2 Epiphany (Year A) - January 19, 2020

2 Epiphany

Year A
January 19, 2020
John 1:29-42

Initially, today’s text may seem like a repeat of last week. We find ourselves with John the Baptist and Jesus at the Jordan again. While on one hand, we recognize this as familiar and similar to last week; on the other hand, this is distinctly different. Have you ever watched a movie/ tv show or read a book that takes a familiar story and tells it from a slightly (or even drastically) different perspective. As a kid, I quite enjoyed the book “The True Story of the Three Little Pigs” – which is a spin off of the Three Little Pigs in which the Big Bad Wolf tells his side of the story. There’s a whole series of books that take classic Disney movies from a different perspective. The TV Show “Once Upon a Time” took familiar fairy tails and put a different spin/ perspective on them. Or have you ever noticed the differences when we read or hear the same news story from different sources. In each of these, it is the same story (and it feels like the same story) but the details are different (and sometimes contradictory), the perspectives are different.

The Gospel of John often feels like this. We know we’re reading the same story (a story about the life, ministry, death and resurrection of Jesus), but it comes from a very different perspective. Some of the details are different. The timelines are different. The theology is different. And that’s okay. We’re entering, at least for a brief moment, this week, a different view on the same story. We get different language and different emphases for talking about the life, ministry, death and resurrection of Jesus.

Today, instead of getting a narrative of Jesus’ baptism, we get John’s witness of the baptism. For the Gospel of John, this moment of seeing the Spirit of God descend as a dove and land on Jesus is not just a moment that points to Jesus as the Son of God. It is the moment that brings Jesus’ identity to light. It is the sign that tells John that his ministry was coming to its fulfillment; this is the one he’s been pointing to this whole time. This moment at Jesus’ baptism tells John that this is the Lamb of God who comes to take away the sin of the world.

When John reveals this to two of his disciples, they leave John and follow Jesus.  Oddly enough without telling Jesus that they were following him. They just leave John and follow Jesus. I’m clearly not Jesus because if two random men started following me, I wouldn’t have the same calm response – without a word, without an introduction, without knowing whether they meant good or meant harm. But when Jesus noticed the two of them following him, he simply asks, “What are you looking for?” or “What are you seeking?” The first words Jesus utters in the Gospel of John is this question: “What are you looking for?” The first public act of ministry for Jesus in the Gospel of John is this question: “What are you seeking?”

And the two disciples respond: “Rabbi, where are you staying?”

I don’t know about you, but if Jesus, the Son of God, the Lamb of God sent to take away the sin of the world asked me this, asked me what I am looking for, I would likely have a different answer than the disciple. It comes across as if the disciples are asking Jesus what hotel he’s staying at. If I were face to face with Jesus (in the flesh), I would think I would have a different question. Or a million questions.

We all come here, I think, seeking something. We no longer are here because of a societal pressure to be here. At our leadership conference last weekend, Pastor John Wertz explained that at his internship site, back in the quote “good ol’ days,” the Sunday School at the church had a thousand kids on the rolls, and folks lamented the few numbers in Sunday School today. Pastor John made it clear that there’s no way that the church could hold that many kids in its Sunday School. But there were a thousand kids on the rolls. Why? Because there were some high powered New York City CEOs in the church, and people found that they could earn social capital by belonging to the church that their bosses were members of. That kind of pressure doesn’t exist anymore, even on a smaller level. We’re not here for some social, political, or career ladder. No, we come here as ones who have followed the call to follow Jesus in some way shape or form. So what brings you here? What are you seeking as you come to this place? If Jesus asked you, “What are you looking for?” what would you say?

