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  • A five-finger exercise: meditation and memories on the Holy Spirit

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    A Five-finger Exercise: Meditation and Memories

    on the Holy Spirit

    Leighton Ford

    Leighton Ford Ministries, Charlotte, North Carolina

    Our son-in-law Craig is a fine physician, a devoted husband and father, and a very bright graduate of Duke and Chapel Hill. But—like any of us—he does suffer occasional mental lapses! Three years ago he was playing a pick-up game of basketball with his son and a friend. He forgot his age, thought he was about twenty again, and went all out. A hard pass hit and bent a finger, but he refused to stop, determined to show these young bucks he could play through the pain. So he kept on —until he tore the ACL in his knee! At first it seemed the ACL injury was the more serious. But then he found out he had actually broken the middle finger on his surgical hand. Craig is an ob/gyn doctor, and if he couldn’t regain full use of his surgical hand, he would never again be able to do surgery or deliver babies. The knee surgery went well, and an experienced hand surgeon repaired the finger . But the really worrisome result was that the end of his finger still had limited flexibility. With intensive therapy across the months, he did regain the use of that finger and could practice again. But I don’t think until then I had fully realized the importance of our fingers. As I write, I stop and gaze at the fingers on both hands and think how many things I do with them each day by habit. I type, eat, brush my teeth, hold my wife’s hand, paint from time to time, open doors, start the car, hold the steering wheel—all without thinking. (Take a moment now to pause in your reading to look at each finger—and say thanks!) How striking then that Jesus used the “finger” as a metaphor to describe the Spirit of God. When he drove a demon out of a deaf-mute man, Luke records, the serious religious leaders accused him of doing so by Beelzebul, the ruler of demons. Jesus retorted, “If I cast out evil by evil then evil is a house divided against itself… .But if it is by the finger of God that I cast out the demons, then the kingdom of God has come to you” (Luke 12:20). In the parallel passage in Matthew, Jesus says he drove out this demon by the Spirit of God (Matthew 12:25). Clearly the Spirit of God is in some sense also the finger of God— a vivid image of God’s kingdom at work through Jesus —and the Holy Spirit. Thomas Merton saw Christ as “not simply the tip of the little finger of the Godhead, moving in the world, easily withdrawn….God has acted and given Himself totally, without division, in the Incarnation. He has become not only one of us but even our very selves.”1 Just as Jesus was the personal appearance of the Godhead in the flesh, so the Spirit is the personal appearance of Jesus in our flesh—in the body of Christ in this world. This is why I wince whenever someone speaks of the Spirit as “it.” The Holy Spirit is not an “it,” some vague vapor, a kind of spiritual influence or energy. He is, Jesus said, “another Advocate” whom the Father would send, one as real as Jesus

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    himself, the living, teaching, guiding, spiritually breathing presence of God with God’s people. So the apostles can also speak and write of the “love” of the Spirit, the “mind” of the Spirit, the “guiding” of the Spirit, the “comfort” of the Spirit—all personal attributes. Luke begins his second book with a reminder that in his first one, he wrote of “all that Jesus did and taught,” implying that now he records Jesus continues to do and teach. So the title should really not be The Acts of the Apostles, but The Acts of the Risen Christ by the Holy Spirit through the Apostles. Remembering the exercise my first piano teacher gave me, I picture the acts of the Holy Spirit as a “five-finger exercise” in which the Spirit

    Beckons Points Writes Grips Works

    We beckon with our fingers – and so does the Spirit “The Spirit and the bride say ‘Come’” (Revelation 22:17) I take a walk with my dog Wrangler—a very alert and attentive companion — who watches carefully for my signals. I hold out my hand; he holds up his ears. I beckon with my fingers; he comes close to me. And I wonder, am I as attentive to God as Wrangler is to me? Throughout the story of Acts, we see the Spirit beckoning, creating a sense of need, conveying the truth about Jesus, turning people to God one-by-one or in groups, empowering these new converts to lead new lives. He makes the gospel call clear and compelling—what we learned in theology as “effectual calling.” So Peter preaches on Pentecost, the Spirit pricks the hearts of people, and they respond: “What shall we do?” As the old-time evangelist Moody put it, “Peter lifted up Jesus and the Holy Spirit said, ‘Amen!’” Later we see the Holy Spirit – pictured as “the Lord’s hand” —turning a great number of people to God (Acts 11:21). God’s finger continues to beckon through the centuries. Who called to Augustine in the garden, telling him to “take and read” the words of Paul, but the Spirit? Who touched the aspiring young novelist Frederick Buechner with words of a George Buttrick sermon: “Are you going home for Christmas”—and birthed in him a longing to come home to the cradle where Christ was laid? How did George Herbert’s great poem “Love Bade Me Welcome” bring Christ to possess a non-practicing French Jewish woman Simone Weil, who would have such a powerful influence on her secular country? I don’t have to go so far back or away to recall that beckoning finger myself. My adoptive mother was very devout and very troubled. When I was fourteen, she left our home and virtually disappeared for months. That summer, at a small Christian conference, I heard the speaker describe how he began each day: walking, reading a Psalm, praying out loud. Through his words the Spirit spoke to me. I went to the woods early next morning, following his practice. In the words of Scripture, God’s presence became real to a lonely young heart. Out of that experience I sensed the call to share what I had found and to preach as an evangelist.

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    When I graduated from Columbia Seminary, I was considering a call to a church in Missouri. But Billy Graham (and his sister!) had come into my life, and he invited me to join his team for a stint. We were part of some of his early “crusades” in Scotland , Canada, New York, and Australia. Tremendous crowds packed stadiums. The events were fairly well organized. But what I most remember is the sense of utter dependence, not on organization and publicity, but on prayer; it was more the rising of a new spiritual wind. I still remember the figure of Billy Graham prostrate on a floor in prayer, pleading for the Spirit to move people. Seeing him prone felt strange to this reserved Canadian Presbyterian. But it was not a show. It was a heart-felt cry for the finger of the Spirit to beckon people toward Christ. And I wonder now, in the slow attrition of our mainline churches and the growth of the “nones ״among youth, might the Spirit be beckoning us to heed again that love that first bade us welcome, to a deep and passionate longing for the Spirit to breathe through our preaching and our busy activities and create a holy dissatisfaction, a fresh breath of God? I have been moved by the recent personal account of Christian Wiman, editor of the esteemed Poetry magazine. Raised in a Southern Baptist culture , his faith dissolved in the larger and secular world of college. Then, at age thirty-nine, after three years of a writing drought, he fell in love, was married, then eight months later was diagnosed with incurable cancer. He and his wife wandered into a church, he began to write again, and as he recounts, was “finally able to assent to the faith that had long been latent within me.” Wiman’s desire now is to have a conversation with “an enormous contingent of people out there” who are starved for ways of feeling and articulating their experienees with God. And while what we believe matters, he has come to realize the real question is how. “How do you answer the burn of being that drives you both deeper into and utterly out of yourself? What might it mean for your life, and for your death, to acknowledge the insistent, persistent call of God?”2 The “burn of being.” Could there be a much better description of that fiery finger that beckons?

    We point with our fingers – and so does the Holy Spirit “Being sent out by the Holy Spirit, they went…” (Acts 13:4). I know it’s not polite to point—my mother told me so. But I also know that pointing is sometimes very important when we need direction. In recent years my own ministry has been focused on spiritual mentoring with those in ministry leadership , what is traditionally described as “spiritual direction.” My wife does not like the term “spiritual director” because the first person she knew who called herself a “spiritual director” was more like a spiritual dictator! But the practice, the “art” of spiritual direction, is not about telling someone what they are to do or where they are to go. Rather it is the art of “holy listening,” listening together for the voice of God’s Spirit. Out of these times of listening to the Word and to each other, we may sense something that has been missed, may point someone (or be pointed) in a certain direction, asking, “I wonder if God may be calling you to pay attention in a deeper way to some opportunity, some need, to the voice of your own calling?” Jesus promised that the Spirit would both remind his followers of his words and also guide them into all truth. He would be—at the point!

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    This pointing finger of God comes again and again in the books of Acts. The Spirit points Philip to the Ethiopian treasurer reading Isaiah and wondering who the prophet writes about (Acts 8). He points Ananias to Saul, his ex-enemy, now one of God’s chosen (Acts 9). In Acts 10 he points Peter to Cornelius, a God-seeking Roman soldier. In Acts 13 he moves Paul and his missionary companions to cross the cultural barrier and carry the gospel to the nations. It was John Wesley I believe who said that “we should second the motions of the Holy Spirit.” When the Spirit says “I move,” our response should be to second that motion. Where is God working? What doors is the Spirit opening? Where do we find responsive people? Or, where does he point us to a hard place and say, “Stay here. I am not through yet.” But what about planning? How does our planning relate to the Spirit’s pointing? Reflect on the pattern of Acts as a response to God’s initiative. God is in charge, and the grand strategy is all his. He is the door-opener and the door-closer. Whenever a closed door is suddenly flung open, the early Christians become a rapid response force. When the Spirit says pause, they wait. When the way is made clear, they use whatever tactics would be effective to tell the Story of God to the world. Perhaps we in the main-line churches, with ageing and declining memberships, can listen even more humbly to our ministry fellows in other groups – in the best of the “seeker churches” and “house churches” and the immigrant congregations, to those in the Global South where the church grows even under intense persecution. Perhaps from them we will find some “pointers” of the Spirit. Can we also pay closer attention when the Spirit points us to seekers nearby? A personal encounter stays with me. In Manchester, England, Billy Graham was preaching to a capacity crowd in a huge stadium. Outside was a large jumbo screen where others could watch. I was asked to speak to them briefly with a word of welcome and invite them to listen and respond. As I walked back toward the stadium, a well-dressed man approached me. He hadn’t heard my remarks but obviously thought I was part of the Graham group. “Has Billy Graham written anything for bereaved parents?” he asked. “My twenty-year-old daughter died a year ago, and I do not know where to turn. I need help.” Startled by the “coincidence,” I said, “I think I understand. I lost a twenty-one-year-old son.” We stood and talked a long time. His name was Gerald, and he was a dentist in the city. I introduced myself and told him of our son, of our ongoing sense of loss, and what our faith in Christ had meant to us. I offered a brief prayer, and we parted. As I walked back to the stadium, it suddenly came to me: why had I not invited him to come in with me? Although he wandered off in the crowds, I spotted him. “Gerald, would you like to go in with me? And if you want to open your life to Christ, I will be glad to stand with you.” He did so want. We went in together. And at the call, he and I stood with others in commitment. A year later at an anniversary celebration for the crusade volunteers, the chairman , to whom I had told of my encounter, recounted that story. Three women came up after and asked, “Bishop, could that have been Gerald Kettle you told about?” “That’s right,” he said, “Why?” “Because,” said one, “we were part of a prayer group before the crusade. We prayed for friends who were going through difficult times, that God might touch them with Billy’s message. And Gerald was one we prayed for especially.” What made Gerald Kettle approach me out of that crowd, knowing neither who

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    I was nor that I had also lost a child? What prompted me to go and find him after we parted? And who led those friends to pray so fervently for him? What… who.. .if not the pointing finger of the Spirit?

    We write with our fingers.. .and so does the Spirit “You are a letter of Christ…written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God” (2 Corinthians 3:3). My own writing is pretty much a scrawl. Often I can hardly read it myself. It may be that as a left-hander, I learned to write upside down. Even more likely it says, “Whoever wrote this is in too much of a hurry. Slow down…and get clear!” Which makes me wonder: is Christ clearly reflected in my busy life? We have many programs of evangelism. But the most effective evangelism grows out of who we are in Christ. How does the Spirit deprogram our witnessing? Make us more authentic storytellers? By writing God’s Story – into our lives. God used his finger to write his personality into the stars, said the Psalmist:44When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers….” And on the mountain Moses received God’s law written on tablets of stone. But what amazing writing God the Spirit does in writing Christ into our lives. As Paul wrote to the disciples at Corinth (whose former lives were anything but Christ-like), “You are a letter from Christ… written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts” (2 Corinthians 3:3). And what does the Spirit write but the love of Jesus, the joy of Jesus, and the authenticity of Jesus upon our lives? Witnessing then does not mean putting on a spiritual front. It means being honest about who we are – and (as the Quaker Douglas Steere said) “whose we are.” Paul (remembering Moses’ face shining after he was with God) develops this “writing” image: “And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit” (2 Corinthians 3:18). Note Paul’s certainty: “all of us … are being transformed.” Really? How often does my face shine? On dark days and in troubled times? But this is not a self-conscious glory, a kind of spiritual smiley-face. The image is of Christ; the transforming agent is the Spirit; the glory is when others see Christ even through our wrinkles and wounds. My friend Canon Andrew White serves as rector of St. George’s church in the heart of Baghdad. In spite of multiple sclerosis, he has gone back and forth from England multiple times. The church has been bombed, members kidnapped, yet the church goes on. Andrew tells of a visit by Lord Hylton, chairman of their board. The children welcome him like a long lost friend. The service begins in Arabic “Allah hu maana”—“The Lord is here.” The people shout the response: “His Spirit is with us.” There are not enough seats, so they stand for hours. They come not just to worship, but to get food, clothes, blankets, to meet their friends. A free dental and medical clinic treats vast numbers, most of whom are not Christians. One of the children says, “I learned that Jesus was everything, and he would provide our needs, and he has made me happy again.” When Lord Hylton returns to London he writes: “/ have been to the church of the future.” In Baghdad! In probably the most dangerous street in the world, the church of the

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    future! This, says Andrew White, is what church is really about. Not denominations or labels, but about the Church Universal. The one Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church everywhere, even in the most dangerous place in the world, serving and showing the love of Jesus. Here, in the streets of Baghdad, the finger of God is writing the likeness of Jesus.

