Here am I, send me

Fifth Sunday after Epiphany, February 9, 2025: Isaiah 6:1-8, [9-13]; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5:1-11; Psalm 138

Today we hear two stories of being called, both of which make me a bit uneasy. In Isaiah we hear the story of him being called. In a vision, Isaiah sees the Lord seated on a throne, and seraphs around him. And one of the seraphs brings a burning coal and touches Isaiah’s mouth, saying, “‘Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out‘”. I’m not sure about you, but my first response to having my mouth touched with a burning coal would be “Ouch”!

But that’s not where we go. Instead Isaiah hears the voice of the Lord saying “‘Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?‘”. Isaiah, newly freed from his guilt, responds, “‘Here am I; send me!'” It’s really simple. Here am I, send me.

The story of the calling of the disciples is troubling in another way. Jesus has been teaching from Simon Peter’s boat. After he finished, he told Simon to put out into deeper water and put down his nets. Simon pushes back: they had been fishing all night and caught nothing. But he does as Jesus tells him, and there are so many fish in the nets that he needs his friends, James and John, sons of Zebedee to come and take some, and still their boats are sinking.

Simon Peter’s response is fascinating: he asks Jesus to go away, for he was a sinful man. He understood what had happened as a sign of Jesus’ power. He did not feel able to live up to it. He was (rightly) worried. And Jesus tells him not to be afraid: he will now catch people, not fish.

How are we called? To what are we called? How do we know? And how do we respond? Are we able to say, with Isaiah, “Here I am, send me” ? Or do we, like Simon Peter, hesitate, feel unworthy? In fact we are all unworthy, as were Isaiah, Simon Peter, James and John. So was Paul, who in the epistle lists himself as one of those to whom the risen Jesus had appeared. “I am the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle,” Paul tells his readers at Corinth.

None of the stories of being called that we hear today are easy. It is not as if people wake up one day and say, sure, let me do that! The experience of all Isaiah, Simon Peter, and Paul are all a little frightening. Hot coals? A sinking boat? Temporary blindness? Not all of us have dramatic experiences of calling. Instead we find ourselves doing something, and discovering that it is our calling.

The passage from Isaiah is one of the two from Hebrew scriptures that is used at ordinations of priests. But it is not only the clergy who are called. We are all called through our baptismal vows to “seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving [our] neighbor as ourself.” Also, to “strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being”. The ways in which we do these things defines our calling.

Most of us do not, like Simon Peter, James and John, drop everything to follow Jesus. But in whatever way, we do the work to which we have been called. Sometimes it is in the church, but not always: we carry the church into the world. Sometimes we see a need where we can serve, and we do it. Or maybe someone asks us to take something on, and we do so. We use our talents and skills as best we can to make the world a better place.

We live in a world where many are hurting. People are afraid, hurt, or lonely. They are hungry and homeless. Victims of war and violence, poverty and hunger, seek a better life. Children need adults who care about them, not just their parents. When we see a need, we can respond with kindness, with the love that Jesus shared. Maybe sometimes just making kindness the center is a good start. “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me.” (Matt. 25:40)

As we see needs in the world, or in our daily lives, let us listen to God’s voice. “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” May we find ways to respond, “Here am I; send me!”

My eyes have seen your salvation

The Presentation of our Lord, February 2, 2025: Malachi 3:1-4; Hebrews 2:14-18; Luke 2:22-40; Psalm 84 or Psalm 24:7-10

Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace,
according to your word;

for my eyes have seen your salvation,
which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples,

a light for revelation to the Gentiles
and for glory to your people Israel.

This is the Song of Simeon, one of the canticles we use regularly in evening prayer: the rubrics have us read either this or the Magnificat in each service. It is also a regular part of compline, the service that ends the day. It is an affirmation of hope, offered by an old man seeing the baby Jesus when he was presented in the temple.

Today’s gospel places Simeon’s song in context, and what interests me is how he recognized Jesus as special, when Jesus was just 40 days old. So too does the old woman, Anna, who prays in the temple day and night. How do we recognize things? When I was young, I remember my mother holding a baby who was about 6 weeks old, and saying, “This child will do what she wants”. And indeed, as she got older, she did. But my mother could tell from how the baby behaved when held. How did she know?

