Ross Erb: This is my story

January 24, 2010
Epiphany 3: Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10; Luke 4:14-21

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We are continuing in the season of Epiphany,
looking at how God is revealed.
We have already looked at God’s revealing work in a number of ways.
Now, I’d like to step back from specific Bible stories,
and look at the larger story that is the Bible.

We have heard some Bible passages read and recited this morning.
My guess is that what you heard may have been familiar to you.
Nehemiah 8 and Luke 4 should be familiar
because Pastor Phil preached on these passages
as recently as October 18
as a part of the series about being church in smaller,
more intimate and accountable communities.
You may recall that Phil spoke
on the importance of interpreting scripture -
not on your own,
but in the context of a community.
That continues to be an important point to hold on to.

Now, allow me to change gears a bit.
Children and youth,
I have some questions for you.
I need you to raise your hands for me so we can see where you are.
Ok, now put them down.
How many of you have heard the story about God creating the world?

Have you heard the story of Joseph and his many-colored coat?
David and Goliath?
Jesus walking on the water?
Jesus turning water into wine at a wedding in Cana?
You better know that one, Pastor Barbara just preached about it last Sunday!

Adults, you all know those stories,
and probably many, many more.
You probably know some stories from the Bible that I don’t remember.
Many of you - children, youth, and adults,
have memorized verses from the Bible,
or maybe even whole chapters or books!

We value the Bible.
The Bible is what we believe to be God’s story,
telling us about who God is and what God wants us to be.
We reference the Bible as we attempt to discern -
in community
how God is calling us to live in our unique context.
But many of us have a nagging suspicion
that our biblical grounding is slipping.

According to one source,
81 % of American Christians surveyed thought the saying
“God helps those who help themselves” is a Bible verse.
Jay Leno questioned some people
who thought that phrase was one of the 10 Commandments.
And many thought that Sodom and Gomorrah were husband and wife.
Beyond biblical illiteracy,
for those of us who do read the Bible,
ok, for ME when I read the Bible,
I sometimes wonder why a particular story was included in the Bible.
What does it mean?
Wouldn’t the Bible have been better without some of the gruesome stories?

In Nehemiah 8,
the city walls and gates of Jerusalem had just been rebuilt.
Israel was in exile.
This small group remaining in Jerusalem had forgotten their story.
When Ezra brought out the Book of the Law,
people were amazed.
They were weeping at what they heard.
Now, it also says that they didn’t understand what they were hearing
and the Levites went out and helped them to understand.

We need to hear the Bible story,
and like the remnant in Jerusalem,
we need help in understanding what we are hearing.

In October of last year,
I went to Hesston College, in Kansas,
to participate in a conference titled:
Learning the Bible in Life-giving Ways:
History, Hooks, and Heilsgeschichte.
For years, Marion Bontrager and Michelle Hershberger
have been teaching this as a required course
to all students at Hesston.
My experience this weekend was powerful.
I was helped to understand -
and put together –
what I have been reading in the Bible.

I’d like to break now, from giving a sermon,
and invite you to listen in on a conversation.
Kim and Eric, would you join me up here?
Kim and Eric Schmucker graduated from Hesston College
almost 4 years ago.
While there, they both participated in the Bib Lit class
that Marion and Michelle teach.
We’ll talk a bit about that class.

What does Heilsgeschichte mean?
What impact did this course have on you?
Talk a bit about the content of the course, or the outline that people have in their bulletins.
What does it mean that this is your story?

How do we approach the Bible?
It is not simply a book of verses that we should learn.
It is not a book of ideas and theology,
which we simply need to learn in a rote manner
so as to have “right” beliefs.
The Old Testament isn’t just an extended genealogy of Jesus,
outlining the family into which he was born?
Nor is it just a series of books with shadowy references
pointing to Jesus?
The Bible is certainly not a book about a God
who deals with puppet-like people,
pulling their strings and making them act at God’s whims.
Do we view the Bible as being written by God,
a book that is perfect,
without error or contradiction,
a book that is an exact history,
and a science book following modern scientific approaches?
I would say “No.”

