YEAR A 2026 epiphany 4

Epiphany 4, 2026
Micah 6:1-8
1 Corinthians 1:18-31
Matthew 5:1-12
Psalm 15

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Over the years, you’ve heard me talk about the Beatitudes many times.  We have this version from Matthew, with the blessed are the poor and all, and we have the version in Luke where Jesus adds the woes.  And since we’ve covered that so many times, today I want to turn our attention to the first reading, from the prophet Micah.  And specifically the commands from God to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with our God.

The first thing to notice is that these are all actions.  To do, to love, to walk.  They are not feelings, or attitudes, or theological principles.  Do justice, love kindness, walk humbly.  All active verbs which require actual action on our part.  But they’re not all exactly the same kind of thing.  For example “do justice” is a thing to do.  Whereas “love kindness” is an action toward a thing that is already out there.  And “walk humbly” tells us how to do a thing we’re already doing.  So let’s look closer at each one and see if anything jumps out at us.

Do justice.  What does this mean?  As I’ve said many times, it’s hard for us to wrap our minds around biblical justice, because we naturally think of justice as being punitive.  But in the scriptures, God’s justice is always restorative.  It does not seek to punish but rather to make amends.  To make things right.  Whereas we seek justice on the criminal, God seeks justice for the widow and orphan, for the oppressed.  For God, justice is how things are made right, the way they were meant to be.  You could say that while we want to build more prisons, God wants to open more food banks.  Our sense of justice is to punish the robbers, and God’s sense of justice helps those who have been robbed.  

And so, when God commands us to “do justice,” it does not mean arrest more criminals; it means to help the victims of those criminals.  A great example of this is in the parable of the so-called Good Samaritan.  There is not one mention of what happens to the robbers who beat the man.  Instead, we hear of how the Samaritan took care of the victim, and went above and beyond what would be required of him.  That is true justice.  Go and do justice like that.

And then there is the command to love kindness.  You notice how it doesn’t say to go and be kind.  To love kindness implies that kindness is already out there, along with whatever is the opposite of kindness.  Perhaps, cruelty?  Of course, in the abstract, we like to think that of course we love kindness.  But . . . do we?  When a judge decides to be merciful to a defendant, how do we react?  How often do we find ourselves thinking that someone’s punishment should be more severe?  I think we naturally rebel against kindness, at least when it’s for someone else.

In the book of Jonah, at the end of chapter 3, the people of Nineveh repent, and we read, “When God saw what they did, how they turned from their evil ways, God changed his mind about the calamity that he had said he would bring upon them, and he did not do it.”  Hooray, right?  God has shown mercy and saved the people!  And, “This was very displeasing to Jonah, and he became angry.”  So Jonah sits in the hot sun and watches the city, and God makes a bush grow up to give him shade, and Jonah is happy.  Then God sends a worm to destroy the bush, and the sun beats down on Jonah and he wishes he would die.  

And God says to Jonah, You are concerned about the bush, for which you did not labor and which you did not grow; it came into being in a night and perished in a night.  And should I not be concerned about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons?  God was merciful to the people of Nineveh, and it makes Jonah seethe with anger, because Jonah does not love kindness.  And God says to us, Do justice, and love kindness.

And the third phrase from Micah is walk humbly with your God.  Here we see the command is not to do something, but rather how we are to do the thing.  The assumption is that we are already walking with God, and we are to do so humbly.  I think this is a command that doesn’t need a lot of unpacking.  We are already walking with God, and we are commanded to do so humbly.  To—as the saying goes—remember that there is a God and it is not you.

And so we have the three commands:  Do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with our God.  But did you notice what came before that?  The context?  In short, God is angry with the people.  And God calls the mountains and the hills to hear the case against them.  God has brought them out of the land of Egypt, and redeemed them from slavery.  God has sent prophets to lead them, and has cared for them and kept them.

And the people respond, With what shall I come before the Lord and bow myself before God on high? Shall I come before him with burnt offerings, with calves a year old?  Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams, with ten thousands of rivers of oil?  Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?  Like, we will do anything that you require of us God!  Just tell us the extreme sacrifice you require and we will do it!

I’m reminded of two popular memes here; one is about men avoiding therapy, and the other is about Americans avoiding the metric system.  For example, “Men will literally dress up like a bat and fight criminals and costumed villains by night instead of going to therapy.”  And the other example, a headline saying, “A sinkhole the size of 6 or 7 washing machines has closed a highway in Missouri.”  Americans will measure with anything rather than use the metric system.

In the same way, we’re willing to do anything except for the simple things God commands, see?  God is mad.  So, what could we possibly do to make things right?  Do you think God wants 10,000 rivers of oil?  Or thousands of rams?  Or my first-born child?  Just tell us God, what is it you want from us?!?