    We grip with our fingers…and so does the Spirit “The Spirit helps us in our weakness” (Romans 8:26). Backsliding is not usually a major worry for Presbyterians. (As the saying goes, Methodists believe in backsliding. Presbyterians don’t. We just practice it!) Perhaps what might intrigue us is the thought of ‘ Jailing upward— ״the paradoxical title of a recent book by Richard Rohr on a spirituality for the “two halves of life. ״Rohr suggests that while early voices give us direction and identity and keep us safe and going for many years, we may become so used to them that we end up not able to hear the real voice of God. Rohr writes, “There is a deeper voice of God, which you must learn to hear and obey in the second half of life. It will sound an awful lot like the voices of risk, of trust, of surrender…of an intimate stranger, of your deepest self…. The true faith journey only begins at this point.”3 To follow on this “second journey,” we need the gripping finger of the Spirit as much or even more than in the first part of our life’s course. And the good news of the “gripping” finger is that God will not let us go until his work in us is finished. Our belief in the “perseverance of the saints” is really more about the persistence of God our Savior isn’t it? The Father is determined that the image of the Son will be formed in us (Romans 8:28). The Shepherd-Son promises to give his sheep eternal life and that “no one will snatch them out of my hand” (John 10:28). And the Spirit is the down-pay ment of our legacy of redemption (Ephesians 1:13,14). The changes redemption brings are sure, but often slow and very often painful. On this journey we need that gripping finger of the Spirit to hold us steady. So Paul reminds his readers that “the sufferings of this present time” are not worth comparing with “the glory which will be revealed…the revealing of the children of God.” And he holds out the promise that while we wait, “the Spirit helps us in our weakness” (Romans 8:18ff). As life presses in from without and hesitancy makes us cowards within, we have this assurance: we may fall, but we “fall upward”! The Spirit’s gripping finger is in us, prays for us, and will not let us go until we let go with a great “Yes” to God’s best for our life. “Be filled with the Spirit,” writes the apostle (Ephesians 5:18). The Spirit is a gift to receive. And that fullness will mean the Spirit filling every part of who God has made us to be. Back to our son-in-law Craig. After his finger healed, he went back to surgery and delivering babies. Then came another blow. On a summer night last year, he was taken to emergency with symptoms that looked like a stroke. How could this be – at fifty-five? As it turned out there was no stroke, but bleeding in a tiny portion of his brain that caused seizures. For some weeks he was out of work and not driving, but then with medication, he has recovered and is doing what he most loves: seeing and talking with patients. Craig’s parents were Presbyterian missionaries in Brazil, where his mother died when he was two. Craig carries within him that same missionary, ministering spirit. “As a doctor, I am a minister in disguise,” he likes to say. He prays over new babies

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    and more than once with a dying person in hospital. Over lunch, after his “fall,” he tells me, “I am more rested than in years, without night call, ״then adds, “and what I most want is to help other men know what they are missing if they are missing Jesus.” Craig has fallen —upward! While Craig’s missionary mother is buried in Brazil, there is a grave marker for her in Swannanoa, not far from the long-time Montreat home of another Presbyterian missionary kid—Ruth Graham—Craig’s aunt by marriage. Ruth’s burial place is at the Billy Graham Library in Charlotte. I think that Ruth must have had the “gripping finger” of the Spirit in mind when on her stone she had chiseled these words:

    Construction Complete Thanks for Your Patience

    We work with our fingers—and so does the Spirit “Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom” (2 Corinthians 3:17). And the great work of the Spirit is liberation! Isn’t that how Jesus told of his mission in his own inaugural address in his synagogue in Nazareth?

    The Spirit of the Lord is upon me because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captive and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor. (Luke 4:18-19)

    To set the captives free—from every kind of oppression and captivity that bind —the demons of sin, of addiction, of hatred and violence, of snobbery and exclusiveness , of pride and prejudice—that is the mission of the Lord, and that is the work of the Spirit within us. And in that miraculous arc of the kingdom come and coming Jesus keeps doing through us what he did on that long ago day when he cast the evil spirit out of that mute and deaf fellow, and when accused of siding with the devil said: “If it is by the finger of God that I cast out the demons, then the kingdom of God has come to you.”

    Pentecost in Winter It is winter as I write this meditation about the Spirit; a melancholy sometimes sets in with the dismal darkness of mid-winter. Perhaps that’s simply my seasonal affective disorder. But it may also be anxiety that sets in with the economic suffering , the political gamesmanship, the shootings and killings here and abroad. It may be the passing on of old friends. It may be that like Wendell Berry, I wake at night in despair of what the world will be for our grandchildren and two little great-ones. In any case I need to pray now: veni Spiritus! Don’t wait until spring! And then comes to me Gerard Manley Hopkins’ poem about our world—both beautiful and bent. “The world is charged with the grandeur of God,” he exults, then asks, “Why then do men not reck his rod?” Generations have “trod and trod” until this earth is “seared with trade, bleared, smeared with toil” and worn down to a bareness. For all this, he knows there lives a “freshness deep down things” so,

    Though the last lights off the black West went

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    Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs – Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods, with warm breast and with Ah! bright wings.4

    So now I lift my prayer again:

    Come, Spirit of God. As you brooded over the first creation, and in Mary’s womb breathed the new creation in Christ, breathe a fresh springtime into our hearts. Beckon us Point us Write in us Grip us Work through us. Amen.

    An After-note Any metaphor can be stretched too far. Obviously we do many more things with our hands than listed, and the Holy Spirit gestures in many more ways than suggested . And there is a mystery about the ways of the Spirit. “The wind blows where it chooses,” said Jesus, of the Spirit. We cannot control him. So how do we interpret his gestures—his beckonings, pointings, writings? He is not controllable, but he is predictable in that he comes from the Father and Son, he speaks of the Son, he reminds us of the Son. The sure marks of his presence are the fruit of Christ-likeness in our lives. Absent those we need to “test the spirits” wisely.

    Notes 1. Thomas Merton, Letter to Dorn Jean Leclercq, The School o f Charity. The Letters o f Thomas Merton on Religious Renewal and Spiritual Direction, ed. Brother Patrick Hart (New York: Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, 1997), 85. 2. Christian Wiman, “God Between the Lines, ״Christianity Today, January /February 2013. 3. Richard Rohr, Falling Upward: A Spirituality fo r the Two Halves o f Life (San Francisco: JosseyBass . 2011), 46,48. 4. Gerard Manley Hopkins, “God’s Grandeur, ” Sound and Sense, 8th ed., ed. Laurence Perrine and Thomas R. Arp (New York: Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, 1984), 167.

  • Making the unseen visible: preparing for Advent worship

    This text was converted from the original print edition for full-text searchability. Formatting may differ from the original. Consult the PDF for citation and presentation details.

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    Making the Unseen Visible:

    Preparing for Advent Worship1

    Jane Rogers Vann

    Asheville, North Carolina

    Every Sunday School child knows that the primary themes of Advent are waiting, expectation, and anticipation and that “prepare the way of the Lord” is its theme song. More recently our anticipation has been heightened by such songs as “The Canticle of Turning,” based on Mary’s song, the Magnificat. Who can fail to be inspired by singing that begins “My heart cries out with a joyful shout!” and repeats again and again, “The world is about to turn.” God “is turning the world around.” Words like waiting and anticipation seem too mild to describe our Advent expectations, and we find ourselves longing, yearning, hoping for Christ’s return and the resulting turning of the world. In reality we live between two great “turnings,” a paradox that becomes quite clear during the season of Advent. Lawrence Stookey notes that we live between time and eternity. We remember how the world was “turned upside down” at Christ’s first coming, all the while keeping our eyes on the horizon for Christ’s coming again. We are constantly reaching back into the treasures of our history and heritage as God’s people, even while we strain forward in anticipation of God’s ultimate redemption of the cosmos. Stookey describes this as the “cruciform” life:

    Christians are called to assume a cruciform posture. Standing upright with feet firmly planted in the present, we stretch out one arm to grasp our heritage and the other arm to lay hold of our hopes; standing thus, we assume the shape of our central symbol of faith: the cross. If either hand releases its grip, spiritual disaster threatens as the sign of the cross becomes misformed.2

    The first “turning” is the story of old, how God sought fervently to renew creation’s intention and in the fullness of time sent the divine Son, a babe in a manger, to be the savior of the world. The second “turning,” the one we await with such deep anticipation and longing, is the return of Christ when the redemption won by his dying and rising will be completed and fulfilled. For these reasons, and many more, preparation for Advent worship brings with it both an urgency and a profound reconsideration of its meaning. We are moving from darkness into light. During Advent we remember, anticipate, and embody God’s turning the world around. When we think of preparing for Advent worship, we naturally think of its words and music. Perhaps that is why there is an abundant array of exegetical and musical helps for planning. We must not forget, however, that all of liturgy includes the additional “languages” of worship: space, the arts, liturgical gesture and action, and the liturgical calendar itself. With Advent worship in mind, this article will give emphasis to the languages of the arts and liturgical action, relying on other sources to support Advent’s literary and musical languages. We are embodied creatures and cannot exist otherwise. The world comes to us

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    as touch and sound and smell, through skin and ear and eye. We depend on persons and objects and images that have form and substance in order to understand realities that transcend the material world. For Christians this makes perfect sense since all of the Christian life is incamational. Christian knowing depends on the gesture of welcome, the touch of kindness, the spoken word of forgiveness, the strong voice of proclamation, the embodied acts of bathing and eating and drinking, the pulpit, font and table, and much more. Thus the languages of the visual arts and liturgical action are essential to the proclamation of the Incarnation. Like the Incarnation itself, they make the unseen visible. Worship, as the central act of the Christian life, is largely a non-verbal activity. As such it is a delicate balance between verbal and visual and aural, between architecture and the arts and the calendar. The words of worship — its biblical stories, practiced dialogs, engaging hymn texts, and hearty proclamations — provide the context and reference points for the expansive possibilities of worship ’s additional languages. These multiple languages of worship contribute most robustly to our communal spiritual formation when they work together, each language embellishing and extending the others.

