Epiphany People

You've heard of Easter People, but what about Epiphany People?

Isaiah 43:1-7

Psalm 29

Acts 8:14-17

Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

 

©2025 The Rev. Seth Olson

This sermon was given at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles. A video of this message may be found here. 

Loving and Beloved God, may my words be your words and when my words are not your words may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen. 

 

On this first Sunday after the Epiphany, we celebrate the Baptism of Our Lord. This day draws us deeper into the manifestation of God’s glory in Christ, a theme that began with the arrival of the Magi at Epiphany and continues throughout this liturgical season. The readings and prayers before us today open a door to understanding what God is doing in Christ, not just for Israel but for the whole world—and how we are invited to join in Christ’s mission and ministry.

 

Let us begin with the voice that echoes over the waters in Luke’s Gospel account. The people are gathered in anticipation, wondering if John the Baptist might be the Messiah. John quickly dispels that notion, pointing instead to one who is greater. “I baptize you with water,” he says, “but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.” And then, in a moment of divine revelation, we see Jesus baptized, the heavens open, the Holy Spirit descend like a dove, and the voice of God proclaim, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you, I am well pleased.”

 

This proclamation signals something extraordinary: God’s presence is being made manifest in a new way. Jesus, fully human and fully divine, steps into the waters of the Jordan not to be cleansed but to cleanse, not to be claimed by God but to claim us for God. In this act, Jesus inaugurates his public ministry, revealing that he is not just Israel’s Messiah but the Savior of the world. It is a pivotal moment, one that invites us to consider our own baptism and the covenant we share with Christ.

 

Isaiah’s prophecy provides a powerful backdrop to this event. “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine,” God declares. These words, spoken to Israel in exile, are now spoken to all who enter the waters of baptism. In baptism, we are named and claimed by God, sealed by the Holy Spirit, and marked as Christ’s own forever. This is not just a personal promise but a communal calling—to participate in God’s mission of restoration, healing, and reconciliation. What does this look like?

 

One way of answering that question is seeing that the Season after the Epiphany highlights three transformative moments: the Magi worshipping the Christ child, the voice of God calling Jesus “My Beloved Son” at his baptism, and the transfiguration when Jesus’ full glory is revealed. Together, these stories tell us that the light of Christ is not to be hidden but shared, that God’s glory is for all people, and that we are called to reflect that light in the world.

 

As I was reflecting on today’s themes, I found myself drawn to a phrase coined by a dear friend and colleague, the Rev. Charles Youngson, who calls our baptismal promises “the job description of a Christian.” Think about that for a moment. Our Baptismal Covenant is not just a liturgical moment; it’s a blueprint for how we live as followers of Jesus. When we promise to “seek and serve Christ in all persons” and “strive for justice and peace among all people,” we are embracing the work of Epiphany—shining a light on what God is doing in the world.

 

And what is God doing? God is still sharing the glory of non-competitive transcendence, unconditional love, self-giving service, unending joy, and peace beyond understanding. These are not mere abstractions; they are the fruits of lives transformed by grace. And they are not meant to be hoarded but shared. We are called to be light-bearers, people enlightened by the Epiphany, revealing alongside Christ what God is up to even now. We're called to see the light in one another, too. 

 

Thomas Merton, a 20th-century Trappist monk, writer, theologian, and mystic depicted this beautifully when he wrote, “I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all those people, that they were mine, and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers. It was like waking from a dream of separateness.” This realization, which happened in downtown Louisville, KY is a most fitting moment of Epiphany—a season where we are reminded that in Christ, we are made one. Baptism draws us into this oneness, this interconnected web of divine love that binds us to God and one another.

 

In just a moment we will renew our baptismal vows, and when we do, I invite you to listen to these promises anew. Hear them as both invitation and challenge. How might you, in your own life, embody the light of Christ? How might you reveal God’s glory in the ordinary and extraordinary moments of your days? Perhaps it’s in offering a word of kindness to a neighbor or coworker, advocating for justice in your community or school, or simply being present to someone who is struggling. Whatever form it takes, know that you do not do this work alone. The same Spirit who descended upon Jesus at his baptism empowers and sustains you in your journey.