“He has told you, O mortal, what is good, and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God?”  That’s it.  Do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God.  And we will do literally anything to avoid those three things!  10,000 rivers of oil?  First-born child?  No!  Do justice.  Love kindness.  Walk humbly.  That’s it.

So why are those three things so hard for us?  Why would we offer up absurd examples like 10,000 rivers of oil?  Well, I think it’s as simple as those three things go against our basic human nature.  They go against what society is constantly telling us is the right thing.  To do justice means getting out of the punishment business and getting into the business of making things right, and just, and equitable.  Loving kindness requires us to have empathy and want what is best for others.  And walking humbly with God means admitting that we cannot control what happens in this world and we are not the boss of everyone.

We have heard what God commands of us.  Do justice, love kindness, walk humbly.  May God give us the desire to do those things, and may God give us the ability to carry them out.  God does not need our rivers of oil.  Instead, here is what God commands: when you see oppression, and racism, and inequality, do justice.  When you see cruelty and kindness, reject the cruelty and choose to love the kindness.  And through it all, may you always walk humbly with our God.  We know what God commands.  So let’s get started, together.

Amen

YEAR A 2026 st. timothy sunday

St. Timothy Sunday-2026
Isaiah 42:1-7
Psalm 30:1-5
2 Timothy 1:1–8
John 10:1–10

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

This is the day when we celebrate our patron saint, Timothy.  And the great thing about St. Timothy is . . . well, what do we really know about him?  We mainly know him because he received a couple of letters.  1st Timothy, and then—hold onto your hats—2nd Timothy.  Okay, we know a little more than that.  Most importantly, we know that he was a companion to St. Paul.  And that counts for a lot.  Because we know from our own lives that having companions, friends, supporters, that is what makes great figures able to do great things.

Paul writes that no one was more helpful to him than Timothy.  And he was with Paul when he wrote some of his most important letters.  Around the year 64, Paul left Timothy in Ephesus, to become Bishop of the church there.  30 years later, when Timothy was around 80 years old, he interrupted a procession in honor of the pagan goddess Diana, and then . . . well that leads me to the next thing I want to talk about.

As you can see, on St. Timothy Sunday, we surround ourselves with the color red.  If you look on the front of your bulletin, you’ll see red.  And all the paraments are red, as is this chasuble.  And I encouraged you to wear red to mark the day.  So why all the red?  Well, we use two colors to honor saints in the church.  Typically, we use white when they died a natural death.  And we use red when they were killed or martyred for their faith.

When Timothy broke up that pagan procession by preaching the gospel, he was beaten to death with clubs and stones.  And, again, if you look at the logo on the cover of your bulletin, you’ll see the club and stones.  You’ll also see them on the cushion where the priest kneels.  And you’ll see this logo at the top of our email newsletter each time.  The red background with the club and stones is the sigil of St. Timothy.  The red tells you he was martyred, and the attributes of stones and a club tell you how he died.

Which might naturally lead you to ask, what’s with all the blood and violence and death when we’re gathered on what should be a happy occasion?  Like if we’re not careful, we’ll end up celebrating suffering and death.  And, well, if you think about it, that’s kind of how we are.  We’ve always been this way.  From the medieval public executions, to the unthinkable violence of the Protestant Reformation, and every genocide throughout history.  We see it today with people cheering over the death of Charlie Kirk and Renee’ Good.  Like it or not, we are people who celebrate death and suffering, as long as it happens to the “other side.”

But here’s the thing.  If you take a close look at the statues on our Altar—which I encourage you to do—you’ll see that the things that stand out in the statues of Timothy and Cecilia are the very things that killed them.  With Timothy, he’s got a silver club dangling off his arm, as he stands on a pile of stones.  In the case of Cecilia, she joyfully plays her violin while the silver sword from her beheading glistens at her feet.

This is a common feature of iconography.  Many of the saints of the Church can be identified by attributes of the very things that killed them.  St. Andrew and his X shaped cross, St. Catherine and the broken wheel,  St. Lawrence and a grill, St. Sebastian and the arrows.  The very things that you would expect to be hidden away in shame are brought to the forefront.  Their shame becomes their glory.  In essence, we do this to show that the saints have victory over the things that the world calls powerful.  And the message of defiance is passed on to us:  We must not cower from the things that seek to destroy us.  We must not be compliant in the face of evil.

