What Are You Waiting For? (Reflections on the Presentation of Our Lord, 2025)

 

"The Presentation of Our Lord" (Bartolomeo, It. 1516)

“…for my eyes have seen your salvation…” (Luke 2:30a)

So what are you waiting for? We spend a big chunk of our lives waiting, don’t you think? When you’re a kid you can’t wait to grow up. You wait for Christmas, or for graduation, or for your first car. We anxiously count down the days until a baby is born. We wait for the opportunity to get that new job, or for escrow to close on our home, or for retirement, or the birth of a grandchild.

Sometimes there are things we hope we can see before we die. It might be something that’s just silly, like one more Super Bowl victory for our favorite team. Or it might be something which is deeply impacting. We want our child to get out of rehab and assure us he’s on the right track in life. We want to see a certain project come to completion and know our work has not been in vain. We want to patch things up with an estranged loved one. Then we can die in peace.

For some of us, we’re waiting for the world to change.

IN the gospel lesson in the Revised Common Lectionary appointed for the Feast of the Presentation of Our Lord (Luke 2:22-40), we see two seniors who’ve been hanging around the temple in Jerusalem, praying and waiting for God to do God’s thing and restore a broken nation. The Bible says Simeon—a pretty darn good old dude who was righteous and devout—was “looking forward to the consolation of Israel.” That is, he was waiting for some word of comfort for his people. Anna, the octogenarian widow, wanted to share the Good News of Jesus’ birth with those who were looking for “the redemption of Jerusalem.”

These two geezers wanted to see things put right. They loved the Lord, and they knew from their youth what God desires. It must’ve been hard for them to live under Roman occupation, knowing a pagan dictator was calling the shots in the land that had been promised to their ancestor Abraham and his descendants. They must’ve grieved the violence with which the Romans kept order and the violence with which the Zealots opposed that order. They must’ve seen the greed and corruption of the temple officials and the hypocrisy of the Pharisees. I’ll bet they felt their own identity as God’s Chosen People had been poisoned by a fractured and godless world.

But then a young couple came to the temple, showing devotion to God by observing the customs of the faith. And they had with them a little baby boy who was to be presented to the Lord.

A quick word, if I may, about this practice of presentation and purification. Jesus would’ve been circumcised on the eighth day after his birth, but Mary wouldn’t be able to go to the temple or synagogue for another 33 days under Levitical law. Because the ancient Hebrews had a thing about blood, women who had given birth—and you must admit we all came into this world in a pretty messy way—were deemed to be ritually unclean until 33 days after the birth of their son. If Jesus had been born a girl, Mary would have to wait 66 days (Go figure!). Mosaic law decreed that the firstborn of anyone—be they human or animal—was to be presented as an offering to the Lord. Naturally, one would not want to give away their child, so parents could present their firstborn and redeem him with a burnt offering of a goat and a sin offering of a turtle dove or a pigeon. If the couple were poor and couldn’t afford a goat, two pigeons were the discount rate. [i]

There are some things about this passage which I find rather touching. The first is that Mary and Joseph were obviously poor because they paid the poor peoples’ rate—two pigeons to redeem the Savior of the world. I also love the image of this old guy, Simeon, holding up the baby boy like a proud grandpa seeing the next generation of his family name. He knows this child is the representation of his hope. The Holy Spirit has called him to the temple to meet the one who will lift up the oppressed and put the arrogant in their place. Of course, as Simeon tells Mary, this isn’t going to be a day at the beach for Jesus. He will be opposed—and, indeed, continues to be. The Good News doesn’t mean the absence of suffering.

I also love Anna. I’ve known so many Annas in my time—little widow ladies who love their place of worship, never miss a Sabbath service, serve on altar guilds and sing in choirs and send out birthday cards and anniversary cards to folks in the congregation. The Church thrives on the faithfulness of all the Annas and on their prayers. They are the ones who have lived patient lives and can speak with authority about the goodness of the Lord.

Anna and Simeon won’t live to hear Jesus preach or see him perform miraculous healings. But they live knowing God has not abandoned them. They keep believing in the righteousness which is to come.

I am reminded of Dr. Martin Luther’s King’s last sermon, often called “The Mountaintop Speech,” which ended in a rhetorical flourish:

Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life; longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land! I may not get there with you, but I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land! So I'm happy tonight, I'm not worried about anything! I'm not fearing any man! Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!

