Repossessed

(sermon 1/28/18)

baptismal font-resized

They went to Capernaum; and when the sabbath came, he entered the synagogue and taught. They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes. Just then there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit, and he cried out, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.” But Jesus rebuked him, saying, “Be silent, and come out of him!” And the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying with a loud voice, came out of him. They were all amazed, and they kept on asking one another, “What is this? A new teaching—with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him.” At once his fame began to spread throughout the surrounding region of Galilee.  – Mark 1:21-28

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It happened more than ten years ago. I had just started pastoring this little country church about an hour south of Columbus, a brand-new Commissioned Lay Pastor, on the job for about a month, maybe two, ready to set the world on fire and do the very best I could for this wonderful little congregation. On this particular Sunday morning, I’d just taught an Adult Sunday School class, part of a series, about how the Bible came to be, and what the best available scholarship could tell us about who may have written various parts, and when, and why. When the class was over, as we moved into the sanctuary just before the service began, we noticed that we had visitors. They weren’t hard to notice, sitting in the sanctuary that held maybe forty or forty-five people on a normal Sunday. Four visitors, actually – a husband and wife, and a son, maybe 13, and a daughter, maybe 12. In other words, the supposed demographic gold mine for churches looking for visitors and potentially new members, especially for a congregation that hadn’t likely seen a new member in a number of years, and we were all pleased and excited to see them. They sat there in a nice row, each of them with their very own personal copy of the King James Version of the Bible with matching brown leatherette zip-up covers. The preaching text that morning was from the Second Letter to Timothy – and wanting to make some connection between the sermon and the Sunday School class, I’d wanted to say that even though the text of the letter says it was written by Paul, most scholars today agree that it wasn’t actually written by Paul, but rather, it was likely written by one of Paul’s followers, but ultimately that wasn’t important; what mattered was the content, the point that the words were making.

That was what I’d intended to say, anyway, but I never quite got all that out. As soon as I said that Paul likely hadn’t written the letter, the husband in this family jumped up out of his seat – it was so fast, so instantaneous, that you’d have thought the pew was spring-loaded and he’d just been ejected into the air. And within a split second, the three others sprung up, too. And the man started pushing his family out into the aisle while waving his finger at me and yelling at the top of his lungs, “Shame on you! Shame! Blasphemy! This is the Word of God! Paul wrote it or he didn’t; he wrote it or he didn’t! Shame on you! Shame! You’re a blasphemer!!!!” And he kept right on yelling as he marched his family up the aisle, and out the door, and SLAM! They were gone.

Well, my CLP training had prepared me for a lot of things, but this wasn’t one of them. I vaguely remember standing there in the pulpit looking as shocked and surprised as everyone else, but then, after a moment of fumbling around both verbally and physically, I regained my stride and we went on with the service.

Well, the following Sunday, the loud, spring-loaded visitors were still on everyone’s mind. Now in this church, there was a sturdy old oak office chair that sat along the back wall of the sanctuary, just inside the main entry vestibule. And every Sunday, a man named Joe, who was sort of the unofficial head usher, sat in that chair. So this Sunday, with people wondering what I might say about the events of the week before, I stepped into the pulpit, cleared my throat, and I looked to the back of the sanctuary and said, “Um, Joe, would you lock the door?” And we all laughed, and life went on.

In today’s gospel text, we heard about a similar kind of unexpected disruption and challenge to Jesus as he was teaching in a synagogue very early in his ministry. Of course, he handled his situation more decisively and with more authority than I handled mine, but, you know, that makes sense because he’s Jesus and I’m not. But just picture that scene. There’s Jesus, preaching and teaching and the people are amazed at what they were hearing, until Jesus is interrupted by this man that Mark tells us was possessed by an “unclean spirit.”

If you’re like me, you get a little uncomfortable with scriptural stories of spirit-possessed people. I mean, we’re living in an age of advanced knowledge of all sorts, and we also know that any number of perfectly understandable, non-supernatural mental illnesses were described in the pre-scientific culture of Jesus’ time as having been possessed by an unclean spirit. On the other hand, we know that we are beings of both body and spirit,  inherently, as part of our being human. We know that there is certainly a spiritual realm to the universe. So what was really going on with this disturbed man in this story?