And here’s a current example.  Our government has sent murderous thugs into an American city where our fellow citizens have been beaten, assaulted, kidnapped, and in at least two cases murdered in cold blood.  Our natural tendency is to look away, or to make excuses.  To have thoughts like, “I’m sure they had it coming,” or even, “This is what happens when you break the law.”  But in case you haven’t made the connection by now, St. Timothy—the Bishop of Ephesus—was breaking the law when he stopped that pagan procession by preaching the gospel, and he was beaten to death with clubs and rocks.  And I have no doubt that some patriotic Ephesians said, “Well, he had it coming.  He should have stayed home and complied.

We can’t go on like this as a nation.  I have clergy friends in Minneapolis who were arrested for protesting at the Minneapolis airport on Friday.  And I can tell you if this were going on in my city, I would be among them.  Because we can’t go on like this.  Our own elected government, beating and murdering Americans because some people don’t like their words and signs goes against everything Jesus preached, and everything our country was founded on.  And we have the sigil of St. Timothy to remind us where this path leads.  Clubs and stones with a blood red background, embroidered on the priest’s kneeler.  We can’t go on like this.

The church must make a stand.  As Bishop Jolly recently said, “Not because we are fearless, but because God is faithful.”  Not because of us, but because of God.  The God who loves every single person, beaten and executed in the name of politics and division.  There is no us and them.  There is only other beloved children of God.  Redeemed by the blood of Jesus, and called into community to announce good news in the face of violence and hatred.

And here is an example where we see most clearly what I have been talking about: in the symbol of the cross itself, on which the Son of God gave up his life.  2,000 years ago the cross was considered the ultimate symbol of shame.  The most agonizing and humiliating way to be put to death.  The loud-and-clear announcement that the empire was in charge, and people were insignificant obstacles to political goals.  No one in their right mind would glorify this humiliating sign of defeat.  No ordinary religious movement would be stupid enough to exalt the instrument of torture on which their leader died.

But that’s what makes faith in Jesus different from every other religion that ever existed.  Where others would hide and diminish the defeat of death at the hands of oppressors, death is not the last word for us.  We give the cross a place of prominence on our Altars and in our lives.  Because it is through the death and resurrection of Jesus that we are reminded that our story is still being written.  

As we honor St. Timothy today, we can see that what matters is not what Timothy did, but what God has done.  For Timothy, for me and you, and for every person who dies at the hands of an angry mob or a brutal regime.  “Not because we are fearless, but because God is faithful.”  I plead with you today to stand up against violence and bloodshed, because we cannot go on like this.  As St. Timothy took a stand for the gospel, may God inspire us to do the same.

Amen

YEAR A 2026 epiphany 2

Epiphany 2, 2026
Isaiah 49:1-7
Psalm 40:1-12
1 Corinthians 1:1-9
John 1:29-42

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

In today’s gospel, John the Baptist says this about Jesus: “I myself did not know him; but I came baptizing with water for this reason, that he might be revealed to Israel.”  Not revealed personally to John, but rather to the community.  John does not come screaming about how Jesus has been made known to John, trying to claim the spotlight because he now “knows a guy.”  No, instead John points to Jesus and says, “Hey you guys!  There he is!”  For everyone.  It’s not about John the Baptist; it’s about Jesus.  

Because as John points to Jesus, he declares something amazing. “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!”  That’s right: the world.  Not just the people who could hear John talking; not just the people who sit here and read John’s words 2,000 years later.  Not the churchy people, or the good people . . . nope: the world.

And it’s even better in the original Greek, because John says, “Behold the Lamb of God, taking away the sin of the Cosmos.”  As I pointed out three years ago when this reading came up, we just can’t help adding a little extra “s” on the end of the word “sin,” including in our own Prayer Book, in Rite One.  But it’s not there.  The word is sin: singular, all-inclusive, nothing left out.  We want it to be “sins,” because then it’s about us, and all our misbehaviors, great or small.  We want it to be the actions we do, to ourselves and to others.  But that’s not what the text says.  The Lamb of God, taking away the sin of the cosmos.  All of it.

And now you’re thinking, well that can’t be.  We live in a broken world, where people die too young, and our politics divide us, and where our personal squabbles make us reluctant to even come to church sometimes.  There’s plenty of sin to go around, you might be thinking.  Well, fair enough.  So let’s set that thought aside for a minute and see what else John says.

“This is he of whom I said, `After me comes a man who ranks ahead of me because he was before me’.”  What does that mean?  Well, at the very opening of the Gospel of John we read:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. Jesus is there when it all starts.  All of it.  And then it continues . . .

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.

Jesus, the Word of God, the Light of God, the Lamb of God, coming into the world, and John the Baptist recognizes Him and points to him: Behold, the Lamb of God, taking away the sin of the Cosmos.  Shows up after John, ranks ahead of John, because he was in the beginning, before John.  Heavy stuff, I know.  

