Light in Darkness

Matthew 2:13-23

This weekend some of us were on a confirmation retreat. We talked about theology – which is just a fancy word for asking, What is going on here? Or, in LNPC speak, Who is this God and what is God up to? And, What is a good life and how do we live it?

 

But these questions are not just hypothetical and theoretical. They come out of real situations where life is turned upside down, that make asking them a pressing need. All throughout scripture and church history, we read, an extraordinary experience would happen that would shake things up so much that just going on as usual would not work anymore.

In these moments the people who seek to point their lives toward God, and goodness, and hope, come together and ask, what is going on here? How do we make sense of this? Where is God in this and how should we live as a result? 

Specifically, on our retreat we named some of things that send us seeking, like uncertainty, suffering, fear, helplessness and injustice, and these words too are not just hypothetical or theoretical, because another word for injustice is when your best friend can’t come to school for fear for his safety, but you still can go anywhere you want.

 

A wise person said to me this week, “There are two sides to the Christmas story. One, the coming of the light and two, embracing the dark, for God’s presence is there also.” We like to tell the Christmas story in the coming of the light way. But the story itself has the darkness part too, and that too must be embraced if we are looking for the presence of God.

 

After Jesus was born, Mary and Joseph stayed on in Bethlehem. They settled in to make a life and raise this child among extended family and neighbors they’d come to know, near the shepherds who must’ve been like a collection of uncles to Jesus by now, not too far from Aunt Elizabeth, Uncle Zechariah and baby John, learning to talk and walk to walk together, perhaps. Life might have just begun to feel a little normal, (whatever that is when you’re raising the Messiah), when the bubble is popped by majestic and exotic visitors from afar descending into their town. 

They give Mary and Joseph gifts, not only gold, frankincense and myrrh, but also their far away and deeper insight that God has come for the whole world, and everyone in it belongs to this story and this story belongs to everyone in it, by embodying their own story of God telling them what God is up to and how they’re shaping their lives around it.  And then together, they’re all doing theology – asking now what? How do we make sense of all this now?

 

Eventually they say their affectionate goodbyes and the Magi are on their way, when an angel messenger invades Joseph’s dreams again, like happened three years ago when he was told not to be afraid to take Mary as his wife, and says, Right now, take your family to Egypt. It’s not safe here, Go!

And from one moment to the next this little family goes from being settled to unsettled, certain to uncertain, from hosting strangers from a foreign land to being strangers in a foreign land. 

 

This time they’re not going to a home town of Joseph’s ancestors where they have friends and relatives like they did when they moved to Bethlehem, they’re going to the far reaches of the vast Roman Empire where they know nobody, and don’t share the same customs or even speak the same language.  From a life comfortable and familiar they are thrust into to absolute uprootedness. 

 

But, when they arrive, people there take them in and give them safety and welcome, hospitality and care. Why? Because strangers are really siblings in the human family, because we all belong to God and each other. And this truth must become deeply embedded and embodied in the human life of our Lord and savior in order for it to mean anything in our own human lives. Jesus is right here when we are with and for one another. 

(By the way, it doesn’t even settle down when the ego-maniac leader dies. The holy family returns to Bethlehem but Herod’s son is in charge there and so it’s still not safe, and only then, when Jesus is like a first-grader, do they finally go back to Nazareth, where their ordinary lives were first interrupted by God’s declaration of coming in to share this life with us all). 

 

Meanwhile, many families did not escape the violence and horror brought down upon Bethlehem because of Herod’s fragile ego and fear of losing his power. Darkness is real. Evil is evil, and we participate. Human beings are capable of great cruelty and brutality. Human beings are capable of profound compassion and courage.  Both are true, and it is in the darkness that we discover so. 

We can’t depend on the greatness of human beings to save us.  We are cruel and kind, brave and cowardly, right-intentioned and off base, all of us. Let’s be honest, we haven’t the stamina or attention spans to be the source of real transformation, not to mention our terrible tendency to turn each other into enemies and vent our sorrow and anger at evil in one another’s faces and to one another’s destruction. If saving the world and each other is up to us, we are doomed.

