Phil Kniss: Knowing the ripe time

January 25, 2009
Third Sunday of Epiphany
Mark 1:14-20; Jonah 3:1-10; Psalm 62:5-12

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Bible stories like the ones we heard this morning
simply amaze me.
They stun me, and disturb me.

Take the story of Jonah.
Now, Jonah is an interesting story, all right,
what with him running away from his call to be a prophet,
and hiding on a ship at sea,
and the great storm that almost sinks the ship,
and Jonah being thrown overboard and eaten by a big fish,
and then spit up onto shore alive and well and humbled.
It’s all a very interesting, and colorful story.
But that’s not the part of the story that stuns me.

Where I am simply blown away by this story,
where my ability to imagine and believe is stretched to its limits,
is what happens in the lives of the people of Ninevah,
simply as a result of hearing the call of God.
Just because they were told by a strange prophet
that God was unhappy with them,
that judgment was imminent if they didn’t mend their ways . . .
. . . they immediately mended their ways.
They underwent a radical, and complete,
and utter cultural transformation.
From top to bottom.
From the great King and his court,
to the merchants,
to the peasants
to every one of their cows and goats.
The king led the charge toward repentance and transformation,
and everyone followed,
all 120,000 of them, and their animals.
Just because God spoke the word.

We all know how difficult and complicated it is to change a culture.
We know how much conflict erupts,
when anyone introduces any change into any social system.
But Ninevah turned on a dime.
They started on a new path together,
from king to cow.

Now if that story doesn’t surprise and amaze and disturb you,
certainly nothing will.
And to think that the stumbling block for most people
in believing this story,
is Jonah getting swallowed by a big fish.
That’s nothing.
_____________________

And then there’s today’s Gospel story,
a pretty straight-forward account
of Jesus calling four fisherman to become his disciples,
and they say yes.

When you hold this short story over against stories like
Jesus turning water into wine,
or touching and curing a leper,
or feeding five-thousand with a few loaves of bread,
this little story about the fisherman who followed
hardly registers on the radar.
Unless you actually pay attention to the details of this story.
This is a miracle story to top all miracle stories.

How could two words, “Follow me,”
coming from an obscure itinerant rabbi,
cause otherwise sensible business persons
to drop everything and go.
Who, in their right mind, would do such a thing?
Simon and Andrew were actually in the act of casting their nets,
when they heard the words, “Follow me.”
And they immediately—get that?—
immediately left their nets,
hanging over the side of the boat I imagine,
and followed after Jesus.
And they come upon their competitors in the fishing industry,
a two-generation operation—Zebedee and Sons, Inc.
They were in the middle of a big and messy job—
sitting in their boat mending their nets,
when sons James and John heard the words, “Follow me.”
And immediately they got up.
Father Zebedee was left holding the nets,
too stunned for words.

This kind of thing simply doesn’t happen.
Sensible persons who need to provide for a family,
do not suddenly abandon a stable job and income,
and head off down the road
without an inkling of where they are going
and for how long
and with what resources—
just because a persuasive stranger asked them to.

This is another stunning story of unlikely faithfulness.
This story, and the story of the people of Ninevah,
are stories of God’s call,
and a human response that is unbelievably radical,
immediate, and sacrificial.

And of course, our first thought is,
would we be willing to do that?
We make this into a morality story,
a test of our commitment.
Are we ready and willing to make such a great sacrifice?
That’s the question preachers love to ask of their congregations,
when they preach sermons on these texts.
That’s the question I have asked of you before,
when preaching from this text.

In fact, I went back and looked.
Exactly nine years ago I preached on this text here at Park View,
on this same third Sunday after Epiphany.
I’m sure you recall.
Here is what I said, and I quote,
“When we hear the invitation of Jesus, ‘Follow me,’
can we respond, as if nothing else mattered?
Are we able to divest of those things,
and re-invest in the kingdom?”

That’s the question we love to ask: Can we do it?
And the implied answer is, of course: We must do it.
It is our Christian duty to drop everything,
to make every personal sacrifice,
and follow Jesus radically, completely, immediately.
Faithful Christian disciples will count the cost, and say “yes.”
_____________________

If we listen to a story like this, and say to ourselves,
“Yes, I can do this, too. I am ready,”
we’re missing something important here.
Honesty.

Let me be brutally honest.
I wouldn’t do it.
I couldn’t do it.
To walk away from literally every commitment,
commitment to my wife and children,
commitment to myself,
commitment to be a good steward of my resources,
of my gifts, training, and experience.
To walk away from every commitment,
just because a persuasive stranger said “Follow me”?
It’s something I simply cannot imagine myself doing.
Now all the rest of you need to be just as honest.
And admit to yourself that you couldn’t do that either.
No one, in their right mind,
walks away from every sacred commitment you’ve made,
immediately and without hesitation,
onto a totally new and completely undefined life path.

So where does that leave us?
It leaves us right where we need to be.
Recognizing that this story is a miracle story.
That this is not a story about the resolve and willpower
of four fisherman.
It is a story about the power of God.

