3rd Sunday in Lent (B): Being Driven Out

3rd Sunday in Lent (B): Being Driven Out

John 2:13-22

By: The Rev. Sean Ekberg

I’ve always found it useful to enter into a new place wielding a whip that I fashioned upon arrival whilst tossing around furniture and condemning the locals—said no one, ever. If you’re in ministry somewhere—let’s use the Episcopal Church—and you’ve just met the wardens and the vestry, it’s probably not the healthiest idea to take them to a beloved spot within their known center of worship and subsequently rearrange the furniture with gusto. Or a whip.

But if you’re Jesus…

We don’t know Jesus that well at this point in the Gospel of John. As a matter of fact, we’ve only heard a little about the Word “in the beginning” (John 1:1), followed by John’s proclamation of unworthiness (John 1:26), a baptism (John 1:32), the recruiting of his friends—(John 35-50), and a wedding wherein water was turned into wine (John 2:1-12.) Our limited understanding of Jesus through John’s lens depicts a man who is a departure from everything we’ve known before and a man who, with his friends, can throw a pretty mean party.

But then the unthinkable happens. The so-far faithful followers trail Jesus as he enters the Temple right before Passover, and they see their new leader grab some cords, weave a weapon, and start harassing the important people in the room. In a moment, the entirety of their understanding is shifted from ‘We found the Messiah!’ to ‘Oh no, he didn’t…’

Of course, those of us lucky enough to know the rest of the story begin fist-pumping and urging Jesus on as he throws down in the Temple. We know that he’s the Messiah without any doubt—we’ve read about his ministry, death, and resurrection—so, we aren’t shocked by his actions; we encourage them.

I think an important ‘aha’ moment in my ministry occurred while reading this passage. I was fan-boying-up Jesus and rooting against the people who were defiling the Temple when all of the sudden, I wondered, “Wait a minute. Would Jesus throw tables around in my Parish Hall if he showed up on any given Sunday?” Surely not. Surely my parish and I are the heroes, right? We’re the ones who don’t utilize our holy spaces to make money or have non-spiritual conversations and meetings throughout the week, including some Sundays. After reading and re-reading this passage, can I accept that I’ve chosen to be blind to the complicity of my own actions which sometimes mirror those of the people who were driven out of the Temple by a raging Jesus.

John 2:13-22 offers us an opportunity to look at the way in which we conduct ourselves as Godly people. Do we really know Jesus? Have we just read the first few lines of each chapter and then glossed over the middle, to the end, where we rejoice in Christ’s triumphant resurrection? Can we see areas in which our present actions shadow those of generations past? The acts of driving out the people, the proclamation of the Temple’s destruction, and the promise of its rebuilding can still serve as not-so-gentle reminders that we still have work to do.

How do we and our congregations view Jesus in this passage, and can we cast ourselves as those sitting in the Temple in need of someone to get us moving around again? Are there ways in which to figuratively tear-down some of our current practices in order to make space for new and life-giving ministries? Do we have enough faith to allow the Holy Spirit to guide us in this work, preaching a message of anti-complacency which could result in rebuilding?

An important moment in understanding always seems to come after admission of fault. Perhaps we are not the heroes of our modern-day Temples. Maybe we could stand to engage our people in a better knowledge of who Jesus was (and is) by virtue of being a little more Jesus-like in our preaching and teaching by driving out the accepted norms and making space for new ideas, rather than prematurely fist-pumping and thinking we’re always on the right side of things.

The difficult moment of stepping into the shoes of the driven-out simply means that we have the opportunity to become part of the rebuilding process. I know that if I were sitting in the congregation, I would want to be challenged a little bit more and comforted a little bit less during Lent. In a season of preparation and introspection, perhaps the best thing we can do for our communities is chase them out into the world with a challenge to change status quo, tear down established poor theologies, and bring people back with them to take part in the still-being-written work of Jesus Christ. Just maybe without the whips.

 

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The Rev. Sean Ekberg

The Rev. Sean Ekberg is the Rector of Episcopal Church of the Resurrection in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. He earned a Master of Divinity from Seminary of the Southwest in 2015. His favorite pastimes are talkin’ bout Jesus, enhancing his terrible golf game, and taking vacation time with his favorite person in the world—his wife, Nicole. They have a thirteen year old pit bull named Ty. He likes Jesus, too.