I imagine our answers would be quite varied. “Jesus, teacher, I’m looking for community, for a connection and relationship to people – to be part of something bigger.” “Jesus, rabbi, I’m looking for peace and comfort in what feels like a chaotic and scary world.” “Jesus, teacher, I’m looking for a place to take a breath.” “Jesus, teacher, I’m looking for love, to be seen, to be worthy.” “Jesus, rabbi, I’m looking for wholeness and healing.” “Jesus, teacher, I’m looking for answers to life’s questions.” “Jesus, rabbi, I’m looking for forgiveness, absolution.” “Jesus, teacher, I’m looking to find you, to touch you, to experience you.” What are you looking for as you follow Jesus? What do you need from Jesus? What motivates you to be here, to follow your baptismal calling? What longings are at the very core of your being – perhaps the ones that you’ve never found a voice for?

I wonder if there’s more to the disciples’ answer than I give them credit for. Our translation today says “where are you staying?”. The Greek offers other possibilities: “where are you remaining?” or “where are you abiding?” I think they’re asking a question at the heart of what most of us are looking for when we come here, when we follow Jesus. They’re question is closer to “where can we find you?” or “where can we encounter you?” or “Where can we come into your presence?” than “what hotel are you staying at?” They knew that this one was the Lamb of God, the Son of God, the light that shines in the darkness. They were seeking the light, the life, the wholeness that only this one can bring. They want to be with Jesus, knowing that being with Jesus brings about the rest. Where Jesus abides, where Jesus remains, where Jesus stays, light, life, love, peace, and comfort are there too. They wanted to know where Jesus abides so that they could abide there too.

Jesus’ response to them (and to us) is simple, “Come and See.” This is an invitation to walk with him, to abide with him. This invitation is so important for Jesus in the Gospel of John. As Jesus is preparing his disciples (including these two) for his impending death, resurrection, and ascension, he says this, “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower. 2 He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit. 3 You have already been cleansed by the word that I have spoken to you. 4 Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. 5 I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing… If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. 8 My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples. 9 As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. 10 If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. 11 I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.”

Today, we’re not promised easy answers to life’s questions. We’re not promised an easy journey (abiding in Jesus, afterall, leads to the cross). But today, as beloved Children of God, we have an invitation to come and see where Jesus stays, where Jesus remains, where Jesus abides. We have an invitation to come before God, see, touch, smell, taste,  experience God’s grace, God’s love, God’s peace through Jesus’ presence among us – in this place, in this community of faith, in our lives and in our world. We have the gifts of water, of bread and wine, where Jesus promises to be present. We have the gift of the body of Christ, of being in community with one another, in which Christ promises to be active. We have the call to be active in the world, a world that God so loved, that God sent God’s only son, so that all may come into relationship with Jesus, and experience that love and that joy that only God can give. Today, we’re invited to come and see, come and experience Jesus abiding in us and in the world.

Audrey West, a New Testament professor, puts it this way, “If you want to know the word made flesh, come and see Jesus. If you want to know what love is like, come and see Jesus. If you want to experience God's glory, to be filled with bread that never perishes, to quench your thirst with living water, to be born again, to abide in love, to behold the light of the world, to experience the way, the truth, and the life, to enter into life everlasting, . . . if you want to know God, come and see Jesus.” (“Commentary on John 1:29-42”, Working Preacher, Jan 20, 2008).

Today, come and see Jesus – the Word made flesh that pitches a tent among us. Today, come and see Jesus – the Lamb of God who liberates us from the power of sin and death. Today, come and see Jesus – the Son of God who draws us into relationship with God, abiding in us. Today, come and see Jesus – in the faces of one another. Today, come and see Jesus – in bread, in wine, in water, gifts for you and for all people. Today, come and see Jesus.

Amen.

