This sermon was preached at Grace Lutheran Church (River Forest, IL) on January 25, the Third Sunday after Epiphany. You can watch the livestream recording and follow along in the bulletin. The image is of of the chancel at Grace as it looks without the deep-red dossal curtain that is currently out for cleaining.
Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace be unto you and peace in the name God the Father and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.
- On Wednesday morning, our students arrived for chapel unprepared. They had not been alerted to the dramatic shift in our sanctuary’s appearance. As they noticed the absence of the deep-red dossal curtain, they began to chatter amongst themselves, wondering what this change might mean. A teacher walked past, chuckling, and said, “They seem to be struggling with change.” So, during my homily, I told them that it had been taken out for cleaning and would be back in a few weeks. But I also asked them what they thought about it. One boy raised his hand and said, “I’m glad it’s coming back! When I saw it was gone, I just wanted to cry.” Another hand shot up; the girl to whom it belonged said, “Well, you got my hopes up. I never liked it anyway.” And then another hand, and with it, a question: “Why didn’t you have it cleaned while we were on Christmas break?” Within a few moments, the temporary removal of the dossal curtain had elicited a difficulty with change, diametrically opposed opinions, and a complaint about process. I beamed with pride. We’ve made them into Lutherans!
- Disagreement in the church is nothing new, of course. Years ago, when I was just starting out, a wise mentor said to me, “When churches run out of real things to disagree about, they’ll turn on each other about the color of the carpet.” Fortunately, I’ve never really found that to be true; or maybe I’ve just always served among people with more important things about which to disagree. Nevertheless, this is nothing new. After his buttering-up of a salutation to the Corinthians, which we heard last week, Paul begins his broadside against his readers. In a letter that will deal with sins ranging from sexual immorality to the abuse of the Lord’s Supper, he begins by disagreeing with their disagreement. How can you, he asks, you who belong to Christ, go around boasting about belonging to Cephas or Apollos or even me, Paul? Are you kidding? Are you fools? Or will you come to your senses and remember that you worship Jesus Christ who was crucified? For it is the crucified Christ alone who is the Lord of the church. And this same Christ, who converted Saul to Paul, who died and was raised for those squabblers in Corinth, who stands before the church today. It is this Jesus who calls to us.
- Jesus calls to us in the midst of deep division, in both church and world, and it’s not about curtains or carpet. There are those in our nation who espouse Christian nationalism, who seek to use Jesus to prop up their vision of a world where might makes right. The connection is clear in a recent recruiting video in which ICE makes use of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount – blessed are the peacemakers, it tells us, as we watch footage of glorified violence. In the broken world in which we live, some level of immigration laws are needed. But the current methods of enforcement are cruelty and violence. Yesterday, in Minnesota, Alex Pretti was killed in cold blood by ICE agents. Although the government is doubling down by telling us not to believe the evidence of our own eyes, all the video footage released so far tells a clear story: Alex Pretti was shot multiple times without good reason. Blessed are the peacemakers? The division in the broader church is not an honest difference of opinion; it is a reminder that there are contrasting visions of the gospel and that some of them are wrong. And I know nothing in scripture that tells me that the Jesus we worship is likely to be on the side of a heavily-armed paramilitary force operating against a civilian population.
- Where do we go from here? Things are never as hopeless as they seem. Isaiah, writing in a time of violent upheaval, reminds the people of God’s decisive victory on the day of Midian. What is the day of Midian? I’m so glad you asked! During the time of the Judges, Gideon’s force faced overwhelming odds against the Midianite army. But instead of reinforcing Gideon’s army, God reduces it. Left with only 300 men, Gideon sends them against their enemy with torches, trumpets, and clay jars. With light and crashing sound, they terrify the Midianites, who turn in terror upon each other, engulfed and defeated by their own violence. As God acted in the past, Isaiah promises, so will God act in the future. But the force of 300 is reduced further. Now only One comes forth, and he brings nothing to the fight except grace and mercy, forgiveness and love, and a nonviolent willingness to lay down his life for his enemies. Jesus will go to the cross and to his death. In taking his life, the forces of sin and hate and violence and evil and death will devour themselves. Such forces cannot give life, and will always lead to their own end, whatever damage they create along the way. We worship the God of Gideon, and we do so by following the ways of Jesus. His cross may look foolish to this world’s powers, but we know it is our salvation.
