Keeping the Season

"wilderness" by Martin Howard, on Flickr

Luke 3:1-6
In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah,

“The voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
‘Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight.
Every valley shall be filled,
and every mountain and hill shall be made low,
and the crooked shall be made straight,
and the rough ways made smooth;
and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.’ ”

"Kanakuk K-7 Trust Fall" by Kanakuk Kamps, on Flickr

Luke 24:44–53
Then [Jesus] said to them, "These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you — that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled." Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, and he said to them, "Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things. And see, I am sending upon you what my Father promised; so stay here in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high."

Then he led them out as far as Bethany, and, lifting up his hands, he blessed them. While he was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven. And they worshiped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy; and they were continually in the temple blessing God.

---
I always hated trust fall night at youth group.

The youth room in the church I grew up in had four sets of gray-carpeted risers that you could roll around to move into any configuration you wanted. Basically, it was like a rolling, carpeted, giant staircase, with four levels for people to sit on.

Or, on trust fall night, these risers were there for you to climb to the top of, and then fall backwards into the waiting arms of your friends. No ground-level trust falls for us. Nope, crazy scary trust falls. Off of a riser five feet in the air.

We were trained well. You had at least ten people standing behind you, their arms outstretched and overlapping. You promised, on your part, to keep your arms tucked over your chest, and to fall straight back like a board, and not to bend at the waist. I watched friend after friend fall, successfully, into our waiting teenage arms. But when I was the one standing up there, glancing over my shoulder at the waiting arms below, I froze. Didn’t matter how many other people they had caught. What if they dropped me? It’s not that I didn’t trust them, per se, but I really didn’t trust that their skinny teenage arms would be strong enough. I didn’t trust that I wouldn’t mess up and fall to the side of them, missing their arms completely. I didn’t trust that some act of God wouldn’t happen behind my back and that they wouldn’t all run off to check it out and forget to tell me that they’d left.

I honestly don’t remember whether I actually did the trust fall or whether I crept back down the risers.

Isn’t that just how it is to be human? No matter how many proofs, now matter how much training, no matter how much evidence and precedent and learning we have, it still is so very hard to trust one another, especially when it feels like we are being asked to trust one another with our very lives or souls.

So here we are on Ascension. The disciples have watched Jesus rise up into the heavens, they are nudged down the mountain by two mysterious figures, and they are called and empowered to pick up where Jesus left off and share his good news with all the ends of the earth.

But before they can head down the mountain to do this work of faith, they have to do two things.

1. They have to realize - and believe - that Jesus trusts them to do this work.
2. They have to trust one another to do this work.

For all of the difficult things that Jesus asked the disciples to do - saying "Come follow me," or sending them out in ministry saying, "Take nothing for your journey," or telling them, "If you want to become my followers you must deny yourself, take up your cross and follow me," or saying to them in the garden, "Stay awake" - of all of the difficult things Jesus asked the disciples to do, maybe most difficult thing that Jesus ever asked the disciples to do was to trust one another to carry on his ministry without him.

This is a tall order. Is it any surprise that they just stood there, looking to heaven? Lowering their gaze would mean having to look each other in the eye instead. And it is one thing to trust God, but a far different thing to trust one another on God's behalf.

After a little nudge down the mountain, they bounded to flat ground, rejoicing, which is great and all, but as we read through Acts and through all the letters written to those first Christian communities, we know that the joy of the disciples soon turned into quibbling about what it really meant to follow Jesus and do his work in the world. Do we eat food sacrificed to idols? Do new believers have to be circumcised? In whose name should we be baptizing people? Who gets to talk in worship? Which is more important, faith or good works of the law? What of the Gentiles? What of the Jews? Was Jesus really a human or did he just appear human?

If Jesus had any idea that these mistrusts and arguments were going to happen, he didn’t let on. And it didn’t stop him from sending the disciples out in his name.

The disciples, the apostles, the early church, all of us who have come after: we take what we have learned from Jesus about service, witness, resurrection, and forgiveness, and try to live out his legacy; we chase after a Holy Spirit who likes to get places first and who is keen on the work of improvisation and surprise, and in all of this we are being called to trust that if we are doing the best we can, then so also are our brothers and sisters in faith doing the best they can, and so doing the work of God in the world means getting over ourselves and our anxieties and giving up a little bit of power and control, and giving one another the benefit of the doubt.

Where there are real abuses of power in the name of God, of course, we need to speak out about those things. Never should the name of Jesus be invoked to oppress or harm one another, to hurt or destroy. But when it comes to figuring out the best way to do the work of faith - prayer, devotion, service, witness, advocacy - Jesus empowers us not just to do these things, but to trust one another to do these things, even if we don't quite agree on how they should be done.

But let’s be honest. It’s hard.

I mean, when I walk by that guy with the portable sound system at the corner of Adams and State Street, in downtown Chicago when I'm visiting family after Christmas, and he holds a posterboard sign in one hand that says "Repent," and holds a microphone with the other hand into which he says things like "This is an evil age and you are children of corruption, repent of all your sins or be cast into the fires of hell"...I'm not too keen on trusting him as a fellow steward of God's mysteries.

And sometimes, when my Type A personality is feeling particularly ornery, I don't find it easy to trust that ministry projects will be successful unless all the i's are dotted and t's are crossed and paperwork filed in a timely and responsible manner.

A poll conduced a couple of years ago found that we, as a society, don't trust each other any more. Fewer than one-third of those polled expressed trust in clerks who swiped their credit cards, trust in other drivers on the road, or trust for people they meet while traveling. This lack of trust, according to the author of the report, "diverts energy to counting change, drawing up 100-page legal contracts and building gated communities."

We do the same thing in the church, diverting energy into checks and balances, setting up criteria for trustworthiness, whether it be church membership or being a part of the right denomination; by vetting ministry projects through multiple layers of taskforces, committees, councils, and congregational votes; by setting up expectations about how much Bible or theology one should know before they do ministry.

Except that Jesus gave the disciples about two and a half things - total - that made them worthy to do ministry. He gave them himself - his death, his resurrection, his word; he gave them the Holy Spirit (which will show up in full force next week!); and he gave them his blessing. Or maybe half a blessing, because he was snatched up into heaven while he was still blessing them.

But anyway. That’s what it takes to be a disciple and to do Jesus’ ministry in the world. It takes the word of Jesus, the gift of the Holy Spirit, and blessing. Things that we receive in baptism. Things that we receive at the table. Things that we receive each week in worship.