Back to our Gospel text.  In the first half, John points at Jesus and says, “Behold, the Lamb of God, taking away the sin of the Cosmos.”  We don’t know who’s there or who is listening, or what happens after that.  But the next day, we get round two.  Here’s John the Baptist, standing with two of his own disciples, and he says, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!”  And his two disciples turn, see Jesus, and follow him.  John’s disciples, see him pointing out Jesus, and they leave him to follow Jesus.  That seems strange, especially because John doesn’t seem to mind.

John’s disciples go up to Jesus, ask a couple interesting questions, and end up following him.  But they also go and tell someone else.  And that someone is Simon, whom Jesus renames Peter, whom we might rightly call the first Pope.  And Peter . . . well, Peter certainly spreads the word far and wide, gathering communities around the good news.

The Lamb of God is taking away the sin of the world.  It’s not about you or me.  It’s about everybody.  The community.  The world.  The cosmos.  You may be the one to announce it, but when you do, you’re making an announcement on behalf of everyone.  Proclaiming: Look!  There is the Lamb of God, taking away the sin of the cosmos.

And that gets us back to that question I left hanging a few minutes ago.  Based on our day-to-day experience, the Lamb of God has not eradicated sin from our broken world.  People are still dying in horrific ways, and oftentimes the people causing those deaths are people who call themselves “Christians.”  If the Lamb of God has taken away the sin of the world, then he definitely missed quite a bit.  Just look at your own life and you know that this is true.  There is plenty of sin and brokenness to go around.  

BUT, this statement from John does not say that Jesus has taken away the sin of the world, or will take away the sin of the world.  What John the Baptist says is, “Behold, the Lamb of God, taking away the sin of the world.”  There is no timeline.  There is no statement that he will do this, or that he has done this.  The verb is present: he “is taking.” 

John the Baptist is pointing at Jesus and saying, “That Lamb, right there, is taking away the sin of the world . . . right here, right now.”  When did he start?  When will he finish?  In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. . . . What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

From the beginning of time, from before there even was time, the Lamb of God has been taking away the sin of the world.  Bringing life out of death.  Turning pain into healing.  Calling solitary individuals into loving community.  From the first fatal argument between Cain and Abel, to a senseless death happening somewhere at this very moment, and every dark and confused moment in between, where sin seems to be having the last word, the Lamb of God is there, taking away the sin of the world.  From the beginning to the end.

And, as this gathered community comes to this Altar this morning, the words we hear are, “The Body of Christ, the Bread of Heaven.”  But those words are really just another way of saying this:  Behold, the Lamb of God, taking away the sin of the world.  Right now, and from the beginning, and till the end.  For everyone.  For me.  For you.  For everyone.  Forever.

Amen.
    

YEAR A 2026 baptism of our lord

Baptism of Our Lord
Isaiah 42:1-9
Acts 10:34-43
Matthew 3:13-17
Psalm 29

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

When John the baptizer objects to Jesus coming to be baptized, Jesus says “Let it be so now; for it is proper in this way to fulfill all righteousness.”  Different translations offer a different word for “proper” here, and I have to say I’m not a fan of proper.  Because to our ears it has connotations of uppity Anglican decorum.  Like proper etiquette.  Or leaving the Christmas tree up until Epiphany; you know like a proper household.  The word “appropriate” is also offered, but it sounds a bit grudging, with hints of “just enough.”  So of all the options I’ve seen, I think “fitting” is the best choice.  It is not required, but it is fitting.  There was no need for Jesus to be baptized, but it is fitting, to fulfill all righteousness.  It is fitting.  Or, as we might say in Rite I, “It is meet and right so to do.”

So, people are coming to John to be baptized, to wash away their sins and as a sign of repentance.  But Jesus has no sin and no need to repent, so John objects.  Like Jesus is messing it all up, right?  Why should Jesus be baptized?  Because it is fitting.  It is not necessary, but it is fitting.  You could say, Jesus is standing in the water with us as an act of solidarity.  It is not necessary, but it is fitting, to fulfill all righteousness.

And maybe that’s the lesson for us today.  A call to do what we don’t have to do for the sake of standing with others.  Things that are not necessary, but are fitting.  And maybe Jesus is setting an example for us.  Particularly contrary to our individualistic American mindset.  We often react to things with an attitude of, “Don’t tell me what to do!”  Or, before we do something for someone, we might ask ourselves, “What’s in it for me?”  And in today’s example, there’s nothing in it for Jesus to be baptized.  None of the benefits come to him.  He is without sin, without need of repentance.  For Jesus to be baptized is not necessary, but it is fitting.

