Seeing the World Differently (Matthew 5:1-12)

The Game of Life

I remember that one of the first board games I learned, after Chutes and Ladders and Candy Land, was the game of Life. I was enchanted by this game of chance and choice. I was learning at school about the American dream, this idea that anyone could be successful in the United States if they worked hard and put their mind to it. The game of Life taught me a similar lesson. It taught me that life was about getting an education, securing a reputable job, and making as much money as I could along the way. Misfortune might arise, like home disrepair or serious illness, which could eat into my earnings, but if I had played the game judiciously I could handle it. I could stay in control, I could still move up in the world.

In a nutshell, what I learned from the American dream and the game of Life was that self-sufficiency is the goal. Life is a competition, and it’s about holding my own and winning as much as I can. Life is as good as the control I have over my surroundings. Sure, there may be the occasional hardship, but if I have money, I can pay my way through; if I have a good job and friends in even higher places, I can still get my way.

Repent Means Rethink

Last week, we read in Matthew that Jesus begins his ministry with a simple invitation: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near” (Matt 4:17). For many of us, the word “repent” is a heavy word. It sounds like a call to remorse or guilt. But as we observed last week, the Greek word metanoia is not at all dark or heavy. It just means “think differently”; or “change your mind.” I was delighted when Don pointed out to me that we can actually trace this meaning through the English word “pensive.” Someone who is pensive is thinking; repent means rethink. The kingdom of God is a rethinking of our world. To enter into the kingdom, is to see the world differently.

This is actually the heart of Jesus’ first lesson. After he begins his ministry and people begin to follow him, he sits down on a mountain and starts teaching his disciples. What follows in the next couple of chapters is known as the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7). The Sermon on the Mount is essentially Jesus’ Kingdom manifesto. It is a lesson in rethinking the world, in seeing the world differently. And it begins with today’s scripture, known as the Beatitudes, which is a list of counterintuitive blessings. Rather than review each blessing one by one, I want to reflect on the overall impression of this list.

Blessed Are the Losers?

What I hear Jesus saying, if I may be so blunt, is “Blessed are the losers.” Now that might seem a bit unfair at first. Our world appreciates peacemakers, right? They’re not losers. Our world appreciates volunteers and social workers and nurses, the people who show mercy and share a hunger for healthier relationships. They’re not losers, are they? But then I look at the budgets of the leading nations in our world, and I am reminded of where many people really place their trust: places like Wall Street and the Pentagon. Money and military might. The do-gooders can do good on their own time, but what really matters in our world is staying in control. Winning. Coming out on top. To drop the pursuit of profit or to lay down our arms would be considered foolish and weak. A loser’s move. Meekness and mercy are not profitable. Turning the other cheek and forgiveness will not win wars.

There’s a reason we usually think of the Kingdom of God as consisting entirely in the afterlife. It’s because it is simply inconceivable in this world. And yet…Jesus insists that the kingdom of God is at hand here. He prays in the Lord’s prayer that God’s kingdom would come here, “on earth as it is in heaven.”

The People Nearest to God

The Beatitudes are sometimes read as an impossible challenge, as though Jesus is charging his disciples, “Be poor in spirit; mourn; be merciful!” But it seems to me that such instruction would end up shaming a person for not measuring up, and shame is not Jesus’ way of ministering. I think it’s more likely that Jesus is describing than prescribing. In other words, he’s telling his disciples what it looks like to live in God’s kingdom. He’s inviting them to see the world differently. He’s highlighting the people who are closest to God. The people who trust in the care of God and the care of others, he says, are naturally the people closest to God and others: the poor in spirit who recognize they cannot do it own their own; the mourners whose tears testify to a loss, but even more to love and the goodness of relationship; the merciful who give without expectations of this or that. To repent—to rethink the world, to see it differently—is to see that these people are blessed. The secure and self-sufficient, the proud and the privileged, the winners and the ones in control—they do not need God. They are doing it on their own. God is near to the vulnerable, who trust in the care of God and others.

“What Is a Christian?”

A pastor friend of mine, David, used to be the director of a L’Arche community in India. A L’Arche community is a community of folks with and without intellectual disabilities who live and grow together in a spirit of radical mutuality, as peers rather than as caregiver and patient. One year while he was director, David had a handful of persons at the community who wanted to become followers of Christ.  He dutifully led them through a year of training.  They read Bible stories together.  They prayed together.  They worshiped together.

After a year, the bishop visited to meet with the candidates for baptism.  He was there to determine whether they were ready to become Christian.