So this is our only criteria for trusting one another, inside these walls and outside, to carry out Christ’s work of forgiveness and salvation in the world.

And when we don’t trust each other, we have helpful things like confession and forgiveness, corporate or individual, to help us get over ourselves and our egos. We have the sharing of the peace, which isn’t just a greeting time, but is, historically, a chance to make amends with brothers and sisters in faith before approaching the holy mystery of communion.

Our challenge and our calling today is to look at one another and to say, “Jesus trusts you to do his work…and so do I.”

And when we start really believing that Jesus has empowered each and every one of us for his work, when we really start giving up a little control and trusting each other, crazy, beautiful, unexpectedly powerful things start happening.

I think about this last week’s Project Care graduation party, and the way that 80+ people celebrated the graduation of six youth, mostly unknown to them, and how this church and community donated thousands of dollars’ worth of gifts to help these students live independent lives after graduating high school and leaving the foster care system. I think about how grassroots ministries like these happen, and how nothing like this would ever get off the ground if we didn’t trust each other to do ministry.

I think about how there are so many pop-up ministries and charities in our world these days - people banding together for disaster relief, joining together in advocacy efforts, giving micro-loans to women across the world to empower them and improve their lives, feeding ministries, random acts of kindness: whether planned by the church or not, these are all ministries, these are all the work of God in our midst, and the kingdom is unfolding in our midst, if only we trust each other enough to open our eyes to these Spirit-driven acts of service.

Because this Spirit - that calls us together and sends us out - moves forward and backward and sideways, is pesky and unpredictable, and this Spirit is in each of us. But this Spirit is always moving along a trajectory toward God and toward the fulfillment of the kingdom. So if we are empowered by this Spirit, sometimes we are moving across each other and around each other and next to each other or in opposite directions, but we are all always moving toward the same end goal.

So today, remember that Jesus trusts you do to his work in the world. He has given you the Spirit to empower you and to bind us together. He has blessed you. And he has given all of these gifts to the people sitting next to you as well.

May you be blessed today by your faith in Christ. May you be blessed by Christ’s faith in you. And may you be blessed to have faith in one another, for the sake of the one who binds us together and sends us out. May nothing stand in the way of all of the things to which God is calling us, for the sake of his kingdom and for the sake of the world.

Amen.

"1 John 4:18" by philipcdavis, on Flickr

Acts 8:26–40
Then an angel of the Lord said to Philip, "Get up and go toward the south to the road that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza." (This is a wilderness road.) So he got up and went. Now there was an Ethiopian eunuch, a court official of the Candace, queen of the Ethiopians, in charge of her entire treasury. He had come to Jerusalem to worship and was returning home; seated in his chariot, he was reading the prophet Isaiah. Then the Spirit said to Philip, "Go over to this chariot and join it." So Philip ran up to it and heard him reading the prophet Isaiah. He asked, "Do you understand what you are reading?" He replied, "How can I, unless someone guides me?" And he invited Philip to get in and sit beside him. Now the passage of the scripture that he was reading was this:

"Like a sheep he was led to the slaughter,
and like a lamb silent before its shearer, so he does not open his mouth.
In his humiliation justice was denied him.
Who can describe his generation? For his life is taken away from the earth."

The eunuch asked Philip, "About whom, may I ask you, does the prophet say this, about himself or about someone else?" Then Philip began to speak, and starting with this scripture, he proclaimed to him the good news about Jesus. As they were going along the road, they came to some water; and the eunuch said, "Look, here is water! What is to prevent me from being baptized?" He commanded the chariot to stop, and both of them, Philip and the eunuch, went down into the water, and Philip baptized him. When they came up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord snatched Philip away; the eunuch saw him no more, and went on his way rejoicing. But Philip found himself at Azotus, and as he was passing through the region, he proclaimed the good news to all the towns until he came to Caesarea.

1 John 4:7–21
Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love. God's love was revealed among us in this way: God sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him. In this is love, not that we loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins. Beloved, since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us.

By this we know that we abide in him and he in us, because he has given us of his Spirit. And we have seen and do testify that the Father has sent his Son as the Savior of the world. God abides in those who confess that Jesus is the Son of God, and they abide in God. So we have known and believe the love that God has for us.

God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them. Love has been perfected among us in this: that we may have boldness on the day of judgment, because as he is, so are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love. We love because he first loved us. Those who say, "I love God," and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen. The commandment we have from him is this: those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also.

John 15:1-8
[Jesus says,] "I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit. You have already been cleansed by the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples."

---
There are plenty of Sundays that I have stood up here in the pulpit and started out a sermon by saying “Wow, today’s readings were really tough,” or “As preachers, we cringe when we have to find some good news in difficult texts like these.” So I feel like I need to balance things out a bit, and not just complain about the hard Sundays, but also share joy over Sundays like today. Here we have three rich texts, all filled with good news. Yes, sometimes as a preacher you luck out. There are six or eight or a hundred different sermons that I could preach.

As I prepared for today, I was struck by one of the common themes in these readings, the theme of being bound together as community in Christ.

In our first reading, we encounter an Ethiopian official serving the queen’s court, a eunuch who, not to be crass, has quite literally been cut off from the temple community, and who is reading a passage from Isaiah about this suffering servant who we know to be Christ. Desperately seeking to be a part of God’s community, and emboldened by the good news of the sufferings and resurrection of Christ, he asks Philip, "Here is water. What is to prevent me from being baptized?

In other words, “What is preventing me from becoming a part of God's community, despite my race, despite my nationality, despite my physical impairment, despite my job?" Because for all of the reasons that he was cut off from society, he knew in his heart that there was nothing - nothing - that could actually cut him off from the life-giving promises of God's grace and the community of Christ, the suffering servant.

I've been thinking a lot about community these days - about the way that we are called to love our enemies and seek the good of our neighbors and to live in harmony with one another and to live peaceably with all. I've been thinking about that question of barriers, about who are those on the outskirts, those who don't have the privilege of health or happiness or justice.

I’ve been thinking a lot about struggling communities in Nepal who are still unearthing bodies, dead and alive, from last week’s earthquake, who are piling up bodies along the sea to be cremated, who are waiting for relief to come at the mercy of many and various international aid organizations, and all of the complicated lessons that disasters like this might be teaching us about being citizens of a global community.

I've been thinking a lot about the city of Baltimore these days, about Freddie Gray and his sister and his family who grieve his death, about how his life was taken from him at the hands of six police officers sworn to serve and protect life, about race and class, peaceful protests and angry riots, and all the layers upon layers of complicated lessons this tragedy might have us about community, about who is in and who is out and who gets to decide that.

