December 1, 2019. What if Christmas didn't come on December 25th, but instead arrived with the first snowfall of the year? Pastor Stephanie's sermon on this first Sunday in Advent is about anticipation. We do not know the day or hour of Christ's Second Coming, so we must be ready at all times. *** Transcript *** Grace to you and peace from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Once I chose the theme of anticipation for this week's theme, Carly Simon's lyrics of her song released in 1971 about anticipation kept rolling through my head: "We never know about the days to come / But we think about them anyway / Anticipation " -- although she sings with a lot of flourish -- "Anticipation is makin' me late / is keepin' me waitin'." But then I thought, I simply cannot only use references that are familiar to my generation, so I Googled songs with anticipation themes. Well, Buddy Holly had one in the '50s, and so did the Arctic Monkeys have one in 2002, but they were more precise in anticipating "romantic adventures," so we'll just stick with Carly for right now. Even though she too probably had romance on her mind, at least she captured the waiting part. Anticipating something we long for does keep us waiting, doesn't it? And waiting is what we do in Advent. We hear the promises. We read the nearly too-good-to-be-believed images in Isaiah all month long, such as people streaming to the mountain of God to learn of God's ways, swords being beat into plowshares, spears into pruning hooks, a wolf lying down with a lamb, the wilderness bursting forth in full bloom, the blind having sight restored, and people singing with everlasting joy. Just so you know (a side note) you'll hear more about all of these transformational promises in our Wednesday night Advent worship services, where the readings of Isaiah will be featured each week. But how then can we not anticipate, with deep longing, God's fulfillment of these images? Lately I've found myself reading, more and more, just headlines for some of the depressing stories in the news around the world. A person can only take so much, right? And then I scan for the hopeful ones -- of the good Samaritans exhibiting acts of kindness. They are out there too, and definitely worth the search. I'm thankful that Advent is here, because it is such a hopeful time. God's promises to be with us, in any and all ways despite disturbing circumstances, cheer our hearts. A theologian once wrote: take your Bible and take your newspaper and read both. But always interpret the newspaper from the Bible. Now, some people can take that to the wrong extent. But the message of hope is clearly there in the Bible. That is good advice for lots of reasons. As disciples of Christ, it's proper to lament the lamentable, to be spurred on to be agents of peace and reconciliation where there is brokenness -- but always, always, always in the context of being filled with hope and confidence that God is in the business of making all things right in the end. That is our reason for hope. So let's think about this week's gospel reading. Matthew plunges right into thinking about Jesus' Second Coming or Second Advent. He remembers Jesus' teaching that he was going to be crucified, would rise again and ascend, but that he would come again. According to Matthew, Jesus' words went like this: "Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming . . . You must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour." I've always thought that the reference to the Son of Man coming like a thief, breaking into a house at night, is somewhat confusing. But really, I think it just shows us how we are to not take every little detail of a parable literally. Instead, it's a pointed image intended to help us grasp the essence of the teaching. Jesus is certainly not saying that he is like a thief, but he is conveying that his Second Coming will be unexpected. He's giving us the reference to remind us that, just as we guard again

March 6, 2019. Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return. This Ash Wednesday evening, Pastor Stephanie preaches on the meaning of the sign of the cross of ash on our foreheads, of Jesus calling us forth to honesty, and on what we do in Lent. *** Transcript *** I wonder if you remember the nursery rhyme "Ring around the rosie / A pocket full of posies / Ashes, ashes / We all fall down." Anybody remember that one? Yes? One explanation of the origin of this nursery rhyme connects it with the Bubonic plague, a deadly plague that happened during the Elizabethan era in England. People were succumbing to that plague left and right, by the thousands everyday. Drawings from that era include pictures of bodies being loaded up in carts or wagons. The art portrayed the reality of grimness during that plague. The rationale for connecting that nursery rhyme with the plague stems from the fact that one of the symptoms of the plague was a red rash, which is often found in circles on the body. That was