Now the persons whom David had been training all had intellectual disabilities.  Their social modes of interaction were not verbal but more fundamental.  They had to do with things like eye contact and touch and bodily gestures.

So when the bishop met with them and asked the question, “What is a Christian?” they did not respond with answers that the bishop was used to hearing.  They did not respond, “A Christian believes that Jesus is the son of God.”  Nor did they say, “A Christian is one who is saved by the grace of God in Jesus Christ.”  They did not respond with words at all.

My friend, David, confesses that he was nervous when the bishop asked this question.  Would his candidates fail this test because they could not verbalize their faith in the traditional way?

But what happened next left David and the bishop speechless.  One of the candidates left the room.  In tense silence, everyone waited.

Then a moment later he returned through the doorway carrying a basin of water and a towel. 

He knelt down before the bishop.  Untied his shoes.  Washed his feet.  And dried them with the towel. 

Then he looked up into the bishop’s eyes and smiled—as if to say, that is what a Christian is.

Weakness and Foolishness

I do not want to sugarcoat the kingdom of God. The foot-washer from this story surely had endured a difficult life. As a person with intellectual disabilities, he likely had experienced more than his share of disregard, disrespect, and even disdain, for our world has no place for people like him (just as it had no place for Jesus). He is not self-sufficient. He cannot make it on his own. His life will never resemble the life of a boardgame. He could not possibly live the American dream.

Yet Jesus insists that he is blessed. That he is closer to God than much of our world.  Could that possibly be true? Could Jesus be inviting us to emulate him?

“Repent,” Jesus says. Think differently. See the world differently. And then he gives us the beatitudes. Blessed are the people who are not in control, for they must trust in God’s care. Or as Paul would later write, God’s power is here—in the cross, in our weakness. God’s wisdom is here—in the cross, where we madly, foolishly trust in the way of love (cf. 1 Cor 1:18-31).

Prayer

Confounding God,
Whose kingdom looks very different
From the dreams and values of our world—
Our quests for success, control, and riches
Leave us feeling empty and alone
…
Give us eyes to see abundant life
In broken hearts and open hands,
Where we trust in the way of care rather than control.
In Christ, whose cross is the real power and wisdom of God: Amen.

"They Were Fishermen" (Matthew 4:12-23)

“Just” a Bus Driver

On the surface, school bus driver is a simple job. Deliver children from home to school and back again. But if you rode a bus as a child, you know it’s not that simple. All sorts of stuff can happen on a bus between school and home. Some children are tired of having sat at their desks all day, so they can’t help but stand up and stretch their legs. Others have gotten embroiled in a running spat with their friends, and it all boils over on the bus where there are no teachers to keep them in order. One personal memory I have is the regularity of projectiles—unwanted lunch items, sports balls, and scrunched-up paper fired by homemade slingshots. I may have even contributed to the air traffic chaos once or twice.

I’ve heard that studies report bus-driving to be a particularly high-stress occupation, and I can understand why. There are so many variables that can erupt into a problem at a moment’s notice. The traffic on your route suddenly becomes congested and you have to change your itinerary. A fight breaks out among your passengers. Questions or complaints might be fired at you from multiple people at once. And all of this on top of those exhaust fumes. It’s not a job I would want.

This past week, I stumbled onto the story of Pete, a school bus driver in Oklahoma. Several years back, a local paper had interviewed him,[1] presumably because he was not your average bus driver. He did more than take children to school and return them home safely. He was the person who greeted them by name with a smile in the morning. He was the person whose watchful eyes scanned the rearview mirror and showed concern whenever someone was upset or troubled. Plastered all over the interior of his bus were pictures and posters with inspirational quotes and encouraging reminders. Pete acknowledged in his interview that he cultivates a positive and playful attitude with the children. “Attitude,” he said, “IS everything!”

Pete also happens to be a follower of Christ. I can’t help but see a connection between his faith and his profession. He did more than steer his bus through the roads of his town. He steered the children on his bus through the roads of life, offering them good news and encouragement and, for at least a few minutes every day, a safe place where they knew they were heard and seen. He not only delivered them safe and sound to their homes, but he also pointed them toward their true, spiritual home, toward a caring power whose love is not based on grades or athletics or the approval of one’s peers but on our being God’s own children, all of us.

Pete was “just” a bus driver. But he was so much more.

God’s Kingdom: A Change in Attitude

Today’s scripture tells the story of how Jesus begins his ministry. His first words are “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near” (Matt 4:17). That word “repent” has acquired many connotations throughout the centuries. For some people, it conveys images of sorrow and shame and begrudging submission. But the word itself in Greek, metanoia, is much simpler and morally neutral. Its root meaning is to change one’s mind, to think differently. “Think differently, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” God’s kingdom is a revolution that begins in our thinking—our attitude, you might say.