We have lots of things we already do that fall into this pattern.  We don’t have to decorate the Altars with linens and flowers, but it is fitting.  We don’t have to have music or a choir, but it is fitting.  We don’t have to open our doors to the Girl Scouts or recovery groups, but it is fitting.  We don’t have to let our neighbors park their cars in our parking lot, but it is fitting.  We don’t have to commit a certain amount each month to the Rector’s Discretionary Fund to help the poor, but it is fitting.  In all of these ways, and so many more, we are consistently pushing against the grain of the self-sufficient independent culture that surrounds us.  The “what’s in it for me” way of relating to others.  We don’t have to do it, but it is fitting.

And since I sure do love to wade into the waters of a controversy, I’ll note that we are currently in the midst of a surge of both the flu and covid in Ohio, and the recommendation is to wear masks again for a while when we’re in close quarters.  We don’t have to wear masks or get vaccinated in order to protect the health of our neighbors, but it is fitting.

Shortly after I began my time as your Rector, Anne Smith of blessed memory mentioned to me that she had gotten her flu shot because the chemo treatments had weakened her immunity, and the flu was particularly dangerous for her.  And I said, “Yeah, I don’t get flu shots because if I do get the flu, it’s not going to kill me.”  And she said, “Yes, but it could kill me!”  And the next day I went and got a flu shot—not for myself, but for Anne.  And since then, I get a flu shot every year, as Cristin and I just did on Friday.  It’s not in the Rector’s contract that they have to get a flu shot, but it is fitting.

I’m sure you have heard what happened in Minneapolis this past week.  And I’m sure you have an opinion about it.  In fact, given how divided we have become in our country, one could guess your political voting pattern based solely on your reaction to what happened in Minnesota.  But no matter where you come down on the finer points of the direction of a car’s tires, and whether any of this needed to happen, three children are now orphans because their mother was executed.  We don’t have to care about Renee’ Good or her children, but it is fitting that we do.

And, I might as well just say it.  We don’t have to care what happens to refugees and foreigners in our country, but it is fitting that we do.  And I’m not the first one to say this . . .

When a foreigner resides among you in your land, do not mistreat them. The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt. I am the Lord your God. — Leviticus 19:33-34

Do not take advantage of a hired worker who is poor and needy, whether that worker is a fellow Israelite or a foreigner residing in one of your towns. — Deuteronomy 24:14

This is what the Lord says: Do what is just and right. Rescue from the hand of the oppressor the one who has been robbed. Do no wrong or violence to the foreigner, the fatherless or the widow, and do not shed innocent blood in this place. — Jeremiah 22:3

And I’ll say it again: we don’t have to care what happens to refugees and foreigners, but it is fitting that we do.  

In a few minutes, we will renew our Baptismal Covenant together.  The rubrics allow us to replace the Creed with the Covenant a few times a year, and the Baptism of Jesus is one of the days.  And in that time, you and I will make some promises before God and one another.  Specifically, promises about honoring God in other people, and treating our neighbors with respect and dignity.  They are promises, not requirements.  And there it is again: We don’t have to do those things, but it is fitting.  And I believe we can and we will, with God’s help.

Meanwhile, the thing to hold onto this morning is this:
There is no need for Jesus to be baptized by John.  But he is, because it is fitting.  People come to be baptized to have their sin washed away.  Jesus (who knew no sin) stands in the water with us (the ones who need repentance) as an act of solidarity in order to fulfill all righteousness.  You can think of it as Jesus saying, “Come on in!  The water’s fine!”  We don’t have to get in the water with him, but it is fitting that we do.

Amen

YEAR A 2026 christmas 2

Christmas 2, 2026
Jeremiah 31:7-14
Ephesians 1:3-6,15-19a
Matthew 2:1-12
Psalm 84:1-8

They left for their own country by another road. —Mt. 2:12

 In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Isn't it strange that Matthew tells us, “When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him.”  All Jerusalem with him?  Like we usually have this image of Herod being a little bit crazy, but also being kind of a loner.  A King Lear figure, if you will.  So what’s with the “all Jerusalem with him” talk?

Well, sometimes for fun at this time of year, I skim through the writings of the first-century Jewish historian, Flavius Josephus.  (And the phrase you’re all looking for right now is, “church nerd.”)

And reading through Josephus’ history, you get a real sense that Jerusalem was in constant turmoil at the time Jesus was born.  The Romans would do something provocative, and the Jews would rise up with violence.  Then the Romans would retaliate and crucify hundreds of Jews, or chop off their heads.  And then the Romans would go and put up a statue of Caesar in the Temple or something, and it would all start again.  For decades this powder keg kept smoldering, and everyone was always on edge, fearing that something big might happen.