Somehow both Simeon and Anna knew that Jesus was special. They would not live to see his ministry, but they knew. Simeon told Mary that “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel”; but also that “a sword will pierce your own soul too”.

So Simeon can rejoice, but also know that there is pain to come. It is particularly poignant right now, as many of our neighbors are living in fear. The chaos of government in the last two weeks has terrified many. And yet. My eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples.

This feels abstract, and distant. But part of what we experience as Christians is the way Jesus is present in the here and now, acting through and with people throughout the world. We did not have to be in the Temple to know what Jesus can do: we can see it in our lives and those of the people around us.

This is the theme of the Letter to the Hebrews. Paul tells us that since God’s children share flesh and blood, Jesus himself likewise shared the same things. The incarnation is ongoing. Furthermore, because he himself was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested. We are not alone when we suffer: Jesus is with us.

The Song of Simeon came to be part of the daily monastic office by about the 5th century. It has been said daily for more than 1500 years. I am sure it has been said by many people who were living in fear, or living in doubt. These are words of comfort: we know God is with us, and our salvation is assured. As the psalm tells us, Happy are they who put their trust in you!

May we recognize the signs of the incarnation around us, and hold on to the knowledge that Jesus is with us. May we put our trust in God. And may we be the incarnation for others in all that we do.

If one suffers, all suffer with them

Third Sunday after the Epiphany, January 26, 2025: Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10; 1 Corinthians 12:12-31a; Luke 4:14-21; Psalm 19

“There are many members, yet one body.”

Thus Paul, in the first letter to the Corinthians. What does it mean to be one body when we are clearly divided? This past week we have seen Bishop Mariann Budde reviled publicly for preaching about the dignity of every human being, honesty, and humility. In doing so, she made specific address to the need for compassion and kindness. This is seen as political. At least one person posted on X about the “sin” of empathy.

The truth is, Christians have never been united. The early church was divided as to whether those who were not Jewish needed to follow Jewish law. Later the church was divided about how they understood the nature of Jesus: the Apostles and Nicene Creeds were attempts to craft statements everyone could agree on. Then the church was divided about whether the virtue of the minister determined the validity of the sacraments. And that just takes us to the beginning of the 5th century. I could go on.

How has the church managed these conflicts? There are two ways. Sometimes the church has declared some ideas heretical: thus, the denial of the trinity, for instance, or the idea that those who administer the sacraments must be without fault, are considered heresies. But the church has also divided: the Roman and Eastern churches split over authority, with conflicts between the Pope and the Patriarch. In the sixteenth century, what we now call Protestant churches split from the Roman church, which came to be called Catholic.

Where then in our disagreements is honest disagreement in interpretation, and where is heresy? What is fundamental to our understanding of what it means to be a Christian? We believe that Jesus is the son of God, and became human. As a result, all people are created in the image of God, and we treat them with the respect due to all of God’s creatures. We believe that God commands us to love our neighbors as ourselves. Jesus was crucified, and his suffering is a reminder that God is with us in our suffering. As we say in the creed, we believe that Jesus will come again to judge the living and the dead. And we believe in everlasting life. Different Christians always focus on somes aspect of these propositions more than others, but they are the core of Christian faith.

Paul’s image of the body is a reminder of our need for each other. “If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it.” We manage this understanding of the body of Christ best at a local level, in one community where we share our gifts. The challenge for us as Christians, and as citizens and residents, is to build the connections with other groups, whether other churches, synagogues or mosques, or secular organizations. We need to see how we can all work together for the good of all.

Paul’s reminder to the church at Corinth that they were one body is a sign that they were not acting that way. Our current challenges are not, in other words, anything new.

Jesus was given the scroll of the prophet Isaiah, and he read:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

The he said, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

Our calling is to keep doing the work that Jesus named: bringing good news, releasing captives, let the oppressed go free. We do that because we are one body, and if anyone suffers we all suffer. We do it because Jesus taught that we should love our neighbors as ourselves.

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer.

Do good to those who hate you

Second Sunday after Epiphany, 19 January 2025: Isaiah 62:1-5; 1 Corinthians 12:1-11; John 2:1-11; Psalm 36:5-10

Martin Luther King Jr., Pastor and Martyr Exodus 3:7–12; Psalm 77:11–20; Ephesians 6:10-20; Luke 6:27–36

Today I am juggling two sets of readings: those for the second Sunday after Epiphany, and those for Martin Luther King Jr. Together they give us wisdom for these times.