Barbara Brown Taylor
is a preacher, teacher, and prolific author.
She had some thoughts on this text,
in one of her sermons entitled “Miracle on the Beach.”

She said this is a story about God, not the disciples or us.
If we look only at what the disciples gave up
(and ask if we could do the same),
we “put the accent on the wrong syllable.”
She writes,
This is really a miracle story about “the power of God—
to walk right up to a quartet of fishermen and work a miracle,
creating faith where there was no faith,
creating disciples where there were none just a moment before.”
In our emphasis on mustering up the faith and courage to follow,
She says we have lost “the full sense of the power of God—
to recruit people who have made terrible choices;
to invade the most hapless lives and fill them with light;
to sneak up on people who are thinking about lunch, not God,
and smack them upside the head with glory.”

What a difference it makes to see this as a miracle story.
The call of God comes to us as grace and as gift.
And no matter how faltering our steps,
or no matter how courageous and radical and sacrificial,
our ability to follow Jesus also depends wholly on God’s grace.
Not a one of us can claim to have what it takes
to drop everything to follow Jesus.
Not a one of us should go from this place
feeling proud that we can do it,
or feeling shame that we can’t.
No, we should go from this place with gratitude for God’s grace,
and simply an openness to receive that grace once again,
whenever God calls us to take the next step.

There’s a myth that abounds in our culture,
that says we shape our own lives,
and that we create our own destinies.
Our new president campaigned under the slogan, “Yes, we can.”
And there was a lot of truth in that statement.
Yes, working together as a community of people,
there is a lot we can accomplish that is impossible
when we’re working alone,
or working against others.
But persons who put their faith in a God of grace,
must pause when we hear that kind of pure human optimism.
We must add an important qualifier.
We can . . .
with God’s help.
by God’s grace alone.

I think at this point in our history as a nation,
many of us naturally put a great deal
of hope, expectation, and even trust
in a new presidential administration.

We hope and pray and expect
that the power of a well-run national government
can and will restore peace and justice and hope around the world.

I admit my share of hopefulness about the new administration.
I hope, and I pray, that there might be some signs of a new day.
A new willingness to listen to opposing points of view,
to engage in thoughtful, deliberate, and civil debate.
A new openness to establish meaningful dialogue
with those who we consider our enemies.

But you know, as a nation,
we might have a new driver behind the wheel,
but we haven’t traded in the car.
We are still enamored with systems of power
that bring about our collective will through pressure and coercion,
that rely on the power of the sword,
that are happiest when we are winning over them,
when we have the upper hand.

As a nation, we still have no clue
about the power of love and sacrifice,
such as the power demonstrated by God in Jesus Christ.
And we probably can’t expect that from national government.
And the Church should be a bit suspicious of the State.

It helps sometimes to be reminded of how God looks upon
our human structures of power.

Psalm 62 was chanted and sung this morning.
Listen once again.
Listen for clues about where to put our trust.

5 For God alone my soul waits in silence,
for my hope is from him.
8 Trust in him at all times, O people;
pour out your heart before him;
God is a refuge for us.
9 Those of low estate are but a breath,
those of high estate are a delusion;
in the balances they go up;
they are together lighter than a breath.
11 Once God has spoken;
twice have I heard this:
that power belongs to God,
12 and steadfast love belongs to you, O Lord.

Now, this does not mean a life of passivity.
Either for ourselves as a nation,
or for us as a church,
or for us as individual disciples.
God does not intend that we sit on our hands,
and wait for God to whip out his rod of power, and act.
No, we have work to do.
Hard work.
Risky work.
Sacrificial work.

But it is not our work that produces results.
No, it’s our work that gives God tools to work with.

We don’t earn God’s favor by trying harder.
By being more saintly.
By sacrificing more.
By demonstrating our holiness.
We’re talking here about the God who said,
I don’t want your sacrifices and burnt offerings.
I want you to let my righteousness dwell in you.
I want you to open yourself to my life, living in you.
I am the source, you are the channel.

So how do we follow Jesus faithfully, when he calls us?
Some of us are prone to thinking that we have to
work up the strength to follow.
That before we can follow,
we need to put everything that’s in disarray
back into perfect order,
and be fully prepared in every way
to embark on such a life-changing journey.

Did we forget that when disciples left and followed Jesus,
there was unfinished work?
There were still holes in the nets James and John were mending.
Simon and Andrew were in the middle of a catch.

Our position, as potential disciples,
is to be open to the work God wants to do in us.
God does not demand of us an immediate impossibility.
God invites people who are open.
And God provides what is needed for the journey,
when it is needed.

God’s time may or may not be our time.
But God’s time is the ripe time.
When the time is ripe, the fruit literally falls off the vine
as a gift from God.
When the time is not ripe,
we have to work extra hard to pick it,
and it still won’t be worth much when it gets into our hands.
When the time is not ripe,
no amount of effort on our part will produce satisfying,
life-giving fruit.
Try as we might. And we do try.

