February 17 — First Sunday in Lent

Listen to this sermon HERE.

Do you know who you are? 

This Gospel text is ultimately about Jesus being asked this question by the tempter.  Do you know who you are?  

And we have the opportunity this first Sunday in Lent to reflect on that question, and to hear anew God’s claim on us, in spite of the tempter’s great power.

“Look,” the devil said to Jesus, “with your kind of power you could turn all these stones into bread.  I’ll tell you who you are: you’re hungry.” [pause]

And Jesus was hungry: he hadn’t eaten for forty days, when this happened!  How we can do some pretty destructive things when we’re hungry!  In our family we have a word for how we can get:  HANGRY!  Hungry and angry.  Do you think Jesus was hangry?  He was fully human, we confess in our creed.

[slowly] When we are hungry, we are susceptible to forgetting who we are.  Our immediate desires take over — need food, protection.  This economy in 2013 can be a sort of wilderness, where we are hungry.  Our own personal, strapped bank accounts can be a sort of barren land.  And in this climate of horrific violence that makes us think twice or perhaps even downright terrifies us just to send our children to school, it’s like we’re crawling through a desert yearning for an oasis of safety.    

How we too can relate to starvation, for not just nutritional security (food), but also financial security, national security... school security!  And how our starvations can make us hangry.  (Bishop yesterday: “What’s holding us captive?”  RAGE.)

And in our rage and in our hunger, the tempter tries to disassemble our identity.  “Do you know who you are?  Here, take control, turn all of these stones in to bread, make all of the kingdoms of world bow down to you, force them to.  Here, let the angels (like a mighty army) back you up, with force, and be at your beckon call.  [whisper] That’s who you are.  That’s what you deserve.”  [pause]

What strikes me about this story of Jesus’ being tempted in the wilderness is that the devil’s voice never sounds that bad.  It’s always subtle — what’s so bad about turning stones into bread when you’re hungry?  What’s so bad about over-padding my bank account and sheltering my children from the scary world?  Hunger starts slowly and grows.  [pause] And when those fears start creeping in, like hunger pains, the tempter moves in and questions our identity, starts taking it apart so slowly we don’t even notice, giving us an answer to the question “Do you know who you are”.  “How about this?” the devil slyly suggests: “You’re entitled.  You deserve all this blessing, unlike all those other sinners, losers, murderers, slackers, Gentiles, unchosen, unblessed ones.  You should get all you have...and more.  Look at all the good things you do.  Go ahead, treat yourself to more:  more money, more security, more food, more pleasure, more things.  It doesn’t hurt.  [pause] Plus you deserve it.”

O we are in a wilderness, too, these 40 days!  And our identity is rattled constantly.  And we are susceptible to others defining us.  Because frankly saying, “I am a child of God” doesn’t always seem so great, compared to “I am a powerful CEO.  I am the starting pitcher.  I am a mother.  I am a pastor.  I am an American.  I am a hard worker, who’s made something of his life.  I am a club member, a subscriber, a friend of this person or that.  I am so connected.  I am home-owner, a world traveller, a college graduate, a decorated general, a brother, a survivor, a church council chair.”  All these other titles, drown out the most important one, the most central to our identity.  

Long before all our titles and resumés and descriptions of ourselves—some good, some bad—God described us, God claimed us, with a promise:  “You are my beloved child.”  And long after all the other descriptions and accomplishments and titles fade, God’s blessing and presence and still small voice will remain: “You are my beloved child.”   [pause]

Early last December for 3 days, I visited my Grandpa, who is slowly but peacefully dying in Colorado Springs.  Grandma died a few years ago, and he has been so lonely and sad.  But he still rests in that promise of God’s enduring love and claim on his life.  A pastor for over 60 years in the Lutheran church.  His largest congregation in Kansas City 1000‘s of people; his doctorate in ministry and preaching that he earned in Chicago, under the great scholar and author Martin Marty; his beautiful and accomplished family spread out across the country (4 children, grandchildren, great grandchildren); his loving partner, my grandma — when I walked into that little assisted-living apartment, where he’s now moved, none of those things were visible.  None of those titles were apparent.  I actually knocked on the door a few times and then just walked in.  And he was taking a nap.  And he was shrunken by age.  I hand’t seen him for a few years, and couldn’t believe how tiny he looked on that bed.  My strong, funny, vivacious, hard-working grandpa: curled up, like a child, shriveled by age and life...and a recent stroke.  

