our actions as individuals and as a church. Jesus’ call of hospitality and his guidance to leave behind self-importance and self-promotion means that the values we hold in church are contained in the open hearts of hospitality in God’s kingdom. We can be open to those who come to us in need and offer what we have, not because we are afraid, but because we can trust in God’s friendly invitation to ourselves.

The message today concerns life with God, now and in eternity. If we understand grace, we will see that all the divisions that we currently use to categorize ourselves are meaningless to God. We have been invited in spite of the nasty thoughts, hateful feelings and less than Christ-like attitudes each one of us has harbored from time to time. I know, we know that we are none of us completely worthy of the love of an eternal and powerful God and yet we are loved of God, each one of us without thought to what we look like, how we behave or who we hurt. And, as I read this week, each one of us is responsible to our relationship to God . . . God has no grandchildren. Our relationship to God is our particular response to God’s presence in our lives. There is not one of us who can do it for anyone else and no one can do it for any one of us.

While we are called in community to work together in God’s realm—we are also called to live in faith within the relationships each one of us has. We are in relationship to family and friends, certainly. We are also in relationship to varying degrees of depth to everyone we meet and everyone who is influenced for good or for evil by what we do. Holding onto the stories of God’s relationship with us through time helps us to understand how we make decisions. Yet for all the stories and all the experiences and all the traditions we can come down to a few values—faith that we, each one of us is a child of God and God will treat us that way and the knowledge that God has always treated people with compassion when possible.

In times of questions and concerns, we can debate and search for answers—and we should—we also can rely on the sure and certain knowledge of God’s good will as long as we remember that God is the one who brought us this far and God will lead us home.

To the glory of our God, guide, savior and friend. Amen.

---

[1] Jeremiah 2:6-7

[2] “Why Jesus Died...And Why We'd Probably Kill Him Again,” David Lose

http://www.workingpreacher.org/dear_wp.aspx?article_id=354

[3]More Than Good Advice [or] Why Jesus Gets Killed, Pt. 2, David Lose http://www.workingpreacher.org/dear_wp.aspx?article_id=392

[4] Hebrews 13:2-3

“The Family Tree of Faith” Sermon, August 8 2010

Isaiah 1:1, 10-20
Psalm 50:1-8, 22-23
Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16
Luke 12:32-40

As I stand here this morning, I can imagine many people who have preceded me in my faith—people who are connected to me by faith in Jesus Christ. Family of origin, home church, friends who share my faith, etc. But I also have a family that stretches deep and wide over the face of the earth and beyond—people who are related to me in the simple confession of faith that we share in Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior. Some of them know me and love me. Some of them know me and don’t know whether they love me or not. Most of them don’t know me; many of them would say they don’t love me because of the differences ways we practice the one faith in Jesus Christ we share.

Faith seems to exist for some as an unwavering set of tenets and beliefs that are inflexible and unmoving no matter what other say, do or even prove. Others describe faith as a continuum of life, dynamic and growing ideas that form and reform and transform as time and history move forward. Another author, Frederick Buechner wrote, "Faith is different from theology because theology is reasoned, systematic, and orderly, whereas faith is disorderly, intermittent, and full of surprises….Faith is homesickness. Faith is a lump in the throat. Faith is less a position on than a movement toward, less a sure thing than a hunch. Faith is waiting" (Secrets in the Dark: A Life in Sermons). [1]

In the letter to the Hebrews, the author begins describing the history of faith in God from the time of Abraham—the beginnings of the faith that became Judaism out of which came Christianity. The faith as described here began with one man from the Mesopotamian region of what is now Iraq—and that family of faith traveled around that region of the word as nations formed and reformed, growing, shrinking and disappearing and reappearing in different forms.

We can see in our minds the faces that have preceded us in the faith that we follow—perhaps related to us, but many who drew us into faith and spiritual connections to God. We have been drawn and influenced by those we argued with and those with whom we have agreed deeply. Imagine those first conversations about God and the face with whom you associate those words. What does God look like? Where does God live? Wherever those words began . . .

