Mark 1:4-11

4 John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. 5 And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. 6 Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. 7 He proclaimed, “After me the one who is more powerful than I is coming; the thong of whose sandals I am not worthy to stoop down and untie. 8 I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”
  9 In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan.

10 And just as Jesus was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. 11 And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

—————

Please pray with me this morning, church:

Holy God,

You drew near and named Jesus as your “Beloved”.

In our baptism, you name us, too, as “Beloved Child”.

Make us instruments of your love.

Help us and guide us as we seek to share your love with our world.

Amen.

—————

Preachers all know that we are just one big news story away from having to edit our sermons. Sometimes the breaking news fits nice and neat into what you’ve already written. Other times, a complete rewrite of the entire sermon is needed.

Under normal circumstances, it’s the Saturday night news stories you want to watch out for. In these pandemic times, when I’m writing my sermon on Wednesday and Thursday, and preaching it on Thursday afternoon (night…), I don’t get to include those late-week stories, but the Wednesday afternoon ones…

Like many of you, I was glued to the news watching the events that unfolded in Washington D.C. on Wednesday afternoon, January 6. A day when the church officially celebrates the Festival of the Epiphany of Our Lord. And certainly, this Epiphany, on January 6, 2021, we certainly had our own eyes opened…

It’s not my role to stand here and say this thing or that thing about what you should think about what happened on Wednesday afternoon, but it is my role to stand here and talk about where our faith intersects with the world around us.

Hopefully, you’ve heard me quote the great Lutheran pastor and theologian Karl Barth who said that the preacher must always preach the Gospel “with a Bible in one hand and a newspaper in the other.” That is, our faith always has something to say to the goings-on around us. Our faith is the lens through which view, and move, and live, and exist in the world. If our faith doesn’t have something to say to our actual, real-life, shared experiences…what good is that faith?

Our faith informs how we understand and act in the rest of the entire world.

Our faith is that foundational principle. Above all others.

Which is why when folks ask me why I get political in my sermons, my question in response is “How do you even separate the two?” If politics is simply the structures and norms that guide our shared life together, how is that different than the Gospel which sets out, through the teaching and ministry of Jesus, how we are to live together? It’s the exact same thing. How do we live together?

It’s the fundamental question asked of you in your baptism.

Who are you—what role do you have—in this Christian life, this life you share with all others and with all of creation?

Who are you?

What role do you have in this life we all share?

(I told you, sometimes they fit nicely…)

The gospel writer of Mark tells us, John the baptizer was out in the wilderness outside of Jerusalem by the Jordan River baptizing people for the forgiveness of their sin. This has largely been understood to be a form of washing associated with Jewish purity rituals. But John is careful to draw a distinction between his baptism and the baptism of the one coming after him: “I baptize you with water, but the one coming after me, the one who is more powerful than I, will baptize you with the holy spirit.”

For a really really really long time it was taught that our Christian baptism had something to do with forgiveness of sin, also. But even here in the gospel, we have John drawing the distinction between the baptism for the forgiveness of sin and Jesus’ baptism, a baptism with the holy spirit. For so many—honestly, myself included, for a really long time—baptism had some sort of implication on our salvation. Like, we needed baptism to make sure we got into heaven or something like that. Even Luther hints as much in the Augsburg Confessions, so we got the idea honestly, but the thing is, in the very same document, and in our theological understanding, as Lutherans, we believe and we confess that we ourselves have nothing to do with our salvation. Salvation is God’s work, and God’s alone, and we are recipients of that salvation through the death and resurrection of Christ, justified and made to be in right relationship with God, a gift that has been given to us as grace, undeserving and unworthy as we are. (By the way, this is like, almost the entire thrust of Lutheran Confirmation…Congratulations, you’re all basically Confirmed Lutherans now if you weren’t already…)

So then, what use is our Baptism?

