The Wisdom of Jesus

Sermon for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

January 26, 2013

Matthew 21:23-32

Sunday, I got a text from a man half my age asking if he could go running with me. The mutual friend who put us together said something about my not being too hard on him. I should have suspected a set up, but I naively agreed for him to run with me.

I took him to my favorite route near our house. It's a little mountain called Mt. Peak. A bit over a thousand feet of elevation gain and close to a mile and a half from the trail head to the top. The trail is pretty much unrelenting up, a rather steep grade.

I hadn't run since last fall. But oh well.

Fifty yards up the trail, I'm apologizing, saying, “I can't keep this pace.” I slow to a jog that is just barely more than a walk. Another fifty yards, I'm walking, reasonably fast, but still, I'm walking. Bill makes excuses for me. “Staying in shape is part of my job.” But he refuses to join me in walking. He stays about six inches ahead doing a dancing jog on his toes beckoning me up the mountain.

Even at a walk, I'm pushing hard enough that I'm gasping for breath. I can barely participate in the conversation he is trying to have. We work our way up the mountain. When the slope eases I jog, when it resumes its climb I go back to pushing the fastest walk I can. In the last quarter mile, my heart is screaming. My lungs are burning. I'm feeling a bit sick to my stomach. Bill is still dancing lightly on his toes, just inches ahead, but always inches ahead. I half expect him to turn and dance uphill backwards as he watches me struggle. He doesn't, but neither does he ever ease into a walk.

I remembered my haughty words in a sermon a few weeks ago when I was joking about young adults who couldn't keep up on a climb in the Rockies. This is fitting pay back.

We get to the top and I collapse on a bench for sixty seconds then it's back down. That feels good. We run easily the mile to the bottom, then we're headed back up. I don't even pretend. I cannot run up this hill, I'm walking. Bill is dancing. Just ahead. Close enough to tease me, far enough ahead to never give me a second of rest.

As we ran, I learned more about him.

Bill is a commander in the Army special forces. Staying in shape is an essential part of his job. When he's running down some jungle track in Asia with the eleven men in his unit, walking is not an option. When they had to cover twenty miles on a night mission in Iraq, getting tired could mean getting killed. Running was part of his job. So of course, I had no hope of matching him.

Still, he came and ran with me. Six inches ahead. Beckoning. Enticing me into a level of effort I exerted in years. Back at the house he asked if I'd like to do it again. There was no scorn, no condemnation, just an invitation to exceed my natural pace by running with him.

I don't get paid to run. I am not really embarrassed that I can't keep up with a thirty-one year old special forces commander. BUT running with him has given me a whole new inspiration to get out there and move. Thursday I was back on the mountain, pushing myself up the trail. Next time I run with Bill, I hope to be able to maintain at least a slow jog all the way up the hill. I'll never match him, but I can do better than I did on Monday.

Another story: A man a bit older than I am stopped by the church to visit. We sat in my office and Jack immediately launched into a description of the latest iteration of his thinking on the pathology of Adventist culture. He condescendingly detailed inelegant aspects of Adventist pop theology. He was an expert, offering sage commentary on the church system. He had ideas about what kinds of changes would improve the denomination. Jack's articles in Spectrum or Adventist Today would neatly arrange the life and thinking of the church in bullet points and sociological categories and provide a a interesting springboard for "conversation."

The title of my sermon today is the wisdom of Jesus. Frequently Adventists imagine wisdom as learned discussion. Wise people sit around and discuss the failings and bumblings of simple people and true believers. We imagine that wisdom consists of ideas—the more nuanced and polished and ambivalent the wiser. Wisdom is analysis. For those of us whose engagement with life is strongly cognitive, this is lots of fun.

And it has very little to do with the wisdom of Jesus.

The wisdom of Jesus is more Bill's run up the mountain, six inches ahead of me, beckoning me, spurring me to greater effort, a higher level of performance.

Sometimes in church circles, when we think of wisdom we think of doctrines and theories about God and notions about the end of the world. One topic in particular that has roiled the Christian church for at least the last five hundred years is the nature of religious authority. Who has the right to define religious orthodoxy? What do we mean when we say the Bible is inspired? Where does the highest authority reside where there is religious controversy?

We find Jesus involved in a discussion like this in our scripture reading.

When Jesus returned to the Temple and began teaching, the leading priests and elders came up to him. They demanded, "By what authority are you doing all these things? Who gave you the right?" "I'll tell you by what authority I do these things if you answer one question," Jesus replied "Did John's authority to baptize come from heaven, or was it merely human?" They talked it over among themselves. "If we say it was from heaven, he will ask us why we didn't believe John. But if we say it was merely human, we'll be mobbed because the people believe John was a prophet." So they finally replied, "We don't know." And Jesus responded, "Then I won't tell you by what authority I do these things. Matthew 21:23-27

Jesus dismisses the whole issue of “authority” as a mere theoretical concern. The relevant question is what are you doing with the insights that God offers through whatever source? What was it that John the Baptist preached that these religious leaders found so difficult?

Prove by the way you live that you have repented of your sins and turned to God. Don't just say to each other, 'We're safe, for we are descendants of Abraham.' That means nothing, for I tell you, God can create children of Abraham from these very stones. Even now the ax of God's judgment is poised, ready to sever the roots of the trees. Yes, every tree that does not produce good fruit will be chopped down and thrown into the fire."

The crowds asked, "What should we do?" John replied, "If you have two shirts, give one to the poor. If you have food, share it with those who are hungry."

Even corrupt tax collectors came to be baptized and asked, "Teacher, what should we do?" He replied, "Collect no more taxes than the government requires."

Soldiers asked, “What should we do?" John replied, "Don't extort money or make false accusations. And be content with your pay." Luke 3:8-14.

John challenged the people to apply moral principles in their immediate situation. If you have extra, share. If you are a tax collector, be scrupulously honest. If you have the power a soldier had in that setting to pad your pay check with bribes—resist the temptation. Be content with your pay.

The radical message of John the Baptist was: do what you know. Apply in your own life the high moral principles which the Jewish people had developed as the highest, best meaning of the Hebrew Scriptures.

If Jesus had answered the question the religious experts asked, they would have launched in a “wise” discussion of the nature of authority. They would have skated right past the moral challenge that lay at the heart of Jesus ministry. 

Jesus dismissed their question about authority. It was a dodge. It was a way to avoid the most important questions. And it nearly always is.

I grew up the South. In the world I grew up in the Christian church was obsessed with authority. Churches incessantly, stridently hammered away at their core conviction about the authority of the “Word of God.” The Bible was inerrant, infallible. Preachers blasted the corrupt liberals (Yankees) who watered down God's word.

