…We don’t know precisely how many of these wise astrologers came to visit Herod. We know that they brought three gifts, but there may have been two magi, or there may have been ten, or even more. They may have been all men, or there may have been women among them; women also participated in the art and science and mystic revelations of the stars.

However many they were, the magi came to Herod for directions. How could they find Jesus? They were asking about the birth of a child whom, in their minds, he surely must have known about. After all, their reading of the newly risen star told them that this child was the King of the Jews.

But Herod did not know. And Herod believed that he was the King of the Jews. And so, he was afraid. One thing I’ve learned about human nature is that fear and anger often go hand in hand. So, when we read in verse 3, that King Herod was frightened “and all Jerusalem with him,” we might have a good idea why that is. When the King is afraid, that fear is bound to spill out onto innocent bystanders, and it might just look like anger. In this story, that is exactly what happens….

Image: "Journey of the Magi," from an illuminated manuscript, 1120-1145, Church of St. Godehard, Hildesheim, Germany; from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56279 [retrieved December 31, 2024]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Albanipsalter_DreiKoenige.jpg.

…Why does this matter? It matters because the gospel writer wants to make sure we understand the humble nature of the birthplace of Christ.[ii] Hailed as king by angels and, later, by traveling astronomers, he was not born in a palace. He was not born in a mansion. He wasn’t even born in a borrowed bedroom. He was born in a cave that was part of a home. He was taken in by kin. He was taken in, because, even in all the chaos of the city’s population swelling from fewer than 3,000 people to who knows how many, Jesus’s expectant parents were nevertheless surrounded by family, and not relegated to the stable of an inn…

Image: "Angels Worship the Christ Child," detail from a carved retable, Artist Unknown
St. Giles Cathedral, Edinburgh, United Kingdom.
Courtesy of Art in the Christian Tradition, Vanderbilt University

…Every word in the Bible exists in at least three timelines. Let’s take the gospels. The first timeline is the one in which Jesus is walking the earth. Well, for a while, he’s being carried around, since he does come as a baby. But you understand me. The second timeline, and one just as important to the story, is the timeline in which the gospel is being written down—when the oral tradition is set down upon the page so that it can be shared more and more widely. The events of that timeline inevitably find their way into the telling of the story. And the third timeline, of course, is our timeline—more specifically the timeline of the readers and hearers of the gospel. What is happening in our world. We can’t hear the gospel without applying its insights, events, and promises to the world we are living in, right now. For instance, for clarity’s sake, please know that, in a sermon, if I am using the word “Israel,” I’m referring to covenant people descended from Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and not to the modern-day political entity, the state of Israel, unless I say so, specifically.

These three timelines are so present for us in the songs we are hearing today. The first two chapters of the gospel according to Luke are filled with music. Today we are tuning in to two of the four songs that appear there, the two songs we find in Luke, chapter 1…

Image: “Magnificat” by Ben Wildflower. Used by Permission, per benwildflower.com.

I believe that is the God John encountered. Immersed in scripture from the time he was young, immersed in a wild and challenging terrain as his home, and trained for his calling to be a holy and wise person in society, John let God in. John was from a reasonably comfortable background and likely never knew hunger or want or neglect as the cherished late-in-life child he was. John had the ability, the space within, to open himself, not only to God, but to the world as it was, in all its beauty and all its pain. John allowed himself to be amazed by all of it.

Today we live in a world in which the Hubble telescope can show us images that are billions of light years away. We live in a world in which each of us can log onto a website on and be in touch with as many people as we like, old friends and new, watch their videos, see their pictures from the other side of the planet. We live in a world in which we can carry powerful computers with access to seemingly limitless information in our pockets, and, oh, by the way, we can call and order pizza with them, too. Is there anything left that can amaze us? Can we still be amazed?

“Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”

It was when those words left my lips that I finally felt it—really felt it, in my heart, in my gut: Fear.

The angel had said, “Be not afraid,” And I wasn’t afraid, the whole time he spoke to me. But then, he’d vanished. And once again, I was alone in the garden. I was still clutching a bouquet of radishes in my hand.

I looked around, wild with shock. What had just happened? What had just happened?

Image: Two Mothers by Nicolette Peñaranda. Inspired by Luke 1:24-45. Acrylic, ink, and mixed media collage on canvas. Copyright A Sanctified Art | sanctifiedart.org

Welcome to the first Sunday in Advent. Advent means coming. It is a season that is oriented towards both past and future, as we are awaiting the great festival celebrating Christ’s birth a little over 2000 years ago, and also looking ahead to Christ’s return in power and justice, and the fulfillment of all things.

