For Fools Like Us--December 19, 2025

For Fools Like Us--December 19, 2025

"A highway shall be there,
  and it shall be called the Holy Way;
 the unclean shall not travel on it,
  but it shall be for God’s people;
  no traveler, not even fools, shall go astray.
 No lion shall be there,
  nor shall any ravenous beast come up on it;
 they shall not be found there,
  but the redeemed shall walk there.
 And the ransomed of the Lord shall return
  and come to Zion with singing;
 everlasting joy shall be upon their heads;
  they shall obtain joy and gladness,
  and sorrow and sighing shall flee away." (Isaiah 35:8-10)

Every time I come across these words, it makes me smile. I see myself in that line of fools, walking along God's pathway.

I caught myself smiling in self-recognition again this past Sunday when these words were read, too.  

This scene from the prophet Isaiah's book gives us a glimpse of the utter certainty of God's saving grace.  It is, quite literally, a fool-proof sort of salvation.  The prophet here is offering a vision of hope for people who felt stuck in exile in Babylon and couldn't imagine how they would ever make it back home to their own lands and their own lives.  The Babylonian armies had captured and deported countless people of Judea by brute force, and they now languished in limbo in Babylonian territory, hundreds of miles away from their homelands but without the means, power, or ability to go back to the only places they had ever lived.  Even if they could escape the watchful eyes of the Babylonians and leave, they didn't know how to get back home, and it was a dangerous and difficult journey through unknown wilderness to get there.  It seemed hopeless--there were a million ways it could all go wrong, you know?

So here comes, Isaiah, envisioning that God will make a way--nothing short of a highway to stretch across that vast wilderness, which will bring them all the way home.  You can almost hear Isaiah anticipating the worries and questions of the exiles and getting his responses ready to assuage them:  

"But how will we know how to get home?"  And the prophet answers, "God is building the road to go directly to Jerusalem, so all you have to do is just follow the pathway laid out for you."

"But what if there are dangerous Babylonians on the road following us, or what if people with leprosy who sometimes have to go live out in the wilderness come up to us and we're afraid of getting sick?"  Isaiah pre-emptively answers, "Nothing unclean will be on the road, so you don't have to worry about getting contaminated by anybody or captured by a Babylonian."

"Okay, but what if there are lions or other predators along the way? They live in the wilderness, and we would be defenseless against them if we went out there!"  So Isaiah says, like a parent calming a child who is afraid of monsters under the bed, "There will no lions, or any other kind of ravenous beast there--I promise!"

And as if to remove any other unspoken fears, the prophet also adds this beautiful, humbling detail: "No traveler, not even fools, will go astray."  What an absolutely stunning promise.  Even when our own stupidity would have gotten us lost, God's kind of pathway keeps us on the right road.  Even when our own blockheadedness would have led us into a ditch or gotten confused about the exit signs, God insists we will not end up in the middle of nowhere.  Even when our own fear might spur us to turn tail and go back to the now-familiar misery of exile in Babylon, God's road will get us all the way home.  God's saving grace is literally fool-proof: even we cannot mess it up with our own foolishness.

I am convinced that this notion from Isaiah 35 is not an exception: it is the Standard Operating Procedure for God in the world.   God's way of saving us doesn't leave loopholes that our own stubbornness or stupidity can get through.  God's kind of rescue doesn't leave open the possibility that we will mess it up by our foolishness, orneriness, doubt, or even our sins.  God's way of saving the world is utterly foolproof--which is to say, even fools like us cannot undo it.

So often at this time of year, when we tell the story of Jesus' birth, we take notice of how precarious and fragile the whole story seems. We ask questions, maybe like the exiles who heard from Isaiah did, naming all of our what-ifs:  what if Mary had said no? What if Joseph had broken off the engagement? What if Mary's parents didn't believe her story about a divine pregnancy and had her stoned to death? What if the shepherds didn't believe the angels' message?  What if mean ol' bully King Herod had successfully tricked the Magi into giving away the location of the child they found? What if they hadn't understood the meaning of the star? There are a million ways it could have all gone wrong, you know?

And yet, the assurance of the Scriptures is that even for all the ways God's movement in the world seems fallible and fragile, God's gracious saving is ultimately foolproof.  God has already figured our foolishness, our fearfulness, and our sinfulness into the recipe, and God's commitment to redeem and restore are unthwartable all the same.  Perhaps God has decided already that all salvation has to be foolproof, because all of us in need of saving are fools.  But just as the prophet said to those people despondent in exile centuries ago, so God says to us as well: "No matter what, my love will make a way.  No matter how big the fears are and no matter how small your confidence is, I will bring you home."

That is news that is worth holding onto today, tomorrow, throughout this Christmas season, and always: God's way of saving and bringing us home really is foolproof--even for fools like us.

Lord God, despite our fears and worries about what could go wrong along the way, bring us home and bring us to you.

The Divine Agenda--December 18, 2025

The Divine Agenda--December 18, 2025

"Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened,
  and the ears of the deaf shall be opened;
  then the lame shall leap like a deer,
  and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy.
 For waters shall break forth in the wilderness
  and streams in the desert;
  the burning sand shall become a pool
  and the thirsty ground springs of water;
 the haunt of jackals shall become a swamp;
  the grass shall become reeds and rushes." (Isaiah 35:5-7)

As it turns out, God has an agenda. In fact, God is up front about it and just lays it out there for everyone to hear.  God is committed to healing and bringing things to life.

This passage from the book of the prophet Isaiah, which many of us heard this past Sunday in worship, almost hits my ears like a press conference, where God (through the prophet, playing the role of press secretary) announces a new set of priorities and plans.  And as Isaiah tells it, it is the policy of the Yahweh Administration (or, as we sometimes call it, the kingdom of heaven or the Reign of God) to help the hurting, to mend our wounds, and to fill our empty and barren desert spaces with signs of life.  This, the prophet says, is what God is up to.  These, Isaiah tells us, are the sort of things that matter to God.  This is the divine agenda: not destruction and warfare, not violence and bloodshed, and not conquest and domination, but relief of suffering and restoration of creation.

Over the course of my four-and-half decades of life on this planet, I've lived through plenty of televised press conferences, official statements, and presidential addresses.  You have, too, I'm sure. We've seen our share of Important-Looking People standing at podiums or sitting at ponderous desks, and we know their routines. We have seen their faces heavy with looks of gravitas, and we have heard the opening salutation, intoned almost like a liturgy: "My fellow... (Ohioans... or Citizens... or Americans...)." And we know what it is like to listen to the Official Agenda of the Day being set for us. We have heard the announcement of new wars... and the breaking of terrible and tragic news... and the warning of belt-tightening budget measures... or, in particularly rotten times, the scapegoating of new folks to be identified as "enemies" or "threats" for us to focus our hatred on and take the scrutiny off of the one behind the desk.  We have lived through plenty of those times to know the whole routine.  