AND the Christian church in the South that I grew up in used the full force of that divine authority to perpetuate an ugly, evil system of oppression. White people were taught IN CHURCH to accept societal norms of underpaying, over prosecuting, and subjugating in every conceivable way those who were a different color. 

That was then. Now, here in Seattle, the most well-known champion of Bible authority just happens to also be a champion of male privilege. He wraps his flamboyant defenses of male prerogatives (and other traditional rankings) in the cloak of divine authority mediated through the Bible.

When Christians pound the pulpit in defense of authority, look closely: Whose privileges are they defending?

The gospels report that frequently the crowds listening to Jesus were astonished at his authority. What prompted these reactions? Especially in the light of the passage above where Jesus refused to participate in a debate over the nature of religious authority?

Jesus' authority showed up in two ways: One, he exercised astonishing power over the forces of darkness. Demons fled at his command. Two, when Jesus challenged people to do something, when he called them to action, their own consciences agreed with his words. The authority of Jesus was not in the Old Testament, it was not in Jewish tradition. Though both of these supported the high ideals Jesus articulated. The authority of Jesus lived in the minds and hearts, the souls, of those who heard him. The Spirit was actively endorsing the ideals Jesus voiced.

Jesus called to action, to moral action, to loving action, to great effort in the direction that conscience instinctively recognized as true and beautiful.

After blithely dismissing the religious scholars' attempt to engage him in a debate over the nature of his authority, Jesus offers an illustration.

"What do you think about this? A man with two sons told the older boy, 'Son, go out and work in the vineyard today.' The son answered, 'No, I won't go,' but later he changed his mind and went anyway . Then the father told the other son, 'You go,' and he said, 'Yes, sir, I will.' But he didn't go. "Which of the two obeyed his father?" They replied, "The first." Then Jesus explained his meaning: "I tell you the truth, corrupt tax collectors and prostitutes will get into the Kingdom of God before you do. For John the Baptist came and showed you the right way to live, but you didn't believe him, while tax collectors and prostitutes did. And even when you saw this happening, you refused to believe him and repent of your sins. Matthew 21: 28-32

The older son said, “No!” to his father's request. But his conscience went to work. He remembered the goodness of his Father, the hard work and integrity of his father. And his conscience bent his life in the right direction. He went and tended the vineyard.

The younger son said, “Yes!” to his father. Then having put his conscience to sleep with this expression of agreeableness, the younger son went off and played.

Sometimes the church does the same. In the South for a hundred years the Christian church shouted “Yes!” to the authority of the Bible.  That loud yes anesthetized their consciences and allowed the church to be deeply complicit in a horrific system of oppression.

I wonder how it was here in the Northwest, when Japanese Americans were herded into camps. Did the Christians churches protest? Or did they bless the efforts of the authorities to secure our nation against the "yellow threat?" 

In the days leading up to the Iraq war, why was it that surveys showed Christians as the population segment most in favor of bombing that nation into oblivion? Their fascination with authority blinded them to the real moral issues involved.

True religion is not a matter of getting our words right, of getting our doctrines right. True religion is a community working together to foster God's goodness in God's world. Authentic Christian religion means repenting—that's a fancy word for turning. It involves constant readjusting, pointing our lives again and again and again toward the highest ideals of love, justice, mercy, self-control, wisdom, wholeness.

In the South it was often atheists and Jews whose consciences led them to actively resist the oppression that was blessed in the churches. These people, who were damned according to Christian orthodoxy, were far closer to the kingdom of heaven than all the Christian preachers and theologians who shouted “Yes” to the sacred authority of the New Testament.

Let's make sure that in our world, it is not the non-Christians who are most responsive to the ideals Jesus articulated and lived. 

Jesus is the supreme commander of the special forces of the Kingdom of Heaven. He calls us to run with him. Of course, we'll never have the stamina and speed of our leader. He can waltz up mountains that reduce us to crawling. But he doesn't run off and leave us. He dances just ahead, beckoning, enticing us to run faster, push harder, aim higher.

The distance between us and the ideals spelled out by Jesus is not a measure of our condemnation, it is a measure of his invitation. He is not frowning at our efforts. He is pleased we have agreed to run with him, no matter how slow and clumsy our efforts.

In his ministry Jesus demonstrated a radical commitment to human well-being. He eased pain and hunger. He healed and enlightened. He calls us to carry forward that work. In our world at the present time, the one factor that undergirds almost every other measure of human well-being is economics. Do you want to reduce infant mortality? Raise the income level of the parents. Do you want to increase the odds that young people who get married will stay married? Increase their income. Do you want to reduce obesity, lower the crime rate, curb the spread of HIV? Every one of these measures of quality of life is more strongly correlated with income than anything else. 

I hope some of you young people will dedicate yourselves to changing the economic realities of this world.They don't teach us how to do that in seminary. You can't learn that in medical school. Some of you who are in your teens or twenties now, can acquire the knowledge and skills to help shape an economic reality that improves the quality of life for millions. You can't find the details for designing an effective tax code or labor policy or legal system in some particular chapter and verse. But your commitment to run with Jesus can give you supernatural wisdom. Running with Jesus will fire your vision. And the world will be better for your efforts.

In coming weeks we're going to explore the wisdom of Jesus as it is presented in the famous Sermon on the Mount. I hope you will hear in it an irresistible invitation to come run with Jesus, a challenge to pursue the highest imaginable ideals.

Status and Service

Sermon for Sabbath, January 12, 2013, at 

Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

Texts:  Matthew 5:40-48; 20:25-28.

The setting of one of my favorite Max Lucado stories is Cinderella's castle at Disneyland. The place is jammed with noisy, excited, rambunctious kids. Cinderella comes in one of the doors. Like a flood, the kids rush her direction, clustering around her to get their pictures taken, to admire her, to bask in the excitement and glamor of her presence.

She is beautiful, of course. Her natural grace enhanced with exquisite costuming and made up. She poses for photos with kids and grand kids. She smiles endlessly. Then you notice her begin to move purposefully through the crowd toward the opposite side of the room. You turn and see the great empty space across from the princess and her crowd, a couple of guys. One an ordinary teenager, sixteen, maybe seventeen years old. The other—it must be his brother—a grotesquely deformed youngster about four feet tall. When he moves, his actions are so awkward they look painful. When he doesn't move, his misshapen form is painful to look at. You are ashamed for thinking it, but the thought goes through your mind that you've never seen anyone so ugly.

You back at Cinderella, this fairy princess, this gorgeous young woman whose life at every step will be eased by the grace of her beauty, then back at the ugly kid. Your heart breaks because you know that this boy will spend his entire life trying crawl up the down escalator.