 

As we step into this new year, let us remember that we are not only Easter people, marked by the joy of resurrection. We are also Epiphany people, called to illuminate the world with the light of Christ. To be guided and embolden by our Loving God who sends us forth to proclaim, by word and example, the good news of God in Christ—especially that we are all God’s beloveds in Christ.

 

Let us be Epiphany people, beloved in Christ, and eager to share his light with the world. Amen.

 

Resolution: Restoration

Jeremiah 31:7-14

Ephesians 1:3-6,15-19a

Matthew 2:13-15,19-23

Psalm 84 or 84:1-8

 

©2025 The Rev. Seth Olson

Emmanual, God with us, may my words be your words and when my words are not your words may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen. 

 

Good morning, beloved Apostles! As we gather on this first Sunday in the year of Our Lord 2025, our readings and prayers lead us into a profoundly important theme: restoration. We heard it in Jeremiah's prophecy of God gathering and reconciling with His people. It was proclaimed in Matthew's Gospel of God's protective presence amid political violence. And, we prayed it in the collect that began our service: “O God, who wonderfully created, and yet more wonderfully restored, the dignity of human nature.”

 

Today, I want to reflect on that phrase: “and yet more wonderfully restored, the dignity of human nature.”

 

Several years ago, my uncle Bill decided to restore my grandmother’s 1965 Ford Mustang in beautiful teal. For seasons of my life that car looked like a lost cause—it was hidden under a cover in my grandparents’ basement, the white leather seats were cracked, and the engine barely functional. But my uncle saw its potential. Slowly, with a lot of love and even more sweat, he began to bring it back to life. Yet there came a point where his tools and knowledge weren’t enough. He needed to reach out for help from others who had restored this make and model before.

 

That’s the thing about restoration: it’s both exhilarating and humbling. Whether it’s a car, a house, or even a relationship, the process reminds us of two truths. First, restoration requires work. Second, we can’t do it alone.

 

The same is true for us. Look around, and it’s clear that we live in a broken world. Jeremiah’s words about the scattered people of Israel feel just as relevant today. We see the cracks and fractures—in our personal lives, in our local communities, and across the globe.

 

This week alone, we’ve grieved over terrorist attacks in New Orleans and Las Vegas. The despair and depravity of such violence weighs heavily on us. In our Gospel lesson, we were reminded of another horrific event: King Herod’s massacre of the innocents. If you are unfamiliar with this gruesome part of the Christmas story, it was when in an attempt to murder the Christ child, the despot Herod killed all the first-born sons of Bethlehem. These stories—past and present—confront us with the depth of human brokenness.

 

But brokenness isn’t the final word. Jeremiah’s prophecy reminds us that God is not distant. Instead, God is intimate. God is with us in the messiness. And God is in the business of restoration, gathering the scattered, turning mourning into joy, and sorrow into dancing.

 

Sometimes, though, we believe things must work on our timeline. We “wrestle” control away from God. That it’s all got to be okay RIGHT NOW! At other times, we think restoration means we need to meet God halfway—that we must pull ourselves together and only then approach God. But that’s not the Gospel. That’s not good news at all—that’s conditional, quid pro quo, you scratch my back I’ll scratch yours—that’s the way of the world. That’s not the Gospel, for God’s grace—favor unearned and undeserved—meets us where we are, even in our most hopeless moments.

 

Consider the Holy Family’s flight to Egypt. From a worldly perspective, they weren’t safe. They weren’t secure. They were running for their lives, fleeing from a murderous madman. And yet, God’s presence was with them, guiding them to safety and eventually to a new home. This is the surprising truth of grace: it finds us in the wilderness, in the broken places, and begins the work of restoration. As Max Lucado wrote and former Presiding Bishop Michael Curry was fond of quoting, “God will love you where you are, but God will never leave you where you are!”

 

And here’s an amazing truth—God invites us to be part of this work. Like my uncle restoring that car, we’re called to roll up our sleeves and participate in God’s mission of healing, renewal, and sharing unearned-undeserved favor. Sometimes that looks like repairing a relationship. Sometimes it’s working for justice in our community. Sometimes it’s simply showing kindness to someone in need.

 

But just as my uncle needed help to finish the restoration, we must remember that we’re not doing this alone. God’s power is what ultimately transforms and restores. We do our part, but God’s grace both initiates and completes the work. Speaking of starting and finishing work.