Now imagine the faces of the current people who are a part of your connection to God—family and friends whose actions and words draw you closer to them and draw your more intimately into your relationship with Jesus Christ. How have you endured the tragedy of untimely death or other loss? What and who have given you strength? Often we are propped up for a time by the strength of others as our own strength is sapped.

We know from our experience and from the witness of scripture that faith is on a continuum, always moving and growing and changing to fit within and draw us closer to God. That is the gift of faith—that even in the darkest moments of sorrow it is still there to be embraced when we have the strength to take it up again.

As we live and move and have our being, we carry with us the most personal experiences of how God has lived with us and cared for us. And within the family tree of faith, we also have the long view of history as told to us through the traditions and stories of the faith of the Jewish people and the faith of the earliest churches and in the faith of the continuing church as it is lived today in so many ways.

The stories of the Jewish people in the First Testament reveal beliefs in blood sacrifice to restore a relationship with God—but as happens many times the ritual became more important than the change in relationship. The scripture from the book of Isaiah this morning condemns burnt offerings, blood sacrifice and other physical ritual. We hear these words:

What to me is the multitude of your sacrifices?
says the Lord;
I have had enough of burnt-offerings of rams
and the fat of fed beasts;
I do not delight in the blood of bulls,
or of lambs, or of goats.

even though you make many prayers,
I will not listen;
your hands are full of blood.
Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean;
remove the evil of your doings
from before my eyes;
cease to do evil,
learn to do good;
seek justice,
rescue the oppressed,
defend the orphan,
plead for the widow.[2]

What these words noted was that the physical sacrifice took the place of spiritual transformation—the action of bringing a gift to the temple took the place of doing action that revealed a real connection to God’s will for justice. The sacrifice was supposed to represent the transformation and repentance and then those sacrifices began to take the place of real faith in action.

God offered a real relationship that will change the way to connect with God and they—like people often do—looked at the surface and not the depths. God told them that they could not pray and be heard when their lives did not match with the love that God had offered.

Those are the legacies and inheritances of faith that we are offered as people share their lives and stories—and as we share our own with others. The story of faith is as old as the human race and we must cultivate the kind of patience that accompanies a history of that length.

Jesus assured those who followed him of their place in God’s household despite the time that might pass, the unawareness of God’s reality that might exist even in those who claim the faith or the pain and suffering that the community would experience. What they valued—community, shared sorrows, caring for those in need and faith in the eternal—would be theirs if it truly was what they desired. What we are ready to receive and what we are given are intimately related.

Though we may seek fast answers to problems and obstacles that surround us, the roots of difficulty may need time to root out and understand, without destroying the living journey we continue to travel. This journey we walk does not end with us—it continues through us into new generations beyond even our awareness.

When we imagine new generations of Christians—new generations of those faithful to the living Jesus Christ—we can offer our prayers of hope and we can offer the support of experience. We can also offer the word of good news that God values those who are in need—and God values those who share what they have with those in need.

The faith in which we journey means that even when our own dreams have not been fulfilled, we can rely on God’s promises for those who come along after us. We can rely on the promise of being God’s own children in the faith that we have received and in the faith that we continue to live and teach and carry forward into the future.

We are connected by faith to that which we value—God spoke through Isaiah about the faith that God wanted, a faith that led to lives of doing good, seeking justice and rescuing the oppressed. God spoke through the author of Hebrews, revealing the long development and revelation of God’s intentions—still being revealed. God spoke through and in the life of Jesus as he taught us of the unknowable and mysterious time in which God works, the hope of knowing the kingdom or household of God is with the faithful and the knowledge that it always has drawn us and continues to draw us forward perhaps for many generations.

A wonderful prayer by Thomas Merton goes well with this reading, and we can almost imagine the letter-writer including it as a closing: "My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope that I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this, you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone" (Thoughts in Solitude).[3]

To the glory of God and in the faith that we share. Amen.