 

 

Lent 2(B): Walking in My Neighbor’s Shoes

Lent 2(B): Walking in My Neighbor’s Shoes

Mark 8:31-38

By: The Rev. David Clifford

Mark 8:31-38, English Standard Version (ESV)

Jesus Foretells His Death and Resurrection

31 And he began to teach them that the Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders and the chief priests and the scribes and be killed, and after three days rise again. 32 And he said this plainly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. 33 But turning and seeing his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man.”

34 And calling the crowd to him with his disciples, he said to them, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. 35 For whoever would save his life[a] will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospel’s will save it. 36 For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and forfeit his soul? 37 For what can a man give in return for his soul? 38 For whoever is ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of him will the Son of Man also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.”

There are moments in life that are very brief, yet remain with us for a very long time—maybe even forever. As a parent, most of these moments in my own life revolve around my children. I have found memories of each of my three children trying on various versions of my shoes and attempting to walk around the house in them like daddy. I don’t know what it is about these particular memories, but they continue to bring me joy, and I pray they always do.

I consider myself a fairly empathic person. I am able to pick up on emotional cues fairly easily from the people around me. Sometimes, I understand these cues well and at other times I struggle to know what are my feelings and what are the feelings of the people around me. In many ways, it is as if I am wearing the various shoes of the people around me, attempting to walk around the room as they do.

In many regards this helps a great deal in my own personal ministry. I think I am able to understand the people around me (as much as is possible.) This helps me to minister with the various individuals that make up my congregation given all their differences of personalities, histories, opinions, and beliefs. The more I am involved in ministry leadership, the more I am learning the strength of my empathy.

However, I must constantly make sure I am “trying on” all of the respective shoes that may come through my congregation. I cannot allow myself to throw off a pair of shoes because they are uncomfortable or difficult to walk in. In fact, I would argue that the more uncomfortable the shoes are for me to walk in, the longer I should try and walk with them on. This allows a greater understanding of the other I may struggle to understand. The easier it is to be empathic, the less likely I probably need to use that particular skill in the relationship.

I say all of this with this week’s lectionary text in mind because I often find myself wearing Jesus’ shoes and aligning myself with Jesus when I read this particular scripture. However, it’s easier for me to walk in Jesus’ shoes (at least for this particular scripture) than it is for me to walk in Peter’s shoes. We have all experienced times when even our best friends seem to suggest or even lead us down paths in our lives that are the opposite of what God wants for us. This is Jesus’ experience. As he shares the difficult path ahead of him, Peter steps in to tell Jesus, “Surely, that’s not what God wants for you.”

The path of Christ is hard. Jesus tells us that in order to follow him, we must deny ourselves. We must take up our cross daily. Many of us believe that the difficulty and struggles of our lives are our cross. There are many times when both we and the people around us want our path to be easier. However, I don’t think this is exactly what Jesus is getting at.

Jesus knew the path God was leading for him. Jesus knew the suffering and pain that was to come. Jesus continually attempts to point this out to his followers and to Peter. Yet, Peter did not like this path. Jesus’ disciples and those following his ministry believe him to be the Messiah. I think for many of them this meant that Jesus would restore God’s people, freeing them from the rule of Rome. But this would not be the case. Jesus would die to Rome.

The Gospel Transformation Bible points out in its notes that in this section of Mark’s Gospel, Jesus predicts his death and resurrection three times (8:31, 9:31, 10:32-34.) Each of these three predictions is followed by instruction and teaching on the cost and nature of discipleship (8:34-37; 9:35-50; 10:35-44.)

In many ways Jesus is teaching us that to follow him as our Messiah means to give up and “die” to the vary ways in which we imagine the Messiah saving us. The more and more shoes I find myself wearing as I attempt to understand the various different people around me is teaching me a very valuable lesson: we must allow Jesus to be who Jesus is. We cannot expect Jesus to come to people only with our own biases and wearing our own shoes. I fully believe that Jesus loves each of us no matter what our shoes look like. And I praise God for that.

Yet, if we are honest, I believe most of us would be like Peter. We would want to stand up and fight for Jesus. In fact, many in the church do this today. Depending on our preconceived notion of Jesus, we want to fight those that have another notion of Jesus because our notion must be right! If you are at all like me, you may struggle to understand how in the world Jesus could love some of the people you come across each day.