Consider it for a moment. Everyone whom Jesus encounters in his ministry, he invites into a new attitude. To the marginalized in society, the nobodies and the nothings, Jesus says, “You are somebody very special, blessed and beloved, a child of God.” To the disgraced and the humiliated, Jesus says, “Lift up your head, you are forgiven. Your sin is not who you are. You are a child of God.” To the rich, the proud and the privileged, Jesus says, “Your worth is not in your possessions or what others think of you. Let go of these things, and know true joy. For you are children of God.”

Fishermen for the Kingdom

This revolution in attitude may help to explain today’s scripture. Because it’s rather curious that right after declaring the arrival of the kingdom of God (which sounds sort of high and mighty), Jesus enlists the help of…some fishermen? What would they know about the kingdom of God? Wouldn’t it make more sense for Jesus to recruit some sharp thinkers from among the religious and political elite, maybe some scribes and a priest and a few Pharisees? Imagine Jesus among us today, enlisting the help of a few salty auto mechanics rather than pastors or elders or presidents or missionaries.

If the kingdom of God is about changing the world through the force of legislation and war, then it would make sense for Jesus to recruit the most influential leaders and thinkers of his day. But the kingdom of God is not about changing the world through force. It’s about changing our hearts and minds (which is what really changes our world). And so Jesus begins with a couple of the guys who are nearest to him. He’s there beside the Sea of Galilee, and close by are Peter and Andrew—“for they were fishermen,” Matthew tells us rather matter-of factly (Matt 4:18). Of course fishermen would be by the sea.

They were “just” fishermen. But Jesus calls them and promises, “I will make you fish for people” (Matt 4:19). I wonder, is it just to show his cleverness that Jesus makes a metaphor out of their current occupation? Or is it more? I think Jesus is blessing who they are—fishermen—and telling them at the same time that their occupation and gifts are greater than they know. I think Jesus is enlisting them as fishermen for the kingdom of God, and not just in a metaphorical sense. At the end of the gospel of John, we find Peter back on a boat, fishing. It’s what he did before; it’s what he’ll always do.

In this interpretation, Jesus does not tear away four fishermen from the sea and make them into something else. Rather, Jesus blesses four fishermen on the sea and calls them to something more.

“Whatever You Do…”

Peter of Galilee was “just” a fisherman. Pete of Oklahoma was “just” a bus driver. But they were both so much more because Jesus changed their attitude and their way of living. They learned that they were children of God. They learned that they could be part of God’s kingdom right where they were. No longer did the past define them, or their family’s expectations, or what others thought, or what they had or had not achieved. And they could not help but share this good news with their world, “just” where they were, “just” with the gifts with which they had already been equipped.

Their stories invite me to consider my own story and yours too. What could be written about us? I imagine Jesus approaching me while I read a book—“for he was a reader and a writer,” the narrator might say. And Jesus says, “Follow me, and I will make a storyteller of hope and new life.” For others, Jesus might approach them in a classroom or in a work studio or on a construction site or in a garden or on the phone or at the park—for they were teachers, carpenters, builders, gardeners, socializers. And Jesus says, “Follow me—and whatever you do, do it for me.” If that sounds almost biblical, it’s because it is. Paul writes to the Colossians, “Whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus” (Col 3:17).

Maybe it’s hard to believe that your present job or role in life can be used toward the goodness of God’s kingdom. I know that voice of doubt personally. It has raised its voice in the past and said, “Making coffees for people? That’s not what God called you to do. Shifting paperwork? That’s not what God called you to do.” And I don’t know—maybe there are some things that cannot be done entirely for Christ, because they oppose or obstruct God’s kingdom rather than welcome it. But what I do know is that faith is much more like an adverb than a noun, much more like an attitude than a concrete set of actions. It has to do with the way that I conduct myself all across life. Whatever my actions are, do I do them with love, so that people might see the God who is love? Like Pete the bus driver, who smiles and says the names of his children and affirms that they are each special in his eyes.

Whatever you are, you can be one for Christ. A fisherman. A bus driver. A grandma, a builder—a butcher, a baker, a candle-stick maker! You can be part of God’s kingdom. All it takes is repentance—or if you like, a change in attitude. (As Pete would say, “Attitude IS everything!”)

Prayer

Loving God,
Who meets us where we are
On a boat, on a bus—
Sometimes life feels
Like it’s just the same thing
Over and over
…
May we hear with the disciples
Jesus calling, “Repent—
Change your attitude.”
Help us to know ourselves
As your beloved children
Already equipped with unique gifts
That only we can give.
Make us a part of your kingdom. 