I sat in that dark room and watched him sleep for a few minutes before waking him up, and I cried quietly, both tears of sadness and tears of joy.  Francis Roschke: child of God.  Always was, always will be.  

And that is the truth for you too.  Look at yourself alone in your bathroom mirror tonight, and say your name, and splash water on your head, and remember that our identities cannot be shaken by the tempter—and all the great temptations of this wilderness world.  For Christ has triumphed over the devil, and even death itself, and therefore we are brought into this eternal relationship with God, where we are forever sealed and marked by the Cross of Christ, and gifted with the Holy Spirit.  And we are named...given a title that will outlast any medal or diploma on the wall.

Here at the beginning of this year’s Lenten journey, do you know who you are?  Today and forever, you are a child of God.   AMEN.

February 13 — Ash Wednesday

Listen to this sermon HERE.

Whenever it’s time to pack for a trip, I always pack too much.  I’ll admit it.  That might not be a problem for everyone, but I’ll admit it, I always stuff too much in there.  Rarely do I bring exactly what I need, which, truth be told, is really not much at all.  I drag around with me that extra jacket, an extra pair of pants, or a whole other set of shoes.  And that’s just clothes, I’ll throw in a few extra packs of shampoo or soap.  And when I get home after the trip and unpack, there are things in there I never even touched.  My wife will tell you, I’m a terrible packer.

I dragged around too much extra stuff all over Germany in November; and I overburden our family when we’ve traveled in our little Toyota across the country in the summer.  I have yet to perfect the art of packing only what I need for the journey.  [Spaceballs: “Take only what you need to survive.”]

I think I’m afraid I won’t be OK, if I don’t have extra.  “What if I need it?”  “Just in case,” I justify. 

And then you know the funny thing?  Despite all that extra packing, there’s always something that I really do need, that I don’t have.  

Sisters and brothers in Christ, welcome to the season of Lent!

Lent is often envisioned as a journey, a 40 day journey, through the wilderness.  (40 days because of Jesus’ 40-day period of temptation in the wilderness and the Israelites 40 years of wandering in the desert.)  And we’re starting out, this Ash Wednesday — those who want to participate — c’mon let’s go, let’s take the Lenten journey.  Not everybody goes — just those who want to participate.  That’s one of the things that I love about Lent — as opposed to, say, Christmas, where everyone is caught up in one way or another.  Observing Lent, on the other, hand is much more discrete — especially given the Gospel from Matthew: we don’t practice Lent out in front of people; we do it quietly, behind closed doors and with no fanfare.  The rest of the world continues as usual, but we mark and travel a Lenten journey.

So how shall we pack?  

Lent is a time for shaving away all the extras in our life.  Traditionally Lent observers give up things during Lent, we can fast.  [pause]  These disciplines are encouraged, because they are ways of emptying ourselves.  Mother Teresa said, “God cannot fill what is already full.”  We shave away the extras at Lent so that God can fill us.

And we are full, aren’t we?  Mother Teresa was right, there’s not much room for God.  We are “stuffed” in so many ways: Stuffed with food, stuffed with things in our closets and garages, stuffed with ego, stuffed with desires, stuffed with fear, stuffed with worry.  “What if I need it?  Just in case.  But it means so much to me.”  But with all our overpacking, the one thing that we do need gets left out...or just squeezed in at the last minute.  I don’t think we leave God out...but...

The grace and peace of Christ just gets stuffed into the outside pocket of our lives, like that last-minute pair of socks that I almost forgot, so the grace and peace of Christ then becomes just one more thing that I drag around.

Sisters and brothers in Christ, Lent is a time to empty our bags, to lighten up.  Ever travelled light?  The gift of Lent is in the shaving away, the clearing out, the cutting back, the fasting (“God cannot fill what is already full”), in the giving up, in the quieting ourselves, and the opening of our hands in prayer and our ears in attentiveness.  Paul Tillich: “We are most powerful, not when we possess, but when we wait.”

How will you keep Lent?  I hope you do.  

If you choose to give something up or take something on (like walking or gardening or meditating), do it because it will ultimately clear some space for God’s grace and peace in your life.  If your Lenten discipline becomes just one more thing on your to-do list, then it’s already become just one more item you’re stuffing in your luggage.      

Somehow Lent and its disciplines got to be burdensome…all about gloom and doom, when it is, in fact, the Old English word for “springtime”!  

Is the fig tree in my back yard all about gloom and doom because it has no leaves right now?  Or is it wonderful because the tiny brown buds, if you look a little closer are not dead and depressing, but rather starting to turn green ever so slowly because something is about to happen!  That’s Lent!    

