Whose News?

The commercials that have started playing are getting me excited about the up-coming Olympic season. I love watching the coverage, not just for the athletic competitions themselves, but also for the stories. I LOVE a good story, and the Olympics are usually full of them. There are athletes from small towns and unimaginable circumstances. There are families and friends who have walked alongside them as they have trained and sacrificed to pursue their sport and their dream. There are proud high school teachers and coaches, aunts and uncles, parents and siblings who beam at the thought of their hometown hero bringing home the gold. Everyone loves a hometown hero!

Jesus came back to Nazareth such a hometown hero. NBC hadn’t been following him with a camera, letting the folks back home know what he was up to and how he was astounding the countryside with his preaching. The TV crews hadn’t been hanging out in the vineyards, the marketplace, and the synagogue to take interviews from his old buddies, other apprentices in the carpenter’s shop. Yet still, when he arrived back in Nazareth word had already gotten back to them about what he had been doing, what he had been preaching and teaching in the time the boy next door was gone. And they had heard he was GOOD!

Certainly they expected him to come to worship on the Sabbath; Jesus and his family never missed a week. Certainly they expected him to come to the synagogue as he always had, but with a reputation that had preceded him home they weren’t going to just let him sit back and worship. Jesus, the hometown hero, the boy-next- door turned respected preacher was certainly going to be invited to read and interpret when he walked through the door of First Synagogue of Nazareth. “Local boy makes good” the headlines would have read if they existed. “Come and hear him for yourself” the invitation would have beckoned to the whole town.

The scroll of Isaiah was the one handed to him, but Jesus got to pick the passage. He actually picked two passages and put them together, then claimed they were fulfilled even that day in the hearing and presence of the community. He claimed that the one of whom the prophet is speaking, the one to whom the Spirit of the Lord has come, is Jesus himself. The one who has been anointed to bring good news, proclaim release and recovery, let the oppressed go free, is Jesus, the hometown boy standing, well, now sitting right in front of them. The folks in Nazareth had heard he was good, but THIS good? Really? Jesus the carpenter’s son?

It's not really the message they expected to hear. Maybe a sermon on the benefits of prayer. Maybe something about repentance and baptism. Maybe even something about battling your inner demons would have seemed appropriate after what they had heard of his recent experiences with the devil in the wilderness, but this year of the Lord’s favor stuff? All this talk about poor and captives, the blind and the oppressed, that isn’t what they expected at all.

The surprise starts as excitement. At first, the congregation spoke well of him and was amazed at his gracious words. You can imagine them beaming with pride like an Olympian’s hometown friends. “This one is one of ours! That’s our boy! That’s Joseph’s son!” They can hardly believe the one who has spoken seemingly wise words in front of them is Jesus who had always lived and worshiped among them. They are excited he has returned and with such a glowing reputation ahead of him.

Although they initially cut him some slack, the excitement doesn’t last too long once he continues. He begins equate himself with the great prophets of their faith, even Elijah. He talks about how Elijah and all the rest were rejected in their hometowns. He starts to get antagonistic with the congregation made up of the friends of his youth, the adults who knew him since he was a child, the elders who nurtured him in the faith he took so seriously. He challenges them, and his formerly tolerant friends and neighbors respond by rethinking what they have heard, questioning the words he has proclaimed and claimed in their presence.

It’s hard for the people of Nazareth to imagine this local man is quite as important as he seems to think he is. The Spirit anointed him? The fulfillment of Scripture? The year of the Lord’s favor? Really? All of this? As he continued to preach the tide began to change.

It’s understandable why the people of Nazareth started to get worried and upset. They saw the significance of what Jesus was saying about himself, his ministry, and even the love of God. What he was saying, it wasn’t hard to see, was going to define and guide the rest of his ministry. It was to be his mission statement, and, he was saying, it was a divine mission statement, too. In his preaching he tells who he has come to touch. He tells who it is God desires to approach. He tells who is included in the Lord’s favor, and who should be among God’s beloved community.

And, funny enough, it doesn’t really seem to be about the folks sitting in the synagogue before him. Or at least not obviously. Poor they might be and be willing to claim, but captives? Prisoners? No, that didn’t seem to fit the crowd that has come freely to worship on the Sabbath. Blind? Maybe a few in the crowd, but not all of them as a whole. None of them are slaves, oppressed and depressed by masters wielding power over them. No, none of these descriptions of those for whom there is good news seem to fit these faithful, religious people. None of what Jesus has said about the ones who will be released and free seems to include them in the picture.

No wonder their excitement quickly turned into rage. Here they were, strong people of faith, the people who knew Jesus and had taught him, the people who like him had come worship on the Sabbath week after week, month after month, year after year, the people who had kept the holy days fully and faithfully just as he had, and Jesus came to deliver the message that the good news, it’s really more for someone else. The year of the Lord’s favor, it will be shown to outsiders first.