In the gospel for the second Sunday of Epiphany, we read of Jesus’ first miracle, the wedding at Cana. But what interests me more than the miracle itself is why it happens. It happens because Mary makes it happen. Mary knows. Mary tells Jesus that the wedding has run out of wine. And Jesus’ response is more or less, “It’s none of our business”. But he also tells his mother, “My hour has not yet come.”

So Jesus knows his ministry, and so does his mother. Have they talked about it? Has she helped prepare him for it? It feels here as if there is a pact between them. But Mary is his mother, and she calls the shots. She ignores his protest, and tells the servants to do what Jesus tells them. And so Jesus gives instructions. Unlike some of the later miracle stories, there is no sense of how the miracle happens: Jesus just tells the servants to fill the jars. And there is wine.

Here, at the beginning of his ministry, Jesus is following his mother’s instructions. His mother understands who he is and what he can do. It’s an odd moment. It’s also a reminder to us to listen to others who may call us to ministry. In the epistle, Paul reminds us that we each have different parts in this work. We each have different things to offer, for “there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit”. I have learned over the years that I do not always know, or value, my own gifts. But others have seen my gifts, and helped me to use them.

When we turn to the readings for Martin Luther King, Jr., we find that the gospel gives us guidance on how to live. “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.” That’s a tall order, and I don’t know anyone who does not struggle with it. But Jesus continues, and reminds us that even sinners love those who love them, do good to those who do good to them. Following Jesus here is work.

We live in a world where people on all sides vilify those they disagree with. There is name calling, there is exclusion, and there is sometimes violence. This is very human. Whatever people claim, however, those who do this on all sides are not following the way of Jesus. Loving enemies is hard, but being able to see those with whom we disagree as beloved children of God is what Jesus calls us to do.

“For Zion’s sake I will not keep silent, and for Jerusalem’s sake I will not rest.” Thus Isaiah at the beginning of today’s lesson. Jesus did not keep silent. Neither did Martin Luther King Jr.. Both paid attention to those who were excluded, and gave them a place. Each in their own way took on the established powers of the world they lived in. Each lived out love for their enemies. Both died living out the ministry they had been called to. But in the face of violence, they held on to love. But they were not silent.

Although the readings were not designed to work together, they give us some braided ideas. First, we are not always the best judge of our call. We need to listen to others. But we have different things to offer, and we need to value all the gifts. Whatever our gifts, we are all called to a life of radical love. And we are called also to witness the grief and pain of those who are marginalized. We speak out, but speak out in love.

Tomorrow the nation celebrates the life of Martin Luther King, Jr. May we find the courage to speak out as he did in face of injustice, but also to learn to love our enemies, and know that they too are children of God. And may we listen to those around us who call us to use our gifts in the service of a loving God.

I have called you by name, you are mine

First Sunday after Epiphany, The Baptism of our Lord: Isaiah 43:1-7; Acts 8:14-17; Luke 3:15-17, 21-22; Psalm 29

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. (Isaiah 43:1-2)

Hearing this while watching the terrible fires in Los Angeles is a bit unnerving; as of now, at least 13 people have died, consumed by the flames. Where is God in all this? God is everywhere, it turns out. We often act as if we are all separate, but we are not. It has been extraordinary to watch people reach out. Those I know who have needed to evacuate have had multiple offers of places to go. Fundraisers for people and institutions that have lost their homes have received gifts from around the country. Firefighters have come from around the state, the country and the world to assist in fighting these extraordinary fires. People are helping. The impulse to help, to give, is one way in which we see God present in challenging times.

Today we celebrate the Baptism of our Lord. We may think of baptism as a nice thing we do for little children, but the baptism service makes it clear we are talking about death and resurrection. It’s not just sweetness and light; it is deadly serious. In the thanksgiving over the water,

We thank you, Father, for the water of Baptism. In it we are buried with Christ in his death. By it we share in his resurrection. Through it we are reborn by the Holy Spirit.

We die, and return to life. When Jesus had been baptized into his new life, “the heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased’.”

