Pocket Sized Pastor*

My sermon from the Second Sunday in Lent (March 5, 2023) on John 3:1-17.

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A few weeks ago, I participated in a meeting at my local high school that was really a conversation trying to create some action items the group could work on for the future. We were going to do some structured brainstorming around a complicated topic that impacts students, parents, teachers, and administrators. For this meeting to work, we needed a few ground rules to help keep the conversation focused and on track. So after re-introducing ourselves to one another, we talked about how we respectfully talk with each other. The rules we agreed to were mostly common sense like choosing to stay engaged by not staring at our phones when someone else was speaking. Yet a few rules had to be specific to the conversation we were having since participants were invited to share their own personal stories with all its wonder, joy, tears, and sorrow. These stories might make us laugh or cry or get really defensive since they could challenge what we believe about ourselves and our world. But the one ground rule that jumped out at me the most was how some of the stories we share might not include any closure that the rest of us could grab onto. Instead of listening to an experience with a well defined beginning, middle, and end, participants in that conversation might reveal something that’s still ongoing and might never end. These stories, especially those full of grief, worry, anxiety, insecurity, and discrimination, don’t always have an ending wrapped up with a neat little bow. The person sharing the story might stop speaking but that doesn’t mean that their story is over. We needed to expect and accept that the conversation created by the stories we shared wouldn’t actually end once our time together came to a close. And instead of seeking a kind of closure that we believe will give us peace, we should keep ourselves open to the new life this conversation might bring. 

Now today’s reading from the gospel according to John takes place at the beginning of John’s version of Jesus’ story. Jesus, after being pushed by his mother, turned water into wine at a private wedding before heading to Jerusalem to celebrate Passover. While in the city, Jesus became a bit of a public nuisance after nearly starting a riot when he drove out of the Temple the businesses helping people, especially travelers from far away, to perform the sacrifices the Bible asked them to do. Jesus’ act of driving the money changers and the animals out of the Temple increased his visibility among the leaders within the city. This is probably why Nicodemus, a local religious and political leader, came to see Jesus. He was curious – but also needed to be cautious. Nicodemus came to Jesus in the middle of the night, making sure no one else would see him. We get this sense that Nicodemus arrived unannounced, as if he walked into Jesus’ room without even knocking on the door. And once he was there, Nicodemus immediately began to speak, offering a kind of introductory statement that helps us see who Nicodemus imagined Jesus to be. He called him a Rabbi, a teacher, which might have been Nicodemus’ way of connecting Jesus to a known religious group within Judaism – the Pharisees. We also learn that Jesus was doing more in Jerusalem at the start of his public ministry than simply starting riots. Nicodemus had seen or heard how Jesus had begun to show what it means when the kingdom of God was near. To me, Nicodemus was very sincere in this moment even if we don’t know, fully, why he was with Jesus in the first place. Yet within his introductory words to Jesus, I hear a question that we are still asking today. Nicodemus wanted to know who Jesus was and why he mattered, which is a sensible question to ask Jesus at the start of his public ministry. Yet we, 2000 years after the Resurrection, wonder the same thing. We call him the Son of God, part of the Trinity, our Savior – but what that actually means is difficult to describe and even harder to live out. Being faithful isn’t always easy and asking who Jesus is – is a very faithful question especially during those times when a life without faith or a life with an inconsequential faith seems to work for plenty of folks around us. At the beginning of Jesus’ story, Nicodemus wondered if what he saw and heard about Jesus might be true and we often have the same question too. 

Now Jesus could have answered Nicodemus’ question right away with the answer we view THE answer to every Jesus question. He could have simply begun with John 3:16 as the good news meant for Nicodemus and the world. But it’s interesting that Jesus chooses to handle the entire conversation differently. He doesn’t rattle off a list of things Nicodemus should believe in nor does he give him a checklist of what is needed to earn eternal life. Jesus doesn’t begin his response by identifying himself as the Son of God or by pointing to himself as God on earth. Rather, Jesus looks at Nicodemus with compassion and offers a series of words to keep their conversation going. These words and phrases, while foundational to our Christian proclamation and to what we teach and share, are a bit weird, containing layers of meaning that would take a lifetime to unpack. Yet these weird words work because Nicodemus stayed engaged – asking questions that we, in his place, would ask too. The back and forth between the two includes references to Nicodemus’ own life and the sacred words that shaped who he was in the world. Jesus, way before his words in John 3:16, took the time to engage and form a relationship with this one who came to visit him in the dark. And after 3:16, he kept speaking – revealing how the good news was meant not only for the world but for Nicodemus too. 

