God's Beloved

Epiphany 1A; Isa 42:1-9; Matt 3:13-17; St. Paul’s 1/12/2020

Jim Melnyk: “God's Beloved”

          Just barely a month ago we came across Luke’s version of John the Baptist standing waist-deep in the Jordan River crying out, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?” And now, just a few weeks later, we find ourselves immersed in Matthew’s meeting between the fiery Baptist and his cousin Jesus.

            I’m thinking Jesus is the last person John expects to wade out into the waters of the Jordan to be baptized – and the reality of Jesus’ presence seems to bank the raging fire within the Baptist’s heart – it takes the wind out of his sails – it’s just not what cousin John ever expected to have happen. “I need to be baptized by you,” he tells Jesus. “And yet here you are, standing before me.” I don’t understand. “Don’t worry John,” Jesus tells him. “It will all work out – this is a necessary step for me.” Perhaps it is an important act upon the part of Jesus signaling his willingness to completely empty himself before God and embrace the frailty of his human flesh. We cannot know for sure on this side of eternity.

            Jesus coming to the shores of the Jordan River is steeped in the mysticism of his Jewish faith – and his actions invite us into his experience of the Holy. The Jordan River is a meaningful place. It was the final barrier for Joshua and the Israelites fleeing Pharaoh and finding a new home.[1] The prophets Elijah and Elisha crossed the Jordan on dry ground.[2] Elisha healed Naaman’s leprosy by having the Aramean commander bath in the river seven times.[3] The Jordan is where John the Baptist chooses to carry out his ministry and where Jesus flees for a while later in his ministry when his enemies seek to capture him.[4]

And it’s at the Jordan River where Jesus and those around him hear the voice of God proclaim, “This is my Son, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” “You are my beloved!” That’s the promise the Gospel – or Good News – of Jesus Christ makes known to us. It is the quiet chant that lies just below the deepest level of our consciousness at times – the mysterious whisper that is the Breath of God speaking to our hearts – speaking to each of us as children of God. “You are my beloved

When we follow Jesus down to the river’s edge to enter the sacred waters of Holy Baptism we claim the name of Christ – we claim our birthright as God’s children before the whole people of God gathered in this place. And though we are not celebrating the sacrament of Holy Baptism this day – it is the Feast of the Baptism of our Lord – and we recall on this day our own baptisms – we celebrate our own belovedness today.

All who enter the waters of Holy Baptism are called to make the hard confession that all too often we live lives lukewarm in our love for God – with sand-dry prayers, banked-fire hearts, and complacency toward the status quo. Each of us renewing our Baptismal Covenant this morning are challenged – are called – to make the same confession as well. It’s so easy to find ourselves caught up by the siren song of a world that would call us away from the Good News of God in Christ – that would tell us to be patient with the world’s injustices – to watch out for ourselves and let others fend for themselves – to believe the world should not, or cannot change – that power and control are our birthrights as human beings born to privilege and plenty.

There’s enough of an attitude of privilege going around in the world these days – we don’t need to add to that mindset. Rather we need to transform a world that favors power for a few and mediocrity and apathy for the rest – all couched in terms of angry rhetoric that feeds a passion for hatred and violence.

Baptism celebrates the gift of Emmanuel – the gift of God With Us – in a particular and somewhat mind-boggling way. But baptism is much more than the celebration of God With Us. It is the celebration of God with us, AND IN US! Baptism is the beginning of life in Christ. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…and the Word became flesh and dwelled among us”…and the Word that became flesh now dwells within us – dwells within you!

Considering the mystery that is baptism I am reminded of the words of theologian Richard Rohr: “We are not so much human beings trying to become spiritual. We’re already inherently spiritual beings and our job is learning how to be good humans!” Rohr continues, “that’s why Jesus came as a human being: not to teach us how to go to heaven, but to teach us how to be a fully alive human being here on this earth.”[5] Our baptisms call us to seek and serve Christ in one another because the Spirit of God recognizes itself within the heart and soul of those we choose to call “the other.” The Spirit of God recognizes itself within the heart and soul of “the other” because in Jesus, God knows what it is like to be outside the circle of power – to be outside the circle privilege – to be outside the circle of acceptance – to be, in reality, “the other.”

