Jesus in the Dark (Reflections on Epiphany 3, Year A 2026)

 

Candlelight Vigil in honor of ICE shooting victim 1/7/26

The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light. (Matthew 4:16a)

What do you think it means to “sit in darkness?” Darkness is used metaphorically for all kinds of social or emotional stuff. There’s the darkness of oppression and marginalization. There’s the darkness of ignorance (that’s a big one!). There’s also clinical depression, addiction, abuse, or just the plain loss of hope.

When Isaiah referred to the land of Zebulan and Naphtali as a place of darkness[i], he wasn’t kidding. Zebulan and Naphtali (named after two sons of Jacob, by the way) were regions in the northeast of Israel that were the first to be conquered by the Assyrians back around 700 BCE. The Assyrians weren’t known for their kindness and sunny dispositions. They were actually pretty brutal to the folks whose butts they kicked and land they’d taken over. They did unpleasant things like cutting the arms off their captives, displaying the severed heads of opposing soldiers, and impaling people on stakes[ii]. Nevertheless, Isaiah prophesied the people who were the first to lose their land and their freedom, who had their culture desecrated and lived under terror, would be the first to know God’s liberating love.

Fast forward to Jesus’ day when there were no more Assyrians, but the Roman Empire was calling the shots in the real estate formerly known as Zebulan and Naphtali. Rome controlled the territory under a puppet governor, King Herod Antipas. Herod, it seems was a rather touchy fellow who, like so many despotic autocrats, really got his boxers in a wedgie whenever anyone expressed any criticism of him. John the Baptist called him out for blatant immorality, so Herod—doing what all good despots like to do—silenced John by having him arrested.

In our gospel lesson for Epiphany 3, Year A (Matthew 4:12-23) Jesus has a pretty drastic (if you ask me) reaction to the news of John’s arrest. He “withdrew” to Galilee. Normally, if you withdraw, you’re moving backwards. It’s a retreat. Withdrawing is running away from something or pulling back from something you said or wanted to do which you came to realize isn’t a good thing at all. But when Jesus withdraws in this story, he’s going back to his old stomping grounds. He’s going back to Galilee, which is the area controlled by the dude who has just arrested John.[iii] He’s not running from the darkness. He’s going to light the place up. It’s as if he’s saying, “You may have silenced my boy John, but now you’ll hear from me.”

The first word from God in the Bible is “Let there be light.” When things get really dark, God is always there to strike some kind of match. I’m seeing an awful lot of light shining out of Minneapolis these days. When our government sends an army of mostly ill-trained nincompoops to a large city for the purpose of indiscriminately rounding up the immigrant population, some people are just not willing to sit and let the darkness descend. Some folks may be intimidated by an act of injustice, but some will push back against it.

I’ve also seen an amazing light shining from some members of my congregation when they’ve stared into the face of a terminal illness. I’ve seen them face the coming enemy with courage, humor, and the joy in the Lord which has been a comfort to those who have attended them in their last days. It seemed as if their light was glowing brighter.

The light of God is inspiration and hope. Maybe that’s what Peter and Andrew, James and John saw in Jesus. Maybe they were tired of just existing in the status quo. They experienced a man who had faith and hope and love for others, who wasn’t running away from the darkness but was running toward it to chase it away. He was going right to the place the prophet said he’d go. Maybe they wanted to be part of this light, so they dropped their nets and went fishing for people—people who would believe.

This is what we are all called to be—bearers of the light. Perhaps you’re not up to protesting unfair policies or facing a mortal illness. You may not be battling potential bankruptcy or the imminent death or illness of a loved one. But there may be someone in your life who looks to you and needs to know how you’ve navigated the dark streets of your life. They need the light you have to offer.

In our baptismal liturgy we light a candle and repeat the exhortation Jesus gives to all who are washed into the family: “Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”[iv] Let’s let faith be our light.

Keep shining. Thanks for coming. 

---

[i] Our First lesson for Epiphany 3, Year A Isaiah 9:1-4

[ii] If you’re into grisly Assyrian atrocities, you can check out Erika Belibtreu’s article her: https://faculty.uml.edu/ethan_spanier/Teaching/documents/CP6.0AssyrianTorture.pdf

[iii] The word translated as “withdrew” in Greek is echoresen. It means to leave or go away.

[iv] Matthew 5:16b.

What Have You Come to See? (Reflections on Epiphany 2, Year A 2026)

 

…and as he watched Jesus walk by he exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” (John 1:36)

You have to give John the Baptist kudos. For all his wild rhetoric—and John could get pretty wild—he really was a very humble dude. John understood his job was to bear witness to someone else. He was the advance man for a guy he might not even have known who would be, in his own words, ranking before him. We know from the gospels that John had a following and even some disciples, but in the gospel reading for Epiphany 2, Year A (John 1:29-42) he’s actually willing to tell his followers, “See that guy Jesus over there? You should go and follow him now.” I’m always impressed that John was willing to step out of the spotlight when Jesus came along.

