Mark 1:14-20

At the college I attended, students were encouraged to take part in a yearly fundraising drive. We were recruited to dial lots of alumni phone numbers until we reached a real person. Then, we would try to get them to listen to a story about why we loved our school before asking for a contribution. I remember deciding to participate in the fundraising drive during my freshman year. It didn’t really sound like my idea of fun, but I got to do it with my friends, and there was free food (very valuable to college students), and I did, in fact, love my school, so it seemed like the right thing to do. Maybe I was preparing for a lifetime of non-profit fundraising. Anyway, I went, and I ended up having a pretty good time.

As the years went by, though, my favorite part of the yearly fundraising drive was not the cookies or the fellowship or the college pride, but the sign that they hung up above the student union. It was huge, and it said: Called yet? Of course, it was up there to encourage all the students to take part in the phone bank, but I loved the double meaning. I’m sure not very many people were in on this joke, but me and my dorky friends who worked at the chaplain’s office thought it was hilarious. As someone who came to faith and discovered an interest in ordained ministry at college, it just seemed perfect to have this enormous sign show up every year in our midst, asking: “Called yet?”

Every year, following Epiphany, we hear stories about the beginning of Jesus’ ministry and the calling of the disciples. Today we listened to a story from the gospel of Mark’s about how Jesus calls four fisherman. Jesus sees Simon and his brother, Andrew, casting a net into the sea, and says to them: “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.” Immediately they leave their nets and follow him. As they walk down the shore, Jesus sees James and his brother John, in a boat with their father, mending their nets. And immediately he calls to them; and they follow him. This story is strong on drama, but weak on details; especially if we want to use it as a guide for our own experiences of calling. For me, it raises more questions than it answers. (more…)

Acts 19:1-7

In the scriptures today, we discover the apostle Paul on one of his missionary journeys. He arrives in Ephesus and meets up with a group of about twelve followers of Jesus. Apparently Paul isn’t great at small talk, because the first thing out of his mouth isn’t some form of greeting or a remark about the weather, but a theological interrogation. Paul asks: “Did you receive the Holy Spirit when you became believers?” I don’t know about you, but this isn’t my favorite opening line when I meet a bunch of strangers.

It turns out, though, that Paul has asked an important question. Maybe he knew that baptismal practices were not what they should be in this area. Beliefs and practices of early Jesus-followers varied greatly. Whatever causes him to ask, however, Paul discovers that these folks were baptized by John the Baptist as a mark of their repentance and desire for renewal and return to God; but they have not been baptized in the name of Jesus. And it’s even worse than that – they did not receive the Holy Spirit at their baptism; in fact, they have never even heard about her.

Luckily for these sad, misguided Christians, Paul is there to help. He immediately sets about fixing the problem, baptizing them in the name of Jesus. As Paul lays his hands on them, the Holy Spirit comes upon them so powerfully that they speak ecstatic words of testimony and prophecy. Super Paul to the rescue. (more…)

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11
Luke 1:46b-55

Who is this Mary we meet on the pages of Luke’s Gospel?

We like to imagine Mary as docile and domestic, but that is not what we hear in this text. After this unwed teenager says a humble “yes” to God and travels to meet her cousin Elizabeth, she breaks forth in a powerful song that speaks of scattering the proud, bringing the powerful down from their thrones, and lifting up the lowly; filling the hungry with good things, and sending the rich empty away. Apparently Mary is not a “nice girl” : someone who averts her eyes and keeps her mouth shut; a sweet vision in blue silk.

Mary is not a nice girl, but rather, a young woman who claims her place as the descendant of prophetic giants. She stands on the shoulders of Prophets like Isaiah, who proclaimed that God would cause righteousness to spring up before all the nations. She stands on the shoulders of her ancestor Hannah, who told us that there is no Rock like our God, who raises the poor from the dust. Mary stands in a long tradition of Jewish prophets and witnesses, who opened up their mouths to shout, to sing, about God’s promises of justice.

