3rd Sunday after Epiphany: "One"

3rd Sunday after Epiphany: January 27, 2013

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

“One”

1 Corinthians 12:12-31

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

One of the unexpected consequences of being a preacher is that you start to walk around with Scripture passages running through your head. Not just random Bible texts, mind you, but generally the texts for the upcoming week’s sermon. When I was actively memorizing each week’s Gospel text (back when I was not a senior pastor), I also sometimes walked around mouthing Scripture passages to myself. This is not recommended—people tend to look at you funny.

In any case, when you walk around with Bible passages running through your mind, it’s amazing how the world starts to look a little different. Normal, everyday events seem to talk to me, calling out, “Hey, Carrie—look at me! Preach me, preach me!” Things that at first seem to have no connection at all to the Christian story begin to have almost biblical importance. Take, for example, Project Runway.

Project Runway is one of my favorite shows of all time, second only to Top Chef.  I know I should say my favorite television is hard-hitting, political commentary, or re-runs of “Touched by an Angel”, but the truth is—I love reality t.v. I love the competition and the crazy personalities and the predictable format. I especially love the snarky comments from the judges: “As they say in fashion—one day you’re in, the next day—you’re out!”

A new season of Project Runway started this week, but this time, things were not so predictable. As always, the designers are challenged to create beautiful fashion with a small budget and a ridiculously short amount of time. As usual, there will be a winner and a loser each week. But in this eleventh season, there is a twist: The sixteen designers are divided into two teams. They still must design and sew their own creations, and will be judged individually, but now each winner must come from the winning team and the loser must come from the losing team. This means that even if you have the very best design of the week—even if you are brilliant and talented and creative—if the others on your team are not as successful, you cannot win.

It’s probably safe to say that I was probably the only one in the television viewing audience who heard these new rules and immediately thought: “First Corinthians!”

For this was the Scripture passage populating my thoughts as I watched: “But God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honor to the inferior member, that there may be no dissension within the body, but the members may have the same care for one another. If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it.” 1 Corinthians 12:24-26

The Apostle Paul wrote this familiar description of what it means to be the church for the Christian community in Corinth long ago, and we have been struggling to live up to it ever since. If it’s hard for churches to be a unified body, honoring diversity while working for a common purpose, then it seems an incredibly bold move for a silly television show. Being yourself, while at the same time caring for the others around you (especially the weaker members) is no small thing to achieve, especially when we are so conditioned to fighting to be on top. Maybe Project Runway predicts more catfights, more drama, and therefore more ratings by trying this First Corinthians-style reality t.v.! Maybe they had a pastor on the creative writing team.

Or maybe, just maybe, there is something else going on in our culture. Maybe we’re tired of the competition, back-biting, and division, and are ready to give this First Corinthians thing a try. Maybe we are ready to recognize, as the Message Version of First Corinthians puts it, that a “body has many parts—limbs, organs, cells—but no matter how many parts you can name, you’re still one body. It’s exactly the same with Christ. By means of his one Spirit, we all said good-bye to our partial and piecemeal lives. We each used to independently call our own shots, but then we entered into a large and integrated life in which he has the final say in everything. (This is what we proclaimed in word and action when we were baptized.) Each of us is now a part of his resurrection body, refreshed and sustained at one fountain—his Spirit—where we all come to drink. The old labels we once used to identify ourselves—labels like Jew or Greek, slave or free—are no longer useful. We need something larger, more comprehensive.”

Maybe…I’m too optimistic.

But there does seem to be a different Spirit, a more excellent way, something larger and more comprehensive, that is struggling to emerge among us.

I saw a glimpse of it when I watched a different sort of reality television on Monday—the presidential inauguration. Amidst the pomp and circumstance, the speeches and the music (both live and lip-synced), I was incredibly moved by the inaugural poem, written by Richard Blanco. It was entitled “One Today”, and it speaks to the beauty of our country, which is immense, diverse, and complex, yet united under one sun and one sky. Once again, echoes of First Corinthians were hard for this preacher to miss. Listen, and maybe you’ll hear them too:
***

"One Today" by Richard Blanco

One sun rose on us today, kindled over our shores,
peeking over the Smokies, greeting the faces
of the Great Lakes, spreading a simple truth
across the Great Plains, then charging across the Rockies.
One light, waking up rooftops, under each one, a story
told by our silent gestures moving behind windows.

