salvagedfaith

Follow The Star: Authority

Posted on January 31, 2021Leave a comment

Text: Mark 1:21-28

Our gospel lesson for today begins with Jesus teaching in the synagogue.
And the people of Capernaum were astounded by his teaching.
It wasn’t simply what he taught, but how he taught it.
Jesus exuded authority: power, freedom, ability…
The words were not simply something he had read, but something he possessed.
They brought into being the reality they proclaimed.
As the Message translation describes it, “They were surprised at his teaching – so forthright, so confident – not quibbling and quoting like the religion scholars.”

I must admit, I almost start to take offense to that.
After all, I’m one of those religion scholars, those teachers, trying my best to make sense of the text and what I know and what I don’t know.
You are a scholar, too.
You are a theologian, taking the scriptures and your prayers and studies and doing the best you can to make sense of it all.
And we all quibble and quote.
We have our favorite texts and verses and we rely upon the teachers and leaders who have formed us.
We turn to people whom we believe have the authority to guide us… and we trust them to help us gain knowledge.
But it is also a world of social media and fake news that is so polarized it feels like we are living in alternate realities.
Something happens in the world and we interpret the events completely differently.
What is truth?

In college, I took a class on epistemology. Epistemology simply is the study of knowledge and it explores what is a justified belief and what is simply opinion.
C. I. Lewis claimed that knowledge, or truth, comes from our experiences, but those experiences are always interpreted through our definitions or concepts.
For example, two people might experience an hour very differently… for one it passes quickly and for another it drags on. But because they share the concept that an hour is sixty minutes and have devices that monitor that span of time, they can meet after an hour has passed.
We come to share concepts and definitions, “by the business of living together and the methods of naming, pointing, and learning by imitation,” Lewis writes.
And so, we come to understand together, collectively, that this is green…
The sky is blue… tomorrow is Monday…
An action is good…

But when I follow one teacher, and you follow another…
When my social media feed is filled with one perspective and yours looks completely different…
When I get my news from one source, and you another… are there any concepts or definitions or knowledge that we share?

We used to have something called the fairness doctrine in broadcasting. It was introduced by the FCC in 1949 and it required broadcasters to do two things: One, they had to present controversial issues so that the public could be informed. Two, they had to do so in a manner that was honest, equitable, and balanced.
In effect, it created shared concepts because we named and pointed to the same issues in the world and at least had the same language to talk about them, even if there were differences of experience.
However, the policy was ended in 1987 and it is just one example of the many ways we have stopped living together.

We are swimming in a world of relativity, separateness, and disconnection.
We no longer share the same concepts or definitions.
Racism…. Socialism… sexism… accountability…
What do those words mean? What is true and real and good?

Maybe we, like the people of Capernaum, are longing for a greater authority.
Some truth with a capital “T.”
Words that have power to not simply fill the air, but to name and change reality.

As we read last week, Jesus came into Galilee announcing, “Now is the time! Here is God’s kingdom! Repent, change your hearts and your minds, and trust this good news!”
The gospel is good news.
It is truth and knowledge and proclamation of reality.
He entered the village and, on the Sabbath, sat down in the synagogue and began teaching.
And God’s Kingdom began to become real for them.
It had power and life and being and it was present in their very midst.
And the people were compelled by this reality to repent, to change their hearts and minds.
After all, Jesus was calling them to relinquish the knowledge that could be quibbled over to embrace something that was really and actually true.

But what happens to the power of ignorance or division when the Kingdom takes hold?
What happens to the power that denies life and sows misinformation?
The power that diminishes the value of another person?
Mark names that power… that spirit… “unclean.” “Evil.”
And when confronted with the words and the teaching of Jesus, that spirit began to fight.
Right there in the synagogue it cried out, throwing the community into chaos, “What have you to do with us? Have you come to destroy us?”

We don’t know how long that evil spirit had held power over that person and that community.
We don’t know the kind of damage it inflicted.
What we do know is that Jesus acts.
Jesus rebukes the spirit, stops the harm and expels it from their midst.

God has given us “the freedom and power” as our United Methodist baptismal vows proclaim, “to resist evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves.”
How can we fight back against forces that have separated and trapped us in cycles of misinformation and suspicion?
So what can we learn from Jesus about how to resist the power of division in our midst?

Jesus takes away its voice and drags it into the light of day where it dies.
Jesus rebukes it, shouting, “Silence! Come out!”

Now, today, in this moment, we see that silencing happening all around.
Cancel culture, after all, is rampant from people on all sides.
If we don’t like what someone has to say or what they believe, we simply unfollow them.
We ban them.
We scroll past.
We end friendships.

I want to start by saying that boundaries are important.
If you are being harmed by what another person is saying or doing, it is absolutely appropriate to separate yourself and to no longer allow their words to have power over you.
But so much of the kind of silencing we experience today simply reinforces our echo chambers. It drags us deeper into our separate spheres and we begin to see other human beings not as full and complex people but as a sound byte that can be dismissed.

And that is why I think we have to pair Jesus’s command to be silent with his call to come out.
To place our experiences and our knowledge in the light of day where we can hold it up to God’s intentions for our world.
Where we can truly compare our sources and our information with humility, an understanding that we might not have the full picture.
It is a call to re-engage.
To be present with one another.
To listen and seek to understand those we disagree with.
Jesus never asks us to set aside our experiences and perspectives, but to allow them to interact as we discern together where the authority of God our Creator and Redeemer is active and moving.
It is a call to share life with one another.

This week, our daily devotions will explore scriptures relating to God’s authority.
We’ll think about people who spoke God’s word into our midst and times when we had to set aside what we thought was true based on new information. We’ll think about what it means to humbly remember we are not the center of the universe.
But perhaps the most important scripture about authority we will read is the last one.
Paul tells us in his letter to the Corinthians that we can have all of the right words and all the right answers, but if we have no love for others, all of that knowledge and truth and experience is for nothing.
Love is the force that created us.
Love is the power that unites us.
Love is the reality that truly offers life.

There is an organization called Braver Angels that is working to try to bring people together in these incredibly divisive times. This week in its newsletter, they highlighted a relationship between a Quaker and a QAnon-believer in Maryland.
Their goal is not to change the other person, but to understand where they are coming from. The author notes:

“They don’t agree on much, though both believe in the importance of integrity in elections and media. But their definitions of integrity differ… [One of them] suggested they decide on a glossary, so that they actually speak the same language.”
These two people are taking the time to listen to one another and to build a common life.

