The 4th Sunday after Epiphany: Steep Path to Salvation?

We've all heard the expression:  “Things are not always what they seem to be.”  This could be the opposite of that computer term describing a particular user interface as “what you see is what you get.”  Much of our holy scripture follows the first maxim rather than the second.  We may puzzle about what a certain passage of scripture means.  We may wonder what the writer of that passage intended for his hearers and later his readers to understand.  And most especially we yearn to understand what God—whom we believe inspired the writers, the editors and the folks who decided what was to be included in the canon of holy scripture—is saying to us as we listen to or read scripture.

For those of us who wear contacts or glasses, we know how important it is to have a useful lens through which to view the world around us.  Lenses could be compared to points of view—our point of view will affect our perception and our understanding of scripture passages.  St. Paul explained the effect of different points of view when hearing his message of the Good News this way:  “For Jews demand signs and Greeks desire wisdom . . .” 

Over the years since the Christian scriptures were first written, various view points have led to various interpretations of our scriptures.  I want to pick out three points in time to illustrate this.  First, at the beginning of the third century, a Christian thinker, Origen, said he found three meanings in every passage: its “flesh,” its “soul” and its “spirit.”  At the time of the Reformation in the 16^th century, Martin Luther, offered his opinion about the need for a single point of view:  “But our effort will be placed above all in this: to arrive at one simple, germane, and sure literal sense—if we are to treat sacred things aright.”  In our own time, a reaction to the Reformation stance has led scholars to offer various viewpoints when interpreting scripture.  In particular, we have been encouraged to interpret scripture from historical, literary, metaphorical, and sacramental viewpoints to name a few.

Although it would be fun for me to dwell on these and other viewpoints in some depth, I doubt if it would be fun for you.  I offered this thumbnail sketch of the history of Biblical interpretation, because our gospel lesson today, the Beatitudes, may offer some very real challenges for us to understand what Jesus meant to teach his listeners and what Matthew, who reported Jesus' words, wanted us to gain from hearing or reading them.

The challenge of these verses in Matthew comes from our wonderment about how these teachings could be applied to anyone's life, including Jesus' disciples.  To be poor in spirit, mourning, meek, and persecuted—these don't seem to be things to hope for.  Hungering and thirsting for righteousness, being pure in heart, being merciful, and making peace seem a bit more on track, although it even would be hard to do all these regularly.  And finally, what does being “blessed” mean?  Is Jesus showing us a very steep path to salvation?

Let's step back for a moment and consider Jesus' teaching in the Beatitudes in a sacramental way.  As a prophet—remember Jesus is on a mountain-top like Moses was when he received the Law—Jesus was teaching about the reign of God, despite current circumstances—then or now.  These words of this prophecy become “an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.”  The gift of grace in the person of Jesus is the sacrament of God reconciling the world to God's self.  Jesus' words are a sign of the in-breaking of God's reign that have begun, but, of course, it will not be complete until Christ comes again.  BLESSED are you despite your circumstances or the results of your efforts at such things as being merciful and making peace, FOR, by God's grace, the outcome in the end will be good—even wonderful.

Perhaps they are signs for the whole community of believers, not just each of us as individuals—for indeed, a group of disciples was listening to Jesus.  For each of these conditions in which the Christian community finds itself or in which it places itself, Jesus' teaching provided—and provides—assurance that God has acted, is acting and will act to redeem humanity by reconciling us to God’s self.  The signs of community that trusts God's faithfulness are: having confidence that the members of that community will be part of the reign of God here and now, as well at the end of time; that they will be comforted when distressed; that God will fill their longing for righteousness for others, as well as for themselves; that God's mercy will be theirs to show to others; that God will satisfy their need for union with the divine; that God will honor those who work for peace; and that God will not allow persecution to come between the community and God.  Jesus teaches his disciples about God by announcing these prophetic signs of how God's blessing works.  Matthew's recounting of this moment shows us how dearly we are loved by God.  God's love conquers whatever seeks to tear us away from God—whether evil in the world or our own sinfulness.  We are blessed by God's love. We are surrounded and supported by God's love.  To use the words of our prayerbook, it is our sure and certain hope.  And not only hope for the community of St. Nicholas', but hope even for the whole world.  Yes, it is God's grace, nothing but God's grace.  So there is no steep path to salvation, for God’s grace is free. Blessed are you . . .  