Can we take the perspective that the Bible was written, edited,
and collected by diverse people who were inspired by God?
The writing and editing occurred with divine inspiration,
but the writing and editing occurred in a particular historical context,
with a vocabulary, concepts, strengths, and weaknesses
that were unique to that context.

As we read the Bible,
look at it as the story of God’s good creation,
and of human rebellion toward God.
In this story, God, with amazing grace
and a dogged persistence that defies logic,
works to solve the problem of sin.
This is a story of God’s dynamic interaction with humans
humans who, at times, show amazing faithfulness
and at other times, remarkable faithlessness.

It’s my story,
because the story does not end with the book of Revelation.
It is a story that rolls on through history, full of love.
May God continue to be revealed
through our reading of the Bible,
and may we continue to find ourselves
placed firmly within that story.



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Barbara Moyer Lehman: Seeing the signs

January 17, 2010
Epiphany 2
Isaiah 62:1-5; John 2:1-11

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Pastor Barbara Moyer Lehman reflected on the news of the devastating earthquake in Haiti, and Park View Mennonite Church’s experience of hosting homeless men and women sleeping in our building this week. How does this Sundays lectionary text from John 2:1-11 relate to this? The wedding at Cana, where Jesus turned water into wine, was the first of the signs through which Jesus would reveal his glory. This was meant to open peoples minds to God. What are the signs around us now? In the midst of pain and suffering and injustice, what signs do we need to remind us of God’s presence?


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Phil Kniss: Possessed by God

January 10, 2010
Epiphany 2: Baptism of our Lord
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22, Isaiah 43:1-7

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God has a claim on you.
God has a claim on me.
I mean that in the same sense of early American pioneers,
who ventured out into the wild west,
into untamed wide-open land,
and pounded a big stick in the ground . . .
“staking their claim.”
That’s about all it took to own a piece of land back then.
If it was still unclaimed,
and you were standing on it,
then you could claim it,
you could, at that moment, possess it,
as first owner.
It was legally yours, and no one else’s.
If someone tried to take it from you,
you had the right to defend it, to take it back.

God has that kind of claim on us.
God was the first to do so.
The pioneer claimant.
So God has complete and prior authority
to name the land,
to shape it,
to develop it, or leave it alone,
to build something on it, or to tear down,
to dwell in it, or abandon it.
It’s completely up to God
how God chooses to act on this claim.

But there is one problem with this analogy.
A big problem.
We are not just acreage.
We are not property to be used or discarded.
You and I and all humankind,
are the crowning work of God’s creation.
God created us and chose us for a unique purpose.
God’s claim on us is a love claim.
God’s exclusive claim on us,
is the right to relate to us in love.

And that, of course, puts God in a terribly awkward dilemma.
For that love to be fulfilled, it must be reciprocated.
Love is not complete, until it goes both directions.
So while God has an absolute and complete claim on our lives,
God must give us freedom.
God must allow us to choose.
For God to benefit from this love claim,
God must let go of the claim.
As I said last Sunday,
God is the Hound of Heaven who pursues us.
But it’s an empty chase, if we don’t also pursue God.
_____________________

But having heard the scripture readings this morning,
who would not want to pursue a relationship with such a God?

The prophet Isaiah gives us in today’s text,
one of the most overwhelmingly tender . . . warm . . . and passionate
passages in the whole of scripture.
This is God talking,
the Almighty and Just and Righteous Creator,
speaking to his human creatures,
his lowly, fickle, frequently rebellious, often oblivious,
sometimes downright mean and stupid, human creatures.
And God’s obvious and deep affection for the likes of us
comes through with breathtaking power:

“But now thus says the Lord, he who created you . . .
he who formed you . . .
Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you.
For I am the Lord your God,
the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.
I give Egypt as your ransom,
Ethiopia and Seba in exchange for you.
Because you are precious in my sight,
and honored, and I love you.”