As we watch these sagas unfold on our televisions and news feeds, we are presented with a huge list of unanswerable questions.

How can we efficiently and sustainably help unearth the rubble and rebuild infrastructure across the globe after natural disasters? And what do we do with the knowledge that poorer communities suffer more deeply than affluent communities when environmental disasters hit?

How do we respond to the reality that racism is still alive and well in our country? How do race and class intersect?

What do we do with violence done falsely in the name of justice? What do we do with violence done in the name of protest? How do we speak about right and wrong ways to stand up to power without condoning or victim blaming the protestors?

Who in our society has the power, explicitly or implicitly? Who suffers under this power? How do we use the power we are given for good? How do we claim power when we are oppressed?How do we know when to live under the law and when to rebel against it? How do we speak the truth about abuses of power without either blindly defending or demonizing law enforcement?

Why does any of this even matter to us, residents of Decorah, Iowa, far removed from either Maryland or Nepal?

Why does it matter? It matters because Jesus is the vine, and we - all of us - are the branches. And to be connected to the vine is to be connected through Christ to all of those other branches, whether those branches are here in Decorah or all the way in Baltimore and Nepal; whether those branches are black or brown or white, rich or poor, straight or gay, liberal or conservative.

The crises in Baltimore and Nepal make it impossible for us to ignore the fact that so many people in our world live in fear: Young black men. Practicing Muslims. Neighborhoods built on fault lines and typhoon-threatened coastlines. Families living in crime-ridden areas because it's the only housing they can afford. Women who feel vulnerable to unwanted sexual advances. White middle class men and women who feel threatened or defensive when they are confronted with the privileges that they take for granted.

Our news culture keeps us up close and personal with every threat, big or small, likely or unlikely; political, nutritional, international, criminal. There is fear all around. And this fear stands as a symbol of our broken world, as a symbol of sin and death in our midst. Fear stands in the way of God's intentions for this one holy community of all humanity and all creation.

Today in 1 John, we hear these words: "Perfect love casts out fear."

Perfect love casts out all fear. As trite as it may sound, love, I think, is the solution to all the calamities facing our world. Love deeply. Love divinely. Love so strongly that fear is banished. For love, as an action, is what we are called to do in response to the love that was shown to us in Christ.

Love brings justice. Love speaks the truth. Love shows compassion. Love inspires sacrifice. Love gives us responsibility to care for one another and all creation. Love binds together rather than pulling apart. Love creates community. Love brings joy. Love gives life. Love casts out all fear.

All these acts of love are possible only because we are branches of the Christ the vine. He is this main artery of love and goodness and resurrection that flows, unceasing, and we each are branches through with his love flows. This love pulses through us and, ultimately, we bear the fruit of love for the world and we grow green with leaves for the healing of the nations.

"I am the vine and you are the branches; abide in me as I abide in you." In the Greek, those "yous" are plural. This is hugely important! We don't do this work of love as individuals. We are called as a community of faith to love our world back into place; to let God graft onto the vine those who have been cut off by society; to invite others into our work of loving as Christ has empowered us to do. Because not one of us can do any of this alone.

Tuesday morning, after the violence of Monday night’s riots, in one Baltimore neighborhood, volunteers made sack lunches and delivered them to children, because school was canceled and they knew that these children wouldn’t have any lunch without the school’s free meal program.

On Thursday, a colleague of mine serving a congregation in Baltimore sent me a picture of a young girl from his congregation, four or five years old, standing in the street on a sunny morning, wielding a red plastic hammer and a huge smile. Behind her, family members and congregation members raised up real hammers, boarding up broken windows as an act of tenderness for their wounded city. They carried hammers and snacks and love and not fear.

There is love out there. There is hope.

But it takes a community to show love. It takes a community to rebuild the community of this world. It takes a community of divine love, a community gathered and called and sent by a bigger power than just our own spirits. It takes a community of Christ.

Friends, standing here in front of us is this font. Standing here in front of us is this table. Through the splashing of this water and the eating and drinking of this fruit of the earth and the vine, we have already been grafted as branches into the one vine, the one body of Christ. Be empowered by these sacred signs to love without fear. Be strengthened by this holy community to be Christ in a weary world.

Christ is the good vine. We are the branches.
Christ’s love casts out all fear: This is our hope.
Love one another: This is our calling.
We love because he first loved us.
Amen.

"more clouds." by kaija, on Flickr

Genesis 1:1–5
In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. Then God said, "Let there be light"; and there was light. And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.

Mark 1:4–11
John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. Now John was clothed with camel's hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. He proclaimed, "The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit."

In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."
---

More than ever, it feels like our world is tearing apart at the seams.

In France, a nation rends its garments in grief over this week's shootings. In Nigeria, the border town of Baga has been ripped apart by a devastating attack by Boko Haram which has left as many as 2000 people dead, many of them women, children, and the elderly. In Pakistan, an ordinary day has been torn apart by a suicide bomber killing innocent victims outside a mosque.

Often our Christian theology centers on beautiful things like the kindness and compassion of God. We talk about God in terms of forgiveness, grace, and mercy.

But when the powers of death and destruction in our world seem so prevalent and insurmountable, we are lucky that our story of faith also includes images of God's strength and power, especially over darkness and despair. In heart-rending times like these, we need to have the confidence that God has the power to overcome all these heart-breaking things. We need be able to say to the forces that tear apart our world that our God has power to tear apart the very powers of sin and death and destruction.

In the Old Testament, we see example after example of the power of God which accompanies the Israelites through slavery, in the wilderness, and even in battle. In her Magnificat, Mary sings about a God who scatters the proud with the power of his arm. And at his baptism, Jesus reveals the power of God to break open the very heavens themselves.

Jesus comes to the river to be baptized from John. He plunges into the water, breaking its surface both at his descent and at his emerging. In response, the heavens themselves break apart. God in his power splits open the sky, from which the Spirit pours down upon Jesus and into him, affirming him as beloved Son of God, empowering him to begin a life of public ministry, and setting him at the start of a journey that will eventually take him to the cross. It will be by this cross that the world itself will crack open.

Mark, at the end of his gospel, will talk about the temple curtain being torn in two at the moment of Jesus' death, symbolizing the destruction of the boundary separating God and humans. He uses the same verb to talk about the heavens rending open at Jesus' baptism and the curtain rending in two at Jesus' death to make the point that the power of God does not stand idly by, is not subtle. The power of God as creator and redeemer crashes through barriers and smashes into the world with urgency.