The 3rd Sunday after Epiphany - Putting the Cross in the Center

St. Paul had heard from Chloe's people about quarreling among the Corinthian Christian community, and he objected to the attitude that association with one leader rather than another has become an object of pride. No pride should be taken in human connections by Christians; but rather they should come together in unity through their connection in Christ.

We understand human nature and our need to find comfort in the presence of people who share our values.  We find comfort in connecting with familiar folks.  In Paul's day those who discovered Christ through the witness of a particular person or group would naturally continue to look to that person or group for what to believe and how to live within the community.  In our time some parishioners will express unhealthy loyalty to a particular priest long after that person has retired or accepted another call.  Fond memories are one thing; living in the past, quite another.

In the case of the Corinthians, there were various factions struggling for control of the community.  So Paul held up unity as the ideal:  “be united in the same mind and the same purpose.”   I wonder if he knew how difficult that would be.  I wonder if Jesus knew how difficulty unity would be when he prayed, as the Gospel of John reports, that his disciples might be one as he and the Father were one.

So Paul draws the circle of inclusive unity with the only tool available to him and, indeed, the only tool available to any Christian—the cross of Christ.  The power of the cross lay in the willingness of Jesus to give his life in love for all who will come to him and have faith that he has shown us God.  The power of oppressive evil, personified by the Roman Empire, thought Jesus had been thoroughly defeated.  But the indignity and defeat of the cross became transformed into power by Jesus' resurrection.  And around that cross and through its power we can find unity that our human nature will not allow us to find in any other way.

Let's do a thought experiment:  think of a member of St. Nicholas' or a well-known Episcopalian or a well-know Christian with whom you strongly—even very strongly—disagree about something you care about deeply.  Then imagine yourselves together at the foot of the crucified Christ.  Then imagine yourselves together discovering the empty tomb.  Does the connection between you and the other person, mediated by Christ, feel stronger?  Could you come together with that person, reserving judgment and condemnation, to receive Holy Communion?

St. Paul said:  “For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.”   Self-sacrificing love is foolishness to those who reject its message of God's love for us.

Jesus' choice to accept the cross was a culmination of the way he had lived.  He came announcing that the prophecy of a Messiah, the in-breaking of the reign of God in human history, was fulfilled in him.  He taught that people must love God with all their heart and mind and strength and their neighbors as themselves.  He also lived in radical obedience to God and with deep compassion for the suffering of people.  He healed those who were in distress.  He challenged the religious establishment to put the needs of people above man-made rules.  He did all this until the civil authorities feared insurrection and could take no more—and the Romans put him to death on the cross.

Mark Harris, a poet and priest in our diocese, wrote a creed-like poem called “Three Christian Vows of Refuge.”  In it he defines the power of the cross:  “For we remember/ Under Imperial Authority/ In a captured province/ He suffered humiliation and agony/ And death on a Cross./ That Cross has become our Sign,/ For his death was not the end,/ But a new mark of his healing Grace./ Death could not keep Him from us./ His compassion and his teaching/ Have no boundaries./  In Him we find ourselves alive./ He is our refuge for all time.”  Yes, Jesus' death—“a new mark . .of healing Grace” and  the resurrected Christ—“a refuge for all time.” What love—what power!

But then the Corinthians and now we Newarkians at St. Nicholas' must find a way to live our day-to-day lives in our familiar congregation with whatever tension that may entail.  Decisions must be made by the Vestry, weekly worship must be planned, the altar must be set up, the monthly newsletter must be produced, sermons must be preached and sometimes listened to, bills must be paid, projects to raise money for outreach must occur, and an annual meetings must be held each year.  All those “musts” create opportunities to for us to find ourselves at odds with someone else in the parish.  The Corinthians certainly did!  But these occasions of duty also provide a chance to remember that the love Christ showed on that Cross has the power to transform and redeem and save—every one of us—including the person that has most recently irritated us.  So for the chance learn how to love each other by placing the Cross of Christ at the center of our lives and at the center of the life of our parish we give thanks! Perhaps in the end the Corinthians did as well.

2nd Sunday after Epiphany - Sharing our Faith Stories

I was talking with someone this week who believes that we must tell each other how we came to be followers of Jesus in order to build real trust in Christian community.  Anyone who participates in the Education for Ministry program—which a number of you have—must write a spiritual autobiography and revise it each year they are in the program.  Anyone who applies for a professional ministry degree program at a seminary must answer a question or questions that get at the same information.  Ordained folks have to share how they came to their faith and why they believe they are being called to ordained ministry with their rector, the vestry of their church, their discernment committee, the Commission of Ministry, and the Bishop.  I heard a priest once say that a Diocesan committee (not here in Delaware) told her she seemed to be focusing too much on herself.  Her response to herself was to think, but you've been the ones asking me to explain this or that about myself for several years now!