And I suspect Isaiah had lived through plenty of that, too. Of course, for him, it was the official pronouncements of kings rather than presidents or governors, but he had seen more than his share of Official Agendas being pronounced for the people to hear. He had heard press releases announcing new taxes being levied to shore up Judah's armies in case the Assyrians came knocking. He had seen palace propaganda about how the new king would make everybody prosperous and restore the old glory days of King David and Solomon... only to be another disappointment. He had lived through declarations of war, denunciations of enemies, and promises from podiums about smiting their opponents and bringing back the "good ol' days".  And in response, Isaiah speaks a different word.  Isaiah reports on God's agenda, and even though at first blush it might sound like a list of policy positions and action items the same as any Official National Address he had heard before from the palace, on the prophet's lips, it is a whole new story.  God's agenda is about bringing forth life rather than doling out death.  God's agenda is about abundance out of dry desert ground, rather than the announcement of turning other people's homes into bomb-strewn wastelands in war.  God's agenda is about healing the wounds of those who suffer, not about labeling a new cohort of villains to scapegoat. Isaiah is giving us the policy priorities of the Reign of God.

It is worth noting, too, that Jesus takes these images and descriptions as hallmarks of his own ministry and calling in the Gospels.  Back on Sunday, and then in this past Monday's devotion, we heard the story of John the Baptizer sending messengers to ask Jesus if he really was the one they were waiting for.  And we heard Jesus' reply, as well, which should sound familiar now that we've been looking at Isaiah 35. Jesus tells the messengers, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, those with a skin disease are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them" (Matthew 11:4-5).  The restoration of life to those who are looking for healing.  The freedom to move for those who had been constrained and constricted.  To those who seek healing for their ears, their ears, their limbs, and their bodies, Jesus gives it freely. To those who were thirsty for good news like the desert waits for the rain, Jesus speaks it freely. Jesus sees himself as the embodiment of the press-release announcement of the prophet Isaiah, and so he points to those examples as evidence that he is bringing about the agenda of the Yahweh Administration.

We should note, too, as we hinted back on Monday, that John the Baptizer had had a rather different set of expectations of God's anointed one, the Messiah.  He had been advertising fire and fury, wrath and destruction on God's enemies and the unrighteous.  John had pictured something closer to the standard "Big Speech" from a demagogue at a desk: calling down condemnation on the ones labeled "enemies" and declaring God's vengeful war against the wicked, that sort of thing.  Jesus, however, deliberately avoids that kind of imagery. He points instead to the ways that he brings life, because he is convinced that these are ultimately God's agenda in the world.

I wonder: when people hear and see us in the world, what impression do they get of God's agenda in the world?  From what they see in us, do other people assume that God is embarking on a culture war, zapping the not-good-enough, and rounding up new "enemies "to be destroyed and new "threats" to be eliminated?  Or do they see signs of God bringing the world to life? Do they see healing and wholeness, and the restoration of creation to bring forth abundance? Whether we like it or not, and whether we realize it or not, we are all walking spokespersons and press secretaries for God, too, like the prophet Isaiah.  And what people hear and see from us they will presume points to the priorities and vision of God in the world.  What sort of messages do you think we have been sending?

And, with Isaiah's vision guiding us now, what kind of message do we want to send today? What would it look like to do that... now?

Lord God, allow us to reflection your priorities in the world today for the watching eyes and listening ears around us.

For the Days When It Hurts--December 17, 2025

For the Days When It Hurts--December 17, 2025

"Strengthen the weak hands,
     and make firm the feeble knees.
Say to those who are of a fearful heart,
'     Be strong, do not fear!
Here is your God.
     He will come with vengeance,
with terrible recompense.
     He will come and save you'." [Isaiah 35:3-4]

There's not a day that it doesn't hurt.

Somewhere, in some way, all of us are carrying hurts and wearing scars from what we've been through. All of us bear the aches in our bodies or our hears, or both, and some days it is just a relief to be able to say so, rather than thinking the "religious thing to do" is to push it down and fake a smile.

But some days, we just can't. Our hands are weak, our knees are feeble, and our hearts are trembling with fear or tiredness or grieving or all of the above. And some days we don't know what to do with all of that.

It can be especially tough to be wearing those wounds in December--not just because the cold can add one more layer of "blah," but because the songs on the radio and the lights in the yards all insist that it's "the most wonderful time of the year." And sometimes, it's all we can do to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

So, what do we do about it? What do we do with the sadness we cannot shake, or the disappointment and disgust that bubbles up when we turn on the news, or the smallness we feel at the size and scope of troubles that threaten to overpower us? And while we're asking things, is the answer from our faith only that "one day in the distant future it will be better in heaven?" Because, to be really honest, sometimes that's what it sounds like from a lot of Respectable Religious folk: sometimes the only hope they have to offer is a sales pitch that goes like this: "Everything will be terrible in this life, and there's nothing you can do about it to make the world any brighter now, but one day in heaven, it will all be sunshine and rainbows. So suck it up and get back to work making widgets!" And to tell the truth, that is not much comfort.

Well, there's good news--that's not really how the biblical writers see things, either. Voices like Isaiah's here don't just describe heaven and hope that visions of pearly gates or golden streets will goad us into working another day. To be sure, there is the Big Hope of the God who saves in the end. That much is certain, from the declaration, "Here is your God... he will come and save you." But Isaiah doesn't only have the hope of some distant future, or as Marty Haugen's famous hymn lyric goes, "not in some heaven light-years away." Isaiah speaks a concrete word of hope for us who are just limping along through our days, and he speaks encouragement for the present as well as the future.

Isaiah calls on the beloved community to strengthen each other. He tells us to build one another up and to lend our strength and stability to each other, so that we can endure the most difficult days. We are given not just End-Times-Afterlife-Big-Picture-Resurrection-Hope, but Present-Moment-Daily-Life-Immediate-Situation hope as well. You know, little resurrections within the found family of God's people. Small renewals that make it possible for us to endure the difficult days by having each other's backs. Ordinary miracles of healing that let our wounds become scars, and our scars become strength. Isaiah's word here is, "Until the day when all is put right and all our tears are wiped away by God's own hand, well, then, YOU be the ones God raises up to wipe each other's tears away!"

In other words, YOU be the ones to strengthen each other and steady each other, until the moment when God's hand touches us all to wellness. Until the day when "all will be well and all will be well and all manner of things will be made well" as Julian of Norwich wrote, well then, YOU be the ones who make it at least bearable for each other. Lift each other up. Carry each other when you have to. Let yourself be carried. Let down your guard, and drop your fake smiles. Be present for one another, and there in your midst, God will be present through your love for one another, until the day when you see God face to face in glory.