We would expect that after such an encounter with Jesus, we would receive some kind of closure when it comes to Nicodemus’ story. He would either reject Jesus, accept Jesus, or sort of fade away into the background, never to be heard from again. Yet Nicodemus’ story with Jesus is a bit complicated because we never hear his response to Jesus after he heard words that would eventually be plastered on bumper stickers, flags, t-shirts, and faded yard signs all over northern New Jersey 2000 years later. Their time together in the middle of the night came to an end but that didn’t bring any closure to their story. Instead, Jesus’ relationship with Nicodemus continued and we see Nicodemus two more times in the gospel according to John. For a brief moment in chapter 7, Nicodemus stands up for Jesus when other leaders tried to condemn him without a trial. And then, twelve chapters later and after Jesus died on the Cross, we watch as Nicodemus partners with Joseph of Arimathea to reverently bury Jesus in the tomb. In the years between his first meeting with Jesus in Jerusalem and that final moment in the tomb, we never hear Nicodemus’ full faith story. We never hear him confess Jesus as Savior or Lord or the Messiah. And there’s no real sense that he considered himself a follower of Jesus even though he was there when everyone else had feld. There’s no closure to Nicodemus’ faith story. The only thing we seem to see is that his connection to Jesus never seems to end. And that, maybe, is a bit of what the good news is all about. Jesus didn’t give up on Nicodemus and he, through baptism and in faith, promises to never give up on you. The good news of Jesus Christ is big enough to speak into every aspect of your wonderful, messy, and very human story. And this news isn’t meant to bring closure to our story because its purpose is to open us to God and what God is doing in our lives and in our world. As we sit with the gospel and ponder how to put our experience into words, know that one of the ground rules for this gospel is that it isn’t only for us. The good news of Jesus is for everyone – and it often weaves through our lives in ways not everyone can see. Through grace, mercy, patience, and love, Jesus continues to reach out while leading us into a new kind of life that keeps us open to all. 

Amen.

My sermon from Transfiguration Sunday (February 19, 2023) on Matthew 17:1-9.

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One of the amazing things about our Bible is that it’s a really big story – but one that holds a million other stories within it. As Lutheran Christians, we proclaim the Bible to be like manger on Christmas Eve. Within these words, we meet Jesus and see God’s commitment to the world God loves. This story was given to us through writings that were pulled together over a 1400 year period by people living in and with the Spirit of God. None of that living was easy yet God’s faithfulness endured. We, in the year 2023, have been living with the Bible in its current form for roughly 1700 years. So that means we’re pretty comfortable hearing about Jesus’ birth and seeing how His story continued through the Cross. When it comes to Jesus’ story, we know what comes next. But that gift to us wasn’t initially given to those who first met Jesus while he traveled through ancient Palestine, Israel, and Syria almost 2000 years ago. John, James, Peter, and everyone else didn’t have the end of Jesus’ story to help them understand what their current experience of Jesus was all about. He was simply a prophet, a rabbi, a teacher, a miracle worker, the Messiah, and a divine presence that gave hope to those who were in need. Jesus had many layers but when their story got hard or scary or really confusing, the disciples didn’t have the entirety of Jesus’ story to fall back on. They had to figure things out while they were living through it which created a million little stories showcasing their interactions with God. They didn’t know how the bigger story was impacting all their little stories of love, life, struggle, and hope. All they had was this Jesus who chose to spend a lot of time living with and in the stories that made up their lives. 

Now I know we can’t really forget that we are living on the other side of the Cross, the Resurrection, and the Ascension. Jesus’ story, for us, will always be framed by what came next. We can, however, choose to not let that One story warp our expectations for the disciples since they didn’t even know what they didn’t know. To them, each little moment with Jesus was part of a bigger story they couldn’t fully see. And while that big story mattered, their smaller stories with Jesus mattered too. 

