Your Life's Purpose - Matthew 6:25-34

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you – you of little faith? There do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.
“So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.

Last May, one of our students graduated from ASU’s Walker College of Business. She called me a few weeks later to tell me about a job interview she had been on. She answered an ad for a small company looking for an accountant. The interview was conducted by the owner and founder of the company, a nervous, squirrelly, little man.
“I need someone with an accounting degree,” he said. “But mostly, I need someone to do my worrying for me.”
“Excuse me?” our bright, young accountant said.
“I worry about a lot of things,” the man explained. “But I don’t want to worry about money. Your job will be to take all the money worries off my back.”
“I see. And how much does the job pay?”
“I’ll start you at eighty thousand dollars.”
“Eighty thousand dollars!” she exclaimed. “How can such a small business afford such a large sum?”
“That,” the owner said, “is your first worry.”

I meet a lot of people who are worried about an awful lot of things. Worry seems to have become a national pastime. We worry about more things, and we worry about them at younger and younger ages. Because of my ministry among college students and young adults, and because of my many friends who are constantly going through major life transition, I meet a lot of people who are worried about their purpose in life. “What am I supposed to do with the rest of my life?” “What is my meaning in life?” “What has God put me on the planet to do?”

What is your life’s purpose? Pay close attention, because within the next 20 minutes, I hope God will tell us.

We are a society who loves to worry. This worrying and the accompanying planning starts earlier and earlier. If you want to get a good job, you have to get into the right graduate program, which means you first have to choose the right college and graduate with the appropriate degree. But to get into that college, you need to have good grades from the right high school and the accompanying array of extracurricular activities. But, even before that, children need to be in the right elementary schools and preschools and daycare centers, where they will learn valuable life skills, make important social contacts, and learn how to live in harmony with their fellow human beings. But before that, you had better make sure your children see the right pediatricians and psychologists, but those are dependent upon references from the right obstetrician. In short, if you plan to have children within the next 15 years and have not already made sufficient plans, you may have already ruined your children’s future. This will affect you negatively because your children will choose your retirement home.

In our text this morning, Jesus tells us not be people consumed by worry. “Consider the birds of the air,” he says. They don’t sow and reap. They don’t gather into barns. Yet, your heavenly father takes care of them. “Consider the lilies of the field.” They don’t toil or spin. Yet, your heavenly father takes care of them. The lilies, the birds do not plan and worry. Yet, your heavenly father takes care of them. So then, why do we worry? Will not our heavenly father take care of us as well?

We may be tempted to dismiss Jesus’ words here as a quaint teaching for a simpler time. Life wasn’t as competitive, we say. They weren’t faced with the same threats we are. But consider the context in which Jesus spoke this teaching. The unemployment rate of first century Palestine was probably approaching 50%. People literally did not know where their next meal was coming from. They were occupied and taxed heavily by a Roman government. Traveling from town to town or finding yourself outside the gates of the city after dark was literally taking your life in your own hands. Certainly, there were plenty of things to worry about. In the midst of that, Jesus says, “Quit worrying. Quit worrying about tomorrow. Today’s trouble is enough.”

One of the greatest philosophers and social critics of all time summarizes this teaching for us nicely. I appeal to his great wisdom as something from which we can all learn. I appeal, of course, to the noble, the venerable, the enlightened teaching of Charlie Brown. “I’ve developed a new philosophy . . . I only dread one day at a time.”

One day at a time – friends, that’s how we’re called to live!

God’s will for your life is not some path stretching off into the horizon. In fact, God’s will for your life is much more immediate. Getting your life in line with God’s will forces you to ask one very simple, direct question. What are you doing with your life right now?

Don’t worry about what to do with the rest of your life. God doesn’t want you to be worried that far ahead. I’m convinced that what Jesus calls us to do is solve this problem: How should I be living today? Is God being glorified, is Christ being shown in how I’m living today? This hour? Right here at this very moment?

Mike Yaconelli tells the story of a lay leader in his church who didn’t lead. You know, who didn’t live up to his responsibilities. There was a group of young people who conducted a monthly worship service at a local old folks’ home, and Mike finally convinced that lay leader to at least drive them every month.

He was there at the home, standing in the back with his arms crossed as the kids set up. Suddenly, there was a tug on his sleeve. He looked down at an old man in a wheelchair. He took hold of the old man’s hand, and the old man didn’t let go all through the service. This was repeated the next month, and the next month, and the next month. Then one month, the old man wasn’t there. The lay leader asked about him and was told he could find him down the hall, third door on the right. “He’s dying. He’s unconscious, but if you want to go pray over his body, that would be all right.”

The lay leader went and there were tubes and wires all over the place. He took the man’s hand, and prayed that God would receive him graciously from this life into the next. When he finished, the man squeezed his hand, and he knew his prayer had been heard. He was so moved that tears began to roll down his cheeks. He stumbled out of the room and ran into a woman. She said, “He’s been waiting for you. He said that he didn’t want to die until he had the chance to hold the hand of Jesus just one more time.”

The lay leader was amazed at this. “What do you mean?”

She said, “My father would say that once a month Jesus came to this place. ‘He would take my hand and he would hold my hand for a whole hour. I don’t want to die until I have the chance to hold the hand of Jesus one more time.’”

Friends, I don’t know what you think God’s will for your life is, but I’ll tell you it is this: God’s will for your life is to do what Jesus would do in your place. It’s to be Jesus for people who are in need. It’s to be Jesus for people who are hurt. It’s to be Jesus for people who are lonely.

If you’re going to be Jesus to people, you have to treat them like Jesus would have treated them.

First, you have to believe in people. Jesus seemed to be drawn to people the world had given up on. Many of them had long given up on God! It had been years since they believed in God. But yet, as Jesus shows us, God never stopped believing in them. While the world believes in a God who helps those who help themselves, Jesus reveals a God who helps those who cannot help themselves.

When Jesus met a tax collector, or a prostitute, or a paralytic, or someone demon-possessed, he didn’t see a tax collector, or a prostitute, or a paralytic, or someone demon-possessed. No, Jesus saw someone created in the image of God, one of God’s precious children, a person of inestimable and sacred worth.

When we meet the modern-day equivalents of these people, we are called to believe in them just as Jesus would. We are called to believe that God is not finished with them, and that every life is an arena for the glory of God to be revealed. If you’re going to be Jesus for people, you’ve got to forgive them.

Second, you have to forgive people. Chuck Colson tells a story about a prison ministry his church was involved with. After the service, they were leaving, and discovered one member of the group was missing. They found him in a cell on his knees praying with one of the prisoners. Chuck said, "I scolded the man and said, ‘You're ruining our good graces here! Please come out of there. What's going on?'" The man rose to his feet and said, "I'm Judge Brewer. This is a man that I condemned to death. We need some time to forgive each other."

Who in our lives stands in need of forgiveness? We are called to forgive them, just as Christ has forgiven us. We are called to offer the hope of new beginnings to anyone and everyone, regardless of what they may have done. If you’re going to be Jesus for people, you’ve got to believe in them.