That gives us a plan for facing the day, while holding out our Big-Picture Hope, too. Instead of just being told to tough it out until the afterlife, we are given the invitation and the calling to strengthen one another, and to encourage one another--and in turn, to be strengthened and encouraged by the promise that God will not let the hurt, or even death, get the last word. In fact, we are told to encourage each other, not simply with the promise "God is coming to save the day...someday," but that God is already present, right here and right now. "Here is your God," the prophet tells us to remind each other. Not merely, "Off there in the distance is your God."

So what do we do with the pain we are all bearing? We carry each other. We honor one another's hurts and let them be named. We offer our strength to one another, and we let others' strength be a gift to us when we need it, too. And we keep pointing, so that each of us will see when things are unclear, "Here is your God."

There's not a day that it doesn't hurt. But neither is there a day when God is not here in the hurt with us, sending people to us, and sending us to others as well.

Strengthen our weak hands and feeble knees, O Lord, and remind us that you are here with us.

God's Grand Restoration Project--December 16, 2025

God's Grand Restoration Project--December 16, 2025

 "The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad;
  the desert shall rejoice and blossom;
 like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly
  and rejoice with joy and shouting.
 The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it,
  the majesty of Carmel and Sharon.
 They shall see the glory of the Lord,
  the majesty of our God." (Isaiah 35:1-2)

Apparently, God's intention isn't just to get people into heaven; God intends to bring all of creation fully to life.

That vision certainly includes our hope of life beyond death, or as our sloppy shorthand might put it, "going to heaven when we die," but it is also much bigger.  When God moves in the world, it is not merely to collect up the human beings in order to whisk them away off to float on the clouds somewhere--it is to bring the whole world to life, turning even dry and barren waste lands into blossoming gardens. God isn't interested in plucking us up and taking us somewhere "better" while the world burns; rather, God is engaged in renewing the earth completely.  The news of God's coming is good news for the crocuses, too.

This passage from the book of Isaiah, which many of us heard in worship this past Sunday, reminds us of just how widely God's concern reaches.  As the prophet pictures God acting in the world, and what it will be like when God's Chosen Anointed One (or "Messiah") comes, he doesn't limit his description to human terms.  We don't hear things like "You'll know the Messiah is coming because the markets will all be up," but rather the prophet says, "When God passes through, you'll see the crocus blooming in the desert." We human beings are a part of God's grand restoration project, but we are not the only ones.  We are a part of the vast and varied family of God, absolutely; but we are not the only members of that family.   God cares about the stream beds in the wilderness, the flowers waiting for the rain so they can burst into bloom, as well as the wolves and lambs we heard about last week, who are waiting a new and peaceable kingdom where old enemies can be reconciled and no one has to be afraid of being hunted by anybody.  All of it belongs. All of it is a part of the community--the commonwealth, so to speak--of God's Reign.

When we forget that, we end up shrinking our Advent hope into merely afterlife insurance.  We end up caricaturing God into the bearded fellow from the cartoons who lives up on a cloud and only cares about snatching up a handful of well-behaved saints to live in the sky while everything "below" crumbles.  And we end up missing out on just how big a family God has brought us into.  We have a place beside our cousins the crocuses and cats, our uncles the mountains, our aunts the butterflies, and all of our human sisters and brothers as well.  God intends to make it all new, not merely to settle for a segment of us and giving up on the rest of creation.

Hold onto that truth today--and throughout the rest of this season.  The One we are waiting for isn't merely recruiting for members of an elite social club; the coming Christ is intent on renewing all of creation.  The child in the manger isn't born just for the sake of getting a few souls onto the Good List; he has come to bring everything and everyone more fully to life. And we are longing for more than just a record close for the stock market--we are waiting for the restoration of all things.

Come, Lord Jesus, and make all things new.

Bringing Our Disappointment--December 15, 2025

Bringing Our Disappointment--December 15, 2025

"When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, 'Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?' Jesus answered them, 'Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me'." [Matthew 11:2-6]

Some people say that the "right" thing to feel in the season of Advent are emotions like "hope," "peace," "joy," and "love." Sometimes we even say that's what each of the candles on the Advent wreath are for. But John the Baptizer offers a minority report (doesn't he always?). John's witness suggests that the right responses to this waiting season are doubt, anger, disillusionment, and outrage.

And he's not wrong about that.

Or at least, maybe Advent needs to be about those difficult emotions before it can be about the pastel pink and purple notions of peace and joy.

Let me suggest that we sit with this scene for a bit today, before we rush on to talking about hope and peace and joy. John the Baptizer is in jail, and it's not fair. He's gotten himself into trouble with Herod, the arrogant narcissist who sits on a puppet's throne, having been placed in his position by the foreign power of Rome. And honestly, John's not there for anything "religious" that he said. John ended up making enemies in high places because he got political. John didn't say anything that wasn't true, but he called out Herod as a fraud and a crook, and he wouldn't keep his mouth shut about Herod's uncontrolled habit of dumping his old wives for newer, more attractive models when it suited him.

John even saw through the way Herod pretended to be religious--he wasn't even completely ethnically Jewish (he was Idumean, actually), and yet he thoguht that if he undertook renovation projects to the Temple, it would puff up his reputation and get the support of the Respectable Religious crowd, as well as give him more large marble monuments on which he could have his name engraved. But John had seen through Herod's bluster and propaganda and called him out for being a fraud and a crook--and it landed John in a dungeon waiting a date with an executioner's ax.

Now, John was a brave and principled man, and he was willing to suffer for the cause of righteousness and for the sake of truth-telling. But he also had pinned his hopes on the notion that Jesus of Nazareth was in fact the promised Messiah--and John figured that surely, the Messiah would strike down the pompous pretender on the throne, Herod, right? Surely, the Messiah would not be able to stand such an arrogant and obviously hollow crook remaining in power. And certainly, the Messiah would free John from being wrongfully imprisoned simply for having spoken truth to power... right?

And so, understandably, John finds himself in prison feeling outraged and angry, doubting and disillusioned. He is disappointed that Jesus hasn't busted him out of jail or raised up an army to take over Jerusalem from Herod and the Romans. He is angry that a rotten crook like Herod seems to be getting away with his crookedness. He is outraged that the others around him either don't seem to be able to see how terrible and self-absorbed Herod is, or worse--that they can see it, and they just don't care! And because it looks like Herod's pettiness and corruption are going to go unchallenged while he wastes away in prison, John is beginning to doubt whether Jesus really was the one he has been waiting for. All of his mental pictures of a Messiah busting down the door, guns blazing, to break him out of jail are evaporating like morning dew, and John is on the edge of despair.

Honestly, can you blame him?