    The Arts and Advent Worship For several centuries Protestant churches were austere, minimally decorated places with a seeming aversion to use of the arts. All that has changed. Today many congregations are employing the visual arts to enhance the environment for worship and proclaim the gospel. These include furnishings, paintings, sculpture, stained glass, vestments, communion ware, candlesticks and candles, processional crosses and torches, flower arrangements, paraments and banners, offering plates and baskets, and much more. This deeper appreciation for the arts in worship is a welcome inclusion in worship planning. At the same time, care must be taken to insure the appropriateness of any of these artistic expressions in worship, given that the qualities of our surroundings influence our way of seeing God, the world, and ourselves. Careless or haphazard inclusion of the arts in worship can result in a deformative environment rather than one in which the spiritual formation of the congregation is deepened. The act of giving careful attention to an object, particularly an object of beauty, produces in us a response, a reaction. The reaction may be positive or negative, evoking rejection, attraction, excitement, disappointment, or grief. The change may be slight or profound. But whatever the response, we are changed by the encounter. It is not the onetime act of attention, however, that is ultimately transformative (although there are occasions when this is the case). Rather, it is sustained attention over time on which Christian spiritual formation depends. In recent years there has been a renewed emphasis on Christian practices and the need for repeated engagement in them. Similarly, our engagement with the beauty of worship and its environment can be seen as an element of Christian practice. It is in seeing again and again those material objects that make visible the unseen presence of God that Christian spiritual formation can take place.3 Welcoming the arts in worship, especially during the church’s liturgical seasons, is for the purpose of this kind of spiritual formation. With these spiritually formative qualities in mind, it is essential that all artwork and liturgical objects be of the highest artistic and material quality that a congregation can provide. An environment

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    for worship that shows carelessness or haphazard attention to the intrinsic artistic qualities of the space and the objects it contains does not bring honor to God, clearly proclaim the gospel, or support faithful spiritual formation. Artists, designers, and skilled crafts persons who are accustomed to giving attention to color, materials, design, scale, and the overall compatibility of all the artistic elements of a worship space can be of central importance as congregations seek to enhance the languages of the arts in their worship space. During Advent there is welcome attention to color, as we move from the green of Ordinary Time to the blue or purple of Advent. Artists can make much of this color change with the inclusion of paraments, table covers, and banners that use a variety of hues and textures. As the season moves from darkness to light, from longing to eager anticipation, the shades can be shifted to include more and more “light.” At Bethlehem Lutheran Church in Saint Cloud, Minnesota, the worship space is expansive, so there is room for several evergreen trees in the chancel area.4 On the first Sunday of Advent, the trees are bare, but throughout the season more and more lights are added until, on Christmas, the trees are ablaze with light. Many congregations have collections of “Chrismons” or monograms for Christ with which they decorate a Chrhismon tree. These are made in materials of gold and white and include the “Chi Rho” made of Greek letters, the “IHS” abbreviation of Christ in Greek letters, the Alpha and Omega, and perhaps other symbols for Christ. Congregations may also have sets of symbols that commemorate Jesus’ ancestry and are used to decorate a Jesse Tree. These symbols call attention to the ultimate nature of Christ and his work and help the community recall the broader meanings of Advent. They help draw attention to our life “between the turnings” rather than allow us to focus exclusively on Bethlehem. Some intentional teaching and interpretation as to the meaning of the Chrismons and the Jesse Tree would be appropriate. In recent decades the use of the Advent wreath or Advent candles has become a staple of seasonal worship. The progressive candle lighting signals movement, Sunday by Sunday, toward that enlightenment for which the Christian community longs. Christ is on the way, nearer with every Lord’s day. The light increases and our joyous yearning with it. Often three of the candles are purple and the candle for the third Sunday of Advent is rose colored. These colors correspond with the lectionary readings for the season, where, on the first, second, and fourth Sundays of Advent,the community is called to watch and wait. But on the third Sunday of Advent, based on Philippians 4, the community is called to “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near.” The rose colored candle signals this “rejoicing.” The Latin word for rejoice is gaudete. Thus the third Sunday of Advent is known as “Gaudete Sunday.” If the Advent wreath is adorned with evergreens, use fresh greens. If they dry out, replace them. Many congregations routinely use electronic media and projection screens during worship. In Advent the possibilities for their use are especially inviting because of the variety of images that might be employed. This includes works of the classical and contemporary visual arts that depict characters in the scripture readings assigned for Advent. Thematic images and designs that week-by-week emit more light can also be included. These images can mark the season while also drawing worshipers into its movements, reminding the waiting congregation that Christ is coming.

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    Enacting and Embodying Advent According to Ronald Byars, there is “a profound and mysterious reciprocity between body and spirit.”5 The use of the body, which includes our spoken words , but goes far beyond them, provides humankind with a rich gestural vocabulary. In worship this vocabulary of movements and gestures enlarges our capacity for praise , thanksgiving, lament, confession, and commitment . The actions and gestures of worship — signs of welcome, prayer postures, signs of blessing, the kiss of peace, the preparation of worship space, and liturgical procès – make up the vocabulary of the church. As such they are both functional and -־ sions symbolic. They include simple things such as movement from one part of the worship space to another and also the profoundly symbolic communication of praise to the Creator of heaven and earth as well as the symbolic embodiment of God’s generous welcome and forgiveness. Christians bathe one another in the name of the Trinity ; they eat and drink together. They kneel, bow, raise hands in prayer, greet one another with Christ’s peace, lay on hands with prayer, and much more. These actions and gestures are are the “body language” of the church. Liturgical actions and gestures communicate and make present the reality of God’s self-giving. When our bodies , through action and gesture, are engaged in worship, we learn over time that the Chris – tian life is about doing and being (as well as thinking and knowing). Thus gestures and actions become “sign acts” that convey what cannot be conveyed in words alone . Word and gesture together “combine saying and doing into potent signs of grace.”6 In the process we are drawn into the divine life of the Trinity. Daniel Benedict describes spiritual engagement in the liturgy as “Love’s dance” that includes God, ourselves , and the whole of creation. “When we participate in the liturgy, we are caught up in mystery-the mystery of God’s loving the world and the Paschal mystery as Love’s dance—and… our lives are entwined with the life of the triune God.”7 We are changed . We are redeemed, reconciled, strengthened in faith, and commissioned. Through the mysterious reciprocity of body and spirit, the whole community is spiritually formed for the fullness of praise of God and for the mission of the church in the world. Such spiritual and liturgical embodiment is especially appropriate for the season of Advent , when the we celebrate the embodiment of the Holy One of God . We have already mentioned the Advent wreath as a liturgical object. Now we turn to the liturgical actions of lighting the Advent wreath. It has been common practice to invite several members of a congregation to read scripture, lead prayers, light the Advent candles, and lead congregational responses at the beginning of each Advent service. On these occasions it is essential that these worship leaders be well prepared to lead the congregation with grace and poise. Unprepared or poorly prepared wor – ship leaders become more of a distraction and hindrance than an asset to the worship of the community. Texts that accompany the lighting of the Advent candles should highlight the increasing light of the season and the profound anticipation of the church for Christ’s coming . Many congregations have been attentive to the hectic demands of the “Christmas season” and have introduced periods of silence during Advent worship as an act of countercultural faith. Rather than lots of words, congregations might choose to dim the lights, light the Advent candles in silence, and let the congregation meditate on the coming of the light. The simple, graceful, unhurried gesture of candle lighting communicates powerfully. A simple song such as “Wait for the Lord” might signal

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    the conclusion of the meditation. If the congregation does not already celebrate the Eucharist every Lord’s Day, the season of Advent is an especially appropriate time to introduce weekly communion . The actions of the Great Prayer of Thanksgiving, an eyes-open prayer, take on particular meaning during Advent. The familiar dialog begins with “The Lord be with you,” “and also with you.” Then, when the one presiding calls out, “Lift up your hearts!” while lifting her hands, the congregation can truly respond, “We lift them up to the Lord.” (Or, as the ancients used to say, “They are with the Lord!”) When we take bread, bless and break it, and give it to one another, the long awaited presence of our risen Lord is made real. When people come forward to receive bread and wine, to dine at the Lord’s Table, their bodies and their spirits are fed with the living bread. Getting out of one’s chair and moving toward Christ made known in bread and wine can be lastingly spiritually formative. Watching others as they are offered “the body of Christ; the cup of salvation” and hearing them respond with a hearty “Amen” is a feast for the eyes and ears and soul. Many people dread “the holidays.” Their sadness, grief, and regret brought on by death, divorce, family dysfunction, or other life circumstance are often intensified as they watch the cultural party atmosphere all around. The inclusion of prayers for healing and wholeness, accompanied by the touch of a loving hand, should be part of the church’s ministry at all times, but especially during Advent. If the congregation comes forward for communion, it is relatively simple to add a “station” for such prayers. Pastors and other appropriate congregational leaders can welcome worshipers into a quiet comer for prayer with the laying on of hands. Be well prepared for long lines awaiting prayer! It never fails to surprise those who introduce this rite for the first time how many in their congregation are eager for such intimate care. For the past thousand years, an Advent litany called the “O Antiphons” has been used in worship. It consists of a series of seven call and response prayers. Each prayer begins with an address to God followed by a description of what God has done and closes with a petition for God to come again in power. The richness of the biblical story is on full display here, using many names for God, including “O Wisdom; O Adonai; O Root of Jesse; O Key of David; O Radiant Dawn; O Ruler of the nations; O Immanuel.” Each antiphon is followed by a congregational plea to “Come, Lord Jesus.”8 There are several traditional ways to include the “O Antiphons” in Advent worship , but I want to suggest that as an embodied expression of prayer, they be used in procession. Worship leaders including crucifer, acolytes, torch bearers, banner bearers , pastors, choir, and others might form a procession and come into the midst of the people. There they would pause and pray the first antiphon. The procession would then continue through all parts of the worship space, in and out and up and down the side aisles and central aisles, pausing at appropriate intervals to pray each of the antiphons. A brief sung response — perhaps “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” since it is based on the O Antiphons — might be included between prayers as the procession moves. The procession should end in a way that would place worship leaders in their accustomed places.

    Planning Together for Advent Every artistic or embodied liturgical practice requires careful forethought and

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    planning. Planning processes are often strictly individual, with pastor and musician and “altar guild” each doing their part with the hope that everything will come out right on Sunday. There are several reasons why, especially during Advent, a collaborative process should be put in place and that a broad group of artists, designers, musicians, educators, and leaders should be included in planning and preparing for Advent worship. First, worship that expresses our deepest hopes, expectations, and longings requires nothing less. Both for ourselves and for those Christmas and Easter worshipers, we want the gospel fully and winsomely proclaimed in song, story, environment, and action. Worshipers should know the coming of Christ in all they see, hear, do, and feel. Second, the process of planning and preparing for Advent worship is, in and of itself, spiritually formative. Everything the church does teaches. We learn the Christian life through participation in congregational life, and this is especially true during the seasons of the church year. When one is invited to be part of a worship planning team, one is called on to examine, analyze, and imagine worship practices in order to assess their appropriate “fit” for the congregation. Congregational leaders have an unsurpassed opportunity to engage in robust spiritually formative conversations as they work with artists, singers, instrumentalists, and other worship leaders to prepare Advent worship that brings glory to God. This process has been called “caring for God’s people at prayer.” All worshipers are cared for by careful planning and preparation, and in the process, those who do the planning and preparation are deeply spiritually formed. What is included in planning and preparing for Advent worship? Most importantly , prayer. Prayer should surround all that goes into planning and preparing for Advent worship. This begins with prayerfully brainstorming the names of persons for the Advent planning team and continues throughout the planning process, Advent worship itself, and prayerful evaluation afterward. Advent planning groups engage in a three part process of describing, analyzing, and imagining various aspects of Advent worship in order to assess their proper place in the congregation’s practices. The descriptive phase draws on past practices of the congregation, ideas from other congregations, and from a variety of print and online resources. These descriptions should be as detailed as possible in order to create a clear picture of what a particular practice might include. Then the practice should be analyzed in order to explore the ways it might (or might not) bring glory to God and care for God’s people at prayer. What are the theological assumptions imbedded in the practice? Are those assumptions consistent with what we want to proclaim? How will this practice harmonize with the other languages of worship or with the other practices of Advent? As these ideas are explored and analyzed, Advent’s central themes of hope, longing, and the coming of the Light will serve as a guide so that the proclamation of Advent is clear. Finally, the Advent planning group can imagine what Advent worship might include “this year in our church.” All of the logistical and practical aspects of each Advent practice will come into view here. Who will do what when? What artists, musicians, designers, and crafts people are needed? How will they be prepared, rehearsed, encouraged, supported? The best a congregation has to offer should be a central criterion here, insuring that there is excellence in materials , design, and artistic execution. Big budgets are not necessary. What is necessary is a commitment to worship that glorifies God and proclaims God’s greatness and

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    compassion to all. Perhaps the best Advent planning advice I’ve seen is in a brief article by Joy Engelsman titled “On the Twelfth Year of Planning.”9 This experienced educator and worship planner uses the tune of “The Twelve Days of Christmas” to give some excellent advice in a whimsical way. If you were to sing it, it would go something like this: “From the first year of planning the lesson that I learned was don’t try to do it alone.” Here’s Joy’s complete list:

    1. Don’t try to do it alone. 2. Honor tradition. 3. Try something new. 4. Pray without ceasing. 5. Start in May. 6. Be flexible. 7. Learn how to brainstorm. 8. File good ideas. 9. Communicate completely. 10. Spend time with children. 11. Visit other churches. 12. Accept an invitation (relinquish control and accept the hospitality of others).

    I like it that “Start in May” is verse five (think “Five golden rings!”). The song gives appropriate emphasis to the “plan ahead” factor in all liturgical planning.

    Advent worship planning presents pastors and worship leaders with an unparalleled opportunity for communal spiritual formation, as a group of inspired artists, musicians, lovers of scripture, and faithful worshipers gather to “make the unseen visible” and to consider Christ’s coming to “turn the world around.” What greater gift could we give to one another and the congregation than to invite everyone to give full-hearted, embodied, and engaged praise to God for God’s own self-giving? May it be so in congregations far and wide.