My face, your face, millions of faces in morning's mirrors,
each one yawning to life, crescendoing into our day:
pencil-yellow school buses, the rhythm of traffic lights,
fruit stands: apples, limes, and oranges arrayed like rainbows
begging our praise. Silver trucks heavy with oil or paper—
bricks or milk, teeming over highways alongside us,
on our way to clean tables, read ledgers, or save lives—
to teach geometry, or ring-up groceries as my mother did
for twenty years, so I could write this poem.

All of us as vital as the one light we move through,
the same light on blackboards with lessons for the day:
equations to solve, history to question, or atoms imagined,
the "I have a dream" we keep dreaming,
or the impossible vocabulary of sorrow that won't explain
the empty desks of twenty children marked absent
today, and forever. Many prayers, but one light
breathing color into stained glass windows,
life into the faces of bronze statues, warmth
onto the steps of our museums and park benches
as mothers watch children slide into the day.

One ground. Our ground, rooting us to every stalk
of corn, every head of wheat sown by sweat
and hands, hands gleaning coal or planting windmills
in deserts and hilltops that keep us warm, hands
digging trenches, routing pipes and cables, hands
as worn as my father's cutting sugarcane
so my brother and I could have books and shoes.

The dust of farms and deserts, cities and plains
mingled by one wind—our breath. Breathe. Hear it
through the day's gorgeous din of honking cabs,
buses launching down avenues, the symphony
of footsteps, guitars, and screeching subways,
the unexpected song bird on your clothes line.

Hear: squeaky playground swings, trains whistling,
or whispers across café tables, Hear: the doors we open
for each other all day, saying: hello, shalom,
buon giorno, howdy, namaste, or buenos días
in the language my mother taught me—in every language
spoken into one wind carrying our lives
without prejudice, as these words break from my lips.

One sky: since the Appalachians and Sierras claimed
their majesty, and the Mississippi and Colorado worked
their way to the sea. Thank the work of our hands:
weaving steel into bridges, finishing one more report
for the boss on time, stitching another wound
or uniform, the first brush stroke on a portrait,
or the last floor on the Freedom Tower
jutting into a sky that yields to our resilience.

One sky, toward which we sometimes lift our eyes
tired from work: some days guessing at the weather
of our lives, some days giving thanks for a love
that loves you back, sometimes praising a mother
who knew how to give, or forgiving a father
who couldn't give what you wanted.

We head home: through the gloss of rain or weight
of snow, or the plum blush of dusk, but always—home,
always under one sky, our sky. And always one moon
like a silent drum tapping on every rooftop
and every window, of one country—all of us—
facing the stars
hope—a new constellation
waiting for us to map it,
waiting for us to name it—together.

***

Did you hear it? Can you hear the Word of God, fulfilled in Jesus Christ, echoing in this poem, in the world, in nature, in your neighbors? Can you sense the beautiful oneness that God intends for the world, and hopes to see Christians exemplify in and through the church of Jesus Christ?

Our children can.

On Wednesday night, when we gathered for worship in Luther Hall, I asked the congregation (mostly Confirmation students) what this week’s First Corinthians text means to them.

One young lady said, “It’s like our country. We’re made up of lots of states, with all different resources, and we’re better together, because if one state has a hurricane or something, we can all pitch in and help.” Wise words! I might send her to talk to Texas!

Another offered, “It’s like those Christmas lights, where if one goes out, the whole string stops working. We need to take care of all the lights.”

Then I asked: What would it be like if we were missing parts of the body of Christ here at Bethany?
What would it be like if we were missing our most “mature” members—the 80 and up group?

And right away, they called out: COOKIES! And then: Hugs. History. Our memory and traditions. And offerings…these are some of the most generous saints among us.

What if we didn’t have any babies in the church? After all, they make noises during my sermon and wiggle during communion.

And we all agreed: We would be missing joy, and smiles, and our future! Earlier this week I met with a new member couple, Courtney and Phil, and while I enjoyed talking with them, I couldn’t stop staring at Baby Nolan’s amazing cheeks and dimples. He made my entire day.

And what if we were missing the Confirmation students?

First of all, Wednesday night worship would be quieter! Our Wednesday evenings would be easier in general, come to think of it.

But we would miss the questions and the challenges. Confirmation students are the ones who read and interpret Scripture in fresh ways, and who help us find new ways to live out our faith in Jesus Christ in the world. They move us forward.