The trouble with Jesus, of course, is that he reserves the right not to conform to our expectations. If we expected him to recruit soldiers to "take back the country for God" or fight childish bullies and violent tyrants with his own bullying and violence, we are are going to be disappointed. He is the one we have been waiting for--that much is true and certain--but he is not bound to be what we expected. And that's part of what makes this season of waiting so difficult. It's hard to be full of hope and peace and love and joy when you look around at the rottenness of the world around you and you can't shake the question, "Doesn't anybody else see this? Isn't anybody else upset that this is how things are? Isn't God upset at it all--and if so, why hasn't God fixed it all yet?" Our wish is for God to come and zap the world into instant righteousness--of course, that's righteousness as WE want to define it, where God hates all the people I already hate, and where God's pet peeves are conveniently my own. We want a God who busts down doors, locked and loaded, who stands his ground with righteous fury, and who cuts down the crooked Herods of the world instantly, rather than letting them think they are winning the day. As Robert Farrar Capon has put it, we want a God who looks more like Superman, punching his way to victory, rather than a God who goes to a cross and dies at the hands of crooked pretenders like Herod and brutal heathens like Pilate or Caesar. And when we see that Jesus' way of doing things is different from what we expected, we can't help but be a little disappointed.

But what we are given is Jesus... and Jesus does not seems at all interested in catering to our bloodlust. And if we have pinned our hopes on God fitting with our expectations, well, we like John are going to find that waiting for Jesus looks a lot more like doubt and anger than hope and peace.

And this is where I think we need to hold onto John rather than just dismissing him. See, I'm convinced that John is right about the crookedness of Herod and the rottenness of a society that just accepted his claims to be "King of the Jews." I think John is right to be angry, in the same way that outrage is sometimes a sign you are just paying attention. If we aren't upset at the rottenness and crookedness of the world, we are complicit in it. So in that sense, anger is appropriate for Advent, if it is the kind of anger over what is wrong in the world that also then leads to action to put things right.

But just being angry isn't enough. And assuming that God has to work with our preferred methods is rather arrogant, too. Jesus' response to John reminds him--and us--that God is indeed dealing with the brokenness of the world around us. But God's way of dealing with it is to heal it and to bring it back to life, yes, even to raise what is dead in us, rather than to just zap and shoot and smash things.

In a sense we all need to get to the place where John is at some point in our life of faith--we need to move from complacency to urgent outrage over the rottenness in the world. But so long as we stay there, we will find ourselves imprisoned in that anger. Jesus can take it when we bring our disappointments to him, but he does have it in mind to change our thinking. Jesus enters there into that dungeon and brings life to us so that we are not stuck there forever, but we can't short-circuit the process and skip the honest anger that John has. We need to be upset over the things that upset God. We need to, as the old prayer goes, let our hearts be broken by the things that break the heart of God. And from there, we will be ready to let Jesus come on his own terms--not the conquering army general, but the baby in the manger. The Jesus we are waiting for these days is indeed the One through whom God puts all things right that are broken and crooked, but Jesus insists that his way of doing it goes through the saving and giving of life rather than through Herod's same old violent tactics. Ultimately, if Jesus gives in to John's revenge fantasy and would zap Herod with holy laser-beams out of his eyes, then Herod wins and the world really is just a game of King of the Hill. If Jesus fights Herod's self-serving violence with self-serving violence of his own, then nothing has really changed or been redeemed. So Jesus' way of putting things right will be, well, just what Jesus says to John through his messengers: the blind will be given sight, the lame will walk, the lepers will be cleansed, the dead will be raised, and the poor will be given good news.

So here is my prayer for you in these Advent days. I pray for you--and for myself as well--not the easy peace of just ignoring the rottenness of the world around, but the fiery love that can be awakened to anger about what is crooked, and the honest hope that looks to Jesus' way of putting things right rather than the same old tired ways of Herod the pompous puppet.

And when we have first been stirred up, we can then be given the deep peace of the God who deals with the brokenness of the world from a manger and a cross, rather than from a protected throne or behind a trigger.

May we be troubled over the crookedness of things like John is... and then may we be brought to life by Jesus who comes into our captivity and transforms us in his love.

Lord Jesus, where we are complacent, stir us up. And where we need to let you redirect us, turn us around.

 

Knowing God Will Change Us--December 12, 2025

Knowing God Will Change Us--December 12, 2025

"They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain,
 for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord
  as the waters cover the sea.
On that day the root of Jesse shall stand as a signal to the peoples;
     the nations shall inquire of him, and his dwelling shall be glorious." (Isaiah 11:9-10)

When we know God fully, we will no longer need to hurt each other.

When we truly understand the character of God, we will no longer seek to destroy one another.

When we dare to see the world from God's perspective, all peoples and all nations will be able to live together, drawn together by God's chosen one, who comes from the old family line of Jesse, not merely coexisting, but in community.

This is really mind-blowing stuff if you think about it. These words, which conclude the passage from Isaiah that many of us heard this past Sunday in worship, give us one more glimpse of that "peaceable kingdom" we've been exploring over the last several days.  Earlier, Isaiah had pictured all nations streaming to the mountain of God--to the very Temple in Jerusalem!--to be taught by God.  Then we heard the prophet describing a new creation where creatures themselves are changed so that former enemies are reconciled and can live safely and in peace with one another: wolves and lambs, cows and bears, leopards and kids, all together and none afraid.

And to hear Isaiah tell it, all of that change--which is pretty radical, to be honest--is made possible by knowing God more deeply.  The more fully we know God--not just facts "about" God, but to know the heart of God's character--the more completely we will be led away from wanting or needing to hurt one another.  The more truly we know God's ways, the less we will be driven to cause harm, or to justify hurting others in the name of getting what we want.  Isaiah seems to think that if we believe it is acceptable to hurt, destroy, or regard someone else as "less than," it is a sign that we don't really know God.  From the prophet's perspective, all nations are welcome and none can be dismissed as disposable, as trash, or as garbage. Isaiah says that kind of mutual care is what happens when "the earth is full of the knowledge of the Lord."

All too often, we treat God as our private possession who is there to take OUR side against THEIR side. We tell ourselves that WE won't be hurt or destroyed if God is on our side, but that God is here to be the heavy who can smite, blast, and blow up whomever we decide is "unrighteous" or "ungodly."  That's the thinking being used by "religious" voices in Russia trying to justify its invasion of Ukraine, and it's the same thinking that has been used by competing groups in Israel and Palestine to attempt to justify killing and bombing each other, and it's very tempting to do the same in our own setting.  We have a very, VERY hard time resisting the temptation of believing that God is on MY side, and therefore is opposed to YOUR side.  We have a very hard time considering that God might not be just MINE or seeking MY safety, but the well-being and life of all.  But that's precisely what Isaiah wants us to see.

From Isaiah's standpoint, the more clearly we understand who God is and what matters to God, the more we will commit to caring for one another, protecting one another from harm, and refusing to hurt one another.  And Isaiah's repeated reference here to "the peoples" and "the nations" makes it clear that he doesn't just have his own country or clan in mind.  We are not only called to refrain from harming our own little groups, but we are called to seek the well-being of all people.  As Isaiah sees it, the more truly we know God, the less we will be able to say, "Me and My Group First," and the more we will be committed to the good of all.  That's because Isaiah is convinced that God's own heart is committed to the good of all.  For him, then, it only makes sense to say that no one will hurt or destroy because the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord.