It’s sort of the opposite of what we would call preaching to the choir, right? Preaching to the choir - - that’s when we say words that others probably need to hear to the ones who probably don’t need to hear them. What Jesus does is preach to the ones who probably do need to hear his word, but won’t WANT to hear what he has to say. This good news from God, this release and freedom, it’s not just for the ones who have been religiously waiting for it. In fact, it may not even be for them first. It may not be granted to those with perfect attendance like an award at the end of elementary school. It may not come because we got enough stickers on our church chore chart.

In fact, Jesus, he tells them, he tells us, came to bring it NOT to those on the inside who seem to deserve it, but to those on the outside who think they don’t. He came, he tells them and us, to carry the favor and love of God to the ones who feel like they’ve been forgotten, to those who struggle to see God’s grace, to those who are beaten down by people and systems that keep them from having any reason to have faith in God enough to walk through the doors of a church, or synagogue, or mosque, or temple every week, or even once a year. He came, he tells them and expects us to follow, to free those who are held captive by binding social rules and cultural expectations, by their own fear to follow and be loved, by those who are scared to know them, to help them, to walk on the same streets in the same neighborhoods with them. He came, we are called to understand and replicate, to include those who are usually excluded, to bring in those who are usually shut out, to lift up those who are usually tossed aside, and share the good news of God’s favor with them.

At our retreat last September, the session was bold to realize that we here at First Presbyterian Church do a REALLY good job at trying to foster a sense of community within our walls. We know how to cook a good pancake feed and enjoy it together. We can put up a potluck that will rival any church’s spread. We do a great job of sharing fellowship with one another and building our own relationships with one another and with Christ. We care for one another in crisis. We celebrate with one another in great joy. Our ministry in the Spirit of God within the walls of this building and the bounds of this congregation is up-lifting, loving, and inspiring, and that’s not to be taken lightly or tossed aside as frivolous and unnecessary.

However, it isn’t, the session discerned, our complete call from God. It isn’t, Jesus claimed from the prophecy of Isaiah, the first thing he came to do. He came to look beyond the walls that hold those who always show up, whose custom it is to worship on the Sabbath as he did. He came to walk outside of the place of worship and warm community into the dark dungeons of despair and hopelessness and faithlessness. He came to speak the good news of God’s love in places where good news hadn’t been heard in years, where good news was least likely to be believed.

I think the people in First Synagogue of Nazareth got more than a little upset because Jesus’ preaching to them turned everything they had held onto upside down. If we come here faithfully, if we believe and love with all our hearts, souls, and strength, if we follow the expectations of God and care for one another, we are right on track. But Jesus came back home to tell them that’s not all there is to it. Jesus walked in and told them Spirit of the Lord sent him out, sends them, sends us out from these walls in which our faith is nurtured and grown, sends us out of those doors the welcome us in, sends us out to the poor, the captive, the blind, the oppressed to proclaim God’s love for them, the year of the Lord’s favor for all.

In September the session of First Presbyterian Church began to notice this call is heard and obeyed by many of us in individual ways, but rarely all of us in a communal way. It is a place in our congregational life, in our ministry in the name of Jesus, where there is room for growth. We are fantastic at ministering to those in our midst; we have important steps that need to be taken to minister to those whom Jesus was sent to serve first.

You will hear me mention it more than once, probably even weekly until February 20 - - you are invited, encouraged, and downright BEGGED to join in a conversation about our ministry that will be held that morning, again February 20, here at First Presbyterian Church. We will speak openly and honestly about our ministries as a congregation. We will dream and discern and pray about what God has uniquely gifted us to do, not just in our care for one another, but especially in our mission to the community and beyond. We will plan for our future as people called by God to be sent outside of these walls, outside of our family faith, to share what we know, what we experience, what we celebrate with those who might never consider walking into this place, this faith home.

In the ministry and love of Jesus of Nazareth, the good news has come. The year of the Lord’s favor is here, and it is here for those who have never even considered it. May the scripture and call of Christ to share that good news be fulfilled in our hearing and in our life together. Amen.

Everything He Needs

It seems like a sort of strange place to set the first miracle - - especially in light of the scenes we have seen on the news and in the papers this week. Jesus, his mother, and even his new disciples are at a wedding of all places – not the neediest spot on the globe. That the wine has run out may seem like a tragedy to some or in the moment, but compared to some of his other miracles? Really? A wedding? The drinks have gone dry and now it’s time for a miracle?

Weddings of some sort have been around since the beginning of time, so it’s not really much of a dramatic of a backdrop for a miracle. He isn’t asking a man to take up his mat and walk, surrounded by crowds so thick friends have lowered the man who is paralyzed through the roof. Mystical power hasn’t flowed out of him unknowingly and produced skins of wine the way it does when a woman is healed of her bleeding by simply touching his cloak. He isn’t standing at the door of the tomb of a friend four days dead, calling in to him, bringing the dead back to life.