But I believe in those very moments, we are standing firmly in Peter’s shoes. It is in those moments that we are asking Jesus to be a different kind of Messiah than he is. It is in those moments that we expect Jesus to come and destroy our enemies, because surely, they are the enemies of God. And, it is in those moments that Jesus rebukes us and says, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man.”

This scripture reminds us that Jesus is a radically different kind of Messiah than we may imagine. This Messiah wears a different kind of shoes, to follow the metaphor. However, this is precisely the kind of Messiah we need. Jesus is a Messiah that loves and dies for each of us. A Messiah that is able to teach us with his own life, death, and resurrection what it truly means to live a life of discipleship. A life in which we die to self in order to recognize the Messiah for who He truly is. A life in which we take off on own shoes in order to wear the shoes of those around us—constantly pointing them to love of Christ.

 

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The Rev. David Clifford

The Rev. David Clifford is the Senior Minister of Westmont Christian Church in Lubbock, Texas. David is a graduate of Transylvania University in Lexington, Kentucky and Christian Theological Seminary in Indianapolis, Indiana. David is an ordained minister of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ.) He lives in Lubbock with his wife and three children, where he enjoys bicycle riding and reading.

1st Sunday in Lent (B): Taking the First Steps

1st Sunday in Lent (B): Taking the First Steps

Mark 1:9-15

By:  The Rev. Joe T. Mitchell

“You’ve taken your first steps into a much larger world!”  -Obi Wan Kenobi

These are the words spoken by the wise old Jedi Obi Wan Kenobi to a young Luke Skywalker after the latter’s first Jedi training session in Star Wars (or, as time has forced us to call it, Episode IV or A New Hope). Luke, stretching out with his feelings and trusting his instincts, has just successfully used his lightsaber to ward off several shots from a droid while unable to see a thing. Obi Wan congratulates him. This is a huge moment for Luke, one that merits some sort of celebration. Yet there is no time for celebrating Luke’s accomplishment in this first Jedi training, instead he and Obi Wan must rescue Princess Leia, and later Luke must continue his training on his own after his mentor is defeated by Darth Vader (SPOILER ALERT!) This moment, though, is where it begins. These are Luke’s first steps.

Moments such as these are exciting and filled with so much promise. They are start of something new and exciting, yet also quite scary. We have such moments in the Church, of course. We call them baptism, confirmation, and ordination. These may seem like self-contained events, but they are merely the first steps into a much larger world. Our lectionary today places Jesus in the moments after one such event.

We are back at the beginning of Mark’s Gospel, a place we found ourselves on January 7 when we celebrated the Feast of the Baptism of Our Lord. On that day we ended the Gospel passage with those beautiful words from God, “This is my beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” Today we get the aftermath of that event.

What happens once Jesus is baptized? He doesn’t stop to celebrate or bask in his accomplishment. Like Luke, he is thrown into his call without warning, immediately driven out into the wilderness. That word, ‘immediately,’ is one of Mark’s favorite words. In Greek it’s eutheos, meaning straightway, forthwith, or instantly. Clearly, there is no time to bask in the glory of Jesus’ baptism. Instead, in his first moments of earthly ministry, he is whisked away into the wilderness, into an unknown and fearful world.

The story is told of a seminary student who was doing her clinical pastoral education, which is the piece of every clergy person’s education that requires one to serve as a chaplain for at least a summer. This student chose to do her work in prison ministry. She arrived on her first day, received her badge and a quick rundown of the layout of her facility, was introduced to her supervisor and fellow chaplains, and was then immediately told, ‘OK, go do ministry!’ No warm-up or week of orientation; no, just dropped into the middle of the wilderness.

Jesus, likewise, is dropped into the wilderness.  Here he is faced with all sorts of temptations; all sorts of evils. The text says he is tempted by Satan, which is simply a Hebrew word for ‘adversary,’ and that he is out there for 40 days, again a Hebrew expression for a long period of time, not necessarily to be taken literally. Still, what a dreadful situation! Here is Jesus, right after this great, joyful, momentous occasion, with no prior ministerial experience that we know of, having to go into a frightening circumstance that, I suspect, none of us would willingly enter into ourselves. How does he do it?

He does it because the Spirit is the one that drives him to it. The very same Spirit that descended upon him as he came out of the water, the very Spirit that spoke the voice of God and called him beloved, is the Spirit that sends him into the wilderness.

