Over the Fakes and Frauds--January 23, 2026

Over the Fakes and Frauds--January 23, 2026

"I give thanks to my God always for you because of the grace of God that has been given you in Christ Jesus, for in every way you have been enriched in him, in speech and knowledge of every kind just as the testimony of Christ has been strengthened among you so that you are not lacking in any gift as you wait for the revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ. He will also strengthen you to the end, so that you may be blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is faithful, by whom you were called into the partnership of his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord." (1 Corinthians 1:4-9)

The God who has called us is faithful. That's why we don't give up.

One of my frustrations about ministry that feels like it has kicked up in the last several years is the rise of scammers pretending to be a pastor (it's happened to me, and it happens to colleagues of mine all the time, too) and reaching out to congregation members, sometimes by email, sometimes by text message, or even sometimes by hacking social media, and then soliciting money, merchandise, or some other help.  There's always a cover story: sometimes the scammer pretending to be me will say we need to collect gift cards for someone in the hospital, or to call back about an urgent matter that can't be discussed by email or text.  I've even had versions where a colleague who was being impersonated claimed to be in some foreign country and in trouble and needing money wired.  Once you know to be a little cautious around messages that seem fishy, you can usually prevent being taken advantage of. 

But the thing that upsets me the most is the possibility--even if it is only a possibility--that the scammers pretending to be me will affect the people I care about being able to trust the real me.  Even if you know the scammers and their strange counterfeit phone numbers and email addresses aren't the real me, it would be very easy for some of that doubt and skepticism to seep into people's minds when they actually do need to talk with me.  It angers me that someone might read a message that is claiming to be from me and rightly ignore it, but then be a little less trusting on the occasions when the real me does call or email about some genuine matter (although, to be clear, I will never solicit money or merchandise from you--I promise!).  It's frustrating when the person calling, texting, or emailing isn't reliable--when they aren't faithful. And when there are counterfeits and frauds out there claiming to be a pastor as a means of scamming people, it makes it that much harder to trust the real deal.

I've been thinking about this lately, not just because we seem to have gone through another round of fake text messages in my circles lately, but because of the way the apostle Paul writes to the Christians in Corinth.  He grounds everything in his letter on the character of God: "God is faithful, by whom you were called into the partnership of his Son, Jesus Christ." Paul wants to be crystal clear: the God who has called us is trustworthy.  This God is not fickle and not a fraud.  This God doesn't say all the right words and then leave us hanging.  This God doesn't spew a bunch of big talk and then have to walk it back.  And this God doesn't turn out to have been scamming us out of self-interest.  Unlike the crooks and schemers who claim to be someone they are not by phone, text message, or email, the God who has called us really is trustworthy.  The Christ in whose family we belong really is who he says he is. In a world full of phonies and frauds, that's what keeps us going.

We are not lacking for examples of the scammer and snake-oil salesmen. We have heard them making big promises from podiums. We have seen their talking heads on television. We have viewed their ads on screens of every size.  And after having been exposed to so many voices who told us they had our interests in mind but were really only looking to line their own pockets or use us for their own advantage, it can be hard to trust the promise of a God whom we cannot see.  It's hard enough to admit when we've been bamboozled or manipulated before--maybe harder still, once we've faced that truth, to then place our trust all over again in God, just because we are still nursing old wounds of past betrayals from others.  

That's why Paul is so insistent here at the start of his letter: God is faithful.  You can count on this God.  You can rely on the promise that the same God who brought you into the community of Jesus' followers will not bail out on you and will not just use you, no matter how many times others have tried to deceive you. Without that assurance, we might as well give up hope.  But with that promise--and the reality of a God who is willing literally to go to death and back for us in order to keep that promise--we have reason to keep hoping, to keep living faithfully in response, and to put one foot in front of the other each day. On the days when we wonder if it's futile to be kind in the face of so much cruelty, to be honest in the face so much deception, or to be decent in the face of so much indecency, we look to God, who has both called us into this life, and who will be faithful to walk with us all the way.

No matter how many times or how many ways you have been let down by frauds and counterfeits before, the living God is the real deal. And the Christ who has called us is trustworthy.

Lord God, give us the ability to trust in you over the noise of all the other fakes and frauds out there trying to get our attention. 

