December 12 Sermon

Here's my sermon from this morning. I wasn't totally happy with it, but... oh well.


Good morning. God's grace and peace be with all of you.

Our gospel text this morning begins with a question: “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” John the Baptist, who is in prison, sends this question through his followers to Jesus. “Are you the one who is to come?” The question might seem to be a strange one, coming from John the Baptist. After all, it was John who baptized Jesus, John who would have seen the heavens opened up and God's Spirit descending in the form of a dove and heard a voice from heaven saying, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” Wouldn't John, of all people, know that Jesus is “the one who is to come?”
Yet John doubts. John questions Jesus' identity, even when it would seem that he had more than enough evidence to prove who Jesus is. John is so concerned, he must send messengers from prison to ask, “Are you the one who is to come?” John is overwhelmed by a pressing question about Jesus; he simply must know: “Who are you?”

Jesus' answer may seem as unusual as John's question. Despite John's experiences with Jesus, he feels compelled to ask about Jesus' identity. And Jesus does not seem to answer the question he is asked. Jesus does not say, “I am the one who is to come,” or “I am the Messiah,” or even give a simple yes or no. Instead, Jesus says, “Go and tell John what you hear and see.” Jesus doesn't say who he is, instead he says what he does: “The blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.”
In response to a question about his identity, Jesus answers with his actions. In other words, Jesus is telling John, “If you want to know who I am, look at what I'm doing.” Jesus' identity is found in his actions. John is supposed to find the answer to his question in what Jesus is doing. And the same is true for us. If we want to know if Jesus is really “the one,” Jesus is telling us to look at how he lived in the world.

The answer is not what John was expecting or wanted to hear. If you remember the Gospel reading from last week, we got to hear about John’s expectations for the “coming one.” In Matthew 3, we read John’s words: “Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. I baptize you with water for repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and will gather his wheat into the granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.” John is anticipating divine judgment. He vividly describes how the “one who is to come” will act: he will cut down every tree that does not bear good fruit; he will separate the wheat from the chaff. The righteous will be rewarded and the wicked will be punished.
This was the hope of many in Jesus’ time, who had suffered terrible oppression at the hands of the powerful. The judgment of God was their only hope for justice in an unjust world. Even today, we may hope for the same: that God will finally come and give everyone what he or she deserves. Like John the Baptist, we may look forward to a divine judgment.

Again, however, Jesus’ answer goes against expectations. Jesus tells John’s followers, “The blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.” These are not actions of judgment! There is no ax at the foot of the tree here, no unquenchable fire. No, instead Jesus is describing acts of mercy and compassion. Jesus does not bring judgment; he brings good news to those who need to hear it most.
Are these the actions of a Messiah? John certainly didn’t think so — after all, “Messiah” is a political term. “Messiah” means “anointed one,” and the ones who were anointed were kings, going all the way back to King Saul. A king ought to be ruling, not performing acts of mercy and preaching to the poor! Jesus is neither the divine judge nor the chosen king that John and the people of his time were expecting. And so John asks, “Are you the one? Can you possibly be the one?”

Jesus has one other word for the followers of John. After he tells them all he has done, all the acts of mercy and grace, he says, “Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.” “Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me” — anyone who takes no offense at a wandering preacher instead of a king, anyone who takes no offense at a merciful savior instead of a divine judge. John is facing the real possibility that he will take offense — that he will reject Jesus because Jesus does not meet John’s expectations. That possibility of offense is real for all potential followers of Jesus. The disciples, the crowds — all of them are confronted by a Messiah who goes against their expectations and hopes. They may take offense at who Jesus is, what Jesus does. But Jesus tells them, “Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”

We, too, must face the possibility of offense. When God does not act in the way we want or expect, we may become offended. When Jesus reveals mercy when we expect judgment, we may become offended. When Jesus sides with the poor and weak instead of the rich and powerful, we may become offended. We may turn away, refusing to accept this Jesus.
In the season of Advent, we are waiting for the coming of God into the world in Jesus. As we wait, it’s worthwhile to ask ourselves, “Who are we waiting for?” Are we waiting for a divine judge, like John? Are we waiting for a powerful ruler? And if we are waiting for God to come into the world, how will we respond to Jesus as a helpless baby in a filthy stable?

I’m not asking these questions just to make a point. I think they are questions we should seriously consider in our own faith lives. Because there is the possibility of offense for all of us. After all, if the reality of Jesus — the Son of God, come to earth — were immediately obvious to everyone, then faith would not matter. If Jesus’ identity were clear to everyone, then everyone would follow him. But that’s not the case. The truth is, many people have been offended by who Jesus is. That’s not an occasion for us to be self-congratulatory, as if we “get it” when others do not. We face the possibility of offense as well: at times, even we turn away and refuse to follow. So we have to ask ourselves, “Who are we waiting for, this Advent?” We have to ask, “What will our response be? Are we going to be offended by Jesus?”