Dr. King was assassinated the day after he made this speech.

Perhaps we all are waiting for those things we might not get to see—an answer to climate change, a lasting peace in the world, an end to poverty and gun violence, a renaissance for the American Christan Church or whatever it is that touches your heart right now. We may not see it come to pass, but we have seen the Light of the World. We have heard the voice of Jesus, and we still believe in our hearts.

The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of the Lord stands forever. (Isaiah 40:8)

Peace be with you, my friend.

 

 

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[i] See Leviticus 12. A famous exception to this rule was made by Hannah in 1 Samuel 1:1 – 2:11. She wanted a child so badly she was willing to give her son, Samuel, to serve in the temple as soon as he was old enough. The command to give the firstborn is found in Genesis 17:10-12.

Upsetting Sermons (Reflections on Epiphany 3 & 4, Year C 2025)

 

“Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” (Luke 4:21)

A lot of folks come to church to feel good. Unfortunately, some occasions arise when we leave our houses of worship feeling perplexed or challenged or—maybe—even a bit offended. Hey! If Christianity were easy, don’t you think more people would be practicing it?

The gospel lessons appointed in the Revised Common Lectionary for Epiphany 3 and 4[i] might pitch a screaming slider across the plate of some who hear them. Jesus isn’t afraid of a little controversy.

When we pick up our Lord’s story on Epiphany 3 and 4 Year C (Luke 4:14-30) he’s just gotten off to a pretty good start. He’s been baptized by John the Baptist and declared God’s beloved Son. He’s also just rebuked the temptations of the devil. Since John was thrown in the slammer for calling out King Herod[ii], it looks like Jesus is now the main prophet on the scene. He goes about preaching in synagogues and is getting a really good reputation.

I’ll bet the good folks in Nazareth were pretty darn proud of their local son whose star seems to be on the rise. They let him preach in the synagogue where, taking his text from the prophet Isaiah, he gives what we might consider his inaugural address. He reads the prophet’s words which declare God’s Spirit commissions God’s people to lift up the poor, release the captives, free people from oppression, and reset the whole economy.

Jesus basically tells his hometown crowd, “Yup. That’s what I’m here to do.”

A quick word about that economic reset: The passage Jesus read was from Isaiah 61:1-2. The prophet was referring to laws in the book of Leviticus (Leviticus 25:1-17) which required a sabbatical year rest for farmland. This helped replenish the soil and was an organic way to care for the land before the invention of nitrogen rich fertilizer. The law further declared a fiftieth-year tradition of returning all land to its original owners, and demanded fair sale prices for land, depending on how close you were to that fiftieth year. This Jubilee[iii] was a good practice ecologically and economically, but we have no way of knowing if the Jews ever actually observed it.

Since all this stuff is in the Bible, the people in the Nazareth synagogue didn’t seem to have any trouble with it. I imagine they were all nodding their heads in agreement. Maybe they were thinking, “Boy. Mary and Joseph’s son sure reads well. He might go far yet.” But perhaps they didn’t quite get the point that Jesus had come to rescue people on the outside of polite society. The mission statement he read from the scroll of Isaiah was a call to compassion for people whom others might not judge to be worthy.

If Jesus just kept his mouth shut, he may have been invited to coffee hour after the service. But no. He had to go and provoke the congregation. If you check out verses 23 and following, Jesus points out that his hometown crowd gets no special treatment. If they think they deserve the same healings and miracles Jesus performed in Capernaum, they’re just out of luck. Jesus has come for the needy, not the affluent, for the sick and not the well who have no need for a physician. He then goes on to remind them of their own history and how the prophets Elijah and Elisha performed miracles—feeding and healing—for foreigners.

Well that tore it. That got the crowd really pissed off. Luke says they were “filled with rage,” and dragged Jesus out of town with the intention of throwing him off a cliff. I guess they couldn’t deal with the notion that Jesus was calling for grace and compassion for other people—people who weren’t like them and, in their view, probably didn’t deserve God’s abundant mercy.