Cinderella is still working her way through the crowd. Escaping another photo session she moves quickly enough to make to the edge of the crowd. Then she is walking across the empty space toward the brothers. The crowd trails after her, like the tail of a comet, like an entourage.

Then she's standing in front of the boys. The crowd behind her pauses. Repulsed, perhaps even made afraid by the broken kid, they hide behind their princess. In a single camera frame, you could capture on one side perfect ugliness, on the other fearful loathing, and dead center perfect beauty.

Then what? What does she do, this golden girl, this incarnation of beauty and privilege? This leader of an entire entourage of healthy, active, beautiful children? She stoops and plants a kiss on the little boy's cheek. The loathing vanishes. For at least an instant, the entire crowd is transformed. The guys dream of trading places with the ugly boy, for the privilege of her kiss. The girls wish they had her courage.

Beauty is one of the most universally revered forms of status. In this story, Cinderella attracts swarms of little kids. But if she walked into a crowded coffee shop, if you watched closely, you'd see the face of every guy in the place light up, young men, men old enough to be her great grandfather, they'd all look and if she dropped her napkin, every guy in the place would consider it an honor to pick it up. If she applied for a job, the males in the process would have a hard time paying adequate attention to the deficits in her resume. In school, male teachers will struggle to be objective in their grading of her essays. Beauty confers status quite apart from intellect, character, money, education.

Another story about status. This time an incomplete story.

Ethan Durden.

In his late teens Ethan Durden got into drugs and crime. He was arrested, convicted and sentenced to prison. 20 years! His mother did not object to prison time. She did object to 20 years for crimes in which no one was hurt. In prison, Ethan came to himself. He availed himself of every educational opportunity. It was universally recognized that he was a changed person. There was no point in keeping him in jail, except for the “little detail” that it was the law.

In our system, there is one last resort people can appeal to when the law itself turns out to be unjust: the governor can pardon people or commute their sentences. We have given the governor extraordinary status, the power to overrule the verdict of courts and the process of law.

Society would fall apart if we allowed everybody to challenge the rule of law and the verdict of the courts. On the other hand, there is a deep understanding that the human condition is so complex that sometimes, true justice requires a personal touch outside the machinery of the courts. That personal touch is part of the exalted status of the governor.

Last year Ethan appeared before the clemency board. They voted unanimously to recommend that Ethan be released from prison. Now it's up to the governor. She can use her status to restore this young man to life and freedom.

You and I can only attempt to help Ethan by writing letters. The governor alone has the status to make a decisive difference.

The question is: what will she do with her status?

When it comes to status, this is the most important question for all of us. You may not be a gorgeous woman or a governor with the power to grant or deny clemency. Still you have some measure of status. What are you doing with it? This perspective is highlighted in the words of Jesus recorded in Matthew 20:25-28.

Jesus called his disciples together and said to them, "You know that the rulers in this world lord it over their people, and officials flaunt their authority over those under them. But among you it will be different. Whoever wants to be a leader among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first among you must become your slave. For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve others and to give his life as a ransom for many." Matthew 20:25-28.

When we think about status, we can imagine it as a place of privilege or as a platform for service. Cinderella made her status a platform from which to serve. She could have merely basked in the adulation of her admirers. Instead she used the status of her beauty as a tool to elevate a boy with no status of his own.

This is what Jesus calls us to do. In fact, using our status to serve others is the essential definition of godliness, the essential definition of what it means to be a devotee of Jesus.

Consider these words from our scripture reading:

Jesus said, love your enemies! Pray for those who persecute you! In that way, you will be acting as true children of your Father in heaven. For he gives his sunlight to both the evil and the good, and he sends rain on the just and the unjust alike. Matthew 5:44-45.

The salient trait of the heavenly family is indiscriminate generosity, giving not because others deserve it, but because we have it to give. We are to give as recklessly as God who sends sunlight and rain without asking who is receiving it. Whatever gifts are included in our status are intended as resources for blessing others.

Late this week I received an email from a doctor I have not yet met. She is a dramatic model of godliness—at least the kind of godliness Jesus describes here in Matthew 5.

Dear Pastor,

I am a retired family doctor from Seattle currently serving as a Peace Corps volunteer at the Maluti Adventist Hospital in Lesotho. My service will be completed in August and I will be returning to my home on Phinney Ridge in Seattle. While I myself am a Quaker, I have developed a strong attachment to the hospital here and the wonderful people who put their hearts and souls into service to some of the world's poorest and sickest people. I am hoping to create some links between Lesotho and Seattle when I return.

The Green Lake Adventist Church is the nearest to my home, so I have decided to start with you. I am writing to you now to learn if there are some particular elements of the work here that might be of interest to your church members. I would be happy to collect specific information to address such an interest.

Lesotho is in the bottom 10% of countries on the United Nations Development (UNDP) list, with an unemployment rate approaching 50% and an HIV rate of 23% among adults and around 40% for pregnant women.

There is only one doctor for every 15,000 people (compared with one per 500 in the US). . . . The postpartum ward in our hospital has 21 beds and only one toilet and shower. . . .

In a country of 2 million people, about 160,000 children have been orphaned by HIV. In every community, one finds child-headed households, sometimes with the oldest child only 12 years old. . . .

I recognize that your church is already very generous in its outreach and I am not expecting it to tackle a large project. There are needs as small as the purchase of a blood pressure cuff or providing a food package for orphans that would make an immediate difference here.

The hospital is located on a campus where many of the staff reside, with the Maluti Adventist Church located immediately adjacent as well as a preschool, primary school and School of Nursing. Would your Sabbath School be interested in a pen pal exchange? I can talk with people here about anything that would interest you during my remaining few months here.

Thank you so much for taking time to read this. I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

May you have a blessed Sabbath,

Barbara Meyer MD, Mapoteng, Lesotho

Barbara, like Cinderella at Disneyland has status. Barbara's service in Lesotho will not cure the 40% of women with HIV. Her service will not replace the missing parents for the 160,000 children orphaned by HIV. But she has planted a kiss on the ugliness. She has touched the pain.

Then she has used her status as an American from a neighborhood just blocks from this church to recruit us to share in her ministry. She has stretched her status to the very limits of its capability to serve. She is a beautiful illustration of Jesus definition of what it means to be a daughter of God.

Most of us are not doctors. Most of us can go to a remote, impoverished place like Lesotho. But all of us have status. Will we use our status to serve?

Does math come easily to you in school? That confers a certain status. How are you using that status to bless other students?

Have you been granted tenure at the university? How much richer has that made your service to your students and your colleagues in the department?