And then…what about all the middle aged people? If they were gone, what would we be missing?
Someone chimed in right away: the pastor! Ha, ha!

But then, we decided, not much would get done around here. These are the folks who bring the kids to Sunday School, who teach Sunday School, who greet and usher, read and assist, and who serve on Council. These are the men and women who make time for church when they barely have time for sleep, because they want pass the Good News of Jesus Christ to the next generation.

And…what if we didn’t have any new members?


This is pretty clear: the church would become a museum, and eventually would close. And we would be missing all those gifts that new members bring, gifts like: songs we’ve never sung. Voices, accents, and interpretations of Scripture we’ve never heard. Perspectives and life experiences that change the way we understand the Gospel. Talents and time to share.
Sisters and brothers, the world teaches us to claw our way to the top, to fight for attention, and to assert our own point of view as ultimate truth. Our political leaders tell us we have to be on one side or the other, and we should keep talking so no one else gets a chance to speak. Our own fears gnaw at us, and make us believe that the church can only hold so many people, can only accommodate so many differences, or can only meet the needs of so many hurting souls.

But Christ has come to show us a more excellent way. He has freely given to us, insignificant as we are, his own body on the cross, and in doing so has made us into one body in the world. “The way God designed our bodies is a model for understanding our lives together as a church: every part dependent on every other part, the parts we mention and the parts we don’t, the parts we see and the parts we don’t. If one part hurts, every other part is involved in the hurt, and in the healing. If one part flourishes, every other part enters into the exuberance. You are Christ’s body—that’s who you are! You must never forget this.” Amen.

2nd Sunday after Epiphany: January 20, 2013

2nd Sunday after Epiphany: January 20, 2013

John 2:1-11

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

On February 24, 1969, Johnny Cash recorded a live album at San Quentin State Prison, one year after performing a similar concert at Folsom prison. Both albums became hits, despite the fact that record executives put little money or backing into the projects. The San Quentin concert was also released as an hour long documentary, and if you’ve never seen it—please add it to your Netflix queue when you get home. It’s well worth watching!

Near the end of the show, Johnny tells the audience of prisoners about his trip to the Holy Land. He shares how he visited the town of Cana, and saw the church that is built over the very spot where Jesus was said to have performed his first miracle. As he tells it, he was so overwhelmed with emotion at being in the place, that when he walked out he started singing to himself:

“He turned the water into wine. 

He turned the water into wine.

 In the little Cana town, the word went all around 

that he turned the water into wine.” 

It’s a simple song, really. Each verse recounts another of Jesus’ miracles: he walked upon the Sea of Galilee, he calmed the raging tide, he fed the hungry multitude…and each time, returning to that simple chorus: He turned the water into wine.

In the documentary video, you see the prisoners lined up, row by row, staring intently at the man with the guitar. They’re hanging on every word—hungry for entertainment, perhaps, but also hungry and thirsty for something else. These are men who know what it means to need a miracle. At the wedding in Cana, Jesus performed his first miracle because the wine had run out and the guests were thirsty. For the men at San Quentin, it is their freedom that has run out. The chaos and consequences in their lives have caught up to them, and now their supply of choices, liberties, and opportunity—which once seemed so bountiful—are bone dry. These men need nothing short of a miracle, and Johnny is there to give them Good News. He sings to them of the One who not only turned water into wine, but who also walked on water, healed the sick, raised the dead and sets the captives free. The love of God we have through Jesus is the miracle for which we all hunger and thirst. Amen?

Sisters and brothers, let’s talk about miracles. Miracles, by their very nature, are pretty hard to pin down. By definition, a miracle is an event that is unexplainable or falls outside of the laws of nature. St. Augustine once retorted, however, that “Miracles are not contrary to nature, but only contrary to what we know about nature.” And the great Christian author C.S. Lewis expounded, “Miracles are a retelling in small letters of the very same story which is written across the whole world in letters too large for some of us to see.” Well, that about clears it up!

What can we say about miracles? We seem to know when we need one. “It will take a miracle for the Cubs to win the World Series”, for example. Getting Democrats and Republicans to work together and get something done in the next four years will also certainly take a miracle.

We also seem to know one when we see one. We wax poetic about the “miracle of birth” all the time, in spite of what any woman who has been in labor will tell you. And when we’re in particularly good moods, we are apt to call any number of things “miraculous”: rainbows, sunsets, grandchildren, or even a really amazing touchdown in the playoff game.