I guess to me, the question of whether the man was possessed or suffering a mental or emotional illness is as unimportant as whether Paul wrote Second Timothy or not. The important point, to me, is the agony, the despair, that the man was feeling – and that he was apparently feeling it because of what Jesus was saying. Jesus was proclaiming the gospel, the good news of God’s love for all people. He was proclaiming the arrival of God’s good news for the poor, the sick, the lame, the hungry, the widow and the orphan and all those who have been pushed aside in this world.

And somehow, this was apparently bad news for the man. Clearly, whatever the details of his condition, he was miserable, but at least there was familiarity and comfort in his misery. He knew what he could count on, and what he couldn’t. But now, this new message from God, delivered with power and authority, meant that all that the man had come to depend on was being tossed out. Now there would be new rules, and undoubtedly change, and uncertainty; and for him, that wasn’t seen as gospel, good news, at all, but rather, it was very bad news, even with the love that the message came embedded in.

In response, Jesus speaks powerfully to the man; harshly, even. This actually becomes a recurring theme in Mark’s gospel, Jesus from time to time speaking with real harshness,  even anger, and virtually every time it happens, it’s a case like this – where Jesus is essentially rebuking someone or something in this world that was working to keep people from experiencing the full, abundant, loving, and yes, risk-taking, life that God intends for all of us. In this story, whether the man is literally possessed or not, Jesus is essentially “repossessing” him, whether he likes it or not; reclaiming him from being a child of misery and hopelessness, and reclaiming him as a child of God, belonging to God and God alone, and deserving of so much more than the limited, and limiting, way of living that the man had become accustomed to.

In just a little while, we’ll be baptizing Matilda. In a way, baptism is a sign of this kind of repossession that’s occurring in this story – this idea of God clearly, decisively, and with power and authority claiming a person as belonging to God, and being a part of God’s covenant, and deserving of that same full, abundant life that Jesus wanted for the man in this story.

On this day, when we celebrate this new baptism, let’s think about our own baptism, and what it means to us – both the grace, the love, the acceptance; as well as the challenge and the responsibility, because in the realm of God we never get one without the other.

As far as yelling and shouting, if there’s to be any yelling today, let it be shouts of  joy and gratitude for the good that God has done in our lives, and that God promises to do in Matilda’s life. If there’s to be any jumping out of seats today, let it be to jump up and give Matilda a standing ovation as a sign of God’s love, and of ours.

Thanks be to God.

 

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The Not-So-Excellent Adventure

(sermon 1/21/18)

cow in sackcloth

Jonah 3:1-10

The word of the Lord came to Jonah a second time, saying, “Get up, go to Nineveh, that great city, and proclaim to it the message that I tell you.” So Jonah set out and went to Nineveh, according to the word of the Lord. Now Nineveh was an exceedingly large city, a three days’ walk across. Jonah began to go into the city, going a day’s walk. And he cried out, “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!”

And the people of Nineveh believed God; they proclaimed a fast, and everyone, great and small, put on sackcloth. When the news reached the king of Nineveh, he rose from his throne, removed his robe, covered himself with sackcloth, and sat in ashes. Then he had a proclamation made in Nineveh: “By the decree of the king and his nobles: No human being or animal, no herd or flock, shall taste anything. They shall not feed, nor shall they drink water. Human beings and animals shall be covered with sackcloth, and they shall cry mightily to God. All shall turn from their evil ways and from the violence that is in their hands. Who knows? God may relent and change his mind; he may turn from his fierce anger, so that we do not perish.” When God saw what they did, how they turned from their evil ways, God’s mind was changed about the calamity that they were to have brought upon them; and God did not do it.

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The Book of Jonah is short, but powerful. It’s only some forty-odd verses long, but in its few short words, it manages to give us some of the most memorable imagery in the entire Bible. Each one of its four short chapters tells what could be a fascinating little story on its own, while still weaving together to form the whole.

