What's Up with the Lamb? (Reflections on Epiphany 2, Year A)

“Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.” (John 1:29)

Don’t you love those dollar stores? I was in my local “everything-for-a-buck” place the other day to buy some thank-you notes. The cashier was this young guy named Haim[i] who, I noticed, had a whole passage from the Book of Proverbs tattooed on his left forearm. He seemed a nice enough kid. Noticing my clergy collar, he asked if I were a priest. I told him I was and, as there was no one in line behind me, we got to talking for a bit. Haim told me that he was recently in recovery from an addiction to drugs (I’m guessing opioids). He said that both of his parents were first generation Americans. His dad was Jewish and his mom was Roman Catholic.

“Neither community accepted me,” Haim said. “But Jesus accepts me.”

As long as his faith in Christ keeps him clean and sober I won’t quibble about where he worships. I’m thinking he probably belongs to some evangelical non-denominational church of which there are many in my community. I wished him well and said I’d pray for his  recovery, but I could’ve kicked myself as I got into my car and thought that I’d missed an opportunity to invite Haim to worship with my congregation.

“Jesus accepts me.” That kind of says it all, doesn’t it? In the gospel lesson appointed for Epiphany 2, Year A (John 1:29-42), two of John the Baptist’s disciples—Andrew and an unnamed seeker—inquire of Jesus where he hangs out. I guess they asked him that to see if he was a local guy, or maybe it was just a way to start a conversation with someone who just might turn out to be the Messiah. Jesus (who rarely gives a straight answer to any question he’s asked in the Fourth Gospel) answers them with “Come and see.” This is a pretty cool invitation. It’s about 4 pm, so it’s possible he invites the boys to stay for supper. We’re told they remained with him that day. Maybe they spent the night. That’s pretty accepting of people you just met!

Andrew, of course, was looking for Jesus because John the Baptist had pointed Jesus out as the Lamb of God. And that’s John’s job—to point the way to Jesus. I’d like to think that’s the only job any of us really has. Well, maybe we have two jobs—both of which are illustrated in this gospel selection: we are to follow Jesus and to point others to him.

So what are these lads looking for? John has told them that Jesus is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. We probably think of this as an atoning sacrifice. That is, a lamb was given to pay for a fault. I was surprised to find out, however, that lambs weren’t used as sacrifices for sin in Jesus’ day. If you wronged someone back then, they handled it pretty much the same way we do now. You went to court and paid your fine or took whatever punishment the law prescribed. A “sin offering” was actually a sacrifice made to cleanse the temple should some poor schmo wander in without having observed one of the billion and one purity laws they had in those days. Lambs were not offered as sin offerings. For an impure temple you needed to sacrifice some beef. Why? Beats me, but those were the rules.

When John calls Jesus the “Lamb of God,” he’s actually making a reference to the Passover Lamb, that poor critter that got eaten the night before God freed the captive Israelites from bondage in Egypt. The blood of the lamb was the blood of rescue, of liberation. It’s not just paying the price of having done wrong, because we’ll all pay for our mistakes one way or another, right? We pay the cost of sin in guilt, or in broken relationships, or in physical ailments, or even in legal punishment.

The Lamb isn’t here to bail us out of the earthly consequences of our sin, and he’s not just a “Get-Out-of-Hell-Free” card. No. Instead, he is here to change us. He is here to be our way out of slavery and bondage and guide us through the wilderness of our circumstances into something that God would have us be. For someone like Haim, it’s a radical release from addiction to sober living. For someone else, it might be the radical knowledge that Jesus accepts us even if we haven’t proven ourselves to the satisfaction of the world’s standards. Jesus frees us from those false expectations. The blood of the Lamb should liberate us from resentment, regret, and disappointment and lead us into acceptance and thankfulness.

At the end of the day, we have only two jobs—seek Jesus and show Jesus. Everything else we do can be evaluated in light of these two tasks. If we’re okay with this, the opinion of the world doesn’t matter.

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[i] Haim is a variation of Chayyim, the Hebrew word for “life.” Just thought you might be interested. It’s a popular Hebrew name.