Today, how can we deepen our knowledge of God--and are we prepared to let that deeper understanding change our way of relating to other people?  Are we willing to let our study of the Bible change our perspective of our neighbors?  Are will willing to allow that the more we learn, pray, and contemplate the character of God, the more we open ourselves to a new love of others, including others from backgrounds and stories that are very different from our own?

Isaiah warns us that we cannot reduce our knowledge of God to merely a matter of facts to be memorized and filed away in our brains; knowing God will change us.  And in particular, knowing God more deeply will make of us people who love deeply, who seek to preserve the lives of others, who honor and uplift the worth of all peoples and all nations, and who do not hurt or destroy others.  Dare we let our relationship to God change us that way?

Lord God, help us to know you more deeply, and allow that knowledge to shape us more fully in your likeness.

Divinely Unnatural Relations--December 11, 2025

Divinely Unnatural Relations--December 11, 2025

“The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid,
     the calf and the lion and the fatling together,
and a little child shall lead them.
     The cow and the bear shall graze,
their young shall lie down together;
     and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.
The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp,
     and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den.
They will not hurt or destroy
     on all my holy mountain;
for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord,
     as the waters cover the sea." [Isaiah 11:6-9]

We need to have a conversation about the word "natural."

More and more I notice that the marketing experts use the word "natural" as an automatically positive adjective. You know the refrains; they are a popular litany in the religious liturgy of consumerism: "You should try this new herbal supplement--it's ALL-NATURAL!" or "Don't buy that brand of soda--you should buy this other one that is made with NATURAL sugar!" or "I don't get the store-brand, because I want the one with the packaging that says it's the NATURAL choice!" or "I'm not going to get my flu shot, because immunizations are unnatural!" We get sloppy with our logic and accept the reasoning that anything you can call "natural" is automatically good, and anything that is "un-natural" is automatically bad.

Well, things aren't that simple. Sure, whole grains and sunshine are natural. But so it cancer. Malaria is natural, as is viral meningitis. So are lead, mercury, arsenic, and uranium. And on the flip side, you know what things are not found in nature? Vaccines, or water purification, or indoor plumbing. MRIs that catch tumors before they grow too big to treat are un-natural, too. And a good many life-saving drugs out there are things you won't find in nature, either.

For that matter, death is natural. Resurrection is un-natural.

Maybe things are more complicated that just saying "unnatural is always bad" and "natural is always good."

The natural world itself, for example, seems built on death... and therefore also on fear. In the animal kingdom, we say that there are two groups of creatures: the hunters and the hunted. You've got to eat your opponent or run from your opponent, but basically your choices in nature are limited to "fight or flight." We say things like "It's a dog-eat-dog world out there, and only the fittest survive--that's just the natural order of things." We seem to just accept that our lives should be lived forever under the cloud of fear of being eaten, and we accept just as easily the idea that you might just have to step on somebody else if they get in your way to climbing to the top of the hill. That's all just... you know, natural. The way it is, and the way it must always be.  We have to see every other person around us as a threat--as competition for scarce resources, for our way of life, for our livelihoods, and for our stuff--because it's "the law of the jungle" and it's "only natural."

Trouble is, God seems committed to making a whole new kind of creation--a resurrected creation--that looks, to our eyes, quite un-natural. Of course, to the person who's been sitting in a dark room all day, the brilliance of the daytime sun is going to seem too bright for their eyes. And for us who are accustomed to a world built on the fear of death, a new kind of creation will seem dangerously un-natural, too.

But look at the way the prophet Isaiah envisions the promised new creation that the Messiah will bring: it is staggeringly UN-NATURAL. All the creatures have exchanged their "natural" relationships as enemies for new and gloriously "un-natural" relations as friends now. Just look at how hilariously un-natural the whole scene is: wolves and lambs cozying up next to one another, and leopards and baby goats lounging next to the cows and bears, and nobody is eating each other!

Kind of makes you think that maybe what we are quick to label "un-natural" might not be "unacceptable" after all, but in fact might just be gloriously good!

The old logic of death, and the old engine of fear that kept the old logic churning, is gone. No longer is the assumption that it's a kill-or-be-killed world, and there is no longer the either/or choice of fight or flight. Instead, there is a new way of relating, a new way of being in relationship with one another--and it comes from learning the peaceable ways of God, according to Isaiah. At the coming of God's anointed one--the time when the long-awaited Messiah appears--creation itself will be turned inside out, resurrected, and pulled into a new form. Like the resurrected Jesus is able to pass through walls and go without being recognized, and yet is still clearly the same Jesus who was nailed to the cross, the new creation will be the same as this one--and yet resurrected. Transformed. Renewed. And yet, we aren't scared of the risen Jesus. We don't kick him out because his risen way of being human is "un-natural" or "abominable". No, his resurrection itself is gloriously unnatural!

My point in all of this is that the future toward which God is bringing all of creation sometimes seems scary to us because it runs contrary to what we are used to--what we call "natural," and yet it is a good and beautiful future. The idea of a peaceable kingdom can seem frightening to us if we are used to "peace" through the threat of death, "peace" at the point of a sword, or "peace" won through intimidation and fear. What God calls us into is a completely different way of relating to one another--a way grounded in the courage to be vulnerable and to let down our guard, rather than in baring our teeth at one another and needing to dominate others for fear that they'll dominate us.

The world around us seems run on the tired old logic that says, "You gotta get THEM before they get YOU!" and says it is only natural to see everyone else around you as a threat--either a predator out to get you, or other prey that can leave you to be eaten by a lion if they outrun you. But the God who raises the dead opens up a new possibility--a new way of living with one another, even if it seems to run counter to what everybody else swears is "natural."

Our hope as followers of Jesus is not that the coming Messiah will give us special weapons to give us an advantage against our opponents in a dog-eat-dog world. Rather, our hope is that the One we are waiting for is the one with the nail-scarred hands to prove that there is a new kind of creation in store for us, one that might not look "natural" at all, but is actually, with God's blessing and by God's design, gloriously "un-natural." It is the peaceable kingdom where old animosities are set aside, where old systems are done with and put away, and where God makes it possible for wolves and lambs, lions and cows, all to share a table.

Our Advent hope is for just such a promised future as that--a future of gloriously, blessedly, divinely unnatural relations.

Lord God, make us new in your surprising love, and bring about your new order of things where old enemies can reconcile in peace.

Surprised All Over Again--December 10, 2025

Surprised All Over Again--December 10, 2025

"A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse,

     and a branch shall grow out of his roots.

The spirit of the Lord shall rest on him,

     the spirit of wisdom and understanding,

the spirit of counsel and might,

     the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord.

His delight shall be in the fear of the Lord.