From the very beginning of all things, we hear in Genesis of a God who rips apart chaos itself into little pieces and reorganizes them into the poetry of creation. This same God rips apart the waters of the Red Sea to create a clear path for the Israelites to escape their Egyptian slavery. When God's chosen people are suffering in exile, the prophet Isaiah does not pray for the meek compassion of God to sneak in and calm their grieving hearts. No, Isaiah says, "Oh that you would tear open the heavens and come down so that the mountains would quake at your presence, so that the nations might tremble at your presence!" And then, in Revelation, when we imagine a cosmic battle between good and evil where God in Christ ultimately triumphs over all the powers of sin and death, we hear again of the heavens opening up and God breaking in: "Then I saw the new heaven and the new earth, and I saw the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God."

In our current age, as in all ages before us, we need God to tear apart the heaven and come down. We need to pray this again and again and again. Because unlike the senseless, destructive powers that try to tear apart our world, our God breaks things open in order to fill up the world with his presence, to flood all things with mercy, to pour into our world and our hearts the full measure of his goodness, life, and salvation.

This is what we learn from Jesus’ baptism. God is strong enough to tear open the heavens, and God is gracious enough to break open our hardened hearts, and God destroys evil and death by drowning them in love and grace and hope.

We use lots of images to talk about baptism. We talk about it as a washing or cleansing. We talk about it as dying and rising with Christ. We talk about being clothed in baptism - an image that we recall at funerals as we clothe the casket in the pall at the beginning of the service. We talk about how baptism gives us gifts of the Holy Spirit.

But when do we ever talk about baptism as a rending apart?

When we reject sin, death, and the devil in baptism, we are professing faith in a God who tears us away from the darkest forces in all creation. When we pour that water over our heads, we are trusting God to crack open our hearts and come rushing into us. When we anoint with oil and speak the words, “Child of God, you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever,” we are breaking apart old identities to make room for God’s claim on us as his beloved.

The author Joanna Macy writes, “The heart that breaks open can contain the whole universe.” This, brothers and sisters, is what baptism is all about.

By these crushing waters of baptism, we are broken in order that we might be filled with the power of God's salvation. And by this power we get pushed out into the world to resist darkness and create salvation for all our broken world.

In these baptismal waters we ride along on a current, where God acts and God acts in us, and we act in God, and we tumble all over one another and spill out over the edges, and it all sounds very messy, but it turns out that it is actually very beautiful.

For we have a God who tears into the world not for sport but for salvation.

And there is no better, warmer, brighter news for our broken world and our broken hearts than to hear God say to us, "You are my children. You are beloved. In you I am well-pleased." Yes, the fullness of God-in-Christ is pleased - pleased - to dwell in you and to make a home among us.

Oh, that you would continue to tear open the heavens, Lord God.
Oh, that you would continue to rend our hearts, Lord God.
Fill this longing world with your power and mercy.
Pour out your Spirit upon us and move over the face of the earth.
Burst through the skies and come to us, again and again, that we might know ever more deeply what it is to be yours. To be your broken and beloved. To be your children.

Amen.

"Purple Pathway" by PMillera4, on Flickr

Mark 1:1-8
The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

As it is written in the prophet Isaiah,
"See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,
who will prepare your way;
the voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
'Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight,'"

John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. Now John was clothed with camel's hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. He proclaimed, "The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit."

"vineyard" by laur3nw00ds, on Flickr

Matthew 21:23-32
When [Jesus] entered the temple, the chief priests and the elders of the people came to him as he was teaching, and said, "By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?" Jesus said to them, "I will also ask you one question; if you tell me the answer, then I will also tell you by what authority I do these things. Did the baptism of John come from heaven, or was it of human origin?" And they argued with one another, "If we say, 'From heaven,' he will say to us, 'Why then did you not believe him?' But if we say, 'Of human origin,' we are afraid of the crowd; for all regard John as a prophet." So they answered Jesus, "We do not know." And he said to them, "Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing these things.

What do you think? A man had two sons; he went to the first and said, 'Son, go and work in the vineyard today.' He answered, 'I will not'; but later he changed his mind and went. The father went to the second and said the same; and he answered, 'I go, sir'; but he did not go. Which of the two did the will of his father?" They said, "The first." Jesus said to them, "Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came to you in the way of righteousness and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes believed him; and even after you saw it, you did not change your minds and believe him.

"Trinity" by János Csongor Kerekes, on Flickr

2 Corinthians 13:13
"The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with all of you."

Matthew 28:18-20
And Jesus came and said to them, "All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age."

"Julian of Norwich" by Robert Lentz, posted by Kittredge Cherry, on Flickr

John 10:1-10
Jesus said, "Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit. The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers." Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them.

So again Jesus said to them, "Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. All who came before me are thieves and bandits; but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly."

---
Growing up, my dad directed the church choir and my mom sang in it. This meant that every Sunday, my sisters and I would sit by my dad in the front row of the sanctuary, in clear sight of the choir loft and my mom’s watchful eye.

Most of the time, I think, we were pretty well behaved. We’d draw pictures on the yellow children’s bulletins, follow along with the hymns, try discreetly to open up our loud velcro wallets to fish out some change for the offering plate. But there were times that we squirmed. That we squabbled. That we poked each other or got the giggles. And in those moments, from behind the organ in the second row of the choir came the mom cough.

Ahem-AHEM.

I could pick that sound out of a lineup.

The whole congregation could cough and clear their voices for the entire service and we’d never notice, but one stifled cough from mom’s throat, and our eyes would dart up to meet her gaze, and we’d sit up a little straighter in our seats, and we’d quit whatever mischief we were dabbling in.

It’s a peculiar thing, isn’t it, that we know so well the sound of our mother’s voice?

Sam is just getting old enough that he recognizes my voice and responds to it differently than other people’s voices. He can be perfectly content in someone else’s arms, but when he hears my voice, he turns to find me, and lurches toward me, and when I take him, he buries his face in my neck, happy to be reunited with the voice that he knows best.

Jesus says, “I am the good shepherd. My sheep follow me because they know my voice.”

Like a child recognizing the voice of his mother, like a sheep recognizing the voice of its shepherd, we follow Jesus by the sound of his voice. Christ, the shepherd and guardian of our souls calls to us in a voice so recognizable that we can pick it out of the crowd.

And what a crowd it is.

We are pummeled with voices, aren't we? Every day, voices of all sorts call out to us and demand things of us.