 

Almost two weeks ago I was in Assisi, standing on a foggy mountainside learning about St. Francis in the early 1200s, who started out life a spoiled rich kid, but gave up everything he owned to serve his fellow human beings and live close to the earth, because Jesus spoke to him and awakened him to the profound reality that rather than reaching for God and striving for a good life, this whole world is held by God and every person and creature in it is already completely loved by God, and so is meant to be loved and cared for by us. Our lives are not our own, they are for one another. And other people’s lives are not none of our business, we are here to care for each other. And this earth is not to be taken for granted, it is the home God has given us all to share, and brother sun and sister moon and the rabbits and the birds and the people behaving badly and the people in need of help are all ours and we are theirs, and everything and everyone belongs, and this is not hypothetical or theoretical. 

 

The darkness we are living through right now is real and tangible and can’t be ignored and makes it impossible to keep living as usual.  But we recognize that where there is darkness, the God who comes in is here, Jesus is here, Jesus who came into death to bring us life, and is doing so even right now, inside the real encounters and between regular, human lives. In the middle of despair, uncertainty, fear, suffering, helplessness and injustice, are people embracing each other with compassion and care, hospitality and welcome, experiences that shake us up with hope, and strangers discovering we belong to each other because we’re all really siblings in this human family. 

 

Evil is real and not to be trifled with. But its strength is in fear, and it can not prevail over love that leaks in and rises up and persists, and one day will be the totality and the fullness of life for all, because love comes from God and returns to God taking everyone and everything into its healing hold. The tastes and glimpses of this we experience now come when we surrender our lives into God’s hands, and we find ourselves praying with St. Francis, “make me an instrument of your peace, where there is hatred let me sow love.” 

I could list examples of this Kingdom of God light in the darkness, but all week long you all have been proclaiming the gospel to me, and any stories of hope or trust I would share today are coming from your lives, and moments in your neighborhoods and schools. 

So it feels like what we need right now is to do some theology together—not hypothetical and theoretical, but simply to ponder with all the saints, What is happening? Where is God in this? And how are our lives being shaped in response? 

So I am going to open up the space for ‘Kingdom of God sightings,’ so we can do the work of the church, and share where we have seen God at work, and where we have participated in the Kingdom of God as it is unfolding among us. 

 

(We passed the mic and stories included teachers driving kids home who don't have a safe ride, grandparents in traffic vests walking school grounds all day, a church paying the rent of their neighbor’s temporarily closed business, a middle school kid’s story about interpreting the events of the day with each another during a special assembly, seeing someone at a frigid protest give her down mittens to stranger with flimsy gloves, switching around carpools to protect Somali parents, messages of solidarity from other states and countries and across political spectrum, etc.)

A blessing on Inauguration Day

 

On Inauguration Day - a message from 60,000 feet

Hi Church-

i am on my way home to you from a journey spanning 5000 years of history, having witnessed God’s hand in all of it- through the rise and fall of empires, loss and regain of technologies and knowledge, rerouting of rivers and quaking of mountains, civilizations built and forgotten, ancient stories of human might, evil, kindness, ingenuity, apathy and faith, with ripples into our own lives, imaginations and understandings of the world.

I stood where tradition says Moses was pulled from the Nile by the Pharaoh’s daughter, touched the stone of a room where the refugees Mary, Joseph and young Jesus lived for three months of their four year journey into Egypt after saying goodbye to the visiting Magi and being warned in a dream of Herod’s wrath, and saw the 3500 year old mummy of (possibly) Joseph, buried among the Pharaohs after God saved Egypt and the surrounding nations from famine through his dreams and courage. 

We learned of ancient calendars with 36 ten day weeks and annual five day end of year celebrations, shaped around three annual seasons based on soil: Inundation-Nile flooding, Planting and Harvesting, and ate dinner serenaded by residual carols amidst remaining decorations from Christmas which, in that part of the world, is not December 25, but January 7. 

All this to say - human experience ebbs and flows, shapes and reshapes. 

What seems unquestionably the way things are is not the way they always have been or will be, or even may be elsewhere right at this moment.
But  in all things, God is still God.
In all things humans are still human.
The story we belong to is a long one, and it's deep and sure.  
And, as Lisa reminds us in the sermon below, we participate by loving one another and watching for God's invitations in ordinary life. 

In love, hope and gratitude to be in this together with you,
Kara

 

Prayer for Today

God, as our county's leadership once again shifts
from one administration to the next,
pause us here
within the scope of history and future,
to receive your presence
with us now.