The last thing I hold before you is this: you have to love people unconditionally. Jesus calls us to exercise unrestrained love. It is easy for us to love that which is lovely, or desirable, or pleasing to our own sensibilities. It is much more difficult to love that which, from our perspective, is ugly, or undesirable, or disturbing to our own sensibilities.

How often, when something appears outside of our own self-determined realm of acceptability, do we ignore or reject it? How often, when someone appears outside of our own self-determined realm of acceptability, do we reject them? Mother Teresa said, “If you judge people, you have no time to love them.”

It is not our job to determine who gets into God’s kingdom. It is not our job to determine who is and who is not the worthy recipient of God’s love. We are not the judge, the jury, nor the executioner. We are called to be witnesses of God’s great love in Jesus Christ. If you’re going to be Jesus for people, you’ve got to love them unconditionally.

God’s will for your life is to be Jesus for people whenever and wherever you meet them. Over the long run, if you continue to be faithful day by day, moment by moment, you will find your life to be the perfect reflection of God’s will. We are called to show people a God who loves them unconditionally, who forgives them, who believes in them.

In so doing, we will find the grace of God rich in our lives and in the lives of others. We will find ourselves gathered as one family, as brothers and sisters in Christ, as children of a heavenly Father, who invites us in our unity to a table lovingly spread with bread and wine – a place where we commune with God and with one another. Christ has already invited you that table – come, let us join there now.

Seeing is Believing? - John 20:19-31

When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you.” As the father has sent me, so I send you. When he had said this, he breathed on them again and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”
But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”
A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt, but believe.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”
Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

Christ is risen! (Wait for response). Today is Easter. It may surprise you, but today is Easter. Last week, we pulled out all the stops. The choir was full, the church was full of flowers, we had brass and strings at the 11 o’clock service, and we all went home filled with the joy of the resurrection.

Today, the choir is off, the lilies are wilting, and the preaching duty falls to your associate pastor, lowly and humble is he.

And yet, you’re still here. Why are you here? Because, today is still Easter. In fact, every day is Easter for Christians, because every day we remember that Christ died and rose on our behalf, and we remember that he has conquered the powers of sin and death. Easter isn’t just a day on a church’s calendar to be celebrated only once a year. Easter is a way of life which unlocks all doors, and most especially, the door of death. May we pray.

Doubting Thomas
In our text this morning, we encounter the disciples of Jesus on the evening on the first Easter Sunday. Perhaps only 12 hours earlier, Jesus has appeared to the women in the garden, and the resurrection is now a reality rather than something hoped for. Yet, the picture we get of the disciples in our text this evening doesn’t exactly fill us with the hope of the resurrection. This text tended to focus on Thomas, and the moral of the story was that Thomas was a dull, doubting follower of Jesus whose example we shouldn’t imitate. Don’t be like Thomas! Believe! Don’t doubt!

I have to admit I always thought this treatment of Thomas was a little bit unfair. After all, we Thomases tend to stick together! Thomases are practical, down-to-earth, rational people. Thomases are concrete. Thomases are the ones you want on the team, because they usually assign lists of the work to be done to various team members, and help pull those silly daydreamers down out of the sky. Someone with the name Thomas simply wants all the available evidence placed in front of them before they make their mind up on something.

I don’t think Thomas’ request is all that unreasonable. In fact, I think it’s a shame that all we know him for is his doubt, when there’s really so much more to him. Thomases, you see, are complex people. Whenever this lesson was taught in Sunday School, the teacher would tell us not to be like Thomas because he doubted. Perhaps what was most troubling to me, however, was not the fact that we shared a name, but that I, like this other Thomas, had my doubts.

What is the relationship between doubt and faith? The point of so much popular Christian teaching gets boiled down to an oversimplified formula. Faith is good. Doubt is bad. Faith conquers all. Doubt calls too many things into question. In many places, the admission of doubt would cause others around us to question the sincerity of our spiritual commitments. Is that person really a Christian? Will they really inherit eternal life?

In the world of certain faith, where doubt is cast as an enemy, it’s difficult to proceed. We can too easily force people to deal with their doubts and questions in secret and dark places. I’ve watched people struggling alone with deep questions because they were afraid of how others might react to their doubts. Doubts and uncertainty frighten us. I think that’s why we tend to reject Thomas, because Thomas dares to bring doubt into our lives of faith.

But friends, doubt and faith are not opposites. James Fowler, in Stages of Faith, tells us that doubt often comes as a catalyst to deeper faith. The great reformer, Martin Luther, talks about working through his own doubts, and how those doubts became part of the process of faith and of being a Christian. John Wesley frequently spoke of “degrees of faith,” in which a person’s faith may be present to varying degrees. In my own life, periods of the greatest questioning and doubting have led to some of my most profound experiences of faith.

And yet, we single out Thomas. For 2000 years, we’ve known him simply as “Doubting Thomas.” But, take a look at what the other disciples were up to. The disciples of Jesus were gathered together. Remember, Thomas was absent from this gathering. Those disciples, gathered on the evening of that first Easter Sunday, are a picture of the most miserable little conglomeration of people to ever assemble and take upon themselves the name “church.” They were supposed to be out in the street, proclaiming the Easter Shout that Christ is risen, Christ is risen indeed! Yet, there they were, like frightened rabbits behind a set of locked doors.

They were hunkered down, frightened, cowering, hoping no one would discover them there. As Tom Long says, this is the church at its worst: “scarred, disheartened, defensive.” How would such a church advertise itself in the community? The church where all are welcome? Locked doors are not a sign of hospitality. This church doesn’t have a warm heart and a bold mission. All it has, from our perspective, is shaky knees and sweaty palms.

And yet, we single out Thomas. But give the man some credit. Because, when he is finally able to touch the place pierced by the nails, he comes out with the boldest assertion imaginable. He falls to his knees as Jesus’ feet, and he says “My Lord and my God.” Do you get the significance of this? Thomas is the first one to get it. Thomas makes the connection that God has been among them the whole time.

Out of doubt was born Christianity’s most profound confession to date. As Thomas has shown us, there is a place for doubt, and profound faith can be born out of it. Jesus doesn’t rebuke Thomas because of his doubt. Far from it, Jesus meets Thomas where he is.

What the church had (and has)
Thankfully, Jesus is in the habit of meeting people where they are. Amen? I know the disciples must have been thankful for this fact on the evening of that first Easter. There they were, with locked doors, defeated members, and fear. They were a church with absolutely nothing. No sanctuary, no pulpit, no choir, no adorable preacher. No plan, no mission, no conviction. Nothing going for it – except that when it gathered, the risen Christ pushed through the locked door, threw back the bolt, and stood among them. And for any of us, when that happens, that’s as close as we get to being called “Church.”

Churches sometimes will try to define themselves based on a whole host of other things. Why are insignificant things are allowed to become more important than the presence of the risen Christ? We can put up all sorts of things that will block and lock Christ out of our lives, both as individuals, but also as a congregation. Are those things perhaps simply a form of those disciples locked doors?