    Notes 1 Portions of this article are adapted from Jane Rogers Vann, Worship Matters: A Study for Congregations (Louisville, Kentucky: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011). 2 Lawrence Hull Stookey, Calendar: Christ’s Time in the Church (Nashville, Tennessee: Abingdon Press, 1996), 22. 3 Vann, 51. 4 Vann, photos on pages 53 and 54. 5 Ronald P. Byars, “Body Language,” Call to Worship: Liturgy, Music, Preaching, and the Arts 35 (2001)4-5. 6 Don E. Saliers, “The Power of Sign-Acts,” in Anderson, Worship Matters: A United Methodist Guide to Worship Work, ed. E. Byron Anderson (Nashville: Discipleship resources, 1999), 1:175. 7 Daniel T. Benedict, Patterned by Grace: How Liturgy Shapes Us (Nashville: Upper Room Books, 2007), 124. 8 Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), Book of Common Worship (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1993), 166-167. 9 Joy Engelsman, “On the Twelfth Year of Planning,” Reformed Worship 85 (September 2007):http:// www.reformedworship.org/article/september-2007/twelfth-year-planning.

  • Preaching Pentecost in today’s changing world

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    Preaching Pentecost in Today’s Changing World

    Catherine Gunsalus González and Justo L. González

    Decatur, Georgia

    The story of Pentecost begins, “When the day of Pentecost had come ” Today, when we Christians hear the word Pentecost, we immediately think of the descent of the Spirit and the birth of the church. But for the early disciples, Pentecost was a feast in the Jewish calendar. The term Pentecost simply means “fifty,” in this case, days, and it was the Greek name of the Jewish celebration that took place fifty days after Passover. The early disciples had been told to await the Spirit that Jesus had promised, but on this particular day, they were gathered to celebrate the Jewish feast of Pentecost. Because it was on Pentecost that the promise of the Spirit was fulfilled, Christians now celebrate the giving of the Holy Spirit fifty days after Easter. There is no evidence that Christians kept such a feast fifty days after Easter until late in the second century. At that point, there is evidence in both Irenaeus and Tertullian that the Sunday seven weeks after Easter was a major holy day in the church, a celebration of the gift of the Holy Spirit to the church, and a time to administer baptisms that for some reason had not been possible at the Easter festival. But, since by then Christians were devising their own methods to determine the date of Easter, quite independent of the Jewish Passover, to this day the Jewish festival rarely coincides with the Christian one. Within Israel, this feast is known as “the festival of weeks,” because it comes a “week of weeks” after Passover —that is, seven weeks. Originally it was a harvest thanksgiving festival, but at some point it became also a celebration of the giving of the law to Moses on Mount Sinai. The feast of Passover celebrates God’s freeing the slaves from the yoke of Egypt. Fifty days later, Pentecost celebrates the gift of the law and the covenant at Sinai which really established Israel as God’s People. Pentecost is the closing of the whole Passover celebration, much as the Christian Pentecost closes the Easter season. For the early church, Easter paralleled Passover, for it too celebrated a liberating act of God, but it was freedom from an enemy far greater than Egypt: freedom from the power of sin and death. Fifty days later, the gift of the Spirit created a new People of God, no longer only from diverse tribes, but ultimately from nations and languages and tribes from the whole earth. There were three times in the religious calendar of ancient Israel when all males were expected to come to the Temple with the appropriate offering: Passover, Pentecost , and the Feast of Booths —which does not concern us now. Such a pilgrimage was a relatively simple process when the religion of Israel was the faith of a small nation, limited to those who lived within the borders of the nation itself. But by the time of the founding of the church, a great deal had changed from the days of Exodus 34:22-24, Leviticus 23:15-16, or Deuteronomy 16:9-10, where we find the institution of this holy day. Because of the Babylonian Exile and then the rise of the Greek and Roman empires, both of which included Israel, there were now Jews all over the Mediterranean world and even beyond. They could not come to Jerusalem every year for the holy days, even though many hoped to come at some point in their lives. In

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    that pilgrimage, it would make sense to come for Passover and then stay at least until Pentecost. So, in this very cosmopolitan world of the first century after Christ, it was not surprising that, as Acts tells us, there were in Jerusalem on this day of Pentecost, “devout Jews from every nation under heaven” (Acts 2:5). Nor is it surprising that many, if not most of them, did not understand the Aramaic of the local people. Probably most could converse in Greek, although this was less true of those who were born and raised in Judea, for whom Aramaic was their native tongue. All of this means that at the point of the birth of the church within Israel, Judaism was already a global phenomenon—at least as global as the reach of the Roman and Parthian empires and somewhat beyond. We also know that at that time Judaism was a proselytizing religion, quite ready to add to Israel those who were not Jews because they had not been born to Jewish mothers. Judaism had been sufficiently severed from its earlier limited geographic character that one could be a Jew without ever setting foot in the Holy Land, although there was the desire to go there on piigrimage at least once during one’s lifetime, and even to die there. That proselytizing character of first-century Judaism and its geographical spread is absolutely essential to understand the development of the early church. The new Christian faith would be even more proselytizing and even more global in its outreach than was Judaism. It would include those who had no background at all within the mother faith, Judaism. The early church’s tie to a specific geographic location was less than the attachment of Diasporal Judaism to Jerusalem, but Judaism itself had already moved beyond the limits of a national religion. This non-geographic, trans-national character of Judaism at the time of Jesus is part of the kairos of God’s timing for the incarnation.

    The World Today It could be said that what is happening now in many of our churches in the Western world is a return to the global character of the faith at its birth. In other words, the faith of Israel was, for generations, the faith of a people living in a certain geographical area. If you were born there, if you were part of the people of that area, then you worshiped the God of Israel. But the cataclysmic events of the Exile and the spread of empires had altered that. Christianity therefore began as such a transnational, cosmopolitan faith, which had little or no ties to a specific geographic territory. That situation changed in the centuries after Constantine, when Christianity became again what the faith of Israel had once been—the faith of those born in a certain territory, the faith of those who were part of a particular culture, in this case the developing civilization of Europe. This continued for at least a millennium. It is only now, at the end of the Constantinian era, that Christians in what used to be “Christendom” are beginning to experience something like the lively, cosmopolitan church of the first century. Instead of “Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia,” we have Koreans, Mexicans, Filipinos, Americans, Burmese, Indians, and Nigerians. Today, the global character of the whole of society, with the movement of peoples from their native lands to other places —either because of disasters and wars or because of greater economic possibilities in another land— deeply affects the churches in what once was Christendom. More and more, churches right here in the United States begin to resemble the gathering at that first Pentecost more than the homogeneous congregations that were common fifty years ago. In that sense, many of our present congregations have the opportunity to experience a life that is far closer to

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    that first Pentecost in a way that was not possible for most churches during the past several centuries. It is not only congregations that are changing. For generations, Ireland, Poland, and the Philippines exported Roman Catholic priests to areas of the world in which there were shortages. Today, Ireland is importing African priests because it no longer produces enough priests of its own. The areas of the world in which Christianity is fairly new—areas never part of the old Christendom—have priests to share with the old, traditional areas of the church that are now unable to supply their own leadership . Protestant churches are affected differently, but the changes are just as great. In our case, it is more likely that the changes will be seen among the laity than among the clergy. (For many of the traditional “mainline” denominations in the dominant culture, there would indeed be a shortage of clergy had it not been for the fact that most of them now ordain women!) What does all this mean for us? Several things can be said. First, above all, a congregation that is trying to figure out how to incorporate within its fellowship those who come from another country, and who speak another language, is really finding itself dealing with the same issues that those early Christians about whom we read in the New Testament faced. This is a new situation for us, but it is hardly new for the Bible, and we should read the Scripture lessons for Pentecost with that in mind. Pentecost calls us to restore a way of being church that evidently is important to God’s timing of the incarnation itself. Second, because we are in the midst of a great transition in our society, there are congregations in this country that still have the monocultural character that was typical of most churches in the past. They have not yet experienced the dynamic, cosmopolitan character of that original Pentecost. It may well be that their communities have not changed, or the congregation does not see the changes that are occurring around them, or it does not wish to see them. The message for such a congregation is that there is a new world on the horizon, a time of great change throughout our culture. The demographics of the last census make it clear that the future of the whole society is far more multicultural than many are ready for. We need to prepare such congregâtions for the future that is upon them and help them greet it positively, with open arms and open doors, as something that God is doing in our world and in our time. Pentecost is a great occasion for such a word. There is work to be done in preparation for such change. Where do our churches see the beginnings of such change in their community? What ought to be their response? Third, areas that were once almost totally Christian now have sizeable populations of followers of other religions, so that the conflicts that once took place among nations are now present in our very neighborhoods. We see that in Great Britain and France, where Muslim populations are increasing even as many from Christian families are no longer connected to the church in any serious fashion. We see it in many of our cities and suburbs, where not only mosques, but also Hindu and Buddhist temples are being built. Christians in this society who have never had to consider what is the relationship of Christianity to other faiths or how Christians should relate to those of other faiths are now being forced to consider such questions. They need guidance in this quest, and the leadership of the church is not always prepared to give it. Fourth, when many denominations and congregations in our country are recording

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    constant losses of membership, it is often hard for them to believe that in countries they never thought of as Christian, churches are growing rapidly and are sending missionaries all over the world. In many of our churches, the average age is constantly rising. But there are new churches in Africa and Asia—and among immigrants in our country—that are filled with young people. Our churches are so used to being the ones who send missionaries to others that it may be difficult for us to see that mission is ongoing and successful, even when we are not doing it. We need to be aware of these new churches and their work, and rejoice that we are part of the same body of believers. We need also to ask why such a change has taken place, and how can we assist in the work that now seems to be in other hands.

    The Lectionary Readings When we look at the lectionary passages for this Pentecost Sunday, there are some elements that could be useful in dealing with the issues outlined above. Ob viously , Acts 2:1-21, the account of the first Christian Pentecost, needs to be mentioned, especially as it demonstrates the transnational character of the Judaism at the time. If the incarnation had happened during the time of Solomon, would it have had the same impact? Why was the first century the right time within Judaism as well as within the broader history of God’s world? In Ezekiel 37:1-14 (the vision of the Valley of Dry Bones), Israel is pictured as a dying, national religion because of the Exile, the setting for this prophet’s work. But in his vision this people is to be reconstituted through the work of the Spirit. It is the Holy Spirit, not geography, not genetics, not common language and culture, that holds together the People of God. That was true in the time of Ezekiel and a hard lesson that Israel was forced to learn. It is equally true for Christians today, a hard lesson we also may be forced to learn if we do not open ourselves willingly to its truth. If our congregations are monocultural; if they cannot see how the church can exist in some other way; if they see themselves slowly dying because there are fewer people of their culture in the area who are interested in the church; then Ezekiel’s words are a word of great hope to them. But it means allowing the work of the Spirit to expand their horizons and to discover that it is not the same culture, the same language that holds the church together. It is the gift of the Holy Spirit. The Psalm selection: 104:24-34; 35b is part of a lengthy praise psalm that shows the God of Israel as the creator and Lord of the whole world, not limited to one people or one place. The Epistle lesson from Romans, 8:22-27 is very helpful. God’s purposes are always being worked out in the midst of a fallen world. Yet what God is doing is bringing that creation to the goals for which it was created in the first place. Paul understood that such redemption meant pain and confusion precisely because the fallen world and God’s plans rarely agree. But Christians are those who know that God is in the process of redeeming this fallen world, and the incarnation, the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ are key moments in that process. Because we believe this, we trust the work that God is doing. We do not understand all the changes that are going on around us. But we trust that God is working in the midst of all these changes, working for the good of the world. It might be helpful to stress verses 2627 , that often in the midst of the chaos and conflict the changes in our society are bringing, we do not know what we should pray for. There may well be a difference between praying for what would make us comfortable and praying for what God is

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    doing. God knows that, and the Spirit can help us. The Spirit can search our hearts so that we can come to a greater understanding of what God wants for us, for our church, and for our society. (It is tempting to add verse 28 to the lectionary reading, as a reminder that in the midst of all the chaos, God is working for our good.) The Gospel reading is from John 15:26-27 and 16:4b-15. Here Jesus promises that the Holy Spirit, the Advocate, will come to the church after he has returned to the Father. The work of the Spirit is to lead the church into greater knowledge of the truth. Jesus expects that the church will face new situations and will need guidance . It is the Spirit who will provide that help. Verses 12-13a are interesting. Jesus tells the disciples that they were not yet ready to hear all the things that he could tell them. But the Spirit would guide them into such truth. There are many congregations that are going through very difficult times: the congregation has shrunk; few young people are members; the building is too big for the numbers they now have; simply maintaining the buildings takes more and more of the budget. There are new people moving into the community, but they do not speak the same language or they are from a different culture. There are indeed new truths that need to be learned. Such a congregation needs to be assured that Jesus fully anticipated such events, and the congregation has not been left to its own devices to figure out what is to be done. The Holy Spirit has been given to them. If they wish to know how to proceed, they need to hold to the promise that the Spirit will indeed lead them into all truth. Their task at the moment is to prepare themselves for hearing what the Spirit is saying to the church. If there is no need to use the lectionary—except perhaps for the traditional Acts passage—then there are other possibilities for preaching on this occasion. One is the vision of John at Patmos that describes the church triumphant gathered around the throne of God and representing all nations, tribes, and languages. Another is the refrain found so often in the Old Testament that all nations will come to the Holy City because there they can find the Law whose following brings peace to the world. We have also the words of Jesus that the community of faith is to be like a city set on a hill, so that it provides a model to others of how God has created us to live. The law—and even more, a community that lives by it—is a powerful witness to others. In a world where religions and nations and neighbors clash, such a witness is in valuable . The local church is a witness in the life it leads as a community as well as in the work it does in the larger community. If the congregation seals itself off from the changes that are occurring in the world around it, its witness will hardly be helpful to the world. Finally, there are many references in the New Testament to the character of the church as bringing together people who were once strangers and now form one people. This includes all those Christians around the world whose numbers and strength might astonish many struggling congregations in our country. It is no accident that Pentecost rapidly became a time for baptism in the early church. Normally, by the middle of the second century, all the catechumens—those preparing to become part of the church—were baptized during the Easter Vigil. The imagery was clear: in baptism they had died with Christ (in changing their behavior and thinking from their pagan past), and in coming from the baptismal water, they had indeed risen with Christ, ready now for the first time to join the congregation in the Easter Eucharist. But there were probably always some people who could have been baptized at Easter, but illness or some other significant event had prevented it.