This balancing of a big story with little stories is something I tend to struggle with especially when I’m watching a tv show, a play, or a musical. I focus on the plot, the narrative, and each character as they bring to life a big story full of all kinds of drama and meaning. My view is limited to whatever script is unfolding before me. Yet there is, at the same time, more happening on the screen than meets the eye since this big story is being told by actors who have their own stories too. I was recently reminded of this while listening to a podcast hosted by the actor Jeff Hiller who plays the character Joel in the critically acclaimed HBO show Somebody Somewhere. The show centers around people living through grief and loss while spending the middle part of life living in Manhattan – Kansas. And while Joel isn’t the main character of the show, he doesn’t fit any usual stereotype since he’s a 40-something gay man sustained by his faith in small town America. The Holywood Reporter described Joel as kind of “an anxious wreck, but also a steadfast leader. He’s so generous, you might mistake him for a pushover, but strong enough to protect his own heart and the hearts of the people (or the recently adopted dog) he loves. He’s a total dork, but one so earnest in his total dorkiness that he comes back around to being kind of cool, in the way that anyone so completely themselves feels kind of cool.” Joel is the perfect character of the big story the show is trying to tell yet he comes to life because an actor named Jeff Hiller makes him who he is. Now Jeff is the kind of actor who’s bio is full of an incredible number of off-off-off-off-off-off Broadway shows, guest appearances, commercials, and everything else it takes to be a working actor in NYC who can actually afford their own health insurance. For over 20 years, Jeff has lived through the grind of auditions, rejections, worry, anxiety, and joys that come with living their life as a comedian and an actor. A few years ago, before Jeff became a series regular on their first critically acclaimed show, they launched with a friend a podcast about what it takes to simply make it to the middle. Their show is about how difficult, exciting, and life giving things can still be even when you’re not the star of your own show. On a recent episode, a guest named Ryan Haddad, pointed out how Jeff’s story and Joel’s story both mattered to one another. Joel was a big hit, with a big story to tell, but one that came into fruition because of the years and years it took Jeff to get to this “mountain of a show.” Without Jeff’s stories, Joel’s big story couldn’t really get to where it needed to be. And when we only notice that big story, we miss the little stories that show how life can be. 

The story of Transfiguration, when James, John, and Peter experienced Jesus as if he was lit up like the Las Vegas Strip – is a manifestation of Jesus’ big story that we often long for and adore. He is, for a brief moment, everything we imagine divine power to be and I can’t tell you how many times over the past six weeks my personal prayer life has seeked out this kind of Jesus since too many people have been going through way too much. I want this over the top Jesus to show up, right now, and reveal what God’s love can do. And yet what God’s love chose to do is to make that love real in stories that, from the outside, appear way too small. To me, the power of the Transfiguration is not Jesus’ transformation but the words he offered to those who were bent over, covering their faces, and who felt confused, worried, and scared. These disciples weren’t always the most faithful of Jesus’ followers, often arguing about which one of them was the greatest and who had no problem arguing with Jesus about how his story was supposed to turn out. They, along with the other disciples, weren’t always keen about who Jesus invited into their midst. And when it looked like the end of Jesus’ story had come, they, along with others, let him face the Cross on his own. Yet these imperfect people, with their own stories of hurt, pain, love, and laughter, were the ones Jesus spoke. He reached out to them and simply told them to not be afraid. This wasn’t, I think, Jesus trying to deny what they were feeling nor was he telling them to be more than what they were. Instead, Jesus wanted them to see how God was doing what God always did: coming down from the mountain to live in every one of the stories that made them who they were. Jesus wouldn’t stay lit up like a Christmas tree but would make the time to live in our stories while we lived in His. Jesus’ promise to us is not that we’ll never go through life without fear, doubts, questions, or never feel as if God is too far away. Rather what Jesus wants you to know is that because of baptism, faith, and God’s faithfulness to you – Jesus will always be there to say “get up and do not be afraid.” Your story is already wrapped up in the bigger story of what God’s love is already doing in the world. And while we might focus on the big story by keeping our eyes on God’s plan or purpose or direction for our world, I often lean on God’s promises because those are big enough to hold every story that makes us who we are. We might not be able to fully see how this big story will finally turn out but we can trust that your story and God’s story will never be torn apart. 