Brothers and sisters, in the same way, our baptisms, confirmations, and ordinations, while joyful, celebratory occasions, were not the end, but the beginning. In the same way, the same Spirit that descended upon us at our baptisms, or at our confirmations or ordinations—the Spirit that has sealed us and marked us as Christ’s own forever—has sent us out into a world that is, quite honestly, very, very frightening. We, like Jesus, have taken our first steps into this larger, frightening world, and God has told us the same thing that that prison chaplain was told: ‘OK, go do ministry!’ I don’t know about you, but when I think about that, when I REALLY think about that, it seems too big, too much. How? How can I, how can we, possibly do this?

I suspect Jesus thought the same thing out there in the wilderness. Yet the Scripture tells us that the angels waited on him, or as Greek scholar Preston Epps translates it, they “ministered” to him. What a beautiful image! The angels surrounded Jesus, lifting him up and supporting him. The Good News here is that he was not alone.  Jesus did not embark on his earthly ministry totally on his own, and neither do we.

God’s angels—those messengers who help bring us the Good News—are all around us. If our eyes are opened we will see them, those who minister to us so that we may minister to others. Our priests, families, spiritual directors, therapists, teachers, coaches, and so many others are there to support us as those angels supported Jesus. Proclaiming the Good News of God in Christ may seem like a monumental task; to be sure, feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, preaching love to those who have never heard such a thing, and spreading the word that the Kingdom of God has come near are by no means easy endeavors. Nevertheless, we are reminded this day that such holy work is never done alone. After his death, Obi Wan continued to guide Luke, and he and his friends Han Solo, Princess Leia, R2D2 and others, managed to defeat the evil Galactic Empire. At no point, though, did they do it alone. In the same way, we are never alone once we take those first steps.

This season of Lent is a time to prayerfully remind ourselves of the call that God has issued to each of us, a call that we will reaffirm with the neophytes—the newly baptized—at that Great Vigil of Easter. The Spirit has blessed each of you and called you beloved in your baptisms, your confirmations, and your ordinations, and the Spirit is driving you out into the wilderness of this world to proclaim that the Kingdom of God has come near. It may seem daunting, but we have one another to minister to us and with us. We will face whatever comes; after all, these are merely our first steps.

 

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The Rev. Joe T. Mitchell

The Rev. Joe T. Mitchell is Rector of the Episcopal Church of the Good Shepherd in Asheboro, North Carolina. He is your typical Transformer-collecting, baseball-playing, theatre-loving, moonshine-drinking priest from the coalfields of Virginia. He runs the blog Father Prime (www.fatherprime.blogspot.com), where he wishes and works for a world transformed.

Ash Wednesday (B): Sometimes People are Awful

Ash Wednesday (B): Sometimes People are Awful

Matthew 6:1-6; 16-21

By: The Rev. Dr. Hannah Adams Ingram

“The Internet can be an awful place full of awful people.”

Ever since Star Wars: The Last Jedi hit theaters, my partner and I find ourselves saying this on the daily—whenever we see people complaining about a fun movie, saying something reprehensible in the comments section of a news article, and so forth. And it’s easy to see how it’s true, right? You know the comments sections I’m talking about. The debates unfolding on your Facebook wall between your aunt and that one random person you met on a trip across the country. The people that seem to post from high horses about how amazing life is and how #blessed they are in a way that seems to mock others. The Internet can be an awful place full of awful people.

The problem though is that sometimes, we ourselves are those awful people. The Internet is only what it is because we use it in those ways. And sometimes, we as people just aren’t great.

The uncomfortable realization that people—ourselves included—just suck sometimes is what Lent is all about. Okay, that might be my Millennial pastor translation. In more formal terms, Lent is a period of 40 days ahead of Easter set aside to solemnly prepare oneself for the Holy Week observance. It represents the 40 days Jesus spent in the desert facing temptation in preparation for his own ministry. Lent begins with Ash Wednesday, which is what we are focusing on in the texts for today. Ash Wednesday emphasizes our mortality, as we remind each other “from dust we came and to dust we shall return.” Introspection about mortality often invites an honest recognition of our shortcomings, so the Lenten season is also seen as a time of repentance and renewal before the highest holy day in our tradition, Easter Sunday.