And in that setting, in that incredibly tense time, along come these random visitors from the east, asking King Herod, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?”  That is precisely NOT the kind of question anyone wanted Herod to hear in Jerusalem at that time.  So, to me, it really does make sense that Herod was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him.  Of course Herod was frightened for different reasons than everyone else.  He was a man obsessed with power—to the point of having his own family killed—so his main concern was any challenge to his kingship.  As far as “all Jerusalem” was concerned, they just didn’t want any more trouble.  They’d seen quite enough already.

So that’s the setting.  Meanwhile, as I have been telling you, Matthew wrote his gospel for a mostly Jewish audience, while Mark wrote for the Romans, and Luke wrote for the Gentiles—broadly speaking.  And that’s why almost the entire first chapter of Matthew is given over to the Genealogy, showing that Joseph is descended from the line of David.  But if you start reading from the first verse of Matthew, you get that genealogy, and then the narrator explains that Jospeh had a dream, and then Jesus is born, and they name him Jesus.  Up until that point, no one has said a word.  It’s all history, and explanation, and narration.

But then, finally, a human being speaks, and that first person to say anything asks, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?”  Those are the first words spoken in Matthew.  Not spoken by Herod, or Mary, or Joseph, but by these outsiders, who have come from the east.  A gospel book, written for Jews, where the opening line is delivered by anonymous astrologers who have come from somewhere in the east.  People from a foreign land and a foreign faith are looking for Jesus, and they are the first to utter a word in Matthew.  I don’t know what it means exactly, but it sure seems notable, doesn’t it?

Now, as I’ve told you before, we don’t really know anything about these visitors.  Since they offer three gifts, at some point we decided there were three of them.  And because of certain paintings and Christmas Carols, they’ve been upgraded to kings.  And some Church writers have even given them names: Balthazar, Caspar, and Melchior.  But we don’t know any of that from the actual Bible.  In the original text, they are called Magi, which is where we get our words magic, and magician.  It’s possible they were actually Zoroastrian priests, from Persia.  But no matter who they were, or where they’re from, we know they were into astrology, because that’s how they know Jesus has been born: by looking at the stars.

I think it is also significant that they were outsiders, because of the stuff I mentioned earlier.  Anyone living in Jerusalem would know that the one person you don’t go to and ask “Where is the new king?” would be the current, crazy, murderous King Herod!  They come in innocence, and in ignorance of the local turmoil.  They just want to pay homage to the new king, and are completely oblivious to the powder keg they’re walking into.  So, they come to Herod, of all people, completely innocent and naive.

But Herod is anything but innocent and naive.  As we heard, he calls together all his experts, the chief priests and the scribes, and asks where the child is to be born.  Then, he secretly calls for the Magi, and asks them when the child is to be born.  So, like any good deceptive ruler holding onto power, Herod is the only one with both pieces of information, right?  He knows when and he knows where, but nobody else does.  Except that he tells the innocent and naive Magi to go to Bethlehem, so now they also know.  And he sends the Magi away, out to find the baby.

And they see that the star comes to rest over the place where the child was born.  Which leads me to the main thing I want to say this morning . . .

These Magi, wise men, kings, astrologers, whatever, they started this whole journey in a foreign land with a foreign religion.  Whatever their faith, they most certainly were not Jewish.  They were not counted among God’s chosen people.  And they followed a sign that meant something in their own religion—which you notice, means nothing to anyone else in the story.  This is a clear message—bright as a star—that God is working through this other religion.

The wise men come to Jesus through their own faith system.  I can’t put it any plainer than that.  God is using their belief in the portent of stars to lead them to Jesus.  They followed the light, and they found the Messiah.  And found him FIRST, I might add.  We don’t know what the experience did to them or what it meant to them.  There’s no record that they converted to the Jewish faith.  And it is doubtful that they did, because they went back home.  They left for their own country by another road.

And here is what I take that to mean.  However we come to Jesus, whatever path leads us to Jesus, whatever faith leads us to God, we go back home by another road.  We are changed.  No matter where we come from or how we got here, when we find ourselves kneeling down before Jesus and offering the gifts we have, we go home by another road.  God is not beneath using astrology, or mythology—maybe even scientology!—to bring people to Jesus.  God is always luring everyone to the manger in Bethlehem, whatever it takes.  Everyone.

Sometimes it’s angels and all the host of heaven appearing to shepherds in a field.  And sometimes it’s an obscure astrological event that only magicians understand.  And sometimes it’s a wedding or concert held in a church sanctuary at the corner of Oak and Third Street in downtown Massillon.  But God is always calling.  Everybody.

Perhaps you’ve seen that bumper sticker that says, “Wise men still seek him.”  And I think it’s true, as do wise women, and wise children.  But I would add, so do kings, and magicians, and Zoroastrians, and astrologers, and everyone who seeks the truth.  And we have this story from Matthew to remind us that anyone who honestly searches after God, will make their way to Jesus.  If they look for him, they will find him. 