No, this miracle, Jesus’ first miracle, happens in a pretty common setting. In fact, the most uncommon piece seems to be that this, of all places, is the place where Jesus’ power, where his glory is first revealed to his disciples and to others. Even, he seems to think it’s a strange place to enter the next phase of his life. However, when the wine has run out too early, DEFINITELY a social faux pas, but not an international crisis, Jesus’ mother comes straight to him to let him know.

Jesus seems to know she isn’t just letting him know the bad news, news that is worse in a culture that is based on upon hospitality. Running out of wine doesn’t just mean guests will go home a little earlier than planned; it means shame upon those who couldn’t provide enough for the enjoyment of their friends. Jesus knows his mother is asking him to do something, but even he thinks the timing is at least a little off, I can’t help but assume, because he thinks a little higher of his ministry and future than to start it by playing bartender at a wedding. “What concern is that to you and me?” he asks.

His hour, he believes, has not yet come. The stage isn’t quite set. To me it seems a little drab. A little ordinary. To me the stage seems like it is missing something - - like people who are paying attention, people who will witness the greatness Mary is asking Jesus to perform. Anyone hearing what she asked and assumed may think she was just ordering him to make a run down to the corner wine merchant and take care of this little embarrassment for a friend.

But she wasn’t, and he didn’t. She was asking for something more. She was asking for something she knew he could do, but he wasn’t sure he should. She was asking for a miracle, right then and there. There in the middle of a pretty common, even if special and celebratory, event. There probably in the middle of a courtyard, with a food table in one corner, a fire for cooking in another, musicians from town in yet another. Right there with common people, friends, family, guests, servants milling around, not paying him any special attention. There where evidence of the families’ routine religious life was lined up against the house wall, with water for cleaning and cooking stored for easy accessibility. Right there his mother called on him for this strange little miracle. And it turns out everything he needed to do something extraordinary in the middle of the very ordinary, was there, right in front of them all.

When I was in high school, right across the street from the school was an Italian fast food chain called Fazoli’s. I haven’t seen one around here, but I guess to make a comparison it was kind of like Culver’s – as step or two up from the usual burger joints, but not really a sit down restaurant or anything. It was a common and easy place to stop for dinner before or after a game or concert or some other activity at the school that didn’t make it worth driving all the way home. My mom and I made ourselves regulars there the busier and busier I got in high school.

Our first visit will always stick in my mind, though. We went to the counter as normal and ordered our plates of spaghetti or fettuccini or whatever we ate, then gathered our order number and cups for the soft drinks we had ordered. As we began to turn around, looking for our next stop to grab napkins, plastic utensils and fill our empty cups, the cashier cheerfully announced, “Everything you need is just around the corner.” Without missing a beat, my mom spun back around with a thrilled and questioning look on her face, “Really? Everything I need?”

It turns out that was a regular line for the cashiers at our Fazoli’s, “Everything you need is just around the corner,” and it never failed to bring a smirk to our faces when we were there. The idea of it just seemed to magical and so wonderfully simple. Everything we needed, our drinks, lemon for the tea, straws and forks, sure, but what about a, a few extra bucks to get the car fixed when unexpected repairs were needed, more hours in a day, a hopeful story in a week filled with tragedy, was that going to be just around the corner, too? We liked to pretend it was. We liked to pretend that when we turned that corner, our ordinary cares and concerns, our ordinary daily ups and downs would be magically, miraculously transformed by whatever it was we found. Just around the corner.

Everything he needed was just around the corner. Everything Jesus needed to keep the party going, to save the hosts from embarrassment, to fulfill his mother’s desire and get her to stop asking questions, to reveal his glory to the few who might see it, everything Jesus needed transform the ordinary problem into an extraordinary event was right there in front of him. Jesus turned to the servants his mother assembled before him, ordinary men and women ready to do whatever he asked. He ordered them to bring stone water jars that were right there near where they stood ready for their routine use in the family’s daily life. Next he asked that the jars be filled with water. Just water. Nothing else special, just the common, everyday, cool and refreshing, clear water from the well.

He asked these ordinary people to gather ordinary materials, yet with them something extraordinary happened. When the caterer dipped his cup into the jars, not knowing what had happened or from where they had come, he found the tastiest, richest wine he had tasted yet at the wedding feast. With them a miracle took place.

A lot of people in a lot of places are praying for miracles today. It’s been that kind of week in the life of the world. Haiti has gotten a lot of much needed attention, obviously, since the earthquake. Locally, a shooting in a market in the cities has been in the news for some time now. Temperatures well below normal around our country have ruined crops upon which farmers and businesses and industries and migrant workers depend for their living. Getting less attention in our news because of the tragedies closer to home are horrifying legislature against gays and lesbians in Uganda and the persecution of Christians in Malaysia, churches that are being firebombed because of the use of a word for God common across several religions. Prayers for miracles are ascending all around and among us as the wineskins are getting emptier and emptier, as our hope for something extraordinary grows fuller and fuller.