- This Jesus stands before us, fresh off his victory over Satan in the wilderness. His first word? Repent! Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near. Turn, peoples and nations, from your wanton ways and seek now the ways of peace – not a cheap peace that goes along to get along but the real peace of God in which life can flourish for all. To follow Jesus will cost us everything, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer knew well. Living under the Nazi regime, in 1937 he wrote, “When Christ calls a [person], he bids [them] come and die.” In Christ, we meet our end. But we also meet our beginning, the new life that comes only from Jesus. Where once we were entangled in the nets of sin and violence, now we are caught Up in the reign of peace and love. Caught up in peace and love – not wishy-washy emotions but powerful forces that can and will one day have the last word over sin and death.
- What does this discipleship look like? For Andrew and Peter, James and John, it looked like dropping everything, trading one set of nets for another. For 100 or so clergy in Minnesota on Friday, it looked like putting their bodies on the line while publicly praying, being willing to be arrested as peaceful witnesses against ICE and state-sanctioned violence. What will it look like for us in these days? I don’t know that we fully know yet. I pray we will be faithful. I know Christ will be faithful to us, and to all who take up the witness of his cross. For this is the gospel: When the people sit in darkness, in the region and shadow of death, the great light of Christ will shine forth all the brighter. However long seems the night, dawn is coming. Christ who was dead is alive. Your sins are forgiven and you are alive. Live now in freedom and light. Never mind the dossal curtain; the temple curtain is torn, and nothing can stop the light shining through. Jesus is calling. Will you follow him? On my own, I’m not always so sure. But I’m not on my own, and neither are you. Together, Christ, we follow you. Amen.
And now may that peace that passes all understanding keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus, this day and forever. Amen.
This sermon was preached at Grace Lutheran Church (River Forest, IL) on January 18, the Second Sunday after Epiphany. You can view the livestream recording and follow along in the bulletin. The image is San Juan Bautista by Francisco de Zurbarán (circa 1638-1639, public domain).
Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace be unto you and peace in the name God the Father and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.
- Did you see that? With three kids and only two of us, Erika and I are often not in the same place, and we are often missing out on what one or another of the kids is up to. While it is not quite the same as being there, we find ourselves resorting to the next best thing, zipping photos and videos of this hockey game or that band concert to one another. Did you see that? Just yesterday, I found myself suit shopping with Anders, who is somehow almost done with middle school at Grace and is therefore in need of a new suit for eighth grade pictures and graduation. While I do trust my impeccable sartorial instincts, I nevertheless texted his mother a photo before buying. Just to make sure. Of course, there was a time before cell phones. Remember that? On McArthur St., where I grew in Appleton, WI, there were lots of kids around my age, and we were all obsessed with sports. We’d be watching this or that game in our own homes, but when something remarkable happened – Kirk Gibson’s walk-off homer, Doug Flutie’s Hail Mary, George Brett’s pine tar histrionics, some team from Chicago winning the Super Bowl – we’d run outside simultaneously, asking each other a question to which we already knew the answer: Did you see that? You bet we did. And not only did we see it, we had a deep-seated need to share the moment with one another. Seeing isn’t enough. It’s seeing and sharing that marks and makes the moment.