thought to be the ring around the rosie. I certainly never knew that. There was widespread thought that the plague came from bad smell that existed everywhere. And so, people would carry packets of nice-smelling posies to ward off the smell. "Ring around the rosie / A pocket full of posies / Ashes, ashes / We all fall down," was simply a description of what was happening every day, all the time, for these people. If that is truly the origin of this schoolyard chant, it's a far, far cry from the way I remember singing it, and saying it with laughter with my friends on the schoolyard playground. This may or may not be the true origin of the rhyme. Sometimes we don't know about these things. But regardless, there is truth in the last sentence: ashes, ashes, we all fall down. For here we are on the Wednesday that signals the beginning of the season of Lent, the day we call Ash Wednesday. At the lunch meeting that Katie Ciorba and I had with our recent confirmands, we shared around the table our favorite church holidays, as an icebreaker while we ate lunch. Not surprisingly, Ash Wednesday was not mentioned by a single person, although Lent did get a favorable comment at one point. And yet it's such an important day in the life of the church, because it calls us to honest assessment, something rarely asked of us anywhere else. Ashes, ashes. We also come to death at some point. We prefer to dance around the roses. We prefer to ward off anything that confronts us with our own mortality, don't we? Our society supports that, in doing everything we can to avoid thinking about or preparing for our own deaths. So, we have our own ways of carrying around pockets full of posies to ward off the reality of death. Now, there's certainly nothing at all wrong with seeking the greatest health we can enjoy. We should do that. But at times, we are unrealistic about the effects of aging and frailty that our bodies will eventually display. That unrealistic bent leads us to denial of the truth of the matter because the truth is, in the end, each one of us will succumb. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down. Tonight you'll be invited to come forward to receive the sign of ashes on your forehead, a sign that will be made with ashes that were made (as I told the children) from the burning of Palm Sunday palms. The words you hear as you receive the ashes, if you choose to come forward, will be, "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return." Ashes in the form of a cross will be placed on your forehead with this reminder of mortality. Some would say this is depressing. It can be. But the words are meant to remind us of the temporary nature of life. The words are meant to sound the trumpet for us, the loud alarm, that announcement that our lives do not last forever. We are formed from dust and one day we will all return to dust. To remember that our lives are temporary, is to remember to use them well. Prayers at the end stages of life often ask God to help

November 11, 2018. Do we know God? Guest pastor Rachel Asen preaches on the story of the Widow's Mite and of her dying father's last request, and says that to know God is to serve others through our gifts, even in the midst of our deficit. *** Transcript *** Good morning, everyone. Thank you for having me here today. It's truly an honor to be here. I pray that the words of my mouth and meditations of my heart might reflect even a morsel of the everlasting love of Christ. So I watched a video not too long ago of a social experiment, in which someone pretended to unknowingly drop money from their pocket while walking down a busy street. Time after time, the hurried pedestrians watch the money fall, they picked it up, and they placed it in their own pocket. The only individual who returned the cash was homeless. All he had were the clothes on his back and a small duffel bag filled with treasures that many of us might simply view as trash. When asked why he did this he answered, "I might not have much, but I have more than nothing." When we hear the word "poverty" we often assume it's referring to economic lack. After all, we don't have to go far to witness the impact of its devastation. Every day on my way to school I'm met by faces of those without shelter, without food, without medical care. Our brothers and sisters stand in the midst of idle traffic, draped in cardboard signs and weathered smiles. May we remember that each of us is merely one tragedy, one choice away from laying our head alongside them on a concrete pillow in the chill of night. Economic poverty is real and it's crippling. Yet so too is poverty of the spirit. I spent the majority of my life running from my gifts. Some of us jog. I preferred to sprint. Nonetheless, I was desperately trying to find a way out of what I consider to be God's suffocating embrace. I was a wayward lamb, smothered by the gift of my woolen coat. Our society is ever seeking ways to escape spiritual poverty, through social