Baptism of Our Lord (Year A) - January 12, 2020

Baptism of Our Lord
Year A
January 12, 2020
Matthew 3:13-17

While my brother was here last weekend, we were hanging out in my living room, playing video games. I don’t quite remember why he asked this question, but he asked me, “Why don’t you like the name, Alexis?” It got me thinking about names and what is in a name. When I was a child, I hated my full first name, like absolutely hated it. I couldn’t tell you why; I just knew that I was Alex. And I would (sometimes in a less than polite way) correct anyone who called me Alexis. I would tell my family that when I turned 18, I’d legally change my name to Alex. It is so odd to me, but some folks are really uncomfortable with my name – to the point that I’ve had conversations like this: “Hi, my name is Alex.” “Oh, what is that short for, Alexandria?” “Alexis, but my name is Alex.” “Well, that’s so pretty. I’ll call you Alexis because I can’t call a girl Alex.” Really?

I still remember back in 3rd grade, my teacher misspelled my last name on my nametag for my desk, writing it as Alexis Wilt. I was so excited because, since she had to fix it anyway, she put Alex as the first name on my nametag. For the first time in my life, I didn’t have to explain to others (like substitute teachers) that my name was Alex; for the first time, what was in front of me matched the name that I call myself and matched the identity I had for myself. And that was a big deal. Names and identities have power. There’s something powerful in being called the name that you call yourself, without question or explanation; it is an affirmation of who we are and how we see ourselves.

Here’s the story behind my name. My mom wanted her first-born to be named Alex, after her uncle, Uncle Alex, better known as “Uncle Pean” (Short for Peanut – my Mom’s side of the family shortens EVERYONE’s name or nickname; My Mom is called “Bren” and I’m often just “Al”). Uncle Alex was my Gram’s brother, who died a number of years before I was born. But he was an incredible man. My mom grew up in a poor family. My grandfather worked factory work, and periodically faced times of lay-offs, especially as the steel and slate industries began to falter in the North East. Uncle Alex was single most of his life, and spent much of his time at my mom’s home. Especially in the most difficult times, he’d check the fridge and the pantry, make sure that there was bread and milk. If there wasn’t enough, there would be food and milk in the house the next day. He bought my mom’s shoes for the beginning of school each year. And he even saved bit by bit each year, so when my mom turned 16, she could get a car. Both my Mom and my Gram have said that if Uncle Alex were alive today, he would have spoiled my brother and I, even more than my Gram and Pap did. He was generous, steadfast, a provider, and a support even and especially when times got tough.

So today, my name is both an homage and an honor. Something to live up to and live into, and live out. And while I’m not going to legally change my name, my name is Alex. And this is who I am.

Whether you have a story behind your name or not, I think we all can agree that there’s power in a name, in what we call ourselves and one another – power to affirm and power to hurt, power to lift up, and power to tear down. We all learn as kids that the names we use for each other have power to heal or the power to do tremendous harm. And we all have a multitude of identities: sibling, parent, child, grandchild, friend, partner, teacher, pastor, nurse. These identities further reveal something about who we are, describe something about what it means to be Alex or Bob or Carol.

“This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

In this Epiphany season, we hear a voice from heaven pointing to the identity of Jesus, as he is washed in the waters of baptism. During this season following Epiphany and leading up to Lent, we get these glimpses into the identity of who Jesus is and what Jesus came to do. And we start here, in the waters of baptism – a baptism that sparks the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry. While often, we tend to focus on baptism as a washing away of sin (and it is certainly part of it), baptism also gives a name and an identity. Today, the focus of Jesus’ baptism is on a name and an identity, proclaimed by God godself. Jesus receives a name: “the beloved.” And an identity: “my Son.” Jesus, in his life, ministry, death and resurrection, lives up to, lives into, and lives out those identities. It is who Jesus is and who Jesus came to be for us and for the world.