What we notice in the scriptures we heard this morning are people called into a relationship with the Holy One and with the Holy One who became human.  Why should we be concerned about this at all?  We no longer feel pressured to attend church to avoid hellfire as people did in the Middle Ages.  Most of us no longer live in small communities where all our neighbors would know if we “skipped” church.  No longer are there restrictive “blue” laws that kept Sunday morning set apart for church attendance.  In fact Sunday morning has become a time when lots of important activities happen unrelated to Christian practice.

Yet despite all the potential distractions this morning, each of you felt a pull to be present and to worship.  Did you make a conscious decision, or was it out of habit?  Or did you feel called to come, pulled by a desire to know God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit just a little more fully than you did a week ago.  And not by reading the Bible or a religious book on your own, not praying by yourself—but by gathering with others who are seeking the Holy One as well?

If you did, you were much like Andrew and one other unnamed disciple of John the Baptist who responded to Jesus' query about what they were looking for by staying and talking—and then following Jesus.  And in the case of Andrew—he brought his brother Simon to meet Jesus, too.

Yes, there was an element of belief in their following Jesus:  “We have found the Messiah,” but mostly it was about building a relationship—“and they remained with him [Jesus] that day.”  Richard, Bishop of Chichester in 13^th century England, wrote about his developing relationship with God.  He wanted to “see Thee more clearly, love Thee more dearly, follow Thee more nearly.”   The use of “thee” in indicated familiarity, not divinity.  You spoke to your relatives and close friends using “thee” and “thou.”  St. Teresa of Avila in 16^th century Spain wrote that “unoccupied” or silent prayer time was spending time with God as you would with a beloved friend—you didn't need a lot of words, perhaps none at all, to build a relationship—just time together.  In Teresa’s monasteries friendship with God was lived out through friendship with each other.  The nuns living in the reformed Carmelite communities she established were to treat each other as friends—even if they did like each other personally.

God's gift of a call into relationship and our response in following God's call to us may begin before we are even born.  Isaiah explained his call this way:  “The Lord called me before I was born, while I was in my mother's womb he named me.”  The writer of Psalm 40 saw his call as happening in the midst of his life:  “I waited patiently for the Lord . . . He made my steps secure . . . He put a song in my mouth.”  Paul expressed his call from and the call of God to the Christians in Corinth theologically:  [I was] “called to be an apostle of Jesus Christ by the will of God” and to the Corinthians , , , “those who are sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints.”

Indeed, we understand ourselves as called by God into relationship, to be close friends with the Holy One and to gain wisdom we need so we may help others discover the love of God, available to all.  As Christians we have encountered God through Jesus' life, death and resurrection.  When we share our journey to faith and listen to others' journeys, we will gain community. Then through this community we will find strength to continue our journey in Christ—no matter what the circumstances.

Seeing or hearing about someone's righteous choices can give us the courage to follow a call  to work for justice.  Meeting at Mt. Zion Church,  the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and others considered Rosa Parks' strength in facing down discrimination on that bus in Montgomery, Alabama, and the success of the one day bus boycott in that city on December 5, 1955.  They decided to act and provide leadership for social justice.  This movement sought to change the unjust practice of making African-Americans stand up on a full bus in order to give a white person a seat.  At that meeting King accepted leadership of the Montgomery Improvement Association rhat managed the bus boycott.  King's call to leadership in this non-violent movement eventually cost his life.  He gained strength from Rosa Parks' story of courage for what he must have known would be a difficult journey.  Her story, told in a memoir she published in 1995 called Quiet Strength, described the role religious faith played in her life.  Parks' faith-in-action inspired King to follow God's call to him and still continues to inspire others to work for justice.

While we may not have such wide impact in fighting injustice as Parks and King had, our faith story can become an important tool in helping others understand God's call to them.  Don't fail to share it when an opportunity arises—and ask God to help you find those opportunities.

Baptism: Jesus' and Ours - Epiphany I

During my sermon on the Feast on the Baptism of our Lord, I engaged the congregation in a dialog.  I reflected on the elements of Jesus’ baptism and sought comparisons with our own baptisms.

First, in Matthew’s gospel Jesus was turning from one way of life to another.  He was accepting his Messianic role.  In our baptisms we are to turn from sin and evil and turn toward Jesus.   If we are infants, our sponsors agree to help us learn to fulfill this promise as we grow up.