I wonder sometimes if our whole sinful society isn’t suffering from a bad case of wounded entitlement. When Jesus declares his mission to proclaim good news to the poor and release people from oppression, there’s a tendency for some people to ask, “But which poor? Why are they poor? Isn’t it their own fault?” When confronted with the suffering of others we might want to reply “I’ve done hard work myself. I’ve gone without. I’ve suffered—so those people can too.” Or we can respond “I’ve done hard work myself. I’ve gone without. I’ve suffered—and I didn’t like it, and I hope others don’t have to endure it.” It seems our sense of fairness is always at war with our call to compassion. We fear someone might be taking advantage of us and we despise cheaters more than we desire the wellbeing of all God’s people.

What would Jesus have us do?

This past week, at the National Ecumenical Prayer Service at the Washington National Cathedral, the Episcopal Bishop of Washington DC, the Rt. Reverend Mariann Budde, asked the President of the United States for mercy for those who are afraid—the LGBTQ+ community and undocumented workers. I would consider these people to be under the heading of the poor and the oppressed, the folks for whom Isaiah and Jesus seemed to be concerned. I listened to the bishop’s gentle and sweetly phrased homily, and I did not hear her scold or condemn the president. I only heard a plea that our government should have some feelings for those on the margins.

But some folks got upset.

And that’s okay. Sometimes our faith should challenge us. Sometimes we should wrestle with the practical and the ideal, with what we feel we can do versus what our faith teaches us we should do. Sometimes we should reject simple, safe answers—especially when we are followers of Jesus. And if our faith makes us uncomfortable at times, maybe it's because we're really learning how to live it.

Let me know what you think.

 

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[i] Yes, I’m going to include the lesson for Epiphany 4 in this post. Why? My congregation orders from the ELCA publishing house inserts for the Sunday worship bulletins which contain the propers of the day and the appointed lessons. If a certain saint’s day or other commemorative falls on a Sunday in Ordinary Time (that is, during Epiphany or the Post-Pentecost seasons), we have the option to observe either the commemorative or the numbered Sunday. The subscription my congregation gets always has the lessons for the commemorative, so we won’t be observing Epiphany 4 next Sunday, but we will celebrate the Presentation of Our Lord.

[ii] Luke 3:18-20

[iii] Fun fact: The word Jubilee comes from the Hebrew word jubel, which means a ram’s horn. The start of the fiftieth year was supposed to be marked by the blowing of a trumpet made from such a horn.

The Hour is Coming (Reflections on Epiphany 2 Year C 2025)

"The Marriage at Cana" G. David (Dutch c. 1500)

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)

As a general rule, I really like weddings. I don’t do quite as many of them now as I did back in the early days of my ministry (I’m not sure why—I wonder if it has anything to do with that freakin’ Universal Life Church popping out “ordinations” for wedding officiants like a Pez dispenser!), but I always enjoy weddings when they come along. It seems a wedding is the only occasion which can get a Millennial or a Gen Z into a suit and tie. That’s cause for jubilation right there.

Putting aside my own nuptials, I think my favorite wedding was one I officiated back in September of 2023 when I got to marry Michaela—a brilliant, cheerful, and talented young lady from my congregation—to Joe, a decent, hard-working paramedic. Joe and Mickey (as I call her) are a splendid pair of human beings. They’re kind, thoughtful, intelligent, and absolutely others-centered. They were high school pals who became sweethearts, dated through their college years, and they fit together like chocolate on a pretzel. They plighted their troth on a lovely, sunny fall day in an outdoor ceremony with lots of friends and family looking on and beaming beatifically with joy in their union. Since I’ve been Mickey’s pastor ever since she was a tiny little girl, I was pretty gleeful myself.

But then a strange feeling came over me as she was reciting her vows (Actually, she didn’t so much recite as extemporize. She’s good at doing things at the last minute). I suddenly realized that the little girl I’d known for a quarter of a century was now an adult woman. I was certainly very proud of her, but I also couldn’t help but feel a certain sadness as if I’d somehow lost something. After the ceremony, the father of one of the bridesmaids (another kid I’d watched grow to maturity) came up to me and, as if reading my mind, simply said, “Well, they’re all grown up now.”

Yes. They’re grown now, and the place in their lives occupied by parents and grandparents and even their pastor has shifted. Two have become one, and however close or important we might’ve felt to the newlywed, we have to accept we have been ever so slightly demoted. We all have to take one step back in importance. A wedding is a new start, but it’s also—in a way—an ending.