At this realization,
the only response that has much integrity,
is a response of humility, and confession.

Let us pray a prayer of confession.
I will lead it,
and you respond, when indicated, with the words,
God of love and power, forgive us.
Together,
God of love and power, forgive us.

God who called us into being,
and called us to follow your ways,
we confess that we have failed to rightly understand
the nature of your call.
And so we pray together,
God of love and power, forgive us.

At times we have launched out on our own,
thinking we might create justice,
and make peace,
and construct righteousness,
out of nothing but our sheer will and strength.
And so we pray,
God of love and power, forgive us.

At times we have strayed down the other path,
thinking there is nothing we can do,
and have chosen passivity,
and indifference,
and inaction.
And so we pray,
God of love and power, forgive us.

Forgive us for acting too quickly and forcefully,
and for letting opportunities pass by.
Forgive us for our sins of commission and omission.
For every time we have failed to recognize the ripe time,
we pray,
God of love and power, forgive us.

God of love, we look to you alone, in trust.
God of power, in you alone, we put our hope.
Reveal yourself to us.
Reveal your time.
Call us.
And by your grace alone, by your power alone,
we will follow.
Amen.

—Philip L. Kniss, January 25, 2009


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Phil Kniss: The spiritual discipline of showing up

January 18, 2009 
Second Sunday of Epiphany

John 1:43-51; 1 Samuel 3:1-10

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How many times has someone run up to you,
their face bursting with excitement,
eyes wide,
voice at a high pitch,
mouth running a mile-a-minute,
trying to tell about something amazing or scary or funny
that recently happened.

And somehow your own face doesn’t mirror theirs.
They see your blank look, that you are underwhelmed,
and they say, “You had to be there!”

It sounds like a cliche, but it really is true.
There is no good substitute for “being there.”
You can only get the full impact of something
if you’re right there where it’s happening.
If you see it.
If you show up and participate in it.

Telling someone something that another someone saw
at some other time,
and some other place,
is . . . well . . . just a little short of exciting.

TV news programs have figured out
they attract more interest,
and sound more believable,
if they call their program “Eye-witness news.”
They bring the eye of the camera to you.
You can see it, so you can believe it!

That’s essentially the message of today’s Gospel reading.

Philip tried, although unsuccessfully,
to convey to Nathaniel the excitement of his new discovery.
He ran up to Nathaniel and breathlessly blurted out,
“We have found the one Moses wrote about in the Law!
This is the one we’ve been waiting for!
The Messiah!
The one the prophets wrote about!
We’ve found him.
Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.”
Nathaniel’s face was blank with disinterest.
“Nazareth? Right!”
So Philip said, simply, “Come and see.”
Come and see.

And Nathaniel did come. And he did see.
And after a few brief words with Jesus,
he was convinced.
“Rabbi, you are the Son of God; you are the king of Israel.”

Coming and seeing made all the difference,
for Nathaniel’s journey to faith.

Surely it’s the same for you and me.
If we want to grow in faith,
we find out where God is at work,
and we show up.
To see.
To be present.
To pay attention.
To be responsive.

It’s a spiritual discipline, I would argue,
simply to show up.
To make the effort to be there.

21st-century American society does not really encourage
this spiritual discipline.
It doesn’t encourage us to be
actively present,
and deliberately attentive,
and thoughtfully responsive to what is going on around us.

Technology allows us to accomplish more and more tasks,
with less and less effort and input on our part.

We don’t really need to pay attention anymore,
in order to survive.

Our food is prepared and packaged,
sealed and shelved,
bought and consumed,
without us ever having to know, or even think about,
where it grew, or who worked the harvest,
or how far it traveled to get to my table.

We don’t have to dig for the news.
It comes to us instantly in email alerts and digital feeds,
and text messages,
Sometimes we have to get it the old-fashioned way—television.
And newspapers . . . are like dinosaurs anymore.

When we travel,
we don’t pull out a big map to get the lay of the land,
or learn anything about the area we’re passing through.
We type an address into the GPS,
and off we go,
doing whatever the computerized voice tells us to.

Bills are paid with a click of the mouse, or not even that.
They’re just paid automatically,
because we told our bank’s computers to do it for us.

We don’t really need
to walk up to a human behind a counter
and smile, or talk about the weather.

We even catch up with our friends without effort,
by reading their Facebook status online,
and typing in a witty comment on our keyboard.

Many of us have neighbors within a stone’s throw,
who we don’t even know,
for the simple reason that we don’t have to know them
to be a good neighbor in that neighborhood.
Because good neighbors are defined as
neighbors who don’t impose themselves on other neighbors.
Everything we need for life,
we have inside our home, or fenced-in yard,
or two minutes away at the store.

I’m not judging others here, I’m talking about myself.
I get news alerts in my email,
travel with a GPS,
do automatic bill pay,
keep up with people on Facebook,
and can’t remember the last time I asked a neighbor
for anything more sacrificial
than picking up our newspaper while we’re gone.