That is the kind of Kingdom that Jesus calls into being.
It is an invitation for people who are radically different to build a common life.
Jesus calls sinners and saints.
Young and old.
Jews and Gentiles.
Blue-collar fisherman and white-collar government workers.
Men and women and people of various ethnic backgrounds.
Pharisees and Zealots.
And we come to learn that we need one another.
We are called to reorient our lives under an authority greater than any of our own experiences.
An authority that created the world and everything in it.
An authority that commands us to love.

So maybe in the coming days and weeks, wherever the forces of division or hatred rear their ugly head in this world, accept the freedom and power God gives you to resist.
Speak out loud if you have to: “I see you. I know what you are. And I refuse to let you separate me from others.”
Choose instead to cast it into the light of God’s love.
Love that puts others first.
Love that doesn’t hold grudges or delight in others mistakes.
Love that seeks the truth.

Follow the Star: Repent

Posted on January 24, 2021Leave a comment

Text: Mark 1:14-20, Jonah 3:1-5,10

Over the last year our routines, our work, our families, our vacations… so many parts of our lives were unexpectedly turned upside down and inside out.
Including our church.
One of my mentors often reminds me that church is often the place that we go to escape the change that happens in the world. It has often been one of the only stable places we can turn.
Churches are notorious for being stubborn and afraid to try new things…
After all, we’ve never done it that way before.

But this year, we had to.
We had to adapt.
We had to change with the circumstances.
We had to embrace a new way of being together and being the church.
We had to repent and believe the good news.

The Greek word we translate into “repent” is metanoia.
It is a reorientation.
Turning around.
Changing our thoughts and our actions.
And in scriptures, we are called to repentance, transformation, when we encounter a new understanding of reality… God’s reality.

Well, we’ve certainly had to do that this year.
In light of the reality of a deadly virus, we reoriented ourselves.
We embraced new practices like online worship and small groups and studies.
But we also noticed some things about our church that honestly, we should have changed a long time ago, but we were too stuck in old ways to do it.
One example of this is how our church, like a lot of churches, can get stuck in cliques and groups.
You notice it at coffee time when people tend to sit down with the same group of people every week.
It’s who we know, who we are comfortable with.
But sometimes that means that a new friend to our church is left out.
Now, if I had come down to Faith Hall between services, and mixed up all of the seating arrangements, ya’ll would have revolted on me.
But when worship moved online, we began to host our Zoom coffee time and our breakout rooms got randomly assigned.
No one gets left out and anyone who wants to stay gets to “sit at a table” with different folks each week.
In the process, we’ve made new friends, learned more about each other, and I think our church is stronger as a result.
That is repentance in action.
A new understanding of who we are and new practices that help us to be more faithful to who God is calling us to be.

As we seek to follow the star and align our lives more closely to God, let’s take a deeper look at how repentance plays a role.
Today, we have two different scriptures that help us to embrace what that means. One is an example of how we turn from actions that have separated us from God. The other is how we might turn towards God’s call in our lives.

Let’s start with Jonah.
One of our more traditional ways of speaking about repentance is naming and confessing our sins.
I have to admit that every time I hear the word “repent” I picture someone standing on a street corner holding up a sign.
And, honestly, that’s kind of what Jonah did!
In the Message translation, God’s instructions come to Jonah: “Preach to them. They’re in a bad way and I can’t ignore it any longer.” (3:1-2)
So Jonah walked for three days through the city telling them the end was near…. “In forty days you will be destroyed.”

Notice, Jonah doesn’t tell them to repent.
But his words help the people of this city see reality in a new way.
They recognize their evil and their sin and they turn from it.
The entire community repents, turns around, reorients themselves to God’s preferred future.
They have no promises of mercy, no hope of restoration.
But confronted with reality, they realize they simply cannot go on a moment longer the way they had been living.
They turn from their ways in a moment of repentance.

Over the last year, there have been a number of moments when we have experienced this kind of clarity and need for repentance.
From the death of a black man on a street in Minneapolis, to raging wildfires perpetuated by climate change, to the brazen display of Christian nationalism in the insurrection a few weeks ago, we have been confronted with images that lead us to cry out… this is not who we want to be.
We may disagree about what concrete actions and policy changes need to happen, but our lives have been collectively reoriented, altered, as we have realized there are systemic and interpersonal realities we must turn from.
I think back to the story of the Ninevites who saw their impending doom.
They recognized just how far their lives and their actions were from what God intended for them and they did something about it.
Whenever we are confronted with reality, a new reality, a different reality, we have the opportunity to hold our lives up to the measure of God’s intentions for us.
If what we discover leads us to change our thoughts or actions, that is repentance.

But there is another piece of this story that is important.
God repents.
When God sees how the people have claimed a new reality, how they have truly turned from evil, the divine mind is changed.
God turns from calamity and destruction to mercy and grace.
God experiences metanoia, too.

In our gospel reading from Mark, we find Jesus himself as the street corner preacher, calling everyone he encounters to repent and believe in the good news.
He is not pointing out their faults or their lack of faith. He is not calling them to turn from something that was bad or evil, but calling them towards a new reality, a Kingdom reality.
His words reach Simon and Andrew, James and John, simple fishermen who drop their nets and leave their jobs and their families.
But as Thomas Long, a preacher and professor at Candler School of Theology claims, “Jesus disrupts [their reality] not to destroy but to renew.” He notes how their roles as brothers and sons become transformed into new relationships in God’s family and how even their work becomes a part of how they serve the Kingdom. “Their past has not been obliterated; it has been transformed by Jesus’ call to follow.”
In the light of Christ, they see themselves in a new light and the potential of who they could be.

I have watched over these last years how the people of Immanuel have heard this call and have turned towards God, using their gifts and strengths to serve the Kingdom.
The ways that you have come to understand that church is not simply a place where you find comfort and the familiar, but where you hear the call to become more of what God believes you can be.
I think about the young woman in our church who felt the tug to make blankets for our homeless neighbors.
Or about our knitters who made prayer squares… which we have also shared with essential workers at our local care centers.
I think about men and women in our church who have built sets for VBS that have helped our children to grow closer to Jesus.
And about those who give their time on Sunday mornings in the AV booth to make sure that we remain connected to God and one another.
Or those who manage our finances, or lead us in music, or make sure the food pantry is filled.
And I think about the countless stories you have shared with me about how you are finding new ways to live out your faith in your work place, in your homes.