I guess this is why Jesus in our Epiphany 2 Gospel lesson (John 2:1-11) is somewhat reluctant to reveal his glory at the wedding at Cana. When his mother asks him to do what seems to be impossible, his reaction is to say, “My hour is not yet come[i].” Maybe he just wants to enjoy a little more time in anonymity. Yes, John has proclaimed him the Lamb of God, and yes, he has begun to gather disciples, but so far there haven’t been any extraordinary signs pointing to the fact that he’s the hoped-for Messiah. I think Jesus knows that when he starts showing such miraculous signs, everything will change, and his life and the lives of those who love him will never be the same. Faith will be gained, but something will also be lost.

But here was a need to be met. If the wine at the wedding ran out too soon, the family could be disgraced[ii]. Jesus had to do something, so he revealed his glory, and his disciples believed in him. His hour had come after all—whether he wanted it to or not.

Our evangelist John tells us this was the first of Jesus’ signs. I think the term “sign” is interesting if we look at it like it’s a road sign pointing the way somewhere. To get hung up on the miracle of water turned to wine is to miss the point. It would be like staring at a road sign but paying no attention to the location to which that sign directs us. Weddings are moments of transformation. Two become one, family relationships change, Jesus took the ordinary bath water and turned it into vin rose. But everyone’s relationship to Jesus changed, too. He wasn’t just a journeyman rabbi. Now he was possibly the Messiah. Now there was a mystery to be imagined about what he would do and what could happen because of him. Now the disciples had to decide what was expected of them, and we have to decide what is expected of us.

Everything changes. Joe and Mickey got married and now are wonderful and caring foster parents. Parents become grandparents. Kids grow up. Workers retire. Times change. New things are invented, and old, familiar things vanish. But we have brought the world’s greatest change agent to this wedding party. Jesus is with us.

Faith teaches us that every moment of transition is an opportunity for blessing. Something is lost, but something new is being created. Traditional churches may be closing, but I believe something new and wonderful is emerging. We are yet to taste the good wine.

Keep hoping, my friend. You don’t know what surprises God has in store for you.

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[i] Verse 4 reads: “And Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour is not yet come.’” Just for the record, if I’d ever addressed my mom or my wife as “Woman,” I think they’d both slap the taste out of my mouth. I don’t know how Jesus got away with it.

[ii] Both my Harper Collins Bible Dictionary and Readers Digest Illustrated Dictionary of Bible Life and Times agree that your basic wedding in Jesus’ day should last about a week. You could go longer if you were able, but seven days called for a LOT of vino!

You Make Our Father Proud (Reflections on the Baptism of Our Lord, 2025)

 

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.” (Isaiah 43:1b)

If my dad were still alive, I imagine he and I would have some disagreements. You see, my old man was very conservative. He made Archie Bunker look like Bernie Sanders. I don’t know what he’d think if he knew that, sometime shortly after he passed, I had done the unthinkable and changed my party affiliation to Democrat. Had he been buried and not cremated, he might’ve spun in his grave like a Black and Decker drill bit. He’d probably disagree with me on issues of racial justice and LGBTQ+ rights too. The old boy was a product of his time, and pretty stubborn once he got an idea in his head.

Of course, I don’t mean to make this sound like my dad was a bad guy. I think, as an adult, I’ve learned to separate the wheat from the chaff. All of us are, as Luther would remind us, both saint and sinner. For all of my parents’ shortcomings, I was, on balance, very lucky to have had them. They kept me fed and clothed and sheltered, got me educated, and brought me to the services of the Lord’s house and taught me the Chrisitan faith. I can say a lot of good things about my late father, but perhaps the best part about being his son is knowing that, in the end, he was proud of me. Indeed, he was well pleased with all of his children—and that took some doing given that none of us turned out to be particularly high achievers by worldly standards. Nevertheless, he was delighted that we all did what we enjoyed doing. Dad might be disappointed in my politics, but I know he’d be proud that I’m a pastor.

It might be an interesting question to ask yourself: Would your parents be proud of the way you turned out?

In the gospel lesson for the Baptism of Our Lord (Luke 3:15-17, 21-22), the voice from heaven declares the newly baptized Jesus to be his Beloved Son, with whom God is “well pleased.” The phrase “well pleased” sounds a little tame to me, like something you’d say if the restaurant cooked your steak the way you wanted it. I looked this up in the Greek, and the phrase comes from a compound word eudokesa (which my interlinear Bible translates as “I have found delight.” The root word is docheo which means to suppose or recognize or get an insight about something. If I had to translate this sentence from Luke’s gospel, I’d say, “You are my Son, the Beloved; I see something really, really cool in you!”