“With you I am well pleased.” In baptism we join Christ, we share in Christ’s baptism. We too are beloved of God, with whom he is well pleased. Our response to that is attempting to live out all that is promised in Baptism. The service is full of phrases that can shape our lives: “Give them an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love you, and the gift of joy and wonder in all your works.” Wonder and joy! An inquiring and discerning heart! Courage! These are great gifts!

Some phrases are more challenging, but still ones that stay with us: we promise that we will “persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?“. We offer to “seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?” It is good to know we are more or less expected to fall into sin, and we need to admit the ways in which evil can be very hard to resist. And there are certainly neighbors in whom it is difficult to see Christ. But we persevere.

When you face disaster, whether a communal natural disaster like the fires, hurricanes, or flooding, or a more personal one of disease, fire or death, it is easy to feel abandoned by God. Yet today’s readings remind us again and again that we are not alone. God comes to us in those who help us through loss, grief, and struggle. Isaiah promises,

Do not fear, for I am with you; I will bring your offspring from the east, and from the west I will gather you; I will say to the north, “Give them up,” and to the south, “Do not withhold; bring my sons from far away and my daughters from the end of the earth–everyone who is called by my name, whom I created for my glory, whom I formed and made.

In baptism, these promises are echoed. Just as Isaiah tells us that “I have called you by name, you are mine“, the voice of God tells us that “You are my Child, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased“. May we believe it. And let us pray for all those who struggle to believe it.

(From LA Times )

Jesus as a child

Second Sunday after Christmas, January 5, 2025: Jeremiah 31:7-14; Ephesians 1:3-6,15-19a; Matthew 2:13-15,19-23 or Luke 2:41-52; or Matthew 2:1-12; Psalm 84 or 84:1-8

This Sunday, the lectionary offers three choices for the Gospel: two phases of the story of the Wise Men, and the story of Jesus in the temple. These are among the few glimpses we have of Jesus’ life between his birth and his ministry: from birth to age 30, it’s pretty much a blank. As I’ve been thinking about this week’s readings, I’ve been wondering why it matters what Jesus did between birth and his ministry. The accounts we have in the two stories about the wise men are used to show how Jesus fulfills prophecies from the Hebrew scriptures. The passage from Luke on Jesus in the Temple is designed to show the child Jesus growing in wisdom, and claiming his role as the son of God. “Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” This painting, in the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s current Siena exhibit, tells this story in a very human way:

Martini, Simone; Christ Discovered in the Temple; Walker Art Gallery; http://www.artuk.org/artworks/christ-discovered-in-the-temple-97710

It is a family: worried mother (“Where were you”), anxious father (“Look what you did to your mother”) and sullen kid, standing with arms crossed (“I don’t care what you think”). Everyone I know who has seen the exhibit comments on this painting, whose dynamics we all recognize. Jesus is shown as a human child, even though he and his parents all have golden halos.

The gospels on the one hand want us to know that Jesus was always special. But they also want us to know that he was a normal child. Simone Martini’s painting leans into Jesus as a normal kid. The stories we read at Christmas are particularly focused on the dynamic between Jesus as fully human, but with strong indications that he is also fully divine. As Luke says, “And Jesus increased in wisdom and in years, and in divine and human favor.”

What is important about the incarnation is that Jesus was one of us: this is why I love the image of the kid with his arms crossed. He shared our feelings, and many of our experiences. He suffered fear, and pain; he had friends, he did work he thought mattered. That God made himself human is remarkable. And it means that we all have God within us.

At Christmas we are particularly attuned to the gift at the center of our faith, the presence of Jesus, born of a woman, living among us. God participates in the human not from the outside, but from the inside. While the gospel stories all indicate ways Jesus was always different, they also make him very human. As our reading of the gospels moves forward, we will be drawn increasingly into engagement with the divine Jesus.

“His mother treasured all these things in her heart.” Thus Luke remarks on Mary’s response to Jesus’s absence in the Temple. Mary is holding in her heart the way Jesus knows his position as the Son of God. But we need to also hold in our hearts that Jesus is one of us. Both are true, and both are important. May we hold on to both.