I wonder what John’s disciples were looking for. What attracted them to John? Perhaps he was just a voice of hope in a world that seemed to be a giant dumpster fire. The country these guys lived in was run by greedy, arrogant plutocrats in a city which was over two thousand miles away by land. They ruled through vicious, corrupt thugs like Herod and Pilate. Guys like Barabbas and other Zealots were starting riots and plotting insurrection. The ruling religious authorities were totally compromised. What did John have to offer? Only the promise that God would do a new thing for anyone who was willing to receive it.

And then John recognizes Jesus. He feels the Holy Spirit of God alighting on this man, and he knows this is the one. This is the Lamb of God. So, he tells his posse to follow Jesus.

I’ll bet Andrew and the other disciple (whoever he was) must’ve been pretty thrown off when John pointed them in that direction. Nevertheless, they trusted John. They accept that Jesus is a teacher. They go to him and ask him where he hangs out. That’s kind of an important question because it means they may have to relocate. In typical Jesus fashion, he doesn’t tell them. Throughout the Fourth Gospel Jesus will turn questions back on the questioner. He’s not one for simple answers. He makes people work for insight. “Come and see,” he says to them. And they go. And he invites them to stay with him (It was about dinner time, after all.).

What’s happening here? There’s faithful obedience to John’s direction. There’s a faithful willingness to trust in Jesus. There’s Jesus’ invitation and hospitality to two guys he’s never met before, a welcome embrace to the strangers. And there’s something which happens to the two disciples when they encounter Jesus which convinces them that he’s the one they’ve been waiting for. Andrew is so moved by this encounter that he’s got to go find his brother Simon and drag him to meet Jesus.

Can you imagine what that fellowship with Jesus must’ve been like? How do you experience Jesus? Think about that for a moment.

In this gospel reading, John calls Jesus the Lamb of God. Whenever I’ve heard of someone being called a “lamb,” I always think that person has a sweet disposition and is kind and generous and loving. It’s significant that Jesus is God’s lamb and not God’s lion. Sheep are not, by nature, predators. They are communal, they are docile, and they serve humans very well. In Genesis 22 it’s a ram caught in a thicket which is sacrificed by Abraham in place of Isaac. In Exodus it’s the blood of the lamb on the doorposts of the homes of the Hebrews which saves them from the Angel of Death and allows them to be free from Pharoah’s bondage. Isaiah speaks of the nation as a servant which

…was oppressed, and he was afflicted,

    yet he did not open his mouth;

like a lamb that is led to the slaughter

    and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent,

    so he did not open his mouth.[i]

 

The lamb is not mighty, but gentle. It does not come to rule but to serve. And yet in that gentleness and sacrifice is a powerful presence which doesn’t need coercion or bombast. In its very weakness is a strength which is irresistible. What would it be like to be in the company of such goodness, righteousness, love and acceptance?

When I was younger, I would direct most of my prayers to Our Father God. Yet the older I get I find I have a greater need to be in the company of Jesus the Lamb of God. I feel a bit like those disciples of John the Baptist must’ve felt—like the whole world is a dumpster fire. I need Jesus to show me how to be strong but compassionate, how to be calm in the midst of chaos, how to be understanding and forgiving and generous and loving, and how to navigate through this freak show of a world in love and not in fear or anger.

What is it about Jesus? He says to us all “Come and see.” What are you seeing? What do you need to see?

---

[i] Isaiah 53:7

Our Adopted Family (Reflections on the Baptism of Our Lord 2026)

 

And the voice from the heavens said, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” (Matthew 3:17)

Nine-year-old Michael is doing pretty okay these days. He’s been in the foster care of Mickie and Joe, a young couple in my congregation, for a couple of years now. Mickie just gave birth to her first baby, and Michael (who may likely be adopted by this couple in the near future) seems Fruit Loops-sugar-spiking delighted about being a big brother—even though he has no biological connection to his newborn sibling.

Sometimes it’s not about the family you’re born into. It’s about the family you choose. In New Testament times, the Romans considered an adopted son to be more precious than the fruit of one’s own loins. Why? Because you’re stuck with the kid you’ve fathered whether you love this child or not. The child you adopt, however, is a child you’ve chosen even though you didn’t have to.

In the gospel lesson for the Baptism of Our Lord (Matthew 3:13-17) we’re witnessing an adoption. God is claiming Jesus as his own. God is saying, “I picked you to fulfill all the cool stuff my prophet Isaiah talked about back in the day. (Iasiah 42:1-9)”

So, what does this adoption mean to you? This festival Sunday which begins the Sundays in Epiphany, the Sundays when we read and teach about how Jesus is revealed, is a good opportunity, I think, for us to think about the meaning of our own baptism. There’s this wonderful little exchange in the gospel story where John—who is pretty darn sure Jesus is the Messiah—humbly suggests that Jesus should baptize him. But Jesus insists the righteous thing to do would be for John to give him a good dunk in the Jordan.