Are you popular? Do people like you? What are the ways you can use that popularity to decrease the loneliness at your school or office?

Have you mastered habits that enhance health or family life? What about inviting others to experience those habits with you?

Can you make music?

Are you healthy?

God has granted all of us some measure of status, some gift that is uniquely operative in us, something that makes us beautiful. When we walk across the room and kiss someone who is entirely bereft of our gift, we are acting as the true children of God. We are making the ultimate statement about the goodness and reality of God.

Divine Life

Sermon for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

January 5, 2013

As they were eating, Jesus took some bread and blessed it. Then he broke it in pieces and gave it to the disciples, saying, "Take this and eat it, for this is my body." And he took a cup of wine and gave thanks to God for it. He gave it to them and said, "Each of you drink from it, for this is my blood, which confirms the covenant between God and his people. It is poured out as a sacrifice to forgive the sins of many. Mark my words—I will not drink wine again until the day I drink it new with you in my Father's Kingdom." Matthew 26:26-29 (New Living Translation)

Summary: The life of God flows into us through the ordinary channel of bread. Eating is sacramental, serving as a vehicle of the presence and favor of God. Beyond mere “gift from God,” it actually carries the life of God into us.

Some years ago I attended a major conference on faith and science sponsored by the Adventist Church in North America. The conference was held at Glacier View Youth Camp in the Rocky Mountains in Colorado. I knew that sitting in meetings for a week was going to be difficult, given the temptation of mountains just miles away begging to be climbed. To make sure I stayed focused on the meetings I took no hiking or climbing gear. I did not even rent my own car. I rode with someone else from the airport. All week I stayed focused on my responsibility. Then, late on Friday, a leading conservative theologian found me and presented a dazzling enticement: “Tomorrow, my wife and I, and our kids and their spouses are climbing Longs Peak. Would you like to come along?”

It was a serious hike, about 15 miles round trip with 5000 feet of elevation gain. It would take all day. I was at the conference as a reporter. The responsible thing to do would have been to stay on campus for the presentations at Sabbath School and the worship service. A complete report on the conference would need to take those into account. But the temptation was too great.

I said yes. Then went to work figuring out how I was going to pull it off. I had no boots, but my running shoes would work unless there was a lot of snow. I jury-rigged a day pack out of a stuff sack that had compression straps. I found a vending machine in the basement and bought a couple of bottles of juice and some packs of cookies and went to bed in preparation for our 4 a.m. departure.

Obviously, the cafeteria was not open at 4 in the morning so I ate one of packages of cookies for breakfast. At the trail head some of the kids were eating cereal. The theologian's wife offered me some of their cereal. When I refused, she insisted. I ate a bowl of cereal and milk, a little embarrassed at having to depend on her hospitality. (This woman is a theologian in her own right. In hindsight, her insistence that I eat must be acknowledged as strong evidence of the soundness of her theology!)

Then we were on the trail. As the group spread out on the trail, I stayed back with the stragglers, feeling quite paternal. The theologian, who was our leader, expressed his gratitude for my care for his kids. As the young adults struggled up the mountain I grew increasingly smug. The vitality of youth is wonderful, but it's no match for training and discipline.

After hours of hiking and scrambling, we made it to the summit. I sat by myself, eating cookies and sketching.

The glory of the peak was worth every bit of effort. The view was sublime, grand.

Then it was time to head down. The first three or four miles went fine, then I began to feel a familiar feeling, hunger. I needed calories. But I was sick of eating cookies. I figured I would just wait until we got back to the camp and eat a good supper. Another mile or two and my hunger began speaking louder. I finished the last of the juice, then picked up my pace. I left the rear of the line, hoping I could cover the last three or four miles before I completely ran out of gas. I did not want to eat any more of those vending machine cookies. The hunger and faintness intensified. My whole body was screaming for food. I pushed on. I was determined not to stop.

About a mile from the trail head I woke up. I was lying in the grass beside the trail. I was very comfortable, but I was annoyed. I did not remember deciding to take a rest. In fact, I distinctly remembered I that I was not going to take a break until I reached the trail head. I certainly wasn't planning to take a nap. I crawled into a sitting position and waited for my head to clear.

Reluctantly I reluctantly dug out a couple of cookies.

The stragglers were walking past.

A few minutes later I dragged myself back to my feet and shuffled the last mile or so back to the cars.

One thing hiking can teach, is the absolutely essential role of calories. When Richard invited me to join his family in their hike to the top of a 14,000 foot peak, the glorious attraction of the peak eclipsed any reasonable concern for how I was going to fuel my hike. The wonder of the summit pretty much erased my judgment. I was also seduced by my experience and conditioning. I'm used to doing long hikes. They are routine. This was just another long hike. I figured my conditioning, my experience, would carry me up to the glorious summit and bring me back.

The reality is: no matter how strong you are, no matter how much you've trained, if you hike far enough, sooner or later food will become all important. If you want to keep going, you have to eat.

As residents in contemporary American society, most of us can get pretty lackadaisical about food. It's everywhere. It's always available. Frequently we talk as though calories are enemies. We have too many of them. Calories are so common, we take them so much for granted, that we imagine what really matters is vitamins and minerals, or flavor, or visual presentation.

Obviously, these things are important. But when you're out on the trail burning up the miles, all of that fades into irrelevance and you are reminded that food is the fuel of life.

If I had eaten a hearty sandwich for lunch, or maybe two sandwiches, I wouldn't have ended up lying in the grass beside the trail. I could have avoided this incident even if I had forced myself to eat all of my vending machine cookies.

The bottom line—life and strength, the power to move, to live—comes from the gift of food.

Jesus turns this fundamental fact of everyday life into profound wisdom in the words he spoke at the Last Supper:

He took the bread, broke it and gave it to his disciples and said, “This is my body.”

The Christian Church believes these words are not merely the statement of an ancient and fascinating rabbi, it is the Word of God. The Lord's Supper is the most universal Christian practice. The St. Thomas Christians of India, the ancient Christian Church of Ethiopia, the Orthodox churches scattered in the East, Roman Catholics, Protestants, Pentecostals, Baptists, Adventists—all of us believe that God is specially present to us in the eating of this bread.

In the communion service, we take a tiny piece of bread and practice recognizing God's presence with us.

Then, if we know the Gospel and let our minds run, we recall that bread shows up repeatedly in Matthew's Gospel. In chapter six and again in chapter 14, bread is central to the story. Then again in chapter fifteen.