How could we not—when loved with such tender passion—
how could we not love in return?
How could we not gladly give ourselves over to such a lover?
Okay, I’ll tell you.
We have been born into, and have grown up in,
and continue to be immersed in,
a culture that trains us to be self-made and self-determined.
It is a fundamental cultural virtue, to a be “your own person.”
I am supposed to aspire to be independent,
not owned by anyone or anything.
To call my own shots.
To be my own boss.

I guess it’s not too surprising that people aren’t coming in droves,
to give themselves over to a God who says, “You are mine.”
We instinctively assume there is something wrong, or sinister,
about one who would say, “You are mine.”
We don’t seek to be possessed.
We seek freedom.

But in God, you see, we can have it both ways.
God has a rightful claim on us. We are possessed by God.
But God, out of deep love and affection, also gives us freedom.

The challenge for each of us—
and doing so will be the journey of our lifetime—
the challenge is to learn how to lay down ourselves,
without losing ourselves.
to allow this divine possession,
while becoming a more whole and a more free person
in the process.
_____________________

I believe this is what was happening with Jesus at his baptism.
After coming through what was probably a normal childhood,
normal adolescence, and normal young adulthood,
Jesus was now, finally, coming to terms with his identity.
He was grasping who he was called to be,
and what he was called to do.

Sometimes we say this baptism was Jesus’ ordination for ministry.
Here, he was commissioned for service.
That’s not really a wrong way to describe it.
His work was ordained and commissioned by God,
and after his baptism and a stint in the wilderness,
he did launch his public work in a larger way.
But it’s not the best way to describe it,
and certainly not a complete description.

I don’t think Jesus’ baptism was primarily
a commissioning for service.
It was primarily a “christening,” a naming.
Now, we Mennonites don’t baptize infants,
so we don’t often use the language of christening.
But in many long-standing religious traditions,
baptizing and naming are two central actions of the priest
in the ritual of “christening.”
And in the Jewish tradition, for boys at least,
naming and circumcising happened at the same time,
on the eighth day after birth.

So you could say, what happened to Jesus in the Jordan River that day,
was a sequel to what happened when he was eight days old,
being held in the arms of his teenage mother—
the day he was given the name “Jesus.”
That day,
even though baby boy Jesus had no clue what was going on,
he was publicly named by his Jewish community,
his identity was located within these people of faith.
In that ritual the community was told, in effect,
“Here is one of your own. Care for him.”
And the baby Jesus was told, in effect,
“You are one of us. You belong here, with us.”

So Jesus’ baptism in the river Jordan was his re-christening.
When Jesus rose out of the water,
the dove descended and a voice from heaven named him.
“You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”
The God who gave Jesus life made a pronouncement
the began with two words “You are...!”
Not, “you shall” or “you should” or “you will”
which are words of duty, of ordination for service.
But, “You are!”
Words of identity. Words of naming, of christening.

In our culture, we don’t really think too much
about the significance of being named.
Names for babies come in and out of fashion.
Sometimes, parents just like the ring of a certain name.
Sometimes, a name comes from the family, a generation or two back.
Sometimes, a name is chosen for what it means.

I’ve told you before that I’ve always been a bit envious
of people who have names that mean,
“Gift of God”
“Strong one”
“Son of righteousness.”
My name means “lover of horses.”
That one hasn’t really panned out.
Oh, I admire horses.
But I’ve been on one maybe 3 or 4 times in my life.

But you know, that doesn’t really matter.
The real significance in being named was . . . who named me.
I was named by David and Esther Kniss,
of Sarasota, Florida.
Two persons, out of their own free will,
chose to love me, and take responsibility for me.
They did that by naming me, and saying, in effect,
to me and to the world, “You are our son.
We claim you.
We have a stake in your life.
Until you reach adulthood, as long as we are responsible,
we will sacrifice our very selves for you.”
And they did. And I am forever grateful.