Thank you for the ways healing and world-shaping
comes through ordinary people,
in everyday ways:
the flower planters and soul tenders, 
  the music makers and bread bakers,
  the heart holders and art creators, 
  the food growers and poem weavers, 
 the child raisers and story cherishers, 
 the learners and leaders, 
the witnesses and the wise,
young and old, 
 the neighbors who neighbor each other, 
every day, come what may.

God-with-us, Love Incarnate,
may we trust in you.
Keep us open-hearted, brave and kind,
with deep roots and a wide horizon,
able to see this world and all in it,
as your beloved,
and to live that way,
which is to say:
In all things may we remain
guided by your Spirit,
grounded in your love,
and buoyed by Christ's joy. 

Amen

People of Hope

Exodus 7-15 

Episode 7: Moses & The Exodus

On Wednesday I attended the funeral of a woman who died of cancer, a mother of two sons, the youngest 13. Her devastated husband was shaken to the core to lose this love of his life. Who am I now? he asked, without her? Impossible. This thing he must do now, to live into a future without her? It’s impossible. 

Today begins Advent, a season of waiting for the arrival of our Savior. This first week of Advent is framed by hope. Hope is trusting in a future we can’t see right now.  Rev. Ralph Abernathy, Dr. Martin Luther King’s closest friend and advisor, said “I don’t know what the future may hold, but I know who holds the future.” This is hope. 

When our story opens, Moses is an 80 year old shepherd, who fled Egypt decades ago after murdering an overseer who was beating a Hebrew slave. After a dramatic childhood, he has lived out most of his days in the relative quiet and obscurity of the wilderness, tending sheep. When, from the bush that burns without being consumed, he is addressed by the God of his ancestors, and told that God has heard the people’s suffering, that God will be sending Moses to the pharoah to demand their freedom, and draw them into them a different future, Moses asks, “Who am I to do this?’ 

Who am I to do this? Who are we to bring about the future we think needs to happen? Or to stand against the future we dread coming?  Who are we to move forward in impossibility and make a life of it?

God answers Moses’ question with God’s own name, “Tell then I AM Who I Am has sent you,” and then, what gets translated “I will be with you,” God’s next statement is actually more like, “You are the one I am with." Then God says, "Watch what I can do." 

I Am Who I Am, and you are The One I Am With. Watch what I can do.

The baby whose life was spared by Shiprah and Puah, and saved by Jochebed and Miriam, who was first named “Drawn Out of the Water” by the pharoah’s daughter, is now called “The One Who I Am With” and summoned by God to join in as God delivers God’s people from slavery. 

Moses is not the protagonist of this story. He is not the savior, he’s the sidekick. What is about to happen is not from anything Moses can do, it never has been, not with Moses or Joseph or Jacob or Sarah and Abraham – it’s always been God’s work -  God’s choosing and God’s equipping, God’s plan and God’s action. Moses’ work is to surrender in obedience to God – to join in God’s work and trust that God will bring it about. Moses is called into a future he can’t see and can’t possibly make happen. But he must first know who it is who holds the future.

So God gives Moses God’s name. 

This name, Yahweh, is ambiguous in that it is both outside time and timefull – past, present and future are all wrapped up at once in the word. It could be, I am who I am, I am who I will be, I am who I was, I was who I will be. God is always present, past and future, outside of time, but fully entering time with us.

The name is an action word, exist, cause to become, and come to pass are all wrapped up inside of it.  We don’t know what the vowels are so we guess, and say Yahweh, or Jehovah, but to speak it alone almost sounds like breathing. It’s shortened Jah, like Hallelujah! Or, Praise God! The angels announcing God’s coming into the world sing their hallelu to Jah with the startled shepherds. The crowds waving palm branches shout their hallelu to Jah at the man on a donkey, praising the God who was, and is, and always will be right there in their midst. 

Even though the name Yahweh is written 7000 times in the Old Testament, it was not spoken aloud from even shortly after the Exodus. It felt too intimate, too sacred, so it is instead translated Adonai, and everywhere it appears in our bibles it’s instead written “the Lord” in small caps. It seemed too easy to exploit, to manipulate the name of God for our own purposes, to act as though the power is ours rather than God’s. Access to God is on God’s terms, not ours, and not to be taken lightly, made into a platitude, or assumed for our own ends.