If you read through Luke’s gospel up to this point, you’ll notice Jesus hasn’t really done anything yet for his Heavenly Father to recognize as good or be proud of. God has rather patiently overlooked the stunt Jesus pulled as a twelve-year-old when he ditched his parents and hung out in the Temple in Jerusalem, and for which he got a good dressing down from his mom (Luke 2:41-52). After that episode, however, Luke tells us he was a pretty good kid who grew up to be a good adult who humbly came to the Jordan to be baptized like all the rest. That simple act brought a manifestation of the Holy Spirit and a verbal pat on the back from the Almighty.

Naturally, the Feast of the Baptism of our Lord might make us want to think about the meaning of our own baptisms. It’s got me thinking about how I teach baptism and its significance to the clever if somewhat attention-challenged teenagers who are preparing to affirm their baptisms through the Rite of Confirmation. What I’m discovering these days is a lot of kids don’t really have a point of reference for their religious instruction. Mom and Dad send them to Confirmation class, I think, because it’s “the right thing to do,” but I have to wonder how much of the faith they’ve really been exposed to. They may live in a society which is culturally Christian, but just how many folks are intellectually or spiritually Christian? Have these youngsters experienced piety in their home? Have the parents stepped up to the admonition in the baptismal liturgy to teach or at least talk to their kids about what this belief system is all about? How can youngsters affirm a sacrament they don’t understand?

Let me tell you: It’s not easy teaching middle schoolers these days. Every kid seems to have a smart phone and the attention span of a gnat. They’ve all been exposed to a lot of stuff in this culture, but it seems to me they’ve not been exposed to independence (parents seem more anxious and frightened for their children than they were when I was a kid) or responsibility. It’s taking them longer to grow up, and it’s a rare youngster who, like the boy Jesus in the gospel, goes searching for answers from the elders in the Temple.

So, how do we give baptism meaning to the generation of the semi-churched? We can’t just assume that our church vocabulary carries any kind of meaning for Gen Z, so I think it’s time we go all the way back to the basics. We need to define our vocabulary, even a word like religion. What’s a religion? For me, it’s the desires and feelings of our hearts about that which is ultimately true, which we believe but we can’t prove or even express—things about the soul, creation, the meaning of life. You get the idea. We can only express these things through our shared storytelling, and we reinforce our stories through rituals and traditions like Holy Baptism.

What does this story of Jesus’ baptism teach us? For one thing it shows us Jesus came to be one of us, to experience what we experience. And if Jesus is one of us, then the voice of the proud daddy from the clouds is also meant for us. The water of baptism washes away our disgrace, self-doubt, and disappointment with our lack of achievement by worldly standards. The fire of baptism burns away the chaff anger, guilt, and our unfair judgment of ourselves and others.

Every Sunday when we make our confession and receive words of forgiveness, we can be reminded that we belong. We’re adopted. We’ve been chosen because God has looked at our sinful, broken, and often confused selves and said, “I see something really, really cool in you. And you make me proud.”

I hope you feel God’s love and approval this week. Thanks for checking out this blog. I hope you’ll come again.

Some Thoughts on Our Lord's Epiphany, 2025

 

“Where is the child who has been born King of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising and have come to pay him homage.” (Matthew 2:2)

I’m going to get a jump start on Epiphany this year and celebrate it just a little early. This feast, which has been an excuse for a party for Christians ever since the fourth century of the common era, is supposed to be observed on January 6^th which falls on a Monday this year. I’m guessing that most folks in the US won’t be too anxious to come back to church on a regular workday even if Epiphany is considered a major festival on our liturgical calendar. This means we only get to celebrate Epiphany every seven years or so when the 6^th of January falls on a Sunday. Some Christian Churches, such as those in Canada and New Zealand, just decided to celebrate the feast on the Sunday closest to January 6^th, which seems like a pretty good idea to me. 