There’s a lot that we don’t know about the book, but part of what we do know is that it was intended to be a response against an extreme, exclusionary, nativist mindset that had taken hold in society, and that had caused great turmoil by causing the forced breakup of families, where Jews had married foreign non-Jews, and requiring that all people from different places and who had different religions had to leave. The Book of Jonah is meant as a protest against all that, by telling a story to emphasize that God is the God of all people, and the God loves and cares for all people – even, the story makes clear, the despised Assyrians living in the enemy’s capital city of Nineveh.

The book makes its point by telling a story of this poor shlub, Jonah, who really just wanted to be left alone, who didn’t want any part of what God was telling him to do, and as we know, who was willing to go to pretty extreme lengths to run away from it. He doesn’t want to go to Nineveh because he’s afraid that as soon as he’d enter the city and start proclaiming their impending doom, the Ninevites would attack him, or throw him in prison, or worse. And near the end of Jonah’s story, in the last chapter, we also learn that he didn’t want to do it because he suspected that after Jonah put his own life and reputation on the line, foretelling the Ninevites’ doom, before that would happen, God would go all wobbly on him, and have mercy and compassion on them, and not wipe them out, leaving his enemies off the hook and leaving Jonah to look like a fool on top of it. Jonah wants God to take a harder line against his enemies than he trusts God will actually take.

Of course, for his part in this protest story, Jonah represents the political and religious leaders of the time, who, the author is saying, want to take a harder line about who are supposedly the people of God, and who aren’t, than God would take.

So we do have this social/political commentary going on in Jonah, along with all of the great imagery, and even some comic aspects. Just imagine: smelly, seaweed- and gastric-juice-covered Jonah getting barfed up onto the beach, much to the surprise of the fisherman and the sunbathers. The Ninevites being so convicted of their sin, and being so repentant, that they don’t just cover themselves with sackcloth and ashes in the traditional sign of repentance, but they have all of their livestock do the same – which wasn’t some quaint religious tradition of the time; it would have seemed as bizarre and comical to see back then as it would be today. Taken together, it all makes Jonah one of the truly amazing books of the Bible.

But what does it mean for us today? What about it speaks to us, in our own lives? Well, it does pretty clearly offer a word of protest against the similar kind of extreme anti-foreigner, nationalist mindset seen in so much of our current government policies and in the words of so many people. It’s important to know that, and to take that message to heart, but honestly, that’s another day’s sermon. Today, I want to think more about how Jonah’s story resonates with our own personal lives – how we personally hear and respond to God’s call.

Last Sunday, and again today, we heard gospel accounts of disciples who essentially dropped whatever they were doing and immediately followed Jesus, seemingly without question or hesitation. Jonah is the opposite of that. He hears God’s call, and is worried and afraid and not at all happy about where he sees it all going, and he tries to run away from it all. Even when he finally gives in, and he sets off on his not-so-excellent adventure, he enters Nineveh, but he still only does it in half-measures. The author of the story tells us Nineveh was a three-day walk from one end to the other – but Jonah packs it in and leaves town after going just one day’s distance into it.

I know that I’m supposed to be more like Jesus’ trusting and unquestioning disciples. But the truth is, I see much more of myself in Jonah, and the way he responds to God’s call. In all of his crankiness and doubt and self-interest and his wanting God to hate all the same people he hated, I have to say that Jonah seems much more human, much more real, to me, personally, than those disciples who seem to have just dropped their nets and walked away with Jesus without even asking if the job came with health insurance and a dental plan.

Jonah’s relationship with God is messy, and that resonates with me because I know that my own relationship with God can sometimes be messy. I’ve been known to be a pretty reluctant follower of where God seemed to be calling me. Just as was the case with Jonah, part of that reluctance was that I wasn’t sure I liked what the likely outcome would be for myself. Also like Jonah, I’ve tried to run away from God’s call, and also like him, I’ve found myself in the belly of the whale, as it were, before I learned that there really wasn’t much future in trying to run away from God. Thankfully, I also eventually learned that by following where God was leading, even with doubt and reluctance, God always had something better in store that I could have ever imagined.