God sees the people’s suffering; God opens up God’s own self to share the suffering and makes Godself vulnerable. When God gives Moses God’s name, God says, I am for you, and you may address me, I will be here. God invites relationship. Invites trust.  God comes into our broken places as God’s self. Not a nameless king or pharoah lording power over us, but I AM Who I Am, here in it with us. 

“I will teach you what you are to say,” God tells Moses, who is so worried about speaking. And I will give you someone to speak with and for you, your brother Aaron. In other words, Show up. I’ll take it from there. And you are not in it alone.

So God makes Moses into a minister, as God is. Then, God invites the pharoah to minister as well, which is to say, to come back to his humanity. We are made in the image of a ministering God, and we live that truth out when we minister to others. Again and again, God commands the pharaoh to let the people go, and again and again Pharoah resists. His heart is hardened, whether by God, or his own stubbornness, or both, and he does not submit.  

He will not win. God will prevail. Pharoah is used to power and control, but his power is nothing against the maker of the universe - it was no match for the trust and obedience of the lowly midwives through whom God spared the Hebrew babies and set Moses on his path. The pharoah can’t stop any of this from happening. He could help it happen, but he chooses not to, so it happens over and against him instead of with him.

When the people have fled Egypt - when the story of the Passover that becomes the meal that feeds them with memory and gratitude for centuries to come, turning their hearts to who God is and what God is up to and helping them watch for God’s coming, when the frantic departure has happened and they’ve begun the journey, hemmed in from before and behind, protected and guided by Yahweh, and it seems like they’re in the clear - then the real terror descends.

Suddenly they’re pinned between the watery chaos of the sea that is the death in front of them and the raging armies bearing down that is the death behind. Now the impossibility is stark – What are they to do? Nothing. They can do nothing. Only God can act. 

When we are trapped in impossibility, when death is all we can see, there is nothing we can do to pull ourselves out or to save one another.  There is nothing we can say to fix or change things for someone in that place. Who are we to make anything happen? 

The command comes to them there, in that utterly hopeless place, Do not be afraid, Be still. Be still and see what God will do for you.

And then God acts. God parts the waters of death and leads them into new life. And when they’re safely across, and the impossibly powerful force of destruction that is the entire Egyptian army is utterly destroyed in their wake, sister Miriam, the now-elderly prophet, leads the people of God in singing their hallelu to Jah and praising the God who saves.

The future, and our futures, are held by I Am Who I Will Be, who calls each of us One Whom God Is With. 

God comes in to be with us. Both cosmically, to save us all, and personally, to lead us through all the deaths of our lives into new life, again and again. The one who brings being into being, has come, is here. Jesus Christ is God with us. Born into this life of dying, Jesus takes our impossibility into the very heart of God.

In Christ, we are made bearers of hope in the world, and for the world. We become people through whom God brings about God’s future.  People who go into impossibility alongside others as those God is with and we wait there for God to act.  

We are drawn into the timefulness of Yahweh. With eyes wide open, we see the world as it is -  without hiding in denial or fleeing to optimism - but we also know that what is is not all there is or will be. Trusting this, as Rev. David Wood said so beautifully a few weeks ago in his letter about hope: instead of reactive we become responsive. Instead of anxious, we become available.  And instead of distracted, we become attentive, watching the one who holds the future to be now who God has been. 

Our story is not our own, it is God’s. It is the story of those gone before and those to come, it is memory and gratitude, water and naming, impossibility and deliverance. It is the story of the God right here with us, who sees and bears our suffering, who sends us to be ministers to one another and receive the ministry of others, without knowing how we will do this, only promising to be with us and to tell us what we are to say. It is the story of the God who is turning the world around in hope and can be joined but cannot be stopped. 

Who are we to bring about the future we think needs to happen? Or to stand against the future we dread coming? Who are we up against death and despair?  When all is lost and we can’t see our way forward, when the impossibility is most stark –we can do nothing. Only God can act. And God says, Don’t be afraid. Be still and watch what I will do. 

Together, for others and for this world, we trust in a future we can’t yet see, because we know who holds the future. We are people of hope.

Amen.

Where we've been - 

Episode 1: The Beginning

Episode 2: Noah (conversation - so this sermon is from 2014)

Episode 3: Hagar, Abraham & Sarah 

Episode 4: Jacob

Episode 5: Joseph

Episode 6: Brave Women of Egypt