Jesus not only knew, but ended up living the words of the prophet Isaiah, first, and still meant for the nation Israel, whose calling has always been and is still today to be a light to the nations, God's own beloved people: “Here is my servant…my chosen, in whom my soul delights…. I have called you in righteousness, I have taken you by the hand and kept you; I have given you as a covenant to the people, a light to the nations, to open the eyes that are blind, to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, from prison those who sit in darkness…. See, the former things have come to pass, and new things I now declare!”[6]

God’s hope and promise for us is to be a light to the nations – to be the Good News proclaimed by both Isaiah and Jesus – to live as beloved children of God, and to welcome all into God’s loving and saving embrace.

As baptized followers of Christ we have the possibility to grow into a new reality of hope and promise – into our own belovedness – if we give ourselves the freedom to do so. Recalling the prayer we ask for all who enter the waters of Holy Baptism, will we allow ourselves to embrace the “inquiring and discerning hearts” God promises us? Can we claim, and then live out, “the courage to will and to persevere?” Will we long for and accept “a spirit to know and to love [God with all our heart?]”[7]

During the season of Advent I suggested some homework – asking ourselves at the end of each day, “How have I lived into my baptismal covenant today?”I wonder how mindful we’ve each been of our baptismal covenants since I first asked that question. I’ll admit to dropping the ball more than a few times. But asking ourselves that question is a practice that should be a part of our lives every day of every week – of every month and every year. But this week I’d like us all to add one additional action each day. 
Take some time this week to just look into a mirror for a moment or two each day. Not to brush your teeth or wash your face (although those things are important) – but to just look with love at the image staring back at you. You will be looking at one of God’s beloved in the mirror. Will you do that? Just a couple of moments each day – and hear God saying to you, “You are my beloved.” And then I invite us each into a daily, day-long exercise of living as one of God’s beloved – and honoring that belovedness in everyone we meet.

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[1] Joshua 3:15-17

[2] 2 Kings 2:8; 2:14

[3] 2 Kings 5:14

[4] John 10:39

[5] Richard Rohr, quoted in Synthesis Today

[6] Isaiah 42:1a, 6-7, 9

[7] BCP, 308

Two Kingdoms - One Hope

Christmas 2; Matt. 2:1-12; St. Paul’s, 1/5/2020

Jim Melnyk: “Two Kingdoms, One Hope”

            There is something strangely fascinating – and at the same time fascinatingly strange – about the whole Magi scene in Matthew’s Gospel. We meet these Wise Men – these astrologers – these Magi – in chapter two of Matthew’s gospel and never hear from them again. Wise Men who come from the east to Herod the Great having followed a star of great light – a star they believe to be a portent of a great birth. Tradition records them as three in number, though the story is silent on that count. Perhaps because three gifts are mentioned we assume there must have been three Magi. But that’s just an assumption of legend that we have translated into tradition.

            It is fascinating that these Wise Men would first show up on the doorstep of a ruthless monarch whose power hung at the whim of Rome, and then ask where to find the one that Herod could only view as a usurper – a pretender to the throne – a pretender to his throne!

It is fascinating that the journey of these learned folks would bring them to the tiny, out-of-the-way village of Bethlehem. How out of place these foreigners – these aliens – must have seemed with their caravan, their strange clothing and accents, and with their gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.

            In fact, the story as a whole is so strange – so out of place in some ways – that we don’t even tell the whole tale in our Sunday lectionary. On the Feast of the Epiphany, or on the Second Sunday of Christmas if we choose, we read about the Magi’s visit to Herod. On this day we have the option of reading that same portion of the story, or the option to read about what happens after this momentous visit, or even something completely different from Luke about Jesus as a young boy in the Temple. But in every case we leave out the three verses from Matthew that show just how vicious and cruel and coldblooded Herod was. When Herod learns he has been tricked by the Magi – when they refuse to return and bring word back to him of the young Jesus, Herod has every male child two years of age or younger living around Bethlehem put to the sword in an attempt to assure his rule. It seems that in every generation it is our youngest, most innocent fellow human beings who are always most at risk.

            Matthew’s birth narrative is one filled with dreams and plots, with twists and turns, with genocide and fear, as well as promise and hope. No wonder we mostly gravitate toward Luke’s Christmas story with his angels and shepherds gathered with the Holy Family around the manger.

            Speaking about Matthew’s take on the birth narrative, theologian Fred Craddock writes, “Matthew’s point is clear: there are two kings; there are two kingdoms, one of violence, one of peace. Violence has its sword drawn against peace, but at every turn, Herod’s attempt to destroy Jesus is thwarted by the will of God revealed to and carried out by Joseph.”[1] In fact, I might add as an aside, the point of two kings and two kingdoms eventually comes to a climax not only in Matthew’s Gospel, but in the combined tradition of our faith, on that day we have come to call Palm Sunday – a day when two triumphal processions – those of Pilate and Jesus – make their way into Jerusalem as Passover draws near.