Amen.

My sermon from Baptism of our Lord Sunday (January 15, 2023) on Matthew 3:13-17.

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So it’s been over a month since we last hung out with John the Baptist. And we heard the opening part of today’s story way back on December 4th. That, to me, feels like a long time ago since many different things have happened over these last six weeks. For some of us, this new calendar year has gone exactly the way we wanted while others are experiencing incredible heartbreak and sorrow. It’s not easy to put ourselves back into a Biblical moment we heard three weeks before Christmas. But here we are, in the middle of the third chapter of the gospel according to Matthew, sitting with a person dressed in camel skins. John’s preaching, teaching, and wisdom invited all kinds of people to leave the safety of their homes and villages so that they could hear God’s word in a place where no one person was ever in control. John offered a compassionate word to all who came to see him yet he was very suspicious of the religious leaders who tagged along. By the time Jesus arrived, John had baptized dozens or hundreds or maybe even thousands of people in the Jordan River. Their names were never recorded so we don’t know who they were. Yet they all shared the same experience of hearing John’s voice and then entering into the water before heading home to make room for all the others who were on their way. When Jesus arrived, he was like all the other people who had come before him. But once John saw him – we get this unique moment that’s only found in this version of the baptismal story. John saw Jesus and tried his very best to keep him out of the water. Which is why Jesus, the Son of God, did something he didn’t have to do; he pushed past John’s objections and chose to enter the water too. 

Now in order to understand where John was coming from, we need to realize that he wasn’t doing what we do around the font. We call both of these experiences baptisms but they’re not the same thing. And the truth is we don’t fully know what John imagined these baptisms to be since nothing in his own voice has come down to us. To get a better sense of what these baptisms might have meant to those around John, we need to take a look at what cleansing rituals looked like within the wider culture. The Rev. Diane G. Chen, in her commentary on this passage, described a little of what these rituals were like. For one, the “Jewish ritual [of] cleansing by immersion in a mikveh, or ritual bath, was practiced as a form of purification [in] the time of John and Jesus.” When one became spiritually unclean – by doing or experiencing something that interrupted the life-giving nature of their relationship with God – a cleansing served as a physical and emotional and spiritual way of strengthening that bond. This cleansing was available whenever it was needed and some Jewish groups, like the Essenes, made this washing a defining characteristic of their community. Some scholars have even wondered if John was an Essene since he made this practice a hallmark of his ministry. We also have evidence, a little after John’s life, of gentiles participating in a ritual cleaning when they converted to Judaism. This invites us to wonder if John thought that what he was doing was initiating people into what God was already doing in the world. And to fully discover what God was up to, the individual who came to the water was encouraged to repent, confessing to those around them of all the ways they got in God’s way through their own selfishness and greed. Admitting that we’re not who we’re supposed to be is never easy and that was especially problematic in the world Jesus lived in. Many of the communities who lived around the Mediterranean Sea, especially the Romans and Greeks, were seeped in a culture defined by honor and shame. Their worth and identity and value was wrapped up in what other people thought of them. A person was expected to amass honor by meeting the cultural expectations of their community. They were to think the right thoughts; marry the right person; and be just the right amount of kind and humble and tough and strong and violent while knowing exactly what their place was in the world. Honor was tied into the hierarchy of their reality and it was shameful to be anything other than what the right kind of people thought they were supposed to be. Going out into the wilderness to see John didn’t really fit into that structure of the world because it required everyone to admit, in public, that they weren’t who others said they were. Visiting John wasn’t showing others that you contained enough self-awareness to be honest about your limitations as a human being. Instead, it showed the people who defined your self-worth something terrifying: that the honor they gave you was misplaced because you confessed your faults.  