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    Therefore, these persons could be baptized at Pentecost. Now the emphasis would not be so much on the dying and rising with Christ, but rather on the power of the Holy Spirit who has recreated them as children of God and joined them to the family of God, brothers and sisters of the Son of God himself. In the Roman and Hellenistic culture of those early days, it took a great deal of effort to remove someone mentally from the structures of households, social status, gender relationships, and make them part of this new society. As Paul wrote to the Galatians (3:27-28), “As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” It was the power of the Holy Spirit that enabled this to happen. If there is a baptism on this Pentecost Sunday, the reading from Ezekiel would be helpful. It shows that baptism is not simply an individual matter, nor does it mean becoming part of this local congregation. It involves becoming part of this vast body of believers made alive by the Spirit, a body that without that Spirit is simply a collection of dry bones with no life and no future. Those being baptized this day are being united with all those Christians in Asia and Africa, as well as with all those Christians in different congregations in their own neighborhood who may seem quite different from them. In congregations that normally celebrate communion on the first Sunday of the month, thought has to be given to the important meaning of the Eucharist on Pentecost , even when it does not fall on such a day. (The same is true for Easter, but that is a word for a different time.) If communion is celebrated on Pentecost, what comes to the fore is the significance of the Holy Spirit in uniting all those who receive the bread and cup. Usually the Prayer of Great Thanksgiving concludes with words that implore the Holy Spirit to use these elements so that they are for us the body and blood of Christ. They are one of the means by which we are united with one another even as we are united with Christ. Especially at Pentecost, we need to expand our vision of the church as the Body of Christ to include the wide variety of peoples whom the Eucharist unites with Christ as well as among themselves.

  • Sermon for the first Sunday in Lent

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    Sermon for the First Sunday in Lent

    Mark 1:9-15

    David Bartlett

    Columbia Theological Seminary, Decatur, Georgia

    I. I remember the first sermon I wrote for the first preaching course I ever took. More exactly, I don’t much remember the sermon, but I remember the response the sermon got. The assignment was to preach a sermon for the first Sunday in Lent, and I chose to preach on the temptation narrative from Matthew’s Gospel. I was still no doubt much influenced by my college reading of Fyodor Dostoyevsky ’s novel, The Brothers Karamazov. In that novel one of the protagonists, Ivan, has a vision. In that vision Jesus Christ has been imprisoned by the Grand Inquisitor. The dialogue between Jesus and his captor is a kind of gloss on the story of the temptations in Matthew 4. According to Dostoyevsky, in the three temptations Jesus resists the three appealing strategies for Messiahship offered by the Grand Inquisitor—miracle, mystery, and authority. The Grand Inquisitor, who represents the power of the church, can’t quite understand Jesus’ reticence. After all, suggests Dostoyevsky, the sanctions by which the church holds believers in steadfast obedience are precisely those three—miracle, mystery, and authority. Influenced by Dostoyevsky’s story I used my sermon to write a pointed reminder to the church of the twentieth century, and most especially to the congregation where I was serving my internship. I reminded us that in our time, as in Jesus’ time, we are always tempted to use gimmicks or power or false authority to persuade people to believe. Therefore, I suggested, we are called like Jesus to resist those temptations and to live a life of sacrificial service. “Not bad,” I thought. 44Bad,” thought the Teaching Assistant of the preaching class, one Joseph Hough. Surprisingly, despite his criticism of my sermon, Hough went on to become a distinguished scholar and teacher and until his retirement, President of Union Seminary in New York. So perhaps he knew what he was talking about. What he was talking about was that I completely misinterpreted the story of the temptation in Matthew’s Gospel. The story of the temptations in Matthew’s Gospel, said Hough, was not a story of the temptations that beset us, either as individuals or as a church. The story is the story of the temptations that beset Jesus—it is a story of messianic temptations, and it sets out to answer a different question than the one I asked. Not 44Who are believers?” or 44Who is the church?” but 44Who is this Messiah? Who is this Jesus?”

    II. In many ways the reading from Mark’s Gospel relieves us of the temptation to think that the temptation story is about us. Here in its starkest form is a story about Jesus. It’s the middle story in three brief stories about the inauguration of Jesus’ ministry , maybe even his coronation as Son of God. In the first story Jesus is baptized

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    and hears God’s voice: “You are my son; in you I am well pleased.” In the third story Christ makes his inaugural address, stunningly brief and to the point: ‘The time is fulfilled; the Kingdom of God is at hand. Repent and believe in the Gospel.” And in this middle story, Jesus validates his own role as preacher and embodiment of God’s Kingdom: he resists the power of Satan. There are no details about the particular temptations. There is no description of Jesus’ agony. Just a simple portrait: Satan and the beasts on one side; Jesus and the angels on the other. Temptation overcome, the King, fresh from his coronation at Jordan, begins his reign.

    III. What helps us about this Lenten story is that it concentrates on Jesus more than on us. What also helps us about this Lenten story is that it concentrates on triumph more than on regret. Right after the temptation story, Jesus begins his ministry, telling people to “repent and believe in the Gospel.” But the reason to “repent” is not in hopes that the Gospel may come along to rescue us. The reason to repent is that the Kingdom is already breaking in, and that in the wilderness Jesus has already triumphed over the forces of sin and evil—not for the last time, perhaps, but decisively, irrevocably. For years I thought it was odd that when John Milton had finished his monumental poem “Paradise Lost” (the epic that tells how “sin came into this world and all our woe”), and he came to write “Paradise Regained,” he didn’t turn to the story of Calvary or to the story of the empty tomb. He turned to the story in the wilderness — Jesus’ resistance to temptation reverses Adam and Eve’s subjection. Adam and Eve and their offspring, John Milton and we, have been cast into the wilderness, but now in the wilderness, by his faithfulness, Jesus triumphs and restores us to a new and richer garden. Now I think Milton has caught a very important part of the gospel story. From the beginning of his ministry to the end, whether in visible success or in suffering and shame, Jesus is Messiah and has begun his messianic reign. Mark tells us that his book is about the beginning of the good news of Jesus, Messiah, Son of God. He is Son of God already; the kingdom is breaking in; there is no question of the outcome of our story—it will be the victory of God. I quote Mark Douglas who wrote not only that we should place Lent in context, but that perhaps we should displace it altogether:

    My principle argument against Lent is that it encourages us to think about living as if we are on the way to Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection—to place ourselves in a “time before” both in order to more fully appreciate those events. I, on the other hand, think that we are called to think about living after crucifixion and resurrection—to place ourselves in the “time between” resurrections in order to more fully understand our own inaugurated 2000 or so years ago.”1

    As I grow older I sometimes find myself settling into a kind of inappropriate sentimentality. It comes at those moments when I reflect on difficult moments in my

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    life—the illness of my spouse, the disappointments of a child. I am tempted to wallow in the emotions that were perfectly proper to the former fears and old distresses. I almost conjure up in myself the grief and fear that marked those moments. Then I remember that in fact the illness has passed; the children are fine. Wallowing in old fears in the presence of sustaining grace is just self-indulgent. For now, thank God, I know how the story turns out. Lent can be a kind of exercise in sentimentality. Will Jesus overcome his temptations ? Will our sins ever be forgiven? For forty days we pretend that we don’t know how the story came out so that we can grieve appropriately as if we were citizens of an old creation that has long since passed away. It’s just false consciousness to pretend that we don’t know how Lent turns out. It turns out in reconciliation and triumph—every single time. The danger with the cycle of the liturgical year is that sometimes it seems to suggest that our lives are bound always to go in circles, too. February—time to feel awful again. Remember that this is the first Sunday in Lent. Sunday, the third day, the day of resurrection. Were it not Sunday we would not care a fig about ashes or abstinence or Lenten discipline. Were Christ not risen, Lent would be simple silliness. We are penitent only because we know full well how the story comes out. Sometimes, in our sentimental mode, we think maybe if we can confess our sinfulness with enough penitence and regret, Jesus will do something about it. But of course Jesus has already done something about it; so at Lent we confess our sinfulness with penitence—and joy.

    Notes 1. Mark Douglas, “Protagonist’s Corner,” Journal for Preachers 32, no .3 (Easter, 2009), 47.

  • The Word became flesh: an Advent worship story in four voices

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    Protagonist Corner The Word Became Flesh: An Advent Worship Story in Four Voices

    Mark Davis, Fani Lemken, Joie Hand Heartland Presbyterian Church, Clive, Iowa

    The Worship Committee In the beginning was the idea. The idea became conversation and the conversation became yam in willing hands. The yam became scarves and the scarves became the offering. In the offering the story lived in the flesh. D. Mark Davis, Advent sermon

    Worship during the season of Advent is an opportunity to participate in the hopes and fears of all the years that are met in the simple birth of a child. At Heartland Presbyterian Church, Advent worship is a creative process of combining word and image into a new theme for each Advent season. It changes from year to year; one Advent season we organized our seating in the round, with cascading blue fabric on the ceiling pouring into the font at the center, inviting reflection on what Advent means for those who have been claimed in baptism as we “Wait in the Water” Shortly after Hurricane Katrina, we put the sanctuary in disarray – filled with the kind of debris we saw in a photo of a flooded Presbyterian Church in New Orleans – and spent the season longing for “God in the Destruction.” With each new theme, we are standing with the people of God who maintain hope, even in the most forlorn times. The Worship Committee at Heartland is fairly hands-on in the creative process for conceiving of worship themes for major worship seasons such as Lent and Advent. The Pastor and the Parish Associate for Worship Planning sit on the committee, along with a mix of artistic and pragmatic church members. Together, we listen for where the Spirit is calling us to focus each season. Committee members take inspiration from a wide range of sources. In 2011, the Advent theme was suggested by a woman in our congregation who had a dream. She is the person on our Mission Committee who organizes quarterly meals at a homeless shelter, one of which is always on December 22. Her dream was to knit enough scarves for each of the 140 persons in the shelter. A few months later, when the Worship Committee met to plan Advent worship, the committee decided to make this scarf project the organizing theme for the season of Advent.

    The Knitters After we served our meal at the shelter last April, a light bulb came on: I imagined how amazing it would be to give each person at Central Iowa Shelter a scarf as a Christmas gift. I envisioned the tables at the shelter, adorned with neat piles of rolled scarves, ready for each guest to choose his or her favorite, maybe because of the special stitch, or type of yam used. Jacque Crouch, originator of the scarf project

    They knitted scarves for months. Some were experienced knitters and created scarves with complex stitches and beautiful fringe. Others picked up needles for the

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    first time and labored over every loop. Some purchased the finest yarn in boutique shops. Others spent carefully saved coins for a pretty shade of pink. And they sat knitting , at home, on bleachers watching children during sports practice, in the morning over steaming cups of coffee. Word spread. Two of the yarn boutiques in town donated boxes of yarn to the cause – not remainders or left-overs. The experienced knitters recognized the expensive yam in the donation box. A food business didn’t want to be left out; they donated goodie bags to go along with the scarves. The original goal was 140 scarves, to reach most of the guests the shelter serves on a typical December evening. By the time the van was loaded to make the delivery , close to 300 scarves were rolled and packed inside. There were enough for the shelter, for Cross Ministries, for Hansen House, and 75 more for people living under bridges. A dedication service was held at the beginning of Advent, and the scarves were displayed on wire figures, on windowsills, and on chair backs. The knitters were in awe and humility when they saw the display. “I didn’t feel worthy,” was a common response from the knitters, whose steady knitting had surpassed every expectation for the project.