The Usual Way (Reflections on the Baptism of Our Lord, Year A)

“And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him.” (Matthew 3:17)

There was this old guy in my congregation named Bob, now, alas, numbered among the saints in glory, who always liked the old Ferlin Husky country/gospel song, “On the Wings of a Dove.” If memory serves, we played that song at Bob’s funeral. It’s a really sweet song set in ¾ time or waltz tempo. It was a big hit for Husky in 1960[i], and it’s been covered over the years by many country and Christian artists. When the famous duo of Porter Wagoner and Dolly Parton recorded it, they added a verse which recounts the gospel lesson appointed for the Baptism of Our Lord in Year A of the Revised Common Lectionary (Matthew 3: 13-17). The verse goes like this:

When Jesus went down to the river that day

He was baptized in the usual way;

When it was done,

God blessed his son.

He sent down his love

On the wings of a dove.

If you ask me, the Spirit of God alighting like a bird—and a particularly peaceful bird at that—seems rather anti-climactic when compared to the hoopla that went on the night Jesus was born. A dove seems pretty puny next to the multitude of the Heavenly Hosts praising God and singing “Glory to God in the Highest,” don’t you think? The whole event seems a bit too normal. Shouldn’t the beloved Son of God get a slightly more miraculous baptism? But the Bible suggests (as Dolly Parton sang) that Jesus was, indeed, baptized “in the usual way.”

Granted, John very modestly—and modesty is not a real big thing for John—suggests that Jesus should be baptizing him. But Jesus shows respect for the senior prophet on the scene and does things the usual way. I always figured that this was Jesus’ way of showing us that he’s willing to be just like the rest of us. In doing so, he’s practicing a becoming modesty just like John does. The event seems to be a little lesson in Christian courtesy.

Still, it’s not very spectacular. Even the Father God is somewhat laid back. Not only does he decide to let his Holy Spirit float down in a very calm and unobtrusive manner, but his pronouncement over the whole things seems a bit tepid. He says he is “well pleased” with Jesus. That’s nice, but don’t you expect that there’d be a little more effusive praise of Jesus? The word in Greek is eudokasa (eudokhsa for you Greek-reading folks[ii]) which basically means that God made a good choice or that he approves of Jesus. This isn’t exactly a stellar endorsement.

But then, does it really have to be? Maybe there’s something more divine in the quiet, gentleness of Jesus’ baptism. Not every encounter with the Holy Spirit has to be the rushing wind of Pentecost. We don’t always need the heavens to rip open and a chorus of angels to appear. A few sprinkles of cleansing water and the sedate reminder that God approves of us is really all we need. God speaks most profoundly at times in quiet whispers, in gentle moments of reflection, and in simple people.

It might be a good idea this week—when the world seems to be going crazy again—to take a break, sit quietly, and reflect that you are baptized. God loves you and God approves of you. Let the Spirit alight on you gently like a slow, soothing gospel song sung in ¾ time.

Be still. It works. Really.

PS-If you don’t know “Wings of a Dove,” listen to it by clicking here.

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[i] I should mention that old Ferlin didn’t write the song. It was composed by a fellow named Bob Ferguson.

[ii] There probably aren’t many of you. I just dig that my computer has a program that lets me write in Greek. It makes me feel smart!

In the Flesh (Reflections on Christmas 2, Year A)

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

Flesh.

The word gets a bad rap. If religious folk say someone is “in the flesh,” they generally don’t mean it as a compliment, do they? The word “carnal” comes from an old medieval word meaning “flesh” or “meat,” and is usually used to describe someone who is preoccupied with sex. In the third century there was a popular religious belief called Manichaeism which proposed that everything was divided between good spirit and bad matter. The spirit was divine but the flesh was evil. Medieval monks—Martin Luther included—tried to purify their souls by mortifying their flesh through fasting, hard labor, self-flagellation, or the wearing of very uncomfortable underwear.

Now of days, of course, we’re a little more kind to the flesh. We’re told the body is beautiful—just not your body. Nope, says the popular culture, you have too much flesh or not enough or it’s not in the right places or you’ve had it way too long. We don’t put on sackcloth or beat ourselves with rods these days; instead, we take spin class and inject poison into our face.

In a few days I’m going to turn sixty years old, and I have to tell you, my flesh hurts. It doesn’t look or act like it did forty years ago. I can’t divorce myself from it, so I guess I’ll just have to live with it.