I’m not advocating dumping all our technological advances
that streamline the activities of life.
I’m suggesting we need to be more aware
of what we have lost in the process,
and find some ways to recover the practice of attentiveness,
of openness,
of hospitality.

Because nearly all the routine tasks of daily life,
can be done without paying attention.
Without putting forth much human effort,
without making conscious decisions,
without creating direct human connections,
without considering our natural environment.

The life that most of our society considers normal today,
is a life that encourages being passive.

Our living room probably has a half dozen remotes lying around.
With the touch of a button I can switch to
another song on the CD,
another chapter in the movie,
another station on the radio,
another channel on the TV.
I adjust the mood of the moment with the volume button.

You know, a remote control could be a good metaphor
for the passive lives many of us live today.
We live our lives remotely.
We control things, while keeping a safe distance,
remote and removed from any real, participatory,
transforming interaction on our part.
We surf the available channels of life until
the channel that pleases us the most,
and demands the least comes on the screen.
And we sit back and enjoy.
_____________________

But a life of following Jesus is not like that at all . . .
not even . . . remotely.
The invitation of Jesus is to “come and see.”
To put down the remote,
and deliberately show up where the action is.
To be prepared to participate in that action.
To be fully present and fully attentive.

To show up is not as easy as it sounds.
It’s not just putting in time.
It’s choosing to be where you need to be
in order to live the life you were made for.

The God of the Bible is greatly pleased
when people have the guts to show up when they’re called,
and say, “Your servant, Lord. Reporting for duty.”

The boy Samuel showed up.
Time after time, when he heard someone calling his name.
It took a little while to sort out the reality of who was calling him.
But Samuel spoke words of faith,
words God is always wanting to hear from us.
“Here I am.”
Here I am.

It wasn’t necessary that young Samuel, at that tender age,
grasped the full reality of what God was up to in Israel.
It was only necessary that he was willing to show up,
to be available,
to be attentive.
It was only necessary that he could say, and mean it,
“Here I am. Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.”
_____________________

On the one hand,
what’s being asked of us in incredibly simple.
This is God’s work. God’s responsibility.
God’s mission that we are about.
All we are being asked to do is show up, and listen.
Pay attention.

On the other hand,
what we are being asked to do is risky and counter-cultural.
Saying “Here I am” to God, is not really the safe choice.
It’s the right choice.
It’s the choice that leads to life.
But it’s not the safe choice.
The safe choice is living life by remote control.
Pushing buttons, and keeping your distance.

When little boy Samuel said, “Here I am,” to God,
God immediately gave him a burden heavy to bear,
a message of judgment to deliver to his hero and mentor, Eli.
God said to this youngster, and I quote,
“See, I am about to do something in Israel
that will make both ears of anyone who hears of it tingle.
I will punish Eli and his family . . . forever.”

When Philip said to Nathaniel, come and see,
and he went and saw,
Nathaniel was not making the safe choice.
And I think he realized that, while he was making it.
He didn’t fully understand at the time why
that choice would be so dangerous,
but he knew.
In the era of oppression by the Roman Empire,
declaring Jesus to be the “Son of God,”
was putting his life at risk.
That exact title, “Son of God,”
was a title claimed by, and exclusively reserved for,
Caesar, the Roman Emperor.
Nathaniel not only named a minor Jewish rabbi “Son of God,”
but called him, “the King of Israel.”
Those words were in no way words of pious spirituality.
They were a statement of Nathaniel’s political loyalty.
Nathaniel was saying to Jesus, and saying to his people and to God,
“Here I am.”
I have come. I have seen.
I recognize that this is the work of God happening here.
And now I am ready to join whatever is about to happen next.
Little did he know.
But he came, he saw, he enlisted.
_____________________

In this confused and broken and sinful world we live in today,
especially when so much of it is brought right into our living room,
the easy option is to pick up the remote control,
and push “Mute.”
And sit back down, keeping a safe distance.

Jesus says, “Come and see.”
Come to where I’m at work, see what I’m up to.
If today Jesus is still all about
preaching good news to the poor,
and recovering sight to the blind,
and binding up the broken-hearted,
and letting the captive go free,
then guess where Jesus might be today.

Jesus is a homeless man,
walking the streets of Harrisonburg in zero degrees,
and hoping someone will take him in, and feed him,
and give him a place to rest,
even if only from 7pm to 7am.

Will we come and see, or will we look for the “mute” button?

Jesus is working night shift in the poultry plant,
and sending money back to his family in El Salvador.
Jesus is a frail, shriveled, woman in a local nursing home,
whose family has all but forgotten her.
Jesus is a prisoner at Guantanamo.
Jesus is the head of a household in Gaza City,
who lost two of his children in the bombing last week.

We can come and see, or we can push “mute.”