Well, as we do in our Rite of Holy Baptism and in the Affirmation of Baptism we do occasionally, we make promises, either ourselves or have promises made on our behalf. Things like promising to worship and pray and study scripture and participate in the Lord’s Supper… And learn; we promise to be nurtured in faith and to nurture faith in others. And we make promises to proclaim Christ through word and deed…to care for others and the world God made…and to faithfully work for justice and peace in all the world.

And it’s these last few that I think we hear so often at church that we honestly kind of gloss over them. Because they sound so familiar to, like, everything else we talk about at church. But I want you to really hear these promises because I think they speak really profoundly to this moment that we’re all in.

In your baptism, you promised to proclaim Christ through word and deed.

In all you do and in all you say, your life is to point to Christ. A Christ who, as we just sang about not 3 weeks ago, whose law is love and whose Gospel is peace.

How are you doing there?

In your baptism, you promised to care for others and the world God made.

In all your interactions with others and with creation, your posture is to be one of care and compassion. In these divisive and so highly-charged times, you are to be a voice of healing and unity.

How do you receive and interact with others who view things differently than you? How do you treat others who look, speak, think, act, vote, and believe differently than you? Do you seek out common understanding? Or do you write people off as nothing more than their voting record? (I’m especially convicted by this one, by the way… I can do this so much better…)

In your baptism, you promised to faithfully and tirelessly work for justice and peace in all the world.

In situations of oppression and injustice, your call is to stand and work with those who are vulnerable, oppressed, and marginalized. Those on the outsides. Those who do not have power and privilege. Those whose power and privilege and voice are trying to be taken away from them. Your “side” is to be with God, doing the work of lifting up the lowly, healing the sick, feeding the hungry, visiting the lonely, releasing the captive, and proclaiming the peace—the shalom—of God.

Where do you stand in situations of injustice?

The truth is, church, in all of this, our baptism most clearly shows us just how connected and how dependent on each other we all are.

Church, baptism is belonging.

The heavens were rent apart and the Spirit descended like a dove, and voice from the heavens said, “You are my child…my beloved…with you, I am so so pleased…”

Words not only reserved for Jesus. In your baptism, too, dear one…God drew near…the very same voice that swept over the waters and called forth life proclaimed you “Beloved”……a beautiful child of God……in you God is so so pleased……

And if that’s true of all of us, how does that change how we receive and view and interact with all those other people…all those folks we disagree with…? Are they, too, Beloved? Are they deserving of your love and care and compassion?

Baptism is belonging.

We are given to and for one another.

We are responsible for one another.

Perhaps if we understood this better, scenes like this past Wednesday might not have happened.

Perhaps if we understood this better, wearing a mask and avoiding gatherings wouldn’t be seen as a political statement, but rather as an act of care and concern for our neighbor.

Perhaps if we understood this better, we might more easily be able to overcome this pandemic because we would see that what is best for our neighbor is ultimately best for us. We would see that our lives really are tied up together, caught up in that inescapable network of mutuality.

Baptism is belonging.

And in this belonging, who are you?

What role do you have in this life we all share together…in this belonging to one another?

You…are beloved.

And you are called…to love.

Mark 1:1-8

1 The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. 2 As it is written in the prophet Isaiah,
 “See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,
  who will prepare your way;
 3 the voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
  ‘Prepare the way of the Lord,
  make straight the paths of the Lord,’ ”
4 John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. 5 And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. 6 Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. 7 He proclaimed, “After me one who is more powerful than I is coming; the thong of whose sandals I am not worthy to stoop down and untie. 8 I have baptized you with water; but the one who is coming will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

—————

Please pray with me this morning, church:

God of Peace,

Stir up your power,

And break in to our world.

Settle our spirits with your peace.

Help us reflect and embody peace

To our neighbors.

Amen.

—————

Where do you find peace?

What is it that settles deep in your spirit and calms all the storms going on in your life and brings you that heavy and abiding peace?

What does a broad sense of peace look like to you?

I’ll confess to you, friends, that not much feels peaceful in my life these days. I feel like I’m internalizing a lot of the external anxieties in our world…and it’s exhausting. The silent nights seem to have been replaced by groans and bickering. The calls for waiting and patience fall very differently on our ears this year…we who have been under some form of quarantine or lockdown for 9 months…or 267 days since we shut down…but who’s counting…?