What makes this acceptable to me is knowing that Jesus’ flesh on the cross hurt a lot more than mine does. If I feel pain or a loss of mobility, it’s nothing next to the loss of mobility that comes when you’re impaled on a piece of wood and left hanging there to die.

And that’s the amazing and glorious mystery of our faith: we see the Living God becoming flesh and living among us so that we can see his glory, grace and truth. God becomes one with us, wrapped, as Shakespeare put it, in “that small model of the barren earth which serves as paste and covering to our bones.” Jesus felt hunger and fatigue and physical pain just as we do. He wept and laughed and bled and experienced all the sensations of the flesh.

Why wouldn’t we want to embrace our flesh? Through it we have identity. We have our age, our gender, and in it we so often experience our emotions—we laugh, cry, smile, and feel in our guts and in our hearts. Best of all, it is through the flesh and blood of human experience that God came to know us, and it is because the Word became flesh that we can relate to God. We remember that every time we receive his body in the Holy Eucharist. But maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if—every time we feel that stiffness, ache, numbness or twinge—we remember that Jesus felt it too. He came to take on our flesh so that in our flesh we might recall his glory and love.

Happy 2020! Please drop by again.

Wayne's Christmas Tree

The story I’m relating below is a true story told to me in written form by the late Frank Wayne Martin[i], one of the most remarkable people I’ve ever known and one of my parishioners when I served as vicar at Grace Lutheran in Yorktown Heights, NY in 1996-7. Wayne wrote this story of his youth and sent it to me shortly after I became pastor of Faith Lutheran, Philadelphia in 1998. I read it as my Christmas Eve homily in 1999. I have, alas, since lost Wayne’s manuscript, and he is no longer around to replace it for me. I fear I may be unclear on some of the facets of the story, and may be prone to remember some incorrectly or neglect others. Nevertheless, I think I have the main points of the tale correct.

It was during the Great Depression, and Wayne was a boy of twelve or so. He was an only child, growing up in beautiful Vermont when the first tragedy of his life came calling. His father, a veteran of the Great War, had developed a heart condition believed to be the result of over-exertion during deployment. This cut his life short and left Wayne an orphan and his mother a widow. It also left the surviving Martins somewhat destitute in those days before the New Deal provided the social safety nets upon which we’ve come to rely in our time.

The death of a parent is devastating enough to a child; however, the loss of the family provider also meant a curtailing of non-essential expenses. I imagine it must’ve been very hard on Mrs. Martin to tell her son there would be a very limited Christmas that year. There could be no bonanza of gifts under the tree. In fact, as Christmas trees cost money, there could be no tree.

To young Wayne, this simply wasn’t right. It wouldn’t be Christmas without a Christmas tree. The youngster determined to put this situation to rights. With a knack for problem-solving which would serve him well in later adult life, Wayne approached the local man who sold Christmas trees and made this proposition: he would work for the man after school and on weekends during the Christmas season without pay. The only recompense he asked was to be given any unsold tree leftover at close-of-business on Christmas Eve. The man, who, in those belt-tightened days of the Depression could not afford to pay an assistant, eagerly accepted the boy’s offer.

So Wayne went into the Christmas tree business. As trees were sold off the front of the lot, the boy would haul fresh trees up from the back. He assisted customers by tying trees to their cars or carts or dragging them home through the icy streets. Perhaps he received a few pennies in tips for his efforts. The tree man liked Wayne, and would put him in charge of the cash box when he took a break to have dinner at a local lunch counter.

A few days before Christmas, Wayne’s boss told him that, as business had slowed considerably, he would no longer require an assistant. Wayne’s “pay” was waiting for him in the back of the lot. The boy discovered that his “employer” had reserved for him one of the biggest and fullest of the trees.

Wayne dragged the gigantic tree home over the snowy sidewalks, anxious to delight his mother with his prize. Mrs. Martin was amazed by the beautiful tree and ran to the attic to get her box of tree ornaments and decorations. Mother and son sang carols as they trimmed the massive pine. When they had finished, they stopped and admired their work and placed the few presents they could afford under the boughs. Wayne had saved his tip money to buy a box of face powder for his mother. He had also purchased a small catnip mouse for the family cat. Mrs. Martin, knowing her son’s interest in art, bought him a set of colored drawing pencils. This set would become a prized possession, used carefully and sparingly for years afterwards, and even made it into the backpack Wayne carried as a forward observer in Patton’s 3^rd Army.