    The Worshipper We filled up the van and hauled all of the scarves to Heartland Presbyterian for the Advent display. There were mannequins crafted of wire, wood, card board and Styrofoam waiting to be adorned. A blue plastic homeless camp in the center of the sanctuary finished the total effect. This exhibit transformed Advent into a real world…. Jacque Crouch

    Advent. The Year of Our Lord, Two Thousand and Eleven. The sanctuary had been transformed into a living diorama, full of “Beholds!” for anyone with eyes to see. The first visual response was confusion. What was that pile of junk doing in the chancel below the cross? Why were there wire forms scattered throughout the front of the sanctuary? Where was the Christmas tree or a wreath or the banners? On closer inspection the junk consisted of plywood, plastic, and tin rudely crafted together. A shelter of some kind? Surely not the stable for this year’s pageant! Aha! A homeless shelter. A homeless shelter instead of a crèche? A homeless shelter with the feel of a crèche, front and center in the sanctuary, a sanctuary within a sanctuary? It was eye-grabbing. There was no denying it or the message. What about the wire forms that looked like aliens? With a little work and some imagination, they resolved themselves into mannequins reminiscent of dressmaker forms, but with attitude. Spare to begin with and anonymous, they slowly adopted scarf personalities over the course of the season, scarves of many colors, handmade scarves, beautiful, warm- in- every- way scarves. So many scarves arrived that when all of the forms had been adorned, scarves started stacking up against the windows, along the chancel rail, across the communion table. Where did those scarves come from? What did they mean? How did they get there? Where were they going? They came from the loving hands of church members, of students, of friends, of aunts, of cousins, and of strangers. They meant that service and compassion can be expressed physically and visually in witness to God’s call. They blessed the sanctu-

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    ary for an Advent season, sending the news out that in serving each other, we serve Christ. They were given to the strangers, the brothers and the sisters, who gathered at the Central Shelter on Christmas Eve to share a hot meal and accept the scarves of many colors—our strangers, our brothers, and our sisters who taught us or reminded us of what and who we wait for on Christmas Day.

    The Preacher In the beginning was the Word. And the Word was with God, and the Word was God. John 1:1

    John’s prologue is not often used as an Advent text. It lacks the stirring anticipation of Isaiah’s poetry and the warm familiarity of Luke’s and Matthew’s narratives. We selected John’s prologue as our centering text for the Advent season because retelling the creation story offers a reflection on the process of creativity itself. Consider John’s twin propositions, “the Word was with God” and “the Word was God.” How can the Word be both the same as (“was”) and distinct from (“was with”) God at the same time? The Christian tradition has dealt with this problem metaphysically and controversially for many years through Christological and Trinitarian formulas. Our experience of conceiving and creating scarves offered a fresh way of embracing the identity and difference between the Word and God. When our knitters embarked on creating a scarf, the more seasoned ones would imagine the scarf first. There was initially a “creative idea” or a “logos” of the scarf. The idea was one with the knitter – reflecting tastes, past experiences, and passions. Yet, the idea was different from the knitter ; it had a specific purpose that would become an entity all its own. The idea was and was not the knitter. In time, the idea became a knitted scarf, which gave us fresh appreciation for John’s stirring words, “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us and we have seen his glory.” So, where will the next Advent take us? Some folks will knit again, creating caps and gloves for our friends at the shelter. Some will find other ways to serve, as we live toward God’s presence. The Worship Committee will continue to keep ears to the ground and eyes wide open in order to see where the Spirit takes us in celebration, proclamation, and service.

  • Wonder

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    At one of our long-range planning meetings, we were brainstorming our Advent 2012 theme. I mentioned that Christian Saj would be the featured artist in our Art Gallery in the interval beginning in November and running through mid-January, which would encompass the Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany seasons. Once we agreed on the Advent theme of Wait, Watch, Wonder, we commissioned Christina to create an original piece of art. Having settled on the theme, the worship staff began to think creatively about how to shape the liturgy in conversation with this theme. As we moved closer to the Advent Season of 2012, we invited Christina Saj to join us for an Open House Artist’s Reception in November. We invited the Introduction to Worship Class at Columbia Theological Seminary to attend the open house and asked Christina to teach a portion of the class. She helped us and the seminary students understand the history of iconography and shared an excellent slide show illustrating the role icons have played in religious faith and formation across the last millennium. It was this process that informed all of our Advent worship and was the motivation for Gary to preach three sermons, each of which centered on one part of the Advent theme. The sermon on “Wonder5’ was the closing sermon and follows below.

    Notes 1 John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, I. xi.12. 2 Ibid., I. xiv.20. 3 William A. Dymess, Visual Faith: Art, Theology, and Worship in Dialogue (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2001), 62.

    Wonder Luke 1:26-38

    Gary W. Charles Central Presbyterian Church, Atlanta, Georgia

    Wonder. I find it a word hard to define even though it is often on my tongue. “I-pads and Kindles are each a technological wonder.” “The child’s eyes were filled with wonder as she looked at the Christmas tree.” “We watched the fireworks on the Fourth with wonder.” “The disciples stood outside and looked upon the Jerusalem temple in wonder.” So what is the best way to define “wonder?” Is it as the dictionary says: “a cause of astonishment” or “the quality of excited amazed admiration” or “rapt attention” or “astonishment at something awesomely mysterious” or is it all of the above? Sometimes I find it easier to say what a word does not mean. A staple of my elementary school lunches was peanut butter and jelly on “Wonder Bread.” I promise you that when I removed that sandwich from its wax paper, there was no “cause of astonishment” or “amazed admiration” or anything “awesomely mysterious” about the plain, boring, white bread smothered with peanut butter and jelly. It may have been good marketing, but “Wonder Bread” derailed a really fine word for me for a long time. In my experience, when it comes to defining “wonder,” a dictionary is of limited use. When I have stumbled upon wonder, or wonder has stumbled upon me, it has

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    been at the same time unmistakable and yet almost always indescribable. To experience “wonder” is probably the most maddening of all experiences for verbal folks like me, because wonder cannot be downsized into a word or any combination of words. “Wonder” is something that we know in our guts, in our hearts, even when we cannot put it into words. On this final Sunday of Advent, I give Luke credit, for he defines “wonder” better than any dictionary entry as he tells the story of the angel Gabriel paying a “visit” to the peasant Mary. This past week, I searched our sanctuary windows, each of which are filled with crèches from around the world, and I did not find the Mary who Gabriel visits. I suspect I would more likely find that Mary sleeping on the ledge outside our front or back door or stuck at the bus station without money for a ticket or camped out underneath an overpass rather than situated safely at the base of any of our lovely stained-glass windows. “Mary found herself pregnant and not yet married in an ancient culture in which coercive control of female sexuality was a primary measure of masculine honor,” writes Old Testament scholar Carolyn Sharp. “Mary faced an uncertain future at best and a devastating retribution from her community at worst So I don’t envision Mary as the radiant woman peacefully composing the Magnificat in Marie Ellenrieder’s 1833 painting, but as a girl who sings defiantly to her God through her tears, fists clenched against an unknown future” (12/14/11 blog On Scripture). Maybe the porcelain Marys and wooden Marys, the dark skin Marys and the plump Marys and the lithe Marys all look so serene in each crèche because the Magnificat was sung nine months earlier, and over nine months, Mary moved on to ponder all these things in her heart. Or maybe Mary knows better than anyone that she is living in the calm before the storm. Over those nine months, Rome did not start looking for a new lord; Caesar had that role nailed down already. Culture did not start valuing the contributions of women and softening its harsh expectations of female sexuality. The world did not start seeing poverty as something to be overturned, but a condition to be avoided at all costs. If I were an artist, my crèche might also have a serene Mary, but her fists would be clenched beneath her tattered birthing robes. It is a “wonder” to me that the church – Protestant and Catholic – has tried so hard to take the sting out of this story, and by so doing, much of the “wonder.” Part of the “wonder” not to be missed in the Annunciation is that Mary did not enlist. She was no fool; she was not waving her hand wildly to play the role of “theotokos” – mother of God. She was not anxious to call the wrath of Rome or Judaism or family upon herself. Mary listens to Gabriel and then asks a perfectly reasonable question, “How can this be?” But it is the only question she asks. “There are several other questions I believe I would have asked,” writes Barbara Brown Taylor, “such as: Will Joseph stick around? Will my parents still love me? Will my friends stand by me, or will I get dragged into town and stoned for sleeping around? Will the pregnancy go all right? Will the labor be hard? Will there be someone there to help me when my time comes? Will I know what to do?” (Taylor, Gospel Medicine, pp. 151-152). The greatest “wonder” of the Annunciation story for me, then, is not biological – was Mary really a virgin, and if so, how is such a pregnancy possible. The greatest “wonder” is that when chosen by God to bear the love of God, the child of God, into the world, despite all the good reasons to rant and rail and raise a clenched fist

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    at God, Mary says, “Yes.” Wonder of wonders, Mary embraces this holy disruption. “Here I am; let it be with me according to your word.” That response from Mary is as good a definition of “wonder” as any I have ever heard or read. I don’t want to miss, though, the role that Gabriel plays in the story. His role is easy to overlook. Just peruse all the crèches again, and you will not find one angel Gabriel on display. Sure, he came nine months earlier and was long off the scene by the time of the Bethlehem birth, or was he? Look again at each crèche, and you will often find a single angel. I would like to think of that angel as Gabriel making the same announcement to the shepherds that earlier he had made to Mary: “Fear not.” It just seems the angel thing to do in the Bible. Angels know that fear can choke the life out of wonder; they know that it is frightening, sometimes terribly so, to pay full attention to God, to try to live into God’s vision for the world, to embrace God’s choice for our lives when we had other plans, but the wonder of Gabriel’s song is that God would not let Mary, will not let us, drown in that fear alone. I wonder what it would mean to live that way, unafraid to hold on to the good news of God for dear life, unafraid to tell the world that God has no patience with hunger and human desperation, with children being preyed upon by adults, with healing afforded only to those who can afford it, with bending over backwards policies to protect the rich while crafting pious lip service policies for the poor, with public power purchased by those who can write the biggest checks, with religion remote from the streets, content inside sweetly adorned sanctuaries, I wonder what it would mean for us to believe that “in this world of sin, where meek souls will receive Him, still the dear Christ enters in.” I wonder how we would be changed if we believed that these were more than lame lyrics to a popular carol, but were the very confidence that carried Mary for nine months and for thirty-some years after that, the very confidence that can carry us in this season of what we want into a season of what God wants, carry us on wings like eagles from this beloved sanctuary into God’s beloved world. I wonder.

  • Step by step

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    Step by Step

    Acts 11:1-18

    Frank G. Honeycutt

    St. John’s Lutheran Church, Walhalla, South Carolina

    Then Peter began to explain it to them, step by step, saying, “I was in the city of Joppa praying, and in a trance I saw a vision.” Acts 11:4-5

    In October of 1908 a sixteen-year-old white girl was assaulted in a cotton field just off South Spring Street in Concord, North Carolina. A black man was arrested for the crime and jailed in Raleigh at the state penitentiary to protect him from a lynch mob. Justice (or what was called that) was rather swift in those days. By mid-December a strong wooden scaffold was erected and on the eighteenth day of that month, just two months after the arrest, the young thirty-six-year-old sheriff of Cabarrus County presided over the last legal hanging in the state of North Carolina. The sheriff was a towering man, 6 feet, 7 inches, a Lutheran, as were ninety percent of all county residents in 1908. The sheriff, widely-respected in Concord, was personally opposed to the death penalty. Maybe something he heard in his Lutheran church or read in the Bible shaped his thinking. His wife, Agnes, had the unhappy task of making the hood used at the hanging. December eighteenth arrived, a chilly day on the cusp of winter. Upwards of two thousand people filled the public square in the vicinity of the jail to see justice served (or some version of it); vengeance meted out; the streets now made safe—something. Crowds have always gathered at such events like vultures circling carrion. The Cabarrus County sheriff who presided over the hanging that day was Frank Honeycutt, my great-grandfather, for whom I am named. I do not know the name of the black man, which is telling. I do know (according to my mother who has researched details of the trial) that there is almost a one-hundred percent chance that this man was innocent.