media, entertainment, drugs, alcohol -- each an attempt to evade the discomfort of our reflection, a reflection often fractured by personal and societal expectations. Yet, in our brokenness, in that debilitating state of loneliness and self-doubt, there is hope. Leonard Cohen writes, "There are cracks in everything. That's how the light gets in." Though poverty restricts our movement in society, it is not an absence of strength. Let us consider for a moment the word "mite" from the Widow's Mite story, not merely as mite, M-I-T-E, a few meager coins, but rather might, M-I-G-H-T, as in courage and vitality. When we acknowledge that lack is in fact not weakness, we divest ourselves from the shame that hides in the shadows of our inadequacy. Through faith, we are offered freedom to transcend terrestrial boundaries, despite the narratives into which we were born, and even those we've written for ourselves from remnants of our wounds. In the words of Lebanese poet Kahlil Gibran, "Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother." Christ is the sacred salve that fills our cracks, turning rivers of our brokenness into gilded veins of grace undue. There was a time, not too long ago, when I felt my own gifts were greatly insufficient. During my father's illness, he suffered from frequent bouts of uncontrollable sorrow. I would visit him often, and there at his feet listen to the pain of his neglected wounds and do my best to reassure him that, despite his perceived failures, he was loved. "What happened to you?" he asked me one evening. "You weren't struck down like Paul on the road to Damascus. Something happened. Well, what was it?" I smiled softly, "I found peace." "How," he pleaded tearfully. "I learned to love myself," I answered. My father began to cry. "Rachel, I don't know how to do that," he said. I leaned over, I gathered his hands into mine, and I seized his gaze. "We're going to do it together, Daddy. We'll build a bridge from your head to your heart.

November 24, 2019. In Luke 23, Jesus is humiliated, derided, and brutalized. How could he be considered a king then, when this is not how kings act? Pastor Stephanie preaches on Jesus' humble beginnings and the unexpected way he brought salvation, and how as his followers we are called to operate in a way that seems counterintuitive. For his is a different kind of kingdom, and Jesus is a different kind of king. *** Transcript *** Grace to you and peace from the Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Now, I know this is a controversial thing. But I'm going to bring it up anyway. It's about putting up Christmas decorations, so you can exhale if you were too worried. I'm not going to go into anything that causes fights, but you have to admit: when you start talking about that, people have very strong opinions about when is the appropriate time to put up decorations. Well, our daughter-in-law loves to get Christmas decorations up at, or even before Thanksgiving in any year. But this year she's pregnant and growing every week. So let's cut her some slack, okay? Andrew and Nicole's son Jack, our three-year-old grandson, came into our house a few days ago and saw that unlike their house, which is now fully decorated, we have no decorations up yet. He says to me, "Where is your baby God?" Because at his house they have the child-friendly, manipulable nativity scene at the base of the Christmas tree, quite appropriately, I think. The best gift of all, in a place of prominence among the other gifts there, is the place for the baby God, the baby king, Jesus. Even last year, Jack could say "baby G" for baby Jesus, but this year he's just come up with baby God. Hold on to that thought, if you will. We'll come back to it. Now, as I pondered what to say on this Christ the King Sunday, otherwise known in many circles as Reign of Christ Sunday, there is a theme that captures me based on this gospel reading. It is the utter vulnerability of Christ hanging on the cross, stripped naked, the soldiers gambling for possession of the only earthly possessions he has left: his garments. He's been deserted, humiliated, beaten ferociously, wears a painful crown of thorns on his head. And now, at this point, he's hanging in a most miserable condition, with spikes driven through his hands and feet. This is about as vulnerable as one can get. How then are we to find kingliness in this picture? And as you recall, many of the people around him added insult to injury. Not only was he brutalized physically, but they also verbally assailed him. Their scorn and derision was particularly around the assigning of kingship on Jesus that had become a popular title among the crowds who had admired him. By contrast, we have three examples of how he was treated with verbal assaults on the cross. As the people stood by, the leaders scoffed at him saying, "He saved others. Let him save himself if he's the Messiah of God, his chosen one." The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine and saying, "If you are the King of Jews, save yourself." There was also that inscription over him that says, "This is the King of the Jews." One of the criminals who was hanging there also kept deriding him and saying, "Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us." Three times, three groups of people, three different ways Jesus had it flung in his face, that he was certainly no king in any way that anyone there could comprehend. In fact, how could he be a king at all? First of all, what king would allow himself to be crucified? In our mentalities it doesn't fit. Where is his might and strength? Secondly, what kind of king would forgive the very people who have condemned him to death? It's a king's prerogative, everyone knows, to exact revenge and make enemies pay for their treachery. Thirdly, this kind of king, while hanging bleeding and suffering on his cross, grants salvation to the criminal on the cross next to him, assuring him of a place in Paradise. Who would do that? This

February 17, 2019. Jim Bennett's sermon today is about the call to discipleship of Isaiah, Peter, and Paul, and how each of them responded. How have we heard that call? And how have we responded? *** Transcript *** Grace and peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen. Well, today you're hearing a sermon that I intended to preach last Sunday. I'm getting the feeling that maybe Mother Nature never wanted me to deliver this sermon, but I hope none of you feel the same way after you hear it. But I have to admit, right from the start of this message, that I'm not a fisherman. I've never enjoyed fishing. I can remember as a little boy my father taking my older brothers and me to Lake Springfield, about a hundred miles north of here, and trying to teach us to catch fish. I never caught a thing. It was so boring. So I can relate to Peter in our gospel lesson today, when it says he and his fellow fishermen came in after a long night of fishing with empty nets. They didn't catch a thing either. And they were professionals. Now I realize, in sharing my lack of enthusiasm for fishing, I risk alienating some of our good church members who enjoy drowning worms and telling great fish stories, real or imagined, about the ones that got away. However, as much as I try, there is no way of escaping the topic today as our gospel reading is baiting us to engage the more contemporary significance of the story about how Peter became a disciple of Jesus. And the theme of responding to God's call is also echoed in our first lesson -- the call of the prophet Isaiah -- and in our epistle lesson where Paul recounts his conversion from being a persecutor of Jesus' followers to one who proclaimed the Gospel. So the lure is unmistakable. At our time in history, when researchers are telling us that fewer and fewer people are hearing and responding to the call to become disciples or followers of Jesus, perhaps a closer look at today's readings might help us better understand why that might be the case, and also be instructive as to how we might impact that trend. First I'd like to take a closer look at our lessons, and point out some of the similarities that are found in these three readings, and then secondly to talk about how they offer different perspectives about how one might respond to the call of discipleship. And thankfully, we have more options than just fishing. Most of you know that I was a hospital chaplain for 25 years. And one of the opportunities I had in that vocation was to encounter and learn about many different faith perspectives that allowed me to compare and contrast them with my own. Now educated as a Lutheran Christian and as a pastor, I was well-indoctrinated with an orthodox theology that helped me understand that I needed Jesus in my life, because of my human shortcomings. No matter how hard I try, my humanness gets in the way of being the kind of person God wants me to be. Now, the three characters in our lessons today -- Isaiah, Peter, and Paul -- when confronted with the call to follow, each responded similarly: with fear and a confession that they were less than perfect men. Isaiah responded to God's call by saying, "Woe is me. I am a man with unclean lips." Paul, in his letter to the Corinthian Church, recounted his place in the hierarchy of apostles saying, "I am the least of apostles, unfit to be called an apostle." And Peter, in our gospel when he realized he was in the presence of God and Jesus, called out, "Depart from me. I am a sinful man, O Lord." So the common theme in all of our lessons today points out that to be a follower of Jesus meant that I must acknowledge my sinfulness and humble myself before the Lord. That's why each Sunday, I take part in reciting the confession and receiving absolution, and taking part in the grace of God that comes to us through the sacrament of Holy Communion. Doing all of that doesn't make me better than anyone else. It just reminds me of my need fo