And, like us, they will return to their own country . . . but by another road.  Because when we encounter this baby, this God in the flesh, the savior of the world, we are changed.  We are changed, and everything is different, no matter how we got here.  Everyone is welcome; no exceptions.  

Amen.  And Merry Christmas!

YEAR A 2026 holy name

Holy Name, 2026
Numbers 6:22-27
Psalm 8
Philippians 2:5-11
Luke 2:15-21

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

And here it is:  A new year.  Every year, at midnight on January 1st, the world celebrates New Year’s Day.  On that same day every year, the Church celebrates the Feast of the Holy Name, Jesus.  As we heard on the Sundays leading up to Christmas, the name Jesus literally means, “God saves.”  So we lift up the name of Jesus on this day, not because the word itself is special, but because it is a constant reminder of the promise: God saves.  “Jesus” means, God saves.  That’s why we call it the “holy name,” and that’s why we have this feast day.

But as I do every year on this day, I want to talk about a different name: the name Janus.  Not Janice, like your mom’s sister.  But Janus, J-A-N-U-S.  Janus was the Roman god of beginnings and endings, gates, transitions, time, doorways, and passages.  Our month of January gets its name from Janus, and you can see why.  When the odometer of the calendar rolls over, it’s a beginning, and an ending, and a doorway, and a transition, and a gate, and so on.

The god Janus is always depicted as having two heads: one facing forward, and one facing backward.  Seeing the future, and looking at the past.  And how fitting this is for the way we view the start of the new year.  We look back at the past year, and we also give some thought to how things will be in the new year.  And, every year—especially this year—we can’t help but look back in judgement and regret, making resolutions about how things will be better, how we will be better.  And that’s why so many people feel dispirited at the turn of the calendar: because when we look backwards, we can be disappointed in ourselves and others.  And thanks to the Romans, we have Janus, who is always looking backward, always judging, always disappointed.  Just the kind of god human beings would make up, when you think about it.

But then we have Jesus, who is always looking forward.  When we confess our sins together, we hear in the Absolution that God forgives all our sins through our Lord, Jesus Christ.  ALL our sins.  But we still see them, don’t we?  We still lie awake at night with regrets over something we said to someone in third grade, or whatever.  We can see all our mistakes and failures and disappointments clear as day, because—just like Janus—we are always looking backward.

And that’s because—even in a positive way—we always look backwards to define ourselves and others.  We explain our identities by looking at the past.  Here’s my degree; here’s where I served in the military; here’s my Eagle Scout badge; here’s how many kids I have.  Obituaries and resume’s are by definition an accounting of the past.  They look backward.  We naturally look to the past to tell who someone is now.  We want to know, “How did you get here?”

But God always looks forward, never backward.  And that is why the promises we make in church are always forward, never backward.  The priest asks a couple about to be married, will you love, comfort honor and keep each other?  Before a person is Baptized, the priest asks will you seek and serve Christ in all persons?  And the candidate says, I will, with God’s help.  The Church always asks “will you,” never “have you,” and always gives you the out: “With God’s help.”  It doesn’t matter how you got here.  It matters that you are here.  Again, God always looks forward, not backward.

Because when God looks backward, God sees . . . nothing: all your sins have been erased.  They’re just  . . . not there.  When God looks back there is nothing but Jesus: God saves.  Your sins, your mistakes, your regrets, those are no longer known to God.  They are only known to you.  God’s hindsight sees nothing but goodness and forgiveness and Jesus.  Because God saves.

May God give us all the grace to see our lives as God sees them, repenting of our past, turning around, and always looking forward.  Because of the Holy Name of Jesus: God saves.

Amen.

YEAR A 2025 christmas 1

Christmas 1, 2025
Isaiah 61:10-62:3
Galatians 3:23-25; 4:4-7
John 1:1-18
Psalm 147

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Merry Christmas!  I hope you’re enjoying those four calling birds today.  In these 12 days of Christmas, we celebrate the birth of The Word made flesh, Jesus our Lord.  As we heard from John, the Word has been here from before the beginning of creation.  “All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.”  All things.  And in case it isn’t obvious, “all things” includes you!  The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit work together in creating everything that is.  Including you and me.

So, the Word has always been here.  But the Word made flesh is what’s new and different.  Jesus is the spoken Word of God in human form.  We often call the Bible the word of God.  But the Bible is the written word of God, developed over the ages.  The Bible testifies to the spoken Word of God, but it was not here at the beginning of creation.  The Bible is not the same as the spoken Word.  Jesus is the spoken Word.  And you’ll remember that all of creation was spoken into existence.  The spoken Word has always been here, from before the very beginning.  That Word is not going anywhere, and that Word is never far from you.  That same spoken Word is the light that we heard about in John.  In the beginning was the Word.  Before there was anything.