Repentance is not simply turning from our past and our failures, but it is also about turning toward who God has created you to become and the Kingdom reality that God is bringing to bear upon this earth.
It is, as our first National Youth Poet Laureate said on Wednesday at the inauguration, the remembrance that we are “not broken, but unfinished.”
That there is more to do, more to experience, more ways to serve, that there is a fullness that awaits us if we simply could repent.
Turn around.
Turn towards God.
Change our hearts and our actions.
To allow ourselves to be transformed.
May it be so.

Follow The Star: Invitation

Posted on January 17, 2021Leave a comment

Text: John 1:43-51

This year has begun with chaos, violence, grief, and pain.
And I have to admit that when I sat down to write this sermon, the words just wouldn’t come.
Or rather, I would write and then my anger and frustration would kick in and I’d have to delete what I had typed.
And then I’d sit in sadness for a while.
What, honestly, do we say in times like these.
Can we go on as if everything is normal?

But the more I sat, the more I felt God nudging me to stay in that moment.
To not try to soothe or explain anything with words, but to simply be.
God could see where I was… and God still loved me.
God didn’t need anything else from me.

So today, rather than telling you what this text is all about, I invite you into a space to simply be with God.
To let where you are today, in this moment, to be revealed.
God is inviting you to come into the presence of Christ just as you are.
And ironically? Providentially? God had already given us a text to use.

So, find a comfortable place to sit…
Close your eyes.
Place your feet on the ground or your hands by your side…
Feel the substance, the strength, of the ground or surface beneath them.
Notice the places where your body is connected to whatever is supporting you.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.

In our lesson today, Jesus is calling disciples.
“Follow me,” he says.
He issues an invitation not to everyone, but to individuals.
People with gifts and talents and baggage and stories.
Think about the people you might encounter on a regular basis.
Who among them do you think Jesus would pick out and personally invite to follow him?
What is it about their life that makes them worthy of the invitation?
Is there any among those people you imagine Jesus would not invite?
Notice what that question does in your heart.
There might be people we would exclude… But is there anyone Jesus would exclude?

If Jesus turned to you and said, “Follow me,” how would you respond?
What would you do first?

Our scripture tells us that Philip receives an invitation.
And the first thing he does is to go and find his friend.
He goes to share the good news.
“We’ve found him!” Philip says. “The One we’ve been waiting for!”
Waiting for a long time.
Since the time Moses… and Isaiah…
Centuries of waiting.
And in light of this invitation to respond and participate, Philip’s response to Jesus is outgoing and exuberant.
Without any kind of judgment, think about your own response to God’s invitation.
Do the words outgoing or exuberant describe you?
If not, think about someone who embodies those qualities.
What is a gift that someone like Philip brings to the ministry of Christ in the world?

Nathanael also received an invitation to follow Jesus.
Not personally, but through his friend.
And his first response is to ask a question.
“What good can come out of Nazareth?”
After centuries of waiting, he is hopefully, but weary.
Maybe a little jaded or cynical.
Or maybe Nathanael just wants to know more.
Or he is troubled by the certainty that his friend has.
Without any kind of judgment, think about your response to God’s invitation.
Do the words weary or questioning describe you?
If not, think about someone who embodies those qualities.
What is a gift that someone like Nathanael could bring to the ministry of Christ in the world?

Sometimes in our relationships with others, we find ourselves at odds with someone.
They don’t share our joy… or frustration. They ask hard questions. Or push back.
In a world of division, this might feel more common than ever.
What do you do when others react this way?
Are you hurt? Do you give them space? Do you turn away from them? Are you persistent? Do you try to argue your point?
Think about how Philip replies to his friend.
He isn’t put off by the skepticism, he doesn’t push back.
He simply offers another invitation.
“Come and see.”
Think about someone in your life you disagree with. About politics, about covid, about Jesus…
How might you ask them to “come and see”?
To invite them in rather than push them away.

Our scripture today concludes with Nathanael meeting Jesus.
A Jesus who sees him.
A Jesus who knows him.
Inside and out.
Before they ever spoke, Jesus knew his questions and his honesty.
What some people might name as a fault, Jesus sees as a gift.
And when he realizes God knows him so intimately…
That God loves him…
And welcomes him…
And accepts him…
As he is…
He cries out his profession of faith.
This same Jesus that saw Nathanael sees you.
Knows you.
Whether you are exuberant like Philip…
Or questioning like Nathanael…
Or quiet…
Or angry…
Or grieving…
Or weary…
Whatever you are today, know this.
You are known by God.
You are invited and welcomed by God.
You are a gift of God to this world.
Amen.

Follow the Star: Identity

Posted on January 10, 2021Leave a comment

Text: Mark 1:4-11

Last week, we invited you to follow the star of the Magi…
Not the one in the sky, but the one in the manger.
The one who drew them over mountains and deserts and seas.

I love how the Message translation makes clear that the object we are seeking and following is none other than Jesus.
“The star in this drama,” John the Baptist says, “will change your life.”

John called people to the river to confess and repent.
To wash away their old life and make a commitment to a new one.
It was a simple invitation and people were drawn by this call.
They were eager to embrace this tangible, physical, vigorous act of letting themselves be washed clean.
As the cold water drifted by them, the current took their sins away.

Wouldn’t it be amazing if it was that easy?
Just hop in the river and everything is better?

But even John the Baptizer knew this wasn’t the end of the story.
It wasn’t enough.
You couldn’t just say “I’m sorry.”
You actually had to start living differently and there was only one person who had the power to change people from the inside-out.
So he started preparing people for the true star of this show, the mighty and powerful one who would wash people not with water, but with the very Spirit of God.
And then, Jesus appeared.
He showed up at that very same river and spot and he was baptized, too.

Mark tells us that Jesus saw the heavens open and the Holy Spirit come down.
Like a dove diving from the heavens it rested upon him.
And then there was a voice.
“You are my son.
You are chosen and marked by my love.
You are the pride of my life.“

If last week, the star word we focused on was epiphany, this week it is identity.
And clearly, we discover the identity of Jesus in this passage.
God makes it pretty clear who this guy standing in the water is.
God’s Son.
Beloved.
Delightful.

But if this was the identity of Jesus Christ, why did he need to be baptized?
Why did he enter the water in the first place?
Certainly not because he needed to repent or because he was unclean.
No… Jesus entered the water for us.
He stepped into the water so that you could enter the water.
So that you could let go of your sins.
So that we might be made sons and daughters and children of God.
So that the Holy Spirit might descend and flow into our lives.
As the Orthodox baptismal liturgy asserts: “He emerges from the waters and uplifts the world with Him.”