That’s why, I think, John’s objections to Jesus make sense. John knew his own need for God and he worked hard to change the lives of those living with so much honor and shame. Rather than letting others determine who they were, John invited everyone to lean into what made them human in the first place. Their identity and their very being was rooted in what all people bear within them – the image of God. John, I believe, saw his work in the wilderness as a way to strengthen who get to be. So when Jesus came to see him, John told him to stay away from the water because he didn’t need to become anything other than what he was. Yet Jesus chose to affirm the difficult work of helping each other reframe what our lives are meant to be about. Instead of chasing after the opinions of others, he wanted everyone to see themselves as God saw them. This, of course, is terrifying because it means we need to admit all the ways we fail to love God, our neighbors, and ourselves. And we often find it easier – or at least more pragmatic – to let what others say about us become the limit of who we imagine ourselves to be. There are times when these words are meant with the best of intentions, such as we saw when John tried to keep Jesus out of the water since he didn’t need to be changed. But God’s work in the world isn’t only about what we do; it’s also tied to who we’re connected to. The righteousness Jesus mentioned in a very cryptic saying after listening to John’s objections wasn’t about our desire to become a morally good person. It was, for Jesus, a comment about who we’re connected to since righteousness is always related to what we’re seeking and what we believe this life is all about. When John told Jesus to stay out of the water, he did that while surrounded by a crowd of people seeking God. And since God was right there with them, Jesus chose to enter the water to show how God was already seeking them. God chose to lean into our relationship because it’s through our connection with Jesus that we see and hear and discover what living with our God is all about. This journey isn’t always easy and we will, at times, ask the world to provide us with our sense of worth. Yet who you are and who you get to be isn’t defined by what other people say about you. Jesus entered into the water with John to show how God will always choose you. And while the baptism practiced by John isn’t the baptism we do here at church, both tell a wider story of who our God is. God believes that you and your neighbor and every stranger has value and that this God, in Jesus, will live and die and rise to show just how much you matter to God. 

Amen.

My sermon from Epiphany Sunday (January 8, 2023) on Matthew 2:1-12.

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So way back in high school, I wanted to be an engineer who developed new technologies that transformed people’s lives. I thought a great way to do this was by learning and memorizing equations that described how our universe works. Life, obviously, went in a different direction for me so I’ve forgotten a lot of what I once knew. Yet there’s a weird fact about gravity that I’ve held onto after all these years. Now any two objects with mass, if they’re close enough, will attract each other through gravity. The basic formula to measure that attraction is pretty simple as long as you assume the two objects are symmetrical spheres. We first multiply the two masses together, dividing them by the square of the distance between them, and then multiplying everything by G – the universal gravitational constant. G is very small which is why objects need to be really big before we can see the effects of that attractive force. But even though we can’t see it, that force is always there. Way back in the past, I created a spreadsheet measuring the force of attraction between all kinds of random objects. That document included things like the gravitational force between me and the friend sitting next to me as well as the force between a midwife and the baby they just delivered. Those numbers were ridiculously small but they were never exactly 0. I then wondered what the attractive force might be between me and Jupiter – the fifth planet of the sun which, at its closest, is 365 million miles away from us. That number is, again, ridiculously small and it’s something we can’t feel. But if I remember my math correctly, the attraction between us and Jupiter is greater than the attraction – gravitationally speaking – between us and the person sitting next to us. I still find this whole thing very strange but it helps me to understand the long human history of believing that the stars and planets impact our lives. This belief is more than just noticing how the gravitational forces of Jupiter, the sun, and other large masses help to protect – and sometimes threaten – the planet Earth with asteroids and comets. Instead, there’s an assumption that the things we can’t even feel somehow impact who were meant to be. Astrology is a belief system and practice that’s very old and involves more than just figuring out our signs. Astrology is an attempt to bring a sense of order and purpose to lives that are often filled with way too much chaos. When the magi came to visit Jesus, they weren’t kings looking to meet their new colleague. They were astrologers hoping to make meaning out of the randomness of the universe. And while they were busy keeping themselves open to what might be, an unexpected star showed up. 