 

At this time of year, many of us are thinking about resolutions. Maybe you’ve resolved to eat healthier, exercise more, or spend more time with family. These are good goals, but what if we thought about resolutions as part of God’s restoration process? What if we resolved to align our lives more fully with God’s vision for us and the world? What would it look like if restoration was our resolution for this year?

 

Restoration in our resolutions could look like this:

 

• Repairing Relationships: Commit to forgiving someone or seeking forgiveness where it is needed.
• Creating Space for God: Resolve to set aside time for prayer, Scripture reading, or worship.
• Caring for Creation: Take small steps to live more sustainably, recognizing that the restoration of the Earth is part of God’s mission.
• Building Community: Volunteer your time, support local ministries, or simply be present with those who need encouragement.
• Fostering Personal Wholeness: Instead of focusing only on self-improvement, consider how your growth contributes to the well-being of others.

These resolutions remind us that restoration is not just about fixing what is broken but about participating in God’s greater work of renewal.

 

As a church, we’re called to be a community of restoration. This means grieving with those who grieve, standing with those who are broken, and offering hope to a world in need. It means being a place where people can encounter the grace of God—the grace that meets us where we are and invites us into something new.

 

Speaking of hope and encountering the grace of God, at the end of today’s service, I will be passing out “Star Words.” You may remember this practice from a couple years ago when the Rev. Emily Collette was here as an Associate Rector. Each star bears a word—a single point of focus for the coming year. These words invite us to reflect and center our intentions. Much like the star that guided the Magi to Jesus, a Star Word can offer us a sense of direction, encouraging us to seek God’s presence and purpose as we step into the restorative work God calls us to do.

 

Having an intentional point, like a Star Word, reminds us that restoration isn’t aimless. It’s a journey with God, guided by grace and anchored in hope. Let your word guide you as you consider how you might participate in God’s renewing and restoring work this year.

 

Beloved Apostles, restoration is hard work. It’s humbling work. But it’s holy work. And the good news is that God is with us every step of the way. God’s grace meets us in our brokenness, restores our dignity, and calls us to join in the healing of the world.

 

So, as we step into this New Year, let us trust in God’s promise of restoration. Let us do the work we can, lean on God for what we cannot, and together, let us reflect the glory of a broken world being wonderfully restored by God’s grace. Amen.

  

Magnifying the Lord

"My soul magnifies the Lord" said Mary the Godbearer

 

Micah 5:2-5a

Hebrews 10:5-10

Luke 1:39-45, (46-55)

Canticle 15 (or 3)

 

© 2021-2024 Seth Olson

 

Emmanuel, God with us, let my words be your words and when my words are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

 

I grew up attending St. Andrew’s Parish in Southside Birmingham. Unique in its high church “smells and bells” style of worship—and its radical sense of hospitality—after going to church with friends, I realized my church was… different.

 

For example, we didn’t have a Christmas pageant on Christmas Eve. There was a very brief children’s play with only Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus on the night before Christmas. Instead at Epiphany when the wise men showed we would tell the full story of Jesus’ birth. Year-after-year I wanted to play the same part—not Joseph, nor shepherd, nor a wise man, but the inn keeper. Odd, right?

 

You may recall when Mary and Joseph traveled to Bethlehem for the census there was no room for them in the Inn. The innkeeper appears nowhere in the story but is implied. Why did I want to play this negative character? Maybe this is something to take to my therapist. As I have reflected on my penchant for this part, a few reasons why I liked it emerge.

 

First, the innkeeper only had the one line, “Sorry, there’s no room in the inn.” Even after almost 30 years I nailed it! Second, I got to sit in a pew all by myself so that when Mary and Joseph walked down the aisle knocking as they looked for a place to stay, I could deny their request. Which gets to the final and most convicting reason why I enjoyed this role. The innkeeper got to deny the Holy Family, including the prenatal Jesus, a place to stay.

 

Oomphf! This is what the innkeeper did, right? The man who owned the inn denied them access to a room. Except, in the Epiphany pageant at St. Andrew’s, the innkeeper had a stable that he let Mary and Joseph use, so maybe there is redemption in the Inn (#dadjoke #priestjoke). Regardless, if we back up in the story as Luke tells it, before Mary and Joseph went to Bethlehem, right after the Angel Gabriel visited Mary, we find two figures who did not deny God a place to stay, but instead welcomed Christ in exemplary ways.