Unfortunately, the three small gifts seemed rather puny and humble beneath the limbs of the magnificent tree. Mrs. Martin had an idea. She had plenty of wrapping paper left over from more affluent Christmas’ past. She and Wayne gathered up everything they could find—soap flakes, breakfast cereal, old cigar boxes filled with buttons and thread, the telephone directory, books off the shelf. Anything. These they wrapped in the festive paper and placed under the tree until it looked as if Santa’s pack had split open at the Martin’s house.

On Christmas morning, the Martins celebrated just as they had done when Mr. Martin was with them. The mother and son used their fantastic imaginations to explain the origins of the unusual “gifts.”

“This is for you,” Mrs. Martin said as she handed Wayne a parcel to unwrap. “It’s from President Roosevelt.”

Wayne tore off the paper. “Oh boy! Kellogg’s Corn Flakes! Just what I wanted. How did he know..?!”

By the following Christmas, Wayne and his mother had gone to live with relatives. The subsequent years would be less stressful, the Christmas gifts more abundant. Nevertheless, Wayne maintained for the rest of his life that no other Christmas—with the possible exception of one spent in Belgium during the Battle of the Bulge—was ever as meaningful or as memorable as the one he spent alone with his mother the year his father died.

I think sometimes that the beauty of Christmas is in its poverty, not its excess. God chose to come to an unwed teen mother who would find herself homeless at the time she gave birth. God announced this birth to the poorest and most despised of peasants, the shepherds. The boy born to be the Prince of Peace would soon find himself a refugee in Egypt. The prophet hailed as Messiah on Sunday would be rejected in favor of another by Friday. The teacher who healed the sick would die a criminal’s death on the cross.

And yet that same despised peasant would rise again, and his followers, frightened working-class, uneducated peasants, would find the strength to change the world. Sometimes it’s in the moments when we have the least that we discover God has given us so much.

Merry Christmas, my dears!

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[i] I recommend any serious student of history check out Wayne’s WWII memoirs, Patton’s Luck Scout, published by Crickhollow Books. Wayne Martin died in 2010 shortly after the book was published. You can read more about him at https://luckyscout.wordpress.com/about-the-book/

Righteous Mess (Reflections on Advent 4, Year A)

Danielle[i] was the single mother of three. She was also an opioid addict. She fought bravely with her disease, but the authorities removed all three children from her custody shortly after she gave birth to her third. Because the children’s father is in prison, Marc and Sue, a compassionate couple, took in the children and conscientiously included their birth mother in their lives. Danielle was able to visit with the kids and maintain a relationship while she fought to get her life back on track.

But her life never got back on track. She died of an overdose a few weeks ago. She was 33 years old.

As I read the funeral liturgy for Danielle, I watched this newly-created family. There were two boys, 13 and 9, and a little girl of 7. They looked healthy and neat and respectful. Marc sat with his arm around the younger boy, comforting him as a father should.

I thought to myself, “These kids have been through a lot. Their dad is in jail. Their mom is dead. Who knows what kind of memories may haunt them? What kind of people are moved to take in a stranger’s children and raise them as their own? Has this couple thought about what they’re getting themselves into? They must be some pretty righteous folks if they’re willing to take on this burden.”

Righteous. In our gospel lesson appointed for Advent 4, Year A (Matthew 1:18-25), Joseph is described as being a “righteous man” (v. 19). Bible scholars are on the fence about what Matthew meant when he so described the guardian of our Lord. Was Joseph righteous because he had compassion for his betrothed even though she seems to have committed adultery, or was he righteous because, according to the purity standards of his society, he would not be yoked to a woman who had so obviously committed a sin? Perhaps both interpretations are accurate.

The Bible says Joseph “planned to dismiss her quietly.” This speaks to his compassion, but it also get him off the hook. Don’t you ever wish you could just quietly dismiss the causes of anxiety in your life? The people who—maybe even in spite of their best intentions—are the source of your sleepless nights? Don’t you wish you could do away with all the mess in your life neatly and without further aggravation?