Now to the magi, the star in the sky was a sign that an important person had been born. For generations, myths and legends and stories had described great heroes and heroines being foretold by a bright light appearing in the sky. This light, either a planet or a comet or a star, was understood to show that new things were on the move. When this star showed up, the magi realized they had some place they need to be. Yet this star wasn’t an ancient form of GPS because God, I think, wanted them to discover the details on their own. These astrologers used their own stories and knowledge and history to discern where they should go. And since an important person was born in the land of ancient Israel, they headed to where other people trained to look at the stars might be. This drew them to visit the court of King Herod who, at the time, had spent a vast amount of money and power and resources to rebuild the holy Temple in Jerusalem. Herod was also a big fan of the Roman Empire because they were the ones who gave him his power. He was a cruel leader who was attracted to power, doing whatever he could to keep it for himself. And one way he did this was by surrounding himself with what we imagine a powerful person  would have – like lots of gold, money, palaces, soldiers, and all kinds of advisors. The magi, while strangers in a strange land, were not unfamiliar with dealing with royalty. They were, most likely, from Persia – modern day Iran – and the word magi there was a title for priests who served their king. They might have been the Persian version of the chief priests and scribes that Herod called for advice. Since these astrologers had kept an eye on the sky, they went to where they assumed other skywatchers might be. Yet when they got there, they realized they knew something no one else did. Now there’s a way of interpreting this passage where the magi weren’t really active participants in their own story, simply bouncing around from one place to the other. But since they might have been familiar with the politics and the struggles and the challenges that come with being around those in power, I like to imagine that the magi knew exactly what they were doing. Instead of hiding what they knew or searching for the king on their own, they simply announced what they had seen. They knew it was within Herod’s power to harm them since they brought news he didn’t know. Yet once they saw the divine at work, they refused to keep it to themselves. The magi didn’t fully understand what was going on and they needed the wisdom of others to reveal where Jesus was since nothing about their story showed them as worshiping God. But when the opportunity came to see who this new king might be, they met a little child living in an unassuming home with a mother who was probably only in her teens. It’s at that moment, I think, when they realized something had already been at work before the star shone in the sky. The child in front of them was the opposite of what we assume power is since he needed to be cared for and had no army or advisors to call his own. He wasn’t like these astrologers at all yet God brought these two things together since Jesus was also meant for them. It was then when they saw how they, as outsiders, were actually part of something very inclusive since they were inspired to look up when no one else did. God had already been active in their lives and refused to wait for us to make the first move. And that’s because God’s love is sort of like gravity; even when we can’t feel it, it’s still there, pulling us into a life that is more full and peaceful and honest than it would otherwise be. Our life with God through Jesus invites us to keep our eyes and attention focused on what might be rather than stuck on what we think will keep us powerful and safe. God was already active in the lives of the magi by helping them see what no one else saw. And the same God who was with them will, through grace, help us see how Jesus is meant for each of us too. 

Now on this Epiphany Sunday, I’d like to end my sermon with a poem by Jan Richardson. It’s called “Every Given Light” and it goes like this: 

Amen. 

My sermon from 3rd Sunday of Advent (December 11, 2022) on Matthew 11:2-11.

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I have never been to prison but I’m well aware that my experience might not be your own because we are a diverse community with many different stories. Many of us have interacted with prisons in many different ways through our callings as police officers, lawyers, aids, paralegals, guards, health care workers, family members, friends, and more. Dealing with the prison system isn’t something that only other people do since we live in the #1 country in the world when it comes to people who are incarcerated. There’s a good chance that, right now, we know someone who’s either been in prison or who has dealt with prisons for a significant part of their lives. And while we might think we know all we should know what prisons are, the stories we hear from people in prison often change our points of view. For the last 45 years or so, we, as a church, have stayed connected to someone who grew up here and is serving a life sentence behind bars. I don’t write to him as much as I would like to but he always responds to the four or six letters I send every year. His letters are always several pages long, written on yellow lined paper in a cursive script that’s not always easy to read. Yet I often find that the stories he shares from his life refine my own understanding of what prison is truly like. It’s important for us, I think, to examine what we think a prison is since being in prison shows up in the Bible all the time. It would be easy for us to assume that a prison today is, in general, similar to what a prison was like 2000 years ago. But as we just heard in today’s reading from the gospel according to Matthew, the prisons of the past had this sort of unique way of making even one of the most faithful people we meet in the Bible – question their God. 