We all know these things. We all know churches that define themselves primarily in terms of these things, and to whom the presence of the risen Christ is noticeably absent. Some churches are built around the personality of their pastors. Now, John Fitzgerald and I both have no shortage of personality, but we’d rather not be the center of attention here. To some churches, the clothing of those leading worship is more important than Christ. For some, the architecture or the bricks and mortar of the building themselves are more important. Some churches are proud of their formality of their informality. Others place their trust in their denominational identity, or the fact that they have no denominational identity. The list goes on and on – a liberal or conservative identity, political agendas, or even what type of coffee is served. And then, of course, worship style, time of worship, type of music that are more important to some than whether or not the risen Christ is actually present.

These things do not make the church. I get frustrated when people want to make these things the most important issue a church has to deal with. They are secondary to the presence of the risen Christ. When you are focused on Christ, these things fall to the periphery. If these things are the most important thing to you, if worship is dependent on their presence or absence, or if their presence or absence really grinds your gears, there’s a word for it. It’s idolatry.

My prayer is that we’ll find those doors unlocked and the risen Christ will appear in our midst.

My prayer, when people in this community talk about us, is they not even mention these other things. My prayer is that they say, “that is a place where you can expect to meet the risen Christ. Jesus shows up there. He lives and walks among the people there.

To the church who has nothing, and the church who appears to have everything, one thing makes the difference. It is the presence of the risen Christ. He gives us everything we need. Church is a gift from God to the world, a gift from a God who refused to leave us alone. His presence makes the Church, and gives us everything we need – mission, spirit, and forgiveness.

We are church not because of where we meet. Not because the bishop authorizes us to hold divine worship in this place. Not because of the building, the music, the programs, or even the adorable preacher. We are church because to us—yes, even to us—Christ has come and given us gifts of Spirit, mission, and forgiveness, and commissioned us to give them to the whole world in his name.

Out of Slumber - March 23, 2008 (Blackburn's Chapel)

After the Sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning and his clothing white as snow. For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, ‘He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.’ This is my message for you.” So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them and said, “Greetings!” And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid, go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.”

It was early Sunday morning – the day after the Sabbath. Mary lay in bed, somewhere in that place between asleep and awake, relaxing out of slumber before beginning the day. Suddenly, the events of the past few days startled her into sober alertness. She remembered it all, and she remembered it so clearly it couldn’t have been some horrible dream. They had arrested her teacher, her guide, and her friend. They had trumped all sorts of false charges against him, beaten him, held his trial, sentenced him to death and carried out his execution. Now, he was dead. She couldn’t believe it. He was such a good teacher. He performed so many signs and wonders. He taught as one with authority. He had placed a glimmer of hope in the lives of so many people. And we killed him for it.

It was early Sunday morning – this morning. Mary lay in bed, somewhere between asleep and awake, relaxing out of slumber before beginning the day. It was still dark, but Mary got up and prepared to go to the tomb. She, with the other Mary, walked down the path that led to the base of the rock. Thinking about the events of the past few days, they began to weep. Words could not describe their grief. Words could not describe their anguish. Words could not describe their fear. As they came near the tomb, the ground shook violently. They arrived, and found the stone rolled away, and an angel sitting on top of it. Mary was not half asleep now; she was wide awake. The angel’s message was simple, yet so profound. “He is not here; he is risen.” “Well,” thought Mary. “This changes everything.”

This changes everything
He is not here! He is risen! This is news that changes everything. The text says the women went and told the other disciples the wonderful news. And what did the disciples do? They pretty much went about their normal business. Are you kidding me? This news shook the earth, for goodness’ sake!!! This is the day of victory! This is the day when history will never again be the same.

Only the disciples of Jesus could learn about an empty tomb and not let it spoil their plans for lunch. Throughout history, there have been people who wanted to deny the reality of the resurrection. They say the disciples sort of made the whole thing up. “Wasn’t it great being with Jesus before they killed him? You remember those great stories he told? The lectures, er, sermons? Just thinking about it makes him seem almost still here. Yep, by God, he is still here. Let’s all close our eyes and believe real hard the he’s still here. Okay?” But you know what? The disciples weren’t that creative. These were not imaginative minds we’re dealing with here. You don’t get the bodily resurrection of Jesus out of people with brains like Simon Peter’s.

In short, the disciples were people like us.

People like us like to believe that you can have resurrection and still have the world as it was yesterday. We want to have Easter and still have our world unrocked by resurrection. We are amazingly well adjusted to the same old world.

But today, on Easter, everything is changed. Today, on Easter, God is doing a new thing. Today, on Easter, God says the world is no longer the same as it used to be.

Why do you think the ground shook?

According to our text from Matthew, Easter is an earthquake that shook the whole world. We modern types try to “explain” the resurrection. One says that Jesus was in a deep, drugged coma and woke up. Another said that the disciples got all worked up in their grief and just fantasized the whole thing.

You can’t “explain” a resurrection. Resurrection explains us. The truth of Jesus tells on the faces of the befuddled disciples who witnessed it. Not one of them expected, wanted Easter. Death, defeat, while regrettable, are utterly explainable.

The world is in the tight death-grip of the “facts.” All that lives, dies. The good get it in the end. Face facts. It may be a rather somber world, but it is our world where things stay tied down and what dies stays that way. And there are few surprises. This is us.

But Easter is about God. It is not about the resuscitation of a dead body. That’s resuscitation, not resurrection. It’s not about the “immortality of the soul,” some divine spark that endures after the end. That’s Plato, not Jesus. It’s about God, not God as an empathetic but ineffective good friend, or some inner experience, but God who creates a way when there was no way, a God who makes war on evil until evil is undone, a God who raises dead Jesus just to show us who’s in charge here.

I wonder about that angel, sitting there on top of the tomb. I wonder if that’s the same angel who shook Joseph awake one night back in Matthew Chapter 1 and told him his fiancée was pregnant. At Christmas, God invaded a virgin’s womb. At Easter, God invaded a borrowed tomb. The tomb belonged to Joseph of Arimathea. Some have said that when Joseph was praying about whether or not to allow Jesus to be placed in the tomb, God spoke to him. “Don’t worry,” God said. My son only needs it for the weekend.”

At Christmas, an angel was sent to tell Joseph, “Name the baby Emmanuel, God-with-us.” At Easter, an angel said to the women, “He is not here.” Little God-with-Us grew up, got crucified, made the earth shake, and is on the move to take back the world.

On the cross, the world did all it could to Jesus. At Easter, God did all God could to the world. And the earth shook. Why the cross, you ask? The cross was the inevitable, predictable result of saying the things Jesus said, of doing the things Jesus did, and being the Savior Jesus was. He had taught, he had healed, he had loved the poor and attacked the rich, in short, he had threatened to overturn the world’s entire value system. And so the world crucified him. This is simply what the world always has done to people who threaten it.

But on Easter morning, God inserted a new fact. God took the cross – the cruelest instrument of suffering and shame, and made it an instrument of triumph. God, the same God who made light out of darkness and formed the earth from a vast void, took the worst we could do and made the whole thing about life. And the earth shook.

On Easter, God shows us a world in which nothing will be the same. Jesus came back to forgive those who had forsaken him. And Jesus came back to love the world who despised and rejected him. And Jesus came back to let us all know that the world is really about forgiveness, and not vengeance. And the earth shook.