And prayers are good. Prodding God into action is good. It’s exactly what his mother did. She saw the need in front of her. She saw embarrassment and shame and worry on the horizon, and she knew no matter how humble the setting that her son could take care of it. So she prodded him when it didn’t look like he would act. She nudged him in the direction he could go even if it seemed he was resisting. She called on him to make a difference, and whether he planned to do it ahead of time or not he did.

Our prayers are good. Our prodding is made holy and necessary and productive by Mary’s action before us. But just as good, just as holy and necessary and productive is our availability, our willingness to be prodded into action. Just as important as the prodding are the ordinary things that are put to extraordinary use. Just as important are the jars and the servants and the water that are just around the corner from Jesus, standing ready, if ignorantly, to be used in his miraculous work. Just as important as our prayers are the gifts for service that have been activated in all of us.

Paul writes to the church in Corinth about the spiritual gifts they have been given for ministry. The church is in some sort of turmoil over what it takes to be a Christian, over what gifts are the really important ones for church and spiritual life. Paul writes back to tell them that all their gifts are important. All their gifts have been given by God. All their gifts are a sign of the Spirit’s working in their lives and their communities. All their gifts are for the service of the same Lord. And maybe most importantly, ALL of them have been given gifts to use.

No one is more special than another because she can speak in tongues. No one is more holy than the rest because he has more faith. No one is more useful in the community because he can heal or she can prophesy or they can work miracles or interpret tongues or utter great wisdom. All of them, the members of Christ’s church in Corinth are, on the one hand, ordinary, but on the other hand are gifted equally for an extraordinary purpose, Christ’s purpose, Christ’s service, Christ’s miraculous ministry in the world.

And so are we. So are we ordinary men, women, and children gifted for Christ’s extraordinary service in the world around us. So are we God’s ordinary children, set in this ordinary place, called to be a part of Jesus’ extraordinary work in our community and in the world. Everything Jesus needs is right around the corner. Everything he needs to bring abundant, overflowing, rich, and delightful life to the world is right here in front of him, right here among us.

I have no doubt that this last week our prayers prodding God into action have been ascending this week. I have no doubt that we have begged and pleaded for mercy to shower down on the desperate people of Haiti. I have no doubt that we have nudged and urged and even nagged Jesus to stay involved in their lives and perform for them a miracle.

But I also have no doubt that we are gifted to be a part of that miracle. I have no doubt that everything Jesus needs to perform that miracle is here on this earth, and some of it here in this room, in this community. We have gifts to share in the checks that I’m sure have been written, and still can be written. We have gifts to share in the kits we can put together for the hospitals, orphanages, schools, and homes that have been destroyed. We have gifts to share that haven’t even been discovered yet. We have gifts to share that will be needed in this tragedy and others even years down the road. We are ordinary people equipped, and placed, and called to extraordinary purposes, and I have no doubt that we will answer that call, that we will follow Mary’s order, “Do whatever he tells you. Let his will and his work be done with us.

Earthquake in Haiti

The Presbyterian Disaster Assistance has a fund set up to receive financial donations to aid the relief and recovery efforts in Haiti. The link for donating on-line is here. They will update the PDA with more information regularly.

Let us pray:
God of earthquake, wind, and fire,
tame natural forces that defy control,
or shock us by their fury.
Keep us from calling disaster your justice;
and help us, in good times or in calamity,
to trust your mercy which never ends,
and your power,
which in Jesus Christ stilled storms,
raised the dead,
and put down demonic powers. Amen.

(from the Book of Common Worship)

Where's the trust?

A conversation has started over at the Chain Link, the blog of the Rev. Paul Moore, the organizing pastor of the Presbytery of the Twin Cities' New Church Development in Chain of Lakes. (I have to admit I'm new enough in this area that I still don't know if "Chain of Lakes" is a town or an area.) It is about the presbytery meeting that took place on Saturday and the "heated" discussions and debates that took place.

I joined that conversation in Paul's comment section, but thought I'd maybe expand upon what I wrote over there over here. This is how blogging works, folks! Neal Lloyd posted some comments afterward that have informed my thinking a little more.

I'll start here where I ended there. I am, essentially, a polity geek. I'm not the world's expert in Robert's Rules of Order, but I like them. I find them fun, as well as useful. I enjoy an intricate debate in which amendments are made to substitutes and things even further on down the line. I liked at one point at this recent meeting that we had a vote to challenge the ruling of the moderator NOT because I was a fan of the crazy arguing that was going, but because you don't see those motions being made very much, and, well, that's what we Robert's geeks live for!