 

In today’s good news, we experience something wholly different from a denial of Christ—today, we encounter a story utterly holy dripping with the power of God’s spirit. Two pregnant women and their visceral, feeling-soaked, prophetic conversation take center stage. Mary’s visit with Elizabeth shines a spotlight on the great hope of all who follow in the Way of Christ. What is that hope? We will get there, so keep listening, but first, let us go to the Judean hill country.

 

Today’s gospel story opens with “In those days,” harkening back to “the days of King Herod”[1] mentioned earlier in the story. Even though we might expect God to be moving amongst the powerful, the angel Gabriel had just visited not the palace, but Mary, a lowly servant of God. Truly, Gabriel had been busy. 

 

Earlier in Luke, God’s messenger visited Zechariah as he offered incense in the Temple. Gabriel told the priest that even in his wife’s old age, Elizabeth would have a child, and they were to name him John. Being the stubborn priest that he was, Zechariah questioned God’s messenger. What happened next might have been why Elizabeth and he were finally able to conceive a child—Gabriel made Zechariah unable to speak until the child was to be born. The priest had to be quiet, and maybe he finally listened to his wife. Next thing you know, Elizabeth was pregnant with John the Baptist. 

 

Fast forward in Luke’s account to find Gabriel announcing that Mary would bear a son as well. The angel told her, this child would be the Son of the Most High God. Even with two thousand years between this news and us, it still strikes me as shocking! Gabriel told Mary this unbelievable announcement and solidified the claim by informing her that her relative, the once barren Elizabeth, was now pregnant. Mary unlike Zechariah did not question this surprising report from God’s messenger. Instead, she said, “Let it be unto me according to your word,” then headed for the hill country and Elizabeth, which gets us to today’s story.

 

I imagine Mary and Elizabeth embraced sweetly—the two holy children leaping within their mothers’ sacred wombs. Immediately from Elizabeth a blessing broke forth upon Mary—blessed are you among women, blessed is the fruit of your womb, blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord. The elder pronounced a three-fold beatitude upon Mary. The third of which might have been a veiled insult at her husband Zechariah who like many willful priests did not immediately believe what God’s messenger was saying.

 

Mary upon hearing Elizabeth’s words, proclaimed some of the loveliest and most challenging words in all of Holy Scripture. She replied with what we know as The Magnificat—named such for the first line—My soul magnifies the Lord. The first few lines are all about Mary’s state of blessedness that Elizabeth was describing:

 

My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name.[2]

 

Don’t stop paying attention here. Yes, these beautiful beginning bits focus on Mary’s blessed nature, but then the Theotokos, the God-bearer, announced a prophetic description of blessing. In it, she told us who God was, is, and always will be—and who we are called to be in response.

 

[God’s] mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.[3]

 

Mary, the bearer of God’s Son, pronounced a truth she intimately knew. She was blessed not just because she bore God’s Son, but also because she knew God’s way: 

 

·      Mercy for those who lovingly hold God in awe.

·      Separating those who take pride in themselves alone.

·      Dethroning the powerful, while exalting those society overlooks.

·      Filling the hungry, telling the rich they’ve already had their fill—inviting them to share?

·      Holding the people of God in a merciful embrace forever.

 

This is God’s way, and it is to be ours too!

 

Elizabeth’s geriatric pregnancy opened her eyes to see her relative in a new way, such that she could pronounce a blessing upon Mary. Mary’s out-of-wedlock, divine pregnancy gave her the courage to see herself as blessed and to point out God’s countercultural ways. Far from denying God a place to stay—these women prepared God mansions in which to dwell. We are called to do the same, which leads us to the ultimate hope, which I hinted at earlier: 

 

All of us, no matter who we are, what we’ve done, where were from; all of us regardless of our gender, skin color, age, nationality, sexual orientation, ability, or social status; all of us are called to make room for Christ and to bear Christ into this world, and we do this best by living into the virtues set forth in Mary’s prophetic words.