February 3, 2019. Pastor Stephanie talks today about what is expected from a sermon, the rejection of Jesus in his hometown synagogue from Luke 4, and the costly kind of love that God exhibits for us and for all. *** Transcript *** I'm going to ask you a risky question. Well, it would be risky if this were a one-on-one conversation, and if I were to give you the impression that I would adjust my behavior to your specific answer, above all the other answers I might receive from other people. But since there are many people gathered here today, we might each answer this question differently, and it's relatively safe then for me to ask it. My question is: what do you expect from a sermon? And maybe a follow-up: what would you most like to happen to you when you are listening to a sermon? Over the years. I've heard a lot of responses -- some solicited and some not. But all are still valid in their own way, perhaps. One person might say, "I like a sermon that helps me to think about a Biblical passage in a new and fresh way. I think a sermon ought to increase my understanding of the word of God." Another might say, "I want inspiration. I like a feeling that it takes me to a higher place than I can get to by myself. I need to feel the love of God through a message." Still another might offer this: "The best sermons are those that give me something practical to hang onto, something that I can do in response to God's love and message to me. I need to understand how this works out in my daily life." There's some value in each one of those types of responses. Any one of those or a combination of them is appropriate. But that means, if those are the prevailing expectations of sermons, I might have a problem today. None of those responses line up well with today's gospel reading. It's the story we began last week and conclude today, where Jesus is preaching in his hometown synagogue in Nazareth. Jesus certainly taught and preached often, yet we really have very few accounts of his actual preaching besides this passage, the Sermon on the Mount, and a few other snippets. So knowing that Jesus was very purposeful in his ministry, we have to wonder what was he trying to accomplish here in Luke 4. I think we'll do a quick review of what came before, since this passage was divided in two. We had the first part of it last week, and now we are concluding it. So what happened in the reading from last week was that Jesus was given the scroll of the prophet Isaiah when he showed up in his hometown synagogue to preach. He read wonderful words of promise from the scroll, including, "The spirit of the Lord is upon me . . . to preach good news . . . to the captives . . . recovery of sight to the blind . . . to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor. . . . These words have been fulfilled in your hearing," he concluded. I tell you, there must have been a stirring in the congregation when Jesus read those stunning words. At long last, they thought, this long-awaited time of deliverance, foretold by the prophet Isaiah, sounds like it's being fulfilled now, today. Undoubtedly there was über excitement in the congregation at Nazareth. After all, who is more deserving of God's salvation, God's restoration, than these people who have, for centuries, awaited and prayed and longed for their deliverance? At last, God is making good on his promises. At last, God is coming for us. Good news! And not only that, but there had to be thoughts of: this guy, our hometown son, he's the real deal. Notice how charismatic he is? I'll follow him anywhere. He's headed in the right direction. Then Jesus rolled up the scroll and sat down to preach, as was customary. And that's when the trouble started. The expectation in the room was sky-high. Imagine the people who are thinking, "This is going to be a fantastic sermon. We are the oppressed, and we're finally going to get some release." But Jesus' message took a turn from where the expectations were headed. He did have them in the

January 20, 2019. The gospel story today is the Wedding at Cana, and Pastor Stephanie talks about chronos time versus kairos time in Jesus' response to his mother's request when the wine gave out. *** Transcript *** You know what they say: timing is everything. Whether you're telling a joke, making a dramatic entrance, or popping the question, timing is everything. When the timing is right, people erupt with laughter at your punchline. When the timing is off you might hear a deafening silence just when you get to that part. When timing is right, your entrance on the stage makes a statement. When your timing is off people barely notice. When timing is right, someone smiles radiantly in response to your proposal. But if your timing would be off you might get a laugh and a wave of the hand and a comment that says, "You must be joking." Ouch, that would hurt. Timing is everything, which is what makes this wedding story at Cana such a scene. Jesus, his mother, and his disciples are all guests, and are probably having a