In Christ, who unites us in one mind: Amen.

[1] Emily Anderson, “My Outlook: Pastor Pete Balaban, School Bus Driver,” My Outlook: Pastor Pete Balaban, School Bus Driver | Edmond Outlook, accessed January 16, 2023. 

Sin: A Site of Epiphany

Discomfort Discussing Sin

“When was the last time you sinned?”…is not an easy question for me to answer. I don’t like to think about my own sin. I’d rather think about other people’s. It is much easier for me to gossip or accuse or judge. Sometimes I even enjoy talking about other people’s sin. “How could they do that? What were they thinking?” Maybe talking about other people’s sin makes me feel safe from sin. Distant from it. Removed. I would never act that way. I’m still a long way from that behavior. 

Some of you know that before I came to Trinity, I spent three years researching and writing a commentary on Leviticus and Numbers. (As a side note, I want to share my joy: I’ve just completed and submitted my final edits—so now you can keep your eyes peeled for my name on the bestsellers’ list!) Most people keep a safe distance from Leviticus and Numbers. I know I did. It’s a bunch of blood, guts, and fire, right? Animal sacrifice, archaic purity laws about what you can and cannot touch or eat, barbaric wars. What could these things possibly have to do with the gospel? Well, as I painstakingly separated the crust of ancient culture from the spiritual meaning within, I discovered there is quite a lot of wisdom and good news in Leviticus and Numbers. Let me share with you one surprising revelation.

Before reading Leviticus, I thought of sin as wickedness. Sin is what the bad guys do. Or it’s what happens when good people slip and act with bad intentions. Sin is in the heart. But in Leviticus, God overwhelmingly talks about sin as unintentional or unacknowledged behavior. In other words, what is in the heart does not matter nearly as much as the real-life, hands-on consequences of our actions. One Hebrew word for sin, chatta’, literally means “to miss the mark.” Sin is any action that misses the mark of God’s design for the good life, anything that hurts oneself or another. According to God in Leviticus, the problem with sin is not that we have bad intentions or evil hearts, but that we rarely listen to our hearts. Most of the time, our hurtful actions that miss the mark are unintentional or unacknowledged. (To illustrate with an exception that proves the point: we may on occasion knowingly break a law, but we usually justify or rationalize our action in a way that keeps any actual wrongdoing hidden or unacknowledged; we actually think what we did was okay.)

Perhaps this explains why it’s easier for me to acknowledge other people’s sin than my own. I’m not aware of it. I keep it hidden, repressed, unacknowledged. Think about all the distractions in our world today that we can use to drown out or ignore our own sin. People lose themselves in their phones, or in food, or even in the constant company of friends. They numb themselves with work, or with drinks, or with drugs. They keep themselves busy chasing their desires for profit, for pleasure, for prestige. For some people, to be alone with themselves for even ten minutes is a frightening prospect. Who knows what they might hear? Who knows what their heart might whisper to them?

Leviticus seems to appreciate these dynamics of repression and denial. According to God in Leviticus, the first step to resolving any sin is becoming honest with ourselves. It is a crucial, unavoidable step. All the sin and guilt offerings revolve around this common turning point: a moment of realization when the person becomes aware of their error and feels guilt or remorse.

Maybe you know what this feels like. For some people, it’s a sudden, unexpected onset of tears, a breaking open of the heart, as they realize a deeper truth about the way that they have missed the mark. For others, it may be a gnawing anxiety, something that wakes them up in the middle of the night when they defenseless, when they have none of their distractions to keep the sense of sin at bay. However it appears, we all from time to time encounter these moments of truth when we know we have missed the mark.

Where Christ Appears

The good news of Leviticus is that no sin can separate us from God when we are honest about it. When people acknowledge their sin, they immediately know God’s forgiveness (which I suspect is there from the very start), and they once again experience God’s loving embrace.

And that’s the good news of our scripture today, and specifically the good news of this Epiphany season. Epiphany, remember, means “appearance,” and in the church we celebrate the appearance of Christ. Last Sunday, when we celebrated the day of Epiphany itself, we remembered how Christ appeared to all the world—to the people of Israel in Jerusalem as well as to the strangers from far away in the east. This Sunday, we celebrate how Christ first appears to the individuals who will follow him. And the first words we hear in our scripture are John the Baptizer’s proclamation: “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29).[1] The first two disciples of Jesus begin to follow him immediately after John has made this proclamation (1:36; cf. 1:29). The implication is that they follow Jesus precisely because they have a sense of their own sin, their own missing the mark, and they desire a better way of life.