 

The great theologian, philosopher, and mystic Meister Eckhart wrote it far more eloquently than I ever could:

 

We are all meant to be mothers of God. What good is it to me if this eternal birth of the divine Son takes place unceasingly, but does not take place within myself? And, what good is it to me if Mary is full of grace if I am not also full of grace? What good is it to me for the Creator to give birth to his Son if I do not also give birth to him in my time and my culture? This, then, is the fullness of time: When the Son of Man is begotten in us.[4]

 

In this season be it our care and delight to prepare a place for Christ to dwell—not just in a manger but in us. May we be blessed like Zechariah and be quiet, so that we might hear God. May we be blessed like Elizabeth and see the blessings of others, so that we might exalt one another. May we be blessed like Mary and bear Christ in ourselves, so that God’s reign thrives in our time, place, and culture! 

 

May our souls magnify the Lord. Amen.

 

---

[1] Luke 1:5

[2] Luke 1:47-49

[3] Luke 1:50-55

[4] Meister Eckhart, Be Mothers of God retrieved on the Catholic Storeroom. http://www.catholicstoreroom.com/category/quotes/quote-author/meister-eckhart-1260-1328/ [accessed December 18, 2024].

When Re-Gifting Is A Blessing

 

This sermon was preached on the Third Sunday of Advent. A video of the sermon may be found by clicking here. The readings which inspired the sermon were the following:

 

Zephaniah 3:14-20

Philippians 4:4-7

Luke 3:7-18

Canticle 9

 

©2024 The Rev. Seth Olson

Holy God, may my words be your words and when my words are not your words, may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

 

A joke to begin: Did you know that "On Jordan's Banks the Baptist Cry" has another verse?

On Jordan's Banks the Baptists Cry,

If I were Baptist so would I.

They cannot dance,

They have no fun

That's why I am Episcopalian.

Okay, sorry to all Baptists and recovering Baptists, but it's too good not to tell given the readings and our Sequence Hymn. 

Happy Third Sunday of Advent! As we look at our countdown timer—also known as the Advent Wreath—we note that we have arrived at the “pink” candle. The churchy name for this color is rose. Often because of this we get confused and think that since we sing “Lo, How A Rose E’re Blooming” about Mary that today is Mary’s Sunday. It’s not. 

 

In our Advent art class, we have noted that Mary’s color is not pink, but blue. This Third Sunday of Advent with its rose candle was originally meant to be a break for those particularly austere monastics and Christians who took on particular disciplines to prepare for the coming of Christ at Christmas. Thus, when it was said in Latin the first words of the service were “Gaudete,” which means “Rejoice!” Of course, when the Gospel reading is this—we might struggle with the connection to rejoicing.

 

Plus, as we inch ever closer to kneeling before the makeshift crib to behold the Christ child, if you are anything like me, the distractions of final Christmas preparations are probably buzzing around your minds. You may have come into Holy Apostles this morning juggling thoughts of Amazon carts, grocery lists, and travel plans. But after hearing John the Baptist’s fiery words, your focus may have shifted. "Brood of vipers?" "Unquenchable fire?" This Gospel reading doesn’t exactly pair well with sugarplums and twinkle lights. How do we get from the wilderness of repentance to the wonder of Bethlehem?

 

Today’s Gospel, like a splash of cold water, shakes us awake. But let’s be honest—most of us don’t like being told we’re wrong. As a child, I hated getting in trouble. Scratch that—I hated getting caught. And the one person I really didn’t want on my case was my maternal grandfather, affectionally called “Bubba.” 

Bubba’s go-to discipline line, “Do we need to go have a chat in the locker room?”, was enough to make me snap to attention. It was his own call to repentance, and while it wasn’t fun, it was formative.

 

This mirrors what’s happening in today’s Gospel. The crowds flocked to John the Baptist, ready to hear the truth even when it stung. They weren’t deterred by being called snakes or by his ominous warnings. Instead, they leaned in and asked, “What then should we do?”

 

Advent asks us to ponder the same question. What should we do, knowing that God’s kingdom is drawing near? John’s advice is profoundly simple yet deeply challenging: “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” In other words, share generously. Act justly. Live humbly. These are the fruits of repentance.