The Mary we meet today is a woman of power, who says things that may well offend us; we, who are rich, all of us, at least by global standards. Although we might not like them, Mary’s words been recorded in our bible, and set to music more times than anyone could possibly count. Her words have been treasured as one of the central messages of Advent and Christmas. So what does an encounter with Mary have to offer us this season?

I know many of us have been troubled in the past few weeks by news of unarmed black men and children being killed by armed white policemen; of a justice system that too often does not deliver justice; of horrific torture being carried out by our own government. We have been offered all too much proof in recent days that our nation is sick with racism; that we do not safeguard the life and liberty of all people; that we are lacking in compassion and love.

It seems fitting then, to listen today to Mary. Mary knew all too well what it was like to live in such a place. She was part of an oppressed minority group, a Jew in the Roman Empire. As a colonized people, her community was impoverished, disempowered, and always at risk. There was a carefully brokered peace between the Roman government and Jewish leaders, but any misstep could get you into trouble. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or drawing attention to oneself, was enough to get you killed; as Mary’s son would be, several decades later.

But in this moment, in this piece of the story, Mary is filled with hope. Despite all that is against her, she feels her capacity to magnify a God of strength and mercy, a God who levels unjust power structures and lifts up the lowly; a God who fills the hungry with good things, and sends the rich empty away.

As I listen to Mary, I wonder what my role is; what our role is, today. Could we also find a way to magnify our God in a society of inequality and injustice? I hesitate about this, because if I cast myself back into Mary’s story, I am a member of the ruling elite. By nationality, and skin color, by education and wealth, through no choice or fault of my own, I am part of that landscape that needs to be leveled. And I have benefited from my position of privilege every day of my life. Am I a fit instrument to magnify God at such a time as this?

What can we do, those of us who are by and large on the privileged side of the equation? What can we do, we whose skin color makes us welcome in any store and street corner and makes any crime against us immediately more condemnable? What can we do, we whose wealth has established a beautiful town that so many cannot afford to live in? What can we do, as citizens of a nation with international dominance, which too often has decided that might makes right?

The answer cannot be to do nothing, however complex these situations are. There must be a way for us to hold our government, our society, ourselves accountable. But how?

Among the many responses to these events that I have seen, there are some that seem to me to be standing in that prophetic tradition that Mary did; honoring the same values that our God does. There are those who have simply been mourning: lifting up the tragedy of what has occurred, gathering in churches and on the street, lighting candles, and claiming the humanity of all those who have suffered and died. There are those who have called us to confession and repentance, for our own participation in and perpetuation of the problems of racism, privilege, and hatred of neighbors and enemies. There are those who have shared a witness about what it is like to be black in America, to have their rights so often ignored and their personhood so often denied by the government that is supposed to protect them.  And there are those whose protest is also a form of praise, as Mary’s was: Black leaders who express both holy anger and hope for the future; White policemen in uniform, holding signs that say “black lives matter”; Clergy of New York City of many backgrounds, who have spoken fearlessly to their civic leaders and filled City Hall with their bodies; so many people who gathered in protests yesterday to stand up, to show up, to say: this matters.

Mary reminds us, today, that God has promised something different than what we see happening in our nation today. And I do believe we have a role in helping to bring it about, even and perhaps especially those of us who have more than we need: more money, more power, more privilege.

We, too, can mourn, opening our hearts to the tragedies that are occurring around us, recognizing the full humanity and vulnerability of those who have been tortured and killed.  We, too, can confess that we have been complacent in a system that may serve us well, but does not serve everyone well. We can listen: not just to people who look like us, and media outlets that cater to us, but to perspectives that are new, perhaps even strange or startling to us.  We can strive for a form of protest which is also praise; amplifying, magnifying voices that speak as Mary’s does, from deep knowledge of oppression, and a compelling belief in God and human worth.

For today, perhaps it is enough to let Mary’s words work in us – these powerful ancient words, from a woman of so little power or privilege, a woman whom everyone expected to keep silent. Her brave words are still echoing today, being sung and shouted around the world, ready to change our hearts, and guide our actions. Thanks be to God.