I also like RRO for the reasons Neal pointed out in Paul's comments. It gives a process for the minority to be heard. It provides a framework for discussion and debate to take place in a way that HOPEFULLY is respectful and fruitful.

So anyway, my thoughts on the meeting...that's the conversation Paul started...

The meeting feel apart. It didn't get rowdy. It didn't get completely disrespectful (although, again there were moments that things were moving that direction). It fell apart as a gathering of the Body of Christ called together to discern God's will for the ministry of our presbytery. It fell apart, I believe, due to a lack of trust.

Members of and commissioners to presbytery did not trust the nominating committee. Ministers and elders did not trust each other to follow the leading of the Spirit instead of their own personal opinions. No one trusted anyone enough to set aside the idolatry of the process they liked best (here I'm speaking less about RRO and more about "the way we usually do it" or "last time we did it this way" - elect the whole slate, nominate alternates one at a time or as a whole, prioritize alternates according to the number of votes first received, etc) in order to try to find the way to do it best now.

I think lack of trust is at the core of that idolatry that Paul mentions (OK, idolatry is my word, but it's my interpretation of the direction Paul is going in his post). We want to know and stick to and have standards in our process because everyone is distrustful that when something is on the floor that is important to "me" it will be handled fairly and equitably. That's why we have chosen to govern ourselves by RRO in the past. We see that prescribed order as one that protects the voices of all. I think we cling to the process so tightly so that we can believe our pet issues won't be swept under the rug or pushed through by folks who don't want the same things we want. Again more distrust.

I haven't been in the presbytery very long at all, and I know I missed a lot of history even in recent years. I also have no idea how trust is rebuilt after, what I believe must have been, a very painful group experience. But I think, when I walk into many of those meetings (any one of which can turn contentious on a dime), we are bunch of people gathered together to make very important decisions and discernments with very little trust among us. I have no idea how you fix that.

Some things that could have happened ahead of time? At least as I seem them?
1. I agree with the member of presbytery who asked the Nominating Committee to not only take applications for nominations, but also to seek candidates to elect out, especially on something like GA commissioners. Even if there are enough applications that come in, the Nominating Committee, in my opinion has the blessing and responsibility to put together the best slate possible from among all our presbyters, elders and ministers of Word and sacrament. I know this is a huge presbytery in population. I know it's not an easy job, but it is an important one.

2. I also think that as presbyters we have a responsibility to give the Nominating Committee names of friends, colleagues, and members of churches who might be good candidates. The Nominating Committee came to the presbytery meeting in November and very literally BEGGED ministers to apply for this role. If we did not come to their aid either by nominating ourselves, encouraging others we trust and would like to elect to do the same, or sending them names to contact than I find it awful hard for us to complain about the slate they bring forward.

3. We do seem to spend a lot of time in presbytery meetings talking about processes outside of ROO - Do we examine on the floor of presbytery ALL ministers who are coming in? Do we require folks to have a call to transfer their presbytery of membership? Do we vote for a slate or one by one? Do we have to challenge a specific persons nomination with a nomination from the floor (the way they do it at GA, by the way, which on the one hand gets personal, but on the other hand forces people to speak up about why they are making a new nomination and what change they are seeking in the slate)? I think it could be helpful to distribute ahead of time in written (or electronic, of course) form exactly what the process will be. If it is a standard we have created in the past that is sitting in some policy and procedure book somewhere let us know so that we can trust the rules that are being applied are the rules to which we have all agreed.

I said it earlier (more than once I am sure), but I have no idea how you solve the problem of missing trust in a presbytery, especially such a large one in population. Maybe the discussion groups we have formed at each meeting over the last year are part of the solution, but I don't know. I don't think they hurt. Somehow we have to come to see people of differing opinions as people first, children of God, operating not out of some huge desire to spite us or ruin our church, but out of a desire to follow God faithfully. How they understand that way they are to follow may be very different from how I understand it, but I have to know and trust that their understanding comes from a place of deep faith. I have to trust they are doing the best they can, the way I'm doing the best I can, to follow God who calls us to this ministry together.

What's Your Name? - Sermon

Isaiah 43:1-7
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

What do you know about where your name came from? Or what special meaning does your name have for your family?

There is a story to every name. Even if your story is that your parents found the name in a baby name book, a movie, a song, or a TV character, your name has a story, because names are important. We name what is important to us with names that have been passed down from generation to generation, with names that have been selected carefully for their meaning, with names that remind us of strong people, important virtues, or important stories, with names that simply bring joy to us as we bestow them on the ones and the things we love.

We name the significant aspects of our lives, as a colleague of mine pointed out, even those that are full of devastation. The names Katrina and Rita with remind us of storms and injustice for generations. We have Pearl Harbor Day and D-Day and 9-11. They aren’t memories of joy or excited anticipation, but even those events and parts of our lives that are full of devastation and violence have names, names by which we remember these life-changing times. Names are important. We name what is important to us.