Lent is a gift.  Packing light is a gift.  Clearing out is a gift.  It means there’s room being made for something to happen — for God’s ever-present grace and peace to move in and take over our lives in Christ Jesus.  

It comes, however, when we’re honest (first), and when we clear out our excess stuff/empty ourselves (second), not when we’re proud and bloated.  We have to be honest — that’s what the ashes are all about... But it’s hard to be honest: “We almost have to woo humility during Lent.”  It’s like a skiddish deer at the brook.  You have to be patient and still before our humility tiptoes out. [pause]

Let’s be still and honest during Lent, honest about our sin, about where we’ve fallen short and where we’ve hurt others…Let’s woo humility.

And then, as a community of faith, let’s try to lighten up and unload our excess, our pride, our stuff, our fear...our whole lives.

It’s time to be honest, it’s time to let go, it’s time to fast.

And Christ awaits our unpacking, and guides us into the flowering desert, into the budding garden, into the springtime.  Christ awaits and abides with us into the journey.  

May we follow, and may we go light.  

AMEN.

February 10 — Transfiguration Sunday

Listen to this sermon HERE.

(notice disciples' sleepy eyelids)

February 3 — Fourth Sunday after Epiphany

This week, The Great Aaron Tidwell, from Lutheran Retreats Camps and Conferences (LRCC) visited us at Shepherd of the Valley.  He preached the sermon.

Support Lutheran camping.  Here's the website!  Thanks for being with us, Aaron!

Sign your kids up to go to camp this summer and/or plan to bring them to Day Camp here at SVLC July 29 - August 2!

January 27 — Third Sunday after Epiphany

LISTEN to this sermon HERE.

If I made you close your eyes and read you passages from all 4 Gospels, the first 4 books of the New Testament—Matthew Mark Luke & John—you would almost always be able to pick out which book was Luke because it would mention so frequently the Spirit.  (This week’s gospel text starts out “Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returns to Galilee…”  He’s been in the wilderness, he’s coming home after the Spirit drove him, tempted for 40 days by Satan.)    

The Holy Spirit figures into Luke’s Gospel more than any other Gospel, and twice as much as Matthew and John (larger books).  (Come read Luke with us on Saturday!)  You see, the different Gospels have different agendas, and one of Luke’s main agendas is to proclaim the work of the Spirit, in Christ’s life, and then that same author, Luke, goes on to write the book of Acts, where the Spirit figures into our lives too, not just Christ’s, but the life of the church (the spirit is Christ’s gift to the church) — many words are spoken and deeds are done by everyday Christians, because they are “filled with the power of the spirit”.  (Martin Luther King, Jr. was just an average man, but filled with the power of the Spirit, he accomplished great things.)  How does the Holy Spirit figure into your life and into your being?  Specifically how does the Spirit “fill” you?

Imagine a man rowing a little boat wildly at sea: a metaphor for our lives (think of all we do, rowing, rowing, rowing, even while we’re exhausted).  And now envision that man putting up a sail, and letting the wind fill that sail, and putting his oars back in the boat, off he skips across the water…

Heather and I have a friend from college, Shin Hashimoto, who flies planes for a living...sails, surfs.  And one time he was describing to me in beautiful detail that moment that he never gets tired of when he flies: when the wind lifts the plane off the ground at take-off.  If you’ve ever flown, you’ve probably felt that too…[that moment], when you no longer belong to the ground...when the wind takes you.  Shin pointed out that it’s the same kind of moment in sailing and surfing too…

The word spirit in Greek and in Hebrew is the same word for wind and breath: pneuma/ruach.

The Holy Spirit fills us like wind in our sails and allows us to move in ways we never could have...by our own rowing.  

So how does that “flesh out” for you?  

Well, in Jesus’ case, filled with the Holy Spirit, he faces temptation in the wilderness (first 13 verses of chapter 4), and then he faces, perhaps even more impressive...his hometown crowd.  For a prophet, it’s hard to return home and get any kind of serious audience.  Everybody just sees you as this innocuous kid.  Has anyone ever taken the wind out of your sails when they told everyone that they knew you when you were a teenager?  That’s what the hometown crowd can do.  There’s great power in that.  What if Becca Ajer tried to call some shots around here?  Many of us could say, “Hey, who does she think she is?  We knew her when she was in Sunday School…”  There’s a certain power that this congregation has over her, or anyone that’s grown up recently here.  