Patience is wearing thin…right?

It’s in the midst of such an unsettled world that these words from Isaiah and from Mark are hitting me differently this year. Instead of words of warning, I think I’m receiving these verses from Isaiah in the comforting spirit they were intended when they were written. Instead of a casual introduction to a narrative story about an itinerant preacher from Nazareth, I think I’m hearing Mark’s very first words as a promise.

“Comfort…O comfort…my people……says your God…”

“The beginning…of the good news…of Jesus…the Anointed One…”

In a world that often doesn’t feel very peaceful, I have to remind myself of the words of the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King, Jr., “Peace is not the absence of tension…but the presence of justice.” In a world that feels so divided, so at odds with each other…true peace isn’t simply that those tensions aren’t felt, right? Because we know that even though we might not feel that tension, that tension can still be present, percolating just below the surface, waiting for a moment to come bursting forth.  But true peace…that abiding, lasting, deep-settling peace…that comes from justice. God’s justice.

And that’s on us. It’s not simply our call to sit back and wait around and expect God to do something. Prayer’s part of it, but we are not called to stop with prayer. Prayer is always followed by action. Prayer necessarily leads us to act. You want peace? You’ve got a part in bringing about that peace.

And that part is what both Isaiah and John the baptizer call out for: “Prepare the way for the Lord.” The Lord is coming, so start making things ready.

The Lord has already come and is arriving.

So what does it mean to make pathways smooth? If the Lord is arriving, couldn’t the Lord make the paths direct and smooth without our help?

Well, certainly…God can do whatever God wants. But then what’s our role in God’s work?

If we’re simply part of making the mess and leaving it for God to clean up, we abdicate our responsibility to live as the people God has called us to be.

Church, we are called to be people who actively work and prepare for God’s arrival…and we’re called in ways to live as if that arrival is already a reality. The coming of God is both a present and a future truth. It’s not just to rescue us for some time on down the road, but is meant to impact and change how we live in this time and in this place.

Under normal circumstances, that is, when we’re not in the middle of a global pandemic when you would invite people over……remember parties? Remember having people over and sharing cups of cheer and gifts and good stories and laughter…? Hmmmm…….I miss those days… We’ll get back there soon… I promise……but remember when you would invite people over for a party? No one would ever invite folks over, then give them a mop or vacuum cleaner as they walked in the door and tell them to get to work. You don’t do that, right?

Advent is a little like that. Preparing the way for God, making rough places smooth and curvy paths direct means doing what we can with what we have to prepare and announce God’s arrival to a hurting world in desperate need of a savior.

And sometimes that work is incomplete, right? We’re not God; we don’t have all the tools and utilities and best ways at our disposal…but we do what we can with what we have. And sometimes the work looks pretty shoddy. Sometimes making rough places smooth for us looks like filling potholes with off-brand asphalt, using shovels and trowels instead of a paver and a steamroller. But it’s still our work to do.

Our work is incomplete and imperfect. But we still have a responsibility to live as the people God has called us to be.

Church, I know this time feels like wilderness. Believe me, please believe me…it is for me, too. I don’t enjoy this. This isn’t fun for me. It feels as if at some point we left the wilderness of Lent and turned right into the wilderness of Advent, and I’m not exactly sure when that switch happened, but all I know is that this has always felt and still feels like wilderness.

But I trust that the wilderness is where we’re called to be.

It’s where the prophet and John are calling us to and where the Lord is supposed to arrive.

So I trust that’s where we’re supposed to be.

And friends, the good news is that the wilderness is where God is.

God meets us in the wilderness, but God doesn’t leave us there. In the wilderness, in a backwater town is where the manger is laid. The cross stands in the midst of the wilderness, pointing to the empty tomb, proclaiming that death is not the end, that death does not have the last word, and that through the resurrection of Christ, God has taken away the power of death and has overcome it.

Ultimately, all these stories…our stories…are about coming through the wilderness.