You see, baptism began as a simple ritual washing, but it was transformed by Christ in this holy and sacred moment into a mark that is stamped on your soul and can never go away.
“You are mine,” God says.
“You are beloved,” God says.
“Don’t you ever forget how proud I am of you.”
This is who you are now.
This is your very identity.
Chosen and beloved of God.

Martin Luther once said that every time we wash our hands or our face we should remember our baptism.
Every time we should remember that we are a child of God.
In fact, he was known to often make the sign of a cross on his forehead and whisper softly to himself, “I am baptized.”

That might be easy to remember on the days when the sun is shining and all is right with the world, but it is something we need to remember on the tough days as well.
And, well, we’ve known some tough days lately.
Wednesday, as I was working on writing and praying over the star words that we mailed out this week I got a notification from a colleague that said, “turn on your television.”
I sat at my desk shaking, stunned by the images unfolding on the screen.
T-shirts celebrating the holocaust, the confederate flag paraded through the halls of congress, the large cross being erected on the lawn.
And so many were quick to say: “this is not who we are.”

Except, it is.
This world is broken, and bleeding, and bruised…
As my colleague Diane Kenaston wrote, “This is exactly who we are. We’re shaped by white supremacy, lust for power, violence, scapegoating, fear, and individualism. We’re shaped by sin. And it’s for that reason that we need the transforming love of God… This is who we are, but this is not who we have to be.”

We are called to claim an identity that calls us to love and serve and heal and forgive.
“You are mine,” God says. “You are beloved…. Don’t forget it.”
In the act of baptism in our tradition, it is not simply that God’s Spirit washes over us.
God gives us the power to actually be different.
And so with God’s help, we take vows.
We make promises to reject spiritual evil and the forces of this world.
We promise to resist injustice and oppression.
We promise to stand with God not political leaders… of either party.
We promise to trust in God’s grace.
And all of that becomes part of our identity, too.

Sometimes we are called to do that in small ways. Nadia Bolz-Weber writes:
“The first move of the devil is always the same. Attack your identity as the beloved with whom God is well pleased… nowhere are we more prone to encroaching darkness than when we are stepping into the light. If you have ever experienced sudden discouragement in the midst of healthy decisions, or if there is a toxic thought that will always send you spiraling down, or if there is a particular temptation that is your weakness, then I make the following suggestion: take a note from Martin Luther’s playbook and defiantly shout back at this darkness “I am Baptized”…”
She goes on to recount how when faced with his own doubt and discouragement Luther was known to throw ink pots or other small items in whatever direction he felt a sense of spiritual malevolence… he could sometimes be heard throughout the castle shouting “I AM BAPTIZED!”

I have to admit that this sermon was not only complete, but had already been printed and mailed out to about fifty households when I turned on the news on Wednesday afternoon.
And as I sat there at my desk I found myself whispering to myself… I am baptized… I am baptized…
But I also wondered how many of the people in that crowd had been baptized, too.
I wondered about how that moment might have been different if their pastor had told them that celebrating the holocaust was evil.
Or if their Sunday School teacher had commented on their facebook post and challenged their white supremacy.
Or if they had heard a sermon that made it clear our allegiance is to God and not the leaders of this world.
Or maybe if there had been someone in their life besides the leader of our country who told them… You are loved. You are special.
And then I wondered whether I had actually done… or if I have failed to do those things.
Where have I been complicit in this moment.

The words of my dear friend and colleague, Rev. Diane Kenaston keep ringing through my head.
“This is who we are, but this is not who we have to be.”
And as we come to these waters, we remember the identity that God calls us to embody.
And God gives us the strength to face the world in all of its reality.
Good and bad.
Tragedy and pain.
Joy and celebration.
And the Holy Spirit helps us to say yes to the things that bring life and no to the things that bring death.
But we cannot do it without our baptisms.
We cannot do it if we forget that the Spirit has our back.
“You are mine,” God says. “Chosen and marked by my love, pride of my life.”
In the midst of everything that is wrong, God pours sanctifying grace into our lives so that we can be different.
So that we can remember that we belong to God and that others belong to God, too.
So when violence breaks out we can stand for peace with justice and accountability.
When pain is felt, we can listen to the hurt and offer comfort without being overwhelmed.
When evil rears its ugly head, we can stand up, and let God shine through us.
And when we have failed, God forgives and renews and gives us the grace to try again.
Thanks be to God. Amen.

Follow the Star : Epiphany

Posted on January 3, 2021Leave a comment

Has God ever spoken to you?
Have you ever seen a sign?
Heard a voice?
Met God in a dream?

As I was finishing up my senior year of high school, I was kind of a mess. I could not figure out where I wanted to go to college, and my indecision was creating a lot of anxiety. I worried that if I made the wrong choice it would affect everything from that point on in my life.
I had this portable filing box filled with folders and acceptance letters and brochures and applications and I was overwhelmed by it all.
But one afternoon, I found myself driving home from a youth event and I knew….
Like a light bulb turning on above my head…
I knew that I was going to Simpson College.
Never mind that it wasn’t even one of the schools in my folders or that I hadn’t even applied yet.
It just came to me and felt like everything was suddenly right with the world.

The word Epiphany means “an appearance or manifestation” and the twelfth day after Christmas we celebrate how God’s love became manifest in human form
And we remember all of the people who first experienced this revelation of good news: the shepherds in the fields, Mary and Joseph, and the wise men from the East.

I keep thinking about how God acted and spoke and moved and showed up in the lives of these totally unrelated people from different background and realities.
Some of them might not even have known the God of the Israelites.
But through dreams and signs and nudges and messengers, God showed up in their lives.
As the prophet, Isaiah, cried out…
Arise! Shine! For your light has come… though darkness covers the earth and gloom the nations, the Lord will shine upon you… Nations will come to your light and kings to your dawning radiance. (60:1-3)
Not just the faithful people of God would be drawn near, but nations! Kings! Strangers! Unbelievers!

As Matthew tells us, it wasn’t simply a star in the sky that drew the magi to Bethlehem.
They recognized that the star itself was a sign, a message of something bigger. It was the light of Christ himself, revealed to the entire world, that pulled those magi over mountains and deserts and seas to the countryside surrounding Jerusalem.
Before they even knew who he would become or what it meant for their lives, this epiphany, appearance, manifestation, changed their lives.
They felt a nudge to move, to act, to respond.
And they did.