     He shall not judge by what his eyes see,

or decide why what his ears hear;

     but with righteousness he shall judge the poor,

and decide with equity for the meek of the earth..." [Isaiah 11:1-4]

I used to think the cat was out of the bag with Jesus, and that I could no longer be joyfully surprised by the coming of the Messiah. But God always has a few tricks up the divine sleeve.

Honestly, I think sometimes we church folk think we've got all the plot twists of the story of God figured out, and that they can't catch us off guard anymore. This time of year is one of the reasons. We Christians re-read passages from the prophets and say, "They were predicting the Messiah, but he's already come now, so there's nothing left for us to glean from these ancient poems." We have a way of dismissing all of this Advent tension of delayed gratification as just a game we play every year--since we know that the baby will be born in a manger, and we are no longer surprised that the angels show up to see shepherds working the night shift. We sometimes even treat the whole idea of a long-awaited messiah with a "been-there-done-that" attitude, like watching the same old Christmas movies year after year and pretending you don't know whether the hero will "save Christmas" this time or not.

I know I do this myself--it is tempting to think we are masters of these ancient texts, and that we have wrung every drop of meaning from them already.

But then I read these well-worn words again, which many of us heard in worship this past Sunday, and I discover that I am not nearly as in control of them--nor of the God to whom they witness--as I had thought. The old poets and dreamers have things to tell me that I was not expecting... or maybe that I had never paid attention to before.  The prophets keep reminding me that God reserves the right to catch me off guard and leave me surprised all over again.

Take this for starters: the prophet here doesn't simply promise that there will be a new king one day who will come from David's (and Jesse, David's father) family line. Honestly, that wasn't much of a headline in the days of Isaiah the prophet, since he lived during a time when there was a Davidic king already, and there would be more Davidic kings for another 150 years or so, give or take. The surprise wasn't the announcement of that there would be more kings in this particular dynasty.

But what makes this promised coming "branch" from the family tree of Jesse and David special is that for once in the world's history, this new sort of king won't be swayed by appearance, won't be motivated by the need to hold onto power for power's sake, won't be directed by greed or fear, and won't put his own personal interests over the interests of his people. For once, Isaiah says, there will be a ruler who won't be fooled into caring only about surface appearances or what "plays well," but rather will be guided by righteousness, by equity, and by wisdom. For once, in other words, there will be a ruler whose power is seen in serving those who are most vulnerable ("the poor" and "the meek of the earth," as Isaiah puts it) rather than trying to extract benefits from those who are most influential.

The real surprise, in other words is not the sentence, "There will be another king coming," but rather, "There will be a good one for once--a ruler who is genuinely and truly good, all the way to the core." The world has been waiting for such a thing. The world is waiting, still. The prophets were not suckered by the official royal propaganda coming from the palace in their day that just assumed God blessed and approved of everything the kings of the day did. Isaiah had seen half-decent ones and terrible ones, but never one that was wholly good, just, and wise. The prophets saw through the spin-doctoring and PR management offered by king after crooked king, and they recognized how the powerful people of their day were all more or less entangled in getting themselves more power and keeping it. And so the prophets kept on daring to dream of a better way... a better kind of king. A completely different kind of king, honestly: one whose power is revealed in self-giving, and whose authority is used to lift up the lowly. Sometimes I forget just how radical an idea that really is for a ruler.  Most folks in our time have given up that such priorities could be possible; we are so used to ego-driven demagogues only interested in winning the next election rather than actually striving for the common good that it is hard to believe another way is possible.  Isaiah tells us it is.

I think what surprises me and my cynical heart is the hope that Isaiah holds onto that things could really be different. It is so easy any more to see rottenness everywhere that we just assume that's how things must always be. Heads of state, heads of corporations, and heads of institutions all seem bent on holding onto their power, or enriching themselves, or gaslighting their supporters, or making empty promises, and it is terribly easy just to assume that it must be OK because "everybody is doing it." It feels any more like even just asking, "But what is the truth here?" is precariously close to being an out-of-fashion question, because so many pundits and experts seem only interested in what is popular, or what can be gotten away with, or what plays to a particular base. In a time when we are all so tempted only to listen to voices or watch the channels that will tell us what we already want to hear, it is hard to imagine the Coming One whom Isaiah says will not act based on what tickles his ear, what plays to a "base," or what makes for the best sound-byte on social media, but on what is just and right and true.  

Sometimes you'll hear Respectable Religious types join the cynicism, too. They'll say, "You don't have to hope for someone who is decent and honest and just and wise. You don't need a Boy Scout in charge--you just need someone who will do the favors on your wish-list in exchange for your allegiance. Just make that kind of deal and you'll get things that you want, too." But Isaiah doesn't let us off the hook for hoping for just making deals or selling out like that. Isaiah dares us to hope this surprising hope--that at the last, God's intention is for a world ordered by justice and peace, rather than self-interest and competing hatreds. Isaiah dares us not to be satisfied, and not to settle, for pinning our hopes on anybody or anything less than the promised shoot that comes out from the stump of Jesse, the One we know by the name Jesus.

Christians are people who have come to name Jesus as that king of whom Isaiah and the other prophets dreamed. That's the central defining feature of our community of disciples--we are convinced that Jesus is the One in whom God's Reign is most clearly seen because Jesus is the One in whom God is fully present. In that sense, we are in on the secret--nobody expected in Isaiah's day that the king will be laid in a used food trough on the day of his birth. Or that his royal entourage will be made up of illiterate fishermen, outcast tax collectors, undervalued women, notorious sinners and little-faithed doubters. Or that he will reign from a cross, executed by the empire of the day, before he breaks out of his borrowed grave.  We have been told these parts of the story, which prophets like Isaiah didn't even dream of.

But just when I think I have gotten these old words of the prophets wrestled into submission and that they have no more surprises for me, Isaiah comes along and pokes at me just where I wasn't expecting it. The prophets pull me out of my cynicism to look with hope to Jesus. They call us not to settle for accepting rottenness, and to call it out wherever we see it. They dare us keep holding on to the longing that at the last God will set all things right, and that we can anticipate it now in the ways we live, and love, and serve, and spend our selves.

Even now, all these centuries later, the surprising word from the prophets is, "Hold on. Don't settle. Justice, mercy, and peace really are on the way."

Lord God, keep us stubbornly hopeful, all our days, as we watch for your Reign among us.

In Recovery Together--December 9, 2025

In Recovery Together--December 9, 2025

"Then Jerusalem and all Judea and all the region around the Jordan were going out to John [the Baptizer], and they were baptized by him in the River Jordan, confessing their sins." (Matthew 3:5-6)

All those people who lined up by the riverbanks, those crowds who left their villages and towns and went out to the middle of nowhere to hear John and have him wash them in the flowing waters of the Jordan, do you know what they had in common?

Only this: they were mess-ups.  They were wrongdoers who felt trapped in dead-ends, looking for a new beginning.  They were, in a word, sinners.