The paradoxical good news, then, is that our sin is a blessed site of epiphany. Our sin is precisely where Christ appears, where Christ meets us. Contrary to the conventional thinking of our world, where we must first prove ourselves and present ourselves as qualified, Christ appears to us when we are honest and broken. As he says elsewhere, it is the sick who need a physician (cf. Mark 2:17).

Disciples as Lifelong Learners

Jesus’ first words in the gospel of John are the same words that he speaks to us today, “What are you looking for?” The first word of the two disciples’ response is “Rabbi.” In other words, they are looking for a teacher. They are willing to be lifelong students, because they recognize that they have missed the mark and need to relearn the way of life. When the disciples ask where Jesus is staying, his response, “Come and see,” implies that the removal of sin and the learning of God’s way is not comparable to reaching a destination once-and-for-all. It’s not a single transaction. It is a day-by-day journey through which we are always learning and discovering. “Come and see.” We might ask ourselves at the end of every day, “What did I see following Jesus today?”

What jumps out to me in this initial conversation is that, while for the disciples it begins with honesty and an awareness of their sin and brokenness, its good news is rooted not in fear of damnation or worry of judgment but in curiosity and desire. There is a warmness in this encounter, a recognition that, though they are sinful, they are already safe in the presence of Christ. Previously they may have lived in anxious repression or denial of their missing the mark, but now they are honest and hopeful about it; they have a teacher who embraces them and knows the way. They have someone to follow.

Discipleship as Relationship

But following Jesus is only half of today’s story of discipleship. It’s only half of the story of this Lamb who takes away the sin of the world. The other half of today’s story is staying with Jesus. The disciples who follow after Jesus, stay with him. Later in the gospel of John, Jesus will use the same language when he says, “Abide in me as I abide in you” (John 15:4). Later, he is even more specific: “Abide in my love” (John 15:9-10).  

Sometimes I think of a teacher as a person who imparts knowledge of concepts and ideas. But I don’t think Jesus is primarily this kind of teacher, and I don’t think our faith is a matter of this kind of education. We are disciples not of a method but of a person. We are not in a course but in a relationship. We are not learning knowledge but love. Christ is not something we get, but someone who gets us. This means that Christians are not experts with the answer to everything. Rather, they are broken people who know their need for relationship and guidance. A wise follower of Christ will not tell you the answer to your question, but rather point you to God.

Our strength is not being alone. Everyone can relate to this on a human level. Not being alone is a great strength, whether that is against a difficult prognosis, an uncertain future, a great loss. How much greater is this strength, then, to know that it is God who is with us. That God meets us right where we are, in our honest brokenness, and invites us to follow him and stay with him. We are safe with him.

A Life of “Come and See”

How we live in relationship with Christ is probably a question that each of us could answer a little differently. But I appreciate the example of Gregory of Nyssa, a church leader from the fourth century, who said this: we see clearly when we keep our eyes on Jesus. To follow Jesus and to stay with Jesus is a life of “Come and see.” It means keeping our eyes upon Jesus, which we do when we contemplate scripture, when we bare ourselves honestly in prayer and seek him, when we gather together with two or three others in Christ’s name. Keeping our eyes upon Jesus helps us to recalibrate where we have been sinning, or missing the mark. It puts everything in perspective. Life is no longer about winning or control, about possessions or prestige, about shame or failure. Life is about God’s love, from which nothing can separate us, not even our sin. In fact, if we look at today’s scripture…that’s precisely where this story of good news begins.

Prayer

God of our salvation,
Who does not condemn us for our sin
But meets us there to show the way—
Help us like the first disciples
To be honest with ourselves
And to know our brokenness
…
That we might train our eyes on Jesus
And be lifelong learners of his way
And abide in him as he abides in us.
Through the Lamb of God, 

Who takes away the sin of the world: Amen.

---

[1] Many have interpreted this identification as a reference to the Passover lamb, but I would offer a thought to broaden our thinking. The Passover lamb did not take away sin; it defended the Israelites from the death of the firstborn. In Leviticus, however, sacrificial offerings did often act as purification for the tabernacle; that is, these offerings symbolized the cleansing of the tabernacle from the people’s sin. John the Baptizer’s metaphor, then, may suggest that Jesus comes not as a substitutional offering, who dies in our place, but as a sacrificial offering whose death purifies the world of sin.