Which brings us to the light, shining in the darkness.  I believe that the times when we feel farthest from God might just be the very times we are the closest to God. Because in tragedy and pain, all the frivolous distracting diversions of life are taken away. Because the light shines in the darkness. When everything is bright and cheery and 60 degrees on a winter day, we might not notice a candle flickering in a corner.  But when times are darkest, when we are searching, when we need hope, that is when we notice a little candle, because the light shines in the darkness.  And the darkness does not overcome it.  Does the darkness try to overcome the light?  Well, just take a look around you.  The darkness is always trying.  Always trying.

And we have a vivid example of that in the way the Church year is laid out.  In the days right after Christmas, the Church observes three Holy days, 
Dec. 26, 27, and 28.  These three Major Feasts honor St. Stephen, St. John, and the Holy Innocents.  St. John is credited with giving us the Gospel of John, from which we heard the opening verses a few minutes ago.  But the other two feasts are very different.  St. Stephen was the first Christian martyr.  He was stoned to death, while Saul (who later became St. Paul) stood there dutifully holding the robes of the ones who killed Stephen.

And the feast of Holy Innocents is in remembrance of Matthew’s account of what happened after the Magi tricked Herod by not returning.  Then Herod in his rage had his soldiers go and kill every male child under the age of two.  Every year, on December 28th, the Church honors those innocent victims of Herod’s cruel injustice.  These Holy Innocents get their day. But hardly anyone actually observes it because, you know, happy holidays and all that.

But listen to the Collect for their feast day:  We remember today, O God, the slaughter of the holy innocents of Bethlehem by King Herod. Receive, we pray, into the arms of your mercy all innocent victims; and by your great might frustrate the designs of evil tyrants and establish your rule of justice, love, and peace.

When justice, love, and peace are afoot, there’s a reaction!  The Holy Innocents’ day is placed right after Christmas, which reminds us of this connection . . . while we’re busy celebrating.  This Christmas season we rejoice at the light shining in the darkness, yes.  But the days set aside for St. Stephen and for the Holy Innocents stand as stark reminders that there is still darkness.  We welcome the light, we welcome the salvation, but there is still darkness.

It’s tempting to say, well, those other children had to die so that Jesus could live—so that the salvation of all could be accomplished.  I mean, that’s how we humans operate, right?  We’re willing to sacrifice a few people for the benefit of the larger society.  

But that transactional way of thinking is not how God works. As I said on Christmas Eve, God values every person.  Every.  Created.  Person.  Trading one person for many is a human concept, yes, but it is not a Godly concept.  We would sacrifice one person to save 99.  But Jesus leaves the 99 to find the one lost sheep.  So in fact, God works the other way around.  Jesus stands our thinking on its head.  And for that reason, we dare not think of the slaughter of Holy Innocents as just needing to break a few eggs.

But back to the text we just heard.  Note that the light shines in darkness. This is not the same as saying there is darkness or there is light.  The presence of salvation does not remove evil.  Our redemption shines in the midst of the evil.  It does not remove it or prevent it.  Knowing how the story ends does not remove the suffering on the way.  But now, there is hope within the suffering, there is redemption within the evil, and there is light within the darkness. 

In this Christmas season, we would like for everything to be okay, because now we have Jesus. But we know that’s not how life works.  People woke up on December 26th—the feast of St. Stephen—still divorced, still grieving, still unemployed, still shunned and rejected by family and friends, still painfully aware of whatever darkness might surround you today.  Christmas does not wipe away the darkness.  In fact, you could say it illuminates it.  Because the light shines within the darkness.

Christmas reminds us that a light shines in the darkness.  Christmas lights a candle in the darkness.  At the darkest time of the year, we surround ourselves with lights, and candles, and singing, and decorations, as signs of hope.  We always have hope because of Jesus.  Because we know how the story ends.

Back in the late 1300’s, Julian of Norwich wrote her “Revelations of Divine Love,” which—as I like to point out—is the earliest surviving manuscript written by a woman in English.  Listen to what she says . . .
In my folly, before this time I often wondered why, by the great foreseeing wisdom of God, the onset of sin was not prevented: for then, I thought, all should have been well. . . . But Jesus . . . answered with these words and said: “It was necessary that there should be sin; but all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”  These words were said most tenderly, showing no manner of blame to me nor to any who shall be saved.

As we heard today from John—whose feast day sits right between St. Stephen the first martyr and the Holy Innocents—the Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.  May God give us all the grace to always look for the light.  Because the light is there.  The light is always there.  And the darkness will never overcome it.

Amen.