Jesus returned to the Sea of Galilee and climbed a hill and sat down. A vast crowd brought to him people who were lame, blind, crippled, those who couldn't speak, and many others. They laid them before Jesus, and he healed them all. The crowd was amazed! Those who hadn't been able to speak were talking, the crippled were made well, the lame were walking, and the blind could see again! And they praised the God of Israel. Then Jesus called his disciples and told them, "I feel sorry for these people. They have been here with me for three days, and they have nothing left to eat. I don't want to send them away hungry, or they will faint along the way." The disciples replied, "Where would we get enough food here in the wilderness for such a huge crowd?" Jesus asked, "How much bread do you have?" They replied, "Seven loaves, and a few small fish." So Jesus told all the people to sit down on the ground. Then he took the seven loaves and the fish, thanked God for them, and broke them into pieces. He gave them to the disciples, who distributed the food to the crowd. They all ate as much as they wanted. Afterward, the disciples picked up seven large baskets of leftover food. There were 4,000 men who were fed that day, in addition to all the women and children. Matthew 15:29-38.

A huge crowd of people spends three days in the wilderness with Jesus. Matthew reports nothing of what Jesus teaches. Rather he describes a dazzling demonstration of healing power. Toward the end of the third day, Jesus announces to his disciples they must feed these people. I love the reason Jesus gives for this supper: “I don't want to send them away hungry, or they will faint along the way.”

These were peasants. They were skinny. If they tried to walk for miles on empty bellies they would end up lying in the grass. Jesus didn't want that to happen, so he gave the people sandwiches.

The people eating supper that evening tasted bread and fish. But since Jesus was feeding a crowd of 4000 plus, and the knapsack he was pulling sandwiches from had only seven loaves in it to start with, Matthew intends us to understand that what the people were eating was the manna from heaven, the life of God distilled as food.

So in the Lord's Supper. We are eating bread. We are eating Jesus. We are eating God.

For 2000 years, the Christian Church has celebrated the Lord's Supper. Theologians have waxed eloquent and occasionally angry as they have struggled to explicate the meaning of what we are doing here today, eating bits of bread that are also the body of Jesus who is also God.

Let me add this gentle challenge to our kaleidoscope of understandings: Our participation in the Lord's Supper shows its true power when our practice of recognizing God in these pieces of special bread trains us to discern the presence and favor of God in all of our eating. Every slice of bread, every sandwich, and yes, even every cookie, can be a sacrament, a vehicle of the presence and favor of God.

The bread that fuels our hiking—and our studying and our practicing, our basketball playing and our work on the computer—this ordinary bread is the gift of heaven, filled with God himself. When we have learned fully the wisdom this sacrament teaches, all of life will be suffused with the affection and dignity of God.

Healing Vision

Revised manuscript for the Sabbath morning sermon for the Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists.

December 29, 2012

Text:  Matthew 4:23-25

The Adventist Church from its early days has given special attention to health, both to healthy habits and to the science and art of healing. I grew up in a home saturated with a deep appreciation for the church's commitment to healing ministry--”to make men whole,” in the words of the motto of Loma Linda University. I met physician friends of my parents who had devoted lifetimes to serving in remote, primitive hospitals, sometimes being the only qualified medical personnel for days travel in any direction. One of my dad's classmates spent his entire life—well into his eighties—serving a bleak, hopeless neighborhood in Watts in Los Angeles.

This year, the church opened its fourth and fifth medical schools in Nigeria and Peru respectively. Healing is our work. It is central to our understanding of what it means to be Adventist. It is central to what it means to be Christian. The community of Jesus is devoted to healing.

And when it comes to listing the healing professions, we can add to our historic list of healers—Doctor, Dentist, Nurse, Physical Therapist, Dietician—new titles: hardware engineers, software engineers, chip builders and screen manufacturers. And accountants. And venture capitalists. All the people who make the world that we live in work.

Our scripture reading summarizes the mission of Jesus in these words:

Jesus traveled throughout the region of Galilee, teaching in the synagogues and announcing the Good News about the Kingdom. And he healed every kind of disease and pain.

News about him spread as far as Syria, and people soon began bringing to him all who were sick. And whatever their sickness or disease, or if they were demon possessed or epileptic or paralyzed—he healed them all. Matthew 4:23-24.

Jesus looked at the pain and trouble of the human condition and saw a calling to heal. In the gospel story, it looks so simple and uncomplicated. Jesus spoke a word or touched someone, and magically their ailments vanished.

We don't have that kind of magical power. I don't and you don't. You may have witnessed miracles, but you have never seen a hospital emptied because all of the patients were magically healed.

The Gospel of Matthew speaks repeatedly of Jesus' healing ministry. In the center of the Gospel we even read that Jesus sent out his 12 disciples to do the same kind of healing ministry. But nowhere in the book is there a formula we can follow to carry out our own healing ministry.

Since the Gospel offers no guidance for actually repeating the healing magic Jesus demonstrated, it's appropriate to ask, what is the purpose of the book? Why read it, if it doesn't give us power?

I believe the primary value of the Gospel is to shape what we see when we look at the world.

The Wise Men traveled a thousand miles on camels to come and see a baby. When they arrived they didn't see “just a baby.” They saw the King of Heaven, the symbol of the presence and favor of God. Because they were scholar-philosophers, steeped in the promise of a glorious, tranquil, peaceful future adumbrated in ancient scriptures, they saw in the child of Mary and Joseph, the father of a new age.

They saw something scarcely anyone else could see. They made the trek because they believed that in the person of this baby God was specially present among us. Their journey was a profound and public Amen to the declarations of the angels in the secret dreams of Mary and Joseph that their baby was a visitation from heaven.

The baby was born. The boy Jesus grew up. At about thirty he was baptized then launched a whirlwind ministry that lasted a brief three years.

What did that ministry look like? The Gospel of Matthew summarizes the first few weeks or months of Jesus' work this way:

Jesus traveled throughout the region of Galilee, teaching in the synagogues and announcing the Good News about the Kingdom. And he healed every kind of disease and pain. (KJV: healing all manner of sickness and all manner of disease among the people.) 4:23

Matthew repeats this idea about ten times in his gospel:

So his fame spread throughout all Syria, and they brought him all the sick, those afflicted with various diseases and pains, demoniacs, epileptics, and paralytics, and he healed them all. 4:25

That evening many demon-possessed people were brought to Jesus. He cast out the evil spirits with a simple command, and he healed all the sick. Matthew 8:16

Jesus traveled through all the towns and villages of that area, teaching in the synagogues and announcing the Good News about the Kingdom. And he healed every kind of disease and illness. Matthew 9:35

Jesus knew what they were planning. So he left that area, and many people followed him. He healed all the sick among them, Matthew 12:15

Jesus saw the huge crowd as he stepped from the boat, and he had compassion on them and healed their sick Matthew 14:14

When the people recognized Jesus, the news of his arrival spread quickly throughout the whole area, and soon people were bringing all their sick to be healed. They begged him to let the sick touch at least the fringe of his robe, and all who touched him were healed. Matthew 14:35-36

A vast crowd brought to him people who were lame, blind, crippled, those who couldn't speak, and many others. They laid them before Jesus, and he healed them all. Matthew 15:30

Large crowds followed him there, and he healed their sick. Matthew 19:2

The blind and the lame came to him in the Temple, and he healed them. Matthew 21:14

This is a heart-warming picture of Jesus the healer. You would have loved being there. The joy and excitement would have been irresistible. People leaping and dancing for joy. No wonder crowds flocked around Jesus. Even if you were a skeptic, you'd have been drawn. It was an unstoppable contagion of happiness.