Still, we’re never exactly sure when or how a miracle happens. Even miracles we experience on a regular basis remain a mystery. In just a few minutes, we will all come to the table and receive bread and wine that is, at the same time, in defiance of the laws of nature and beyond all explanation, also the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ. When exactly does that miracle occur? Does the miracle happen when the pastor prays the appropriate words, or holds her hands in the correct shape and her arms in the perfect angle? Does it happen when the congregation sings the “Holy Holy” loudly, and in tune, even when it’s a new setting that we don’t know and don’t particularly like? Does the miracle of communion happen when Martin Luther said it did: at that very moment when one sanctified sinner says to the other: “This is the body of Christ, given for you”?

Or did the miracle of Holy Communion happen when you walked in the door of the church this morning, hungry and thirsty for God?

What if the answer is simply “Yes” or even “All of the above?” Perhaps miracles are not just a moment in time, but are events that develop and unfold, through the grace of God, in unexplainable ways.

At the wedding in Cana, one could say that Jesus’ first miracle happened when the chief steward tasted the water that had become wine and declared it to be a spectacular vintage, better than they had been served at the beginning of the feast. But it was also taking place when Jesus ordered the workers to fill the stone jars with water and they did so obediently and in faith, with no idea of what Jesus was up to. And the miracle was taking shape at the moment when Mary trusted that her son could handle the problem. The miracle continued to unfold as the party went on, as the guests had more than enough to drink, as the bridegroom’s reputation was saved from certain disgrace, and especially as the disciples came to understand who this Jesus really was. For “Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.” John 2:11

I believe in miracles. I believe the love of God that we have seen in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ works wondrous things in the lives of the people around me. And I also believe that we have a part in the miraculous unfolding and multiplication of grace and love that happens when Jesus shows up and sets those miracles in motion.

Tomorrow morning leaders and members of several faith communities will gather to honor the life and legacy of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. We will sing and pray and remember his powerful witness and prophetic preaching. We’ll celebrate the victories of the civil rights movement in our country—miracles, really—and how we’ve come this far by faith, not in Dr. King, but in God.

But I’ll also be mindful of the many others who were part of the unfolding of this miracle in our country. Dr. King has a holiday in his honor; Rosa Parks has books written about her; but there were so many others who sat on busses, who crossed boundaries, prayed, walked, spoke out, endured ridicule, participated in boycotts, were fired, arrested, imprisoned or lynched. And there were those who quietly went about their daily business, like the workers at the wedding at Cana. The chief steward gave the credit to the bridegroom for bringing out the good wine, but it was the workers who hauled the empty jars to the well, filled them with water, and hauled them back to the wedding, hoping beyond hope that their small effort would be part of a miracle.


The truth is, we need a few miracles today, don’t we? We need the massacres of our children to stop. We need people to put more energy into caring for each other than in preserving their privileges. We need leaders who will put aside talking points and start talking to each other, in the interest of the common good. We need some people who, like Dr. King, will remember that the “time is always ripe to do what is right.”

Dear people, we can sit around forever and wait for a miracle to happen—or we can see ourselves as being part of the one, great, always unfolding, ever-increasing miracle that is the love God has shown the world through Christ Jesus.

As Christians, we proclaim that Jesus died on the cross, once and for all, and three days later was raised to new life, giving hope to the whole world. Amen! And yet, as we live out our baptismal covenants, we become part of the story as it unfolds in our lives, in our families, and in our world.

We become part of that ongoing miracle as we live among God’s faithful people, hear the word of God and share in the Lord’s supper, proclaim the good news of God in Christ through word and deed, serve all people, following the example of Jesus, and strive for justice and peace in all the earth.

On this day, we have heard once again the story of Jesus’ first miracle. In a few moments, we will gather at the table and will be fed once again with his body and blood, freely given to us in love. And when we go out from this place, I pray that we will commit to being a part of the ongoing miracle of God’s love for all of humankind: red and yellow, black and white, gay and straight, liberal and conservative, young and old, rich and poor, prisoner and free. And let us always remember:

We've come this far by faith, leaning on the Lord; trusting in his holy word…and He's never failed us yet. Amen.

Sunday, January 13, 2013: Baptism of Our Lord

Sermon for Sunday, January 13, 2013: Baptism of Our Lord

Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

 PREACHER: Pastor Paul Cannon

Good morning!  I don’t know if any of you have yet caught on to the irony that today is Baptism Sunday, but that we do not – in fact – have a baptism today. Now, the pastor side of me was looking forward to today because if there had been one scheduled, it would have been my very first baptism.  So that side of me wants to look out at all of you and say, “Come on people, you need to start making more babies! I need some dunking practice!!!” 