When John Wesley talked about the grace that transforms our lives, he started out by talking about prevenient grace.
The grace that goes before us.
The grace that shows up in the lives of people before they even know who God is.
Prevenient grace is why we baptize little babies.
It was the neighbor who reached out to invite you to come to church.
It was website you stumbled across when you were looking for a new faith home.
It was the faithful actions of your parents and grandparents that laid a foundation for you.
Prevenient grace is that first nudge.
The invitation.
The awareness of a different kind of possibility.
A sign. A star. A word.
Something that shifts.
We don’t always know yet how, or why, or what it means, but it changes us.

I saw how many of you were drawn out of your homes just a couple of weeks ago to catch a glimpse of that great conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter in the sky. While it was possible to see with your naked eye or through binoculars, this particular photo was made available by Greg Hogan. It was taken as a long exposure shot from central Georgia.
This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience… after all it has been 800 years since these planets appeared so closely.
But I think part of what was so powerful about this experience is that we are hungry for light.
We are hungry for hope.
We are hungry for just a glimmer of possibility and joy.
We find ourselves at the start of a new year, and yet still in the midst of a pandemic.
Our world, feels kind of bleak right now.
But so it was at the time of Jesus’ birth and in the time of Isaiah.
Forces of death and violence, power and pride lurked around every corner.
They knew the despair of exile and occupation.
They knew isolation and helplessness.
But into their midst, Isaiah heard God’s call:
“Arise! Shine! Lift up your Eyes!”
In the midst of everything that is going wrong, LOOK!
Look for those glimmers of grace.
Those indications of hope.
Those moments of possibility.
Pay attention to the invitation…
See what God is doing all around you…
The magi in the East recognized that this star was leading them on a journey into the unknown. And they chose to follow the star that led them to Jesus.

This Epiphany, in the midst of everything happening in our world that feels bleak and difficult, I want to invite you to get up. To shine. To pay attention.
I want to invite you on a journey.
For the last few years on this Sunday, we have come forward to draw star words.
Each star came with a word, an intention, a little nudge from God… something to pay attention to in the coming year.
This year, rather than each drawing our own words, we are going to follow the stars together.
We are going to take time each Sunday to focus on how a few star words speak into our lives.
How they call us to go deeper.
Live more faithfully.
Grow in our discipleship.
And just like the magi, I want to invite you to not only be willing to offer your gifts with God… but I want to invite you to be open to what God might be giving to you in this journey.

You know, when I had that epiphany to go to Simpson College, I had no clue what God had in store for me.
Heck, Simpson didn’t even have a meteorology department and that was what I intended to study.
But I opened myself to the possibilities and how I could best serve God and just look where I ended up.
It was all because I allowed myself to pay attention to those nudges and I decided to take a risk and follow them.

Whether we are new to this faith or we have been coming to church for nearly a century… God is still shining in your life.
God is still guiding you.
God is still speaking… nudging… showing up…
God is still creating a new thing in you….
Renewing you…
Transforming you…
So that every one of us might become more and more like Christ.

Friends, a star is shining in the sky.
In a world that is bleak and frustrated and tired and worn out, there is a glimmer of possibility.
Of something new.
Unknown.
And if you open your life up to it…
If you take one step… and then another…
If you bring along some friends…
If you let that nudge work in your life…
It just might change everything.

May it be so…

No Christmas without Consent and Commitment

Posted on December 27, 2020Leave a comment

One Christmas, when my niece was about six years old, I carefully wrapped up a gently loved American Girls doll and accessories that had belonged to a dear friend of mine.
When Cami unwrapped that gift, she literally burst into tears.
“I’ve wanted one of these for my whole life!” she cried out between sobs!

Have you ever waited your entire life for something?
Have you ever been so moved by the experience that it overwhelmed you? Overpowered you? Changed everything about you?
The gospel of Luke tells us about a particular man who had been waiting his whole life for the birth of God’s savior… a man named Simeon.

While the Advent journey takes us through an emotional rollercoaster of joy, fear, humility, and anticipation, there is no other emotion to guide the days after Christmas than pure celebration. Each of the readings assigned for this Sunday call us to take a deep breath of relief, to look around at the beauty of what God has done, and to simply enjoy it.
The gospel of Luke tells us about a particular man who had been waiting his whole life for the birth of God’s savior… a man named Simeon.
Simeon was a man filled with the Holy Spirit, and long ago a promise was made to him that he would not see death until the Messiah had come.
Most people were looking for a leader to rise above the people – a powerful and spiritual figure.
But when this infant child crossed his path, Simeon knew that the promise had been fulfilled.
In this painting by Ron DiCianni, you can sense that overwhelming, outpouring of relief and gratitude and praise as he holds this tiny, precious child.
You see, Simeon understood that this child would grow to become not just a light of revelation to his Jewish brothers and sisters, but would be the light of salvation to all the world.
This man had given his whole life to God and in this moment, he understood what it was all for.
But there was something more.
The Holy Spirit helped him to understand that this path to salvation would be a heart-breaking journey for Mary and Joseph.
“This boy is assigned to be the cause of the falling and rising of many in Israel and to be a sign that generates opposition… a sword will pierce your innermost being too.”

Throughout Advent, we have heard the stories of the women who were part of the genealogy of Jesus… but there is one remaining.
The angel Gabriel appeared before a young woman named Mary.
She is proclaimed to be favored in God’s eyes, blessed among all women, for she will bear a child who will be called the Son of God.
I have always considered being found favored in God’s eyes to nothing but joy, but as this young woman sat there, wide awake, talking with a messenger from God, I wonder what was going through her mind.
Now that we have read through some of these ancestral stories over Advent, I find that God’s favor isn’t always filled with abundance.
As Helen Pearson ponders, “Maybe she imagined what Sarah, pregnant at ninety because God favored her, must have experienced. She might have recalled Abraham, favored by God yet commanded to sacrifice his only son… Perhaps she remembered Joseph, the favored one, sold into slavery by his brothers… Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and Bathsheba found favor with God, but they suffered betrayal deaths, scandals, and isolation… Finding favor? What might it mean?” (Mother Roots, p229)
All she can know in this moment is that saying yes to what God wants to do in her life, with her life, through her life, will not be a walk in the park.
As that famous… or maybe infamous Christmas song goes, “Mary, did you know?”
Maybe not every detail…
But she understood what it meant to follow God.
She knew that not only would her life be transformed.
As she sang out in praises to her cousin Elizabeth, in words that have remained with us all throughout the season of Advent,
“God will pull down the powerful from their thrones and lift up the lowly. God will fill the hungry will good things and send the rich away empty.”
She knew the world would be transformed, turned upside down and inside out.
And that kind of work is messy, and hard, and painful, and oh so good and needed.
And so Mary gives her consent to everything that this miracle will entail: “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”
We witness her willingness to accept the joyful burden that God is bestowing upon her.
We hear her song of praise to the God who has come to her, a lowly servant. “Let it be with me according to your word.” And we forget how difficult it must have been to not only accept this joyful burden with those words, but to carry that joyful burden in her life.

