Joel D. Kline
January 11, 2004
Highland Avenue Church of the Brethren
The First Sunday after Epiphany
There is a passage of Scripture from Isaiah 43 that has long had deep meaning for me. More than twenty years ago Father Ed Sanders, a Jesuit priest then serving as my spiritual director, urged me to take this text—God’s address to the people of Israel—and insert my own name each time Israel is addressed. Listen to these words, and when the people are greeted, “O Jacob” or “O Israel,” hear you own name being spoken.
But now thus says the Lord,
the One who created you, O Jacob,
the One who formed you, O Israel:
“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you.
For I am the Lord your God,
the Holy One of Israel, your Savior …
You are precious in my sight, and honored,
and I love you …
Do not fear, for I am with you (Isaiah 43:1-5).
Remarkable words of promise and grace, originally spoken to a people in deep despair, a people forced to live in exile in Babylon, cut off from all they knew and loved in their beloved homeland, Jerusalem. Through the years many have come to believe that faith carries with it the promise that life will be problem-free, that God will somehow isolate us from difficulty. But the Scriptures offer a counter message—the promise, not that God will keep us from struggle, but that God will be with us in our experiences of difficulty. In Isaiah 43, the very people who find themselves at times in the midst of fire, at other times in rushing water—these people hear the promise from God, “Do not fear, I am with you.” Even more, the people hear the assurance, “I have called you by name, you are mine … you are precious in my sight, and I love you.”
I don’t know about you, but even after hundreds of times of pondering these words, they continue to astound and amaze me. The God of all creation addresses a personal love letter to each one of us; God loves you and me and holds us as precious and honored. This God promises to be with each of us, whether in times of smooth sailing or in times of rough waters, whether in times of comfort or in times of blazing fire! Throughout human history water and fire have served as powerful symbols of danger and death, but paradoxically, they have also evoked images of cleansing and new life, the promise of renewed energy and power. What might life be like if each of us were to fully embrace this promise of new life and new beginnings? What might things look like if we trusted that the God who created us walks with us, that the God who formed us calls us by name and redeems us?
This morning’s Gospel lesson from Luke, chapter three, includes the story of Jesus being baptized by John the Baptist in the Jordan River. In the midst of the baptism, Jesus prays, and the heavens are opened. The Holy Spirit descends like a dove upon Jesus, and a voice cries out, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased” (3:21-22).
These words from above affirm the unique role that Jesus plays in God’s unfolding drama of gracious love. But the accompanying truth is that, in effect, God speaks similar words to each one of us at our times of baptism, at our experiences of turning to God. It is as if God also says to you and to me, “You are my beloved daughter or son; with you I am well pleased.” We may not hear these words audibly, and yet they stand at the very heart of our relationship with our Creator, the One who loves us with an everlasting love, a love we cannot earn, a love that comes to us as free gift. Sadly, other voices, competing voices, frequently drown out God’s words of gracious love and acceptance. We are far more prone to listen to those voices that tell us that before we can be loved and loveable, we must first lose weight or otherwise improve our appearance, we must first succeed in our career, first we need to make more money, we must possess the latest gadget, or be accepted by the “right” crowd, or own a dream house, or in some other way “get our act together.” The list goes on, with each voice asserting that acceptance and love only come after we prove ourselves, after we somehow “measure up.”
The gospel, on the other hand, announces that love comes to us as gift, that our basic identity in life comes not through what we accomplish or what we possess, but rather by virtue of our being God’s beloved sons and daughters. In his book Here and Now Henri Nouwen goes on to assert that
It is very hard to stay in touch with our true identity [as sons and daughters of God] because those who want our money, our time, and our energy profit more from our insecurity and fears than from our inner freedom.
We therefore need discipline to keep living truthfully and not succumb to the endless seductions of our society. Wherever we are there are voices saying; “Go here, go there, buy this, buy that.” … voices [that] keep pulling us away from that soft gentle voice that speaks in the center of our being: “You are my beloved, on you my favor rests.”
Nouwen has another book, one entitled simply Life of the Beloved. The book is a series of reflections that flow out of Nouwen’s relationship with a young writer, Fred Bateman, who is struggling with what it might mean to live a spiritual life in the midst of a very secular world. Nouwen summarizes his yearnings for his friend this way:
All I want to say to you is, “You are the Beloved,” and all I hope is that you can hear these words as spoken to you with all the tenderness and force that love can hold. My only desire is to make these words reverberate in every corner of your being—“You are the Beloved.”