But then I think about the 28-year-old-married-without-children-who-has-parents-that-are-getting-a-little-anxious-for-grandchildren side of me that is simultaneously screaming “Noooooo thank you!  I am not ready for that kind of commitment.  I can barely keep my dog alive, let alone a human baby! Plus, there is only so much poop that I can bare cleaning up after in one day!”  Which is all to say that “No, you will not find me admonishing anybody here to have more children, less I become the object of scrutiny amongst you.”

But it is my duty and honor as a pastor to talk with you all about what Baptism is all about.  Now, I’m sure that there are some of you who have been raised in the faith, and perhaps know more about Baptism than I could possibly explain.  But my guess, is that more than we would like to admit, there are a lot of us here that have really only a vague notion of what Baptism is and why we do it. So today, is going to be primarily a day about teaching what us ELCA Lutherans think about this ancient rite, and why we do things the way that we do them.

Now, there are many, many things that we could say about Baptism.  In the readings today, there are images of water and fire, there’s a dove coming down from the sky, John the Baptist talks about repentance and fruit, there’s some allusions to hell-fire and salvation, etc etc – and this is all just a small cross-section of what the Bible has to say about Baptism. 

But today, I want to break it down into three things that as Lutherans, we think are the important – and the first one is grace.  If there is one thing, and one thing only that I hope you remember today about baptism, it’s that it is first and foremost God’s grace being poured out onto all of us.  The Lutheran Church confesses that baptism is entirely God’s work. And that means, it is not about how much we believe and it is not about us making a decision to follow Christ, it is about God bestowing on us the gift of grace.  And that’s the reason that, unlike many Christian churches, the Lutheran church baptizes infants: we think that baptism is about God making a decision for us, not us making a decision for God.

Some people might ask, “Why on earth would a little tiny baby need grace?” Aren’t they perfectly innocent little creatures whose only job it is to love us and make cute cooing sounds?  Now, this might sound a little bit harsh to some of you, but here me out before you get angry: Babies are selfish.  In fact, they might be the most selfish creatures on the planet.  And I don’t have to be a parent myself to know that this is true.  All I have to do is to see the haunted look in my mother’s eyes when I ask her what my twin brother and I were like as babies. 

Now, my mother loves my brother and I about as much as a parent can love a child.  And even though she would never say a bad word about either of us, she can’t help but let a few details slip.  Things like “You and your brother used to take turns waking up in the middle of the night.”  Or “you were both over eight pounds at birth.”  Or even “I stopped being able to sleep in after you two were born.”  From these little details, I know for a fact, that my brother and I were pretty darn selfish as babies.  We caused my parents many a sleepless night, we made messes in quite a few pairs of diapers, and we never cleaned up after ourselves.

All of that is simply to say this: that from the very beginning – even as babies – we need grace.  And like my parents who loved us unconditionally – despite us being the headaches that we were slash are – in Baptism God declares his own unconditional love and grace for all of us.

The second Lutheran understanding of Baptism might be a little startling if you aren’t used to this kind of language, but I’ll just go ahead and say it in the most straightforward way that I can: in baptism, what we receive … is death.

Now, this is confusing and hard to hear for a lot of reasons, but one thing that Martin Luther stressed was that we ought to “call a thing what it is” or in other words, we strive to be as straightforward and honest as we can be.  We live in a broken world.  All around us every day we are witnesses to people hurting each other.  On the news we see image after image of unimaginable violence.  We experience brokenness in our own communities when we see people experiencing homelessness.  We experience brokenness in our own families when we can’t even speak to each other during the holidays.  We experience brokenness in our friendships when we bury our hurts for the sake of keeping the peace.

And God’s response to all of this is to say that this needs to change.  And the kind of change that is required isn’t about tweaking who we are like in self-help books.  It’s not about sweeping the bad parts of ourselves under the rug and saying everything is “okay.” The kind of change that God requires is total and complete change.  The kind of change that comes first from death – more specifically, the death of Jesus on the cross.  That’s why the apostle Paul asks in his letter to the Romans, “Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?” “Therefore…” He writes, “just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life.” 
And that is exactly what the last part of baptism is all about: resurrection.  The great mystery isn’t that we die in the waters of baptism, but that God creates new life. I want to be clear though that this doesn’t happen in some mystical sense, but it happens in a way that we can feel and see and even touch.  God is actually making something happen in baptism.