You know, having the right, and responsibility, to name a child,
is an awesome and powerful thing.
I was blessed to have parents
who fulfilled that responsibility with love and integrity.
Not everyone does.

That’s really what it means in Isaiah 43,
when God says with deep affection,
“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine.”
God gives us our name.
God lays claim to our life.
God has a stake in who we become.
We belong to someone greater than ourselves.

And that’s what was happening, first and foremost,
at Jesus’ baptism.
God was declaring, to Jesus and to the world,
“You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”
God was saying to all who would hear.
I claim this man Jesus.
He is mine, and I love him.
No matter what he may do,
or what people may do to him.
I love him.
I claim him.

In his baptism,
I think Jesus came to understand,
in a deeper way than ever before,
who he was,
who he was called to be,
and who he would yet become.
On that crucial, pivotal day of baptism,
Jesus was not given a to-do list, he was given a name.
After that, his ministry happened
because he accepted that name as his true identity,
and didn’t allow anything else to rob him of that identity,
or to redefine him
and make him into someone he was not.

And no sooner was he baptized,
that his identity was put to the test,
in his wilderness temptations.
Remember the lines used by Satan, to get to him,
“If you are the Son of God . . .”

Note . . .
On his baptism, the voice from heaven said, “You are . . .”
In the temptations right after that, a voice said, “If you are . . .”
Interesting juxtaposition isn’t it?

Jesus was able to withstand the temptation,
because he had gotten clarity, in his baptism, about who he was.
If only we all had that kind of clarity.
If only we were not so confused, so often, about our core identity.
If only the cultural values we swim in 24/7
didn’t do such a great job telling us lies
that we are what we drive, or
what we wear, or
what we look like, or even,
what we do.
And we believe those lies.
We make decisions based on those lies.
More than we care to admit.

But the voice of God is a truth-telling voice.
“I have redeemed you,” God says.
“I have called you by name, you are mine.
I am the LORD your God, and I will be with you.
I love you.”
And that voice is still speaking love, and affection,
and passion toward each of us, as God’s good creation.
God’s voice is not silent.
The question is 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 create and name me,
who declares with affection, “You are my beloved . . .”
Or will we listen to the voice of the enemy of God,
the tempter in the wilderness,
who whispers, accusingly . . . “If you are . . .”
Jesus chose to listen to the baptismal voice.
Which voice will I choose?

The voice of our Creator speaks love.
It speaks acceptance of us, as we are,
and calls us toward something even greater.
We are possessed by God,
and as such God has a stake in both who we are now,
and who we will be yet become.
Since God’s stamp is placed on our lives,
God has a stake in our future.
God has a claim.
“You are my child. I love you.”

Let us now, and always, tune our ears to that tender voice.
And turn down the volume of all other voices
that try to convince us otherwise.
So that the first voice we hear when we rise in the morning,
and the last voice we hear when we lie down at night,
is the voice of the One who claims us, and says, “You are mine.”
Who will say to us, in our times of fear,
Do not be afraid, I am with you
I have called you each by name
Come and follow Me
I will bring you home
I love you and you are mine.

—Phil Kniss, January 10, 2010


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Phil Kniss: In pursuit of God

January 3, 2010
Epiphany Sunday: Matthew 2:1-12

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People have found lots of interesting ways to describe God.
One of the more striking, that I’ve heard,
is to call God the “Hound of Heaven.”
That phrase was coined by English poet Francis Thompson,
a hundred years in a poem, by that title.
References to the poem, Hound of Heaven,
have wound up in the writings of
J.R.R. Tolkien, the U.S. Supreme Court, and Monty Python
(I dare say, you’ve never heard those in the same sentence).
The poem inspired one artist to paint a series of 23 paintings.
The narrator of the poem talks about fleeing from God,
and about God’s feet that followed after with
“unhurrying chase, and unperturbed pace,
deliberate speed, majestic instancy.”