Isaiah knew something about naming. God had taught Isaiah well.

The passage we heard begins with “But now” which should make any hearer wonder, well, what was before? What we heard today was a divine love song, but that love song is only made stronger and more poignant when we think about what came before it. Before it the people of God are reminded of the fury of God they have felt in exile. They are reminded of anger and justice that has been executed upon THEM when they would not hear God, when they would not walk in God’s way, when they would not obey the law of God. They probably didn’t need too much reminding of THAT part of their relationship with God, experiencing it every day as they lived in exile in Babylon.

But that reminder certainly perks up the ears of anyone who hears the words “But now.” Change is on the way. Hope has not been in vain. Before we have suffered and longed for the relationship we have had. Before we have cried out for a second, third, or fourth chance. Before we wondered if we would ever feel like God’s people again, but now… But now… Those words tell us in our deepest darkest experiences of pain and loneliness and suffering and questioning that but now, we will experience something different.

The very first thing God does for the people Israel is remind them whose they are - - remind them to whom they belong. They belong to God who created them. God who created them individually, and God who pulled them together into community with a common history, common ancestors, a common story. They belong to God who, even in the midst of the worst experience of their lives, redeems them, makes them whole, buys them back from the pain they are feeling and gives them worth in divine and human eyes. God calls them by name and claims them for God’s self.

Names are important. We name what is important to us. GOD names what is important to God. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, God promises, and I know you by name. When the rivers threaten to cover over your head, I will call out your name and lead you through them. When you walk through fire you won’t be burned and the flame shall not consume you because I will personally, and tenderly, and lovingly lead you by your hand, speaking your name to you, out of the terror your face. God will call us by name because very personally, very intimately, we belong to God. Names are important. God names and calls by name what is important to God. Isaiah knows this.

The gospel writers, especially Luke and Matthew in their stories of Jesus’ birth, know it, too. Before the telling of his birth in these two gospels God gives Jesus his name, several names, in fact. “Emmanuel” the child is called, God with us. Son of the Most High. Jesus, he saves. The angels delivered the messages straight from God of what this child would be named, because his name would tell the world who he was.

But now, God says, now that he is grown, now that he is about to move from obscurity to a whole new kind of existence, now that he is ready to move around and about in the world where God placed him to do what God has called him to do, now it is time for a new name. It’s a world full of names. The opening of the chapter, the part that gives us the setting for John the Baptist’s ministry and Jesus’ baptism, starts like this:

“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…” (Luke 3:1)

In that one verse no less than seven men are named. No less than seven men are called by their very important, very powerful names before Luke goes on to talk about how the word of God came to a virtual nobody, some John son of Zechariah, who was, of all places in the wilderness. And of all these people who are mentioned – emperors and governors and rulers and priest – of all these people of obvious importance to the world, the one to whom Jesus comes at the start of his ministry is John, the son of Zechariah.

Jesus has a pretty big name of his own – if not yet in renown at least in meaning. Jesus, “He saves” tells what he has come to do, but at that particular point in his ministry, at the very beginning, when he’s out in the middle of nowhere with John son of Zechariah, while the position and power and prestige of Tiberius and Pontius Pilate and Herod and Philip and Lysanias and Annas and Caiaphas are breathing down his neck, even “he saves,” from the middle of nowhere Galilee, needs a new name when he comes to the water.

Coming to John for baptism, not because he NEEDS the baptism of repentance, but because he wants to join with others, join with us in our need

Coming to John for baptism, not because his skin and his spirit need to be cleansed of his unrighteousness, but because God promised to be with us when we passed through the waters, even the waters of baptism

Coming to John for baptism, not because his submission was necessary, but because it was an act of solidarity with those of us for whom it is

Coming to John for baptism, Jesus, he saves, gets a new name. Jesus hears God’s voice as called out to him in his prayer. You are “My Son.” You are “The Beloved.” Tiberius and Pontius Pilate and Herod and all the rest may have the power of Rome behind them, but Jesus, God whispers in his still dripping ears, Jesus belongs to God. Jesus is God’s Son, the Beloved.

And so are we. So are we the sons and the daughters of God Most High. So are we, dripping with the waters of baptism, the waters that covered Jesus even when he didn’t need them, the waters that cover us because we do, so are we, dripping with these waters of his baptism, called and claimed and named by God. Because names are important. God names what is important to God.

The voice Jesus heard, that called out to him from heaven while he was praying at the side of the river, is the voice that speaks also to us. You are my child. You are my daughter, my son. You are my beloved, and with you I am well pleased. When Jesus joined us in the water, when he waded out into the river, when he was covered by the water and the love and the voice of God, he brought us right out there with him.