The lectionary readings for today would normally have us focused on that expectation of the future. But this year we are focused on the details of the first coming of Christ, according to the gospel of Luke, and we begin at the beginning…

Image: Annunciation to Zechariah by Lauren Wright Pittman
Acrylic and ink on wood panel; © A Sanctified Art | sanctifiedart.org.

Those of us who grew up in churches are familiar with this idea of God as King. We find that image many times in the psalms, including the psalm we just read together this morning. When I was little—maybe 3rd grade or so?—I vividly remember being asked to draw a picture of God. Like many kids of my era, I envisioned God as an old white man with a white beard, wearing a crown on his head, seated on a throne. That’s what I drew. Then I drew a picture of Jesus next to God. Jesus was also white, but had long dark hair and a dark beard and was wearing a white robe. But he was standing, not sitting on a throne, and he wasn’t wearing a crown. We might ask how this happened. Where did Jesus get his crown?

Image: Ge, N. N. (Nikolaĭ Nikolaevich), 1831-1894. "What is truth?" Christ and Pilate, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=55296 [retrieved September 26, 2024]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:What_is_truth.jpg.

The church year is coming to an end, and that means Jesus is talking about the end. A lot. The end of each church year has Jesus in a different mode, if you will. That’s because Jesus has arrived in Jerusalem, he knows that his mission on earth is nearly over, and he speaks to his disciples with a sense of urgency. He’s not on his death bed—not exactly—but he knows that death is coming for him soon. He is contemplating the end of his earthly life, so he has things to tell his followers before his chance to tell them is gone. Some of these things are difficult to hear…

Image: Bauernfeind, Gustav, (848-1904) The Wailing Wall, Jerusalem. Public Domain. Courtesy of Wikimedia.

This morning is all about giving. We are celebrating six years of serving our community through our food pantry. The food piled on our Communion table is a reminder that we are sharing what God has given us all—from our table we see others whose tables are bare, and we try to help. We are also marking the end of our Stewardship campaign, during which we’ve been attempting to remember what “living like kings” means when Jesus is our role model of a king. And we’ve all just heard what is, probably, the Bible’s most famous story about giving. 

 The passage we’ve just read is so famous that even many non-Christians have heard the story of the Widow’s Mite, as it is traditionally called. That’s m-i-t-e, meaning, something very small, vanishingly small, such as the two copper coins the poor widow dropped into the Temple treasury, evidently, the last resources she had in the world…

Image: Tissot, James, 1836-1902. Widow's Mite, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56665 [retrieved September 26, 2024]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Brooklyn_Museum_-_The_Widow%27s_Mite_(Le_denier_de_la_veuve)_-_James_Tissot.jpg.

Q. What is your only comfort in life and in death?

A. That I am not my own,

but belong—

body and soul,

in life and in death—

to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ.

He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood,

and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil.

He also watches over me in such a way

that not a hair can fall from my head

without the will of my Father in heaven;

in fact, all things must work together for my salvation.

Because I belong to him,

Christ, by his Holy Spirit,

assures me of eternal life

and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready

from now on to live for him.

Image: Swanson, John August. Take Away the Stone, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58578 [retrieved September 26, 2024]. Original source: Estate of John August Swanson, https://www.johnaugustswanson.com/.

Recently, I was offering to place a member of our congregation on the prayer list. They declined, saying, “Everyone in the world belongs on the prayer list.” And, you know, I get that logic. Each of us has our pain, or our pains. Each of us has a story that sometimes lifts us up with joyful remembrance and sometimes takes us down a rabbit hole of regret or hurt or self-recrimination. Every person in Gaza belongs on our prayer list, as does every person in Israel, and Iran, and Lebanon. Every person in Endicott and Endwell and the Town of Union, everyone in Broome and Tioga counties. 

Hurt, fear, injury and illness are everywhere. Another election is coming up in which both sides are sure the success of the other side will mean the world is ending. We lose people we love and wonder how we will survive. Everyone in the world belongs on the prayer list…

Image: JESUS MAFA. Jesus cures the man born blind, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=48383 [retrieved September 26, 2024]. Original source: http://www.librairie-emmanuel.fr (contact page: https://www.librairie-emmanuel.fr/contact).

...This is a passage that has caused no end of consternation among readers and hearers, ever since the words recorded here left Jesus’ mouth. Jesus is making an impossible ask: that we should sell all our possessions, and give the proceeds to the poor, so that we can follow him. How do we do that? I’m here to tell you that preachers over these last nearly two thousand years have done backbends trying to make this passage better, make it easier, make it doable. Or at least, make it so that we can all have some hope that we can be faithful followers of Jesus ourselves. Other sermons have enumerated in detail the many ways this was done—everything from the entirely fictional “Eye of the Needle” gate in the Temple wall, to casting aspersions on this young man as insincere, to the Hail Mary pass of “For God all things are possible.”