Now . . . it is a profound truth
that God indeed is a pursuer.
God deeply desires to be in relationship—
loving, mutual, unobstructed, relationship—
with us human beings.
God has been pursuing us ever since that fateful evening stroll
in the Garden of Eden, calling to Adam, “Where are you?”
God pursued us humans everywhere
from the Garden of Eden to the Land of Nod,
from Egypt to Canaan,
from Babylon to Palestine.
God pursued us with the aid of judges and prophets,
with the help of wise and compassionate widows,
and Canaanites,
and other outsiders.
God has lovingly, relentlessly, doggedly . . . pursued us.
The Hound of Heaven.

But God never intended to be the sole pursuer.
There needs to be mutual pursuit.
No . . . we are not equals in this God-human relationship
but God never intended to do all the work to make it happen.
Good relationships take more than one.
For the love between God and us human beings to be complete,
there needs also to be a pursuit of God.

That’s what the story behind Epiphany is all about.
Its about a group of wise persons
who apparently made a life out of watching for signs
and pursuing them.
One time they noticed something extraordinary in the heavens.
They assumed God was up to something big.
But they were not content to sit back
in the luxury and safety of home
hiding behind their star charts and academic speculations.
They packed up their things and went in pursuit of God.
They went in full expectation that they would find and see first-hand
what God was doing,
and offer their personal and material gifts of devotion.
They sacrificed whatever was necessary
in order to engage in this pursuit.
_____________________

This is a wonderful story steeped in tradition—
tradition that has, of course, been exaggerated,
and romanticized,
and made mysterious and “other-worldly.”
A few years ago, on an anniversary trip to Europe,
Irene and I visited the cathedral in Cologne, Germany.
It took them 632 years to finish what is now
the largest Gothic church in northern Europe.
And the whole reason this magnificent church was built,
was to make a sanctuary for three gold-plated boxes,
studded with over 1,000 precious jewels.
A house for three holy boxes,
inside of which—we were told—
are the bones of the three Kings.

We all have distinct and detailed images in our heads,
of what these three kings looked liked,
which make for great Christmas card pictures,
and fun Christmas carols . . . “We three kings of Orient are . . .”
The images of three Kings are reinforced in paintings and stories
and even a famous opera.
The actual story comes from the Bible of course,
but scripture contains not a word
of them being “three”
or being “kings”
or wearing robes and large crowns,
or riding camels,
or seeing a star with a long tail,
or bowing to worship in a stable or at a manger.
Not a word.

All we get from the Bible is that there was more than one.
They were wise.
They associated a particular rising star with the birth of a king.
And made a long trip to get the details, and bring gifts.
That’s the simple story.

But to me, there is a lot more useful and inspiring truth
in that bare-bones story,
than there is in any legend
of three kings in purple robes riding camels.

Because here is the crux of the story, I think:
They looked for, and noticed, evidence of the work of God,
and pursued it.
On their own accord, they chose to leave their comfort zone,
and move toward whatever significant thing this was,
that God was doing in this world.
They were astrologers, apparently, but what they really cared about
was, ultimately, not in the sky.
They looked to the stars for the express purpose,
of figuring out what God was doing down here.
And when they discovered something, they acted on it.
They got involved.
They pursued the activity of God, as they observed it.

That’s more than can be said for most of us God-seekers, I’m afraid.
We’re not geared to think that way about Christian faith.
Especially not in our North American culture.
I don’t think I’m taking too much of a leap to say,
the biggest single obstacle that prevents the church today
from being the kind of church God calls us to be,
and keeps us from pursuing God,
is consumerism.

Now that might seem random, and bold, but think about it.
Consumerism is the sworn enemy
of radical Christian discipleship.
And it’s all around us.
We swim in it like fish in water.
And like fish, we’re oblivious to it.
There’s an old saying, “Whoever discovered water,
most likely was not a fish.”