When Jesus saw someone who was blind, Jesus saw an invitation, a summons to provide healing. The same when he saw someone lame or crippled or unable to speak because of a severe hair lip.

Note that Jesus had the same response to someone who was demon possessed. Jesus did not see people who were filled with the devil as people in need of rebuke or scolding or condemnation or punishment. They needed healing.

EVERY kind of human brokenness was seen by Jesus as a call to healing. The ONLY exception to this was the brokenness of fundamentalism. Jesus hung out with conservative religious leaders of his days—the infamous Pharisees. He went to dinners in their houses. He engaged in theological debates with them. What Jesus believed was closer to their beliefs than any other system of thought. But the conservative religious leaders—the defenders of careful Sabbath-keeping and proper eating, the advocates of avoiding contamination by contact with worldliness—these are the people Jesus scolded on occasion, and even, condemned.

My belief is that the only reason Jesus so sternly condemned the Pharisees was make it clear to all the people they intimidated that the Pharisees did not speak for God.

Over the years as I have studied and restudied the gospel of Matthew, I have found my own vision altered.

If you're coming to church from the south and you exit I-5 at Ravenna Blvd. At the end of the ramp, there will be a little man with a sign waving at you.

Looking out the window, what do you see?

A moocher? A freeloader? Someone who needs a kick in the seat of the pants? Someone in need of punishment? Perhaps.

As our eyes are shaped by the Gospel of Matthew when we look out our windows at this little man, we'll see someone broken by genetics or mental illness or mental deficit or maybe even just bad luck. We will see someone in need of healing.

But this is an easy case. We know nothing about the man, so we can easily invent a story that awakens our sympathy. Let's take a much harder case: A fellow church member. A professional woman. Chronically unable to hold it together in her primary relationships. Scornful of her present husband. Neglectful of her kids. But she talks a good line when it comes to theology.

What do you see when you look at her? You know her behavior is evil. And surely someone as smart and talented and religious as she is ought to be able to do a better job in her primary relationships.

It's pretty easy to imagine that she deserves punishment.

But looking through the eyes of the Gospel, what do we see? A broken person in need of healing. This is not to minimize the evil of what she has done to her husband and her children. Her failure to care richly and consistently for the primary relationships in her life is immoral. Still, when we allow the Gospel to shape the lens through which we view this person, we will find ourselves hungering for healing not retribution. For mercy, not condemnation.

Let me push this to where it really hurts: What if this person who fails to care, this person who wounds hearts through cruel words or casual neglect is the person you are married to or is your parent or your child?

What then? You are too close to be able to invent a story for this person like the sweet fiction we can drape around the person begging on the corner. Can we learn together from the gospel to see even this person as someone who needs healing more than condemnation?

This does not mean you should volunteer to stay in a place where you are being hurt. You may have to run for your life. You may have to set iron clad boundaries and even get legal help enforcing those boundaries. Jesus taught his disciples to run from their tormentors. So let me be crystal clear: If you are being abused, do not remain silent. Get help. It is available.

Still as Matthew's Gospel shapes our souls, we can learn to hunger for healing for the people who are close to us and wound us. For people here at church who are annoying. For coworkers that drive you crazy. We can practice praying for for mercy instead of judgment. As we do this, we will discover an astonishing freedom.

When Jesus practiced his healing arts thousands of people were drawn irresistibly. I imagine that the more skillful we become in looking at people through the lens of the Kingdom of Heaven, the more attractive we will be. Our children will be drawn. Our neighbors will be drawn. Our enemies will be drawn. We ourselves will discover a sweet freedom and lightness in our lives.

As we enter deeply into the ministry of healing, we will find a special pleasure in keeping company with God.

Helping Jesus

Sermon for the Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

December 22, 2012

(Preliminary manuscript)

Text: Matthew 2:1-15, The Wise Men.

Jesus needed help. The way Ellen White tells the story, it took scholars to deliver it. She describes the Magi as wealthy, philosopher-scholars. I like that.

In Matthew's gospel, when Jesus was born, nobody noticed. In that world, half of kids died before age five. Who knew whether this child would be one of the lucky ones to make it?

At the end of chapter one, as readers, we know this child is a Divine Being, the Son of David, the Son of Abraham, the Messiah of God, the carrier of an extraordinary mission. As readers we also know that the specialness of this child is perfectly invisible. We—the church, people who are already believers—we know who he is, but how would people in his neighborhood know?

Maybe the religious leaders will give some kind of signal that God has arrived in the person of the baby of Bethlehem? Nope. Is the local king prepared to recognize the legitimacy of another claimant to the throne of David? Fat chance!

So at the end of chapter one, all we have in support of Jesus' status is Matthew's genealogy and Joseph's dream.

Then at the beginning of chapter two, mysterious strangers from the east show up in Jerusalem asking about the birth of a king whose star they've seen.

If these strangers had been shepherds no one would have paid them any attention. If they had been inn keepers from Bethlehem, yawn. But these strangers weren't shepherds or inn keepers. They were the Magi. The Wise Men. The Three Kings of the Orient. You can read various commentators' theories about the precise identity of these strangers. The central point Matthew makes is this: They commanded attention. The whole city of Jerusalem was stirred by their quest. Their status mattered.

Because of their status, Jesus' was marked as a special child. The wealth of the strangers' gifts funded the flight of the Holy Family to Egypt.

Jesus needed help. Help that only high status, wealthy patrons could give.

Jesus still needs the help of Kings, Wise Men and Magi.

In the mid 80s my personal introduction to AIDS came in a phone call from a church member. I could tell from Ron's voice that something was wrong. He had been to the doctor. He began talking in circles, unable to name the horror. I knew secret parts of his story, so as gently as I could I asked if the doctor had found Karposi's sarcoma. Yes. Had they diagnosed AIDS? Yes.