Well Jesus is only about 30 years old...but he’s got something to say, in spite of the power that his hometown crowd might have over him.  And he says it.  Come back next week (for Part 2 of Jesus’ Homecoming) to hear how they respond, but here’s what he says:   It’s Jesus’ inauguration agenda:

He lays out our priorities for the next term.  And it’s aggressive.  These are not gentle suggestions, or sweet promises for after we die.  This is what Jesus comes to do in the world now, with real people, in real time.  I tend to want to spiritualize this list, but I’m convinced that Jesus in the Gospel of Luke would chastise me heartily for sugar-coating and making excuses.  Here’s Christ’s agenda.  He declares war on my ease and comfort.  If the Gospel of John’s all grace overflowing like gallons of wine, then the Gospel of Luke is Spirit-fire.  Here’s God’s holy righteous agenda:  To bring good news to the poor.  (What would that be?  What would good news to the poor mean?)  To proclaim release to the captives.  (Lee’s retired from work in the prison system, but how do you hear that?  Prison guards out of the job?)  Recovery of sight to the blind (sounds the least problematic, most innocuous, for us...until Christ tells me that I’m the one who’s blind, and when my sight recovers, by the power of the Holy Spirit, there are people and situations that I will suddenly see that need healing), to let the oppressed go free (in case you didn’t get it the first time) and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.  

This is an offensively economic reference.  The Year of the Lord’s Favor comes from Leviticus, and it’s the idea that every seven years is to be a Year of Jubilee, where every person and every nation is to forgive the debts owed to them.  The Lord’s prayer, which comes right out of the Gospels, actually says, “forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.”  The Lord’s prayer is inherently economic...and therefore problematic.  Because incurring and collecting debt is the way our system works.  Yet Christ is inaugurating something radically different.  

And all this is all because he is filled with the Holy Spirit.     

That same Spirit fills you this day!  [pause] It lifts you and me to say, do and imagine things that we never thought possible.  It’s that moment where we no longer belong to the ground.  We are taken by the Spirit, by the wind, and we are lifted.  There’s a moment as the spirit-filled body of Christ, where we no longer speak our own minds, but rather speak the mind of Christ!  

My own mind might suggest caution, but we are of one mind in Christ, so loving our enemy is Spirit-borne.  That’s not me rowing wildly alone.  I can’t love my enemy by myself, but with the community and the Spirit, I sail.  

My own mind might suggest shrewd financial dealings, but we are of one mind in Christ, so we share our wealth freely and joyfully.  That’s not me panting breathlessly on the sea, wondering how I’m going to make it.  I can’t give generously by myself, but with the community and the Spirit, I sail.

My own mind might suggest isolation, cut-off, from the messiness of the city, of civilization, of community.  It’s cleaner to just go it alone.  “Let me just paddle here!  And you paddle over there!”  We can’t live together, on our own accord.  But with the Spirit, we sail.  We lift up, we trust, and we soar.  

With the Spirit, we hear Good News, our sight is restored.  

With the Spirit, we are set free, even if that makes us uncomfortable!  We are set free.

Praise the one who frees us, this day and every day.  AMEN.          

January 20 -- Second Sunday after Epiphany

Listen to this sermon HERE.

Jesus turns the water into wine!  The ordinary into the extra-ordinary.  The simple into the elegant.  Water is plain, but wine is spiritual…(it’s all symbolic in this story)  

I can talk up here about the sacred qualities of wine, but if you really want to taste and feel our gospel this day, I want to encourage strongly you to take a big gulp of the wine this morning at communion--maybe two gulps!--and feel this grace of God warm your whole body.  That’s a little obnoxious, I know, but so is God’s love for you, if you think about it.  Do you really deserve grace and forgiveness and love and eternal life?  If Jesus came back in body today and took a hard look at your life, your home, your work, at our world, the way we treat each other (the poor, the children, the outcast) do you really think we would qualify for forgiveness and grace and love?  Seriously, we always have extra wine anyway that Altar Guild has to pour out, so don’t be shy, gulp it!  Make the assisting minister work...