- It is this sort of invitation, this epiphanic sharing, that ripples out today after Jesus leaves the waters of the Jordan and returns to dry land. First, twice, we hear the Baptist’s cry: Look, here is the Lamb of God! Then, as Andrew and another disciple leave John to follow Jesus, they discover another truth: Jesus is the Messiah, God’s Anointed, the One who will restore God’s reign in and over this world. These early professions of faith – Lamb of God, Messiah – point with incredible clarity to Jesus’ purpose and identity, evocative as they are of the history, hopes, and expectations of their people. But one wonders if John, Andrew, and those to whom they spoke, including Simon Peter, truly grasped the meaning of the words coming out of their mouths. Whatever their understanding, their confession of faith, even at this early stage, is remarkable. They are pointing away from themselves to Jesus. He alone is the Lamb of God. They are pointing away from all others who might pretend to such a position. Jesus alone is Messiah. And they are pointing away from all that would seek to hurt and harm them – from their own sin to the oppressive empire – and professing the hope that God is doing a new thing. Are you looking for hope, something that will help you finally lift your eyes up from drudgery, despair, desolation? Looking for something – someone – who will meet your gaze in return? Come and see.
- Our eyes, however, are haunted by visions unwanted. The same technology that helps Erika and I share images of our children enables us to see anywhere in the world. And while I am by no means suggesting that we shouldn’t be watching, these images sometimes threaten to overwhelm us. From the scenes on the streets of Minneapolis to those on the streets of Tehran, we are reminded that there is so much that is so wrong in this world. Such scenes emerge for different reasons, of course, and are vastly different, but we are reminded of worldly truths. That power is rarely benevolent. That sin is rampant and life valued too little Do we dare look up? Do we dare to hope? Do we, as one of you asked this morning, even have the strength to get out of bed in the morning?
- We do, if our gaze rests upon Jesus. Tomorrow, our nation will pause to honor the memory of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Dr. King reminds us to point away from ourselves. He was more than an activist. He was a proclaimer of the truth, a pointer toward hope, a signal showing forth the hope of this world. In a sermon more memorable than this one, “The Drum Major Instinct,” Dr King preaches: “Nineteen centuries have come and gone and today [Jesus] stands as the most influential figure that ever entered human history. All of the armies that ever marched, all the navies that ever sailed, all the parliaments that ever sat, and all the kings that ever reigned put together have not affected [life] on earth as much as that one solitary one” in whom “we can make of this old world a new world.” Dr. King reminds us, calls us, in the midst of all that would seek to beat us down or steal our hope, to look to Jesus. We look to Jesus and we see God come to earth. This God, Dr. King proclaims, “is not a weak God, He is not an incompetent God and consequently He is able to beat back gigantic mountains of opposition and to bring low prodigious hill tops of evil. The ringing cry of the Christian faith is that our God is able.”
- How? Come and see. Jesus defeats sin and death itself by first climbing the lonely hilltop Calvary’s evil. Behold the Lamb of God! Faced with death on Moriah, God gave a ram in Isaac’s place. Heavy laden with sin, God provided a scapegoat each Day of Atonement, that the people would find another year of forgiveness. From the lamb of Nathan’s parable for David to the Servant Song’s lamb that goes silent to the slaughter, John’s profession of faith evokes a rich tapestry of images, of the many and various ways God stands in the gap for us. But none is more powerful than the communal meal eaten by a fearful people in haste on their last night in Egypt. Taking a young, unblemished lamb, the people found nourishment for their flight to freedom and hope for the future. Marked by the blood, their homes became gateways to freedom. And so, as he goes willingly to the cross, Jesus – unblemished, legs unbroken – gives his own blood and becomes the lifeblood of this world. In this feast, we are reminded once more of the lengths to which our God would go to save us. Our Good Shepherd is the Lamb of God, who lays down his life for the sheep. Come and see this Messiah who makes a way to life and freedom, who frees us to work for life for all in this world, trusting that our life in the world to come is held irrevocably in God’s hands. Our lives and been caught up in the ripples from the Jordon, baptized into his death and resurrection, into the great Passover from death to life.
- Of course, in our reading today it’s still early in the story. Can this all be true? Has Jesus really come for this? With Andrew and the other disciple, we ask, “Where are you staying, Jesus?” It turns out, he’s staying with us. Or as he’ll say later, he abides. Jesus has come to make God’s home with us. The sin of the world is real, but it is also already defeated. Hang in there, for Christ is with you. As the psalmist sings, God will lift you up from the pit again. Keep working, for you are already forgiven and free. What might God Jesus do through you? Drawn together in Christ, come and see. Amen.