But that isn’t how it works out, is it? God’s way is so often very messy. God’s way calls for you to go down streets the society teaches you to avoid, and to deal with situations which aren’t of your making, but a righteous love of God’s justice and mercy compels you to address. Dirty jobs that someone has to do, and that someone is you. God is calling you to take on others’ burdens, engage with strangers, and trust that God’s hand is in this.

I wonder if Joseph suffered any for obeying God. Did the society look askance at him because he was willing to be the husband of a woman they considered a whore? Perhaps he knew that the prophet Hosea had done just the same thing and yet was accounted an instrument of God. Did Joseph worry about the son he was taking on? Would the “righteous” folks look down on this boy because his parentage was in doubt and he couldn’t be proven to be 100% Jewish? How was Joseph to parent a lad like this?

Sometimes God calls us to frightening tasks. Our Christmas story of Mary and Joseph is the miracle story of simple people like Marc and Sue who can see the Word made flesh, and are willing to say “yes, Lord.”

Thanks for reading, my friend. May God grant you a blessed week and give you strength in the tasks he has set before you.

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[i] This is not her real name. I’ve changed all names out of respect for the people involved.

What Did You Come Out to See? (Reflections on Advent 3, Year A)

“When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, ‘Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?’” (Matthew 11:2-3)

So, in our Gospel lesson for Advent 3, Year A (Matthew 11”2-11), we find John the Baptist in the lock-up. Boy. That must really suck.

I guess no good deed ever goes unpunished. Poor John has been preparing the way for the Messiah, speaking truth to power, and encouraging people to lead godly lives in anticipation of God’s deliverance—and all he gets for his trouble is a jail cell. You can see why he suddenly starts doubting Jesus. Can you blame him? Things aren’t turning out the way he pictured, so he sends his disciples to talk to Jesus and get a little reassurance.

And what does Jesus say? Folks are getting healed of their infirmities, the poor are being encouraged, and those who welcome Jesus’ message are being blessed. Yes, life may suck for John right now, but God didn’t stop being good because John’s circumstances prevented him from seeing the goodness. And, if you think about it, that’s true for us, too. On the crappiest day we’re ever going to have, some woman will deliver a healthy baby. Some kid might get his first job. Two youngsters might fall in love. Somebody may be told they are cancer free. The goodness of God’s Kingdom is in the here and the now.

Heck yeah this world—and our nation—are in a lousy state; nevertheless, there are warriors of the Kingdom still working to put it right. God has not abandoned us. It’s just that God’s Kingdom may not come as we expect it to come.

I’ll bet Jesus got some kind of a chuckle out of John’s disciples. He had to rattle their cage a little (Jesus is good at that) and ask them just what it was they expected in the Messiah. He asks them what they expected to see when they encountered John.

After all, John was pretty counter-cultural. He was on the outskirts of society in the wilderness. He dressed in skins and ate bugs and wasn’t anything like the religious leaders they’d come to know or expect. He wasn’t a reed in the wind who blew in the direction of the current fashion, and he wasn’t a prissy courtier to the power structure. He wasn’t anything conventional they were used to. Why would they think God’s Messiah would be conventional?

Our Messiah doesn’t fit the mold. He does not come with the trappings of wealth, political power, or celebrity. He comes to give comfort and hope to the people who have none of these. And he’s active right here under our very noses.

A few months ago I was at a conference at my synod headquarters on vital congregations. I found it really empowering to hear how God is moving in churches large and small, how God keeps showing up in unexpected ways through unexpected people. If we have an unconventional Messiah, why should we define our churches in conventional ways? It’s no longer about “Butts & Bucks”—that is, butts in the pews and bucks in the collection plate. It’s about love and relationships. It’s about compassion to the poor and the marginalized. It’s about welcome. It’s about healing. It’s about deepening a relationship with God and with humanity. It’s about seeing God active in the world and in your life. And if you feel you’re experiencing these things in your congregation, you should go and tell somebody about it.

On this Guadete Sunday, rejoice for the Kingdom of God has come near. A blessed Advent to you, my friend!