This amazing story is symbolic; it’s telling us something about God...that the kingdom of God is a great party!  And we’re called to live into that party.  Enjoy it, friends in Christ.  God’s grace and love overflows, it is obnoxious.  I feel like I say that a lot, but let’s let that message sink in, as we gulp it in...recalling the Cana feast  Drink the wine today.  Take too much.  God’s grace is too much...like loud music at a party or confetti.  God’s grace is excessive and over-the-top!  And everyone’s invited.  No secret in-groups or left-out losers.  With God’s wedding banquet, and Jesus as the host, everyone comes in (“Mine is the church…”), everyone enjoys themselves, everyone dances and is offered a beverage and stays ‘til the sun comes up.  Even the quiet and shy ones have a great time.  Even the grumpy ones crack a smile once they taste the dessert.  Because the kingdom of God is a party!  [pause]

Reflect for a moment on the places and the times in your life when God’s grace has filled you and warmed you and gratified you, brought you enjoyment, like a big ol’ gulp of wine.  Liquid grace.  This happens, obviously, at more places than great banquets and wedding feasts, which are wonderful, but only come around once in a while: God’s grace flows into our everyday.  Today is a day to celebrate these gallons of grace that are poured out for you...all the time.  What are they for you?  

Do you have a forgiveness story?  A time when you thought you were really going to “get it” for something you had done, and instead you hear an announcement of forgiveness? 

When I was in high school, I was coach of a swim team, and I abused the privilege and the trust of our boss, a great big Texas football coach in the regular season.  LeeRoy Johnson.  A group of us snuck into the pool at night and threw a party once.  Abused the privilege of having a key.  And when we got busted, we thought that he wasn’t just going to tell our parents and fire us, we thought he was going to have our hides too.  Smack us around a little.  

And yet, he called us together, and told us (me and the 3 other older boys, the leaders) that he loved us like his own sons, and if anything ever happened to us, he wouldn’t know what to do.  

Grace.  Water to wine.  Love overflowing.  Surprising and undeserved.

Have you ever had a friend or a parent or sibling just forgive you for something that you said to them that was terrible.  Just  plain old fashioned “Look, I forgive you.  And l love you.  Let’s just put this behind us.”  Grace.  Like a gulp of wine, going down.  Makes us warm and giddy.  And a little bit dizzy.  That’s God’s grace.  That water into wine.  What are your grace stories?  Just little things.  

A child giving you a hug, or a scenic vista take your breath away, or an entree that makes you just blurt out at a formal dinner party, “Oh my God, this is so good!”  That’s what we’re talking about today.  God’s grace.  The Kingdom of God is a party.  Over the top.  Not just 3 or 4 bottles of wine, 180 gallons of grace and joy!  

Have some fun this week--whatever that means for you (have dinner with a friend, or take a walk by yourself, take your grandkids to the park, drink a bit of wine, or just go to bed early if that would be a treat…) have some fun this week, go a little over the top--and do it with a mind to prayer and thanksgiving, knowing that God blesses your holy celebrating.  The kingdom and grace and love of God is a party.  

I’m afraid we don’t hear that enough, as followers of Jesus, and it’s not not whole picture of who we are, but it’s a big part of it.  We are a people of celebration!  Not celebration for our own sake, our celebration and no one else’s, a private party, but celebrating with strangers.  Like the way strangers celebrate with each other over a World Series trophy and there’s dancing in the streets, or a presidential inauguration...  

I was in Washington D.C. for 2 days this week to visit my brothers, and we read a story about a metro train back in 2004 broke down in a tunnel underground for over an hour.  It was on the way to the Presidential Inauguration in 2004.  And the article said that everyone was in such a festive mood, they just broke out into song: started singing “Lean On Me”.  Their particular joy was just that great on that day.  Isn’t it a great image?  Trapped in a dark tunnel, singing?  Probably made them late for the event, but joy poured out of the windows of the train.  Water into wine.  And it’s not just a party with your friends: it’s singing with total strangers.  Imagine the maintenance crews running into that dark tunnel to rescue the trapped civilians, only to hear a hope-filled melody echoing down the cold, damp chamber.  

Saw the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial, too.  A great stone monument of King, standing upright, with a quote etched into the side.  “Out of the mountain of despair, a stone of hope”.  Think of all the singing with strangers that happened during those civil rights days that we recall in these days.  Talk about water to wine!  

God’s party.  Grace and forgiveness, that flows like wine, friends!  Like a song in a dark tunnel.  It’s all for you, freely given.  Take it in this morning.  Christ turns our ordinary into extraordinary, our water into wine.  Gulp it.  Enjoy it!  It is poured out for you.  And there’s plenty for us to share with fellow travelers on the train--even those we don’t know or don’t like.  Pass the cup around.  Jesus turns our water into wine, and that’s worth celebrating.  Cheers!