Not only is Jesus represented by those
“least of our brothers and sisters” (check out Matt. 25).
God is also actively present and at work
to save, redeem, restore, and reconcile
wherever there is sin, and injustice, and oppression, and war.
God is uniquely and powerfully at work,
and inviting us to join.
To come and see.
To be deliberately present.
To get in the way.
To stick our nose in, where it belongs.
To engage in the difficult, and potentially costly,
but supremely life-giving and joy-producing,
spiritual discipline of showing up.

Of putting down the remote,
and walking toward the life God has in mind for us.
_____________________

John Bell wrote a profound and thought-provoking poem
about putting down the remote.
We’re going to sing it in a minute,
but don’t take out your songbook yet.
Listen to the words first.
They preach my sermon better than I can.

The first four stanzas are the words of Jesus,
asking us to come, see, participate.
The final stanza is our response.
Listen.

Will you come and follow me if I but call your name?
Will you go where you don't know and never be the same?
Will you let my love be shown? Will you let my name be known,
will you let my life be grown in you and you in me?

Will you leave yourself behind if I but call your name?
Will you care for cruel and kind and never be the same?
Will you risk the hostile stare should your life attract or scare?
Will you let me answer prayer in you and you in me?

Will you let the blinded see if I but call your name?
Will you set the prisoners free and never be the same?
Will you kiss the leper clean and do such as this unseen,
and admit to what I mean in you and you in me?

Will you love the “you” you hide if I but call your name?
Will you quell the fear inside and never be the same?
Will you use the faith you've found to reshape the world around,
through my sight and touch and sound in you and you in me?

Lord . . . your summons echoes true when you but call my name.
Let me turn and follow you and never be the same.
In Your company I'll go where Your love and footsteps show.
Thus I'll move and live and grow in you and you in me.

[words by John L. Bell and Graham Maule]

—Philip L. Kniss, January 18, 2009

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Phil Kniss: Pronouncing God

January 11, 2009
Genesis 1:1-5; Psalm 29; Acts 19:1-7; Mark 1:4-11
"Baptism of our Lord Sunday"

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Have you ever said to yourself,
“Oh, if I could only hear God’s voice . . .
then I’d know what to do—
where I should go to school,
what I should major in,
what job I should take,
who I should to marry,
where I should move,
what I should do about this particular problem I have.”
“If only God would tell me out loud.”

Many of us have a longing for more than
just a general belief that God exists,
or a vague sense that God is somehow present.
We want God to speak up.
We want to hear what God has to say about this or that.

Well, there’s good news today.
God has a voice.
And God uses it.
That’s what today’s worship service is all about.

The first Sunday after Epiphany, in the church year,
is called “The Baptism of our Lord” Sunday.
The assigned Gospel reading is always about
Jesus’ baptism by John in the Jordan River.
And the other three scriptures connect in some way.

I looked at all four of them together this week,
searching for a common thread,
and my first thought was “Oh! Water.”
In Genesis 1, the creation text,
the spirit of God hovered over the waters.
In Psalm 29 we heard about God’s presence
moving over the waters, over mighty waters.
In Acts 19, there was mention of John’s baptism with water.
And of course in Mark 1, Jesus himself goes down into the water
to be baptized by John.

Well, that’s all very interesting, but it seems a theme of water is . . .
well . . . shallow.
There’s a much deeper connection here.
Turns out there’s a major character that appears
in all four of these texts.
That character is the “voice of God”—
a powerful, audible reality, that comes from the mouth of God.
The Voice.

With the mouth, God pronounces things.
In the Creation story,
God pronounces things into existence,
“Let there be . . .”
And . . . they become.
And God pronounces these things “good . . . very good.”
In Psalm 29, God pronounces, and things happen.
The voice of God goes out, and the earth trembles.
Earlier, we put God’s voice into powerful sound effects.
In Acts 19, when the Holy Spirit came down on the new believers,
God’s voice was translated into human voice.
Those who were overcome with God’s presence
“spoke in tongues and prophesied.”
And the heart of today’s scripture, Jesus’ baptism story,
features as its climax, the voice of God from heaven,
pronounced upon Jesus,
“You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

God is a pronouncing God.
God’s words do not stay shrouded in secrecy.
God speaks.
God declares.
God pronounces.
A pronouncement is an authoritative word.

A week ago Saturday I officiated at a wedding in Florida.
At one point in the ceremony,
I took the authority that was given to me,
and pronounced the couple to be husband and wife.
They seemed to take my words seriously,
and so did everyone else.
Because after I spoke the words,
everyone actually believed
they were truly husband and wife.

Pronouncing can be a powerful thing.
Pronouncing can impart life.
Pronouncing can also be violent, even kill.

But we have the assurance in scripture that
the God who creates and sustains life,
the God who works for our good,
is a pronouncing God.
This is a God who does not keep silent,
but declares what is, and what has been, and what will be.
_____________________

Most of the time,
when we find ourselves wishing that God would speak,
we’re not really looking for a God that pronounces.
We’re looking for a God who points his finger.
Says, “Go here. Go there.
Work at this. Study that.
Marry her. Hire him.”
We’re looking for a God who says,
“You should” and “you ought,”
But instead, we have a God who says,
“You are.”
A pronouncing God.