Maybe some of you have felt the same kind of feelings as Jonah, too. Have you? Have you ever sensed that God was drawing you to do something that you were less than enthusiastic about? Maybe you’re even experiencing something like that now. Do you sense God drawing you to make some change in your life? To take a turn in some new and unexpected direction, maybe one that promised to take you well out of your comfort zone? Maybe it was, or is, a school choice or a job choice. Maybe it’s some family or business decision that promises to take you into new, uncharted waters. Maybe it’s starting, or breaking off, a relationship. Maybe it involves a change in where you call home. Maybe it’s being called to some new understanding, something that’s different from what you’d always been taught before, something that opens up some new understanding about God that isn’t necessarily in line with what you’ve thought and believed up till now, as was the case with Jonah. The possibilities are endless where and how God may be calling you.

But if you do find yourself being called by God to something new, called to follow God in some different direction you didn’t really expect and frankly may not be excited about, remember Jonah’s story. Even though he went into Nineveh giving it only partial effort, God made something amazing happen. Even with Jonah’s doubt-filled and half-hearted willingness to follow, God still blessed those actions, and through Jonah, God’s will was achieved. And through all of it, if you know how the Book of Jonah ends, you also know that God kept looking out for Jonah – grumbling, self-centered Jonah, the same Jonah with all the doubts and fears and presuppositions and stubborn, bull-headed stances that only end up hurting himself. Until the very end of the story, God continued to work on Jonah’s heart so he could see and understand God in a richer, fuller, truer way – and in the process, so Jonah could see and understand more about himself in a richer, fuller, truer way.

Jonah is you. Jonah is me. And because we worship, and sometimes follow, a God who loves the Jonahs, we can all say

Thanks be to God.

“Can Anything Good Come Out of…?”

(sermon 1/14/18)

comeandsee

John 1:43-51

The next day Jesus decided to go to Galilee. He found Philip and said to him, “Follow me.” Now Philip was from Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter. Philip found Nathanael and said to him, “We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.” Nathanael said to him, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Philip said to him, “Come and see.” When Jesus saw Nathanael coming toward him, he said of him, “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!” Nathanael asked him, “Where did you get to know me?” Jesus answered, “I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you.” Nathanael replied, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!” Jesus answered, “Do you believe because I told you that I saw you under the fig tree? You will see greater things than these.”And he said to him, “Very truly, I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.”

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In this part of John’s gospel, we’re picking up in midstream the story of Jesus beginning to call his first disciples. The day before, Andrew, who had been a disciple of John the Baptist, had become a follower, along with his brother Simon. Now on this particular day, Jesus was out and about, and somewhere along the way he met Philip, and they struck up a conversation, and Jesus ultimately invited him to come follow him. Philip was intrigued and excited about Jesus and what he was saying – so much so that he tracked down his friend Nathanael and told him that he was convinced that he’d found the messiah, the specially anointed one sent by God, and foretold by Moses and the prophets, and it was none other than this Jesus, from Nazareth.

But apparently, Nathanael had the same opinion of Nazareth as the president has of Haiti, and you can almost hear the sneer, and see the can of his lip as he snorts, “Nazareth? Can anything good come out of that place?” That crummy little crossroads filled with nobodies; that miserable, poverty-stricken place that’s only managed to survive, and just barely at that, because it’s just an hour and a half’s walk from the jobs and work in the large, wealthy city of Sepphoris? I’m supposed to believe *anyone* any good, let alone the messiah, could come from a hole like that?

In the end, though, when Jesus and Nathanael meet, Nathanael learns how wrong, how mistaken, he was.

This story offers us two ideas to consider – two parts of God’s good news for us, to hold up together and think about how they might be related. The first part is that lesson that Nathanael had to learn, and, as we’ve been reminded of by the past few days’ news stories, that many people still have to learn: Can anything good come out of Nazareth? Out of Haiti? Out of West Louisville? This is the lesson that a person’s place of birth, or any other factor outside their control, doen’t determine their significance, their intelligence, their character, their status as an important and beloved child of God. This great gospel truth was validated by the fact that God chose to dwell among us as a nobody with a Nazareth mailing address, ZIP Code 9021nowhere.

The second thing is this whole idea of being called to follow Christ, and to live as one of his disciples – Andrew, Simon Peter, Philip, Nathanael, us.