In those days, it was a death sentence. More than that, a diagnosis of AIDS was an entrance into the abyss. The person became untouchable. When I visited Ron in the hospital, I was required to gown, glove and mask.

The disease was unspeakable. Ron went home to die. In the world his parents lived in, AIDS was regarded as the curse of God. His parents never said the word AIDS out loud.

Jesus needed some help. He needed some one to touch Ron. To show him affection. To be willing to name the disease and still to bless Ron as a treasured son of God.

That help could have been provided by anyone with a generous heart.

But Jesus wanted more.

Jesus touched lepers, showing his gracious favor. But Jesus did more than that. He healed lepers. And Jesus wanted to heal people with AIDS.

Helping Jesus heal AIDS takes far more than than a generous heart.

Jesus needs Magi, scholars, smart people willing to spend years and years in school earning a Ph. D.

Jesus needs laboratories and grants.

AIDS is no longer an automatic death sentence, at least not here, not in places with appropriate medical care. But Jesus is not finished. Jesus is not satisfied that AIDS is now routinely and effectively treated in some populations. Jesus is worried about the rest of humanity.

According to Partners in Health, Paul Farmer's organization, there are 12 million orphans in Africa because of AIDS. Jesus needs help responding to that tragic reality.

Jesus needs virologists. And economists. Epidemiologists. He needs legislators and presidents who will pursue policies that permanently improve the economic and social conditions of their people.

Jesus needs business people who will create income-producing jobs and manufacturers who will produce quality products.

Jesus needs the Magi—smart people with generous hearts and bold spirits, wealthy scholars who dare to chase dreams.

Kids, Jesus needs you. Especially if you're bright. Especially if you have the gifts of drive and focus and intellect that will allow you to earn a Ph. D. and serve the world.

Some of you connect with this story through your life time of professional service, healing people, building houses, maintaining the transportation infrastructure of the region. You have invested decades in designing and maintaining the systems that support our well-being and quality of life.

Jesus is pleased with you. Your service connects with the Christmas story celebrates God's involvement with the messiness of life.

In Matthew's gospel, the Christmas story honors the Canaanite prostitute Rahab, who did what she could to protect life. Matthew pays homage to Ruth, the Moabitess, for her generosity to her mother-in-law. He mentions Boaz, the successful business man and Eliub, the perfect nobody. So we are all included in the glory of Christmas.

Matthew climaxes his telling of the Christmas story with his report on a group of wealthy, risk-taking, adventurous scholars. This is a special message to a certain portion of the population of Green Lake Church.

Today, we are saying Godspeed to Jenny as she heads to South Africa to continue her AIDS research. We salute you, Jenny for helping Jesus.

In the light of the story of the Wise Men, the scholars who came to the aid of Jesus, I wish a special blessing to all of you whose lives are devoted to study and learning. Jesus is counting on you. Keep it up.

Today Is the End of the World, Unless . . .

Today Is the End of the World, Unless . . .

In Africa more than 12 million children have been orphaned by HIV/AIDS. Dying, knowing you are leaving your children to fend for themselves in an environment that is hardscrabble beyond our capacity to imagine, that would be the end of the world. Losing your parents in such an environment, that, too, would be the end of the world.

Many of those deaths, orphaning millions of children, can be prevented. The work of organizations like Partners in Health is delaying and preventing the end of the world. Our dollars can further that work.

Here in the United States our “war on drugs” has resulted in the incarceration of millions of young men, especially young men from poor and non-white families. These young men do not use drugs more frequently than other people, but they are disproportionately prosecuted and convicted in our “war on drugs.” Having the scarlet letter, FELONY, stamped on their life histories is the end of the world for many of these young men, shutting down all kinds of opportunities.

We can change that. For many of these young men, a change in drug policy would mean their world does not end in their teens and twenties. We could release them to contribute to society and enjoy life.

Fascination with the end of the world too often blinds us to the very real opportunities we have to mend the world. We cannot direct the course of asteroids. We cannot tell God when to schedule the Second Coming. But we can take actions that will mean the extension of life and the beautification of the world for millions of people. For millions, whether or not the world ends today is in our hands. Don't blow it.

Immanuel

Sermon for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists
December 15, 2012
Texts: Matthew 1 and 9.

Wednesday morning about 6 a.m. I was walking through the church headed here to the sanctuary. Early morning in a church is a special time. It's quiet. In the heart of winter, at 6 a.m. The sanctuary is dark. With just meager light filtering through the windows from street lights.

There's something special about the sanctuary. We have trained ourselves to expect encounters with God in this space. The room itself speaks of the mystery and wonder of the divine.

I was looking forward to an hour of meditation and prayer sitting here in this sacred room.

But I was interrupted.

As I was walking down the center stairs I heard voices. The lights were on in the Day Care rooms. So as I reached the bottom of the stairs, I glanced that direction expecting to see Pam who is here every morning at 5 a.m. Instead, filling the visual frame created by the doorway, I saw a little girl, I don't know, maybe three years old, sitting on a chair, a circle of curls bobbing as she talked animatedly to Pam who was out of sight around the corner.

The first thought that ran through my head was: Whoa. What kind of life requires parents to drop off their kid at Day Care at 6 in the morning. Are both her parents surgeons scheduled to begin operations at 7? Is her mother, a unit secretary and single? What's it like to be a three year old who has to be dressed, breakfasted, and ready for the day at 6 a.m.?

The second thought that ran through my head was, If I had to drop my little girl off at 6:00 in the morning, I would hope that someone like Pam would be there to welcome her.

The third thought that ran through my head was this week's scripture reading.

This is how Jesus the Messiah was born.

His mother, Mary, was engaged to be married to Joseph. But before the marriage took place, while she was still a virgin, she became pregnant through the power of the Holy Spirit. Joseph, her fiancé, was a good man and did not want to disgrace her publicly, so he decided to break the engagement quietly.

As he considered this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream. "Joseph, son of David," the angel said, "do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife. For the child within her was conceived by the Holy Spirit. And she will have a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins."

All of this occurred to fulfill the Lord's message through his prophet: "Look! The virgin will conceive a child! She will give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel, which means 'God is with us.'"

When Joseph woke up, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded and took Mary as his wife. But he did not have sexual relations with her until her son was born.

And Joseph named him Jesus.