Did you notice the language that came from heaven at Jesus’ baptism?
If Jesus’ baptism was his ordination for ministry—
that’s how we usually refer to it—
sure would have been helpful for the voice from heaven
to give Jesus some clear instructions for his work.
Go preach in Galilee.
Heal the sick in Bethsaida.
Cast out demons in Capernaum.
Argue with the Pharisees in Jerusalem.
Nope.
Not instructions. Not shoulds and oughts.
But a pronouncement.
“You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”
Not words of duty, but words of identity: “You are.”

In his baptism,
Jesus came to understand, in a deeper way than before,
who he was, and who he was called to be, and to become.
He was not given a to-do list, he was given a name.
His ministry happened
because he accepted that name as his true identity.
He did not allow anything else to rob him of that identity.
He did not let anyone redefine him into someone he was not.

If only we all had that kind of clarity.
If only we were not so confused about our true identity.
If only we were not so swayed by a culture that tells us lies like,
you are what you own, or
you are what you drive, or
you are what you eat, or
you are what you wear, or
you are what you look like.
And we believe those lies,
and make decisions based on those lies,
more than any of us want to admit.

The reason we flounder so much about what we’re supposed to do,
is that we’re not so clear about who we are.

There’s a reason why we’re all the time
wishing for some clear word from the skies
about where we are supposed to go
and what we are supposed to do.
It’s because we’re not clear and at peace
about who we are.

In our society there is a severe shortage
of people who know and embrace who they truly are.
There is a shortage of people who believe they are called
by someone greater than themselves,
and are secure in that calling.
Oh, people in our society talk a lot about a person’s calling.
But what they usually mean, is what that person is good at.
If someone is passionate about something, and excels in it,
we say they have found their calling.

But for a follower of Jesus, for a person of faith,
a true calling begins by hearing a voice that is not our own.
It is not a voice that originates in our head,
or in our heart, or in our gut.
It is the voice of the only One who has the right to call us,
and to name us.
The one who gave us life itself.
Jesus’ baptism brought clarity about who was calling him.
It brought clarity about who he was
in relation to the one who was calling:
“You are my Son. I love you. I’m proud of you.”
Hearing and embracing our calling
is less about deciding what to do,
and more about discovering who we are,
who we belong to.

It’s not that our doing doesn’t matter.
Of course not. It matters a lot.
It’s just not the place we start.

We start by listening to our pronouncing God.
We start by believing God’s pronouncement.
The way young couples really believe me
when I tell them they are husband and wife.
We start by believing God, when God says,
“You are my child. I love you.
You are wonderful. I delight in you.”
Then when we have that clarity,
when we hear and accept those defining words, “You are . . . ”
we then have a basis on which to act, to do, to behave.
We then have a good grounding for ethics,
for deciding between a right and wrong course for our lives.

Once we are clear that our lives belong to God and not to ourselves,
once we are clear that we are deeply loved by God who created us,
then we know what to do:
We do whatever reflects well on the One who gave us life.
We do what is authentic to the One we belong to.

So what becomes important
is not that we find out for sure whether God prefers us
to be a doctor or farmer or fireman,
or to live in St. Pete or St. Paul or St. Louis.
What becomes important
is that we become clear about the character of God,
the priorities of God,
the values of God,
the mission of God.
And these are things we can know.
We have ample evidence throughout the whole of scripture.
We have evidence of what God is like,
because God is such a pronouncing God.
God is vocal.
God is self-revealing.
And God spelled it out
most clearly and completely in the person of Jesus.

We know that God has special compassion on those who suffer.
God’s heart is leaned toward the poor, the orphan, and the widow.
We know that God loves all that which supports life,
and hates all that which diminishes life.
We know that God desires restoration, reconciliation, and peace.
And abhors alienation, oppression, and war.
We know that God loves truth and hates deceit.
We know that God loves the earth he created,
and expects us to lovingly care for it.
This, and much more, we know about God.
Because God has declared it so.
God has pronounced it so.

So when we hear the words from God,
“You are my child and I love you,”
we also know how to conduct ourselves.
We conduct ourselves in a way that values what God values,
that honors what God honors.
We live in a way that is authentic to our identity.

When we are clear about who we are,
we are also clear about what to do.
We have such ethical confusion in our culture,
because we have such identity confusion.

We let other things, inferior things, determine our identity—
our possessions,
our jobs,
our money,
our personality,
our friends,
our body image.

When these false identities become the basis for life choices,
instead of the identity given us by our Creator,
then we live less than the life we were created for.
And we commit the sin of idolatry.
Because we reject God
and create our own self-determined identity.
And our culture rewards us for it—
because our culture loves self-made people.

It’s not that God’s voice is silent.
The question in whose voice am I tuning my ears to listen to?
Will I listen to the One who created me,
and the only One with the power to name me?
the one who had the power to create me?
Jesus chose to listen to that voice at his baptism.
Which voice will I choose?