The hope and the promise of Advent is that in this time of waiting and anticipation when it seems like the wilderness is all there is and will never end, that the light of the world is being born in our midst. The dawn is breaking through the night.

The promise is not how long the wilderness will be…it might be 40 days…it might be 267 days…it might be 40 years. The promise is not how long…the promise is that regardless of how long you find yourself in the wilderness, that God is right there with you…traveling with you, supporting you, holding you, guiding you, loving you, embracing you, and carrying you. 

Emmanuel…God is with you. Even when…especially when…it’s hard to see God.

Church, that’s a peace I can work for.

That’s a peace that settles deeply over my spirit.

May it be for you, too.

Amen.

Mark 13:24-37

[Jesus said:] 24 “In those days, after that suffering,
 the sun will be darkened,
  and the moon will not give its light,
 25 and the stars will be falling from heaven,
  and the powers in the heavens will be shaken.
26 Then they will see ‘the Son-of-humanity coming in clouds’ with great power and glory. 27 Then the Son-of-humanity will send out the angels, and gather the elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven.
  28 “From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. 29 So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the Son is near, at the very gates. 30 Very truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. 31 Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.
  32 “But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only God. 33 Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come. 34 It is like someone going on a journey, who leaving home and putting the servants in charge of their own work, commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. 35 Therefore, keep awake—for you do not know when the lord of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, 36 or else coming suddenly, the lord may find you asleep. 37 And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”

—————

Please pray with me this morning, church:

God of Hope,

Stir up your power,

And break in to our world.

Restore hope in our hearts.

Help us embody that hope

To a hurting world.

Amen.

—————

What do you hope for?

What’s giving you hope?

When things are really, really bad…when it feels like things can’t get any worse…where do you find hope…?

On this 1st Sunday of Advent, we’re being brought into explorations of hope. And I have to be honest with you, hope is one of those things I struggle with. Not because I’m a particularly distressed or despairing person, but because I try to view the world honestly. Like, I’m an optimist, but I’m also a realist, and sometimes my realist side takes the driver’s seat for far longer than it should.

Hope is something I struggle with because I tend to take an unvarnished view of the world, and truthfully, friends, I often don’t like what I see… And I suppose maybe that’s just the world we live in.

But it’s hard. And it weighs you down sometimes, right?

Maybe this is true for you, too.

It’s true for most of our world and for most of our history. Because while we humans are capable of great beauty and good, we’re also responsible for some of the most horrific and ugly chapters in our global story. And it can be really difficult to muster up even just a bit of hope in the face of so much hurt and pain.

That’s really true in the biblical narratives, too, by the way. Our verses from Isaiah and the Gospel of Mark are both written to a people and communities experiencing tremendous hardship and a profound sense of lost hope.

Isaiah 64 comes from the 3rd block of writing under Isaiah’s name, probably written 200 years or so after the original prophet Isaiah, but is written to an Israelite people who had recently returned from their exile in Babylon. They had returned to Jerusalem to find that the city they left was no longer the city that remained. They were now the outsiders. Their practices and their customs and their ways of worship were the ones being called into question. They had been forcibly removed from their home, made to live in exile in a foreign land for at least a generation, and now they were allowed to return only to find that they weren’t the ones in power anymore. They had their agency taken away from them.

And the gospel of Mark, the earliest written gospel account, is written in the immediate aftermath of the destruction of the second temple in Jerusalem. And if you’ve still got your Bibles open or the Bible apps on your phone pulled up, take a look at the first part of Mark chapter 13:

“As Jesus came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, “Look, Rabbi, what large stones and what large buildings!” Then Jesus asked him, “Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.” And when Jesus was sitting on the Mount of Olives opposite the temple, Peter, James, John, and Andrew asked him privately, “Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign that all these things are about to take place?”

This whole chapter in Mark is talking about the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem, and the temple was the center of religious and social life, so its destruction would have felt like the end of the world to Mark’s audience. And so the people in these 1st-century Christ-believing Jewish communities are left wondering if they’re next, right? Like, if the temple—if God’s dwelling place on earth—can so easily be toppled, what chance do God’s people…what chance do any of us…have to possibly avoid the same destruction?