The Word became flesh

First Sunday after Christmas, 29 December 2024: Isaiah 61:10-62:3; Galatians 3:23-25; 4:4-7; John 1:1-18; Psalm 147 or 147:13-21

Today’s Gospel is one that I love to listen to, but never fully understand. I will think I understand one sentence, and then the next sentence leaves me baffled. In some ways the center of it is the acknowledgment that when understanding Jesus, we face great mystery. And we need to be comfortable with mystery. For those of us who seek certainty in life (and that is most of us) living with mystery is difficult. But it is central to the Christian life. We can, however, find pieces to hold on to.

In the beginning was the word: God called the world to being with words, and God has been talking to us ever since. We (collectively) have not always listened, and the biblical story is one of humans’ repeated failures to listen, and God’s continuing willingness to talk to us. But throughout history, we have also been talking to God: in thanks, in grief, in hope. As we read the psalms every Sunday, we hear all of these emotions. And words do not just form a way of connecting (if imperfectly) to God, but also to each other.

John starts his gospel by reminding us of the power of words. What we know is that words can both bind us together and drive us apart. Learning to listen, to both God and to each other, is critical.

And the Word became flesh and lived among us. The incarnation is a surprise. First a baby, born to a young woman who was traveling and unable to find lodging. So vulnerable. And the baby grows into a man who, at the age of 30, starts teaching around the Sea of Galilee. His teaching are, like the song his mother sang with her cousin Elizabeth, fairly standard Jewish teachings. He reminded his listeners of God’s love, the importance of protecting the poor and marginalized, and the inclusion of all. He asked his followers to be neighbors to those they encountered.

That God took the form of a person was unexpected. But it is a continuation, John suggests, of the long conversation God had been having with his people. God is among us, talking to us. We just have to listen. The challenge, as it has been for God’s people throughout the centuries, is to know who we should listen to. All sorts of people claim to speak for God, and they say many different things.

In sorting through the noise, it helps to remember the start of the story: God speaks to us of connection, of love, and of mercy. God’s word calls us together, and does not separate us. God is among us, calling us to welcome the stranger, feed the hungry, and set the prisoners free. God calls us to include, not exclude. God, Mary tells us, turns the established world upside down.

As we encounter the mystery of the incarnation, we can grab corners to understand. May we listen carefully, and respond. And then keep up the conversation with God and each other.

A child has been born to us

Christmas, December 25: Isaiah 9:2-7; Titus 2:11-14; Luke 2:1-14(15-20); Psalm 96

When the angels show up for the shepherds, with “the glory of the Lord” shining around them, the shepherds were (rightly) terrified. Terror was the appropriate response to seeing the glory of the Lord. Moses felt it too, when he saw the burning bush.

We spend a great deal of time trying to make Christmas seem safe, to domesticate it: after all, there’s this little baby. But I wonder if part of what we are doing is hiding from the ways it is also terrifying, as important things often are. A child has been born to us, Isaiah tells us. Titus tells us that “the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all”. And then we have the shepherds. They were terrified, but had enough confidence in the angel to do what they were told. They saw the baby, and returned “glorifying and praising God”.

The arrival of the Christ child can be both, after all. It is humbling to think that God took the form of a baby. The vulnerability of a child is always terrifying. And if God is vulnerable this way, so are we. Loss is part of the experience of being human. People die, fire destroys homes, war destroys communities. There is no magic that will make everything fine. But Jesus as a baby who grows up to be one of us also means we are never alone in our suffering. God is always with us. For this we give praise and glorify God.

The love that brought Jesus into the world is for us, for everyone. May you experience the love of God from others, and share the love of God with all you encounter. And have a blessed Christmas!

The Nativity, by Giotto, Scrovegni Chapel, Padua

This work is in the public domain in its country of origin and other countries and areas where the copyright term is the author’s life plus 100 years or fewer. It is in the public domain in the US.

Blessed is she who believed

Fourth Sunday in Advent, 22 December 2024: Micah 5:2-5a; Hebrews 10:5-10; Luke 1:39-45, (46-55); Canticle 15 (or 3).

The beginning of Micah’s prophecy for Bethlehem “You, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah, who are one of the little clans of Judah” is a reminder that Bethlehem was probably not where you expected a Messiah to be born. It’s rather like Micah predicting that the next leader would come from Merced. Bethlehem was a “little clan”, a bit of a backwater. Yet amazing things would happen there, Micah promised.