 

Let’s imagine John’s advice in a modern context. Picture a lawyer stepping forward: “What should I do?” John might reply, “Ease up on the billboards. Take on pro bono cases. And laugh at the lawyer jokes—they’re not going away.” Next comes a CEO: “What should I do?” John might say, “Skip your bonus this year. Start a fund for underpaid teachers. Live within one of your employees’ means instead of your own.” Finally, a priest—maybe one you know—asks, “What should I do?” I suspect John would answer, “Stop talking about how busy you are. Slow down. Tend to your flock and your family.”

 

What might John say to you? It’s an uncomfortable question but a necessary one. As much as we try, we won’t get everything right before we meet the Christ child. And that’s okay, because the good news is that God meets us with mercy, fairness, and love.

 

This Advent, we are called to re-gift the gifts God has freely given us. Share mercy with someone who has hurt you. Act fairly when it’s easier to cut corners. Show love to someone who might feel unlovable. These aren’t grand gestures reserved for saints; they’re small, everyday acts that make God’s love tangible in the world.

 

So, as you return to your Christmas list, remember this: Re-gifting isn’t a bad idea when the gifts are mercy, fairness, and love. Those are lovely gifts to pick up on this Rose-candled Gaudete Sunday. This day, this Christmas, and always may we bear fruit worthy of repentance, pointing ourselves and others toward the joy of Christ’s coming. Amen.

Voices in the Wilderness Calling Us Home

Where's your wilderness?

 

This sermon was preached on the Second Sunday of Advent. A video of the sermon may be found by clicking here. The readings which inspired the sermon were the following:

Malachi 3:1-4

Philippians 1:3-11

Luke 3:1-6

Canticle 4 or 16

 

©2024 The Rev. Seth Olson

Holy God, let my words be your words and when my words are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

 

Today’s readings transport us into the wilderness, both literal and metaphorical. Out there, voices are calling us to repentance, preparation, and ultimately, to come home. The Song of Zechariah, Malachi's prophecy, Paul’s joyful thanksgiving, and Luke’s depiction of John the Baptist, all draw our attention to God’s presence unfolding in the world, breaking into the silence, and transforming our lives. Observing the richness of these things taking place within today’s powerful lessons, invites us to also journey into wilderness to listen deeply to voices crying, trusting that they hold an Advent message for us as we await Christ’s coming past, present, and yet to come.

In Malachi, we heard the promise of a messenger preparing the way. This path of refinement and purification imitates fire trying metal. Thus, walking this way is rarely comfortable, much like the wilderness can be. However, whenever we do take Christ’s way of love, God transforms our hearts and lives. Malachi pointed to this metamorphosis as he prophesied about Jesus’ forerunner, John the Baptizer. 

 

When John, the prophet of the Most High God, emerged in Luke’s Gospel, he cut a surprising figure. He was not dressed in priestly robes or seated in places of honor instead choosing to wear camel’s hair and to locate himself outside the confines of the religious structure of that day. John was a voice crying out in the wilderness, fulfilling the words of Isaiah: “Prepare the way of the Lord.”

 

You might be wondering, why did this voice have to cry out in the wilderness, as opposed to civilization? The wilderness stands out as both a physical and spiritual place of preparation. In the wild we leave behind distractions, comforts, and pretenses. It is where Zechariah (John the Baptist’s father) was silenced, forced to listen and reflect during Elizabeth’s pregnancy. It is where John heard the word of God, not in the bustling city of Jerusalem but in the stillness of the desert. The wilderness is where God strips away the noise of the world to speak directly to our hearts. 

 

Prioritizing times to journey into the wild also helps us to hear God’s still small voice more clearly. When we do, we might be surprised by what God is saying, much like the way that God surprisingly spoke to a wild preacher’s kid instead of the powerful political figures of First Century Israel.

You may have noticed that Luke’s Gospel account situated John’s ministry within the context of influential figures—Emperor Tiberius, Governor Pilate, ruler Herod, and high priests Annas and Caiaphas. Yet, the word of God bypassed all these prominent men to land upon John, the son of an aging priest and a mother who once carried a promise too good to be true. As outlandish as it sounds, God often chooses the unlikely, the overlooked, and the unexpected to carry out divine purposes. I’ve heard it phrased this way: God does not call the qualified, God qualifies the called.