On Easter, the rules changed. On Easter, the rules changed with this simple pronouncement: “He is not here. He is risen!” From the hopeless fog that descended upon the earliest followers of Jesus Christ, to the stunned victims of the worlds worst tragedies - these words change everything. No matter how long the road or dark the way, the Easter faith proclaims hope in the face of despair, light in the midst of darkness, joy in the night of sorrow and most of all... life in a glorious victory over death! And the earth shook.

I know what you have come looking for
The angel said to the women, “I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified.” They were looking for a body. The body of a friend. The body of a teacher. They came looking for a body, but instead they met the risen, life-giving Lord. Thanks be to God! They came looking to mourn, but instead, they were swept up in the celebration of new life.

Perhaps some have come today looking for proof of the resurrection. I can offer no such proof. Scripture provides no proof. Christian tradition provides no proof. I can’t explain, on a metaphysical level, how the resurrection works. It is beyond all logic and purely scientific comprehension. While I cannot show you proof, I can show you witnesses. The Scriptures provide accounts of people, like the two women at the tomb, who had an encounter with the risen Lord, and their lives were changed because of it. Christian tradition is full of encounters with the risen Lord. You want more witnesses? Just look around at the faces of the people with whom you have come to worship today. These faces testify that God is still working on us. These faces testify that God isn’t through with us yet. These faces testify that God is still very much alive, and even now, we are being transformed. He is risen, we have encountered him, and our encounter with him has changed us. Gathered in this place is the living testimony that He lives, and His life makes all the difference in our lives.

“He is not here. He is risen!” It was good news to the women and to the disciples on that first Easter Sunday. Friends, it continues to be good news for us today. Let that news wash over you, bask in the meaning of those words. “He is risen!” Everything is different for us now. Pity on us if we have heard this good news and go back the same way we came.

As the angel said to the women, so I say to you, “I know what you have come looking for.” The reason I know is because I’m looking for the same exact thing. I have come, looking for an encounter with the risen and living Lord. I have come, knowing that an encounter with Him will transform and change me. I have come, looking to meet him, because I have met him before. I have met him in a font of water where he called me “Beloved and sealed me with his Spirit. I have met him at a table lovingly and graciously spread with bread and wine. I have met him in searching the Scriptures. I have met him in private prayer and meditation. I have met him in the gathering of his people, as hallowed halls swelled with the rhythms of prayer and praise, of liturgy and song. I have come today, expecting to meet him yet again. I have come, expecting that Christ will transform my heart. I have come, expecting that Christ will transform this heartless world.

Where Was God? - John 9:1-7

As he 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 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 and was able to see.

When you finished high school physics, did you think you would never have to recite Newton’s laws of motion again? So did I. That’s part of the reason I majored in humanities and not in the sciences. I was never going to balance another equation or determine the velocity of a watermelon seed spit by my cousin. But this morning, I need to review one of those laws with you. Finish Newton’s third law of motion for me: “For every action . . . . there is an equal and opposite reaction.”

Whether they knew it or not, the disciples were articulating this law quite well in this morning’s Scripture passage. As they’re walking down the road, they ask Jesus a question. Spotting a man born blind, the wheels in their heads start turning. In their worldview, hardships are the result of sin. In fact, they are the direct result of sin. That is, some specific sin causes each specific hardship. It would be only logical, therefore, that the man’s blindness is the direct result of some specific sin.

The only question that remains, then, is whose sin is the root cause of the man’s blindness. The disciples come up with two plausible sources; either the man’s sin caused his blindness, or his parents’ sin caused his blindness. It’s actually a pretty good question that deals with an important theological issue. We all want to know why bad stuff happens in our lives and in the lives of people we know and love. Do bad things happen to me as the direct result of my own sin? The sin of my parents? The sin of other people? Is it random? Is it purposeful? Is it arbitrarily administered by a sadistic God who wants to watch us dance like so many puppets on a string? Is it karma? Or, maybe it’s some combination of all of these things. The disciples are engaging in theology at a practical, down-and-dirty level. They have made observations about the ways in which the world works, and combined that with their knowledge and experience with the ways in which God interacts with the world, and they’ve come up with some conclusions.

The disciples question represents one end of the spectrum, in which we humans chart the course of our own destiny. Good things happen when we act righteously, bad things happen when we act sinfully. It’s a sort of a “What goes around comes around” flavor of theology. Before we get into too much of a rush to dismiss their question, we have to admit that a whole lot of what happens to us is the natural consequence of decisions and actions we’ve already made. If you choose to tell your significant other they look fat in whatever outfit they’re wearing today, there will be negative consequences directly related to your decision. If you choose to embezzle money from your employer, there will be negative consequences directly related to your decision. If I choose to regularly and excessively exceed the speed limit – now you know we’re dealing in the hypothetical – there will be negative consequences that even the combined legal powers of Four Eggers, PW Glidewell, Don Watson, and Jim Deal can’t get me out of. There are certainly a number of hardships that are the direct result of our own sin.

Before we dismiss the disciples’ question too quickly, the sins of our parents can also have a harmful effect on us. When a mother addicted to crack gives birth to a child, the child suffers the direct consequence of its parents’ sin. When parents spend all their money on their own selfish indulgences and there is nothing left to adequately feed, clothe, and shelter their children, children suffer the direct consequence of their parents’ sin.

At the other end of the spectrum is a theology in which God dictates the results of our lives. That is, God sets forces in motion and orders the world in such a way that only the results God desires actually happen. Indeed, St. Paul tells us in his letter to the Romans, “We know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him.” This premise is easily misinterpreted, however. We often hear that all things that happen to us are good, or that all things have a good in them. We can spend our lives trying to find the purpose behind every incident of pain and suffering. In this view, God sadistically places obstacles in our path in order to teach us something or make a point. Remember, according to this view, every instance of pain or suffering is there on purpose because some good is going to be worked out of it.

We see this viewpoint lived out when bad things happen to good people. It’s almost a default mode that we go into when there is unexplainable tragedy. When my mom was first diagnosed with aggressive stage 4 breast cancer in June of 2004, I can’t tell you how many times I saw this lived out. As she kept a daily journal in those first few months and continued to keep it, she toyed with the idea of turning her daily musings into a book. One of the chapters in that book was going to be, “Stupid things people say when someone has cancer.” One of my personal favorites was, “I’m sure God did this for a reason.” I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, “God didn’t do this! And if he did, that’s a God I don’t want anything to do with.”

The theologian William Barclay lost his 20-year-old daughter in a horrible boating accident. Years later, he received an anonymous letter. “Dear Dr. Barclay, I know why God killed your daughter. It was to save her from corruption by your heresies.” “I wanted to write a letter back,” said Barclay. “Not in anger and fury, because that came and went in a flash. I wanted to write back in pity telling whomever ‘Your God is my devil. Your God is the God I don’t believe in.’”