The voice of our Creator speaks love,
speaks full acceptance of us, as we are,
and in so doing calls us toward something even greater.
God has a stake in both who we are,
and who we will be become.
Because God’s identifying seal has been placed on our lives.
“You are my child. I love you.”

The only valid response to that voice,
is captured in three short lines by the songwriter John Bell.

Take, O take me as I am,
summon out what I shall be,
set your seal upon my heart and live in me.

In a prayerful spirit of gratitude,
of yieldedness,
let us sing those words together,
#81 in Sing the Journey.

—Phil Kniss, January 11, 2009

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Barbara Moyer Lehman: Drawn to the Light

January 4, 2009
Epiphany: Matthew 2:1-12; Psalm 72:1-7, 10-14; Ephesians 3:1-12; Isaiah 60:106

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In the bleak mid-winter, I love building a fire in our wood burning stove. While sipping a hot drink, I sit entranced before the flickering flames on a small stool made many years ago by John’s grandpa, Andy, Equally soothing is sitting on the recliner next to the stove with a good book and my soft blanket, made by a dear friend. All my senses are engaged in these activities. I am drawn to the warmth of the fire, the light of the flickering flames, the odor of the burning wood, the crackle of the logs and the taste of good tea (or coffee) :-)

On a warm summer day, I am drawn to something completely different. If I could, I would spend more time at the ocean. I am drawn to the seashore. I love the sun shining brightly over the water, the sound of sea gulls, the smell and taste of salty air. I find great delight in playing in the sand, even as an adult, or walking the beach, collecting seashells and assorted creatures. And nothing can compare to the soothing sound of the water lapping the shoreline, the waves crashing upon the beach, the tides moving in and out, in and out.

All of us are drawn to special places and experiences that capture us in some unique way. What might they be for you?

Not only are we drawn to places, experiences and things, we are also drawn to people. We might be attracted/drawn to people who stimulate our intellect, capture our imagination, move us with their passion. Any number of things or characteristics in a person might draw us to them. The warmth of their personality, the calmness of a gentle spirit, the depth of their spiritual faith, the attractiveness of their smile, the joy and delight of their humor, the serenity from their inner peace.

When we are drawn to something or someone, we become engaged with them. It is not something we observe passively, but rather it is an experience, a place or person with whom we want MORE. We want to repeat the experience, or visit it again or be with the person more frequently. We are drawn in.. we are drawn to.....we want to follow.

In the OT reading from Isaiah 60:1-6 we read of the prophet’s words that announces a new day for the people of Jerusalem, paints a new vision for the reestablishment of Jerusalem as a beacon for others, a light for all nations. The light of God’s glory has dawned. Even though darkness covers the earth...is all around them, the prophet proclaims, “today God rises on you, his glory breaks over you and nations will come to your light....they will be drawn to that light.” In the previous chapter of Isaiah, we read that it was because of Israel’s sinfulness, their own wickedness that prevents them from salvation, but now things have changed. It is a new day. It is time to rise up, to shine, to get out of bed, to put on a new face, one that reflects the glory of God. Look up! Look around! Watch as they gather. Your sons and daughters are returning home. There will be a big reunion. It is time for their spirits to be renewed! The light breaks forth into the darkness as God enters into their brokenness. The light will shine, the light will prevail, will pierce the gathering gloom and guide them toward a life of wholeness. Arise, shine! It is your time and now nations will be drawn to you! You, O Jerusalem, will be a beacon to them!

In Matthew’s gospel we see that the magi also knew what it was like to be drawn to something, something so powerful and unique, that it, too, penetrated the darkness and beckoned them to follow, to search, to question, to seek, and to find. In Matthew’s gospel, the beacon is not a nation, but a star that leads the magi to the Christ child, the true light. In the ancient world it was commonly believed that when the birth of a great ruler occurred there would be signs in the heavens that accompanied that birth. The delegation from the east, the magi, claimed to have seen such a sign and made the pilgrimage to Judea to find this ruler and worship him. In Matthew we read that when Herod is still king, this delegation arrived in Jerusalem. They are depicted as Gentiles, non-Jews, but they are seeking a king of the Jews. They are not ordinary Gentiles, but rather the spiritual elite of the Gentile world. When they come seeking this king of the Jews, they embody the promise of Isaiah 60:3, “Nations shall come to your light and kings to the brightness of your dawn.”

In both Matthew and Luke’s gospel, the birth of Jesus is disclosed to a select group of persons. They set out to discover the child, they find him in Bethlehem. But the two groups who receive this news are about as different as can be. In Luke, the good news is proclaimed by a host of angels to an assorted group of hard-working, rough and tumble shepherds who lived on the margins of Jewish society. Yes, they were Jews, but often living on the edges, not part of the inner circle, more often than not, considered “outsiders”. On the other hand, in Matthew’s gospel, the news came to a group of elite Gentiles from a foreign country, with no connections or real link to Jewish faith and life. True, they were from the ‘upper crust’ we might say, but Gentiles? true outsiders! In both gospels we are reminded that the visitors who come looking for Jesus are outsiders in one sense or another, one because of low social class and standing, living on the margins of Jewish society, the other because of being non Jews, Gentiles, a separate group.

