Ponder All These Things

Sunday, January 26, 2025

Answer Readily the Call

In today's Collect we prayed for the grace to "answer readily the call of our Savior Jesus Christ and proclaim to all people the Good News of his salvation"—and I wonder, are you going to accept God's call?

Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10

Psalm 19

1 Corinthians 12:12-31a

Luke 4:14-21

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.

I’ll never forget a particularly challenging cross-country race I ran in college. It was early in my senior season, and on a hot, dusty course early on a September Saturday, the air was thick with anticipation as runners gathered at the starting line. I remember glancing around, tempted to compare myself to the others, wondering if I had trained enough, if I was ready for what lay ahead. When the race began, it didn’t take long for the physical and mental barriers to emerge—the burning lungs, the aching legs, the painful side stitch, and the voice in my head that said, “You can’t do this.” For much of the race, I suffered. Eventually though, I remembered the training, the rhythm, and the encouragement of my coach: “Control the controllables. Focus on your next step. Run your race not someone else’s.” That ended up being my worst race of the season. The poor performance stemmed from focusing on beating the competition instead of running the race set before me with perseverance.

In many ways, the life of faith is like that race. It requires discipline, resilience, and a willingness to face challenges head-on. And just as my coach’s voice reminded me to focus on what truly mattered and what I have control over, Jesus’ proclamation in today’s Gospel lesson centers us in work that truly matters and something we have control over. Let’s take a closer look.

After being baptized and tested in the wilderness, Jesus returned to Galilee, filled with the power of the Spirit, and began teaching in synagogues. When he arrived in Nazareth, his hometown, he unfurled the scroll of Isaiah and read these words:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

And then, Jesus declared, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” With these words, Jesus set the agenda for his ministry and for the work of the Kingdom of God. Good news to the poor, release to the captives, and sight to the blind were not abstract ideals or lofty aspirations; they were concrete markers of the mission we share with Christ—the daily bread meant to sustain us as we walk with him.

One of the ways we are guided into this work, one of the ways we know what direction to travel is through prayer. What I mean by prayer is a conversation with God when we both speak and more importantly listen to what God is saying. In our Collect this morning (that’s the prayer read right before the readings that collects all the themes from this Season in the Church Year and the readings for today), in that collect, we prayed for grace to “answer readily the call of our Savior Jesus Christ and proclaim to all people the Good News of his salvation.” What does it mean to answer that call?

First, it means recognizing that Jesus’ mission is our mission. It is our work to bring good news to the poor, to proclaim release to captives, to help the blind recover sight, to free the oppressed, and to declare the year of the Lord’s favor. These are not optional parts of our faith—they are its very essence.

Here at Holy Apostles, we already live into this call in many ways. We bring good news to the poor when we support Episcopal Place, pack food for hungry students at Trace Crossings, and distribute coats through the Grace Woodlawn Food Pantry. We proclaim release to captives when we participate in Kairos Prison Ministries and support ministries of reconciliation and healing like hosting a Narcotics Anonymous group here. And we strive to help others see—not just with their eyes but with their hearts. This kind of inner sight—the ability to recognize our own blind spots, faults, and gifts—is where our transformation begins.

Of course, this work is not easy. Following Jesus inevitably brought those early disciples face to face with challenges, resistance, and roadblocks. They all gave their lives to the Way of Christ. Some were martyrs who died horrible deaths because of their faith, and some were martyrs who gave their entire lives to Jesus (even if they died peaceably). Often these faith conflicts happened because of what I was doing at the beginning of that cross-country race, we fall into competitiveness like how I was fixated on what everyone else was doing. We do the same in our lives, even when it comes to our faith or spirituality.

In our divided world, it is tempting to retreat into our corners, to draw lines of division between “us” and “them.” We get so attached to this way of thinking that we turn church into a competition. But Jesus called his followers to resist this way of being. His mission was for everyone—friend and stranger, neighbor and enemy alike. Perhaps you have seen this cartoon, which illustrates well this point. On a vast white canvas people are busy drawing lines to box themselves in and others out. Jesus at the same time is using his eraser to make those lines vanish.[1] Every time we draw a line of exclusion, Jesus is at work erasing it, breaking down barriers, and inviting us to join him in this holy work. The question is, will we?

We live in a time when our foundational Christian virtues of love, mercy, and forgiveness feel under attack—from political firestorms and the rise of Christian Nationalism, which often seeks to weaponize our faith for worldly power. It is easy to feel overwhelmed, even disheartened. We might wonder where is God and how can we find God? And, in such times I am reminded of a favorite story from Holy Scripture, which involved Elijah.