We hear voices on the radio and on television and through the internet. Some of these voices speak truth, and some speak untruth, and some speak fear, and some speak hyperbole. We hear voices in politics, and some speak fact, and some speak dissent, and some speak out of both sides of their mouths, and some speak persuasion rather than common good. We hear our own voices, and some speak confidence, and some speak self-reliance, and some speak self-doubt, and some speak self-criticism.

We hear good advice and bad advice, voices that challenge us and voices that enable us. I think about Job, and how his friends all had something to say to him in the midst of his suffering, and the way that their advice always seemed good on the surface, but ended up lacking.

So in the middle of such a cacophony of voices, how do we pick out the voice of Jesus?

Well, for starters, we can remember that the voice of Jesus has particular power to heal and to restore life.

During Lent and Easter, we have read three different stories that reveal the power of Jesus' voice. He speaks words of healing to the man born blind, and his sight is restored. He calls to Lazarus, dead in the tomb, who responds to the sound of Jesus' voice by emerging from the tomb, alive. And he speaks Mary's name in the garden, and it is only at the sound of his voice that she sees him not as the gardner, but as her risen savior.

Jesus' voice is one that always speaks with healing and life-giving power.

Jesus is the one who says, “I am the bread of life. I am the light of the world. I am the way, the truth, and the life. I am the vine and you are the branches. I am the resurrection and the life. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”

There's an early American hymn that says:

His voice as the sound of the dulcimer sweet, is heard through the shadows of death.
The cedars of Lebanon bow at His feet, the air is perfumed with His breath.
His lips as the fountain of righteousness flow, that water the garden of grace,
From which their salvation the people shall know, and bask in the smile of His face.

Love sits in His eyelids and scatters delight thro’ all the bright regions on high.
Their faces the Cherubim veil in His sight and tremble with fullness of joy.
He looks and ten thousands of angels rejoice, And myriads wait for His word.
He speaks and eternity, filled with His voice, re-echoes the praise of her Lord.

Yes, we can know Jesus' voice by the things he says, by his enduring words of life piercing the shadows of death, by his sweet song of righteousness and salvation, by the sound of eternal and abundant life. Whenever we hear voices that speak forgiveness and mercy, voices that speak peace and life abundant, these are the voice of Jesus.

And the heart of the matter is that the reason we can listen for and recognize Jesus' powerful voice of healing and new life is because we are in relationship with him and he with us.

I know the sound of my mother's mom-cough, and Sam knows the sound of my voice, and we all know the sound of those dear to us, be they parents or spouses or kindred spirits, living or dead, because of the relationship that we have with each other. Knowing one another deeply, and being deeply known.

Jesus says “I know my own and my own know me.”

What a beautiful statement. It's a two-way relationship. One of the failings of popular Christianity is that it overemphasizes our responsibility to come to know Jesus, and underemphasizes Jesus' desire to know us.

But think about the woman at the well, who had no inclination whatsoever that she was speaking to Jesus, and didn't particularly care about knowing the stranger sitting next to her. Jesus was the one seeking relationship. She is amazed that this man, "knew everything I've ever done." Jesus is the first to initiate relationship, and only later does she respond in faith.

Jesus seeks to know us even as he seeks for us to know him. And out of this relationship, we are able, more and more, to hear his voice ringing through this earth, in every song of hope and healing.

The medieval mystic Julian of Norwich describes God in Christ as the one as intimately connected to us as the very mothers who gave us birth:

[Christ] is our Mother in human nature in our essential creation. In Him we are grounded and rooted, and he is our mother in mercy by taking on our fleshliness....In Mother Christ, we benefit and grow, and in mercy He redeems and restores us....This fair lovely word 'mother' is so sweet and so kind in itself, that it can not truly be said of anyone nor to anyone except of Him and to Him who is true Mother of life and of all. To the quality of motherhood belongs natural love, wisdom, and knowledge - and this is God. (from Revelations of Divine Love)

As a mother protects and nurtures her children, so Christ protects and nurtures us whom he loves.

Jesus has put himself into relationship with us, into close kindred with humankind, having himself put on human flesh. He joins us to himself in baptism, in our dying and rising through those waters. He joins us to himself in the bread and wine, as we do something as scandalous and intimate as taking his very body into our hands and hearts and bodies.

He is the good shepherd, leading us beside still waters, along paths of righteousness, through the darkest valleys, to eternal and abundant life. He knows us and we know him, and we hear his voice calling to us, saying to each of us,

"Come to me, all you who are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. I am your resurrection, and I am your abundant life."

"Painted Woman Feet With Henna, Lamu, Kenya" by Eric Lafforgue, on Flickr

---

My Grandmother Washes Her Feet in the Sink of the Bathroom at Sears
by Mohja Kahf

My grandmother puts her feet in the sink
of the bathroom at Sears
to wash them in the ritual washing for prayer,
wudu,
because she has to pray in the store or miss
the mandatory prayer time for Muslims
She does it with great poise, balancing
herself with one plump matronly arm
against the automated hot-air hand dryer,
after having removed her support knee-highs
and laid them aside, folded in thirds,
and given me her purse and her packages to hold
so she can accomplish this august ritual
and get back to the ritual of shopping for housewares

Respectable Sears matrons shake their heads and frown
as they notice what my grandmother is doing,
an affront to American porcelain,
a contamination of American Standards
by something foreign and unhygienic
requiring civic action and possible use of disinfectant spray
They fluster about and flutter their hands and I can see
a clash of civilizations brewing in the Sears bathroom

My grandmother, though she speaks no English,
catches their meaning and her look in the mirror says,
I have washed my feet over Iznik tile in Istanbul
with water from the world's ancient irrigation systems
I have washed my feet in the bathhouses of Damascus
over painted bowls imported from China
among the best families of Aleppo
And if you Americans knew anything
about civilization and cleanliness,
you'd make wider washbins, anyway
My grandmother knows one culture—the right one,

as do these matrons of the Middle West. For them,
my grandmother might as well have been squatting
in the mud over a rusty tin in vaguely tropical squalor,
Mexican or Middle Eastern, it doesn't matter which,
when she lifts her well-groomed foot and puts it over the edge.
"You can't do that," one of the women protests,
turning to me, "Tell her she can't do that."
"We wash our feet five times a day,"
my grandmother declares hotly in Arabic.
"My feet are cleaner than their sink.
Worried about their sink, are they? I
should worry about my feet!"
My grandmother nudges me, "Go on, tell them."