Now lest you think I’m just saying this in protest of the fact
that we just wrapped up the biggest shopping season of the year . . .
lest you think I’m just preaching against
the commercialization of Christmas . . .
I’m not.
Yes, I think we have WAY overdone
buying and giving gifts at Christmas,
and we ought to work at creative alternatives.
And yes, I think it’s shameful that the health of our national economy
rests so much on how much stuff we buy.

But my point right now is not just our shopping habits.
It’s our whole approach to life, to relationships,
to family, to marriage, and to almost every arena of life
including religion,
including church.
We have come to accept as normal, that life is really about me,
it’s about discovering my needs, and feeding those needs.
It’s about what I consume,
what I feed on for my happiness and my need-fulfillment.
Consumerism may be most obvious in reference to material things
home furnishings, fashion, electronics,
cars, food, housing.
But I think it’s inevitable, immersed as we are in this culture,
that we start thinking like a consumer,
when it comes to the church.
Church is about us and our self-defined needs.
And at some point we completely distort
the reason we exist as a church.

In the book, “StormFront: the Good News of God,”
several authors make a point that consumerism
has come to define the church experience.
They write, “We confuse the gospel with an infomercial,
and we confuse the community of God’s people
with vendors of spiritual goods and services.”

All of us, to some extent, have fallen prey to this.
We evaluate church on the basis of what we get out of it.
If church is “meeting our needs,” we’re happy as a clam.
If it’s not “meeting our needs,” we look for a church that does.
_____________________

That way of thinking is not just deadly for the church.
It’s deadly for our personal spiritual journey.

The God of the scriptures invites us on a life journey
of participating in something much larger than ourselves.
We, the people of God, are invited to participate with God,
in God’s mission of establishing the reign of God on the earth.
We are called to be God’s holy nation and priestly people,
to serve God for the sake of the world.
We, the church, are but tools in God’s hands,
for God to use as God wills.

The gospel is not about us. It’s about God.
That ought to be obvious, but it’s often not the way we think.
The word “gospel” means “good news,”
so we try to present the gospel in an appealing way,
that it’s good news to whoever happens to be hearing it.
When I prepare a sermon, I often ask the question,
“Now what is the good news for the people in my congregation,
and how can I best proclaim it?”

That’s not necessarily a bad question,
but when the New Testament speaks of proclaiming the Gospel,
it’s rarely about giving people what they want to hear.
When Jesus refers to the good news,
he’s nearly always talking about the reign and rule of God.
When the apostles write letters to the church about the Gospel,
they’re always referring to what God has done in Jesus.
It’s not about us, sisters and brothers!
The Gospel is about what God has done in the world through Christ,
and about the Kingdom of Christ God is still bringing about.
Sometimes that kingdom is welcomed. Often it’s not.
Either by us, or by those outside the church.

Our mission is not to proclaim
whatever sounds like good news to our ears personally.
It’s about observing and investigating
what God is now doing in the world,
to save, redeem, restore, and reconcile.
And then making the effort to pursue and participate in that work.
That may not be welcome news to everyone.

Before we start working on God’s project in this world,
we need to realize—
the powers of this world—
political, material, systemic, and/or demonic powers—
consistently work at cross-purposes with God.
If we are working on God’s project, beware!
If God is really doing what Mary sang about in the Magnificat,
bringing down the powerful from their thrones,
and raising up the poor and lowly,
then participating in God’s work,
may not be the most pleasant work available.
It may not sound like good news for those of us
called to join the work.

The universal symbol of the Gospel is not a candy-cane.
It’s a cross.
And making it gold-plated or jewel-studded,
and hanging it on a wall or around our necks,
doesn’t change it.
The symbol of the Gospel is still an instrument of death.
It reminds us of Christ’s suffering.
It reminds us of the cost involved
if we choose to actively pursue,
and participate in this holy gospel drama.