 

This pattern continues today. God often bypasses the powerful to speak to the lowly. Who are the voices in our wilderness calling us to repentance and transformation? Is it a child asking us to care for creation? A stranger reminding us of our shared humanity? God is trying to speak to us, but are we making the time to listen? The Advent season invites us to listen for those unexpected voices that echo John’s call to prepare the way of the Lord.

Now John’s call of preparation was simple yet profound: “Repent, for the forgiveness of sins.” Repentance, often misunderstood, is not about punishment or shame but turning back to God. The Greek word here is metanoia and it means a transformative change of heart and mind. It is a turning away from distortion of relationship and toward healthy relationships with God, Creation, neighbor, and self. 

 

This metanoia is about recognizing the crooked paths in our lives and seeing how God can use them, straightening them, so that even our mistakes are steppingstones on the pathway towards God’s grace. This way through the wilderness then is about coming home to the One who waits with open arms, like the Father in the parable of the Prodigal Son(s) sometimes also known as the parable of the Loving Father, which we find elsewhere in Luke. 

 

Truly this theme of returning home saturates Luke’s telling of the Good News, like in these words from the Song of Zechariah: “In the tender compassion of our God, the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace.” Advent encourages us to remember that God’s light breaks into even the darkest places, guiding us back to peace, hope, and restoration. Perhaps that is why it feels like such a fitting season for this time of year when we recall the light of Christ coming to us when the natural world in the Northern Hemisphere is so bleak.

The implication of these readings appears clear enough—go to the wilderness to listen for God’s voice which calls us to return home to God. But, if your life is anything like mine, you might struggle with the following question: Where is my wilderness? It does not necessarily mean a desert or a forest; it might be a quiet morning with scripture, a long drive with the sound off, or a moment of stillness after the kids are asleep. The wilderness can be any place where we step away from the noise of the world to hear God’s voice calling us home. Sure, it could be out in the woods, on top of a mountain, or upon a sandy shore; however, it could also be at your kitchen table, on your sofa, or back porch.

 

This Advent, may we each find our wilderness. May God grant us time and space for silence and reflection. May we utilize those sacred gifts to listen for the voice that calls us to prepare, repent, and return home. In a world full of distractions, this is no small task, but it is in these quiet places that God speaks most clearly and we can hear God’s voice most loudly.

As we prepare for Christ’s coming, let us remember the voices in the wilderness that call us to transformation. Let us heed their message of repentance, not with fear but with hope, knowing that God’s forgiveness and grace await us. And let us prepare the way of the Lord, not just in our hearts but in our actions, making the crooked paths straight and the rough places smooth.

 

And may we, like John the Baptist, be voices in the wilderness, calling others to the peace and salvation of God. May we like Zechariah, find our tongues loosed, proclaiming the tender compassion of our God who shines light into every darkness and guides us all home. Amen.

 

Christ Coming to us in the Present is the Present

Luke 21:25 reveals the truth that in trying times (even on a cosmic level), we discover God coming to us.

 

This sermon was preached on the First Sunday of Advent. You may watch a video of the sermon by clicking here. The readings which inspired the sermon were the following:

Jeremiah 33:14-16

Psalm 25:1-9

1 Thessalonians 3:9-13

Luke 21:25-36

 

©2024 The Rev. Seth Olson

 

Is there a better way to get in the holiday spirit than to faint with fear? Or perhaps the best way to ready ourselves for Christmas is to stare anxiously at the sun, the moon, and the stars? How about taking note of all the distress among and within nations as we pray for peace on earth and goodwill towards all?

 

Today’s Gospel lesson starts out with such foreboding language: “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.” Not exactly the Christmas sentiment you’d find on a Hallmark card! So, what gives? Why are we hearing adult Jesus speaking about His second coming at the End of Days instead of focusing on baby Jesus cooing in the manger?

 

Unlike seemingly the rest of society, we at Holy Apostles are not yet in full-blown Christmas mode but are just beginning the season of Advent. What’s Advent, you ask? Oh, I’m so glad you did.