Our story this morning, complete with Wise Men from the East, a homicidal king, the young Jesus, his mother Mary, and the dreamer Joseph, serve to remind us that the hope and promise of Christmas was born – is born – into a world filled with danger – a world closed to the messenger – to any messenger – who brings Good News. Bethlehem, for all the wonder of Christmas morning, is the place where there was no room in the inn, a place of political intrigue and danger – a place that would, if allowed, see the quiet joy of Silent Night silenced once and for all – because the promise of Christmas is a danger to all who stand in opposition to the grace of God.

            Shortly after this morning’s portion of the story the Holy Family flees Bethlehem at the urging of God’s messenger in yet another dream for Joseph. As one commentator puts it, “This is no trip back home to greet doting grandparents, and to make arrangements for a christening at the family parish. This is three ‘little people’ running for their lives. Refugees. Affected by circumstances beyond their control…they set out for an unknown place without any visible means of support. No maps, no credit cards, no embassy connections, no 800 numbers for roadside assistance.

            We must ask: is this the Queen of Heaven riding donkey-back for hundreds of miles with a newborn? Is this the Son of God, the Princeling of Peace running for his life from a two-bit dictator? Or is this more nearly a picture of everyday human frailty and vulnerability? Is it of Haiti? [Or our southern border, or Afghanistan? Could it just as easily be a story about the South East, Puerto Rico, or the Bahamas after yet one more hurricane] – or whatever the most recent tragedy [that] has struck?”[2]

            For all the joy and wonder of Christmas, we must always remember the vulnerability of God becoming human flesh within the Bethlehems of this world. Bethlehem is the place of danger – it is the place of Herods, both ancient and new. We recall the Holy Family fleeing the wrath of Herod the Great in the middle of the night, and we may want to flee from our own Bethlehems as well. Yet we must not flee the place of danger lightly. We must recall that the Holy Family’s flight to Egypt was for a short while – that eventually Jesus had to return.

Escape from danger isn’t ultimately what Jesus’ mission and message is all about. Escape from danger – from risk – isn’t ultimately what being church – being followers of Jesus is all about. In the fullness of time Jesus not only returned to Israel, but he began a ministry that stood square in the face of yet another Herod, as well as the religious elite of his day, and the very powers of Rome. Being in the dangerous places of life can be transforming and strengthening – and they are the only places in this world where we can face down the Herods and claim the life-giving promises of our God for ourselves and for the world around us.

            Perhaps the Good News of this passage – The Duplicity of Herod – is that we don’t candy-coat our faith if we’re willing to stick with the stories in their fullness. “God comes to us most profoundly in the darkness, and out of the darkness…. We come to God, and God comes to us at that sacred intersection – [that moment and place when we most want to flee to a safe place – those moments and places where in our faith journeys we come face-to-face with the evils of this life – bigotry and hate, abject poverty and need, selfishness and greed, missiles and bombs  – that sacred intersection] where we can’t think our way out, will our way out, study our way out, rationalize our way out, or eat or drink or drug out way out.”[3] We cannot bluster or bulldoze our way out either, for that matter. Either we flee, or we welcome God’s presence and power to stand firm in the darkness and bring forth light.

Even when we step back from the Herod’s of this world it is only for a short while – to catch our breath – to find our bearings – to reconnect with the Word Made Flesh Who Dwells Among Us Still – to be strengthened for the journey back. As Julie Polter, an associate editor at Sojourners magazine writes, “We may think the only trick is to remember and believe in the grandeur of God, the miracles, the road to Damascus conversions, and the angelic choirs. Perhaps,” she concludes, “the harder trick is to remember and believe in the steady, sturdy part of salvation, the work-roughened hands holding us up – [God-with-us in the daily grind of life – with all its pain, with all its boredom, and all its glory.]”[4]   
And in the end, I find myself thinking the hardest trick of all is finding a place of faithful balance between Bethlehem and Egypt in the midst of the everydayness of life – seeking and serving Christ in all people, and proclaiming God’s love to all. Amen.

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[1] Fred Craddock, Christian Century, reference lost

[2] H. King Oehmig, Synthesis

[3] ibid

[4] Julie Polter, Sojourners Online, Preaching the Word, January 2, 2020