Standing between the door and the mirror, I can see
at multiple angles, my grandmother and the other shoppers,
all of them decent and goodhearted women, diligent
in cleanliness, grooming, and decorum
Even now my grandmother, not to be rushed,
is delicately drying her pumps with tissues from her purse
For my grandmother always wears well-turned pumps
that match her purse, I think in case someone
from one of the best families of Aleppo
should run into her—here, in front of the Kenmore display

I smile at the midwestern women
as if my grandmother has just said something lovely about them
and shrug at my grandmother as if they
had just apologized through me
No one is fooled, but I

hold the door open for everyone
and we all emerge on the sales floor
and lose ourselves in the great common ground
of housewares on markdown.

"Cleaning mud out of her eyes" by Neil, on Flickr

John 9:1-41
As [Jesus] walked along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" Jesus answered, "Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God's works might be revealed in him. We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming when no one can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world." When he had said this, he spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man's eyes, saying to him, "Go, wash in the pool of Siloam" (which means Sent). Then he went and washed and came back able to see. The neighbors and those who had seen him before as a beggar began to ask, "Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?" Some were saying, "It is he." Others were saying, "No, but it is someone like him." He kept saying, "I am the man." But they kept asking him, "Then how were your eyes opened?" He answered, "The man called Jesus made mud, spread it on my eyes, and said to me, 'Go to Siloam and wash.' Then I went and washed and received my sight." They said to him, "Where is he?" He said, "I do not know."

They brought to the Pharisees the man who had formerly been blind. Now it was a sabbath day when Jesus made the mud and opened his eyes. Then the Pharisees also began to ask him how he had received his sight. He said to them, "He put mud on my eyes. Then I washed, and now I see." Some of the Pharisees said, "This man is not from God, for he does not observe the sabbath." But others said, "How can a man who is a sinner perform such signs?" And they were divided. So they said again to the blind man, "What do you say about him? It was your eyes he opened." He said, "He is a prophet."

The Jews did not believe that he had been blind and had received his sight until they called the parents of the man who had received his sight and asked them, "Is this your son, who you say was born blind? How then does he now see?" His parents answered, "We know that this is our son, and that he was born blind; but we do not know how it is that now he sees, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him; he is of age. He will speak for himself." His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jews; for the Jews had already agreed that anyone who confessed Jesus to be the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue. Therefore his parents said, "He is of age; ask him."

So for the second time they called the man who had been blind, and they said to him, "Give glory to God! We know that this man is a sinner." He answered, "I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see." They said to him, "What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?" He answered them, "I have told you already, and you would not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you also want to become his disciples?" Then they reviled him, saying, "You are his disciple, but we are disciples of Moses. We know that God has spoken to Moses, but as for this man, we do not know where he comes from." The man answered, "Here is an astonishing thing! You do not know where he comes from, and yet he opened my eyes. We know that God does not listen to sinners, but he does listen to one who worships him and obeys his will. Never since the world began has it been heard that anyone opened the eyes of a person born blind. If this man were not from God, he could do nothing." They answered him, "You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?" And they drove him out.

Jesus heard that they had driven him out, and when he found him, he said, "Do you believe in the Son of Man?" He answered, "And who is he, sir? Tell me, so that I may believe in him." Jesus said to him, "You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is he." He said, "Lord, I believe." And he worshiped him. Jesus said, "I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind." Some of the Pharisees near him heard this and said to him, "Surely we are not blind, are we?" Jesus said to them, "If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, 'We see,' your sin remains.

"'Rebirth' by Anne-Mari Burger" by Cue Online, on Flickr

John 3:1-17
Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. He came to Jesus by night and said to him, "Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God." 
Jesus answered him, "Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above." 

Nicodemus said to him, "How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother's womb and be born?" 

Jesus answered, "Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit. What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit. Do not be astonished that I said to you, 'You must be born from above.' The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit." 

Nicodemus said to him, "How can these things be?" 

Jesus answered him, "Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things?

Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen; yet you do not receive our testimony. If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man. And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.

For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.

Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.
---

Nicodemus’s encounter with Jesus, under the cover of dark, brings before us this question of what it means to be born again. As Lutherans, we might not talk too often in terms of being “born again,” and yet there is something important enough to the idea that we include our assurance of rebirth in our liturgy for morning prayer. If you turn to page 302 in our hymnal (Evangelical Lutheran Worship), there it is: "You have been born anew through the living and abiding word of God." Let’s practice singing that dialogue:

You have been born anew. Through the living and abiding word of God.

This is our refrain for the rest of our sermon time. I invite you to sing that response as it comes up throughout the sermon. And now, let us begin.

You have been born anew. Through the living and abiding word of God.

It was sixth grade. Our middle school youth group was attending Super Second Saturday, a nondenominational Christian youth rally, a one-night event with speakers and music, held in a big arena. The seats were blue, and we were sitting in the first rows off the floor, right behind a railing. The band Petra played, which if you aren't familiar, was maybe the most famous Christian hair band of the eighties. Late in the evening, the emcee, over quiet piano music in the background, explained to the gathered crowd about how God loved us so much that he sent Jesus to die for us, and that even though we were all sinners, Jesus died to save us. And then he offered up the invitation: If you were ready to be born again, to accept Jesus into your heart, then you were supposed to come to the floor of the arena, where there would be somebody waiting to pray with you. Or if you were already a believer but you wanted to recommit your life to Christ, you could also come down.

Sarah and I were perhaps a bit naive. But we were also working very hard to take our faith seriously, so we decided that there was no harm to be done in affirming our faith by recommitting our lives to Christ. And so we went, together, and a very nice college student met us at the bottom of the aisle, and we walked off, behind the set, to an empty section of seats. He took down our names and addresses, and checked the box on the form that said "recommitting." And then we said a short prayer. He prayed first, and then Sarah and I each were supposed to say something, and I remember it being very unceremonious and a little bit awkward. After we said "amen," he said some encouraging and celebratory things, and then we found our way back to the group.

If I was working to take my faith seriously at 11 years old, I was also very shy about such things. In the next weeks, I received a series of mailings from the organizers of the rally. A letter of congratulations for choosing to be born again in Christ, and various resources intended for new Christians including a pamphlet explaining to me the basics of Christianity, complete with a line drawing of a great cavern labeled “sin,” with me on one side and God on the other, and then a second line drawing of that same cavern, except this time with a cross labeled “Jesus” bridging the gap. I was mortified to receive these mailings, and terrified that my parents might ask me about them. I had grown up in the church, and couldn't remember a time before I believed in God, and it made me feel like I had done something wrong at the rally or somehow miscommunicated with the guy taking down my information, because I wasn’t a new Christian. I didn’t need these mailings. I hid them away on the shelf above my bed, where I kept my secret stuff, and resolved not to get caught up in something like this again.