And now may that peace that passes all understanding keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus, this day and forever. Amen.
This sermon was preached at Grace Lutheran Church (River Forest, IL) on January 11, the Baptism of Our Lord. You can watch the livestream recording and follow along in the bulletin. The image is Baptism of Christ by David Zelenka (2005, used with permission).
Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace be unto you and peace in the name God the Father and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.
- On Friday morning, I dragged myself out of bed a bit earlier than usual on my day off. In an inversion of Christmas morning, I grabbed my cup of coffee and made my way to the Christmas tree. There were no gifts below, no stockings hanging nearby, no carols playing. Its daily donation of needles to the floor had been steadily increasing. The tree was engaged in its own version of dry January and hadn’t had a drink in days. Without ceremony, I unscrewed the pins holding it in its stand, dropped it on its side, and dragged it outside. I had to do all this early to make sure that it was ready for collection by the village for its journey to the chipper. As I dumped it in our alley in the gray light of a rainy morning, I took one last look at what had been, for us, a good tree. But now it was, cold, lifeless, cutoff. And the thought I had in that moment was simple: I know how you feel, tree. I know how you feel. Cut off, the joy and purpose gone, helpless and hopeless. Like Green Bay in the fourth quarter…
- The people of God were well acquainted with such a state of affairs, having lost much more than a football game. We find them today in exile, strangers in the strange land of Babylon, victims of the neighborhood bully who took them over because it could. Temple destroyed, homes far behind, the people wonder if this is the end of the story. Has the light finally gone out? Are they cut off forever? The prophet sings them a song, the first of the four Servant Songs of Isaiah. And who is the servant? The servant is the whole people of God, the people of Israel. The Lord sings to the chosen, the people in whom God delights. Yes, like a reed the servant is bruised but will not break, is faint but will not be crushed, burns dimly but will not be quenched. The same God who stretched out the heavens will use the servant to bring justice to the coastlands, not to work violent revenge upon the nations but to bring them into the promise of a new covenant that will one day come. The people, far from home, wonder in Psalm 137 how they can sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land? With their own voices cut off, God sings a new song to them – a song of promise, hope, and life when all seems lost. When will the servant of whom God sings rise up?
- Perhaps you come into this space today feeling cut off, overwhelmed, wondering not just where the joy of the season went but whither to go now. The news cycle has been relentless, from last weekend’s military incursion into Venezuela to the killing of Renée Good by an ICE agent in Minneapolis on Wednesday. In between these two events, a high-ranking government official spoke with CNN, offering not just his understanding of the role of government but a theological, cosmological, vision of how the world works. A world, he says, “that is governed by strength, that is governed by force, that is governed by power. These are the iron laws of the world since the beginning of time.” What is striking is that there is no particular defense of this or that action, no nuanced articulation of this or that policy. It is a simply a vision of a world in which might makes right and power is to be used, always, to dominate and subjugate others. To further the interests of one people at the expense of others. To be fair, this is too often how the world has always worked, but that is a result of our sin, not God’s intention. If we live in a world governed by brute force and who can wield it best, we are left with limited options. In that light, are we left with limited questions? Less why Venezuela and more who’s next? Less why was Renée Good shot to death and more when will it happen again, and to whom? If the iron laws of the world are strength, force, power, where does that leave us? Shall we all be driven by fear to seek domination over one another? I desperately hope not. The words of the poet, Rilke, come to mind: “Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.”
- This morning, we see the new servant come at last, Jesus, the hope of all people in our helplessness. He goes down to the Jordan and, over the protests of John, is baptized. One unique feature of Matthew’s account of this baptism is Jesus’ explanation that he must be baptized to fulfill all righteousness. Not because he is sinful, which he isn’t, nor even to begin to address our individual sins, although that is, of course, part and parcel of his saving mission. In going under the waters of the Jordan, Jesus does so as one who stands behalf of the whole people of God, to bring them back into right relationship with God so that they – in Christ – may now fulfill their call of bringing sight to the blind nations, and with it, justice and peace. Just as this world was created by God out of the watery chaos, so now does Jesus go under the floodwaters to begin the renewal of creation. He will complete this work on his cross and be vindicated by his resurrection. And throughout his work, from the Jordan to Calvary, Jesus will make it clear that this world’s ways of strength, force, and power are not God’s ways. Jesus makes it clear that we were made for love – a love, Peter will discover later in his encounter with Cornelius, that shows no partiality.