It’s a bit ironic, actually, that the president’s outrageous thoughts and comments about the people of Haiti, Latin America, and Africa, which we’ve all heard ad nauseum at this point, were uttered just on the eve of this Sunday, when the Lectionary texts included Nathanael’s similar misguided dismissiveness and insult. You can bet that preachers all over the country are having a field day with that coincidence this morning. But it’s even more ironic, in that it also coincides with the day that we celebrate the life, the prophetic vision, and the lasting legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Dr. King was clearly someone who had been called to speak gospel truth, even when it was discomforting and dangerous truth, about equality – and that that equality demands justice – in the courts, in schools, in the workplace, in places of business, regardless of whatever bigoted or discriminatory religious beliefs someone may have, and no matter how sincerely they hold them.

Dr. King spoke the gospel truth that God calls us to lift up and help the poor, not to abuse them by making their situation worse just to give a tax break to the wealthiest of the wealthy. He spoke gospel truth to the insanity of war, and sending people off to die for the sake of not losing face, or to protect business interests, or to rack up profits for arms manufacturers.

He sensed, on a deeply personal level, the significance of God’s call to him to speak boldly, and to act boldly, about these issues. Even at times when he didn’t want to see it through, when he’d have much rather just gone off and lived a quiet, comfortable, safe life out of the limelight with his family, he heard that call, “Come, follow me.” And we’re a better society, and a better church, and better followers of Jesus ourselves, because he did.

But while we’re better Christians because of the witness and prophetic voice of Dr. King, there’s still a lot to learn, a lot to do. Racism, and bigotry, and ignorance, and injustice, and homophobia, and poverty, and economic disparity, and homelessness, and hunger, all still exist, and we, the church, still need to boldly call them all out as being inconsistent with the God that we worship and the gospel we proclaim.

We’ve all been called to do that, in some way. Today, we’re recognizing people who will be ordained or installed to do it in a particular way – to be servant leaders of this congregation, helping to shape the way that we answer Christ’s call to follow him, in both our work and worship. To those of you being ordained or installed, I remind you that this isn’t like being elected the Treasurer of the Rotary Club – your ordination and installation reflects this congregation recognizing particular gifts that you have for leadership, and sensing that God is calling you to this particular type of service and ministry. Each of you will be an important part of how this congregation moves forward, and keeps focused on its mission to advance this gospel truth of God’s desire for love, and compassion, and equality, and justice for all of God’s people. I invite you to take this commitment seriously. When you kneel and receive the laying on of hands, you will be continuing a tradition that goes back to the very earliest days of the church. When you feel those hands on you, imagine the love and support and the prayers for God’s guidance for you, that they represent.

I remember before my own ordination as an elder, I worried that maybe I wasn’t worthy of that. Maybe there’s something about you that makes you have that same uncertainty about this call. Something that causes you to wonder if you’re a big enough spiritual somebody to be ordained. maybe there’s something about you that people have sneered at in the past and said, “Can anything good come out of that? Can anyone like that be good?” If that’s the case, rest assured that you can tell those nay-sayers – even if the nay-sayer is you, yourself – “Yes, that’s true – but God knew that about me, long before I was born, and still, Jesus held out his hand to me, and smiled, and said, “Come, Follow me!” Today, in a new and special way, you will.

Thanks be to God.

Milestones

(sermon 1/7/18 – Baptism of Jesus)

Baptism of Christ by John the Baptist in the Jordan River (mosaic) - Ravenna, Italy
Baptism of Christ, mosaic detail, Ravenna, Italy, circa 451 CE

Mark 1:4-11

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

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

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I remember when I was very young, for some reason, for most of the big annual events in our family – Thanksgiving, Christmas, birthdays, anniversaries and so on – we usually gathered at my grandparents’ house to celebrate. When we did, you could be sure that at some point, my grandfather would drag out his 8mm movie camera to make sure the gathering would be recorded for posterity. That was fine, but back then, cameras really didn’t have low-light capabilities, so whenever the camera came out, so did the big lighting attachment that came with it. It was a metal bar that held two great big incandescent floodlights that, when lit, were about as bright as the sun and twice as hot. Really, as soon as he hit the switch, it scarred the retinas of everyone in the room. You could practically feel the moisture being evaporated out of your skin, paint started to peel off the walls, and the plastic flowers stuck in the ceramic black panther planter started to melt and drip down onto the table. And of course, right after he threw the switch, while we were all feeling like we’d just experienced a thermonuclear blast, the first thing my grandfather would say was “All right, now, everyone SMILE!”

dl 1967
“Okay everyone, SMILE!”