Receiving Christ (Matthew 2:1-12)

The Wise Men

Have you been watching the wise men in our sanctuary? They’ve been moving the last month, and today they’ve reached the baby Jesus! As you may already know, our nativity scenes are not entirely biblically accurate. They conflate into a single night what happened over the course of months or even years. Our scripture today reminds us that the wise men do not show up on the night of Jesus’ birth. When they see the star that heralds the birth of a new king, they must first make a long journey from the east—probably from the land of Israel’s old foe, Babylon—and then they have to readjust their destination, because they arrive in Jerusalem only to discover the new king is not there. Finally they arrive at Bethlehem—but at a house, not a stable. By this time, Jesus is probably several months old, maybe even a year or two.

Then there’s the number of the wise men. Our nativities usually show three of them, because there are three gifts, but the scripture never mentions their number. Finally, there is the question of their profession. What is a wise man? The Greek word magi comes from the Persian word magos, which originally referred to a sort of priest who served in the royal court. The magi were skilled in interpreting the world, including the stars, which is why we sometimes hear that they were astrologers. The similarity between their name, magi, and our word “magic” is no coincidence. Some magi dabbled in spells and enchantments, which were strictly forbidden in Jewish scripture.

It is not uncommon for the wise men, or magi, to take center stage in our imaginations when we read today’s scripture. We imagine the story according to their perspective: their long journey, their fraught dialogue with king Herod, and finally their kneeling before the child Jesus with their gifts. The song “We Three Kings” perfectly encapsulates our imagination of their experience. “We three kings of Orient are; bearing gifts we traverse afar, field and fountain, moor and mountain, following yonder star.” (Why does the song call them “kings,” we might ask. The answer is found in the Jewish scripture. Isaiah 60 and Psalm 72 each anticipate a future in which kings from all over the world will bring gifts to the king of Israel and bow before him. These strange, noble men from the east, who bear gifts and kneel before Jesus, seem to fit that mold so well, some readers consider them the prophesied kings.)

A Tale of Two Kings

But this morning, I want us to tear our eyes away from the three kings (or however many wise men there were) for just a moment, because the real drama in our scripture is about two kings. Listen to how the story begins and how it immediately opposes one king against another: “In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, ‘Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?’” (Matt 2:1-2). Notice that the wise men do not kneel before King Herod or pay him homage. Notice that, instead, they ask him about another king. Notice, too, that the chief priests and scribes cite a prophecy that confirms the wise men’s intuition: a ruler will be born, they say, in Bethlehem, one who will “shepherd [the] people Israel” (Matt 2:6; Mic 5:2). The arrival of the wise men thus inflames King Herod with fear. He perceives a challenge to his throne, a rival king. So he immediately hatches a plan to eliminate this new enemy. He asks the religious leaders about the messiah—not so that he might welcome this long-awaited savior of the Jewish people, but so that he might find him and kill him.

As a tale of two kings, our scripture today suggests a contrast. On the one hand, there is King Herod, a king of this world, who will do anything to secure his own power. We learn from other historical documents that King Herod executed numerous individuals, including members of his own family, just to protect his throne. He even executed some residents of his own territory when he died, just to ensure that his death would be a time of mourning and sadness. On the other hand, there is the newborn king before whom the wise men kneel with gifts. What kind of king will he be? Well, let’s listen to the prophetic vision of the psalmist: “May all kings fall down before him, all nations give him service. For he delivers the needy when they call, the poor and those who have no helper. He has pity on the weak and needy, and saves the lives of the needy. From oppression and violence he redeems their life; and precious is their blood in his sight” (Psalm 72:11-14). One king cares only about himself and demands subservience. The other king cares about others and serves them selflessly.

Of Insiders and Outsiders

Today the church celebrates Epiphany, which literally means “appearance.” For the church, Epiphany refers to the appearance of Christ to the world. The main story of Epiphany is today’s story of the wise men, because in this story Christ becomes known to others near and far, to strangers from the outer reaches of the East, as well as to the king and chief priests and scribes in Jerusalem.

What fascinates me in today’s story is how people respond differently to Christ’s appearance. On the one hand, the religious insiders in Jerusalem—the king and the chief priests and the scribes—are all “frightened,” Matthew says (Matt 2:3-4). On the other hand, these strangers from the east, who would have worshiped God with different names than the Israelites, who wouldn’t have known how to offer a proper sacrifice at the Temple, are overwhelmed with joy.

Why would the religious insiders be frightened? It seems counterintuitive. Wouldn’t they who hold the prophecies, they who have been waiting for centuries, be the happiest of all?