Two thousand some years ago, a young woman, a girl really, said “yes” to God’s invitation – and the world was forever changed.
But then, if you think about it, that was how God had been working all along.
From the very beginning, the people of God were transformed and moved along and inspired by ordinary nobodies who hesitantly said “yes” to God.
Think of the widow, Tamar… the prostitute, Rahab… the immigrant, Ruth… the victim, Bathsheba…
Each of them, in their own way, said “let it be with me according to your word.”
They remembered God’s promises and lived the rest of their lives committed to obeying and fulfilling those promises.
And God accomplished amazing things through them.

Right now, we find ourselves celebrating the good thing that God has done in our midst.
But I find myself left with a question.
What are we doing to actively wait and look out, like Simeon had, for the new thing that God is about to do?
When the call of God rings out again, how will we respond?
You see, we are not all that different from these faithful, ordinary folks in these stories.
We are imperfect people with imperfect lives and yet we are asked to say yes to God.
Not a temporary commitment, like a new years resolution that we make today and forget about tomorrow…
We have been asked to give our lives to following Jesus Christ.
Can you turn your heart to God and say, “let it be with me according to your word.”?
Are you ready, are you prepared for something new to be born within your spirit?
Within this community?
Are we ready for Christ to enter our midst, our hearts?
Does that idea terrify you?
You know what. It terrifies me a little bit.
What is so scary is that saying yes means everything will change.
In fact, I think we all hope that we have said yes in the past, but because we have just kind of kept on the same path we’ve always been on, nothing has actually happened.
If we want to experience the kind of transformation God is brining into this world, we have to give ourselves to God completely.
It’s not just about saying yes. It is about continuing to say yes every single day.
Everything changed for Tamar. Everything changed for Rahab. Everything changed for Ruth. Everything changed for Bathsheba.
Everything changed for every single one of those disciples who put down their nets and their tax bags and decided to follow Christ.
But you know what… they didn’t have to do it alone.
And when someday, we find the courage to say yes to God, we will not be left on our own either.
Because while God freely chooses to use ordinary people to accomplish his will – God also gives us everything that we need.

Starting next week, with this new year, we are going to spend a few weeks working and praying and studying together and thinking about what it might mean to say yes.
What it might mean to truly follow Christ.
What it might mean to allow God to transform our lives.
I’m excited about the journey… I hope you will be too.

No Christmas Without Joy and Acceptance

Posted on December 13, 2020Leave a comment

All through this Advent season we are exploring the complicated family tree of Jesus of Nazareth Matthew shares with us.
Their stories are a legacy of courage and faith, justice and peace, that shape how we understand our Savior in the manger of Bethlehem.
Today, we remember that there would be no Christmas, no Jesus, no salvation without Ruth.
Salmon was the father of Boaz, whose mother was Rahab.
Boaz was the father of Obed, whose mother was Ruth.
Obed was the father of Jesse.
Jesse was the father of David the king. (Matthew 1: 5-6)
So let us listen today, for how God moves through unexpected people and in unexpected ways to bring to us a redeemer…

Our story begins in Bethlehem itself.
Bethlehem, or “House of Bread.”
A place of abundance is overrun by famine.
Naomi and her husband, Elimelech, had two sons and lived contently within the city in the time of the judges.
It was a time without a centralized government, with great instability and turmoil.
When they could no longer make a future for themselves within their hometown, they fled and became refugees.
We might see their faces in the images of refugees from Syria and Iraq and northern Africa today… Camping in muddy fields, clothes wet from the journey, their only possessions what they could carry, completely unsure if they will be welcomed wherever they arrive.
The place they come to call home is the land of Moab.
Now, it is important at this point to consider what it meant for them to find a home here. The Moabites were actually distant cousins of the Israelites, tracing their lineage all the way back to Abraham’s nephew, Lot and his daughters.
The Ammonites and the Moabites are their descendants and were regarded with disdain and suspicion.
As the story of the people of Israel continues, these distant cousins became enemies.
They refused hospitality to the Israelites as they fled from Egypt and watched with great unease as Joshua and his people conquered the land.
Our story today is just one generation removed from this conflict, yet Naomi and Elimelech seek refuge there.
Just as they establish themselves, Elimelech dies, leaving Naomi and her two boys, Mahlon and Kilion.
Years pass. They grow up and they each marry women from that land… Moabite women… Ruth and Orpah.
But then one son after the other dies.
As Helen Pearson notes, “This healthy family had earlier departed a sick land only to become sick in a healthy land. Death canceled hope, and Naomi became a stranger in a strange land.” (p. 115)
She plans to return to Bethlehem to live as a widow… resigned to beg for the rest of her sad and bitter life. And she sends the Moabite daughters-in-law away, releasing them from any obligations with the opportunity to start anew.
Naomi prays that God would show them the same kind of loving-kindness, chesed, that they and their people had shown to them as strangers.
They weep. They grieve. They lament all they have lost.
And then… one of these daughters, Ruth, refuses to leave Naomi’s side.
It is an act of loving-kindness… unmerited love and grace and mercy shown to Naomi.
Even more than that.
Ruth casts her lot with the God of Naomi.
Ruth commits herself to a life where she will be the stranger and the foreigner, a grieving widow with no tangible possibilities.

You know, this year we have ourselves experienced grief, loss, tragedy, and disruption.
The loss of jobs and income.
The grief over loved ones we have lost.
The disruption of our routines where everything normal and familiar was taken from us.
We have been cut off from one another and have had to miss out on times of celebration.
There have been moments where we felt like Naomi and Ruth in this moment… grieving, lonely, and depressed.
As they make the journey back to Bethlehem, this despair so overtakes Naomi that she begs people to call her Mara – The Bitter One.

What she fails to recognize in this moment is that she is, in fact, not alone.
Ruth is by her side.
She had not been completely abandoned.
And friends… you have not been abandoned in this season either.
In small ways and in big ways, we have walked with each other through the dark and shadowy valleys and show up with cards and calls and food and connection.