Next, Matthew reports that Jesus tells John his baptism is to fulfill all righteousness.  We learn from the servant song of the Isaiah passage that righteousness means seeking justice and practicing compassion.  Among the baptismal promises we make (or are made on our behalf by our sponsors) are “to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbors as ourselves” and to “strive for justice and peace and respect the dignity of every human being.”   Working to keep these promises is a contemporary way of “fulfill all righteousness,” in so far as we are able, assisted by God’s grace.

Then, a voice from heaven called Jesus “the Beloved.”  So Jesus’ baptism was an occasion for God to announce a relationship of love with him.  Through this loving relationship (God to Jesus) we become God’s beloved, too.   Thus, we can respond to God’s love as Jesus did, by seeking God’s will for our lives.

Finally, at his baptism the Spirit touched Jesus.  As the gospel of Matthew continues, we see the Spirit empowering Jesus for his work to usher in the reign of God.  We, too, are touched by the Spirit in baptism and “marked as Christ’s own forever.”  With this we can become empowered to do the work God gives us, such as feeding the hungry and caring for the needy.

So the water of baptism is the outward and visible sign of the inward and spiritual grace.  This grace helps us to turn away from sin and turn to Christ, to work for justice, and to show compassion.  It also is a sign that we are beloved by God and empowered by the Spirit to fulfill God’s call to each of us and to the St. Nicholas’ community.

The 2nd Sunday of Christmas: Resolve to be Wise

Yesterday we entered the second decade of the 21^st century, and it seemed such an ordinary day.  Fred and I stayed up to watch TV and see“the ball drop” in Times Square.  We listened to one of the hosts enthuse about how New York couldn't be more amazing than it was on this New Year's Eve.  And I just didn't feel it!  It was a pleasant enough evening, but so are many evenings.

We mark time in human terms—the Greeks called it chronos.  Time continues to move on whether we make a big deal about a certain date or not.  Our birthdays are big deals when we are young—less so for most of us as we age.  Anniversaries of all sorts of events are celebrated with great attention to the date when it happened.   In fact, we at St. Nicholas' remember our blessings on these dates with special prayers.

Times continues to move on, yet we make a point of marking not just anniversaries, but also new beginnings.  If we say this is the beginning of the new year, as we did yesterday, it seems to give us permission to put our difficulties or mistakes in the past.  We turn over to a new page—wipe our slate clean—whatever metaphor works for you—and resolve to make a better go of it now.

Resolve—yes, that verb can be changed into the noun “resolution.”  At this time of year, of course, two words usually precede the word  “resolution”—“New Year's.”  I haven't made mine yet, so I haven't broken them either.

But I have a suggestion for a resolution—one that could work for anyone, one that fits with our readings this morning.  A New Year's resolution for 2011 could be—to become wiser.  Not just wiser in a general way, although that wouldn't be a bad thing—but wiser in discerning what God desires for each of us and in recognizing how God acts to redeem the difficulties in which we find ourselves.

The letter to the Ephesians talked about a resolution to become wiser in the ways of God.  The writer of that letter, perhaps it was St. Paul, offered a “prayer” for this Christian community:  “I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him. . .”  So I guess it's not so much the Ephesians—and us—resolving to be wise, but resolving to accept the gift of wisdom—and gift of the spirit of revelation—from God.

So becoming wiser mean accepting God's gift—a gift that will lead you to see more clearly the hope to which we have been called because God loves us.  This hope will fill us with confidence, that no matter what happens, God will see us through it.  The “glorious inheritance of the saints” and the “immeasurable greatness of his power for us who believe” are simply fancy ways to say God stands ready to be there for us with the gift of hope that can sustain us—in all circumstances—if we will accept it.

The magi (wise men) whom we heard about in today's gospel from Matthew experienced such a gift.  We often focus on the gifts they brought to Jesus—but indeed they received a gift first.  God blessed their quest for the special child.  They had set out on a strenuous journey in faith that they somehow would be led to a place where they had never been before and to the child they had only a hope of finding.  They sought to complete their important quest for, as wise men, they believed they were being led to a special child who deserved homage—who deserved their giving themselves completely to this worthy child.  They called him “the child who has been born king of the Jews.”  (Of course, we know Jesus as the Holy One who became human.) Through the sign of the star and through the traditions found in holy scripture, God led these wise men to the place and to the person they sought.