But let’s not get too comfortable sitting here with our old, new names. Yes, they are important names. God gives us important names. But let’s not try to fool ourselves into thinking they are safe names. Remember into which waters, remember into what world Jesus’ name came. It came into this world of position, of which he had none. It came into this world of power, of which he shared none. It came into this world of prestige, of which he could claim none. It came into a world that would challenge him and ignore him and resist his wide love. It came, our baptismal names come, in a world that may very well do the same to us when we try to walk in his way and love as he loved.

But even now, but even when the world… no even when WE resist God’s love, God’s grace, and God’s way, but even now God’s promise is still true – When you pass through the waters, I will be with you. When you walk through fire you shall not be burned. For I am the Lord your God, your Savior. You are precious in my sight, and I love you, my Beloved Daughters and Sons.

Right Where He Belongs

Luke 2:41-52

Some of you may remember our Christmas Eve service last year. Maybe you were sitting toward the back and couldn’t see the young, uh, dancer who joined me up here for a scripture reading and Christmas sermon. Or maybe the memory isn’t burned into your memories quite as deeply as it is burned into mine. The quick version of the story is that for the final Scripture reading and the sermon my daughter, Karoline, joined me on the chancel to give her own interpretation of sharing the good news of Jesus’ birth with her candle in gun mode and her twirling on the top step. She also made quite a vocal exit when Phil swooped her under his arm and carried her on out.

The only thing I could think to say as it was happening was, “Even Jesus turned 3 one day!” And he did. The Scriptures say that “the child grew and became strong.” After his birth in Bethlehem, his circumcision on his 8th day, his dedication in the temple at Jerusalem a little while later, Jesus grew and became strong. He even turned 3 and, eventually, as we heard today, he even turned twelve.

There were so many options for how to interpret that line in the Scripture when Jesus answers Mary’s frantic question, “Child, why have you treated us like this?” Every parent wishes he had said it something like, “(Apologetically) Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” But Luke has already given us enough information to know this couldn’t have possibly been the way Jesus answered the question. He has grown. He has become strong. He may even have wisdom, but he is still 12. It had to have been a little more like “(With LOTS of attitude) Duuuuhhhh. Why were you SEARCHING for me? Did you not KNOW that I must be in my Father’s house? (Complete with eyeroll)”

Or maybe I’m just projecting a little bit. We really don’t know much about Jesus between the ages of a few months and about 30 years. This is the only story of his adolescence that makes it into our biblical gospels. There are other gospels, mostly written several hundred years after the four we hold as scriptural, that contain all sorts of exciting stories about Jesus as a young boy.

Ann Rice used some of them from the Infancy Gospel of Thomas in her 2005 novel Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt. A five year-old Jesus forms 12 live birds out of the clay from the edge of stream. Later another child bangs Jesus on the shoulder while running through the village and with one sentence from the lips of the young Jesus, “You shall go no further on your way,” the child drops dead in the street. After his family is practically run out of town for his use of power, Jesus raises the young boy from the dead. Joseph, furious about Jesus’ public use of his power, in a total Darrin Stephens’ Bewitched move, pulls hard on Jesus’ ear and scolds him.

But if we go with what we have in Scripture we really don’t know what Jesus knows about who Jesus is. We don’t know if Mary told him about the angel who announced her pregnancy. We don’t know if Joseph confided in his son about the Lord speaking to him in a dream. We don’t know if he has heard about the star that marked his birth, the shepherds who worshiped him in manger, the visitors from foreign lands who came to worship him, the king who tried to kill him. We don’t know what Jesus knows about who Jesus really is. But we know that apparently from a pretty early age he knew where he belonged.

We know that for 12 years Jesus has come with his family to Jerusalem to the temple. For 12 years Jesus has come with his family to the Passover in Jerusalem to celebrate in the very place where God dwells with humanity. For 12 years they have come, every single year. We don’t know what he was told about who he was or where he came from or what the miraculous circumstances were around his birth, but we know that after 12 years of visiting that temple, he knew where he belonged. He knew that he was connected God, the one whose presence filled that temple.

In fact, his connection was so strong that he thought NOTHING of staying behind in that 12th year, not to see what Jerusalem was really all about. Not to run around with new friends he had made at the festival. Not to experience a little fredom from his parents and test out almost-adulthood in the big city. His connection to God was so strong that he stayed behind not to play, but to be a disciple in the temple, to learn from the teachers, to TEACH the teachers in the temple of God out of his deep and persistent connection to God.

There is a natural desire in adolescents to know who they are. There is a nature desire in them, a longing for identity, in which they try to answer the question “Who am I?” and they are bombarded daily with competing voices who try to answer that question for them. You are what you wear. You are what you listen to. You are what grades you get. You are what school you get into. You are what church you go to. You are what instrument you play, what sport you try, what club you join.

We see and lament that competition for our young people’s attention and focus, but I believe it isn’t just the young people who feel that same pressure to belong, who long for that sense of identity, for understanding about who they really are in the world. That longing, that wondering, that questioning, that quest for understanding often chases many of us into adulthood. Even years after the trials of adolescence have passed we can find ourselves plagued by the nagging question “Who am I?” We can find ourselves trapped by the same kinds of competing answers.