I propose to address this passage by looking at seventeen words, or, more specifically, three words and four phrases we find here. I think these words can lead us somewhere useful. I think these words can lead us to hope...

Image: Wesley, Frank, 1923-2002. Meeting with the Rich Young Ruler, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=59188 [retrieved September 26, 2024]. Original source: Estate of Frank Wesley, http://www.frankwesleyart.com/main_page.htm.

Today is World Communion Sunday, and as Presbyterians, we always connect this day with our Peacemaking and Global Witness offering. It is a day when we remember how connected we are with others around the world. We are connected with other Christians in that we are all one in the body of Christ. We are connected with those other than Christians in that we are all part of one human family. Therefore, we care about others. We even care about people we don’t know, and will probably never know.

Today is also the beginning of our Stewardship campaign. It may seem like this is somewhat a clash of priorities, but I think these celebrations and observances are more connected than we might imagine.

Our working theme for our Stewardship campaign is this: Living Like Kings. Not the King Charles kind of king; the kind of king Jesus is. What does it mean to live like Jesus, to let his ways direct our living?

P. Raube, Grapevine Window and Fig Tree Window, Union Presbyterian Church, Endicott, NY. September 2024.

Jamie Tartt is one of the best footballers in the Premier League; in fact, he’s considered one of the greatest footballers of his time, not to mention the most famous. At the opening of season 1 of Ted Lasso, Jamie is on loan from Manchester United to AFC Richmond. The limelight-loving, brand-obsessed Tartt, who is a brilliantly gifted striker, sees himself as the only real talent on the team. He speeds toward the goal at every opportunity, a one-man powerhouse who, really, doesn’t consider himself a member of the team at all. He carries the team. Jamie is the greatest. And he’ll be the first to tell you that.

The fictional character of Jamie Tartt is a beautiful image of what the world tells us it means to be “the greatest.” Strong, talented, good-looking, rich, at the top of his game.

Enter Ted Lasso, AFC Richmond’s new coach, who looks at Jamie and sees a challenge: how to make him a member of the team. By the end of the second episode, Ted says to the young man, “Jamie, I think that you might be so sure that you're one in a million, that sometimes you forget that out there, you're just one of eleven...."

Image: Olivier, Ferdinand, 1785-1841. Jesus with Disciples, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=47426 [retrieved August 9, 2024]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Ferdinand_Olivier_003.jpg.

...This morning’s passage from the gospel According to Mark is a turning-point that finds Jesus asking the question, “Who am I?”, or more specifically, “Who do people say that I am?” The ultimate answer to that question—who is Jesus?—puts him on a path—the only possible path—for the rest of his ministry. The answer to that question poses a question for us: Who are we, if we claim to be followers of Jesus? What does that mean for our lives? It’s a very September kind of question, if you know what I mean. Who are we? Who will we be...?

Image: Anonymous, Jesus-the Holy Mural, The Way of Jesus Christian Church, New Orleans, LA., ca. 2000-2019, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58372 [retrieved August 9, 2024]. Original source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/volvob12b/48740737607.

...But there is no not noticing Jesus. We don’t know exactly how it happens. Does someone who had traveled to Galilee recognize Jesus? Does the homeowner share just enough information with a neighbor for whom it rings a bell, that wandering preacher everyone is talking about. Maybe a household servant—an enslaved person—tells a friend—a surefire way for news to travel, and fast. Or maybe, as one writer puts it, Jesus will always be noticed because of his divine identity and his power. We can try to put ourselves there, in the scene. We can imagine what it would be like to see Jesus, without introduction, without preparation, if he didn’t look like all the paintings and stained-glass windows. Would we guess it was him? Would we know...?

Image: Tihanyi, Lajos, 1885-1938. Gipsy Woman with Child, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=55594 [retrieved August 9, 2024]. Original source: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Tihanyi_Gipsy_Woman_with_Child.jpg.

I have never once preached on this passage, not in almost twenty-one years as an ordained minister, nor in the opportunities I had to preach in the fifteen or so years prior to that. I just couldn’t see my way clear to preaching on a passage where Jesus gets mad about hand washing. How do I defend that? This was an era when people ate with their hands, and did everything else with them, too. It's unimaginable, especially post Covid era. I remember going into a public restroom in a Massachusetts theater, in March 2020, where there were pages taped to the mirror in front of each sink. The pages contained lyrics from different showtunes—each amounting to twenty seconds worth of singing, so that we’d all sing and wash our hands long enough to fight off this new, terrifying virus. Each of us was told by our parents over and over again: You need to wash your hands before supper. Because little kids will pick up everything including cat poop if they get the chance. We all need to wash our hands.