pretty good time. Weddings in that day were quite the occasion. Many times they lasted up to seven days in duration. But at this particular wedding, something happens three days in that could turn the tide from celebration to awkward embarrassment of the hosts. No, it's not the toasts that were given by the maid of honor or the best man that might be in bad taste. We've all experienced those awkward moments. And it's not that the wedding officiant mispronounced the names of the bride and groom or confused the vows, such as happens many times in a romantic comedy movie. It's just that the wine ran out too early. When wedding celebrations last seven days, running out of wine on day three signifies that something in the planning and the timing of the whole process went terribly wrong. Whatever the host had imagined would be needed for each of the days of celebration was off by a long shot. Now if it were us, we might whisper nervously to some friends and ask them to please make a run to the local wine shop and pick up some more. But in this time and place, that was obviously not an option. Running out of wine too early wasn't just a little embarrassing in this case, it was a social disaster. Those of you who especially enjoy a glass of fine wine will be happy to learn or be reminded that in the Bible, wine isn't just a social drink. It is much, much more than that. It's a sign of harvest. It's a sign of God's abundance. It's a sign of joy and celebration and gladness. So, to run short on wine meant experiencing a shortage of blessing. Worse than ruining a joke by messing up the punchline, poor planning on the quantity of wine needed would seem like awful timing. The wine has run out before the wedding has, and it's a potential catastrophe if it becomes widely known. Now, Jesus' mother doesn't seem to have much of a sense of timing either, at first glance. At least that's what Jesus seems to think by his comments. They have no wine, she says to her son. We don't know whether she was close to the families of the bride or groom and so eager to help, or whether she was just particularly sensitive and horrified at this kind of social faux pas. Because however much we appreciate hospitality today, the people of Jesus' time and culture practiced it as more than that. It was practiced as a survival skill, a way of looking after one another in a hostile and perilous environment, and an assurance of being looked after in return. No wonder it became a matter of honor as well. So, Mary expected Jesus to do something about this grave matter. But Jesus seems to think that this is another instance of bad timing. "Woman," he responds, taking an oddly formal tone with his mother. "Woman, what concern is that to you or to me? My hour, my time has not come." But Mary continues to act as though it is time for action. Rather than raise an eyebrow at his tone, or offer a counterpoint to his assertion, she turns to the servants and tells them

November 17, 2019. Pastor Stephanie reminds us today that this world is filled with challenges to our faith and troubling circumstances that we must endure. And at the same time, we are sure that Christ is very near to us and provides us with what we need, in order to endure to the end with him. *** Transcript *** Grace and peace to each one of you from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Six years ago today, my husband and I were returning from a two-week trip to the Holy Land to Israel, where we saw sites that we heard about since we were children, and we met people whose life situations we tried to understand as we interacted with several groups. It is a troubled land as you know, and yet it was a marvelous trip. One of the places most indelibly imprinted on my memory is Temple Mount in Jerusalem. The view from Temple Mount allows one to gaze across the Kidron Valley and see Bethany, where Jesus stayed with his friends Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. There are so many biblical scenes that one can envision by standing in that place. Another one is being able to see the "lay of the land" as you imagine Jesus making his way on the donkey with the procession into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. When you stand on Temple Mount today, you stand on the foundation from centuries ago. The temple from Jesus' day was destroyed in 70 AD, but the foundational stones are something to still behold. As we stood at the corner where two massive walls met, we felt like miniatures compared to each of the massive building blocks that comprise the walls. The architectural wonder of how so many of those massive stones could have been built on top of one another in a time without heavy machinery is simply astounding. It was no wonder that those who saw the temple as described in the Gospel of Luke were quite impressed by it. Our gospel reading today opens with Luke telling us that some were speaking about the temple, how it was adorned with beautiful stones and gifts