Things were utterly hopeless.

And maybe…as you look around you today…as you watch and read the news…maybe you feel the same…

I’ve learned a new term in this pandemic: doomscrolling. Doomscrolling is when you obsessively scroll through your Facebook and Twitter feeds consuming article after article after quick-bite after update of negative and doom-and-gloom news. It’s like the trainwreck or car wreck you can’t look away from. You know the stats. You know the case numbers and death rates. You know the negativity. But still, you scroll. And it barrels you into a really unhealthy mental space and kind of a despairing place.

It can leave you feeling so hopeless…

The verses we heard from Isaiah this morning are some of my favorite in the whole Bible. From the very 1st verse: “Oh that you would rend the heavens and come down!” (Your bible probably says tear open the heavens, but sometimes only the King James translation says it just the right way for this old soul…)

I love this word rend. The Greek word is schizo; it’s where we get schism.

It’s the same word used to describe when the prophets rend or tear open their garments in distress and mourning. It’s the same word used later in Mark to describe the curtain of the temple at the moment of crucifixion. Interestingly, it’s also the same word used at the beginning of Mark to describe the heavens opening up at Jesus’ baptism…

It means a shredding of something. To rip something beyond the ability to repair it. It’s a permanent fracture. You can put a thing that’s been rent back together again, but it won’t ever be repaired…it won’t ever be the thing it was before…at least not in the same way.

It’s a completely new thing.

In these verses, the prophet gives voice to our own pleas. We implore God…we beg God…to rip apart, to tear to shreds the very fabric between earth and heaven…

We beg God to violently enter our world because if God’s entrance isn’t violent, isn’t unmistakably noticeable, we might miss it for all the violence, death, and destruction we’ve already got going on in our world.

There’s a sense in which only God can save us from this mess that we’ve got. Maybe you feel like that. Have you sat back at any point during the past 8 months and thought, “Well surely things can’t get any worse…” and then things totally get worse? Have you sat back at any point during the past 8 months and thought, “Well, I hope Jesus is coming back soon, because that’s the only way we’re getting out of this mess!”

Rending…tearing apart…is a sign of ending, of distress and mourning and fracture and brokenness…but along with it, we carry the hope and promise of what comes next, church.

God specializes in repairing brokenness, in wiping tears from eyes, bringing newness from things that are worn out, and most certainly in bringing life from death.

God is doing a new thing…if we have eyes to see it.

It’s precisely into these moments where all feels lost that the prophet and Jesus try to speak a word of comfort.

“Keep watch,” Jesus says. “All of these things—the suffering, the gloom, falling stars, and shaken powers—these are the warning signs. But pay attention…when you see these things, know that the Son of humanity is near…”

And that noticing is almost imperceptible. You have to really be looking for it. “Learn a lesson from the fig tree,” Jesus says. “Just as the branch becomes tender…and the leaves start to bud…”

For all of our doomscrolling…for all of the negative and end-of-the-world news we consume…how much time do we spend looking for those tiny signs of hope?

Hope is small, dear friends.

It’s not always big and flashy. We don’t always get the glaring neon sign proclaiming: Hope Found Here!

If hope is something to be noticed, it stands to reason that we need to be looking.

Advent is a time for waiting and expectation, but we don’t wait idly or passively. We know what’s coming in a few short weeks, church. The Christ—the Light of the world—will once again break through the night and be born again in our midst. How are we preparing? What are you doing to make the world ready to receive this incredible gift again this year?

Practice awareness and attentiveness with me this season, church.

Practice nurturing hope with me.

What is God doing here in this place? Where are the bright spots that God is calling New Hope to live into? In a time of such great need, we know that the opportunities for generosity will be exceptional. How will you practice generosity this season, church?

How can you create hope this season?

Notice the light breaking through the cracks of night.

It starts small, like a tree just starting to blossom, but the light will soon burst forth like the dawn.