Which brings us back to this: sometimes people are awful, and we can see this play out on the Internet. It’s today’s texts that bring the Internet to mind, though, as our Ash Wednesday texts include the series of Jesus’s maxims about how to conduct one’s spiritual life in the world. He warns his audience that prayer, giving, fasting—these things are between us and God. In fact, in these passages, we see the suggestion that if we are to do these acts as a public display of piety, then our reward will be just as vain and worldly. We will get the satisfaction of knowing that others know how holy we are, and that’s it. These passages are particularly convicting in the age of social media. Sometimes it seems like nothing is done in secret. We know exactly how much our friends are donating to what causes, we saw their selfies from the community service site, and we know what page their on in their devotional books.

Like others my age, I love posting all about my life on Facebook and Twitter—my joys, my griefs, my goals, and my meals. And as a religious person, it feels natural to include religion and spirituality in the umbrella of topics and themes I reflect about online. But what are we to do with Jesus’s warning not to be “not be like the hypocrites” who “love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others?” Are we hypocrites if we post on Facebook or Twitter about our prayer, our fast, or our giving?

This dilemma accompanies almost every piece of wisdom attributed to Jesus in the Gospels. Did Jesus literally want us to turn the other cheek? Sell all our possessions? Keep mum about our spiritual disciplines? And it’s not as simple as hoping Jesus didn’t mean what he said so that we can do what we want instead. There are actually good counterpoints to this advice. Yes, a humble person may stay quiet about the money they donated to a cause, but what making the donation publicly helps to encourage more giving? (This is the premise of crowdfunding sites after all.) And the same is true about spiritual disciplines—there is actually power in accountability. I know there are certain practices I should be doing for my own good, but it’s easy for me to put things out of my mind until I am reminded by someone else posting about prayer, reading, writing, and other practices that theoretically matter to me. Lent reminds me that I’m mortal, finite, flawed, and way too often, I fall short of who I want to be. Connecting with others online, in the best case scenario, reminds me that I am called to live differently.

So what are we to do this Lent? If we use the time to rededicate ourselves to spiritual disciplines, must we hide it to reap the rewards? I worry about my compulsion to water down the high demands my faith makes of me, so I won’t do that here. I’m not ready to let us off the hook. Maybe some of us do flaunt our spiritual acts too much, and maybe those 47 likes we got is the reward we get. After all, the drive of social media is to post about our lives and get interaction from other people. But maybe it depends on why we post and why we are embarking on spiritual practices in the first place.

If we set out to show people how good we are, then yes, the appropriate reward is the social media popularity. And still, if we are truly seeking support and accountability, we may find it online. I don’t know that the answer is that the Internet is horrible and it ruins everything. Instead, we may just need to be cautious of our motivations, knowing ourselves and the temptation level of posting updates about our lives to get affirmation from others in the form of likes and comments. Additionally, perhaps it’s worth asking ourselves why we are posting and if there is a better way to meet that need. If I am truly looking for accountability, maybe there is a friend I can reach out to online instead. If I’m truly looking for the opinion of a group of fellow pastors, maybe I can use my privacy settings in such a way to reach curated groups of people. The Internet can bring out our worst, for sure, but perhaps we can use it to bring out our best, too.

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The Rev. Dr. Hannah Adams Ingram

The Rev. Dr. Hannah Adams Ingram is the Director of Religious Life and Chaplain of Franklin College in Franklin, Indiana. She grew up in non-denominational evangelical land and is now an ordained minister in the United Church of Christ. She and her partner Kyle just recently moved back to the state of their youth after eight years away collecting experiences and degrees.

 

Last Epiphany (B): Remember the Mountaintop

Last Epiphany (B): Remember the Mountaintop

Mark 9:2-9

By: The Rev. Anna Tew

I once served as a hospital chaplain for a year. I was often rendered speechless by the pain I saw, and many times, silent accompaniment was what my patients and their families needed. Other times, I was called on to offer a word of hope.

Some of the most difficult cases were there was no clear happy ending. This could be because of a sudden crisis, or because of chronic pain or a bad diagnosis. In Atlanta, where I served, I was often tasked with offering hope to patients who were deeply religious, but were having a hard time seeing God’s presence in their lives at a particular moment. They sometimes called on me to help.

In time, I learned that often, the words of hope that patients wanted so desperately were not my words, but their own. It was my role as chaplain to be something of a midwife for hope; I was called only to ask the right questions.