dedicated to God. But Jesus does not share their admiration for it. What they see and what he sees are two quite different things. They see the big and impressive, the same kinds of things that we see in our world: bigger than life things, impressive feats of construction, or works of human hands that capture us. Those are the things that get our notice. It's completely understandable to me that Jesus' disciples would have been admiring the stones of this mighty temple. They were a magnificent display of human ingenuity and dedication. Think of how frequently we too are wowed by large and beautiful, or complex works of architectural design that we have seen. They do inspire our admiration and our respect. We love the places that give testimony to power and prestige. Those are the things that get featured in magazine articles, and top billing in headline news stories. But Jesus saw that same building that they admired so greatly, and he saw it quite differently. He saw a show place that was built by the proud tyrant King Herod, who exploited people. He was not impressed with the structural integrity of the building, because there was no integrity to the man who wanted all the glory for having built it, nor was there integrity in the way it had come to be used by the religious establishment. In the chapter prior to the one we read today, Jesus describes the abuses of the religious establishment that had gone on in the temple. The leaders, he says, have devoured widows' houses, and for a show make lengthy prayers. No, Jesus is not impressed. So he says to those around him that the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another. All will be thrown down in this temple that so enamors you. And just when those around him think he must be having a really bad day, he goes on to describe some more disturbing circumstances that they can expect to experience. He tells them that false teachers will appear who will try to lead them astray. Some will even claim to be operating in his name, but they a

January 13, 2019. As a body of beloved children of God, we hold to a system of beliefs. But we also recognize that being the beloved is a just and generous way of life. Pastor Stephanie preaches today on the baptism of Jesus, and God's love for us and for all people. *** Transcript *** I read from a veteran preacher source that there are two things people want to discover in a sermon: is there a story here, and am I in it? If that is true for you, I can assure you that in this sermon there is a story, and you are most assuredly in it. Please pray with me that the story that is present, and the place where each of us resides in it, might become revealed through the power of the Holy Spirit in these next few minutes as we ponder this together. Let's pray. Holy One, you reveal your truth in your word and through your spirit. As we wait upon you with expectation, enable us to hear what you have to say to us today, we ask of you, so that we might respond to your good news, the Gospel. In Jesus' name, amen. We are dropped into a scene in the Gospel of Luke where a crowd has gathered, exuding high energy. People were restless with anticipation. The buzz in every village was that change could be afoot. Positive change. Thoughts had been shared, perhaps at the city gate among the elders, and those thoughts found their way to dinner table conversations around villages. From there, the ideas and rumors became open wonderings about this unique, shall we say, person named John the Baptizer. His message captivated them. Chaos and corruption in their country had created such anxiety and despair that probably anyone who confidently called for people to repent and change their ways would get some kind of a following. But this John was a different kind of guy, in so many ways from others they had heard. His lack of smooth talk and promises, like so many would-be messiahs before him, somehow made them trust him more. Because he did not make promises that their jaded hearts knew by now could not be fulfilled by anyone but God, they listened to him. He actually pointed them to God, rather than trying to draw people to himself. John reminded them of what they knew to be true. They needed a fresh start, and John pointed them to that. And so they asked John, "Are you the messiah? Are you the one who can refresh our lives and give us a true and lasting hope?" Imagine their surprise then when John said plainly, "No, I am not. I am not the one you have been longing for." But he respects their desire to know anything at all that John can tell them to give them hope. And so he tells them that the one they have hoped for is coming, and coming very soon. Is that the moment when he sees his cousin Jesus out of the corner of his eye, standing in the middle of the crowd, lining up to be baptized? Because Jesus was there standing around with everyone else who had come to be baptized that day. And then in the very process of Jesus experiencing the water of baptism, something