But our North American culture of consumerism
has tamed the cross, made it something attractive,
something people want to buy.
As the authors of the book “StormFront” said,
“North Americans prefer a religion of receiving
more than a religion of participation.”
We don’t want to think too long and hard about a gospel
that calls us to lay down ourselves and our needs,
and to lose ourselves in a project that’s bigger than us.
_____________________

But that’s precisely what the magi did,
when they saw the star rising in the east,
and realized God was up to something larger and more momentous
than what they could imagine.
They laid down their personal need of home and security and safety,
and went to participate in this thing beyond themselves.
That’s the heart of the story, behind all that glittering gold.

The star is still in the sky, brothers and sisters!
There are signs all around us
that God is up to something bigger than us.
God is still working to raise up the poor,
to fill the hungry with good things,
to bring down the proud from their thrones.
God is still working to save what is lost . . .
restore what has fallen . . .
redeem what has been discarded . . .
heal what is wounded . . .
reconcile what is alienated . . .

There’s a star rising in the larger world, in pockets,
here and there and every place . . .
where followers of Jesus are living, and demonstrating,
and forming new kinds of community,
and proclaiming the good news of God’s whole salvation,
and where the strong arms of oppressors
and ethnic and religious extremists,
are being weakened, undermined by radical Christians
who are being beautiful fools for Christ,
and do foolish things like
sit down and talk with their avowed enemies,
build houses for them,
educate their women and children,
dig wells,
give comforters or school kits,
stand beside families whose homes are being bulldozed.

There’s a star rising in parts of our own community—
sometimes without a big flash of light.
Simple and small expressions of church are sprouting up nearby
to welcome those that traditional churches fail to reach.
The homeless are not only given food and physical shelter,
but are given love, and a sense of community, and dignity.
Immigrants,
though many of our neighbors fear and despise them,
are, here and there, welcomed with open arms of hospitality.
Representatives of warring religions—
Islam, Judaism, Christianity—
visit each other’s local houses of worship
and dare to say we have gifts we can offer each other,
if we remain true to our faith.
And this despite outright hostility
that exists in our community.

There’s a star rising in our own congregation—
where more people are considering making radical changes
in their daily routines to be faithful disciples of Jesus.
They are living in a manner more fitting with values
of simplicity and community and care for the earth
than the lifestyles our larger culture has tried to make normal.
They are deepening their experience of small groups,
deciding it actually makes sense to spend more time together,
rather than less,
when our lives get hectic and over-filled with busy-ness.
They are actively pursuing relationships with their neighbors,
and with persons who are not like themselves.

There are signs that God is still doing things in our world,
in our community, in our church.
There are signs God is acting to draw us and others
into a more holistic salvation.
The star is rising.
Will we be self-oriented consumers?
. . . or God-oriented collaborators?
Will we stay home where it’s comfortable?—
hiding behind the star charts,
and remarking on the beauty of that rising star.
Or will we be like the magi?—
pack up, saddle up, and head out in dogged pursuit of God,
and whatever God is up to in our world.

Will we admire from a distance the salvation that God is bringing?
Or will we participate in it?
_____________________

That is the question I would like us to hold in our hearts,
to ponder,
as we come to the Lord’s table this morning,
on this first Sunday of a new year.

We use the phrase “receiving communion”
and that’s accurate.
The elements are offered, and we take them.
But it’s more accurate to say we “partake.”
We participate in this re-enactment.
And by so doing we participate, at some level,
in the life and death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

In Jesus Christ, God acted . . . in the world . . . for its salvation.
God continues to act in the world today.
And at the table we join in communion with God,
in communion with each other;
and we say, we belong to you, Lord,
here we are...at your service.

Yes, we are nurtured and sustained by this ritual.
But primarily, in it we offer ourselves to God.
We participate in the continuing work of God.

—Phil Kniss, January 3, 2010

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