Magi and shepherds will be included in the salvation which Jesus brings. Lowly shepherds and wise men were drawn to the light of Christ. Having heard of a new king’s birth, the outsider Gentiles follow a star, seeking the child. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy! And when they entered the house and saw Mary and the child, they knelt down and worshiped him.
What did King Herod, the insider, do when he heard about a new king’s birth? He and all of Jerusalem were frightened, fearful, and the news evoked all kinds of consternation and leads Herod to seek to destroy Jesus.

Matthew’s gospel account reminds us that, as commentator Richard Gardner writes, “Jesus is at one and the same time the king of the Jews and the long awaited world ruler whom all the nations will honor and serve.” (p. 50)

People of all classes and cultures and language groups will be included in the salvation which Jesus brings. People are drawn to the light. Boundaries and barriers between people and nations crumble when we all kneel to worship the Christ child, the one who welcomes all. (Taize services when we kneel around the cross, bringing our prayers, burdens.... powerful image of being one in Christ..not knowing each other, yet feeling the spirit at work among us) The welcoming face of God reaches out in loving hospitality to all peoples and nations. The light of Christ shines upon us, and in our faces we should reflect that light to others.

As we begin this new year, 2009, what is it that we are drawn to? What is welcoming us, inviting us? Who or what star are we following? Are we drawn to something that reflects the light of Christ? Are our choices and decisions good ones, ones that we can embrace wholeheartedly and know that what we are doing illumines for us and others the welcoming face of God?

This is the last Sunday in our sermon series which began on Nov. 30, Advent 1. The overall theme, “ Let Your face shine”, you saw every Sunday on the beautiful bulletin cover that Joe Alderfer designed, along with Bonnie’s stain glass and Ervin’s photograph. That theme is not only a plea to God, to let his face shine on us, but it is also a call for us to become part of the shining transformation of our world. The writers for the material used during this season stated, “Our faces can reflect the light of God as we welcome the Divine to dwell among us, embrace the way of Jesus, work for justice, and open our arms to include all whom God welcomes.”

In New York Harbor stands the Statue of Liberty. On the base of that pedestal a poem by Emma Lazarus is engraved. Many of us would know parts of that poem...."Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door.” In the 19th and early 20th centuries millions of immigrants of northern, southern and eastern European descent came to our shores through those waters. After being greeted by the Statue of Liberty and processed at Ellis Island, these immigrants purchased tickets and boarded trains at the Central Railroad of NJ terminal, that took them to new homes throughout the US. This became an historic gateway for millions who desired so much to see their hopes and dreams realized in this new land of America.

Today we continue to have people entering our country, our towns and neighborhoods. They come from different parts of the world. They too, come with hopes and dreams. How are we the welcoming face of God to our new neighbors, classmates, co workers?

We also know that living among us are people suffering with mental illness, facing challenges of no work, or health care, people dealing with PTSD. How are we the welcoming face of God to these within our community?

In the last few weeks I received two e mails from Brooke Rodgers, the ED for HARTS. Both pertained to families in need. Each had several children and needed housing. She was writing to me as a member of the board, saying she would send us in the new year demographic info that she was compiling. But then she adds, (quoting from her letter),

“The demographics will not tell you the individual stories that are incredible and very sad...the stories that provide some insight into why a person is chronically homeless or a family suddenly faces homelessness.
This is proving to be an exceptionally challenging time for all of us and I find it particularly difficult for those who are finding themselves homeless for the first time and for those that are chronically homeless. Your support has been and continues to be immeasurable to the success of this program. Support in providing shelter, meals, fellowship, donations of personal items for the shelter, your response to housing the families that are coming to HARTS, serving as members of the Board of Directors, others serving on committees to address health needs and housing needs and your very important financial donations. You are truly a community, expressing your humanity in caring for our homeless individuals and families....HARTS is evidence of that.... and for all of this I am very grateful.
I will also say...each guest in the shelter has expressed their thankfulness for the shelter, for preparing meals for them and treating them like you would want to be treated. Thank You!"

Beginning Jan. 12, we will be hosting HARTS for one week and then again the end of Feb. for another week. I know that Shirley B. Yoder has been busy organizing the volunteers from here and several other churches that will be helping us. Contact her if you want to be involved. Things may already be covered.

On Friday, Jan. 23 another event being planned by our Missions Commission will be held here. Music to Warm the Hearth will be a musical event for all ages and will be a fundraiser for People Helping People, another organization in Harrisonburg that is being stretched financially and in other ways to meet the increasing needs within our town.

As we embark on this new year, 2009 and embrace our own personal journey and our journey as a congregation, how are we being drawn to be the light of Christ in this time and place? How may we be the welcoming face of God in all that we do?

May God give us courage, wisdom and insight for this journey.


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