I’ve never preached on this passage before. But in there, beyond everything that makes me squirm and say, “Ew,” is a message that is important. A message that is central to the gospel, to scripture itself: What we put out into the world, whether our words or or actions, matters. Even more important, where they come from matters. Where they come from, what matters, is the human heart...

Image: Van Dyck, Anthony, 1599-1641. Christ and the Pharisees; verso; Christ and a Pharisee, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=57935 [retrieved August 9, 2024]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Christ_and_the_Pharisees;_verso;_Christ_and_a_Pharisee_MET_DP802093.jpg.

Years ago, I led a study of a terrific book from the Upper Room called Companions in Christ. During one of our sessions, we read this passage from the Gospel According to Mark. We were a small group—just four women and me—and, like most readers, we found ourselves deeply moved by the story—especially the faithfulness of these four friends of the unnamed, paralyzed man. Their commitment to getting him to Jesus—that it extended to their climbing up on the roof of the house—is amazing. That they got up on the roof and removed the mud and tiles that would have been attached to wooden beams, and then, let down their friend on the mat, so that Jesus could heal him. Which, he does. The chapter encouraged us to end this session by taking turns sitting on a chair, with the rest of the group gathered around the chair, mimicking the action of the story. Each of those standing around the chair took turns praying for the person in the chair.

By this time in our study, we really were a group of friends. We knew so much about one another. Each of us knew the prayers the others needed. The experience of being prayed for in that way was humbling, and it was beautiful. It was an unforgettable experience.

All of which is to say: I love this story, and I love the interpretation of this story that tells us these were friends of the paralyzed man. I love that Jesus saw the faith of the friends. It is a moving story. And there’s another way to read it…

Image: Koenig, Peter. Paralytic at Capernaum, 20th Century, Parish of Saint Edward, Kettering, U.K., from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58524 [retrieved August 9, 2024]. Original source: Peter Winfried (Canisius) Koenig, https://www.pwkoenig.co.uk/.

A funny thing happened the other morning. I was having breakfast with a group of clergy women, friends and colleagues from different denominations, who have been meeting for breakfast for something like 15 years. I’ve been away, and it was my first time back. We were talking about communion, the Lord’s Supper. One of my friends, Lisa, said that she remembered as a child walking into a room where her younger cousin—maybe five years old—was holding a small ceramic bowl, and lifting it over her head, eyes gazing up. I said—"Oh, my brother and I played mass!” simultaneously with the other two women at the table chiming in. Apparently, we had all played “Communion” at home when we were very young. Rose said, “Oh yes—we used Nilla Vanilla wafers!” Janet said, “We used Sweet Tarts!” And I said, “Oh man, I wish my brother and I had thought of using cookies or candy. We squished white bread flat and cut it into circles.”

I am still pondering this. I didn’t check out this theory, but I have a feeling we all did this before we were permitted to take communion. I had my First Communion at age seven. For my friends, they were probably anywhere between seven and twelve or thirteen years old. But we, all of us, witnessed the adults or older siblings in our lives walking forward, or being served in their seats, and receiving bread that we knew was somehow special, different, more than the regular bread our parents used to make our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Something about this special bread called to us, even before we’d had it ourselves. Something made us long for that bread—and, whether we knew it or not, to long for Jesus…

Image: “The Gathering of the Manna,” by James Tissot (1836-1902), Public Domain. Courtesy of Wikimedia.

…It all started with a trellis covered with morning glories. I’ve always loved morning glories, probably because my mother, who disliked receiving flowers as a gift, nevertheless loved various flowers and was genuinely excited to see them growing. I remember her oohing and ahhing on a day trip to Cape May, when we came upon a fence covered with sky-blue morning glories. Years later I came across just such a fence on a vacation in the Berkshires, and my heart squeezed in recognition and delight. They were amazing. Their color was visual joy. Their abandon—the way they created a living wall of color—was thrilling.

Imagine my surprise in my adult life when I found out that there are people who hate, loathe, despise, and abominate morning glories. It’s ok. You’re looking at someone who bought her house because there was a stained-glass window and a trellis covered with morning glories. The heart wants what it wants.

Anyway, fast forward thirty years, and it turns out morning glories also have hearts, and they want what they want, and what they want is the entire world. The trellis long gone, I’ve cultivated them on a fence along my driveway. They cooperated at first, but then jumped to the other trellis, where the clematis were minding their own business and not hurting anybody. Then they apparently jumped right over my car and started growing on the other fence, at which point they decided their job was to make their way into and among all the other flowers—the clematis, the cosmos, the daisies, the black adder, and the peonies.

The kingdom of God is like a packet of morning glory seeds…