Most importantly, when God raises a baptizee up from the waters, that person becomes a part of God’s family – God’s church.  In my experience, this has been particularly true.  A lot of you know by now that I was actually baptized right here at Bethany in 1984. We moved when I was only five, so I have very few memories of Bethany or Crystal Lake. It was 23 years before we came back.  We moved to Ohio for my grade school years, and then out to Utah for Jr. and Sr. High.  Afterwards, I went to college up in Minnesota and finally to Seminary in the Twin Cities. 

And in all my travels, I never dreamed that I would be back in Crystal Lake, much less Bethany Lutheran church.  I certainly didn’t think that anybody would remember me.  Yet when I was called here, I was welcomed back like an old member of the family. You invited me into your homes, some of you brought out old pictures of me as a kid, and you swamped my wife and me with baskets full of food!

And that’s exactly the kind of tangible baptismal experience that I’m talking about.  Even if you are the kind of person that has strayed away from your baptismal roots; even if you haven’t seen the inside of a church building for the past 23 years because you’ve been addicted to alcohol and too ashamed to come; even if you have depression and feel like you are unworthy and that nobody could possibly remember you – in God’s family, you are always known and loved and remembered.

After Jesus himself was baptized in the Jordan River, the Holy Spirit comes down and God announces from heaven “You are my son, the beloved; with you I am will pleased.”  Or in another translation from The Message “You are my Son, chosen and marked by my love, pride of my life.”

And those are the very same words that God utters at every baptism. And at your own baptism, when you came up out of the waters as a completely new person, God said to you “You are my Son or daughter, chosen and marked by my love, pride of my life.”  And no matter how far you stray or what you might do, that can’t be taken away from you.  God will always love and remember you. 

Amen.

Epiphany Sermon: January 6, 2013

Epiphany Sermon: January 6, 2013

Matthew 2:1-12

“Can’t Buy My Love”

"The Magi" by He Qi, China

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith 

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Sometimes, you just have to take the backroads home. When my family drives each summer from Chicagoland to Lubbock, Texas, we sometimes take Route 66 instead of the huge multi-lane highways. These days, Route 66 is not only a back road—in many places it’s not a road at all! Most of the time, it’s the back, back, back road. But by taking this backroad home you see lots of fun stuff you would miss on the interstate: the world’s largest bowling pin, for example, and a motel made out of teepees, some awesome caverns, a few exotic petting zoos, and lots and lots of potholes.

Other times, the backroad simply gets you to your destination faster. When I was a country pastor up near the Wisconsin border, I often ignored my GPS and instead took the back country roads to make pastoral visits. I was amazed at how fast I could zoom through the countryside (unless I got behind a tractor, in which case, you could forget about getting anywhere!)

The most common reason to take the backroads home, however, is not for the scenic view or to make good time, but to avoid the main road. This is exactly what the Wise Men did after visiting the infant Jesus in Bethlehem. Matthew chapter 2 says: “Having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.”

Wait…did you forget the part of the story where the Wise Men escaped via the backroads? If so, you’re not alone. We hear this story every year. The Three Kings may even appear on our Christmas cards! And yet, these Wise Men (or Magi, or Kings from the East) are such familiar, warm and fuzzy characters that we often miss the lying, the intrigue, and the scandal they represent!

We always remember that the wise men came from afar to the village of Bethlehem. We know they rode on camels, followed a star, and brought gifts. Some of us might even know their traditional names: Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar.

But we don’t often remember that they first stopped in Jerusalem to ask for directions, catching the attention of the king. King Herod was none too pleased to learn that a potential rival had been born nearby. So he did what every powerful leader does when he senses his authority being threatened: he tried to get the new guy’s entourage to work for him.

Herod sent for the three curious travelers and said to them (probably over drinks and dinner): “Listen: I want to worship this new baby king, too! You go find him, and then come tell me so I can worship him, too.” Wink, wink, nudge nudge…

If the Epiphany story were a television drama, can’t you just hear the ominous music that would be playing in the background? We, the viewers, would know for sure that Herod had no intention of worshipping the baby Jesus. If only the Wise Men could hear the music, too!