Because God Says So--January 22, 2026

Because God Says So--January 22, 2026

"Paul, called to be an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God, and our brother Sosthenes, To the church of God that is in Corinth, to those who are sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints, together with all those who in every place call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, both their Lord and ours: Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ." (1 Corinthians 1:1-3)

Despite all of our efforts to the contrary to make it one, the church is not a social club.

Regardless of our culture's way of seeing everything as a product to be consumed, the church is not merely the assembly of paying customers.

The church is not merely an employer for which we must get ourselves hired, nor a team for which we must try out. We belong in this community because we are called.

That makes a world of difference to the ways we live, work, pray, and love together in this community of Jesus' followers.  We are here because God has called us and Christ has claimed us, not because I won the audition or used my influence to get in.  Our belonging is a gift, and it comes from God. That's where we start our identity in Christ--not as audience members who have shelled out money to be entertained, but as a community which God has made holy.  Customers and audience members call the shots--after all, "the customer is always right" in our culture. And they can come and go as they please; if another brand is selling something flashier at the store down the street, you can just take your business elsewhere, because you are the one in charge.  But if we are here because God has called us, then we aren't in control--God is.  If we are here because God has given us both a place to belong and a vocation to live out, then we aren't consumers, but partners in a community.  If we are here by God's call, then I don't get to judge somebody else's worthiness to sit at the table with me--God is the One who has that prerogative, and God has drawn them to be there.

For the early church, that distinction was what set the church apart from the countless other social organizations, guilds, tribes, and other groups in the Roman Empire and the wider Greco-Roman world.  And you can hear Paul leaning into that distinct character in these opening words from his first letter to the Corinthians, which many of us heard in worship this past Sunday.  Paul describes himself in terms of being "called"--he is an apostle, not because he had the best test scores, not because used his influence and leverage to force his way onto the Board of Directors to get himself that job, and not because he just wanted to be one. Rather, Paul is an apostle--a person "sent" by Christ as a witness to the world--because God called him into that identity.  (You might remember, in fact, that Paul really only got into the Christian community because the risen Christ got a hold of him on the Damascus Road and pulled him, sometimes kicking and screaming into the arms of grace.)  So Paul himself starts from a place of being called.  There's not a whiff of "I earned this spot" or "I paid for this title" or "I'm just doing this for as long as it's fun, and then I'll bail out and take up underwater basket-weaving." Paul is here, not because of his influence, status, goodness, or even his volunteering for it--but by the power of God's call.

And then Paul says the same about the Christians to whom he is writing. For all of their many differences--there are rich and poor, Jewish and Gentile, enslaved and free, educated and uneducated, women and men, high class and no class--they all belong because they have been "called." And in fact, they have been "called to be saints"--that is, to be holy, distinct, and unique in the world by the ways they come to reflect God's character.  You don't hear Paul trying to work the crowd with a sales pitch or intimidating them into joining the church through bully tactics. He simply says, "You all have been called by God into this new way of life--God's call is what makes you saints, and God's call is what says you belong."

Like I say, that is so different from the ways our culture still typically thinks about belonging in groups.  In our society, I might join a club if it seems fun to me, or if my friends are already in it, and then what makes us belong is the pull of my social capital or our likemindedness or common interests.  In our society, I might go to the movies or a concert as a paying customer, but if I don't like the story or the sound, I could go and find something else to entertain me next time.  In so many social situations for us, you go as long as it's convenient, and you stay as long as you think you are getting your money's worth (because you see yourself as a consumer). But within the community called "church," it's different: we are here because we are called, and we stay because God's call pulls us together. For all the ways we are different, all the things we disagree about, all the diversity of our stories, backgrounds, viewpoints, and situations, what brings us together is God's call.

Belonging in such a community is, honestly, countercultural. To be a part of the church--to be a disciple of Jesus--is to say, in effect, "I'm not just here when it feels good, or when I feel entertained at the moment. I'm not here because I think I've earned this spot through my achievements or pulled some strings with the gatekeepers to get into a club. I'm here because God called me here, and I can't not answer." In a culture like ours where folks bail out on obligations when it gets difficult, or where I'm used to "taking my business elsewhere" when someone says something that challenges or stretches me, it is a counter-cultural thing to say, "I belong here, even when staying is challenging, because God has called me here.  I continue to serve here because God has led me to this place and there is work to be done."  It is countercultural to admit, "I'm not calling the shots; I have been called to this place, and God intends to make something of me that I cannot make out of myself on my own."