I don’t know if you heard the story about St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Davidson, North Carolina. In 2014, they installed a statue on the church grounds that depicts a homeless person sleeping on a bench. If you get close enough to the statue, you can see that the homeless person is Jesus—there are the marks of crucifixion on his feet. But the early response was mixed. One woman in the neighborhood called the cops on this homeless person. Others wrote letters to the editor of the local news, expressing displeasure that a homeless person would be memorialized.

I’ve heard that, paradoxically, religion can be one of the best ways to avoid God. For me, this story sheds some light on that curious idea. Some people understand God as a protector of their worldview and their way of doing things.  They use God as a servant of their own interests. God wants what they want, God dislikes what they dislike. God supports the same candidates they do and fights against the same enemies. In the end, God is just their ego writ large, their interests and values crowned as king. Such a God is a formidable defense for people who would prefer to live by their own power, who feel no genuine need for a savior because they already have savings accounts and a secure future and all the amenities they could want. Such a God actually safeguards a person from ever encountering the holy One who is beyond all images, whose love knows no party lines or flags or boundaries, whose glory is in all creation.

Perhaps King Herod and the chief priests and the scribes and “all Jerusalem” are frightened because they are quite content with their present arrangement. Living as an occupied region of the Roman empire might not be the ideal situation, but at least these folks have some leverage as the religious and political insiders of their corner of the world. They would rather not receive Christ because they have already assumed that role themselves. For them, God is just a way to keep things relatively comfortable, to keep things the way they are.

The Invitation of Epiphany

 This story of Epiphany invites me to reflect. Do I see the world through the fearful eyes of King Herod and the religious leaders or through the faithful eyes of the wise men? Epiphany invites me to see the world not as though it were filled with threats to my own way of life but as though it were filled with grace that opens up onto a much larger, richer way of life. The irony of religion is that it can become a very fearful, defensive expression of the self, as it is for King Herod and the religious insiders of Jerusalem. It can become a way to protect my own interests, whether those concern my nation, culture, race, economy, ideology, or whatever else is dear to my way of thinking. But religion can also lead to an open and trusting posture, as it did for the wise men, who find God not in the familiar but in the unfamiliar. They kneel before God in a foreign land, where God has a different name, where people worship in different ways. As Jesus would later say, faith is not so much a matter of getting the name or concept right; it’s not about the people who say, “Lord, lord” (cf. Matt 7:21-23). Rather, it’s about something bigger than words and ideas; it’s about a way of living; it’s about people who trust in God’s love, who look for it in all shapes and sizes, not under names and flags but in forgiveness and generosity and care for others.

Epiphany invites me to reflect on my posture. Are my knuckles white with grasping? Am I always calculating, strategizing, worrying? Or do I ever find myself kneeling before something so filled with grace, so much better than I could have planned or expected, that I am overwhelmed with joy?

Prayer

Holy God,
Your appearance in our world
Can be threatening to our way of life.
Your heart is much bigger
Than our narrow interests
…
Mold our hearts after the magi,
That we might live less in our heads,
Be less concerned about names, ideas, plans;
That we might long for grace
And find it in unexpected places.
In Christ, the king for those who have no helper. Amen.

Not Alone (Matt 2:13-23)

New Year’s “Failures”

It is New Year’s Day, and for many people that means two things: Resolutions. And failure! According to one study, nearly one out of four resolution-makers will fail in their resolve by the end of the first week. Over half will fail by the end of the first month. Over ninety percent will have failed by the end of the year. Resolutions, it seems, are a sure exercise in the futility of our willpower.

The obvious lesson of New Year’s resolutions, then, is the likelihood that sooner or later we will fail. But I wonder if New Year’s resolutions reveal more than our weak resolve. I wonder if they reveal the idolatry of our world. We idolize strength. We idolize self-sufficiency. We idolize the self-made individual who single-handedly accomplishes their ambitions. We put on a pedestal high achievers, big earners, people who look perfect. And just as easily, we tear them apart at the first sign of weakness or failure. It’s no surprise, then, that we do the same thing with ourselves. We resolve to be perfect, and then when we fail, we give up. We think we can do it on our own; when we can’t, we lose all hope.

Who Is Carrying Whom?

But God does not lose hope. Neither does God expect perfection. When God took on flesh and entered into our world, he could not make it on his own. He had to be carried.

The beginning of the Christmas story is angels singing and shepherds glorifying God and the noble magi kneeling before Jesus and Mary and Joseph tenderly watching over their child. But Matthew tells us that, after the initial joy and celebration, there is great darkness and danger. Jesus is born into the same world that we inhabit—a world filled with fear and violence, a world that is not safe. And Jesus is just as vulnerable to these risks as we are today. He is born into the world with a mark on his head. King Herod—who lives according to the gospel of strength and self-sufficiency, who trusts no one, not even his own family, some of whom he would even put to death for fear that they would take his throne—King Herod wants little baby Jesus dead, and he goes to disastrous lengths to ensure the result. For this reason, an angel of the Lord warns Joseph to get up and “take the child…and flee to Egypt” (Matt 2:13).