Once, as I sat at the bedside of a patient, he described his deep faith but wondered if now God had abandoned him, because his health was failing. I assured him that God is not so cruel as to punish people by making them sick, nor do I believe that God abandoned him.

With tears in his eyes he said, “But I feel like God has left me. Has God left me?”

“Of course not,” I say, gripping his hand. “Can you tell me about the times in the past that you’ve felt God’s presence before?”

Nearly very time I had similar conversations, the results were always the same: the person would suddenly, even through tears, launch into praise as they narrated time and time again how God had been with them, about what they viewed as miracles — proof positive to them that their faith in God was well placed. They described mountaintop experiences.

“Do you believe that same God is still around today?” I asked this man gently.
“Of course! God is the same yesterday, and today, and forever!”

“Then I think that God is most certainly with you now as then.”

With that, he smiled and slept.

When we feel like God has abandoned us, it’s the times when our faith felt sure that can call us back.

In today’s Gospel, we venture with Jesus up to literal the mountain top. Peter, James, and John are there. They have come, they think, to pray. We don’t know how long they were there, but Luke does tell us: “Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep…” Perhaps they waited and prayed for awhile, and night fell.

But then. Then, suddenly, everything changed.

Luke tells us that “since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him.” Suddenly, before their eyes, Jesus is transformed, his clothes radiating with a dazzling white, radiating with all the glory of heaven. Moses and Elijah appear at his side, and there he is — the Son of God, shining in glory, flanked by Moses, representing the law, and Elijah, representing the prophets. All is as it should be in that one shining moment. The disciples must have been floored. They must have imagined that this is why Jesus called them — to see this very moment.

I admit that I’ve often both related to and chuckled at Peter in this story. He reacts pretty practically, actually: “Let’s build something.” Let’s fix it. Let’s build shelters for all three of you. Depending on the time of year, this could have been very practical — if it was very hot or cold. Peter assumes, wrongly, that they are going to stay here. I can’t blame him. This miracle — this revelation — surely this was the ultimate revelation, right?

I imagine that they, at the very least, wanted to tell someone about all this, but Luke says that in those days, they kept quiet. Matthew adds a little more depth to the story; Jesus says to them on their way down the mountain: “Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.” That line always gives me chills. This isn’t it. That wasn’t all. There’s more. And what comes next will be painful.

You see, they thought this was the end of the story. They thought this shining moment was the pinnacle of everything. But they hoped far too small. Because our God is not only or not even primarily found in those moments shining on the mountaintop when everything seems clear and where our faith seems certain. If that were the case, we should hope for more mountaintops and direct revelations.

Our God is found, most commonly, when things are at their worst. In the cross, we see that Christ is ever-present in human suffering. Certainly, we all marvel at mountaintop moments, moments when our faith seems sure and our call seems certain. But if you think that God is amazing because Jesus’ clothing is sparkling — you just wait until God takes what is dead and makes it new again.

The Transfiguration, the mountaintop, is not the end of the story. It’s only the beginning. It will be the confirmation that the disciples think back to when things get hard. When things seem impossible. When things seem dead and irreconcilable. I imagine that, when the disciples were locked in the upper room after Jesus was killed on the cross, when all hope seemed lost, that there were whispers among James and John and Peter about the Transfiguration. “Remember?” they whispered to each other. “That was real. I saw it too.” The Transfiguration, I imagine, just maybe offered a glimmer of hope that this wasn’t the end.

“Remember?” I imagine Peter whispering. “Maybe… just maybe… maybe it’s not over.” And that is what mountaintop experiences will do for us — those shining moments aren’t extinguished easily. They give us hope in dark times.

So let’s look around and take this mountaintop moment in. Jesus is before us, transfigured, with the law and the prophets at his side. God speaks about him from the sky and tells us to listen to him. For one shining moment, we get proof beyond all doubt that we are following the right guy — that this Jesus isn’t just a great rabbi — he’s God made flesh, and he’s our only hope.

Remember the mountaintop moments in your life, too — times when it feels like God is right there and when your purpose seems so clear. Mark them, remember them, bless them. Because mountaintop moments like the Transfiguration aren’t for God’s benefit, they’re for ours. So that we can be sure that we are on the right path. So that we can know that even if the path leads to death, take heart, because even death leads to resurrection. And next week, as if on cue, the challenge of Lent begins, and we will venture even deeper into God’s unfailing grace.