remarkable happens. The heaven was opened, the Holy Spirit descended upon him in the form of a dove, and a voice came from heaven saying, "You are my son, my beloved. In you I am well pleased." Now clearly this is a story of the baptism of our Lord. Did he need to be baptized as a sign of repentance? No, he did not. But in concert with his entire life's mission of coming to be with us, to demonstrate God's deep love for us, he was baptized. You may remember how frequently he would call people "daughter of God" or "son of Abraham," "son of God." Those are endearing titles that let people know that they, and we, are beloved children of God. Remember the Isaiah 43 reading, where God's love for us is strongly underscored? It says when you pass through the waters of difficulty, they will not overwhelm you. When you go through the fires of challenges, they will not consume you. If you want to flip back a page in your bulletin to see it again, you will see these words from God saying, "I have calle

December 24, 2018. Pastor Stephanie invites us to peer into the manger this Christmas Eve and be amazed by God's love made flesh. *** Transcript *** Well, here we are at Christmas Eve at last. Most likely, you've had at least 24 days of preparation for this night. Now, some of you started much earlier than that, when December 1 arrived and you turned that over in your calendar. Some other people here might be squirming even now and hoping some store is still open because you've just got one more person for whom you probably should get a gift. Or some of you are smiling smugly and saying, "I just started my shopping this morning and got everything I needed, so what's the big deal?" At any rate, I imagine each one of us is experiencing a mixture of feelings this night. There's the eagerness for the experience of sharing this time with loved ones and taking in the lights, the music, and the festivities of the season -- as well as more than a little bit of fatigue and the weariness of perhaps too many late nights and early mornings than usual to get everything ready. Whatever your routine has been of getting ready for celebrating Christmas, we are grateful to be able to welcome you here tonight. We're glad that you have come to celebrate this special night with us. Even as I say that, I'm wondering about the various motivations represented tonight for being here. Do you know why you are here? What has prompted you to come? We're not taking a poll. But I think it's safe to assume that some of you are here because this is your Christmas custom. You cannot imagine not being in a place where the carols are sung, where the familiar story of Jesus' birth is read, and the candles -- or in the case of this particular service, the glow sticks will be activated -- as we sing during a lovely, peaceful moment the beautiful strains of "Silent Night." Just as likely, some of you are here because you felt a little pressure to join a family member who wanted to be here. Or perhaps worship is no longer a part of your regular weekly life, but there is just something about this night that draws you in, filling you with good memories of Christmases past, and reminds you of what used to hold meaning in your life, what once gave you a frame of reference. Perhaps you are here because you are searching. You have a deep sense, or a deep hope, that there is more to life than merely what you see around you. And so you have come. And finally, I imagine some of you are in worship on this Christmas Eve because you were lonely or grieving. On this night of all nights, you need to be among people, any people, in a safe space, a holy space, a space where you can just breathe. Regardless whatever the motivation, whatever has summoned you into this time of worship, at some level it probably has to do with the baby who is the center of the Christmas story. At some level, your reason for being here is intertwined with a desire to peer into the manger, once again, to see who exactly is in that manger and try again to comprehend what that baby means for us, and for our lives. Deep down, perhaps that is the real reason you are here. It is one reason that I am here. I am here to peer into the manger once again. I am here to imagine that baby's face. I am here to listen for, to remember, to ponder the story of God becoming flesh. I am well aware that this is a concept that is not easily understood, and I've come to accept that this is just part of the mystery that holds me in its grip -- that the almighty God would become human flesh as an expression of love. It's a concept that has inspired all kinds of speculation about a conversation that just might have happened when God told the angels about this plan. In response to God announcing this plan in the Heavenly realm, one of my favorite authors, Barbara Brown Taylor, surmises: This could have happened. We don't know. But the angels might have asked God, 'Could you at least create yourself as a magical baby with special p