Or, think about what gets said around other tragedies in which people specifically make God the author of suffering, always for some divine purpose. When a child dies, someone will inevitably say something like, “I guess God just needed another cherub in heaven.” Theirs is the God I don’t believe in. When the AIDS epidemic broke out 25 years ago, how many Christians rejoiced in what they perceived to be God’s judgment on homosexuals? Theirs is the God I don’t believe in. On September 11, how many Christians announced that God was angry with us for coming loose from our moorings as a nation? Theirs is the God I don’t believe in. How many Christians divide and separate, and sing wonderful songs of praise to God, yet bar from their pews anyone unlike them? Theirs is the God I don’t believe in.

Here’s the reality. We live in a world in which the rain falls upon the just and the unjust alike. There is a great deal of suffering in the world due to sin. Some of that is our sin, some of that is our parents’ sin, and some of it is the sin of people we’ll never know. But there is also a great deal of suffering in the world that is random and senseless. God is not the author of this suffering. God has not caused this suffering. So where is God in all this?

Back in our text today, why was the man born blind? Jesus tells us it was not because of anyone’s sin. Rather, the man was born blind in order that God might be revealed and glorified in him. He was not born blind as an object lesson. He was not born blind in order to teach us something. He was not born blind in order to be given sight. He was born blind in order that God might be revealed and glorified in him.

Where was God? God was being glorified. God was being glorified in the man’s blindness. God was being glorified in the man’s sight. God was being glorified in all the conditions and circumstances of the man’s life. In fact, later in this story, the man is brought before the Pharisees and religious leaders to give an account of his healing. They are concerned with procedure, offended by a healing taking place on the Sabbath. They point out the man’s sin that they believed caused his blindness, and they point out Jesus’ sin for conducting a healing on the Sabbath. Heaven forbid God would actually show up on the day his people gather to worship! The irony is that the religious leaders are shown to be spiritually blind by the end of the story, failing to see God at work because the miracle did not fit within their boundaries of acceptable religious practice. Indeed, God was being glorified, yet they failed to give glory to God and chose to focus on circumstances of little consequence.

Friends, that’s what blindness is. It’s focusing on the wrong things, on insignificant things, on periphery things, and failing to recognize God’s glory. We can be blind, or we can have sight. We can focus on things that exclude, or we can focus on things that show God’s radical hospitality. We can focus on things that hurt and destroy, or we can focus on things that heal. We can focus on things that breed anger and division, or we can focus on things that bring hope.

Perhaps the question to be considered this morning is not, “Where is God?” but rather, “Who is God?” As I wrestled with that very question this week, here’s what I came up with. I cannot believe in the God who loves pain. I shall never believe in the God who does not know how to hope, or the God whom only the wise, the mature, or the comfortably situated can approach, or the God who sometimes regrets having given us free will. I cannot believe in the God who only cares about souls and not people, who is unmoved by human suffering or thinks it’s simply people getting their just desserts. I cannot believe in a God who is incapable of making all things new, who never weeps, who has no mystery, and is nothing more than a little more powerful, vindictive version of ourselves. I cannot believe in a God who is not love and does not transform everything he touches.

I believe in a different God. I believe in the one who rose from the dead for you and me. I believe in one who knows our suffering. I believe in one who calls us ‘friend’ rather than ‘stranger.’ I believe in one who sets a table before us in the presence of our enemies, who calls us to this table, and who promises to strengthen our bonds with him and with each other in the breaking of this bread and the taking of this cup. That is my God and I shall have no other. Amen.

Holy Vulnerability - Matthew 6:1-6,16-21

Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven.
“So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
“And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
“And whenever you fast, do not look dismal like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart shall be also.”

A good friend of our family has worked most of his life as a crisis and police chaplain. The Rev. John Ivan Owen stands about 6’5” and weighs in well over 300 pounds. He does not have the physical ability to speak in a quiet voice and, given his physical resemblance to a refrigerator, can be an imposing figure. He wears a clerical collar anywhere he appears in public and is someone easily noticed. A few years ago, while I was still in seminary, I was driving back to Durham, North Carolina late on a Sunday night. OK, it was a little after midnight, so it was technically Monday morning. I was eager to get home, and as I passed a Maryland state trooper on Highway 301, he signaled to let me know that he noticed and appreciated the apparent urgency of my trip.

Our family friend, the Rev. John Owen, was working with the DC metro police department at the time, and when I went to appear in traffic court, he agreed to come with me for moral support. The judge was moving through the docket, and eventually called my name. As I went to stand in front of him, the Rev. John Owen came to stand with me. The judge looked down over his glasses and said, “Young man, is this your counsel?” Before I could answer, the Rev. John Owen, in his most booming preacher voice, said, “Your honor, I am here to provide spiritual support and guidance to this young man at this time. But I also remind the court that one day, we will all stand before the righteous judgment of God, and beg that in his infinite mercy, he will not hold us accountable for all our grievous transgressions against him.”

He is a man who doesn’t practice his piety quietly or privately. Then again, he doesn’t do anything quietly or privately. And it is our acts of quiet and private devotion that bring us to Ash Wednesday and this reading from St. Matthew’s Gospel. The text warns us against practicing our piety in order to be seen by others, about praying, and fasting and giving in the public eye. It encourages us to seek a life of quiet devotion pleasing to God, a life that is hidden and secret from public scrutiny. And so, our response to that is to gather here in this place, to pray long, public prayers together, and to have a distinguishing mark placed on our foreheads that clearly announces to the rest of the world that we’ve been to church tonight. Perhaps as we walk past, someone will point and whisper and say, “There goes a holy person.”

It seems to be a bit of a contradiction, doesn’t it?

There seems to be a lot of confusion as to what is the appropriate balance between public acts of worship and private acts of devotion. In fact, over the course of one sermon, this sermon on the mount that Pastor John took a look at part of on Sunday, and part of which we examine tonight, Jesus seems to contradict himself. On the one hand, Jesus has said we are the light of the world, and we ought not to hide our light, but allow it to shine brightly for the world to see. But on the other hand, he wants us to be careful about showing off.

The issue here is not the correctness or incorrectness of certain religious practices. The issue here is one of motivation. That is, what is the condition of our heart as we conduct ourselves? Jesus' words of caution are really aimed at our inner life. We need to be careful that the outward expression of our religious life is not aimed at pleasing others or receiving the praise of others. When we attend worship so that others will think we are spiritual, or give, or pray to impress someone else, then Jesus says we've gotten our reward. In other words, when our inner motivation for religious activity of any kind is anything other than wanting to be close to God, there is no spiritual gain.

Lest there be confusion, Jesus is not saying: "Don't take offerings at church," "Don't lead in public prayer," or, "Don't join in fast days." Notice carefully what he said. It wasn't, "Beware of practicing your piety in front of others..." There is a very important phrase attached -- namely, "... in order to be seen by them." It is okay to give offerings at church, lead the congregation in prayer or join in a fast day with others. The injunction is against doing these or any other religious activity to get applause, admiration or anything else from others.

Jesus challenges his followers to put their hearts in the hands of God so that their affections, longings and motivation will be aimed at growing close to God. What we treasure most will claim our affections and direct our lives. Jesus points us to that treasure that will not fade away with the values of this world. In contrast with the treasure of this world that can be stolen, spiritual treasure – our relationship with God – can not be stolen as it is locked away in the vault of the heart which is safely placed in the hands of God.