In Jesus, as the Son of God, the divine comes close. In Jesus, as the Son of God, we’re brought into relationship with our creator and our redeemer. This is the one who comes to “fulfil all righteousness” – in other words, to bring us back into right relationship with our God. In Jesus, the Son of God, we are brought into relationship with a God that is so incredibly committed to us and to the world that this God puts on our flesh and lives our lives. No longer does God remain distant but rather God comes close, saying yes to our humanity and to everything that comes with this humanity. Divinity and humanity become one and can no longer be separated. And our humanity - the best and the worst of it - can no longer be a barrier to God’s love for us  and for the world. In the baptism of Jesus, God affirms Jesus’s ministry and reaffirms that we have a God that is solidly and firmly with us - working to bring salvation and liberation to us and to all people through the love that encompasses all. The Beloved Son of God comes to affirm and proclaim the belovedness of all people  everywhere – especially those on the margins – by risking it all – vulnerability, dirt and grime, the messiness of human relationships (including calling disciples that will fail him), even death – a mission and ministry that makes God well pleased.

“This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

In our baptisms, we receive a new name and a new identity. There’s advice floating around that on this Sunday, we should stick to Jesus’ baptism and not wander too far into our own baptisms because, well, Jesus’ baptism is something somewhat different from what we experience. I’ve taken that advice (and likely will at another time), but for today I’m going to ignore it. Because in our baptism, we’re linked with what we hear in the Gospel reading today. In the waters of baptism, we are named “Beloved” and called “children of God.” And we don’t get that reminder often enough. The world too often tells us that we aren’t worthy and we have to earn love. But in our baptisms, God says to each one of us “This is my child, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” In water, we are given the gift of the forgiveness of sins, but we also are united with Jesus in his life, his ministry, his death, and his resurrection. Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection are the story behind our names as beloved children of God. We are beloved not on our own merit, but because our God names us and claims us as children of God. In this water, God says to you and to me, you are beloved, you are worthy, you are mine. And nothing can separate you from that belovedness. Among all of our other names and identities, this is the primary one: beloved child of God.

To be clear, it isn’t that our other names and identities aren’t important. Yesterday, a few of us went to the EPIC leadership conference held by the Virginia synod. Pastor Kelly Bayer-Derrick, assistant to the Bishop, in encouraging us to introduce ourselves to those around us, helpfully reminded us that, while our primary identity is as a beloved Child of God, God also knows us by our names, the names that we call ourselves. We are beloved as we are, who we are. In the beloved Son of God, God put on flesh and took on a particular name, Jesus, in a particular place, with particular people, with a particular body, with particular personality traits, with particular identities: son, friend, brother, teacher, prophet. In becoming human, in Jesus, God affirms all of that – our names, our identities, our particularities are important. We’re not anonymous or faceless to God. No, we trust that this God, made known in the person Jesus, knows our names, our identities, our particularities better than we know them ourselves. But by water and God’s word, our identity as a beloved child of God becomes the primary name and identity that defines us, that centers us, that calls us. We live into and live out that identity in our particular names, bodies, identities, gifts, vocations; we live into and live out that identity as beloved child of God, as we proclaim the belovedness of all people and all of creation.

Today’s text and themes remind me of a quote on my office door from Jess Cook about water and baptism. It goes like this: “at some point in seminary I was introduced to the idea of remembering my baptism every time I interacted with water. This idea has held so strongly through years of practice that it now comes without thought – rain starts falling and every drop on my head, every plink on the gutter reminds me I am loved even when I do not have the capacity to ask for it. Tear ducts become wellsprings within me, sometimes gushing open at the most unexpected moments. The rain on my back a reminder of the holiness around me, each tear a reminder of the holiness within me, grounding me in who I am and connecting me to everything else. It rains, and I am loved. I cry, and I am loved. I wash my hands, and I am loved. Hard as I may try sometimes (and I guarantee I have certainly tried hard), I have realized that I simply cannot outrun my belovedness. None of us can.”

I hope that today, and every day, the water of the font, the water around us, and the water within us, are reminders of your identity: as a claimed and named beloved child of God. I hope that the water of the font, the water around us, and the water within us, are reminders that you simply cannot outrun your belovedness. Name it and claim it. You are God’s beloved child. And in you God is well pleased.

Amen.