Epiphany (which comes from a Greek word meaning “manifestation” or “appearing”) is the day after the Twelfth Day of Christmas and celebrates this story in Matthew’s gospel (Matthew 2:1-12) about some astrologers from “the East”—possibly from Babylon (which is modern-day Iraq)—who’ve determined that an unusually bright star is a heavenly portent that a new king is being born.

Being good diplomats, these clever fellows set off to follow the star to Judea where they intend to offer some pricey birthday presents to the new little sovereign, possibly on behalf of their nation and the folks back home. The trouble is, as you can readily tell from the gospel reading, the guy who currently occupies the throne of Judea isn’t too tickled to know there’s a new king on his turf, so he plans to use the stargazers as spies so he can find the little tyke and snuff out his competition.

Here's a little back story: The Wise Men[i], as we call them, may likely have been Zoroastrian priests who were revered for studying the heavenly bodies and predicting their influences upon the earth. They probably learned a good deal of real astronomy by so doing. On our Christmas cards we always depict them as being three in number even though Matthew only indicates that there was more than one[ii]. We picked the number three because of the three gifts Matthew mentions.

Our Christmas cards also suggest that these guys encountered the Holy Family while they were still holed up in the stable in Bethlehem, but if you read the biblical text, it says the wise men entered a house where they met Jesus and Mary (v.11). Down in verse 16 Herod plans to kill all children born in Bethlehem in the last two years, so you can figure Mary, Joseph, and Jesus had enough time to find nicer accommodations by the time they received these foreign visitors.

The miraculous star may have been a comet or possibly a close conjunction between Saturn and Jupiter which astronomers believe occurred around the end of the reign of King Herod[iii].

Over the years Western tradition has decided—without any biblical proof, mind you—that there were three Wise Men who were named Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar. Our iconography has depicted them as a young man, a middle-aged fellow, and an old, white-bearded geezer in order to indicate that Jesus came for all ages and times. They are also depicted as a Middle Easterner, a Sub-Saharan African, and a European, indicating the three continents and races known to our early Christian ancestors. This depiction in Renaissance or High Medieval art (and sometime in Christmas lawn ornaments) underscores Matthew’s point that Jesus came for all people all over the world of every race and nation.

So, what does this story mean for us?

We could, of course, discuss King Herod and lament all politicians who put their own desire for power and position above the wellbeing of the people they are supposed to serve[iv]. We might also read down to the end of the chapter and read the story of the Holy Innocents—the children Herod slaughtered in his insane desire to hang onto his throne. We could use this story to concentrate on the suffering of the children in Gaza and all children around the world who are dying from hunger or living in refugee camps. We might want to consider that the Wise Men in this story were foreigners and remember that God sees no distinction among people and races, or that the Holy Family themselves became refugees seeking asylum from a murderous and oppressive regime.

Politics aside, we might just want to identify with the visitors in this tale and say our goal, like theirs, is to seek Jesus. That’s actually our job as Christians, don’t you think? We owe it to ourselves and the God who has been so gracious to us to be in constant dialogue with Christ, seeking His ways and His will for us. Our purpose is to cultivate the way of the Savior in our everyday lives. It’s a call to be loving, compassionate, inclusive, generous, and forgiving. It’s also a call to see the way of Christ in other human beings and to celebrate that holy presence when we recognize it.

I see our Christian Church here in America evolving. I hope in the future we will be less hung up on doctrines and traditions and just, like the Wise Men, seek Jesus. We won’t care about our position in society, but we will care about the hungry, the hurting, and the lost. We won’t insist on conformity, but we will open centers for the healing and comfort of all people, no questions asked. We won’t be like King Herod and build enormous temples. Instead, we could convert the wealth of our real estate into homes for the homeless. We won’t seek political power, but we will speak truth to power when necessary. We will look to the cross and be grateful for what Jesus has done for us.

May this New Year be a time when you draw closer to Jesus. Thank you for reading. Please visit me again!

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[i] We also call them “Magi,” the Latin version of the Greek “Magoi,” which comes from the term “Magu” which Zoroastrians called their priest. Our English word “magic” derives from this term.

[ii] The Eastern Christians say there were twelve of them, but those guys always like to be different.

[iii] There’s a pretty good discussion of all this in Asimov, Isaac: Asimov’s Guide to the Bible. (New York: Wing Books 1981). You could, of course, live your whole life without knowing this stuff, but I thought you might find it interesting.

[iv] I think about this every January 6^th.