In the end, the Christian community is less like a fraternity or sorority you pledge to get into (and endure hazing in order to earn a place there), and less like a paid membership to a country club (which you can always leave to join another that boasts a bigger golf course or fancier decor); it's more like the old Elvis song, discovering that you "can't help falling in love" with the God who has called you, and the other people who are also called by this same God.  And if you are tired of the shallow-commitments of club membership or the fearful fragility of groups from which you can be kicked out if you don't fit in well enough, that is deeply good news.  We belong in Christ because God says so.  In fact, we belong because God has called our names.

Lord God, open our ears today to hear your call to us, assuring us that we belong, and summoning us to serve with one another for the long haul.

Bigger Fish to Fry--January 21, 2026

Bigger Fish to Fry--January 21, 2026

   "And now the LORD says,
  who formed me in the womb to be his servant,
 to bring Jacob back to him,
  and that Israel might be gathered to him,
 for I am honored in the sight of the Lord,
  and my God has become my strength—
   he says,
 'It is too light a thing that you should be my servant
  to raise up the tribes of Jacob
  and to restore the survivors of Israel;
 I will give you as a light to the nations,
  that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth'.” (Isaiah 42:5-6)

It's not enough only to care about the good of your own little group--God's intention is to reach out everywhere, to everyone... even "to the end of the earth."

That much is absolutely clear from this passage from the book of Isaiah, which many of us heard in worship this past Sunday.  Once again we get the prophet describing a figure described as the "servant" of God, and this figure seems both to be a single individual (we Christians see this as pointing to Jesus) and also somehow the collective calling of the people of God picking up the pieces after exile.  This "servant of the LORD" is called to carry out God's purposes, which turns out to include restoring the fortunes of the exiles, and also to reach all peoples.  The servant is there to "raise up the tribes of Jacob," but his work doesn't stop at the border of Israel. He is mean to be "a light to the nations."  God isn't only interested in helping out the insiders who belong to the same group as the Servant, but in reaching everybody.

In fact, as Isaiah tells it to us, God even says explicitly to this "servant" that "it is too light a thing" only to care about the insiders, the "survivors of Israel." God says, in effect, "That's too small a task, too shortsighted a goal--I have bigger fish to fry, and so do you." And really, God seems to be saying through the prophet, "If you can only see as far as putting the needs of Me and My Group First, you don't understand my purposes in the world. That kind of thinking is too small, too shallow, too petty, and too parochial. I am always reaching further, to draw all people to myself."  If we want to be a part of the work God is up to, we will never be satisfied with the small-potatoes mindset of "Me and My Group First" thinking. We will always be led, alongside the Servant of God, to reach "the end of the earth."

This much seems obvious when you read these words from Isaiah. And of course, it shouldn't surprise us at all if we have been paying attention at all to the teachings of Jesus.  And yet it is mind-boggling how often in our own day we hear the voices of Respectable Religion insisting that God's will is that we need to look out for the interests of our own group over the needs of others.  "We have to protect ourselves, even at the cost of others' safety... we have to possess more, even if it means taking from others... we have to stand highest of all, even if it comes by way of stepping on other people." All of that is conventional wisdom among some loud voices, including religious ones--except the only trouble is that it just doesn't fit at all with the actual way God speaks here in Isaiah. 

So here's the question for us who want to be a part of God's work in the world--for us who would seek to serve God along the Servant of the Lord: will we let God stretch our vision wider, to include the well-being of everybody, or will we keep settling for too little and too light? Will we allow ourselves to hear God's Word to the Servant spoken to us as well: "It is too light a thing for you only to be sent to your own little group for your own narrow interests. I have sent you for the good of all people, including folks as far away as you can get." Could we recognize that as God's call to each of us?  And when we hear those other loud voices telling us we should only spend our time, our energy, our money, and our voices for "Me and My Group First," will we be willing to say, "No--that is not the way of our God?" Will we, as servants alongside the Servant, commit to a wider vision for the good of ALL? Because that's how wide God's vision is.

May God give us such courage in the face of short-sighted but loudmouthed voices to speak a different word, loud and clear, that God's will is to illuminate everything and everyone.

Lord God, we want to serve as Christ your Servant does. Give us a vision as wide as yours for the sake of the world.