I guess there’s two ways we can look at the term righteousness. One way is doing what’s right. If you’re a Christian, you get your baby baptized, right? It’s what we do. The washing with water symbolizes the washing away of sin, cleaning up our mistakes, and reminding us that God is always busy granting us forgiveness for being the selfish and often careless people that we are. But there’s also a deeper righteousness at work here, which goes a long way toward explaining why Jesus gets baptized.

Baptism is an act of adoption. When Jesus gets down into our dirty bathwater, he’s becoming part of this whole, crazy, messed-up human family. When we get baptized, we’re getting adopted too. We’re being asked to accept our connection and responsibility to the traveling circus that is the human race.

In the second lesson appointed for this festival (Acts 10:34-43), St. Peter tells a household of Gentiles that because they fear God and practice righteousness, they are also part of the clan. But notice, being part of the family has its responsibilities. There’s nothing sadder than relatives who won’t speak to one another. Sometimes being a family takes work. I recently got a Christmas card from my first cousin, Kathy. I haven’t seen Kathy in over half a century, and I don’t think I could pick her out of a police line-up if I had to. But she made the decision to be family and reach out to me. It’s only right that I reach back.

If we accept that baptism not only promises God’s forgiveness but ritually unites us as a family, then we have a certain family obligation. A former clergy colleague of mine used to say that having a baby baptized and then walking away from the Church was like registering your child for kindergarten and then not sending him to class. Baptism promises us forgiveness and the embrace of God, but it also calls us into relationship with one another. The first part is easy; the second part can be a little tough. It’s easy to say to someone, “God loves you.” The hard part is saying to them, “I love you.”

Baptism calls us into relationship with both God and with one another. Embracing both aspects is what turns a ritual into a sacrament.

I hope this finds you well and enjoying this New Year. God bless. Come back and see me next week.

 

The Word Became Flesh (Reflections on Christmas 2, Year A 2026)

 

“And the Word became flesh and lived among us…” (John 1:14a)

I keep telling Brooke she’s the youngest person I’ve ever met. Once upon a quarter century or so ago, I was extending the congregation’s ministry by serving as volunteer chaplain at the local hospital. Sue, one of my parishioners, was in labor and delivery giving birth to her third child. When the nurse gave me permission, I paid a visit to the new mom and dad and greeted the new little girl. Sue was sitting up in bed, apparently no worse for the ordeal she’d just been through. Her husband Mike was seated in a comfy chair holding his infant daughter. He held the tiny bundle in one hand, tucked snuggly against his chest like a running back would hold a football.

I had never seen a newborn quite so new. Little Brooke hadn’t been a citizen of planet earth for half an hour when I peered over her daddy’s shoulder and saw her enormous blue eyes pop open and then just as quickly close again into a peaceful, innocent sleep.

There’s something about a baby that inspires our awe, don’t you think? We must be very quiet around an infant. We instinctively calm ourselves and a spirit of gentleness overtakes us. We must not wake this sleeping child. We must be still. And yet, this very still, swaddled, miniature person has a powerful influence over us. Should a baby spy us and begin to smile or giggle, we’ll smile and giggle back. We’ll experience an innocent, selfless joy.

The wonderful thing about babies is they don’t know anything. They have no racial prejudice. They have no grievance against anyone. They have never wronged anyone, and they have no memory of the mistakes we’ve made. They are little packages of hope, aren’t they? This baby could become someone who brings the world terrific joy or peace or healing[i]. Maybe this child will solve a mystery, cure a disease, or in some way make us all better people. A newborn baby is one more chance for us to get it right.

We are reminded in the gospel lesson for the Second Sunday of Christmas (John 1:1-18) that God’s Word became flesh and lived among us. It seems poignant and fitting that the Almighty Wisdom which in the beginning created the heavens and the earth and all that is seen and unseen came to us in the guise of a helpless newborn baby. In this child we see hope for our future. We see purity. We see forgiveness because all our past blunders and wrongs are completely unknown and unimportant in the eyes of a newborn. Shame and regret are replaced with gentleness and care and concern and longing for righteousness. That’s what God must desire for all of us. So God’s Word became flesh.

I imagine that for some Christmas must be over now. The radio has stopped playing Christmas tunes and it’s time to put the tree out on the curb and take down the lights. The exhausting blizzard of Yuletide activities is over for another year. But, for us in the Church, there are still a few more days to celebrate the Word becoming flesh, to contemplate the arrival of the Christ child, to hold the Baby Jesus in our arms and imagine the newness of the life he brings.

It is significant, I think, that John’s gospel not only takes us forward, but takes us backward. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” In the beginning. In a time before there was time, God had decided to love and save the world. God had decided to create and bless and inspire you.

Happy New Year, my friend. May the peace of God which passes our understanding keep your heart and your mind in Christ Jesus.

---

[i] BTW, Brooke is now a grownup and works in a medical lab. She just might change the world. I don’t put it past her.