And when Lent gets into full swing, let’s remember the alleluias today even as we anticipate the much larger alleluias of Easter. When Lent drags on, let’s whisper to each other, “Remember?” Let us look around on the mountaintop, so that we can remember that God, made flesh and true to his Word, is certainly, certainly still with us. Amen.

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The Rev. Anna Tew

The Rev. Anna Tew is a 30-something Lutheran pastor serving Our Savior’s Lutheran Church (ELCA) in South Hadley, Massachusetts. A product of several places, she was born in rural Alabama, considers Atlanta home, and lives in and adores New England. In her spare time, Anna enjoys climbing the nearby mountains, traveling, exploring cities and nightlife, and keeping up with politics and pop culture.

 

 

 

 

Presentation (B): Not So Fast!

Presentation (B): Not So Fast!

Luke 2:22-40

By: The Very Rev. Brandon Duke

There’s a house on my block that sold weeks ago. No one has moved in. It sits empty; and there are still Christmas lights hanging from the roof. Its purgatory-like presence both intrigues and annoys. Annoys because the house and its yard are untidy. Intrigues because today is the Feast of the Presentation of Our Lord.

Let me explain:  Today marks the 40th day after Christmas, and with this feast the Church closes out the “Incarnation cycle.” In other words, it’s time to put away those Christmas decorations. We’re two weeks away from Lent…Shouldn’t we be tidying up the yards of our hearts, climbing a ladder to the roofs of our souls tearing down those Christmas lights? “Not so fast,” says this Feast Day. In fact, some Christian traditions hide away the light bulbs while the candles come out. For this reason, The Feast of the Presentation of Our Lord is sometimes referred to as Candlemas. It’s the day when the candles used in worship services will be blessed. It’s also a reminder that the long winter’s nights are still around, yet the light of Christ eternally radiates the darkness.

Luke 2:22-40 gives us three presentations to consider on this feast day. The holy family presented sacrifices of thanksgiving in accordance with the law of Moses (“a pair of turtledoves or two young pigeons.”) They also presented their newborn son, Jesus, who “suddenly comes to his temple;” thus fulfilling an ancient messianic prophesy found in Malachi 3:1. The third presentation is that of Simeon and Anna, two pious and patient Jews, who waited their whole lives to present themselves to the Messiah.

Luke’s story also captures the tensions and realities found in new things. A new child was born as the Messiah, yet old thoughts and formularies about what this meant had to pass away. Mary, like any mother, was proud of her new son, yet she learned “a sword [would] pierce [her] heart” when new revelations about her child would be exposed (Luke 2:35). For each beginning, there is an ending; and the transitions in between are often messy and confusing.

As we transition out of Christmas and Epiphany into the season of Lent, may Candlemas be a day to honor what has come before, and to ready ourselves as to what may lay ahead. If the lights are still on your roof, know that the house of your heart does not stand empty, but is filled with God’s “wisdom and favor” (Luke 2:40). If the Christmas decorations are down at your house, take out a candle, light it, and present yourself to the Lord in prayer as Christ presents himself to you in illumination.

Below, please find the prayer that will be said in Episcopal churches and homes today. I offer it to you in thanksgiving for your ministry to Christ. Use the prayer as you light a candle, then find a word or phrase that sticks out to you, and meditate on its meaning. As for me (and my soon-to-be neighbor) who knows? I may go over to their sold, yet unkempt house, plug in those Christmas lights one last time, praying and contemplating something similar.

Almighty and everliving God, we humbly pray that, as your only-begotten Son was this day presented in the temple, so we may be presented to you with pure and clean hearts by Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. (BCP, 239)

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The Very Rev. Brandon Duke

The Very Rev. Brandon Duke serves Christ as pastor, priest, and teacher at St. Julian’s Episcopal Church in Douglasville, Georgia. As a parish priest, Brandon wants to raise up saints in the Church while stumbling along with sinners like himself. He tries to make his weekly sermons bloggable at https://fatherbrandon.com/. Follow him there, and judge for yourself.