You have been born anew. Through the living and abiding word of God.

Fast forward to my first semester of seminary. It was finals week, and I grabbed a bunch of books and notecards and walked downtown to Starbucks to study over some coffee. I was studying for my Old Testament final, and my textbook was sitting on the table next to my cup. A man walked by the table, dropped a tract onto my notes, and pointed to my book, saying "If you like that, then you might be interested in what that booklet has to say."

My first reaction: frustration and offense. I wasn’t sure what vibe I was giving off to make him assume that I wasn’t a person of faith.

My second (and better) reaction: to kindly explain to him the irony of the situation. And so I spoke up and said, "Oh. Well, I'm actually in seminary studying to be a pastor right now..." and trailed off, hoping that he would realize that he probably didn't need to be worrying about my faith or salvation, and leave me alone, because my notes really weren't going to study themselves.

Instead, he took the opportunity to pull up a chair and talk to me about how I must, then, understand and appreciate how important it was to evangelize people, and that it was important to ensure that people were born again so that they would know their destiny when they died. I didn't say much in the conversation, and was very glad when it was over.

You have been born anew. Through the living and abiding word of God.

Nicodemus comes to Jesus at night, curious about the kingdom of God, and Jesus tells him, "you must be born anew." The word, in Greek, can be translated "anew" or "again" or "from above." All of them pointing to the idea that believing in God and following Christ is somehow so transformative that it is as if we are given an entirely new life, that we are reborn.

Christians struggle among themselves to make sense of this idea of being born again. Is it a decision that humans make for Christ? Is it not a decision, but an awareness of the moment when we consciously come to faith? Or is it something else?

Jesus says that rebirth is a matter of the Spirit, a Spirit who blows where it may, rushing through the dry bones of this fleshy existence and re-enlivening our souls, apart from our own power, apart from our own choosing. He implies born anew is something elemental, like the rush of both wind and water. It is an awakening, like the way that the earth rises from sleep when springtime begins to unfold.

There was that day last week when it first felt like spring. The sun was shining and the temperature crept into the 50's. A breeze blew over the face of the earth, and you could feel, deep in your bones, that spring was on its way.

It wasn't just that the breeze was warm. It was that the wind carried with the scent of earth, of green and growing things. The giant mounds of snow collapsed in on themselves, giving off running canals of melted water, flowing into the streets, washing away the ice and the sand of winter. Everything was muddy, damp. Water rested in giant pools and puddles on the sidewalk, and it flowed under and around the soles of your feet as it rolled downhill, seeking lower ground. In the water, in the wind, you could feel in your very bones that spring was not far off. The promise of buds and shoots and the resurrection of the earth could not be ignored.

And it filled the senses. The sight of mud and melting, the smell of green earth, the taste of the breeze, the sound of birds, the feel of the sun on your hair, the feeling of spring deep in your soul and body.

Isn't this what rebirth is supposed to feel like? Isn't rebirth bigger than a blue stadium seat and more life-transforming than a drive-by evangelism at a coffee shop?

You have been born anew. Through the living and abiding word of God.

At the beginning of all things, we read that the Spirit of God hovered over the waters, and from water and spirit came the birth of all creation. At the end of all things, we read about the rebirth of all creation, where the river of the water of life flows from the throne of God, bright as crystal, watering a towering tree of life, whose leaves are for the healing of the nations.

Baptism is our own opportunity to enter into these moving waters, flowing from creation to new creation, making of each of us a new creation by water and the Spirit. Baptism is one moment of rebirth in a series of rebirths that take place in our lives, for as Martin Luther says, we daily drown to sin and rise as a reborn person in God-in-Christ.

And rebirth always takes place in the passive voice. We are reborn. We have been born anew. We are daily born again. Rebirth is not something we do, it is something that happens to us. Jesus teaches Nicodemus that rebirth is more than a moment and more than a decision. Rebirth is the work of God's Spirit, overpowering us and transforming us. God is the active agent in rebirth, and not ourselves.

For this is the God who so loved the world that he gave his only Son, not to condemn the world, but to save it, and not to leave us to death, but to raise us to eternal life. This is the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God of the covenant, the God who keeps his promises. And God’s promise for you and for me, in this time and in this place, is that we have been born anew, not by any feat of our own strength, but because our God is merciful, and loves his whole creation.

So to all those parts of you that feel frozen, creaky, weak, or dying;
to the dry and dusty corners of your soul,
to the despair of this first life,
to the frailty and even futility of this flesh,
Hear this good news:
You must be born anew, by water and the spirit.
You are born anew, by water and the spirit.
The Spirit blows where it chooses, and you see not where it comes from nor where it goes,
But when it rushes through you, you feel new breath in your lungs,
new hope in your soul,
A lingering sense that today, this very day, you have been given new life.
You have been reborn.

You have been born anew. Through the living and abiding word of God.

"Born again" by Pablo Boto, on Flickr

John 3:1-17
Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. He came to Jesus by night and said to him, "Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God." Jesus answered him, "Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above." Nicodemus said to him, "How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother's womb and be born?" Jesus answered, "Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit. What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit. Do not be astonished that I said to you, 'You must be born from above.' The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit." Nicodemus said to him, "How can these things be?" Jesus answered him, "Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things?

Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen; yet you do not receive our testimony. If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man. And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.

For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.

Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.

In those days John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea, proclaiming, "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near." This is the one of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said, "The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: 'Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.'"

Now John wore clothing of camel's hair with a leather belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey. Then the people of Jerusalem and all Judea were going out to him, and all the region along the Jordan, 6and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. -Matthew 3:1-5

"Just Another Saturday Night..." by traqair57, on Flickr

Romans 6:3-11
Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life. For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his. We know that our old self was crucified with him so that the body of sin might be destroyed, and we might no longer be enslaved to sin. For whoever has died is freed from sin. But if we have died with Christ, we believe that we will also live with him. We know that Christ, being raised from the dead, will never die again; death no longer has dominion over him. The death he died, he died to sin, once for all; but the life he lives, he lives to God. So you also must consider yourselves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus.

We are baptized in Christ Jesus, we are baptized in his death
that as Christ is raised victorious, we might live a brand new life.
And if we have been united in a dreadful death like his,
we will all be reunited, for he lives.
(ELW 451)

Mary: After the Baptism
by Madeleine L'Engle

Yes, of course. On many days I doubted.
My faith grew out of doubt. The child was good
but other babies have been good. He shouted
when he was hungry, like any child, for food.
One simply does not think of the Messiah
cutting teeth, eating, and eliminating.
He springs, full-grown, in the great Isaiah -
God, servant, king. And I was waiting,
remembering in my heart the very things
that caused my doubt: the angel's first appearing
to me and then to Joseph; shepherds, kings,
the flight to Egypt. Remembering was fearing;
doubt helped. I had to face it all as true
the day John baptized him. Then he knew.