Image from House of All Sinners and Saints, a collage of holiday advertisements transformed into an image of Mary.

For a powerful encounter with the Magnificat, consider watching this video by the Salt Project.

Isaiah 40, Mark 1, Luke 1

The season of Advent is full of holy messengers, and holy messages. This morning we have heard from three: the Prophet Isaiah, the angel Gabriel, and John the Baptist. These are familiar figures to many of us – we hear them every year at this time. They are so familiar, in fact, that we may forget just how strange they are, or what surprising things they have to say. So let’s review:

Isaiah was probably not one prophet, but many, speaking to the people Israel at different points in history. Prophets have the job of telling God’s truth to a group of people who are having trouble hearing it. Sometimes God’s truth is a comfort to hear; and other times it can be very uncomfortable. We usually like the beautiful things Isaiah has to say in Advent, but don’t be fooled – Isaiah knew how to dish it out, as any good prophet does. Even in the lovely passage this morning, the words he speaks have an unsettling message. “Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain.” The whole landscape will change, Isaiah says, as a result of the coming of God. Our preschool class explored that idea last week, when they used playdough to reform hills and valleys.

The next messenger we hear this morning is Gabriel, the angel. Usually Gabriel is pictured with sweet curls and beautiful feathered wings, like on the cover of the bulletin today. But all we really know about angels is that they are messengers of God. We don’t know whether they’re nice to look at, or whether they can fly. When Gabriel appears to Zechariah, and to Mary, they are both troubled and filled with fear. He has to tell them: do not be afraid. He tells Mary that her child “will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David.” This may sound good, but it means that a kind of revolution is about to happen. Not exactly comforting news.

Our third messenger is the strangest yet. John the Baptist, also a prophet, is famous for his fondness for wearing camel’s hair (a strange fashion choice) and eating insects (not my favorite food); and for his harsh preaching style. The Gospels of Matthew and Luke report that John called the congregation who gathered at the Jordan River to listen to him a brood of vipers. He told them they would be tested by God, and any part of them that wasn’t good would be cut down or burned up.

There are a lot of messengers, and a lot of messages, in the season of Advent. But they’re not very much like the greeting cards that we send out and receive this season. You know the cards I mean, with words like “Happy” and “Merry”; “Joy” and “Peace.” The cards that have pictures of dressed up families or decorated trees or flying doves or chubby winged cherubs.

The messages we hear at church are different. They come from messengers we might be scared to meet today. They contain things we might be scared to hear today. As I said last week, these early weeks of Advent are harsh on our ears, but good for our hearts. We hear about a promise much more serious and surprising than we may expect in this merry season. Here it is again, this week, from these messengers of God: the promise that God will arrive and change the landscape; start a revolution; and purify us with fire.

It’s one thing to get a message, and another to really hear it. So I wonder: what do you hear in these holy messages? How do you think our landscape needs to change? What kind of revolution do you think we need today? How do you need to be transformed this season?

Take some time to read the messages from the scriptures listed above, and choose a phrase or sentence to keep with you this season.  Try to listen to what it might have to say in your life. But also remember that God didn’t stop sending Holy Messengers two thousand years ago. They’re still arriving, often with faces and forms and words we don’t expect. What other messages is God sending for you to hear this season? And what message does God have for you to share – how could you become a holy messenger yourself?

God, thank you for all your Holy Messengers, and your Holy Messages, ancient and new. Help us to really hear them, to ponder them in our hearts, so that we might be part of the remaking of your world this season.

Psalm 80:1-3
Mark 13:24-29

The scripture texts chosen for the early weeks of Advent are destined to disappoint those of us who are hoping for a little holiday magic. This is a festive season, with just a few short, precious, busy weeks between our turkey dinners and the singing of Silent Night. Haven’t we earned a little bright and beautiful? Couldn’t we hear some bells jingling or some carols caroling this morning, or, if you’re going to be really churchy about it, a few words of familiar and festive biblical promise?