This paramount prophet went out in search for the Divine One. At first, he sought God in the exciting—flame, flood, or force, but God was not found there (I’m sure God was there, but Elijah couldn’t behold God there). He found God not in the wind, nor the earthquake, nor the fire, but in the sheer silence that followed (1 Kings 19). It is in that stillness that we can reconnect with God, find our grounding, and get reminded that the Spirit of the Lord dwells in all—friend, stranger, unlikely neighbor, and even ones we perceive to be our enemies.

For me in that silence, I discover that as much as I might want to point my finger and criticize others, Jesus continually turns me back to God. That’s what Jesus does with his followers, he turns them back to their own hearts and actions. This is what he wants for all of us—to turn back to God by acknowledging where we are out of step with the Kingdom’s goals.

We know this to be true not just from this story, but from other examples throughout Scripture. Most notably, before we can help others remove the specks from their eyes, we must confront the planks in our own. This is hard, humbling work, but it is also the work that brings freedom and transformation—not just for ourselves, but also for the world God loves. If we want joy, mercy, and love in the world, we must first cultivate it within ourselves and within this community.

Answering the call of Jesus begins with asking for this kind of sight—the challenging vision, which allows us to see our own shortcomings, the courage to confront them, and the grace to change them with God’s help. While Jesus was always with his followers in this work, and God's grace requires no prerequisite condition, it is only when we do our own work of untangling ourselves from sinfulness, idolatry, and evil that we can join Jesus in his mission of healing, liberation, and reconciliation. Peace as they say, starts at home. So does healing, liberation, and reconciliation!

This week ahead, I invite you to reflect on how you are being called to proclaim good news and participate in God’s mission. Where do you see opportunities to bring healing and hope? How can you work to release captives, feed the hungry, or build bridges across divides? What blind spots in your own life might God be inviting you to address?

The Spirit of the Lord is indeed upon us. We are anointed to do this work, not in isolation but together, as the Body of Christ. As we follow Jesus in this shared mission, may we find the grace to answer his call readily and to proclaim to all people the Good News of his salvation. And all the while, may we remember that this Good News is not just for “us,” nor is it only for “them”—it is for all of us, together. Amen.

[1] Hayward, David. “Eraser Digital Cartoon” from The Naked Pastor website [https://nakedpastor.com/products/eraser, accessed January 26, 2025].

Sunday, January 19, 2025

From Scarcity to Abundance: Lessons from Cana

John 2 begins a theme throughout this entire Gospel account: Eucharistic Abundance —
Jesus provides an ultimate feast for all

Isaiah 62:1-5

1 Corinthians 12:1-11

John 2:1-11

Psalm 36:5-10

This sermon was preached originally on January 19, 2025 at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles. A video of this sermon 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.

Today’s Gospel passage takes us to a wedding feast in Cana of Galilee, where Jesus performed his first recorded miracle: turning water into wine. It’s a story brimming (pun intended) with significance, humor, and the revelation of God’s abundant grace. It is also profoundly important to understanding who God is and what God’s Reign on earth looks like.

Let’s begin with the scene itself. Imagine the joy of a wedding, a multi-day celebration filled with family, friends, food, and music. Such occasions are moments of union, community, and celebration—a microcosm of God’s desires for us. Weddings in the ancient world were significant communal events, meant to bring people together in shared joy. In the midst of this happiness, however, a problem arose: the wine ran out. Nowadays, if this were to happen someone would simply go on a b double e double r u n (beer run), but in those days there weren’t convenience stores. For the host, this would have been a complete social catastrophe, a failure to provide hospitality and celebration for the guests.

It was into this moment of scarcity that Mary, Jesus’ mother, stepped forward. She conveyed to her child, “They have no wine.” Jesus’ response might strike us as humorous, even slightly abrupt: “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” Now, if I said that to my momma, I would have gotten “the look” or worse. Yet, Mary didn’t argue. Instead, she turned to the servants and said, “Do whatever he tells you.” There is a quiet confidence in Mary’s faith here, an abiding belief that Jesus would act—and that whatever he did would be enough. I pray that God might bestow upon us that same sense of trust in God.

Back to the action, what Jesus did next was extraordinary—supernatural even. He took six stone water jars, each holding twenty or thirty gallons, jars meant for Jewish purification rituals, and transformed their contents into wine. That’s over 900 bottles of wine and not just any wine, but the best wine, better than what had been served the rest of the feast. The steward’s reaction says it all: “You have kept the good wine until now!”