 

The word “advent” has its roots in a Latin word meaning “to come toward.” Advent is the first season of the Church Year—so Happy New Year, friends! This year, we move from hearing primarily from Mark’s Gospel account to Luke’s telling of the Good News, which has its own distinct voice, often focusing on God’s compassion and the marginalized. But the big shift today isn’t just about Gospel writers; it’s about mindset. Advent is when we contemplate and celebrate God coming to us. We remember the long anticipation for a Savior, prepare for the Christ child’s arrival, and, oddly enough, look ahead to Christ’s final coming on Judgment Day. Festive, right?

 

At the first church I served, St. John’s, Decatur, a very official polling was done—at Theology on Tap—I wanted to know everyone’s favorite liturgical season. Advent emerged as the respondents’ favorite time in the Church Year. And why not? It has great music. There are fascinating characters like John the Baptizer, faithful Joseph, and the Blessed Virgin Mary. Plus, there are cool props like Advent wreaths and Advent calendars. But, what I think people love most about Advent is the theme of eternal judgment! Right? Okay, certainly not. However, I cannot help but honestly believe the fulfilling of all things does have something to do with our love of this season. 

 

In this time when we look back at Christ’s first coming in the person of Jesus of Nazareth and look forward to Christ’s final coming at the end of days, I cannot help but see that we often overlook my favorite aspect of Advent: the present. No, not the presents that will be waiting under the Christmas tree. I mean the present moment when Christ comes to us. This aspect of Advent might not make it onto everyone’s list of reasons why they love this season, but I think the present has everything to do with 1) why we love this time, 2) Christ fulfilling all things, and 3) what Jesus said in today’s Gospel lesson. It’s all about the present!

 

At this time of year, we often get bogged down with “the too-much-ness of it all.” Getting gifts, making memories, decorating houses, and all the while hoping that we will feel the joy that our children and grandchildren often do at this time of year. But, in the attempts to do it all, we somehow miss that God is coming to us now, even when everything isn’t already done, even before Christmas Day, even though this is not the End of Days. Jesus’ words reflect a calling to pay attention to God’s coming right now here amidst everything that is undone and among so many distractions. 

 

Usually things like the sun, the moon, the stars, and the waves are beautiful testimonies of God’s handiwork. And yet, in today’s Gospel lesson everyone is confused by those things. What is worse, people are so filled with fear and fright that they are fainting. If we get so worried about what is to come—whether during the busy holiday season or the End of Days—if we get so upset about these coming events that we are fainting, then I believe we are not faithfully living in the present. We are not seeing that God comes to us right now.

 

As Jesus put it, “Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day catch you unexpectedly, like a trap.” (Or, to quote the Star Wars character Admiral Ackbar, “It’s a trap!”) Don’t get caught up in the traps of the past or the future. Instead pay attention. Be alert. Wait and watch for the coming of Christ. All of this sounds so lovely, but how, oh how, are we to do this during the busyness of this time of year?

 

In this Gospel lesson, Jesus described both the natural and man-made world causing people consternation. All these things around us in our lives distract us. They can, as we see with the examples of drunkenness and worrying, be such toxic and addicting things that we might have a hard time letting go of them even if we want to do just that. Christ here calls us not to be distracted by all these things, but instead to see those wonderful and terrible events of our lives as indicators that Christ is coming. That Christ is here. But, to see Christ we must be attentive. 

 

One of my favorite Advent phrases is “Slow down. Be quiet. It’s Advent.” This calling has everything to do with why this season is so beloved by so many. During Advent, we are called by God through the Church to not let the frantic nature of the rest of our lives distract us from God coming to be with us now. And this reality mysteriously redeems for me even the strange and fearful language found in the opening bits of today’s lesson. 

 

Yes, we are waiting on a sweet babe to be wrapped in swaddling clothes. Sure, we cannot wait for the Angels and the Shepherds and the Magi. But, here in the present moment we are also waiting for the culmination of all things when God will judge the world not with hatred or with fear, but through the prism of Christ’s redeeming love. We are holding out for that moment when all things will be fulfilled through the infinite grace shown in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ Jesus. And, the only way that we can take part in that remembering and that hopeful anticipation is by being alert in the present.

 

Do not be distracted during this season of Advent when God comes to us. Don’t let the sun, the moon, the stars, or the rolling and roaring tide cause you trouble. Don’t be weighed down by drunkenness or worry. Forget the shopping, the to-do’s, and the decorating for now. Instead slow down, be quiet, and realize that Christ is coming to you right now. Amen.