Ruth takes the initiative to provide for them by going out to glean in the fields.
She is essentially going to pick up the small grains that are left on the ground after the harvesters have done their work.
It was back-breaking work, demeaning work, dangerous work.
She was a Moabite stranger, with no one to look out for her, utterly at the mercy of the field hands.
Remember how Naomi prayed that God would show her daughters-in-law kindness?
While she is out there working, a man named Boaz sees her.
Boaz, the son of Salmon, whose mother was Rahab.
Rahab the prostitute.
Rahab who herself was a foreign woman.
Rahab who herself risked everything to secure a future for her family.
Rahab who had faith in the God of Israel.
Rahab who welcomed the spies in hospitality and in peace.
You can’t ignore that her story has impacted the character of her son.
Boaz is moved not only by her work-ethic, but also by the way in which she sacrificed and acted to stand beside Naomi. He decides to show her favor and protection.
He make sure she has access to the best fields, has plenty to eat and drink, and protects her from his own men.

This act of favor and kindness is like a spark of life for Naomi.
She realizes that Boaz was a distant relative, someone who could redeem her husband’s property and provide for their future.
The law of levirate marriage that we heard about in the story of Tamar couldn’t apply here because Naomi had no other children.
But a kinsman redeemer could intervene. As Helen Pearson notes, they had “the obligation and duty to provide security, especially for widows and the poor; to restore the honor and prestige of the family; and to protect the interests, property, and inheritance of his extended family.” (p. 128)
Boaz could act to protect Naomi, but Ruth would remain vulnerable.
And so Naomi hatches up a plan for them to both get what they needed.
Ruth would present herself to Boaz as a potential wife.
If I had more time today, we’d get into the details of this drunken encounter on the threshing floor, but let’s just say, Boaz is willing and eager to take Ruth as his own and to take on the role of redeeming Elimelech’s property.
After going through all of the proper channels, Boaz marries Ruth and protects the legacy of Elimelech, Kilian and Mahlon.
They give birth to a child, Obed, and Naomi rediscovers the meaning of joy and life and abundance through her grandchild.

One the scriptures we will explore this week in our daily devotions is Psalm 126.
It is a song that rings out in times of exile and struggle:
Lord, change our circumstances for the better, like dry streams in the desert waste!
Let those who plant with tears reap the harvest with joyful shouts.
Let those who go out, crying and carrying their seed,
Come home with joyful shouts, carrying bales of grain!
Ruth and Naomi went out with tears, but God acted in their lives and they came home with joyful shouts.
And as we continue this journey to the manger, we see their legacy in the story of Jesus.
You see, when Joseph discovered his fiancée was pregnant, he probably cried out: Lord, change our circumstances! But he stuck by Mary, like Ruth stuck by Naomi.
When the holy family had to feel to a strange land and flee from the wrath of Herod, they probably cried out: Lord, change our circumstances! But God journeyed with them, as God did these weary refugees.
All along the way, acts of hospitality and gifts of kindness sustained their parched spirits.
We see how Christ takes up this legacy as he acts to bring life and joy and abundance in the midst of moments of despair and hunger and longing.
He brings the dead to life.
He feeds the multitudes.
He shows compassion and kindness upon strangers and foreigners.
Those who plant with tears reap a harvest of joyful shouts.

In this season of Advent, we are called to prepare our hearts and our lives for Jesus Christ.
We are called to make a home in our hearts for Christ to dwell.
And we do so by remembering the legacy of these faithful ancestors and allowing it to transform our own lives.
After all, there would have been no Christmas without Ruth.
When we find ourselves, as Naomi did, swallowed up by despair and grief, joy is discovered when we realize that others are journeying with us and that we are not, in fact, alone.
Your acts of connection, the cards you send and the calls you make, the cookies you drop off at a neighbor’s door… all of these things are like seeds of joy that you can plant every single day.
But I’m also struck by the larger forces that this story brings into focus.
This is a world in which asylum seekers and refugees who have left their homes with tears are crying out. At the end of 2019, an estimated 26 million people had sought refuge from violence war, famine and climate disasters. Another 33.4 million people were internally displaced, living in shelters and camps within their own country due to violence or disaster.
But we don’t have to even think globally to be aware of the deep need and hunger for support for people right here in our own neighborhood who rely upon the food pantry and our social services to stay in their homes or to make it through a long, cold winter.
Lord, change their circumstances for the better!
And then I realize that God acts through you and me.
God acted through the Moabites who welcomed refugees into their land.
And God acted through the compassionate hospitality and protection of Boaz and the community in Bethlehem that provided for Ruth and Naomi.
Your acts of kindness, generosity and welcome can make an incredible difference, changing circumstances, providing possibility, filling mouths with laugher and joy and abundance.
This next weekend, we are hosting a drive-through food drive for the DMARC Food Pantry Network. Let us pour out joy and abundance and grace and love to our neighbors during this difficult season.

No Christmas without Justice and Hope

Posted on November 29, 2020Leave a comment

Text: Genesis 38: 1-30

In Diana Butler Bass’s book, Grounded, she reminds us that our roots are far deeper than our memories.
We are shaped and influenced by generations that have come and gone, whether or not we remember their stories.

In one of my pastoral care classes in seminary we studied family systems and how the patterns and stories of our ancestors influence us today.
We were asked to map out our family tree and to notice how our actions are influenced by the stories we find.
In fact, I brought my own family system with me today… five generations worth of people who lived and loved and died.
I have discovered through this process the strength of matriarchs, the importance we place on loyalty and fidelity, a deep sense of togetherness, but also why I carry such heavy expectations for myself.

However, the story of my identity is not limited to this family tree.
As a person of faith, my ancestral line and spiritual heritage is found all throughout the pages of scripture.
And so during this season of Advent, as we prepare for Christ to make a home in our lives once again, I find myself remembering his own family tree.
Matthew included in his genealogy of Jesus familiar names like Abraham and Judah and David. But he also breaks with custom to specifically name four women: Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and Bathsheba.
Each week during Advent, we will be exploring their stories to discover how they shape our lives.
How do they ground our sense of purpose and identity?
How do they help us navigate the trials and tribulations of our lives?
How might we call upon these ancestors and their faith in God to help us persevere in our own journey?

Too often, we have neglected their stories and their voices, but this Advent, we will remember each one.
After all, there would be no Christmas without them.
So let’s start where Matthew does:
Abraham was the father of Isaac.
Isaac was the father of Jacob.
Jacob was the father of Judah and his brothers.
Judah was the father of Perez and Zerah, whose mother was Tamar.