These magi, indeed, have become exemplars for us.  As they did, we must trust that God will bless our journeys of faith and lead us to the revelation of God's love, God's care and God's call for each of us.  Yes, our trust will lead us into accepting God's gift of wisdom.

And the fruit of this wisdom is homage.  Homage is not a very contemporary word, because it comes from a time when rulers demanded that their subjects physically show their loyalty and obedience by kneeling or lying face to the ground before the ruler.  The wise men knelt before Jesus to offer their homage to the child for whom they had left all that was secure in their lives to journey into uncertainty—yet to journey with the hope God had placed in their hearts.

Our life journeys may not be as spectacular as the journey the magi made, but our response to God's revelation of God's self during our life journeys should be the same as theirs—homage.  How will that homage look in the second decade of the 21^st century, here at St. Nicholas' in Newark, Delaware?  Although taking a posture of humbleness can help us overcome the tendency to trust only in our own efforts, I think homage today will be a bit more than lying prostrate or kneeling or bowing deeply.  But it will be up to each of us and up to our faith community of St. Nicholas’ as a whole to resolve in 2011 to see the wisdom God is placing in our hearts.  What is God revealing?  What is God's call to us?  How will we resolve to show our homage for the wisdom we have been given and will continue to be given?

Christmas: Light in Deep Darkness

     "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas . . .”  “I'll be home for Christmas . . . if only in my dreams.”  The lyrics from these two very popular Christmas songs of the 1940's speak about an idealized view of Christmas celebrations.  Now let's see.  There's perfect weather: just enough snow at just the right time to coat the ground and the trees—coming after everyone has made it home, I guess.  There's a gathering of relatives at home who are all pleased to be together and are looking forward to a sumptuous meal that everyone will enjoy.  There are cleverly conceived decorations of greenery and shiny objects and candles and twinkling lights.  And the gifts—perfectly chosen, appropriately generous, budget stretching gifts about which each person will exclaim, “My goodness,  just what I wanted.”

     I'm not sure anyone has a Christmas such as the one I've just described—not even Martha Stewart.  Our Christmases—whether they are happy times or painful times or harried times or grumpy times or guilty times—reflect where our lives are at the moment. 

But the heart of Christmas—the reason we are here to worship—comes wrapped not in shiny paper which shouts how perfect we are nor in fancy bows and ribbons to hide the ache we have inside.  Rather, the heart of Christmas comes wrapped in mystery—the mystery of God and the choices God has made and continues to make to reach out to humanity.

     Isaiah attempts to describe the mystery this way:  “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined.”  What sort of place is the land of deep darkness?  Isaiah spoke to those who were suffering from Assyrian military dominance and oppression.  The fierce armies of the strongest military force in the region had captured  the northern territories—Israel—about 800 years before Jesus's birth.  
     Deep darkness also could be used to describe the world into which Jesus was born.  The land of Judea where Bethlehem was located experienced complete domination.  The people of Judea experienced oppression by both the Roman military and the local puppet rulers who collected the taxes which kept most people in poverty.  The registration census by the Roman governor, Quirinius, at the order of Emperor Augustus, provided an example of that oppression—most likely conducted for the purpose of increased taxation. 

     How can we as citizens of a democracy relate to the deep darkness that Isaiah and the gospel of Luke describe?  We can recognize it as an important fact and give thanks for the blessing of our own freedom.  But even though we don't live in the oppressive culture of the time of Isaiah or in 1^st century Judea, we probably do experience a deep darkness in which we long for the mystery of God's presence to shine.  The effects of poverty and racism in our community cause much suffering for  many people.  The effects of a tragedy of an untreatable disease, an untimely death, the loss of employment, the   foreclosure of on one's home—if we have not personally experienced these signs of deep darkness, someone we love or count as a friend has.  In fact, these last signs of deep darkness are often part of human life—and at times our society as a whole suffers.  Where is the light that will shine in this deep darkness?

      Whoever has encountered the glory of God, Christ's peace that passes all understanding, the breath of the God's supportive and comforting Spirit has encountered the light promised by the prophet Isaiah.  The messengers from God—we call them angels—appeared on that special night in 1^st century Judea to say to the shepherds—and to all who have heard or read Luke's gospel since, “Do not be afraid; for see I am bringing you good news of great joy to all people . . .”  The joy is the Messiah who will be the light in our deep darkness, the Savior who will take away our sins—and not ours only, but the sins of the whole world.