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[1] http://www.ucc.org/worship/samuel/august-8-2010.html
[2] Isaiah 1:11b, 15b-17
[3] http://www.ucc.org/worship/samuel/august-8-2010.html

Sermon January 10, 2010

Amy Wharton, Pastor
Cuba Christian Church
Isaiah 43:1-7
Psalm 29
Acts 8:14-17
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

“Immersed in Love”

“Keri's smalls hands are clasped tightly together, as she concentrates on remembering the day that a giant tsunami swept her out of her family's home in Banda Aceh, North Sumatra, tearing first her father from her grasp, then her pregnant sister and finally her mother. She was nine years old then.

“It was five years ago on [December 26] that the Indian Ocean tsunami struck coastal communities throughout much of South East Asia, leaving a black misery of bodies and ruined lives in its wake. The exact number of dead in the 13 countries damaged by the waves will never be known, but at least 160,000 of the quarter of million estimated total fatalities occurred in and around Banda Aceh - damaged first by the huge earthquake, whose epicentre was just 150 miles out to sea, then swept by the wave that raced far inland just a short while later. A further 500,000 survivors were left homeless.”[1]

The fear and devastation that gripped the Southeast Asian communities is beyond my imaginings. Even though we deal with flooding rivers and rising water tables, water logged fields and rivers constantly in flood, it is hard to imagine the kind devastation experienced five years ago.

Yet it is with that kind of fear that the ancient Israelites viewed water—especially water beyond the view of land or water that rushed and flooded. Chaos and destruction were how they mostly thought of massive bodies of water. In Genesis, for example, “In the beginning when God created* the heavens and the earth, 2the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep.” The deep—the primordial, untouched, unbounded, eerie waters before God’s voice called forth order from it. And there is a tension whenever waters enter the story. The waters of the Red Sea or Reed Sea in Exodus present a barrier to freedom and the possibility of death to the Hebrews fleeing Egypt. The Jordan River was a barrier to covenantal promise as their children’s children planned to enter Canaan land. There was something fearful about water, it was a place where great power and destruction touched the land.

And yet water was and is and will always be necessary to life in smaller more manageable amounts. More importantly for our texts this morning, it is a place of transition and transformation. Just as the watery chaos of Genesis was a mysterious and scary thing, it was also a thing that awaited God’s voice of order and creation—it represented a readiness for God. The waters of the Red Sea were the first boundary that the Hebrews had to cross to begin their journey toward becoming the people of God. It was a baptism of sorts. Then the Jordan River was the final step as the people passed into the Promised land. They were truly born as God’s people, passing through waters that marked them: alive, claimed and fully covenanted and belonging to God.

The text from Isaiah represents a fearful view of water—but it’s fear mixed with purpose, respect and reassurance. (Is. 43.1-2)
“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you.
In these words we can hear birth—from one kind of life to another—as the Hebrews moved from slavery to freedom in the wilderness. And we can words of trial and purification—through cleansing flames of a silversmith’s fire or blazing experiences that strip of everything but what is absolutely essential.

God was calling the people of Israel from their trials into community so that promises of community and belonging could be fulfilled—not that community life doesn’t have trials and tribulations. Life in community with God and one another gave them support in their trials, which was what God was promising them as they walked through trials and as they helped others experience trials—individually and in community.

The tsunami of 2004, the hurricanes Katrina and Rita of 2005, recent earthquakes and floods that are more subtly destructive, but cause damage and disease in the time that follows remind us of the power of water and earth. Yet in the times that follow these natural disasters, human beings have expressed some of their best behavior and response. People continue to work in Southeast Asian countries helping them rebuild. The model for Christian response to the hurricanes on the Gulf Coast has helped congregations respond to tragedies in other places since, making us realize that when big tragedies happen, we can do some good. We’ve grown our communities beyond our doorsteps and into the surrounding world in many ways.