- The baptism of Jesus is the beginning of God’s endgame in which creation will be reborn, put back to rights. There is a second element of Matthew’s narrative this morning that is unique. Mark and Luke tell of the heavenly voice speaking to Jesus, but in Matthew the voice is for us: “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” This, God tells us, is the only One to whom we can look for forgiveness and life and hope for the future. And this One to whom we look is the Lord who brings peace and love.
- Michael Gorman writes of the cruciform nature of our baptismal faith, that we are justified “by means of God’s faithfulness expressed in love, to which humans, moved and enabled by God’s Spirit, respond in faithfulness that expresses itself in love.” Friends, in baptism we have been drawn under the waters with Jesus and find ourselves alive in him. As Jesus goes under the waters and under death for us, alive in Christ even now, so do we now in Christ give of ourselves for others. We seek not to dominate, always to serve. All is not lost. We suffer, but the song of the servant goes on. The power and the glory belong to God alone, and God’s reign is marked by love. Forgiven of your sin, go forth as bearers of the light, that all may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven, the God who shows no partiality. The God working for peace and hope and love. Amen.
And now may that peace that passes all understanding keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus, this day and forever. Amen.
This sermon was preached on New Year’s Eve at Grace Lutheran Church (River Forest, IL). You can watch the livestream recording and follow along in the bulletin. The cantata, BWV 28, was wonderful. The picture of a goat is used with permission.
Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace be unto you and peace in the name God the Father and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.
- When I first saw which cantata would be part of our New Year’s Eve worship this evening, I thought, yeah, that’s appropriate. I though Bach, or more to the point, Pastor Neumeister, our librettist, had really tapped into my feelings about the whole thing. But that was because I was misreading it. I thought the cantata was titled, “Praise God! Now the year comes to an end,” as in, “Good riddance, thank God that’s over.” I imagined a litany of misfortune, a droning dirge to march us out of this year. A year in which so much has been fraught, so challenging, so difficult. I was a bit surprised to discover that Bach and Neumeister meant what they said: Praise God! The soprano calls us to think on how much God has done for you over the past year, to delight in how much God will do for you yet. If we, at times, have a hard time looking back and not focusing on the bad, we gather tonight to remind be reminded that our God is faithful and good; that God has not failed us yet. That while there are disasters and disappointments, God is with us even in these things.
- This does not mean, of course, that we shouldn’t also look about with honesty about all that was not well this year. But instead of reflecting upon all ways in which other people fell short, did wrong, or generally weren’t too our liking, Jesus holds up a mirror so that we might do some self-reflecting. In his last parable, spoken days before his own death, Jesus tells of the last judgment. All people shall be separated into two groups, sheep and goats, based on how they have treated Jesus. Not Jesus as he shows up in himself, but Jesus as he is present in others. Specifically, Jesus as he appears in the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the sick, the imprisoned. Those who have shown love and care to these least of these shall be welcomed into the eternal Kingdom. Those who didn’t? Well, that’s what hell is for, and if you didn’t care for the least of these, you can look forward to an eternity with the devil and his angels.