    * * * “Why were you eating with themT ask the elders at First Jerusalem Church when Peter returns from his little junket to Joppa by the sea. That little geographical reference should make us pause a bit. Do you recall another Bible story where Joppa figures prominently? Joppa is mentioned in the Book of Jonah. And Jonah is about a prophet of God who slowly learns that God’s love is much wider than he once thought. We tend to remember the incident of the whale and the prophet’s time in the belly of that beast, but those three days in the dark amidst digestive juices and carcasses of various sea creatures were just props to get the prophet’s attention. God wanted Jonah to go into a city, Nineveh, and tell those Ninevites that God loved them as much as God loved Jonah’s relatives. And that mission, as you may recall, was a huge stretch for Jonah. The love of God was wider than he wanted it to be. Jonah didn’t do handstands on the way to the city. He went slowly step-by-step, slowly waking up to this wider love of God. So it’s rather remarkable that Peter’s vision in Acts occurs in Joppa. I think of

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    William Faulkner’s famous quote here: “The past is not dead. In fact, it’s not even past.” Something was revealed to Peter in Joppa that was also revealed to Jonah. You know, people of faith spend a lot of time breathlessly trying to keep up with God who is out ahead of us, far out ahead of us, beckoning us to places we should go, people we should include. But something gets in the way. “So why were you eating with themT ask the church elders. A Gentile outsider, the soldier Cornelius, had been baptized. Highly irregular—not one of them; Peter knew he would have some explaining to do. His colleagues in Jerusalem were rather irked and critical of his actions. Peter was in hot water to say the least. Let me stop here and say something that might seem obvious: When you’re doing the work of Christ, sharing the radical love of God, loving “as” Jesus loved (from our gospel reading), then you might very well receive a lot of criticism for it. Does that also mean that if you never receive any criticism in your life as a Christian, you might be playing it a little safe? Well, possibly. Maybe that’s what Jesus meant when he said, “Woe to those of whom all speak well.” If we follow Jesus and never ever make anybody mad, I might have to wonder about our Christianity. Jesus constantly angered folk. He was not afraid of conflict, divisive sometimes, confrontational for the sake of the kingdom. We need to move beyond the fallacy that the church exists to make everyone happy. When we radically extend the love of God to all people, that’s going to inevitably make some angry.

    * * * “So why’d you have to go and eat with them? They’re not our kind, don’t look like us. What are you doing, Peter?” Oh, they were hot. So, “step by step” says the story, Peter begins. “I was in the city of Joppa praying .” If you have no interest at all in change, please avoid prayer. Fill your day with busy tasks and television. If you like things the way they are, I advise you to leave prayer out of your life entirely. Prayer is one way God changes the world. Peter’s vision occurred in the middle of his prayers. I visited Noia Lucius this past Thursday at the Lowman Home. Noia will be ninetynine in July. She misses this congregation desperately; even though her memory is not what it once was, she named several of you and wanted me to tell you all hello, sending her love. In our conversation, I was reminded that Noia still spends an hour each day on her knees—on her almost 99-year-old knees—in prayer to her Lord. This is a practice she has carried with her for decades since she was a nurse at the State Hospital and through the illness of her husband whom she largely cared for at home until he died. What a laugh this woman has, which rises and falls like a flute. What joy. “You know, sometimes people today don’t want to talk about Jesus,” she said. “And that’s okay. So we talk about other things. But I can still pray. And I do.” Prayer is one way God gets at us. If you have no interest in change, hear this: Avoid prayer intentionally. All the great movements of change in our world, I daresay, began with a vision that was born in prayer. And step-by-step, at lunch counters, in public schools, in voting booths, in courts of law, (and even in churches!) that vision became reality.

    * * * Why’d you have to go and eat with them? “I was praying. I was in a trance. I saw a

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    vision. The Spirit told me.” These are not words that comfort most Lutherans, even though Martin Luther employed them all as he went about helping to change the world. Peter sees an incredible variety of animals in that sheet (something that contradicted his biblical viewpoint), and even though the command was initially dietary in nature, the vision would come to embody the very gospel for him. He looked at those angry churchgoers, his friends, and said, “The Holy Spirit fell upon them just as it had upon us at the beginning… .Who was I that I could hinder God?” There is a huge tug, people of God, for human beings to categorize and separate and codify. Human history is full of this: black and white, gay and straight, North and South, Protestant and Catholic, public and private, contemporary and traditional, homeless and employed. We could go on and on. But sometimes we’re given a vision as Christians where labels vanish and a whole roiling ark of creation rubs shoulders in the same heavenly bedsheet called baptism. Note the variety in that sheet today. And note the possibility of tension and locking of horns between the different types descending from heaven. It took three separate sightings of this odd vision, but the message is clear to Peter as he explains, step-by-step, to his astonished partners in the gospel: ‘4The Spirit told me to go with them and not to make distinctions between them and us.” It was the end of “them” and “us.”

    * * * A lot has changed in Cabarrus County, North Carolina, since 1908. More than one hundred years have passed. Racism (and all the other ugly -isms) are still part of our world, but a lot has changed. Step by step. Remember these three words that connect you as God?s person to a mission that strives to eliminate distinctions between people:

    Joppa. Prayer. Baptism.

    Words that form us, invite us to take that next step.

  • Practicing resurrection: in the armor of God

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    Practicing Resurrection: In the Armor of God

    Ephesians 6:10-18a

    Agnes W. Norfleet

    Shandon Presbyterian Church, Columbia, South Carolina

    Using strong military language to make theological points has become, as they say, politically incorrect. Grand old marching hymns like “Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus, Ye soldiers of the cross,” and “Lead on, O King Eternal, The day of march has come; Henceforth in fields of conquest, Thy tents shall be our home,” which many of us grew up singing with great bravado, have fallen out of common usage, and I think we generally understand why. The language we use gives credence to the postures we assume. Historically, the Christian church became allied with military power and far too often went to war under the sign of the cross – all the while professing faith in Jesus, the Prince of Peace, who blessed us to be peacemakers and urged us to pray for our enemies and to resist violence by turning the other cheek. As early as the fourth century, with the baptism of Emperor Constantine, Christianity became the religion of the empire and went into great violence. Troops were ordered to paint the cross on the Roman shield with the words “in this sign conquer” as they marched many barbarian tribes into the closest river for enforced baptism. And of course, closer to home and closer in time, we know how the Bible was interpreted to support slavery and has been used since to oppress and exclude certain categories of people rather than to welcome and promote unity within our diversity. You see, if we imagine the Christian faith to be a kind of warfare, then we have to have enemies. Whenever we name other human beings as enemies, we cease to acknowledge and treat them as children of God, made in the image of God. We see all around the world today how when religion becomes a holy warfare, it leads to horrendous oppression and suffering. Hence, we better understand the logic of avoiding military images for theological concepts when promoting the mission of Jesus’ disciples. I also understand why folks miss these old Christian battle hymns and the gusto with which they were sung. Many of us have fond memories of lining ourselves up from the Sunday school assemblies of yesteryear, as we marched off to our classes to learn the stories of Jesus. Our current Presbyterian Hymnal came out in 1990, just a few years after I was ordained. The church I served then did what a lot of churches do when buying a new hymnbook. They invited members to purchase one for use in the sanctuary, with the invitation to have their name on a bookplate in the front with space to dedicate it in memory or in honor of a loved one. I’ll never forget opening one of those hymnals once while I was leading worship and noticing that the bookplate read: “Given by Colonel and Mrs. So-and-So, In loving memory of Onward Christian Soldiers.’” Many of us miss these old hymns, even if we understand the political correctness of removing the warfare language. And the truth of the matter is that we do live in a world in which the Christian faith comes up against some formidable opponents. We ask our Confirmation Classes: “Trusting in the gracious mercy of God, do you turn from the ways of sin and renounce evil and its power in the world?” In order to turn from the ways of evil and its power in the world, to turn toward Jesus Christ, we

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    have to acknowledge that our faith has serious opposition in our world and culture. The language of our scripture reading – militaristic as the images are – is a helpful reminder of how we fight the good fight and promote the gospel of peace. The author of the Letter to the Ephesians was aware of his church’s precarious social setting in the middle of the First Century. They were surrounded by the military might and the economic dominance of the Roman Empire. He wrote two full chapters of ethical exhortations, encouraging those early Christians against the use of the old defenses like evil talk and gossip, unfaithfulness, deceptiveness, and greed. Put away bitterness and disobedience. If you take off and remove all those kinds of behaviors, here is what you can wear instead: “Put on the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to stand up against evil. For our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers and authorities, against the cosmic powers of darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil.” Then the writer describes exactly what this armor of God looks like: “Fasten the belt of truth around your waist, and put on the breastplate of righteousness. As for shoes for your feet, put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace…. Take the shield of faith, with which you will be able to quench the flaming arrows of evil. Take on the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. Pray in the Spirit at all times….” The protective clothes that the church was supposed to wear would protect them in that dangerous atmosphere which was no more so than ours today. This light weight resurrection armor was important not only for their self-preservation, but also for the sake and integrity of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Clothed in the spiritual gifts of Christ, as in Kevlar for protection, they were free to move through their troubled world as bold, generous, brave, and compassionate disciples. If you make room for this language of God’s armor in your life, it can be really helpful when your faith comes up against our own formidable opponents. Most of us know what our battles are about. We wage war with the daily struggle of balancing rushed and stressful lives. Some of us run up against an oppressive captivity to possessions ; others of us contend with financial insecurity, still others excruciating poverty. Some of us draw our swords as slaves to success; others contend with what’s right to do regarding strained relationships. Some are locked in crosshairs of depression, regret, or guilt and still others in life and death struggles with disease of body, mind, or spirit, peer pressure at school to do the wrong thing, or longing to be in the right kind of crowd. Some battles we choose, and some come at us as if out of nowhere, but no matter the fight, God gives us this wonderful armor to protect us from what comes our way – truth around our waist, a relationship with God to cover our heart, peace at our feet, a shield of faith, a helmet of salvation, the discipline of prayer at the ready for any occasion. The encouragement we are given is not to cloister ourselves, turning inward and away from the world. Nor is it of a holy warrior ready to strike down other people in our way. Rather, the person who follows Jesus engages the world’s problems as he did, by depending on the unlikely and vulnerable defenses of things like truth, faith, and peace. No matter what we come up against, we are not left to our own devices. Instead, we are shown God’s way of dealing with anything that enters the fray of our lives to pick a fight. By God’s gracious armor we are equipped to practice the resurrection of Jesus Christ.

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    A couple of years ago National Public Radio reported an amazing story about a 31-year-old social worker named Julio Diaz who waged a most creative battle in the streets of New York City wearing little more than the armor of God. Every night, Diaz would end his hour-long subway commute to the Bronx one stop early, just so he could eat at his favorite diner. But one night, he stepped off the No. 6 train, started walking toward the stairs, and looked up to see a teenage boy who held a knife. Diaz realized the boy wanted his money, so he gave his wallet and said, “Here you go.” But as the boy began to walk away, he called after him, “Hey, wait a minute. You forgot something. If you’re going to be robbing people for the rest of the night, you might as well take my coat to keep you warm.” Diaz reports that the boy looked up at him with a bewildered expression and then asked, “Why are you doing this?” He replied, “If you’re willing to risk your freedom for a few dollars, then I guess you must really need the money. I mean, all I wanted to do was get dinner, and if you want to join me… hey, you’re more than welcome.” Astoundingly, the teen agreed and went with Diaz to the diner, where they sat in a booth. At the diner, the manager, the dishwashers, and the waiters all came by to greet Diaz. The teenager said, “You know everybody here. Do you own this place?” “No, I just eat here a lot.” The boy replied, “But you’re even nice to the dishwasher.” Diaz asked, “Well, haven’t you been taught you should be nice to everybody?” “Yeah,” the boy said, “But I didn’t think people actually behaved that way.” When the bill arrived, Diaz said, “Look, I guess you’re going to have to pay for this bill, ’cause you have my money, and I can’t pay for it. So if you give me my wallet back, I’ll gladly treat you.” The teen didn’t even think about it and returned the wallet . Then Diaz gave him $20, hoping it might help him. But he asked for something in return. He asked for the boy’s knife. And before they left the diner, the boy gave it to him. My friends, we have these gifts – truth, peace, righteousness, faith, salvation – with which to practice in our daily lives the resurrection of Jesus Christ. All we have to do is take off our old protective gear and lay our earthly weapons down, whether they are the acerbic arrows of rage or the benign shields of resignation. We just have to take off those heavy, outdated, militaristic camouflaged clothes that have in the past felt way too comfortable, in order to put on the armor of a new life in Christ. This armor is light and life-giving and enables us to move about freely with truth, righteousness, peace, and faith.