Eugene Peterson, noted for his contemporary paraphrase of the Scriptures in The Message, was for many years pastor of a moderately-sized congregation in suburban Baltimore, Maryland. His congregation, says Peterson, included “misfits, odd people that didn’t fit, the spiritually lost.” Indeed, might it be fair to say that the church is called to be a community for misfits, a place for those who recognize that our society’s focus upon popularity and success and power is but an illusion, that there is in fact something healthy about being a “misfit” in a culture that would define the worth of individuals only on the basis of who they know, what they can accomplish, and who they have power over.
When we embrace Christ’s gospel that assures us that our fundamental identity comes simply by virtue of being God’s children, life takes on a new perspective. We need no longer give primary attention to those voices that tell us that we are worthless, or ugly, or outcast. Instead, we hear the good news that we are somebody, that we are persons of worth, each uniquely created in the image of God. And as children of our gracious and loving God, we seek to share love and gracious acceptance with others. We seek to speak and act as Jesus spoke and acted in the world around him; we seek to live and proclaim the way of self-giving love, just as Jesus did.
Some ten years ago Andrew Young, former civil rights leader, former ambassador to the United Nations and long-time ordained minister in the United Church of Christ, wrote his spiritual memoirs, entitle A Way Out of No Way. Near the end of the book Andrew Young writes of observing with joy his youngest daughter, Paula, as a young adult becoming increasingly active in her local church. But one day his daughter announced that she felt called to go to Uganda to help build homes for the poor of that nation through the ministry of Habitat for Humanity. The year was 1985, only a brief time after the fall of Idi Amin, one of the world’s most gruesome dictators, and Uganda was still a very violent country, with a rebel faction waging war against the government. Writes Andrew Young,
I tried to talk her out of it. I mean, I wanted her to go to church, to find a nice Christian man to marry, to develop a relationship with God and settle down. But, believe me, I didn’t have anything like this in mind. I didn’t intend for her to go so far with it. I mean—Uganda! But she said she felt called. What could I say?
Sometimes God leads our children, our spouses, our fellow church members, even ourselves, along paths that surprise and astound us. Sometimes we may be led into situations of risk and danger. But through it all we have the remarkable promise of God, “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.” “You are my beloved daughter or son, in whom I am well pleased.” When we trust the gracious voice of God, we discover a courage and a strength we did not know we possessed, and that makes all the difference.
In this morning’s Gospel lesson, as John the Baptist speaks of the coming Messiah, he asserts, “I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals” (Luke 3:16). There is a parallel passage in the Gospel of John, where John the Baptist says of Jesus, “He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30). And so it is for us. When Paula Young answered the call to go to Uganda, she put aside her own needs for comfort and security, while embracing a higher purpose—living and proclaiming the goodness of God.
Is this not at the heart of the experience of Christian baptism, committing ourselves to a new way of living with God at the center. Baptism is the beginning of a pilgrimage of faith, a life in which we respond to the incredible gift of God’s love by placing ourselves, heart and soul, in the loving hands of God. In Church of the Brethren tradition we have long spoken of baptism as ordination to ministry, with ministry belonging not just to pastors, but to all disciples of Jesus. All who would follow Jesus are called to ministry; each of us must find our own ways of serving.
In response, we seek to listen for the voice of God inviting and prodding us to embrace paths of servanthood, peacemaking, reconciling, and self-giving love. Empowered by the Spirit of God, we become salt for the earth, a light on the hill, a seed for the word, a blessed and a pilgrim people—that we might be a part of bringing forth God’s realm of justice, mercy, hope, and peace.
God of incredible grace and compassion, we come, resting in your presence. We come, grateful for the wondrous assurance that you love us as we are, and empower us to become far more than we ever considered possible. We are so thankful, God, for the promise that you stand with us in the midst of life’s struggles as well as in our times of joy You take us by the hand, and at those times when life seems overwhelming, your mercy and your loving kindness surround and uphold us.
Thanks be to you, O God, for grace beyond measure, for peace that passes all human understanding, for hope that sustains us through life’s journey.
Strengthen us, O God, as we commit our ways to you. Forgive our times of short-sightedness, our failure to trust, our times of impatience. Forgive us, and guide us into new levels of faithful living. Open our ears to your call, our eyes to the needs of those who are hurting, and our hearts to the promise of new life.
Hear us now, gracious God, as we remember those in special need of your healing touch, that each might sense your light and your love …
O God of peace, transform our hearts—and hearts around the world—that all humanity might learn the ways of peaceful living. Take away our bent to sinning. Cure our warring madness. Save us from weak resignation to the evils we deplore.
We yearn, O God, for that day when the lion shall lie with the lamb, when justice shall roll down like the waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.
O God who speaks in stillness, teach us to wait patiently for you, to commit our ways unto you, to listen and to respond—loving you and neighbor with all our heart and soul and mind and strength. We pray in the name of the One who came among us, pointing to the promise of abundant life, Jesus the Christ. Amen.