Well, thank goodness that over time, cameras could do better and better with less and less light, and we went from 8mm film cameras to Super-8, then on to the big video cassette recorders that rode on your shoulder like a boom box, and then camcorders got smaller and smaller, and now, when most of us want to record something, we just pull out our phones.

Whether we record them or not, these kinds of events that my grandfather was thoughtful enough to record way back then, and the similar ones that we all experience today, are milestones in our lives. They’re mileposts that commemorate and help us to understand the whole arc of our lie’s journey. First words. First steps. First bicycle ride. First love. Eagle Scout ceremonies. Graduations, initiations, maybe ordinations. Marriages. Births. Deaths.

Today, we heard the story of one milestone in Jesus’ life – one that most of us have also experienced, the milestone of baptism. In this passage from Mark, we hear how Jesus came to John the Baptist to be baptized. Now, for the most part, we don’t know much about what Jesus was doing up till this time, but it appears that he’d been engaged in some kind of trade, apparently making a living as some kind of builder or craftsman, and he’d likely been doing so since he was maybe 14 or 15, so now at age 30 or so, Jesus’ baptism marks the beginning of a completely new direction – it’s the beginning of what’s essentially a second-career call for him. So when I read this story, I try to imagine what must have been going through Jesus’ mind as he was being baptized. How much did he know, and how much didn’t he know, about what the next few years were going to bring? Did he wonder how this would change his life? Did he wonder where God would lead him, or if God would protect him and provide for him? Did he wonder if he was even doing the right thing at all? All the questions that any of us might wonder as we start something new. But then, as Jesus is coming back up out of the water, he hears those amazing, validating words, “You are my Son, my Beloved; in you I am well pleased.”

Jesus’ baptism is a visible sign of his acceptance by God, that God blessed him and his ministry, and that he is an integral part of the overarching covenant that God made with humanity.

For us, baptism means much the same thing. It’s an outward sign and seal of the great truth that God has claimed us, and calls us God’s own; that we’re also a part of that same covenant that God has established. That being part of this covenant is in some way that we can’t fully understand made possible through Jesus himself. Through baptism, Christ asks us to call ourselves by his name, the name Christian, and to have the peace of mind that comes from knowing that through him, God forgives our shortcomings and failures in our relationship with God and one another. The waters of baptism symbolize that God chooses to consider those shortcomings, that sin, to be washed away. Baptism is the milestone that marks the beginning of our journey of faith in Christ, a journey that ultimately comes to its conclusion in our death.

This is a time of milestones for us here, as a church, too. Today, we all mourn the death of Dick, our beloved family member. At the same time, we celebrate the reality that he has completed his own journey that began with his baptism, and that he is now living life whole, healed, and in the presence of God. We also celebrate today because we’re welcoming Teresa as a new member to our congregation, and because of the news that Edwin will soon be starting as our new Coordinator of Youth Ministries. And we look forward to the great milestone of Matilda’s baptism, which will take place during worship on the 28th of this month.

The new year is going to bring a lot of milestones for us – milestones in our personal lives, in our national life, in the political realm, and our congregational life together, too. Who knows what all this year will bring? At the beginning of 2017, could we have imagined what the year would bring? Now, as we begin 2018, it’s exciting to imagine what will unfold this year for all of us.

Some of our milestones this year will probably be easy to recognize as they’re happening. Others will probably be more subtle – they won’t be marked by clouds rolling back, or descending doves, or the booming voice of God, or even the glaring lights of a movie camera. Some of them might only be recognized in hindsight, after we’ve had time to think about them. Whatever milestones do occur, though, and whether they come wrapped in joy and laughter, or fears, or even tears, we can experience them all with the assurance that God is journeying through it all together with us, alongside us, strengthening us; and that, just as was the case with Jesus, we’ll be kept in God’s loving embrace, whatever unfolds.

Thanks be to God.