January 6 -- Epiphany Sunday

Listen to this sermon HERE.

Highly quoted author, speaker and consultant in Lutheran circles, Peter Steinke, has noted the root of the word “disaster”.  Do you know what that word literally means?

It comes from the negative Latin “dis” (connoting not being able to do something, or a lack of something) and “aster” (star).  So literally a disaster is when you have no star to follow. 

Interesting isn’t it?  Especially in the context of this Epiphany story?

So ancient sailors loosing their way at sea in the fog and the clouds, no star to follow: that’s a disaster.

Contrast that to the journey of the Magi (btw, the text doesn’t say how many magi there were, just that there were 3 gifts, so artists have always assumed that 3 wise men went with those 3 gifts, but there could have been a hundred star-following wise women and men and their children all hiking through the sands from the East…) The point is, they had a star to follow, and they did.

Disaster is when we have no star to follow.  Problem is, there are lots of stars in the sky. [pause]

Which star do you follow this new year?  Is it the star of fame and glory?  The rock star?  The pop star?  The sports stars? Shooting stars…like the housing market?  Sometimes it’s hard to find the star of Bethlehem amid all the competing stars. 

But here’s a clue:  STOP LOOKING UP.  [pause] For Christ always comes to us from underneath—from where you’d least expect—from the manger, from the shepherds, from the poor, from earthly stuff like wheat, grapes, and water.  The magi, the text says, bowed down, to pay him homage.  Bow down, look around on the floor of our world, to find the Christ child.  Look to Bethlehem, that is, the most out-of-the-way, insignificant, underneath place.  And that’s where the star, the light of Christ, stops and stays.

This is such a wonderful story.  Because it has cosmic implications.  This love and presence of Christ, that comes from below, has the ability to move the stars!  To call people from all corners of the earth to gather, to praise, and then to go home by a different road: changed.

It means God’s love for you, calls you, as far off in a distant land as you might be—as downtrodden, or hopeless or sick or afraid as you might be—God’s light, albeit hard to see at times, God’s star rises in the east—the bright morning star—symbolic of hope and a new day—Christ Jesus’ star rises in the east and lights your way this new year of 2013, this new year of life that God has given us!

The same star that world leaders saw, “Three Kings” as the songs and art pieces go, world leaders, the wealthy and powerful and wise—the same star that guided them, that came to them, and lit their path, comes to you and guides you…even today.  That’s how dear you are to God.  Not forgotten in some far-off land, but forgiven, and guided.  What a gift that Bethlehem, eastern star in the sky is for us! 

God’s love for you moves stars!  What a gift!  And so in response, not because we have to, but because we can’t help it, we bring our gifts – our gold, frankincense, and myrrh.  And, looking down, bowing down, kneeling down, we pay him homage.  How can we do that with our lives?  What can we bring?  How can we serve and give and trust evermore in this Christ child?

For we need not dwell in dis-aster.  For we have a star to follow!  A star of love, a star of life, a star of hope, and a star of forgiveness. 

Sisters and brothers in Christ, we too have been changed, by this star.  So changed, so transformed that we are about to pray for people beyond just those we like and love.  Prayers of intercession, prayers of the people that reach even to far-away lands, countries and people and situations far from our own.  We pray even for our enemies—the Herods—of our world.  That’s how transformative this Christ light is! 

We have been changed, by this star.  So changed, so transformed that we have hope, in the midst of darkness, we have a way, and that way is Christ, and that way is Love, and that way reaches beyond borders and oceans.  Even when the world comes crashing down around us, God’s people, looking down, not gazing up, looking down at the world, God’s people find the hurting, the oppressed, the sick and the lost, and there with them is Christ.  “A light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”  That’s how changed we are!             

We have been changed, by this star!  So changed that we go home now by another road.  So changed that we “gonna lay down our sword and shield, down by the riverside” as the song goes, “hammering our guns into gardening tools” to modernize Isaiah’s vision.  We are so changed that now we practice peace (not just pray for it, we practice it).  We’re not going back to Herod, the road of violence.  We’re going home by a different road. 

“Star of wonder, star of light, star with royal beauty bright.”  “Christ be our light, our hope, shine in our hearts, shine through the darkness.  Shine in your church, gathered today,” we’re about to sing.

God has given us a star.  We are free of dis-aster, sisters and brothers in Christ, for we have a star.  And in that star is the hope, and the salvation, of this whole universe.  And in that star is your freedom and everlasting life.  For in this star is peace.  AMEN.