Jesus says, “Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.” How will we respond to Jesus, to God in human form? If, by the grace of God, we are among those “blessed,” then our response should be to follow Jesus. In a few short weeks, we will remember a baby born in a stable to a teenaged and unmarried mother. From those humble beginnings, Jesus did not rise to a life of power and privilege. Instead, he lived constantly among the sick, the poor, the outcasts of society, and he died shamefully on a cross. “Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.” This is the Lord we follow.
Jesus lived out God’s love, mercy, and care for the world. Jesus gave people what they most desperately needed — physical care, to be sure, but above all, compassion and hope. Jesus brought good news to the poor. So too, as followers of Jesus, should we. Christ calls us to be companions to those who are suffering, those we might find distasteful or frightening. Christ calls us not only to write a check, though that is certainly important, but to see them face-to-face. Christ, who was born in a dirty stable and lived among the poor, is calling us when he says, “Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.” Amen.

The Good News about New Year's

[This is the January newsletter article I wrote for King of Kings. I liked it, so I figured I'd share.]


The Good News about New Year's

Just as surely as Thanksgiving has its turkey and Christmas has its decorations, January has its own tradition: New Year's resolutions. It's a staple of both pop culture and our own lives. After the holidays, after the family celebrations and the overindulgent feasts, we settle down into a dark, cold January, determined to remake ourselves. Join a gym; lose that holiday weight; become a more patient or thankful or kind person; find Mr. or Ms. Right.

What is it we are searching for, after all? When we try to conform our appearance to the photoshopped magazine ideal of slender bodies (or, for gentlemen, toned bodies) and perfect skin, we are doomed to failure. When we search for our lives' meaning in romance, we are more often than not disappointed. And when we try to mold ourselves into patient, kinder people, we often end up frustrated. New Year's resolutions send us chasing after impossible ideals and leave us feeling worse about ourselves than we did before we began.

In the second letter to the Corinthians, Paul writes, "Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit." This is the good news for us about New Year's! Paul reminds us that we are being transformed, not by our own effort but by the Holy Spirit. We are being transformed, not in January but constantly. We are being transformed; therefore we don't have to be slaves to our resolutions, but we can enjoy the freedom of the Spirit.

This year, consider this New Year's resolution: to let go of resolutions. Instead, remember that God's Spirit is constantly transforming us. We are not becoming closer and closer to the false ideals of advertising, but we are becoming closer and closer to the glory of God. And it is through God's grace that we receive this transformation. Therefore, we are free! Thanks be to God!

December 12 Sermon - Part Two

So I'm looking at Matthew 11:2-11. John the Baptist is in prison and sends some of his disciples to Jesus, wondering if Jesus really is the Messiah. At first, it seems like a silly question to come from John - after all, John is the one who baptized Jesus and heard a voice saying "This is my son." Shouldn't John, of all people, believe? But as David Garland pointed out in his commentary Reading Matthew, John had expected something different. In the Gospel text for December 5, we hear about John's expectations:

"The ax is already at the root of the trees, and every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire. I baptize you with water for repentance. But after me comes one who is more powerful than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor, gathering his wheat into the barn and burning up the chaff with unquenchable fire."

John was anticipating a radical, apocalyptic judgment. Instead, he hears reports that Jesus is healing the sick, raising the dead, and proclaiming good news to the poor - signs of power and significance, certainly. But are they signs of the Messiah?

It seems that this is the fundamental issue in this text. What is the Messiah supposed to look like? Does Jesus fit the bill? And Jesus himself highlights the importance of this question: "Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me." Even John, who was "more than a prophet," had to face the possibility that Jesus was not the Messiah he wanted. Even John could take offense at Jesus. How much more so for all the crowds - and how much more so for us today?

Since we are in the season of Advent, perhaps we can frame the question this way: For whom are we waiting, after all? What are we expecting of this baby we call "Emmanuel" and "King of Kings" and "Wonderful Counselor" and all the rest? Are we expecting judgment, to find mercy? Are we expecting political power, to find none of it? Are we expecting moral righteousness, to find someone who eats with riffraff (v. 19)? Can we face the real tension between offense and faith?

(I think there is also an interesting nuance here if we take the theological position that faith is not up to us. In other words, rather than reading this as a choice between offense and faith, what happens if we accept the faith itself as a gift from God?)

Kierkegaard, in his fashion, wrote an entire book on the phrase "Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me." I'm going to go home and look at his account as well.