Now last week, we saw John the Baptist teaching and preaching in an untamed place while also describing who he imagined the Messiah to be. The Messiah would be the One who would change the world and they would do this kind of like what a super hot fire does when it comes into contact with metal that’s impure. This super hot fire would burn out the impurities to make the metal better, stronger, and easier to work with. This language, while very Biblical, can also be very problematic when we use it to justify our own hatred and sin. Yet John’s Messiah would be very different because they would change people and their communities into something more. When Jesus came to see John, John confidently declared that this son of Mary would be the One everyone was waiting for. And after baptizing Jesus in the River Jordan, John kept teaching and preaching but was soon arrested and imprisoned. That action served as a kind of catalyst for Jesus’ own public ministry which he developed through his own preaching, teaching, and healing. Now John sat in prison for a significant period of time and soon learned Jesus was out in the world traveling from village to village. John sent his disciples to Jesus to ask him what appears, at first, to be a rather strange question. Before Jesus’ ministry began, John declared that Jesus would be the one who would burn and change the world. And yet when he finally heard what Jesus was up to, he couldn’t help but wonder if Jesus really was who he imagined him to be. 

So what happened? What made John doubt what he had seen and heard from God? Well one way to think about this is to realize that being imprisoned today isn’t the same as being imprisoned in the past. In our country, prisons are designed to be all sorts of things. They are isolating and awful and degrading and rehabilitative all at the same time. But there is an expectation, in theory, that someone in prison will be provided a place to sleep and given food to eat. That doesn’t mean prisons are designed to be safe spaces but there are mechanisms that could be used to hold people accountable if they didn’t provide for those basic needs. That tiny bit of care that society promises to give to those in prison wasn’t something that existed in the ancient world. Instead, when a person was arrested, they were placed in a version of house arrest. There were very rarely buildings designed to hold prisoners or their guards. A home, either belonging to the person who was arrested or to someone else, would then be designated to be their prision and modified to house the prison and those guarding them. Since this home was designed to be a prison, it didn’t have all the basic things we’d expect a prison to have. And one mechanism that wasn’t in place was for the one who imprisoned them to provide food for them or the one who watched them. It was the responsibility of the prisoner to find a way to feed themselves and the guards assigned to watch them. This, obviously, was a rather difficult task since the prisoner couldn’t really leave where they were. They had lost all control and it was their responsibility to care for those who incarcerated them. John, when he was in the wilderness, knew what it was like to live in a place where he had no control. But this situation was very different because he was caught up in a system that, by design, wanted him to die. He was entirely dependent on others sacrificing their own time, energy, and resources to bring him just enough to survive. Nothing about his current experience felt like the world was being made into something new. Instead, it felt like the old world was winning like it always had. John the Baptist had experienced the presence of God in ways that I can barely imagine and yet even he wondered if he had gotten the Messiah wrong. 

At this point in the sermon, we could move on to what Jesus said to John’s disciples. But I think it’s okay to sit with John’s question a little longer – especially if we have questions of our own. The Third Sunday of Advent is usually set aside as a time for us to remember that this season can be filled with joy. Yet too often, the magic of this moment feels very far away. If we truly believe that God is with us, we should wonder why everything is the way it is. And while I wish I had a good answer for that question, I also believe simply asking it is one of the most faithful things we can do. John’s doubt wasn’t a problem that needed to be solved. He was simply living through the fact we are very good at creating, needing, building, and maintaining all kinds of prisons. John’s question was an honest question because he didn’t pretend the world was something that it wasn’t. And while we don’t know how long John waited to ask his question, we do know he was willing to speak it out loud even though there was a chance he wouldn’t receive an answer. He had no idea how long it would take his disciples to find Jesus nor did he know if he would be alive once they returned. Yet he chose to name his truth and ask his question. And that, I think, invites us to do the same. We get to ask our whys, our wonders, and admit to Jesus that life is sometimes harder than it should be. We can give ourselves the grace to admit that we, like John the Baptist, sometimes doubt. And while that might feel as if we don’t have the faith we think we should, it, instead, serves as a reminder of the faith we have already been given. During your baptism, Jesus made the promise to be God-with-you no matter where your life took you. He didn’t make that promise because he knew you would be perfect. He did it because his love couldn’t do anything less. His love is big enough to hold all our questions, all our wonders, and every time we’ve asked Jesus to be Jesus in the here and now. And when it finally feels as if doubt is the only bit of faith we have left, trust that shows you already have all you need to take your place in the kingdom of God.

Amen.