5th Sunday after Epiphany (B): Stay in Your Lane

5th Sunday after Epiphany (B): Stay In Your Lane

Mark 1:29-39

Jay Butler

I am a huge sports fan. I like some sports more than others, but I at least try to keep my finger on the pulse of all of them. In fact, one of my strongest memories growing up was to be an anchor on SportsCenter, ESPN’s flagship program. I imagined cracking jokes and delivering awesome sports highlights alongside Dan Patrick, Linda Cohn, and the late Stuart Scott. One of the conundrums with sports news is that while it is meant to inform, it is also meant to entertain. That is why you see big stars like LeBron James or Tom Brady always discussed. Unfortunately, one of the people that is always talked about in sports news is Lavar Ball.

Lavar Ball is the father of Los Angeles Lakers point guard Lonzo Ball. He is loud, opinionated, and flat out rude, if I say so myself. One of my least favorite interviews I heard from him took place on Fox Sports 1’s The Herd with Colin Cowherd. When he was naturally arguing and speaking over the host Cowherd, co-host Kristine Leahy tried to interject with her comments. Ball, without even turning his head to address her, told her to “stay in your lane.” He tried to silence her with one command. That is the quintessential thought process of a bully, or someone who has an unhealthy view of power. That mentality has oppressed numerous people groups for millennia. But can that phrase be redeemed in any way possible? How can Jesus empower us when we feel “stuck in our lane?”

This week’s Gospel text focuses on the beginning of Jesus’ ministry. Already in Mark 1, Jesus has been very busy. He’s been baptized, tempted, selected His first apostles, and healed a man with an unclean spirit at the synagogue in Capernaum. That’s where this week’s lectionary picks up. In the first half of our selection, Jesus healed Simon Peter’s mother-in-law. I also noticed the negative connotation of “staying in your lane.” They enter the house, and Simon and Andrew “told him about [Simon’s mother-in-law] at once,” as it says in verse 30. Why did they tell Jesus about the mother-in-law “at once?” Were they concerned about her health, or ashamed that she did not have the house ready or she was not prepared to entertain them? I interpret this as the brothers apologizing for Simon’s mother-in-law not doing what she’s supposed to do. It was an intensely patriarchal society in first century Palestine, and women “stayed in their lane” by serving the men of the household. However, Jesus does not accost her for not doing what was expected of her. He instead lifts her up, both literally and metaphorically. Her lane is widened and cleared because of the grace of God through Jesus Christ and His work.

In the second half of the text, we see another instance of people trying to have another person “stay in their lane.” Jesus “went out to a deserted place and, there he prayed,” as it says in verse 35. However, sensing that Jesus was not around them, or able to attend to their needs, they “hunted” for Jesus. They did not search or scour for Jesus. They HUNTED for him. You hunt for something when you feel you have a right to it. We hunt animals because we believe we have a right to be full or to enjoy the sport. We hunt for bargains because we feel we have the right to the best price for a good or service. They hunted for Jesus because the Apostles felt they had a right to be with him. According to verse 37, everyone else felt that they had a right to be with Him too. Did Jesus get out of His lane when He went to go pray by Himself? Certainly not. This revelation then begs the question, “What is our lane?” and “Who sets it for us?”

Our “lane” can be defined by many things. Sometimes we can define it, based on choices in our lives, or how hard we work to achieve our dreams. Sometimes it is defined by things are out of our control, like genetics or socioeconomic status. Society sets a lot of the lanes that we live in. For example, I stay in my ministry lane because it is what God has called me to, and I have the requisite training for the career. This also helps us figure out what lane we’re not supposed to be in. I am called to advocate for the oppressed, but I’m also called to lift up those who are oppressed, and follow their lead. I stay in the slow lane, while others more qualified are supposed to take the lead and set the pace. However, the core of what defines our lanes is the power of the Holy Spirit.

John 14:26 says, “But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you” (NRSV). The Holy Spirit gives us the ability to thrive in the lane we live in, or move into the one we were called. Many times we are placed in situations where we feel marginalized or misrepresented. The Holy Spirit, however, gives us hope when we feel powerless, and give us a connection to our Creator. We see that in our text through the healing of Simon Peter’s mother-in-law, and through the connection Jesus has in prayer with God, respectively. We are given hope in the fact that although we may be “stuck in our lanes,” the Holy Spirit fights for us, and for a better tomorrow for us.

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Jay Butler

Jay Butler is Minister of Youth and Discipleship at Mt. Sylvan United Methodist Church, in Durham, North Carolina. He loves his job because he can pick on teenagers…but in a loving, Christ-filled way. He loves his dog, baseball, the theatre, and convincing you why college football is better than college basketball.