And it is this treasury of the heart, this inner place where thieves cannot break in and steal, that brings us to a popular practice among Christians during Lent. During the season of Lent, many Christians practice “giving something up.” I’m giving up peanut butter, or I’m giving up chocolate, or I’m giving up television, or I’m giving up road rage. The point of this is to clear our hearts of those things that we treasure, those things that represent a barrier to us realizing our relationship with God. When done properly, giving something up for Lent, fasting, is aimed at improving our spiritual life by focusing less time and energy and money on things that distract us from God, and spending them on things that draw us closer to God.

But many times, our motivation does not reflect this intent. Perhaps we give something up out of a sense of duty, or expectation, or because it looks good when we get together with our godly friends. In this, we end up very much like the Pharisees, to whom following the exact rule and letter of the law was more important than what the law represented. Or, we do it under the guise of self-improvement: I am going to give up fried food in order to lose weight and look better. I am going to give up smoking in order to save money. I am going to give up regularly exceeding the speed limit in order to retain my license and maintain low insurance rates.

It is not the practice itself that does or does not have intrinsic spiritual value. Our motivation, however, has everything to do with what spiritual progress we will make. On Sunday, John reminded us of this particular facet of Jesus’ teaching: “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.” The Bible speaks of the heart as the center of our judgment, intention, and motivation. So, when we are practicing our faith in purity of heart, in a desire to please God and draw closer to God, we see God. But, when we are practicing our faith in an impure heart, in a desire to please others or ourselves, we do not see God.

Here on Ash Wednesday, at the beginning of Lent, we as the people of God are called to self-examination, to take a look at our practices and our motivation – to take a look at the disposition of our hearts and to honestly confront the reality of our sin. While it may manifest itself in a variety of forms, sin is simply that which comes between us and God. While we must always repent – or turn – from sin, today is a day upon which we deliberately and purposefully turn away from sin and turn toward God. In a few moments, we will have the opportunity to symbolically turn from sin and turn toward God. And as we do, I ask that we each make ourselves vulnerable. I ask that we honestly search deep within ourselves, to our treasured, secret hiding place, and identify what most threatens our relationship with God. What still stands between you and God? Are you willing to give it up? Are you willing to make yourself vulnerable to God’s holiness? It’s not simply about moving God up a few notches on your priority list. It’s about making God your center – about making God your motivation, about aligning your heart with the heart of God.

Sin is real, and it must be confronted. But friends, we are reminded that sin does not have the last word, because God takes sin, transforms it with consuming fire, and marks us as his own. The sign of the cross upon your brow proclaims to the world, this person has died to sin, has died to self, has died to false motivation. It is only when we can die to these things, the things that keep us separated from God, can we find ourselves truly ready to live.

Hear the good news on this Ash Wednesday: “Behold, once you were dead in sin. But now, you are alive in me.”

Hometown Hero - Luke 4:21-30

Then he began to say to them, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth. They said, “Is not this Joseph’s son?” He said to them, “Doubtless you will quote this proverb, ‘Doctor, cure yourself!’ And you will say, ‘Do here also in your hometown the things that we have heard you did in Capernaum.’” And he said, “Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s hometown. But the truth is, there were many widows in Israel in the time of Elijah, when the heaven was shut up three years and six months, and there was a severe famine over all the land; yet Elijah was sent to none of them to a widow at Zaraphath in Sidon. There were also many lepers in Israel in the time of the prophet Elisha, and none of them was cleansed except Naaman the Syrian.” When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with rage. They got up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff. But he passed through the midst of them and went on his way.

Some years ago, I discovered I had been afflicted with a certain condition. At first, it didn’t seem to make much difference to me. But I soon noticed that people began to treat me differently because of it. I mainly saw it in the eyes of people when I would return home on academic breaks, and something within me longed to be “normal” again. My name is A.J. Thomas, and I suffer from golden-boy syndrome.

What’s interesting about this condition is that it seems to be geographically specific. I only seem to suffer from it when I am in my hometown of Niagara Falls, and its symptoms are even more acute whenever I walk through the doors of St. James United Methodist Church. Last Christmas, I realized my local celebrity status when I was asked to preach in my home church on the Sunday following Christmas, which just happened to be New Year’s Day. It was announced in the December and January newsletters, and every bulletin for a month and a half before January 1st that I would be in the pulpit, a pulpit from which my own father had delivered some of his finest sermons. The day arrived, and the crowds came, a larger crowd than usual.

Bear in mind that this was not the first time I preached in my home church. Throughout college and seminary, I was invited back on several occasions. However, on this particular Sunday, it was the first time I was there with those three little letters in front of my name.

I looked across the congregation and took it all in. There was my first-grade teacher, a pillar member of the congregation, in her usual place on the center aisle, four rows back, on my left. There were my neighbors, people I had gone to school with, and whose grass I had cut, whose groceries I had rung up, and whose newspapers I had faithfully delivered. As the sanctuary swelled with the familiar rhythms of liturgy and song, prayer and praise, I secretly congratulated myself for working “extra” hard on the sermon.

I delivered what I thought was a convincing piece of interpretive genius, gave the benediction and assumed my position at the back door, ready to receive the accolades as people walked by. From their comments, I soon realized that very few people had actually paid attention to the sermon itself. One woman told me how nice I looked in my robe, “just like a real preacher.” Someone else said they could see my father’s influence in my preaching style. Another man reminded me that he could always count on his newspaper to arrive early every morning, except on Saturdays, when I was prone to sleep in a bit. They didn’t hear a thing I said.

Then we look on this sermon that Jesus preached in his home synagogue in Nazareth. Jesus drew a crowd. I can see the headlines in the Nazareth Gazette: “Local Rabbi Makes Good, Will Preach in Hometown.” I imagine the synagogue was standing room only. They ran out of bulletins. They were parking donkeys up and down the road, there were so many people there.
Here was one of their own who had made good. Here was one of their own, Joe and Mary’s boy, who used to work in the carpentry shop. An elderly man nudged his wife, “I remember when he used to read the Torah over there under that window.” Here was one of their own, reading a piece of their own Scripture they all knew from memory. Israel’s native son, speaking from his heart to theirs, out of their own beloved prophets, speaking from their collective past.

Jesus put down the sacred text, panned the crowd, and said with all authority, “The day of the Lord is here.” An excited stir went through the chosen people of Nazareth. “All of our waiting for deliverance is over at last.” A chorus of ‘Amens’ rang through those hallowed halls. “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” This was it. The Lord is coming to redeem his own people, and according to Jesus, that day is here now! The crippled lifted up on their crutches, old men wept for joy, the oppressed lifted their faces with hopeful expectation. An excited murmur rippled its way through the congregation, and all spoke well of Jesus’ words.

This is the part where Jesus should have stopped. He’s got them eating out of the palm of his hand. Any good preacher knows there are three things you should do: stand up to be seen, speak up to be heard, and shut up to be appreciated. This is where Jesus is supposed to raise his hands, say, “The Lord bless you and keep you,” walk deliberately down the center aisle and shake hands as people walk out and marvel.