- On first glance, this seems, well, okay, for me? I mean, sometimes I feed the hungry and welcome the stranger. I’ve even visited people in prison. I mean, I probably do these things more than some of you, you old goats. Won’t I be a wooly sheep? But the hard reality of the matter sets in. However many times I have done these things pales in comparison with how many times I haven’t. And the same, dear friends, is true for you. Jesus isn’t grading on a curve. You have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. Full stop. Do you know how I know? Because the last time I checked, we still allow ourselves to live in a world in which there are people who are hungry and thirsty and naked and sick and in prison. We still allow this world’s least to stay least. I will make special note of the stranger Jesus mentions. Who are they? The New Testament scholar Mark Allal Powell points out that the word is xenos, meaning “foreigner” or “noncitizen.” “It is,” Powell writes, “the term that today would be used to refer to an ‘undocumented immigrant.’” Powell continues, with what I consider a fair amount of understatement, “Modern Americans may take note of this when reflecting on the circumstances of noncitizens in the United States.” Indeed. It would be foolish to imagine that Jesus has an exact immigration policy in mind. The matter is complex. But make no mistake: When Jesus speaks of those among whom he is to be found and about whom we should deeply care, Jesus includes people without documentation and status. We don’t get to not care about them. We don’t get to pretend they are worth less than us. That is the sort of thing that leads to condemnation.
- So, goats. How are we doing? Perhaps wishing we’d skipped this service and started in on the champaign a bit earlier? Is there no good news at the end of this not-so-good year? As mentioned, Jesus will shortly be crucified. Yes, the Son of Man finds us all wanting. Goats, every last one of us. But the Son is also the Shepherd, and the Shepherd is still good. So Jesus, who actually spent his life welcoming and caring for the least of these, goes to the cross for the sake of those who have fallen short. He takes our sin with him and leaves it in the tomb. When he emerges, alive, the sin remains behind. For the sake of the Good Shepherd who is the Lamb of God, the goats become sheep. We have been baaaaaptized into Jesus’ death and resurrection, covered with the wooly righteous of Christ forever. Christ stands in our place, and we receive life, abundant and eternal.
- It is amazing to think on how far God would go for our salvation. The Episcopal priest and chef Robert Farrar Capon writes, if this “is in one way the heaviest, more fear-inspiring parable of all, it is also the lightest, the last laugh of the mighty act of salvation.” It is, he writes, “the Three Stooges working only for laughs. God isn’t trying to hurt anyone; [God’s] not even mad at anyone. There are no lengths to which [God] won’t go to prove there are no restrictions on the joy [God] wants to share with us. If you were never afraid of Curly, Larry, and Moe, you don’t need to be afraid of the Trinity either.”
- Of course, Jesus means what he says. If, after finding him here for you in Word and sacrament, you’re still looking for Jesus, he tells you were he’ll be. In the person and in the needs of the hungry and thirsty, the stranger and naked, the sick and imprisoned. Just because God isn’t planning on casting you into the eternal fire doesn’t mean God doesn’t want you to help people. Shall we continue in sin that grace may abound? By no means! So, get after it. The sins of this year are forgiven. You are free for the future God intends. You’re not goats anymore; you’re sheep. Act like it. And trust God to work it out. After all, as Pastor Neumeister teaches us to pray: “Give us a peaceful year / Spare us from all suffering / And nourish us gently.” There is no doubt that the coming year will have both the good and the baaaaaad, and so shall it be year after year until this old world gives way to the new heaven and the new earth. The Shepherd will be with you all the way. Praise God for the year that was. Praise God for the year that will be. Amen. Happy New Year!
And now may that peace that passes all understanding keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus, this day and forever. Amen.
This sermon was preached at Grace Lutheran Church (River Forest, IL) on December 28, the First Sunday of Christmas. You can watch the livestream recording and follow along in the bulletin. The image is Flight into Egypt by Eugène Girardet (unknown date, public domain).
Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace be unto you and peace in the name God the Father and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.
- It’s amazing how quickly things turn. Just a few days ago, our living room was immaculate. Beautifully wrapped presents waited under the tree and anticipation hung in the air. That all changed quickly on Christmas morning. Make no mistake; it was wonderful. Gifts given and received with joy and love, reminders of the true gift of the season, Jesus the Christ Child. But goodness, did it go quickly. By the time I left to come to Grace for Christmas Day worship, our living room had become a holding pen for recyclable materials. So it remained until yesterday, when the village picked up the recycling that was already in the bin and we could fill it up again with our Christmas detritus. We’ve just about built all of the new LEGO sets, for goodness’ sake! Maybe your Christmas has been similar; if not literally, metaphorically. It’s the Fourth Day of Christmas but it also feels so quickly over. Here we are, back to normal, ready to move on.