Our Old Testament scripture today is from the prophet Isaiah. It presents a fascinating contrast to the Christmas story. Isaiah praises God for carrying Israel out of danger (Isa 63:9). Isaiah’s language echoes other Old Testament passages that compare God’s deliverance of the people Israel from Egypt to a mother eagle who carries her brood out of danger. The message is plain. The people Israel cannot do it on their own. They need help. They need God to carry them out of Egypt.

But the Christmas story shows us a striking reversal. God cannot do it on his own. God needs help. God in Christ needs Joseph to carry him down to Egypt. Lest we think that this story is a one off, that once baby Jesus grows up to be an adult he will be strong and self-sufficient, we might remember the cross. Jesus’ story does not end with a man flexing his muscles and securing his own way in the world.

“This Is My Body, Broken for You”

On the one hand, Jesus’ apparent weakness could be seen as cause for despair. If God cannot make it on his own, then who can?

On the other hand, this could be the very crux of the good news. If God cannot make it on his own, then who can? We can let go of perfection! We can let go of this impossible ideal, this idol of self-sufficiency. The good news is not that God comes to make us invincible, but that God comes in weakness, where we need each other, where we must carry each other. The good news is love, which is born in relationship. Love is what carries us when we cannot make it on our own. It is love that carries Jesus away from the murderous king Herod. It is love that will lift up the tax collectors and prostitutes, the poor, the little children, the widows, the Samaritan woman, Zacchaeus, and so many others.

Every week at the table, we remember how Jesus gives himself to us. This week in the season of Christmas, we might remember how, first, Mary and then Joseph give themselves to Jesus. How before Jesus lifts up others, Jesus himself needs to be carried. He needed Mary, who gave birth to him, to say, “This is my body, broken for you.” He needed Joseph, who carried him to Egypt, to say, “This is my body, broken for you.”[1]

Where Christ Is Born

Whether you’ve made resolutions for the new year or not, maybe today’s scripture will provide a gentle and sobering caution against any expectations of perfection that we have for ourselves. Maybe it will remind us that failure or weakness is not the end of the story but the beginning. It’s where Christ is born. Maybe it will remind us that we cannot make it on our own. Maybe it will remind us of what matters most—not personal achievement but carrying each other.

Because chances are that, as an American Christian, you grew up learning about the importance of having a “personal relationship” with Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior. It is easy to hear that word “personal” and think “private.” It is easy to adapt our faith to the ideals—and the idols—of our culture. We can think that Jesus in our heart is enough, and from there we can make it on our own to accomplish whatever we set our mind to do. But the picture in the gospels is different. Jesus envisions a life where we are never alone, a life where we carry and are carried by one another. Jesus first says, “Follow me” to two men, not one, and those two quickly grow to twelve. Later he sends out his disciples not alone but in pairs. Finally, as he prepares for his final days on earth, he promises his followers that he will always be with them, but in very specific terms. “Whenever two or three of you are gathered in my name, I am there” (Matt 18:20). “The church, according to the New Testament, is not a loose confederation of individuals. The church is a body—a living, breathing organism whose members are so intimately connected that they can only move together. On any given day, every member of that body needs help, and every member has some help to give.”[2]

The good news of Christmas is certainly that God is with us and we are not alone. But if we left it at that, we would miss out on the depths and riches of God’s love. God’s presence is not the guarantee of strength and success, but the embrace that draws us together in our weak and fragile humanity. God’s salvation is a story of one person carrying another because we cannot do it alone. Sometimes it is us being carried. Other times, it may be us carrying God, if you would believe it. Either way, it is how Christ is born into our world. Not in perfection, but in our need. Christ is with us when we carry one another.

Prayer

Holy God,
Who is born not in perfection
But into this flesh,
Vulnerable and needy—
May the infant Christ
Disarm us of ambitions
Toward independence and perfection
…
Carry us, dear God,
As we in our humble and honest ways
Carry you into the world.
May your love be our salvation,
Now and forever. In Christ: Amen.



[1] Inspired by Rachel Held Evans with Jeff Chu, Wholehearted Faith (New York: HarperOne, 2021), 3-6.


[2] Adapted from Nate Larkin, Samson and the Pirate Monks: Calling Men to Authentic Brotherhood (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2007), 73.