But Jesus keeps going. After a brief pause he says, “Now, the last time the Lord came, I seem to remember something about there being lots of poor, hungry widows in Israel. But God chose to help a foreign widow. You all remember that story.” You could hear the silence.

“And speaking of old familiar stories, how about the one where there were lots of lepers in Israel, and God did nothing for them, but instead healed an officer in the enemy’s army.”

Yes, the story was familiar, a little too familiar for many there that evening. Jesus had stopped preaching and taken to meddling. In the judgmental silence, a new, exciting, life-giving sermon was recognized as an old familiar story, and one we wished to God we could forget.
This is not the type of sermon you preach in your hometown, at least, not if you wish to be remembered favorably. Take the three main points of Jesus’ sermon, and this is what you walk away with: 1.) The Messiah is here. 2.) I am the Messiah. 3.) I’m not here for you.

I wonder what comments this sermon would have elicited in a seminary preaching class. I wonder if Jesus would been told, as I was on one of my assigned sermons, that “this message is a bit harsh, and difficult for your hearers to listen to.”

But whether we like it or not, sometimes prophetic voices are difficult to listen to. There are really two aspects of classic prophecy, but we tend to focus on only one of them. We usually think of prophecy as fore-telling, as the ability to articulate events in the future. But prophecy is also fore-telling, the ability to truthfully articulate the present. Sometimes those truthful words cut closer to home than we like.

Imagine, for a moment, Heather Oswalt (8:45 service)/Emma Harkins (11:00 service). Heather (Emma), raise your hand so everyone can see you. Do you see her beautiful smile? Imagine her going through Sunday School, growing up here, going through confirmation, participating in youth functions, and then heading off to college for a few years, then off to seminary, and finally, probably years after I am nothing more than a picture on the wall, being invited to preach from this pulpit. Imagine it, one of our own, preaching from our Scriptures, in our church, to our people! Now, imagine her standing where I am right now, and truthfully telling us to beware of our assumed position of religious privilege; God has a history of showing up to those not on the A-list.

While we may not like being reminded of this news, I doubt any of us will put up a serious counter-argument. The theme of God going to persons of lower prestige, of less desirability, of outcasts, and misfits, and outsiders, is woven throughout Scripture. In fact, it IS God’s story. This should come as great news to all of us. Once we were outsiders, but through God in Christ we have been made insiders. Once we were no people, but now we are God’s people, declaring his glorious works among all nations.

We find ourselves in a similar place to the people in Jesus’ hometown. In our culture, the church has taken the place of the synagogue in Jesus’ day. We find ourselves as religious insiders, as persons of religious privilege, among those who are blessed by God. But we also find that with great privilege comes great responsibility. Jesus was not criticizing the people in his hometown simply because they were privileged. He was critical because they assumed membership in the religious elite and its privileges secured them a place of divine favor.

Great privilege carries with it great responsibility. Jesus was doing nothing more than asking the people in his hometown, and us, to remember our story and then live into it. He wants us to know that we are blessed in order to be a blessing. He wants us to recognize that we are not the final destination of God’s grace. He wants us to know that merely belonging to the right religion is not enough; we also need to practice it.

Many Christians across North America have come to see church membership as securing some sort of privileged status for them, much as the people in Jesus’ home synagogue did. And the church has been happy to perpetuate this misnomer. But let us not forget that the Church is God’s gift to the world, that the world might be drawn to God through the Church’s witness and mission. We are called to follow the witness of Christ, who came not to serve his own interests, but was obedient to the will of his heavenly Father, obedient to death on the cross. We are an extension of that obedient love, and we are called to give ourselves for others just as Christ gave himself for us. The church is one of the only organization that exists primarily for the benefit of those who are not its members.

Adam Hamilton, pastor at the United Methodist Church of the Resurrection in Leawood, Kansas, tells prospective members of his church that, unlike the American Express card, church membership does not come with any privileges, only expectations. It is a sign of commitment. It is a declaration that one wishes to be a part of the things God is doing in and through the faith community. Membership allows people to say, “This is my church. I am committed to its people, its mission, and its vision. I want to serve God and grow in my faith in this place.” Church of the Resurrection, founded in 1990, currently averages 8000 per weekend in worship, and adds 150 new members per month.

Friends, we already know the story. There is no conflict here between old and new, between established and pioneering. This is about living out what we already hold to be true. You have the choice this morning, as did the people in Jesus’ hometown, to accept the message or to throw the messenger off a cliff, which shouldn’t be too hard to find around here. I think you know which option I’m voting for.

There is a story of a Franciscan monk who volunteered to be a guide and “gopher” for Mother Teresa when she visited his native Australia. He was hoping to spend some time with her, but of course, she was busy talking with the poor, the crippled, and other “less-desirable” people. On the ride back to the airport, in exasperation, the monk asked, if he bought a plane ticket to New Guinea, could he sit next to Mother Teresa, talk with her, and learn from her? She looked at him and said, “Do you have enough money for a plane ticket to New Guinea?” “Yes,” the monk answered. She thought for a minute, and said, “Then give that money to the poor. You’ll learn more from that than anything I can tell you.” Mother Teresa understood Jesus’ ministry and her own ministry in light of it. I pray for such clarity in our lives.

God Claims You - Matthew 3:13-17 - Blackburn's Chapel

13Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. 14John would have prevented him, saying, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” 15But Jesus answered him, “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” Then he consented. 16And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. 17And a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

I’d like for you to take a stroll down memory lane with me for a moment. Walk back with me through the doors of your elementary school and find yourself in gym class. Perhaps today we’re playing basketball, dodgeball, kickball, soccer, or floor hockey. Whatever game we’re playing doesn’t really matter. There we all are, before the game starts, lined up in a nice neat row as two people “randomly” selected by the gym teacher each have the task of filling a team. One-by-one, names are called and our classmates and friends are divided evenly into two growing clumps at opposite ends of the gym. One group dons red jerseys and the other puts on blue, and for the next half hour, our identity is simply a member of team red or team blue. To be a member of team red or team blue is to recognize that someone else has chosen us to be part of their team. At the same time, we can still choose to use our full ability or something less than our full ability as a member of the team.

According to the Church’s calendar, today is Baptism of the Lord Sunday. Today is a day when Christians everywhere, regardless of their denomination, are remembering Christ’s baptism by John and celebrating our one baptism. It is more than a beautiful and favorite Bible story – like baptism, it gave life to us when it happened, and it continues to give life each time we remember it.

Cleansing
As Matthew tells the tale, a lot of people were heading down to the Jordan to listen to sturdy preaching and to pray that God would forgive their sins. It is the original revival – a preacher stands by the bank of a river clamoring for repentance, then one by one contrite sinners step forward; and trusting themselves to calloused fingers which pinch their nostrils shut, they are plunged-every bit of them-beneath the moving waters. It is a straightforward, modest ceremony, nothing more than a bath in the river really; and, yet, something about this washing beckons to people, pulling folks from their busy lives to make a trip down to the Jordan.

Maybe in the end the thing that motivated people to attend John's revival was really very simple. John's actions took something that our bodies know so well-that just-bathed, tingling, freshly toweled-off sensation-and managed to replicate it for people's spirits. Dunk. Splash. Sputter. And from the muddy flow, drenched converts emerged with scoured souls. Certainly this is part of what baptism is about: cleansing the human spirit, wiping away sin, standing unsoiled before God.