Her story begins in Genesis, chapter 38:
6 Judah married his oldest son Er to a woman named Tamar.
If we situate her story in its context, there are some interesting family dynamics to explore.
First of all, there is a pattern in this family of God’s promises being passed down not through the eldest son, but through the favored one.
Trickery and deception is part of this family’s DNA. Abraham lied about Sarah being his wife. Jacob stole the blessing from Esau. In the chapter right before we meet Tamar, Jacob’s sons turn on their sibling Joseph, their father’s favorite.
While some wanted to kill him, Judah, the fourth born, proposed they sell him into slavery but they lie and tell their father Joseph is dead.
As this chapter begins, Judah, like ancestors before him, moves off on his own into Canaanite territory, marries, and has three sons. His seeks to establish his own legacy.
His eldest, Er, marries Tamar, but things are not happily ever after.
7 But the Lord considered Judah’s oldest son Er immoral, and the Lord put him to death.
Tamar is left vulnerable.
She has no children.
She is no longer a virgin.
Her only hope for security comes through a custom of the day called levirate marriage.

It provided a way to care for a widow and continue the family line by requiring the brother of the deceased to step in and produce a son.
But Er’s brother, Onan, was just as bad as his brother.
He refused to plant his seed and complete the task because it would diminish his own inheritance and legacy. Yet, he continued to use Tamar as he pleased.
As Tom Fuerst notes, “Onan makes an active choice to deny Tamar justice and leave her in a position of vulnerability, where her safety, identity, and future remain questionable.” (Underdogs and Outsiders, p. 20)
So, God strikes Onan dead, too.

Under the law, Judah had two options.
He could continue to welcome her in his home, betrothed to his youngest, who was still a child.
Or he could release with an unsandaling ceremony, allowing her the freedom to marry again (Deuteronomy 25:7-10).
He does neither.
He sends her away to live as a widow in her father’s home.
Helen Pearson notes in her book Mother Roots that “as long as Judah had a son, he had no right to turn her away and give her back to her father, an act of total rejection on Judah’s part and an even greater humiliation for Tamar.” (p.56)
She was trapped by an unjust application of the law.
All she could do was wait and hope.
Wait for a child to grow up.
Hope that Judah and Shelah would fulfill their promises.
And so, she waited and hope and prayed for justice.

Years passed.
Shelah became a man, but Judah failed to act.
Rather than sit back and wait and continue to be unjustly treated, Tamar made a decision.
She cast off her widows robes, put on the veil of a virgin, and went to confront him.
Maybe the confrontation itself would remind Judah of what was right and he would take her home to his son, Shelah.
Maybe she was going to press for her release and freedom by spitting in his face and taking off his sandal, as the law allowed.
Either way, there was hope and possibility for justice to be done and for her to be restored.

But Judah doesn’t recognize her.
More than that, he thinks she is a prostitute.
And he is lonely.
He’s far from home, his wife is now dead, no one will know…
And so he propositions her.

I think Tamar’s game plan changes in this moment.
A new possibility for fulfilling the law and bringing about justice comes into being.
As Helen Pearson writes, “With sacred intent Tamar acted to preserve the name and inheritance of her dead husbands, Judah’s sons. Trusting her life to the Lord of the Hebrews, Tamar believed that justice and redemption would come to her.” (p. 60)
She makes a deal with him.
And the payment for her services is secured with a deposit: Judah’s seal, cord, and staff.
They were markers of his identity, “symbols of his authority” (Mother Roots, p. 59), and would create a kind of security for Tamar if in fact this plan works as intended.
It does. Tamar conceives.

Word gets back to Judah that his widowed daughter-in-law is pregnant, and NOW he decides to uphold the law.
The law which required the death penalty for someone having sex outside of marriage.
Conveniently ignoring his own transgressions, he was prepared to condemn her.
But then Tamar produces his seal, his cord, and his staff.
26 Judah recognized them and said, “She’s more righteous than I am, because I didn’t allow her to marry my son Shelah.” Judah never knew her intimately again.
The man who was so quick to judge and condemn is now convicted by her righteousness.
When Tamar gives birth, Judah claims the twin sons as his very own.
A future is secured… not only for Tamar, but for the entire family of Judah.
More than that…
Tamar’s actions are instrumental to God’s plans for the birth of a Savior.

On this first Sunday of Advent, we often focus on hope.
But I am reminded that there can be no hope without the promise of justice.
You see, hope is the force that allows us to keep pursuing what is right in the face of everything that is not.
It is holding on to the possibility that things can and will be different.
We hope because we are unwilling to accept things as they are.
We hope because we believe that there is a future in which dignity and righteousness will prevail.

In the story of Tamar, we discover a situation in which the law designed to provide security and protection was being thwarted.
Judah and Onan and Shelah abandoned the law for their own benefit.
And by refusing to live according to the law, the person it was designed to protect became a victim.
She was forgotten.
Overlooked.
Isolated.
Alone.
Yet she clung to hope.
She remembered God’s promises and God’s laws and worked to bring about God’s justice.
As my colleague, Rev. Elizabeth Grasham writes, “Tamar shines a light into unjust, corrupt, and banal violations of the law and how they hurt women like her and she uses every resource at her disposal to get what she deserves.”

Her legacy became a part of the ministry of our Savior, Jesus Christ.
He called out hypocrisy in the leaders of his time, who used or ignored the law in order to benefit themselves and oppress others.
I think of the story of the woman caught in adultery we find in John 8:1-11.
When she is brought to Jesus by the religious leaders, they wanted to stone her… following the same law that would have condemned Tamar.
But where was the man who had also been involved?
Surely if she had been caught in the act, he had been present as well.
Was this really about the woman, or were they simply using her to make a point and advance their own agendas?
Jesus refuses to play their games and instead confronts their own sinful and guilty hearts.
God’s justice, after all, is not just about getting what we deserve when we have done something wrong.
It is about seeking to restore relationships, repair harm, and rejoice in the dignity of all people.

As we prepare our own hearts and lives for the birth of Christ this year, the story of Tamar invites us to seek justice and to persevere in hope.
Perhaps we have been like Judah: quick to act in our own self-interest without examining how our actions have harmed others.
Advent is a time for us to confess and repent and make things right.
Perhaps we have been like Tamar: forgotten or trapped by situations out of our control.
Advent is a time for us to cling with hope to the promise that God does not forget the downtrodden, but brings about justice for the oppressed.
Perhaps we are simply bystanders in this story, and I am challenged by their own inaction and refusal to name the harm.
Advent is a time for us to use our own voices and bodies to act and bring about the future that we long for, not only for ourselves, but for all of God’s people.
Advent is a time for light to shine on all places of injustice, for truth to be revealed, and hope-filled actions that prepare the way for the child of Mary.
May it be so.