Have you ever tried to answer the question “Who am I?” Try it. Think about it right now. Jot down a list of things, if you would like, that answer the question “Who am I?” More often than not as adults our list starts with our jobs or our family relationships. I’m a pastor. I’m a mother. Or for others, I’m a teacher. I’m a retired nurse. I’m an engineer. I’m a grandfather. I’m a brother. Next on the list are often hobbies or the groups to which we belong. I’m a knitter. I’m a woodworker. I’m a Rotarian. I’m a biker. I’m a runner. Or maybe our interests – I like classical music. I read mysteries. I like action movies. More often than not, adults as often as adolescents find their lists are filled with the things they do and the relationships they have created.

Probably the hardest thing for all of us to learn, for children, adolescents, and adults alike, is that our identity is not tied to who are friends are, what we do for a living or for enjoyment, what we make, what we are striving to become, what labels others put on us. Our identity is not wrapped up in our interests, our paycheck, or our educational degrees. Our identity is not even best discovered by asking the question “Who am I?” That question is not helpful or life-giving because the task of answering the question lies solely on the one who is asking it. It is always left up to us to fill in the blank.

The question of our identity should really be “Whose am I?” It is the question that leads us to answer not who am I trying to be or what am I trying to do, not what does the world think I am worth, not who do my friends or my family or complete strangers think I should be. It is the question that leads us to answer, “To whom do I belong?”

It is a mystery what Jesus, at 12 years of age, knew about who he was born to be. It is a mystery what Jesus, at 12 years of age, knew about from where he had come, and what angels had helped announced his coming. It is a mystery what Jesus knew from his parents, his grandparents, his friends in the village of Nazareth. But what we do know is that by the age of 12 he was very intimately aware of to whom he belonged.

Mary and Joseph, understandably, became worried when after a day of traveling home to Nazareth they could not find their son, the one entrusted to them by God. Certainly their anxiety was heightened when it took them three days more to finally find him in Jerusalem, in the temple, sitting among the teachers, dwelling in the presence of God, listening and learning. But to Jesus, his location seemed a no-brainer. “Did you not know that I MUST be in my Father’s house?”

He didn’t say he had to be in God’s house. He didn’t say he had to be in the house of our ancestors’ god. He didn’t say he had to be in the house of Yahweh. He said he had to be in “MY Father’s house.” No matter what else he knew or didn’t know about who he was, how he was born, what he was on this earth to be and to do, Jesus knew to whom he belonged. He was at the temple to get a better understanding of the one to whom he belongs.

What if we all had even just a touch of the wisdom of that 12 year old boy? What if we all had the instinct of that adolescent Jesus? What if we all had the impulse to run to the one who holds us and gives us hope, who loves us and perfects our humanity, who gives us joy in our belonging, who brings peace to our lives and the world? What if we all knew to whom we really belong?

I’m not usually one who makes New Years’ resolutions. I’m not against them; I usually just don’t think of one until it seems too late, and then I never seem to remember what they were a few weeks later. I’m pretty sure that’s not the best way for me to make lasting positive changes in my life. But this year, I’m tempted. I’m tempted not to make a resolution to do something new or be something different or quit some negative habit. I’m tempted to make the resolution to belong to God better.

I’m tempted to make the resolution to follow Jesus’ 12 year old lead and occasionally let myself run to the places where I know God’s presence best and dwell there sometimes, no matter what else is knocking on my door, no matter who else is searching for my attention. Maybe my resolution, the resolution I invite you to join me in making, is not to try to be a better mother or sister or even a better pastor, but maybe my resolution will be to know more fully, more intimately, more daily the one to whom I belong.

I may run sometimes to Scripture. I may run sometimes to prayer. I may run sometimes outside to see and breathe and hear the creation my Creator has formed all around me. I may run sometimes to my family and enjoy the life we share in Christ’s love. I sometimes may even run to the church – not our building, but our people. The people who have been called to live in this blessed community, the people who have committed to walking the same road of faith, the people who struggle live obediently and faithfully and joyfully in the presence of the one to whom we all belong. I have a feeling in discovering what it means to be a child of God, especially in discovering it together, in finding out about the one whose we are, we will come infinitely closer to being the people God created us to be.

For me and for all of us, may it be so.

I have to note here that my favorite sermon of all time is on this text and very much this topic. I did not intend to completely steal it and repreach it as my own, but after literally years of daily, then weekly, then simply regularly listening to it it has become a part of my being and my own hearing of this text. With a huge debt of gratitude I share with you this link to Reginald Blount's sermon "Longing for Identity" that I first heard at the Princeton Youth Forum in April 2004. Much of what I have written echoes what he said, and as hard as I tried I could not shake that Word from God from my mind.