     What does this special birth say to us who live in a completely different culture over two thousand years later?  God came to us to live with us and share our joys and our pain and suffering—not pretending to be human, but truly as one of us.  The light of God's love penetrated that dark night to renew God's relationship with humanity—not a relationship based only on “The Law,” but also on sharing our whole existence with us—first, as a vulnerable infant; then, as one who grew up in the faith and traditions of the Jews; and finally, as a man who with love and power declared the reign of God in our midst.  Through signs, wonders and teaching he showed us “The Father,” “The Creator of all.”  Then after returning to the Godhead, he sent the Holy Spirit—the wind and breath of God—to sustain us in following the way of Jesus Christ, our Savior and Redeemer.  No longer bound in deep darkness to the power of evil in the world and to our own sinful choices, we can see, in the birth of Jesus to Mary and Joseph, the One who will become our Savior.  Help us, O God, to have faith in that light of Christ.  Although that light will not make our lives easy and without pain, the light of Christ will shine in our hearts and on our path to sustain us, so we may resist the temptation to give into the deep darkness.  And so in the end, the light of Christ will guide us home—to our true and eternal home.

The 3rd Sunday of Advent - Challenging Our Motives

            Don't you just hate having your motives questioned?  You choose to do something (particularly if you believe you have chosen to do something commendable) and that should be enough for anyone.  Why you made the choice is really nobody's business, right?

            Well, in last Sunday's Gospel John the Baptist questioned the motives of the the Pharisees and Sadducees who came to be baptized for the repentance of their sins.  “You brood of vipers,” accused John, “Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?  . . .  Do not presume to say to yourselves, 'we have Abraham for our ancestor'; for I tell you, God is able to raise up from these stones children to Abraham.”

             Can you imagine a preacher questioning the motives the members of the congregation who came to worship on Sunday? 

            While still in seminary in New York, I attended a reception for some visiting seminarians from England.  Because the government and the Church of England are intertwined, the priests are not paid directly by the people they serve.  As we discussed this significant difference in our polity, they asked  whether an Episcopal priest would be able say what he or she felt needed to be said in a conflicted situation.  The question behind the question was how can you preach the Gospel if what you believe you need to say might offend your parishioners.

            Although I think it is possible in a relationship of mutual respect to disagree about something and still worship together, I would not use the pulpit to knowingly offend anyone.  Speaking from the pulpit has a power dynamic that is too one-sided.

            John the Baptist—in his prophetic mode—didn't worry too much about offending the religious authorities. He probably intended to offend them by proclaiming a Messiah who is more powerful than he was—and certainly more powerful that the religious authorities—the ones he has just called “snakes.”  But as a prisoner of Herod, as he is in today's gospel reading, his communication takes on a different tone.  No longer thundering, John sends his disciples to question the man he hoped would save Israel.

            Jesus answers with words that indeed proclaim the saving reign of God has begun through the actions of his ministry—healing of all kinds and good news being preached TO THE POOR.  Then he adds, “And blessed is he who takes no offense at me.”  We might imagine how both religious and civil authorities could become upset about his concern for the poor.  Probably the authorities would like the poor to remain invisible to them.

            Had Jesus stopped there, we would be totally fine with his words.  But then, he turns to the people who had listened to John—perhaps ones John had baptized.  Now they were listening to Jesus.  Does he reassure them?  Not a bit.  He challenges them.  He questions their motives!  “And what did you go out into the wilderness to look at?”  He implies that they were not being true to the message they had gone out into the wilderness to hear from John—repent and expect the Messiah.  He berates them for looking for the wrong kind of Messiah.  The “least” will be “great” in the Messiah's reign, he tells them.  And if they believed him, they would have anticipated a revolutionary upending of the social order with the coming of the Messiah.  It would be no different today.

            Neither John nor Jesus drew back from saying what they felt needed to be said.  They did not draw back from possibly offending their listeners.  And how did that work out for them?

            Not in the first century—not now in the twenty-first—we do not like our motives to be questioned.  Were Jesus to show up this morning and ask, “What did you come to St. Nicholas' this morning expecting to see?”  What would our answer be?  Besides saying we expected to see our friends in our church family and to experience well-planned liturgy and excellent music—besides saying that we came to share in the Eucharist as he told us to do—would we say that we came to St. Nicholas' this morning, so we could be changed through repenting and expecting the Messiah?  Would we be willing still to trust Jesus were he to tell us the “least” would become the “great” in his reign?  Those indeed are hard questions, and they challenge our motives—but they are our Advent questions.  We can only pray for the grace of God to face them—and give thanks our salvation does not depend on how well we answer them.  Jesus' already has that covered—for while we were yet sinners, he died for us!