The crowds have been coming for days and weeks – they have literally worn a path from the city center out here into the wilderness. The rabbis have noticed the attendance in the synagogue down over the last several Saturdays. The priests and the scribes and the Pharisees leave the hallowed halls of the temple mount and follow that path down the river, where they are shocked to find a tent revival already taking place. They don’t like it very much, but it’s already gotten too large and too popular for them to even think about stopping it. So, they decide to turn it into a political opportunity – shaking a few hands and kissing a few babies, hoping that such overtures might get them a few more votes in the upcoming election.

We have been told earlier that John the baptizer was offering a baptism of repentance. Imagine the scene, as the crowds pressed in along the riverbank. One member of the crowd seems to stand out. He is moving through the great throng of people like a hot knife through butter, making his way down toward the river. This scene is a favorite of artists everywhere from Bruegel to Rembrandt – Jesus making his way down the riverbank, seeking out his cousin, the wild-eyed preacher, and those waters of Jordan.

Here is the one character John tries to talk out of being baptized. Imagine of those Visa check card commercials, where everyone is perfectly choreographed, spinning around the store with their arms full of merchandise, happily using their Visa check card and the whole thing running like a finely-tuned machine. Yet, there’s always that one person who wants to pay with cash or write a check, and that person grinds the whole thing to a momentary halt. You have that picture? Now, take the same sort of image and bring it down the Jordan river in our text today. A great movement of people around the river, John down in the middle, dipping them under the water as repentant sinners, bringing them up as cleansed and new. Then Jesus steps up. Jesus – the Messiah. Jesus – the stainless one. Jesus – the pure, spotless Lamb. He speaks: “I have come to be baptized by you.” Everything grinds to a halt. John loses his balance in the soft riverbed and falls. He comes up sputtering, “Me! Baptize you? No, no! What will people think?” It’s a fair enough question. What would the sinless Jesus need to repent of? What hidden imperfection did he hope to have cleansed in those ordinary, yet extraordinary waters?

Claiming
The first three chapters of St. Matthew’s Gospel are obsessed with one question: “Who is Jesus?” By the time we get to this account of his baptism, you can almost drown in the number of answers provided to that question. We find that he is the Messiah, the son of Mary, the offspring of the Holy Spirit, the son of Father Abraham, the son of David, the King of the Jews. He is Emmanuel, God-with-us, he will save his people from their sins. As Jesus goes under the water, he confronts all sorts of things on our behalf. He confronts the unknown and unseen dangers that threaten each of us. He confronts the murkiness of our own sin, and as he rises out of those dark and foreboding waters, we know that we have met the one who will be able to stand against the darkness of this world.

For Jesus, his baptism was not so much about being cleansed from unrighteousness; Matthew tells us it was to fulfill righteousness. It was the start of something new. As he came up from the water, the crowd that day saw the divine confirmation for which they had long been watching. God claims as his own the ministry to which Jesus is now commissioned. The Spirit descended like a dove, and the voice of God the Father boomed in. “This is my Son. This is my Beloved. With him I am well-pleased.”

You know, that’s how it happens for us in our baptisms as well. It is a moment in which God says to each of us, “This is my son. This is my daughter. This is my beloved. I claim this person as my beloved child with whom I am well-pleased.” In baptism, God claims you as a member of the family. And members of God’s family are called Christians. That becomes your identity. That becomes the primary, and determinative, and most important characteristic we will know you by.

Therefore, when a child is baptized in this congregation, we ask what name has been given to the child. The parents have already named the child, but in baptism, we celebrate a new name for that child. We celebrate a name given through the power of the Holy Spirit and sealed with water. In baptism, we lay on a more determinative, more revealing name – “Christian.” God promises to enable us to live a Christian life, and we promise to live one. In the case of a child, we predict that the child’s life will be a long story of growing into that name and claiming the benefits of their new family. In the case of adults, we celebrate a new identity rooted in Christ in which one’s previous labels no longer control and define. As Austin Miles’ old gospel hymn put it: “there’s a new name written down in glory, and it’s mine.”

For the baptized person, they will forever be known by the new name given to them. They will be known as Christian, as a member of God’s family. Other names may come and go, but in baptism, God cleanses us, claims us as God’s own, and seals the Holy Spirit upon our hearts. That is something they can’t take away from you, and for the rest of your life, proudly announces to the rest of the world that you belong to God.

Commissioning
On the day Jesus entered the Jordan, water changed, and it will never be the same for Christians again. For when a Christian is washed with the waters of baptism, Christ's mission of justice becomes our mission too. In baptism, we are called and commissioned to battle the evils of this world – those we can see above the surface of the water, but also those lurking down in the muddy riverbed. We find ourselves caught up in the ministry of Jesus – a ministry that brings hope to the hopeless, that makes itself a friend to the friendless, that brings healing to a weary and broken world. We find ourselves proclaiming sight to the blind, and freedom for the oppressed, and throwing the party for the year of our Lord’s favor.

God does not call us and claim us because we’re special. I often run into people who don’t feel they could possibly be used by God for any purpose. They cite all sorts of reasons – I’m too old, too young, too feeble, too strong, too stupid, or too smart. They’re not open to how the Holy Spirit may move upon them and stir up within them a passion for the ministry to which God may be calling them.

But remember this: God is still in the business of doing extraordinary things in and through ordinary people. God has called us and claimed us in baptism, and given us the gift of the Holy Spirit that we might be empowered in the work with which we are entrusted. God is not through with any of us! God is not through with any individual, and God is not through with any congregation. For those whom God has called, God continues to equip. In baptism, God has called each of us, and we continue to be equipped through the Holy Spirit.

Make no mistake about it: baptism is something God does within each of us – it is not something we do for God. Our response is to recognize the grace of God poured into our lives, open ourselves to how the Holy Spirit will continue to move among us, and find ourselves lost in wonder, love, and praise. By the grace of God, we find ourselves cleansed from sin, claimed by God, and commissioned for ministry.

Today, I am going to give each of you an opportunity to remember and renew your baptisms. We will have what is called a baptismal renewal service. If you have been baptized, I will invite you to come forward, and I will touch the water and mark the sign of the cross on your forehead, and say, “Remember your baptism and be thankful.” If you have not been baptized, I welcome the opportunity to talk with you further about what it means and set a date where we can celebrate your baptism as part of this worship service.

Today is sort of like renewing marriage vows. From time to time, a married couple may feel the need to renew their vows and recommit themselves to one another. A couple doesn’t get remarried when they do; but they often find a renewed sense of strength and purpose in that renewal. In renewing our baptisms together, we’re doing the same thing. No one is getting re-baptized today, but in remembering our baptism, we are all given the opportunity to be energized toward the work with which God has entrusted us, and empowered to do it.

As you do, I hope you hear the voice of God once again call you ‘Beloved,’ and I hope you sense a fresh outpouring of the Holy Spirit, as we are empowered once again to go forth in the name of a God who cleanses us from sin, claims us as His own, and commissions us to share in His ministry.