John's Voice of Hope (Reflections on Advent 2, Year A)

"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.” (Matthew 3:10)

I don’t know about you, but the above quote is pretty scary stuff to me. Old John the Baptist is giving us a pretty stern warning that we better get our act together or else..! In 2019 no fewer than three congregations in my deanery have gone belly up at the top of the ecclesiastical fish tank. The ranks are thinning, and I have to wonder if my little parish will be the next one to get chopped down.

I keep asking, “Are we bearing fruit?” I mean, in the voice of John the Baptist from the gospel appointed for Advent 2 this year (Matthew 3:1-12) I can just hear that ax grinding on the wheel. John’s voice is full of judgment. It’s telling me something better get done in a pretty quick hurry or that blade is coming down. I can’t lean on my good Lutheran theology for help because God could make Lutherans out of rocks if God wanted to (and I sometimes think God did!).

But once I get over my initial panic at the prophet’s message, I have to notice two important things about this text. First, John is calling for repentance. Second, John is promising that God will send a savior. This is actually pretty good news if you stop and think about it. Why would God want us to turn around if there were no place to turn? And why would God send a savior to a world which is beyond hope? The answer, of course, is that God wouldn’t. John’s warning voice is really a voice of hope. God has just packaged this hope in the guise of a scary, bug-eating, wilderness dude to get our attention.

Before we get too hopeful, however, we’d be wise to consider there’s plenty to be alarmed about. Besides our vanishing congregations, the life expectancy of Americans is getting shorter due to stress, gun violence, depression, suicide, drugs, and a bunch of other factors[i]. The world is getting wetter and warmer and climate disasters are becoming commonplace. We face a growing inequality between the haves and have-nots.

I know you’ve heard all of this noise before, and you probably don’t want to be reading about it from me when you’re getting ready for Santa. But the bad news might actually be good news in disguise if it can wake us up, turn us to Christ, and move us to action which is pleasing to God. We have already witnessed God’s desire to set us free and to give us life and healing when we have chosen to honor and obey.

For instance: In the 1970’s the US passed the Clean Air Act which banned lead in gasoline. Since that time the mean lead level in the bloodstreams of Americans plunged by several points while our average IQ scores increased[ii]. Similarly, when we began to get religion over the hole in Earth’s ozone layer, we made the decision to ban halocarbons. Guess what? The ozone hole has started to close back up![iii]

Some things just aren’t “fruitful” enough, and they need to get the ax. But the good news is that God’s will for us is always life—and abundant life at that. The Hebrew scripture passage appointed for Advent 2 (Isaiah 11:1-10) provides us with that really cool image of the shoot rising out of the stump. Yeah, something was cut down, but something new is growing from its remains.

Martin Luther believed that the Church has a duty to speak to the society. In a sense, we are always cast in the role of John the Baptist, calling out the world to stop screwing around and get with God’s program. This always means an uncomfortable and—usually—resisted demand for change. But when that change is made, stuff gets better.

But we’re called to take a look at our own personal stuff, too. For example, I recently had a wonderful encounter with one of my older parishioners (and I hope I don’t get in trouble for using her story in this context) who has made the rather dramatic decision to go into a nursing home. For a lot of us, the Old Folks’ Home is the end of the line, and we want to put it off as long as we can. But my parishioner realized that going to live in a retirement home—even though it meant restrictions and cutting off constant interaction with her family—also meant security, regular physical therapy, group activities, weekly chapel, and the possibility of becoming part of a new social community. She does not dwell on what she’s lost, but on what she’s now gaining. She’s happier than I’ve seen her in years.

I guess the challenge for us in hearing these Advent texts is a willingness to heed the warning without freaking out. The Bible is asking us to take a hard, serious look at our sinful state as a society and as individuals and to be willing to let the ax fall on the things which are inhibiting our growth. At the same time, we are to look toward Isaiah’s beautiful image of God’s intended kingdom and commit ourselves to making it a reality.

A blessed Advent Season, Dear Reader. Thanks for visiting!

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[i] For real. You can read about this at https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/2019/11/27/why-are-americans-lives-getting-shorter

[ii] See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tetraethyllead.

[iii]  Don’t take my word for it. Read the article at https://www.noaa.gov/news/2019-ozone-hole-is-smallest-ever-recorded