(from A Cry Like a Bell, 1987)

Part of what we do during the Easter Vigil on Holy Saturday is to re-tell the old stories of faith that assure us of God's ongoing faithfulness from creation all the way through resurrection.  For the rest of this week, we will focus on six of those stories told at the Vigil as a reminder that the empty tomb is the ultimate expression of promise and salvation from a God who has yet been promising and saving throughout all of history.

Our second story was the story of the Flood.

Yesterday, I was reading the comics and Peanuts managed to capture the essence of the story's importance in a short four frames:


It is certainly part of the human existence to feel flooded sometimes, overwhelmed and washed away. But God promises that we will not be destroyed, no matter how deep the waters.

If we're talking about floods, the song "Flood" by Jars of Clay comes to mind. It definitely gets at this dual feeling of being overwhelmed but trying to trust God's promises.

"back in spring, rain and blossoms" by liquidskyarts on flickr

"I believe in the resurrection, in Jesus’, and in ours. The trees, so stark and gray last month, suddenly went up as if in flame, but instead in blossoms and leaves – poof! Like someone opening an umbrella. It’s often hard to find such dramatic evidence of rebirth and hope in our daily lives….I am going to try to pay attention to the spring, and look up at the hectic trees. Amid the smashing and crashing and terrible silences [in our world], the trees are in blossom, and it’s soft and warm and bright. I am going to close my eyes and listen. During the children’s sermon last Sunday, the pastor asked the kids to close their eyes for a moment – to give themselves a time-out – and then asked them what they had heard. They heard birds and radios, dogs barking, cars, and one boy said, 'I hear the water at the edge of things.' I am going to listen for the water at the edge of things today."

from "Good Friday World" by Anne Lamott, in Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith

"Rainbow Water Room" by pareeerica on flickr

Then God said to Noah and to his sons with him, "As for me, I am establishing my covenant with you and your descendants after you, and with every living creature that is with you, the birds, the domestic animals, and every animal of the earth with you, as many as came out of the ark. I establish my covenant with you, that never again shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of a flood, and never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth." God said, "This is the sign of the covenant that I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all future generations: I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth. When I bring clouds over the earth and the bow is seen in the clouds, I will remember my covenant that is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh; and the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh. When the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth." God said to Noah, "This is the sign of the covenant that I have established between me and all flesh that is on the earth."

Take this Bread, Sara Miles, p.236-238

I was unloading groceries one Friday when I spotted Sasha standing out back by the baptismal font, as if she were waiting for someone. Sasha was a very small black girl, maybe six or seven years old, who usually came to the pantry with an impatient, teenage aunt. I’d never met her mother. Sasha’s hair wasn’t always combed, and this day she had a split lip. “Sweetheart!” I said. I was glad to see her again. “Want a snack? There’s some chips inside.”

Sasha looked at me, not smiling. “Is this water the water God puts on you to make you safe?” she demanded abruptly, in a strangely formal voice.

I put down my boxes. What was she asking for? Was I being asked to baptize her? My mind raced, flashing back to when I’d stood at the font for my own baptism just a few years ago.

Nothing about that water had made me safe. It had pushed me further out from the certainties and habits of my former life, taken me away from my family, and launched me on this mad and frustrating mission to feed multitudes. It had eroded my identity as an objective journalist and given me an unsettling glimpse of how very little I knew. I was no less flawed or frightened or capable of being hurt than I’d been before my conversion, and now, in addition, I was adrift in this water, yoked together with all kinds of other Christians, many of whom I didn’t like or trust.

How could I tell this child that a drop of water could make her safe? I had no idea what Sasha was going through at home, but I suspected it was rough. And baptism, if it signified anything, signified the unavoidable reality of the cross at the heart of Christian faith. It wasn’t a magic charm but a reminder of God’s presence in the midst of unresolved human pain.

I remember what Lynn Baird, [one of the priests at St. Gregory’s] had asked me, when I was contemplating baptism.

“Do you want it?” I asked.
Sasha locked her eyes on me. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I want that water.”

There was something so serious in her face that it stopped me cold. I dipped my fingers into the font, and Sasha turned her face up to me, concentrating. I made the sign of the cross on her forehead.

I took Sasha into the church and found Lynn...I told her what had happened, and we walked over to the small wooden shrine by the preacher’s chair, where Lynn asked Sasha if she wanted a special blessing.

“Yes,” Sasha said gravely. “I want that.”

From the shrine, Lynn took the small container of oil and showed it to Sasha. The girl stood up, very still, in front of Lynn’s chair. “I’m going to put my hands on you and pray now, if you’re ready,” Lynne said, and Sasha nodded.

Behind us, a crowd was circling around the Table, gathering up rice and beans and Froot Loops cereal. A bunch of other kids were dodging in and out, shouting and punching one another and eating snacks. “Jesus is always with you,” Lynn told Sasha, as she finished rubbing the oil into her skin, “no matter what happens to you, even when bad things happen. you’re not ever alone.” Sasha closed her eyes for a moment, then looked down directly at the seated priest, and I saw something flowing between them: the child, crucified, anointing Lynn with the power of her crucifixion, and Lynn, receiving it, anointing Sasha.

That Sunday, at church, I told some of the other deacons what had happened. [My friend] Lawrence got up suddenly and left the room, crying. “I ran into the bathroom, he said to me later, “and started splashing water on my face, and when I realized what I was doing, that I was rebaptizing myself, I cried even harder.”

Lawrence cleared his throat. He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose.
“Honey,” I said.
“Ah,” said Lawrence. “It just came to me how much I want God’s safety.”
“I know,” I said.
“I wonder if that water really does protect us,” said Lawrence. “I fear not. That’s not what it’s for.”

Two weeks later, Sasha came back to the pantry with her aunt, who was lugging another baby. She ran up to me, leaped into my arms, kissed me, and said, “Let’s go find Lynn. I want a special blessing.” We anointed her again, and again Sasha received the oil deliberately, with great attention, listening to every word of our prayers. Then she corrected Lynn.

“It’s not AH-men,” Sasha said, “it’s A-men.”
I asked her what amen meant.
“It means thank you,” Sasha said.