Life in community is about connection and strength and those come through the responsibility, justice and transformation that come through the gifts of the Holy Spirit. We’ve been reminded that working together using what we have been given can accomplish good things. The situations haven’t been perfect, but good and powerful acts have been done.

And water, because of its power and essence, is a wonderful symbol of a life of faith and spiritual connection to God. Really connecting to God should carry with it a sense of awe and mystery—making a relationship with someone who’s got the whole universe in a hand should be a little intimidating. Water flowing, functioning and gushing through the systems of life in the world can remind us that God’s own spirit’s work. We’ve all seen pictures of white water rapids—if we haven’t ridden them—and be reminded that the water on the mountaintop comes down to water the life in the valleys. We are reminded at this time of the year that the water we drink and bathe in throughout the year comes to us from aquifers that are replenished by years of abundant rain and lots of snow. We might grumble and have good reason when fields and streets and homes are flooded, but we also can realize the huge picture of the planetary systems of water flow. Water is life and will support life for years to come as it enters ecosystems. Often what gives us trouble is our attempt to control water and other natural systems without looking at the long-term affects of our temporary solutions to problems.

Water, as it is ordered and used by living things makes life possible and reminds us that in creation, redemption and salvation we are immerse in the love that God has for God’s creation. We are accompanied in times of need and in times of joy when we are made more than aware of God’s love for us.

And water as it flows freely and energetically reveals the overpowering and beyond our understanding aspects of the love of God for us—so powerful and great that we cannot even express it.

The baptism of Jesus in today’s scripture describes a moment in Jesus’ life when he was reminded of God’s love for him—and when God revealed immense and immersing love for all of us.

John’s baptism of multitudes was God’s opening act for Jesus—God always prepares us for a new thing, we just have to pay attention. John refocused the people attention and energy on a renewed vision of forgiveness—but he didn’t invent water baptism. He knew as did many around him that Israel’s relationship with God needed renewal and that’s what immersion was. It was a symbol of transition from one phase of life to another. It meant cleansing and it meant purification—yet it was also like birth.

The seasons of Advent and Christmas told us about the preparation for Jesus and about his birth—now we are exposed to the birth of the adult phase of his life when he began a different intensity of relationship with God and entered into a life of preaching, teaching and service to the people of his world.

He requested the waters of baptism—perhaps not because he needed repentance from sin—but because he needed immersion into the very real love of God. In this time he was claimed by God in a demonstration of his choice to serve and God’s choice to claim him very tangibly. John baptized in living water—flowing water—as a sign of life, but also a sign of the power that God was willing to share in people’s lives.

Luke tells of spiritual energy surrounding the baptism of Jesus. He entered baptism along with so many others—the spiritual totality of all who were looking to God for transformation in that day and in all the days that John baptized. He claimed those folks as much as he entered into their midst as one of them.

The beloved community of discipleship began then and continues today as we add our own choices and lives to the beloved community in this place and in many places and times ever since. What about participation in community gives us continued energy to serve?

God reminds us in Isaiah that we are called from the north, south, east and west—that we come and go in community surging and flowing together and apart bringing life and taking it into the wider world. We know that the relationships and prayer we share together gives us a surge of energy that reminds us how much we are loved whether we are here or in other places and groups or when we are alone.

The beloved community that is the church—past, present and future—reminds us that we are in an ever-changing, transforming community, just like our faith is ever-changing and transformational. We are never done and ready to retire from faith; we are always looking to the next phase of existence of our faith.

Whatever tomorrow brings—transformation, rest, grace, love, turmoil, pain, hope, joy, peace, movement, Sabbath rest or exhausting, yet useful work—we are immersed in the love of God as God’s beloved children with whom God is pleased.

To the glory of God—who walks with us and love us, world without end. Amen.



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[1]“Aceh's towns and villages remember the terrible day when the tsunami struck; Five years after the Boxing Day tsunami, Aceh's people are still recovering”; By Fiona MacGregor in Banda Aceh, Published: 8:30AM GMT 20 Dec 2009. Telegraph article Dec 20 2009