In the Gospel, we have another celebration of amazing things. Mary, newly pregnant, and vulnerable because she was not married, visited her cousin Elizabeth. Elizabeth is, like Mary, pregnant; the pregnancy was unexpected because of Elizabeth’s age. When Mary arrives, the baby (the future John the Baptist) leaps for joy in her womb. Elizabeth sees Mary in her fullness: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb . . . and blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”

Mary’s response is to sing the hymn we know as the Magnificat. In it Mary acknowledges herself as a “lowly servant” but as one who will be called blessed by “all generations”. And she proceeds to enumerate the Lord’s great deeds. The words, about casting down the mighty, feeding the hungry and sending the rich away empty, are a powerful invocation of the way God’s love and justice turns the world upside down.

In this hymn, Mary is speaking as a devout Jew, echoing words of scripture she would have lived with. The hymn can be seen as version of the Song of Hannah in 1 Samuel 2:2-10. Hannah’s prayer comes as she brings her son, born long after she was thought infertile, to the temple to be dedicated to the Lord. “The bows of the mighty are broken, but the feeble gird on strength.  Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread, but those who were hungry are fat with spoil.”

We live in a world where it is difficult not to be aware of those who are vulnerable, whether as the result of climate catastrophes, war, or politics. We see the homeless on the streets. In Ukraine, Gaza, Lebanon, Sudan, Congo, Myanmar and elsewhere, we can see the terrible destruction of war. Politicians around the world lash out at the poor and at immigrants. Billionaires seem set to reap ever more wealth while others suffer. Yet Mary proclaims that the world will be turned upside down. That the Lord has “brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”

Elizabeth blesses Mary because she “believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord”. Do we believe the promise of the Lord? Do we believe Mary? Can we make her song our own? As we wait with Mary for the arrival of her baby, let us sing it loud. The it will be said of us that we believed in the fulfillment of what was spoken by the Lord”.

Statue of the Visitation at the Church of the Visitation, Ein Karem, Israel. Photo by Deror Avi, license

Rejoice in the Lord Always

Third Sunday of Advent, 15 December 2024: Zephaniah 3:14-20; Philippians 4:4-7; Luke 3:7-18; Canticle 9

“Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem!”! Thus Zephaniah calls us. Why should we rejoice? “The Lord has taken away the judgments against you”. Not only that, but he has turned away enemies. And he will deal with all our oppressors! He will “save the lame, and gather the outcast”. Those problems you were worrying about? They are over. And you haven’t had to do anything, but the Lord has taken care of you.

Phew! That’s good to hear, right? The Lord is going to fix everything! Paul continues the theme of rejoicing. “Rejoice in the Lord alway”. And you should show your gentleness to everyone. Do not worry: just pray. And then the familiar and comforting blessing, “And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

John the Baptist, to some extent, rains on this happy parade. John has been preaching, we saw last week, a baptism of repentence. The crowds surround him, but he calls them a “brood of vipers”. Not exactly happy. He wants his listeners to “Bear fruits worthy of repentance”. This repentance thing is not one and done, it’s about how you live your life. And precisely what is that? It looks suspiciously like the great commandment, to love your neighbor as yourself. “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” The tax collectors should only collect what was owed, not extort money from anyone.

It is notable that John’s exhortations focus not on inward aspects of life, but outward ones. How do you live with others? If you have enough, do you share? Are you honest? Do you work to make others suffer, or do you live fairly? As we say in the confession, it is not only about what we do, but about what we do not do. John does not want you to just come to the revival meeting and leave feeling good about yourself. The fruits of repentance for John are actions. And they are not actions of judgment and punishment, but of generosity and healing.

So where does that leave all the rejoicing we heard about from Zephaniah and Paul? Where is joy in this? One way to think about it is that we often hear that people feel good when they do good. And it’s true. Even a small act of kindness can make you feel like you are the person you are meant to be. Or to think about it another way, when we repent, we acknowledge the ways we have separated ourselves from God and from each other, and we commit to changing. The fruits of repentance are connection both to God and to others. The healing that Zephaniah promises for the lame and the outcast are not some miraculous act, they are the result of our actions. Surely it is God who saves me, we say in today’s canticle. It is, and because of that we act in the world.

So repent! Reconnect with God and others in whatever ways you can. And, because it is God who saves you, you will rejoice in the Lord always.