The people who went out to John were manifestly not the role model/good example types on the cover of Respectable Religion magazine; if they had been, they would have been perfectly content to follow the traditional instructions of the Torah for addressing little offenses and minor infractions, and they would have been content to listen to the advice of the official priests and credentialed rabbis for making amends to their lives.  You went to John if you were at the end of your rope--if you were ready to admit that you needed more than a little spiritual pick-me-up or minor course-correction to your life, but a complete overhaul of your life.  You went to John, maybe not unlike those who show up at their first Twelve Step meeting, because you had hit rock-bottom and you were ready to admit that your life had become unmanageable.  All those folks at the river's edge were brave enough--or desperate enough--to declare publicly by their presence that they were royal screw-ups aching for the chance to start over.  That's the kind of people that John--and the God for whom he spoke--drew to himself: an assembly of sinners.

In a way that seems obvious: after all, if the people who went out to the river to be baptized by John came "confessing their sins," they must have had some hefty guilt about their failures and trespasses to deal with.  But we are so used to hearing the word "baptism" and picturing it as a ritual of respectability and polite piety.  For many it's a ceremony to be proud of these days, not like standing up in that church basement AA meeting and saying, "Hi, I'm Steve, and I'm an alcoholic" (there's a reason that the Twelve-Step groups and programs all have "Anonymous" in their titles, after all).  We might easily (and wrongly) imagine that the people who went out to John in the wilderness were doing the socially accepted thing to do by being baptized, but it's really just the opposite. John didn't fit the mold of a well-appointed and highly respected priest, or the formal schooling and bona fides of a rabbi.  He shows up like one of the prophets of ancient Israel, claiming no more for himself than that he was a "voice crying out." And his invitation was for anybody and everybody who was finally done with pretending that they were perfect. The people who came out to John were ready to give up the act that everything was fine and be turned at last in the right direction.  Those are the folks who went to the Jordan: people who were willing to set aside the cookie-cutter routines of their regular lives to go out to the middle of nowhere looking for a new beginning.

Maybe that's really the only kind of people God gathers: folks whose only thing in common is that we bring mistakes and mess-ups, sins and transgressions, into God's presence, desperately hoping that God will take them from us and bring us up out of the water as new people.  Like the lyric of Jon Foreman puts it, "We are a beautiful letdown, painfully uncool/ The church of the dropouts, the losers, the sinners, the failures, and the fools." Or as the old cliche goes, "the church isn't a museum for saints, but a hospital for sinners." That's the only kind of community you'll find out there with John in the wilderness, because honestly, it's the only kind of community God can work with. And when we show up on Sunday mornings, it's not because we are there to model our holiness like a fashion show, but to be honest about our brokenness like we are all in recovery together.  We are.

This is the kind of community we belong to, and the good news is that in that kind of community--the found family we call "church"--there's no need to pretend anymore that we've got it all figured out or that we're better than anybody else.  There is instead the freedom to admit our failings, let go of our sins, and be pulled up back on our feet to walk in a new way.

There's a place for each of us there in the wilderness... just like there's a place for us on Sundays.

Lord Jesus, take us as we are, and make of us what you will.

What We've Been Waiting For--December 8, 2025

What We've Been Waiting For--December 8, 2025

In those days John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea, proclaiming, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” This is the one of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said,

 “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
 ‘Prepare the way of the Lord;
  make his paths straight.’ ” (Matthew 3:1-3)

Do you remember the total eclipse visible in much of the United States back in the spring of 2024?  Do you remember where you were?  Do you remember interrupting your usual routines and schedules to go outside and look up at the sky?  Do you remember wondering before it all happened whether it would be worth all the fuss, all the changing of plans, going outside, and staring upward?  

And do you remember when it finally happened, and the sky turned dark in the mid-afternoon, and you could see the shining corona around the darkened sun?  Do you remember the eerie responses of birds, the odd stillness and awe of those few minutes?  Do you remember thinking to yourself, "Now I get it--now I know why everyone was making such a big deal about making the effort to see this"?

I'll confess that my own reaction followed along something like those lines: from hesitancy about whether all the hullaballoo was going to be worth it, to rearranging the day's usual plans and blocking off time for an eclipse-watching event at the church yard, to utter amazement when it finally happened. The realization that something I had never experienced before was about to happen, and that it would not happen again in this place for the rest of my lifetime, made this an event I was glad I didn't miss.  It would have been an awful shame if I would have kept to my usual schedule and stayed inside at work during the eclipse, and it was absolutely worth it to rearrange my plans and turn my attention up to the sky for those few minutes.

I know it might not seem similar, but I hear the John the Baptizer's opening message in the gospels, which many of us heard this past Sunday in worship, in a similar spirit.  So often we cast John as a furious firebrand scaring people into good behavior (and to be sure, he does have a way of coming on pretty strong), but maybe we are misunderstanding him.  When John announces that "the kingdom of heaven has come near" or "the reign of God is at hand," it's with the same hopeful urgency of all those folks who told us to clear our calendars on the afternoon of eclipse day, because something really good was available to us--and they didn't want us to miss out.  When everyone from the local news to your friends on Facebook to the school superintendents who cancelled school so kids wouldn't miss out all told us, "You don't want to miss this event--look up at the sky, and don't keep your attention on a screen indoors for these minutes!" they weren't trying to scare us or threaten us.  They wanted us to get to share in something wonderful--something that we had all been waiting to see happen for a very long time.  John speaks the same way.  The coming of God's Reign was a hope of God's people for centuries. The arrival of God's Chosen one--the "Anointed" or "Messiah"--was a moment they had looked forward to for generations.  And after seeing so many empires and conquerors sweep through their land going back as far as anyone could remember (from the Assyrians to the Babylonians to the Medes and the Persians to the Greeks and now the Romans!), the notion that God was going to come near in a new way, and that God's Reign would unfold right under the noses of Caesar and his underlings was thrilling!  This was something you didn't want to miss.

So when John says, "Repent, for the Reign of God has come near!" it's less like a threat and more like an invitation.  It has the feel of saying, "The thing we've all been waiting for is finally here--just turn your focus away from the usual routines and look in the direction I'm pointing toward! I promise it will be worth it."  If you can remember how awestruck and fulfilled you felt when you got to look at the shadowed sun, and if you can remember feeling like, "This was worth the change in my plans for the day!" then you can understand why John takes his message so seriously.  The coming of God's Reign is obviously a bigger deal than a few minutes of dazzling sights in the sky, and John wants to make sure the people around him are not so preoccupied with their usual busy-ness and same old routines that they don't even look up to see the One they've been waiting for. John isn't trying to frighten us when he shouts, "Repent!" He's trying to ensure we don't keep our focus pointed in the wrong direction. The word has the feel of "Change your orientation!  Redirect your attention!  Look up from the things that had captured your focus and see the thing that you've really been waiting for!"