- It’s amazing how quickly things turn. The angels and shepherd of which Luke told us on Christmas Eve have returned to their heavens and their fields, respectively. The Magi have completed their long journey, following the star to find the newborn king. They’ve given their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. The wrapping paper has been ripped off and the recycling taken out. And how quickly things go back to normal. Normal in all the worst ways. Normal in broken ways of this world, in which peace on earth and goodwill to all people are the exception, not the rule. Here, in the wake of Christmas, we are confronted with a massacre. The wise men receive a divine dream, urging then go home by another road. Joseph, too, receives divine direction and flees with his family to Egypt. Herod, unable to find the one child, takes out his wrath on the many. This paranoid potentate seeks to eliminate any possible threat to his reign and orders his troops to put to death all children in the area who were two years or younger. This is heartbreakingly extreme, but not out of character. Herod had two of his own sons murdered because he saw them as threats to his rule.
- For all of the wonderful ways in which we value children, especially at Christmas, it is also true that they are the least of these, often the first to be forgotten. We have our own modern-day massacres and mistreatments of the innocents. From 2020 through 2024, 329 children in Chicago were victims of homicide. Since the war in Gaza began in October 2023, more than 20,000 children in Gaza have been killed. That’s more than one per hour, if you’re keeping score at home. Our own nation has taken to separating families through increased immigration enforcement; this year, more children have been taken from their parents and placed in government “shelters” than in the past four years combined. All of which is simply to say that the situation of the Holy Family is closer to the rule than the exception. Joseph and Mary find themselves in a situation all too common for young families who simply want the chance to raise their children in peace. But rather than being able to put down roots, violence forces them to flee, refugees in a foreign land.
- If this seems like a disruption of the Christmas story, however, perhaps we haven’t been paying close enough attention. The Son of God did not leave the splendors of heaven to stay distant from the dangers of earth. Jesus was born precisely for these children, lost and forsaken. While the angels come to Joseph in dreams and lead the Holy Family from immediate danger, it is merely a delay. Jesus, Mary’s baby boy and the Father’s only Son, will eventually suffer death at the hands of another Herod. In his dying, though, Jesus destroys the power of death. In his cross, Jesus opens wide his arms to all. Even and especially to children, so easily disposed of by this world.
- Today, in just a few minutes, Audrey Rae will be brought to the baptismal font by her parents and sponsors. Audrey is blessed to be born to parents who love her, blessed to have home and safety and love in this world. May it be so for every child. Today, by God’s grace alone, Audrey is welcomed into God’s family forever. Her baptism is a reminder that God is the God of children. That God doesn’t wait for children to become adults who prove themselves worthy of love and welcome. Audrey is already everything God needs her to be, and we can’t wait to see everything that God does in and through her. And as we witness her baptism today, so, too, do we hear God’s call to create a world in which all children have access to this world’s abundance, regardless of the circumstances of their birth.
- Matthew’s first readers would have caught the allusions immediately. Centuries before, their people had been led by a dreamer named Joseph to seek safety in Egypt. That safety had evaporated. 400 years later, they would flee Egypt to escape a child-murdering monarch. The scene is recapitulated in the saving story of Jesus as another Joseph returns to Egypt with his family. Jesus, the Savior of the world, enters into this world as a vulnerable child. He endures the vicissitudes of life and the victimhood of death. But nothing in this life or death will undo what Jesus has been born to do: raise all children of earth, to life in the coming kingdom and to lives of dignity in this world. Let us worship the Christ child by caring for children. For while Christmas flies away, the promise of the Christ Child lives on. There is still darkness in this world, but as John proclaims, the Light shines in the darkness and the darkness does not overcome it. Amen. Merry Christmas!
And now may that peace that passes all understanding keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus, this day and forever. Amen.