Maybe Herod thought the men would be easily conned because they were foreigners, or because they were brown, or because they spoke with an accent. But, as it turns out, these visitors would not be remembered as the “Three Gullible Guys” or the “Three Easily-Swayed Travelers”. After drinks and dinner, these scholars from the East continued on to Bethlehem, where they found the baby Jesus lying in his mother’s arms. They unpacked the precious gifts they had brought and bowed down to worship the newborn king. And then…they went home by the backroads. Sorry, Herod. You can’t buy my love! You can’t finance my faith! You can’t pay me to pay homage to anyone! Just like Shadrach, Meschach and Abednego in the fiery furnace, we won’t bow down to your idols! We came to see the king….and his name isn’t Herod. Amen!

Today, rather than thinking of the Three Wise Men as foreigners or interlopers, tangential figures in our beloved Christmas story, I wonder if we can identify with them. After all, we, too, want to see Jesus. Many of us can tell of journeys of faith that have brought us from afar. And now that we’re here, there are always those who, like Herod, want to buy our affection, win our allegiances, or demand our devotion. Some of them even do it in the name of Jesus.

How many mailers did you receive during the holiday season, asking you to give money to this or that “Christian” cause? Some are worthy organizations, but others use more of your money for administration than for helping hungry children.

Have you received calls this week asking for you to share your political views and voting habits? I was hoping these were done after the November election, but this week I’ve answered several phone surveys testing my support for a number of so-called “Christian” or “family” causes. It’s interesting how many of these automated surveys are abruptly ended when I answer a question in an unexpected way. Taking the backroad still surprises people, it seems.

As a pastor, I get many calls asking me to focus my congregation’s efforts toward one cause or another, always in the name of Jesus. Again, some of them are truly working for Christian values that you and I might share, but others seem sketchy, at best. One man tried to get me to hold a boat sale at Bethany during the month of December. I’m not sure how that furthers our Christian mission and ministry, but what do I know?


The thing is, there are always kings and causes, ideologies and worldviews which will try to buy your love away from the newborn King. Why? Because we may be outsiders, outcasts, or outlaws, but those of us who follow the star are threatening to the powers and principalities at work in the world. We, who bow to worship the newborn king, do not bow to the others who claim to have the answers, who promise security and privilege, and who wear the crowns of worldly power, tradition, and “the way we do things around here.” And this is troubling to the powers-that-be.

If you don’t believe me, take a look at what the troublemakers around here are up to:

Here at Bethany, we stand against the idea that homeless people deserve their lot in life or are less than human. By housing, feeding, and clothing more than 50 men on Sunday nights at our PADS ministry site, we proclaim “blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

Through Good Samaritan and the Crystal Lake Food Pantry, we “fill the hungry with good things and lift up the lowly.”

When we welcome the Boy Scouts and the Girl Scouts for meetings, free of charge, and provide space for HeadStart for more than thirty years and the Bethany Preschool for ten, we proclaim that children matter more than money. “Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”

On Sunday mornings when we welcome everyone to the Lord’s table, regardless of the ability to give and always without a reservation, we stand in opposition to a world where dinner tables, conference tables, and even school lunch tables usually gather those of like income, of the same race, and of similar opinion.
Let’s not forget how Christians actively pray and work for peace and justice; how we speak out for those who have no voice; and how we minister to the elderly and the very young, for “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.” (Matthew 5:5)

Most scandalously, we, followers of the star, forgive one another time and time again—a truly troubling act in a world in which even our political leaders play the game of tit for tat, hold grudges, and seek revenge.

These spiritual practices which seem so natural to lifelong Christians are, in fact, pretty strange things to be doing. It’s easy to forget that being a follower of Jesus is not just a “nice thing to do” or to be: it’s a subversive act. It’s a challenge to the assumed order of the world. The story of the Wise Men and Herod we heard on this Epiphany Sunday begs the question: if we aren’t troubling the powers that be, are we really following Jesus? Are we keeping the star in our sights and following the light of Christ, or have we lost our way?

As you go out from here, I invite you all to follow the example of the Three Kings, who came from afar to kneel at the manger, and who wouldn’t let anyone buy their love or devotion away from the One they came to see.

Sisters and brothers, keep the Light of Christ in your line of vision this coming year. Take the backroads home, if necessary! Give to Jesus the best you have to offer. And know that Jesus Christ, who was born in a manger, died on a cross, and rose from the grave, has already given you the gifts of peace, forgiveness of sins, and the promise of eternal life. Ame