Friends, I am sorry to tell you, but in case you haven’t already noticed, the scriptures are not particularly jolly. The psalm voices a deep longing for help, asking God to listen, to lead, to shine, to stir up Her might, to save us and restore us from some terrible fate. And our gospel lesson isn’t focused on helping us prepare for the arrival of Mary’s sweet little baby boy. Instead, we hear the words of an adult Jesus, speaking with his disciples about his own powerful second coming into a dark and desolate world. It’s enough to make you wish that you had stayed home unpacking the Christmas lights and drinking peppermint cocoa.

But this Advent season, this first season of our church year, is not meant to be straightforward or comfortable; and it’s certainly not designed to be cheery. (more…)

2 Corinthians 3:1-6, 12

When Paul writes the letter that we heard a small section of this morning, he and the Corinthian church have already been through a lot together. Paul has visited Corinth twice, and, despite our biblical numbering, this is in fact the fourth letter that he has written to their community. During all that time, the Corinthians have inspired Paul; and they have disappointed him; and, at one point, they have deeply and personally injured him.

In other words, the Corinthian church seems not so different than churches we may know. They go through periods of health and periods of difficulty. They have both wonderful and sometimes conflicted relationships with their leaders. Their ministry together achieves beautiful things, but mistakes are also made, and feelings get hurt. Right here in the bible, we see an example of just how human a church can be.

But despite all of that flawed humanness, despite all of the complicated history between them, Paul still has something amazing to say about this community. You, he tells them, you are a letter written with the Spirit of the living God on the tablets of human hearts. God has given us the ability to be ministers of a new covenant. And so, let us act with great boldness. Despite everything that has happened, Paul still believes that the Corinthian Church has been empowered by God to carry out Christ’s work of love. Because of what God has done, great things are still possible. Because of what God has done, what God is doing, great things are called for.

Today, we, like Paul, have plenty of reasons to give up hope on the church. There are plenty of stories of failures of leadership in the news; whether it’s megachurch pastor Mark Driscoll’s offensive remarks and financial wrongdoing; or heartbreaking sagas of hushed-up sexual abuse. Then there is the widespread collapse of the church as a dominant social institution, the shrinking and dying of congregations and religious organizations.  There are our own experiences of being let down, frustrated, tired out, uninvited, or hurt by churches and their leaders. Even this beloved West Concord Church is not without its hard chapters of history, and we are certainly imperfect today.
So why: why invest our time, our energy, and our money, as we do today, in the church (and in this church)? It is becoming a very unusual thing to do, at least for some of our age groups. Are we throwing good money after bad? Have we missed all the signs that this is a failed experiment?
(more…)

Ezekiel 34:11-16

In the passage this morning, the prophet Ezekiel brings strange words of comfort to the people of Judah. These ancestors of ours are in despair. Their holy city and their temple have been destroyed. They have lost land, community, and culture. Now they are living in exile in Babylon. What does the prophet have to say? What hope does he have to give? Do not be afraid: God is your shepherd.

The image of God as shepherd is a familiar and beloved one. We most often hear it in Psalm 23. And in the passage that Karen read, it sounds pretty good. God promises to seek out the people; to gather them in; to give them good pasture.

But these words of promise are sandwiched in between two much more challenging sections of text that we didn’t hear this morning. Take some time and read the whole of chapter 34. Right before the passage we heard, Ezekiel takes the leaders of the people to task. These leaders have ruled with selfishness and force. Ezekiel says: “You eat the fat, you clothe yourselves with the wool, you slaughter the fatlings; but you do not feed the sheep.” (34:3)

And it’s not only the leaders who are in for a tongue lashing. The sheep who have gotten a little too chubby, a little too assertive, are in for it, too. They have pushed and butted the weaker sheep; and so, they will be destroyed; God will feed them with justice.

This passage wouldn’t have been comforting to everyone in the exiled community. And reading it today, I have trouble deciding where we should cast ourselves in the story. Are we the weak sheep, or the fat ones, or the faulty shepherds? Are we being gently led to a high green pasture homeland; or are we due for a lecture, and a meal of justice? (more…)