Now, I’m sure we have all been to great weddings. I am personally partial to Kim’s and my own. A hot July day in Austin Texas meant that everyone was a sweaty mess even before the ceremony—celebrated by two of our best friends (who also happen to be priests). Even with the heat (and notoriously bad Austin traffic delaying the ceremony from starting on time) it was outstanding. Plus, a BBQ feast, delicious ice cream, and a packed dance floor made it the most fun night of my life. However, even my own wedding is not the most meaningful wedding to me, for this Cana wedding feast story reveals so much about the nature of God.

First, it shows us a God who cares about celebration, about joy, and about the flourishing of life. Jesus’ first miracle is not performed in the Temple or for a grand audience, but at a wedding party, a simple, human occasion. God’s abundance is revealed in this moment of turning scarcity into plenty, a sign of the overflowing love that is at the heart of our Trinitarian God who is always loving so very much that it overflows the bounds of just that relationship between Father, Son, and Spirit.

Second, this story points us toward transformation. The water jars used for ritual cleansing—signs of the old order, of the need for purification—are repurposed as vessels for celebration. In this act, Jesus is not discarding the old but transforming it, showing us a new way of encountering God’s grace. Truly, both are always needed—purification and celebration! This transformation invites us to look at the ordinary elements of our lives and see how they might be used to reveal God’s glory. A simple hike through the woods surprisingly reveals the creative love of God. Coffee with a friend becomes sacramental helping you to feel seen and heard by God through the compassion of a beloved one. Where else in our seemingly ordinary lives is God’s glory already shining?

Third, this is an Epiphany story. During this season, we celebrate the ways Jesus’ magnificence is revealed to the world. Here, in Cana, God revealed Jesus’ glory not with fanfare but through an act of quiet abundance. The disciples see it, and they believe. And, to be fair, who wouldn’t? 900 bottles of wine is a mighty tool for spreading the Gospel. All joking aside, it is a sign not just for the people of Israel but for all the world, a glimpse of the universal grace that Jesus offers.

But there is another layer to this story that connects deeply with the broader themes of John’s Gospel—themes that further reveal the nature of God. In John, there is no Last Supper narrative as we find in the other Gospel accounts. Instead, the theme of Eucharistic abundance is woven throughout the entire story. Jesus is the Bread of Life, the one who provides living water, the one who ensures the wine never runs dry. The wedding at Cana is the first of many moments where Jesus provided in abundance, foreshadowing the ultimate feast of the kingdom where all are fed and all are welcomed. And, that feast is still ongoing. We will partake in it this morning as we gather with Jesus around God’s holy table.

This Eucharistic abundance stands in stark contrast to the scarcity mindset that so often pervades our society. We are constantly bombarded with messages that we are not enough, that we do not have enough, that we must strive and consume to fill the void. But the kingdom of God operates differently. In God’s economy, there is always enough. In God’s economy, nothing is wasted. In God’s economy, there is always more than enough. The invitation is to trust in that abundance and to live as people who reflect it in our lives. That’s why so often at the offertory I talk about our connection to this table. For together with God we always have enough and God has a way of taking what we give and transforming our blessings into the blessings of others!

So, how might we live out this abundance this week? Perhaps it begins with gratitude, recognizing the ways God has already blessed us. Maybe it extends to generosity, sharing what we have with others (yes in the offertory plate, but also throughout your week). For the hope of God is that all may experience the joy of the feast. And, living out of God’s abundance certainly involves a commitment to celebration, to being people who reflect God’s joy and invite others into it. Come play Bingo on Friday night with your church family, come have fun with our Gumbo Gala squad, join us at our beans and rice Mardi Gras dinner in early March.

As we go forth today, let us remember that the same God who turned water into wine at Cana is at work in our lives, transforming the ordinary into the extraordinary, scarcity into plenty, and inviting us into the joyful feast of God’s kingdom. May we shine with the radiance of Christ’s glory, so that God’s abundant love may be known and shared to the ends of the earth. Amen.

Sunday, January 12, 2025

Epiphany People

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

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.

Sunday, January 5, 2025

Resolution: Restoration

Jeremiah 31:7-14

Ephesians 1:3-6,15-19a

Matthew 2:13-15,19-23

Psalm 84 or 84:1-8

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.

Sunday, December 22, 2024

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)

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].

Sunday, December 15, 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:

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.