Matthew's words set us up to expect a very unusual child. The child is fathered by the direct action of God. I don't know exactly what kind of distinctive features I'd expect, but surely since Jesus was a divine-human hybrid, something should be obviously different from pure-bred human kids. To my surprise, the only evidence Matthew presents that baby Jesus has a fifty-percent divine ancestry are the words of an angel spoken in a dream and the words of an ancient prophecy. There is nothing observable about Jesus that is unique. Instead, the specialness of Jesus is utterly hidden. It can be observed only by those with a special ability to see. It does not lie in in the phenomena being observed. Throughout his gospel Matthew works to teach us how to see. He wants us to practice supernatural vision.

Our worship of the Baby Jesus prepares us to see all babies in a golden light. Because Jesus' parents were peasants, we have a special appreciation for the value and dignity of ordinary people. Because of our sense of connection with Joseph and Mary, we have a sense of kinship with people everywhere who lead precarious lives.

At the heart of the Christmas story are the details of an ordinary baby. He sucks and cries. He poops and pees. In Baby Jesus, God and humanity are intimately linked. This link forms a major theme running all through Matthew's gospel. To the untrained eye, there is an ordinary child. But those who have cultivated penetrating vision see the divine.

The stories of Jesus' birth are not merely cute memories, they offer profound wisdom which is reiterated throughout the gospel of Matthew. One of my favorite stories illustrating this wisdom is found in Matthew 9.

The leader of a synagogue came and knelt before Jesus. "My daughter has just died," he said, "but you can bring her back to life again if you just come and lay your hand on her." Matthew 9:18.

If you know anything about Jewish culture, you are immediately riveted. Jews don't kneel. Perhaps you remember the story of Mordecai in the book of Esther. He very nearly got the entire Jewish population annihilated because of his refusal to bow to someone high up in the government. Jews don't kneel for prayer in the synagogue. Now here, this leader in the Jewish community kneels in front of Jesus begging: Please come resurrect my daughter.

Dad's get this. This girl is the light of his life. She is the most beautiful girl in the world. And the sweetest and the smartest and the kindest. The entire world will go dark if she leaves. So dad, who has never before in his entire life, never, ever, not a single time bowed to another human being, is on his knees in front of Jesus begging for the life of his daughter.

In our imaginations we stand with the dads in that crowd. When Jesus begins moving toward the house, we breathe a sigh of relief. If we are at all skeptically inclined, we are anxious. We don't believe Jesus can raise people from the dead. But this time, this once, we hope we are wrong. This dad's desperate affection for his girl has captured our hearts. He must have his daughter again. Surely the universe would not mind bending its rules just this once to allow the return of joy and life.

Jesus and his entourage head off with the father. Along the way, Jesus stops. (Like any good movie, Matthew's movie has twists of plot.) He turns and interacts with a pathetic woman in the crowd. A woman who has been bleeding for 12 years. The bleeding mentioned here meant that for 12 years she was forbidden by the command of Scripture from having any intimate contact with her husband. She was to have no social contact with anyone. Strictly interpreted, the law would have separated her from her children, her sisters. Certainly from participating in worship.

Her life has been living death. But, of course, she deserved it. Or at least, she was the kind of person these kinds of things happen to. People close to her were stirred with revulsion. Bleeding was yucky. Disgusting. So, she was revolting, disgusting, repulsive.

And she had the effrontery to touch Jesus.

He stopped and turned. He had read her touch. Instead of scolding, rebuking, mocking, instead of asking her what was she thinking, imagining she could get away with violating every social and religious taboo and reach out and touch him, a rabbi, no less. Instead of saying or doing any of that Jesus enveloped her in a transforming light.

There in front of that crowd Jesus suddenly revealed her divinity.

“My daughter” he said.

When Kate Middleton gives birth, her child will be royalty. Why? Because Prince William and Kate are royalty. When Jesus, the divine king announced this woman was his daughter, he announced her own glorious status, a glory utterly invisible anyone uninstructed in the secrets of the Kingdom of Heaven.

Matthew softened our hearts with his portrayal of the Jewish synagogue dad bowing in front of Jesus pleading for the life of his daughter. Then having charmed us with the warmth of desire and admiration in that dad's heart, Matthew plays a trick on us. While we are all emotional, sucked in by the drama of this dad's love and loss, he pivots the camera and catches this woman who repulses us, then has us hear Jesus say to her, “My daughter.” Then Jesus seals her status by healing her.

The story ends with Jesus resurrecting the daughter of the synagogue ruler, but by this point in the story the resurrection is anticlimactic. We were all in love with the synagogue ruler's daughter from the beginning of the story. We know it's going to turn out okay for her. The surprise glory of the story is transfiguration of an undesirable, pitiful woman into a glorious queen of heaven, daughter of Jesus the Messiah.

Matthew presents us with the most exalted wisdom in the history of humanity—the vision of beings as the bearers of the divine presence.

See that baby born to Mary, that infant sucking and crying and sniffing and making happy baby noises. Look again, that child is the Son of David, the Son of Abraham, the Messiah of the Jews, the Son of God. Then throughout his gospel, Matthew shows us multiple examples of this same principle. God and God's beloved are hidden in plain sight all through society. Kids and women and men. Lepers, Romans and ruffians. Synagogue rulers and Pharisees. Once we have been learned from Jesus, we see the glory of God glowing in them all.

When we have deeply imbibed the wisdom of Jesus contained in the gospel of Matthew it might transform the story I told at the beginning of my sermon.

On Wednesday at about 6 a.m. I was walking through the church building, anticipating a quiet hour with God here in the quiet emptiness of this sanctuary. I was going to practice contemplation of the infinite.

But I was interrupted. I was prompted to look back over my shoulder toward the Day Care room where I saw, framed by the doorway, a vision of a little child talking with an attentive adult.

In light of the Christmas story, especially the way Matthew tells it, my hours of meditation on the grand mystery of God are not superior to the minutes Pam spends every morning paying close attention to three-year-olds whose parents are off to work.

As a congregation, we at Green Lake Church, rightly give serious attention to shaping our worship services to lift our hearts to God. We spend money and time to make sure this space lifts our spirits and facilitates our engagement with God.

You are to be commended for this.

As a congregation, Green Lake Church also opens its doors at six in the morning, Monday through Friday, to care for children who are in every observable way indistinguishable from Baby Jesus. (Okay Jesus wasn't blond.)

This is certainly no less significant, no less holy, no less admirable.

While I am sitting here in the darkness attending to the mystery of God, Pam is sitting in the light attending to the prattle of three year olds. According to Matthew, Pam's attention to a three year old is not less glorious my prayer and meditation.

And the entire enterprise of caring for children, which occupies so much of our building for much of the week is no less gloriously spiritual, is no less an engagement with God, than is our worship here at 11:00

As a Christian congregation, a community of people owned by the Christmas story, we are called to the highest vision, the glory of God hidden in every child of God, every son and daughter of human kind.