Of course, it's one thing to hear someone tell you, "This will be worth it," and it's entirely another to experience the thing-that-is-worth-it for yourself.  Words fail me, even now, to capture the awe of the total eclipse--and that was just a few minutes of my life.  The arrival of Jesus really does change everything.  Jesus' coming shows us the beating heart of God in this unarmed itinerant rabbi who welcomed outcasts, healed the sick, lifted up the lowly, cast out evil, challenged the assumptions of the religious experts, and washed feet.  Jesus' presence was compelling, his teaching was eye-opening, and his love was life-changing.  When people were in the presence of Jesus, whether he was feeding the multitudes, speaking up for the overlooked, or just striking up a conversation with a stranger, people felt they were in the very presence.  When they saw the way Jesus put others before himself, and when they saw how he lifted up those who were bowed down, they knew they were getting a glimpse of what it looks like where God's will is done. They were experiencing, in other words, the Reign of God--the kingdom of heaven.

And that's what we are a part of, as well.  We are a part of the new community that continues to be transformed by Jesus' presence.  We are a part of that new family of faith where God's Reign becomes visible, even if just in moments and glimmers.  If we are so consumed with what the world tells us is important--money, power, status, "winning," getting recognition, or getting the next piece of technology to make our lives better--we will miss out on what is right in front of us.  John doesn't want us to miss out.  John keeps shouting to get our attention and pointing at the sky.

He's speaking to us today, too: "Hey everybody!  Look up from your screens and schedules and see the reign of God right in our midst!  I promise it will be worth it."

Will we look up from whatever else we have been focused on to see the presence of Christ and the kingdom of God today?

Lord Jesus, help us to listen to the voices you have sent to get our attention so that we will be turned to you today.

A Change In Our Walk--December 5, 2025

A Change In Our Walk--December 5, 2025

"Let us walk decently as in the day, not in reveling and drunkenness, not in illicit sex and licentiousness, not in quarreling and jealousy. Instead, put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires." (Romans 13:13-14)

There came a point a few years ago when my sore feet at the end of the day finally forced me to admit it: I had reached the age where in-soles in my shoes might help me get through the day better.

It was hard, I will confess, to face the facts that this body of mine was showing more wear and tear than I realized, and that my preferred shoes (Chuck Taylor high-tops, coordinated with the color of the season of the church year) do not offer nearly so much support as they offer color.  It was an unpleasant realization that on my own, my footfalls were wearing me out, and that unaided, even the way I walked, stood, and stepped was going to end up causing pain.  

So I got some insertable in-soles designed for "work," and immediately I noticed two things:  one, for starters, my feet weren't aching nearly as much at the end of the day.  And number two, the relief and the redirection brought by the in-soles literally changed the way I walked. The thin soles of the stylish but unsupportive old sneakers were leaving me flat-footed, and I was rolling my steps in a weird way... but I had grown so accustomed to it over time that I didn't even notice that I was walking funny.  And that meant, further, that the more I walked improperly, the more I wore down the shoes in the wrong spots, which exaggerated my problem and made it even worse.  Slowly but surely I had made this problem invisible to myself over the course of an ordinary day, but painfully obvious by the end of it. And the change to my shoes' in-soles changed all of that, because it literally changed the way I walk.

In this passage from Romans which many of us heard this past Sunday in worship, the apostle Paul talks in curiously similar terms about the change that happens in our lives because of the presence of Christ in our lives. Jesus isn't just a fashion accessory or a brand logo we flaunt in order to look religious; his presence changes the way we walk through the world. Instead of being bent inward on our selves--seeing other people as objects to be used or seeking our own gratification for "Me and My Group First"--Jesus turns our orientation outward in love that seeks the good of the other.  Jesus, maybe not so unlike a set of good in-soles, brings a change in our walk--and for the better.

I'm not sure I realized until recently how big a deal this would have been to the first century listeners in Rome, who were used to seeing countless shrines, temples, and devotees of countless gods and goddesses, but who never would have expected that worshiping their gods was supposed to make a difference in the way they lived their lives.  So much of the religion of the Roman Empire, including the gods and goddesses of the peoples and nations it had swallowed up, was reducible down to giving the appropriate offering or sacrifice to the deity of the moment in exchange, presumably, for the favor or blessing of that deity, but with no practical impact on what you did with the rest of your day, your family, your work, or your life. You didn't find people saying, "You are a worshipper of Zeus--therefore you should be a devoted spouse and parent!" because in all the myths Zeus, the "king" of the Greek gods, was a terrible parent and a perpetually cheating husband!  You never heard people say, "I used to steal and cheat my neighbors, until I started worshipping Poseidon the sea god!"  There was almost no connection at all between the gods you worshipped and the virtues you practiced, much in the same way nobody in our culture connects your character with your favorite fast food restaurant or flavor of soft drink.  Those things just don't relate in our eyes, and in the culture of the 1st century Roman Empire, there was virtually no connection between your acts of ritual worship to the gods and goddesses and the kind of person you strove to be.  Your devotion to your gods made no difference, practically, in your walk.

But Jesus was different, as Paul told it, because following him wasn't merely a matter of muttering a few words to a statue and moving on with your day unchanged. To follow Jesus is to be shaped by Jesus, all the way down to our actions, words, and choices.  Jesus will affect the way you walk, in other words.  The instruction for Paul's readers to "put on the Lord Jesus Christ," like an article of clothing, or a pair of good walking shoes--or maybe like extra-supportive work in-soles for your Chuck Taylor high-tops--is a way of saying, "The presence of Jesus will change us; he will affect the way we live, speak, act, and love."  And of course, he's right.  Following Jesus will change our footsteps. Jesus' presence in our lives will turn our hearts outward rather than only selfishly inward. His abiding Spirit will give us courage rather than fear, and compassion rather than apathy.  His living voice will direct us to see other people as neighbors to be loved rather than enemies to be conquered, objects to be used, or competition to be defeated.

We may not realize how much our daily walk in life has been slowly getting worse--the same way I didn't realize how much a worn-down pair of shoes was contributing to pain at the end of my work day and crooked steps in the meantime.  When we keep Jesus at a distance or treat him as just a bit of outward decoration, we don't let him shape our steps or re-form our daily walk.  But when, as Paul says, we "put on the Lord Jesus Christ," something begins to change in us. We may sometimes slide back into our old, crooked patterns or slouch back into the malformed footfalls that we were used to, but Jesus keeps working on us, both to relieve the places we have been hurting, and to point us in his direction.

Maybe that's really what it is to be the church: we are the people who are collectively learning to let Jesus change the way we walk and to reshape our footfalls.  We don't always get it right. We sometimes clumsily step all over each other.  And sometimes we still get worn down in all the wrong places.  But he is persistent, this Jesus of ours.  And he keeps training our steps to walk rightly--to walk in ways that look like love, and to leave behind us tracks that invite others into the goodness of God.

How might Jesus shape our steps... today?

Lord Jesus, clothes us in yourself and dress us in your goodness, from head to toe.