  • Unless

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    Unless

    Casey Thompson

    Wayne Presbyterian Church, Wayne, Pennsylvania

    For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. 1 Corinthians 1:18

    He shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. Isaiah 2:4

    A Massi ve Ordnance Air Blast bomb, nicknamed by the U .S. military as the Mother of All Bombs, would make an unwieldy plowshare. At 21,000 lbs, it would require a few more oxen than most farmers own. It does, however, come with its own GPS system already included, a nice bonus in today’s high tech farming economy. As for pruning hooks, we might look into melting the M-16, the world’s most manufactured and employed semi-automatic weapon. Made of aluminum and steel, the eight pounds would render three or four functional pruning hooks at least. Of course, you don’t own either of those, do you? First, where would you put it? Second, the neighbors would frown. It’s likely you own something intended for security though, if not a Colt .45, then a 401k, if not a WMD, then an ATI system, if not a telescopic lens, then a tenured professorship. Security’s not bad: I wear my seatbelt; I watch my wife walk to her car when it’s dark; I install rails for my girls’ bunkbeds; I save for a rainy day; I lock my door at night and put the chain on. Security is a seductive idol though, easily becoming the thing we place our trust in instead of God. As we celebrate this season of Easter, a season marked by Christ’s announcement of peace to disciples in a locked room, I invite you to rethink the way fear interrupts the peace of your life, the way it diverts your trust in God into trust in a weapon, a portfolio, an education, a job. Easter is an invitation to another way, a narrow way, a way that seems paved with foolishness. Pruning hooks are no match for spears after all. They certainly won’t keep you off a cross if a cohort of Romans comes for you. But this way of foolishness promises something more, something eternal: a resurrection , an end to that which frightens us most, an end to death. It is a promise so extravagant that it is so easily discarded. If only God’s power were as shocking as a mushroom cloud, if only the enemies of love were rendered as helpless by love as by land mines, then the promise might have teeth. Instead, God entrusted this promise to a helpless infant, a precocious boy, a romantic dreamer who riddles his sermons, a messiah whose army can’t even pick up a plowshare to defend him, a revolutionary who won’t revolt. Foolish. It all seems like such a foolish promise. Unless you are being saved. Then it is the power of God. For then you understand with Paul, a man who knew the glint of a sword in his hand, the heft of a rock in his palm, that God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, that God’s weakness is stronger than human strength. Because it’s when the weapon, the portfolio, the education, the jobs fail us, it’s when we’re desperate, afraid, and in agony, that the helpless infant who matured into a

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    messiah without swords and spears comes to save us from ourselves. And for those who have been saved, we shake our heads and wonder how this happens, how this prince of peace still lives, how he stretches across millennia with a word of comfort or hope, how he opens our eyes to the lies that resources and force are what drive the world, how he emboldens us to meet the threats of danger with smiles of love, how he cultivates our trust until we believe a single breath of his can transform massive bombs into multitudes of bread and M-16s into myriads of fish, how he remakes us in a way that seems like loss to everyone else but seems like purification to us, how in stripping things away from us he shows us our true selves, and how he does the same to himself, ultimately transforming a symbol of death, the cross, into a symbol of abundant life. How foolish this must all seem. Unless. If faith is a casual matter for you, I’d like to thank you for being here today. If it all seems like foolishness, but you’re determined to honor a mother or pacify a spouse by being here… well, I understand that. I make you an invitation though (your heart can stop palpitating, you won’t be coming forward). The invitation is this: when you find yourself lost, when you peer into your life and wonder about its meaning, when all of your security systems collapse, when your heart cleaves in two because you’ve forgotten how to love until its too late, when the medication no longer manages the depression, when you’re terrified of what happens in your next session with your therapist, when the doctors can’t figure out what’s happening with your child, when even breathing seems a chore, when little is left, when you are perishing, then I invite you to consider the foolishness again. It has the power to save that nothing else has. Here’s why I’m a fool for Christ: because my daughter’s appendix ruptured and my pension was useless, the locks on my door were useless, the airbags in my car were useless, my job was useless. My health insurance was useful, but not comforting to me in the dread moments of the interim. For that, useless. There are pieces of life we simply cannot manage, that we cannot secure in bubble wrap, that we cannot lock away in safety deposit boxes. Our lives are vulnerable, no matter our preparations against the troubles. What sustained me when I waited through those horrible nights was that Christ would never abandon my girl—even if the worst were to happen and she didn’t make it, Christ would not abandon her—and that Christ would never abandon me. Here’s why I’m a fool for Christ: because I lay in a bed with pneumonia, my second child soon to be born, graduation a now ambiguous event, no place to work, expecting any moment to have to go into an ICU, and it was Christ who came to me and soothed me, who reminded me that I’m always in his care. That I’m never alone. Here’s why I’m a fool for Christ: because when I sat in a therapist’s chair and untangled my fear that if I weren’t a success, I wouldn’t be loved, it was God’s laughter I heard in the background—”My child, my child, I will always love you.” In these moments, a minute presence mushrooms like a cloud in the midst of our torment, an everlasting presence we seldom nurture, a visitation of the spirit that buoys our very existence, a companion. The love of Christ is real, it’s eternal, it abides, and when everything else is stripped away, it is all we have left. The message about the cross might seem foolishness to those who can layer themselves in protections, who can purchase the idols that thwart the pain of life,

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    but to us who are being saved, whose layers of protection have been breeched, it is the power of God. Indeed, it is even more. It is the promise that we can live without those protections, because those protections not only deaden the pain we feel, but they also deaden our joy. The good news is that we don’t need them. The good news is that even the worst that can happen, even death, does not master us. This is what the Easter story is about. God came among us to love us fully, to show us a still more excellent way—a foolish way. Love your enemies. Pray for those who persecute you. When someone strikes you, turn the other cheek. Give all you have to the poor so that your possessions no longer possess you. Lay down your life so that you might gain it. And lo, I am with you, even to the end of the age—even to the hospital bed, even in the unemployment line, even when all of your security systems collapse, even when your heart cleaves in two because you’ve forgotten how to love, even when the medication no longer manages the depression, even when the doctors can’t figure out what’s happening with your child, when even breathing seems a chore, even when you are perishing. It seems like a foolish promise, a foolish basis for all of life, unless you are perishing, unless it is all you have left to rely on, and then it is the power of God to save. This is my invitation to you, look to God instead of the M16, look to God instead of the portfolio, look to God instead of the bottle, and when it seems impossible that you will be comforted, you will be comforted. When it seems that nothing can save you, you will be saved. When it seems halfwitted that this upside down life is anything other than a fool’s errand, you will find such profound meaning in loving others that you will wonder that you ever pursued security when you could have pursued peace. There is nothing left to fear. Death has been overthrown. The Prince of Peace has prevailed. He is here. Christ has risen!

  • Adopted into oddness

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    Adopted into Oddness

    Galatians 4:4-7 and Luke 1:46-55

    Frank G. Honeycutt

    Walhalla, South Carolina

    God sent his Son…so that we might receive adoption as children. (Gal. 4:5)

    In September of 1985 our first child was bom. We named her Hannah, which means “grace.” Later that fall (October 20th to be precise), we placed her up for adoption . A pastor poured water over her head in church one Sunday and said something like, “Once you were just a Honeycutt, but now you’re adopted into a much larger family—the family of God which stretches with a strange genealogy farther than you can possibly see. These odd ones are your kin now. You’ll be sent to odd places one day. Welcome.” Several years passed. Cindy and I were sitting around the kitchen table. Hannah played with the black cat at our feet. (Every minister needs a black cat.) We’d been praying, asking God to guide and help us as we made decisions about a second child. We heard about a little girl in an orphanage in El Salvador as war raged around the countryside there. Cindy scheduled a flight with the only ticket we could afford. With a set of details that could only have been orchestrated by the Holy Spirit, we adopted Marta in December of 1988. Exactly a month later ,we placed her up for adoption again. The pastor said something like, “Once you were a Salvadoran, and then just a Honeycutt, but now you’re adopted into a much larger family—the family of God which stretches farther than you can possibly see. These odd ones are your kin now. You’ll be sent to odd places one day. Welcome.” I was bicycling one May on the Blue Ridge Parkway with my cycling pals before the advent of cell phones. A ranger stopped me on a long climb. I was glad to stop, winded, but thought someone back home had died. “Are you Frank Honeycutt?” asked the ranger. I nodded yes. “Your wife wants you to call her.” I rode to the nearest telephone. It all came at once. “The birth mother cannot keep the little boy. He’s biracial —black father, white mother. It’s a very small town. We need to make a decision in the next week. She’s in her last trimester.” We drove to Tennessee to a small town near Nashville in early July of 1991 and picked Lukas up at the hospital. He was four days old at the time of his adoption. A little over a month later, we placed him up for adoption again. The pastor in church that Sunday said something like, “Many people will want to define you by your race or by your last name, but now by water and the word, you’re adopted into a much larger family—the family of God. These odd ones are your kin now. And you’ll be sent to odd places one day. Welcome.”

    * * * In today’s reading from the Book of Galatians, Saint Paul writes these words to a very young church: “But when the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son, bom of a woman, bom under the law, in order to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as children.” In just a few minutes in this church, Annalise and Joseph will be baptized—ad-

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    opted into the family of God. What a great day this is for them, a day to be celebrated and remembered. But we need to be clear what precisely it is we are celebrating and what we’re called to remember. There is still a fair amount of superstition surrounding baptism in our culture. Any pastor can probably recall an urgent phone call from a frightened mother wanting to know, “Can you do my baby?” Pour a little water, say a few words, and provide a talisman of protection from all mishap and evil. It’s interesting in the gospels that the baptism of Jesus does not protect him from evil; rather, it hastens his encounter with such. Nary a verse separates the baptism of Jesus and his encounter with Satan in the wilderness. You’ll hear the very old renunciations of evil in the baptismal liturgy in just a few moments. And in some ways, these words will sound archaic and passé. But they reflect a conviction that baptism has as much to do with this life as the next. Baptism sends us into the world to some very odd (and even dark) places. “In battle we’ll engage,” writes Luther in his famous hymn. But to just stick with the single baptismal image of adoption, in baptism, we still have earthly parents, but the primary parent becomes God the Father. In baptism, we still have family stories, but the main story from which we find meaning and truth is from the Bible. In baptism, we might have brothers and sisters and live in a house, but our primary family is the household of God. In baptism, we may speak English (or another language), but the adopted will listen for God’s voice and God’s peculiar language for guidance. As one theologian puts it, “When children are adopted, they take on new parents, new siblings, new names, new inheritances—in short, a new culture.”1 I’m afraid we either get this as church people, or we don’t. Or maybe we don’t want to get it. Mary is pregnant in our gospel lesson with the Son of God. And as a result of this pregnancy, she sings a terrifically powerful, yet potentially threatening song. The proud are scattered. The powerful are brought down. The lowly are lifted up. The hungry are filled. The rich are sent away empty. This is the work of the One to be bom. And this is the work of all who are adopted and re-bom in baptism.

    * * * I watched the stock market zoom up and down this week. I’m 54 years old and need to watch these things, I suppose. So I watched it up and down and with it my own ELCA Board of Pensions Retirement holdings. Several times during the week I mentally recalculated at what age I might retire. And then I caught myself. And I prayed a prayer of confession (a lengthy one) that I have a house and food and transportation and blessings too many to name. And I asked for forgiveness. And a kick in the pants. You see how this works? To be about this work Mary sings about, we will need a much larger family than a single household living at a certain address. To be about this work, we will need a much larger story than the one contained in a genealogy spanning a couple of generations of blood kin. To be about this work, we’ll need a much larger God than one we sometimes claim loves our nation most and best. To be about this work, we need baptism and a renewed understanding of what it is and is not. We are adopted in the sacrament into a new family. We are adopted into God’s agenda outlined in the Magnificat. We are adopted into the upside-down Kingdom of God.

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    * * * Some unsolicited advice: If you don’t want to grow up and become rather strange and out of step, I suggest you stay away from the waters of holy baptism. If you’re uncomfortable making God your primary allegiance rather than, say, a flag or nation state, it might behoove you to think twice about life around a font. If you’re nervous about giving sacrificially of your time and money in an uncertain economy, then maybe you will want to rethink this baptism stuff. For Mary says that her soul “magnifies” the Lord—makes him larger in her own life. Beware of the magnification of God. I suppose we can choose to minimize (rather than magnify) the Lord even if the adoption certificate has already been issued. But you know, God is relentless about following and guiding his children and finding room in our lives. God is used to getting his way. So hear the promise this day: Once you were only a Fuller.. anee you were solely a Sorenson, but now you ‘re adopted into a much larger family—the family of God which stretches farther than you can possibly see. These odd ones are your kin now. You’ll be sent to odd places one day. Welcome, Annalise. Welcome, Joseph.

    Notes 1 Rodney Clapp ,A Peculiar People: The Church as Culture in a Post-Christian Society (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1996), p. 100.