The Invitation--January 20, 2026

The Invitation--January 20, 2026

"The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, 'Look, here is the Lamb of God!' The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, 'What are you looking for? They said to him, 'Rabbi' [which translated means Teacher], 'where are you staying?' He said to them, 'Come and see'." [John 1:35-39a]

The first words on Jesus' lips in John's Gospel... are a question. They are an invitation to conversation, and they become an open invitation to share Jesus' journey. And for the ones who answer that opening question, life is never the same.

I don't know that I had ever thought about this before, but really it's amazing that after all the build-up and drama and foreshadowing [and John's Gospel can really lay it on thick some times], the first time we actually get words out of Jesus' mouth, he is unpretentiously asking a question of would-be followers and inviting them to come along with him. Of course, each of the Gospel writers is something like a movie director telling their own versions of the same basic plot. So I don't get fussy that John's version of the movie gives us this conversation, while, say, Matthew gives us a different conversation between Jesus and John the Baptizer as the first words he speaks, or Mark just unloads with a fierce message, "Turn around and believe--the Reign of God has come near!" Each of these writers is choosing a different moment to give us our introduction to the adult Jesus, and that's fine. But just let it sink in that, of all the things John the Gospel-writer could have chosen, he gives us this ordinary seeming moment, where Jesus is open and inviting. "Come and see," he says, looking eye to eye at two strangers, and inviting them to be where he is, to stay where he stays, and to follow his way. Beyond the words themselves, the way he speaks them reveals a kindness and even a humility that draws others in.

After all, when John started writing this Gospel, he opened up with a glorious and majestic poem about creation. John's Gospel is the one that begins, "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God... and the Word became flesh and lived among us...full of grace and truth." And not only that, he's now given us two dramatic introductions to Jesus as his forerunner, John the Baptizer, has called our attention to him and pointed him out as "the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!" When we heard this passage read this past Sunday in worship, it had the feel of the big moment on stage when the curtain pulls back, the timpani player hammers out a drum roll, and the lime-lights all focus front and center on the star coming forward to belt out a show-stopping number, and then--Jesus comes forward, not shouting a slogan, preaching a sermon, or singing a bold anthem, but striking up a conversation.

"What are you looking for?" he asks. It carries the feel of asking, "Just so we're clear, what is it you think you are in search of? What is it that has led you to me?" Jesus gives the impression he wants to dispel any mistaken impressions or false advertising about himself. He is being utterly real, utterly honest, and utterly unpretentious. Jesus doesn't need to puff himself or make himself look more impressive. He doesn't hype the spectacle of what people will see when they follow him like P.T. Barnum or some carnival barker, drumming up ticket-buyers for the afternoon show. If anything, Jesus seems to slow down these would-be disciples who have come to him, cautiously asking what they think they are expecting from him. He is not a salesman, and he is not in advertising. He is just real.

In fact, that's one of the things about Jesus [as John the Gospel-writer shows him to us in his telling] that remains constant, all the way through. You might recall that on Easter morning, when Jesus has risen from the dead but it's not quite clear to all the other characters at the tomb what's going on, that Jesus calls to Mary with a question, "Whom are you looking for?" It's not that different from this opening question to the would-be disciples, and in the end, the thing that tips Mary off that he's not just the gardener is in the unpretentious way he calls her name, "Mary," [to which, she responds, "Rabbi"--in another beautiful bookending echo of this story]. From beginning to end, the story of Jesus is the story of his kindness that invited people in. Jesus had this disarming way of putting people at ease, helping them to let down their guard [and their pretenses], and to feel truly included in whatever was going on. He still does, and we are still invited into his presence by means of ordinary conversation. And, as happens here in the opening chapter of John's Gospel, it changes the lives of these would-be disciples who end up following Jesus and carrying his message and way of life to all creation.

I wonder--could we see this day as a similar opportunity? In a time when it's easy for the church to be regarded as a product to be sold, and for the gospel to sound like a sales-pitch, could we see this day simply as the chance to engage people with kindness and disarming openness, and to let that lead where it will? I'll be honest, even as a pastor, every time I overhear a Respectable Religious person [no doubt with the best of intentions] start in talking to a stranger with a clearly rehearsed canned spiel trying to get someone to make a decision for Jesus on the spot, it makes my insides queasy. It's not that I'm against sharing our faith--not at all. It's that the rehearsed sales-pitch speech sounds so strikingly unlike Jesus, who doesn't use a pamphlet or a program or any other promotional literature, but just meets people where they are and makes the invitation, "Come and see." Could we invite people that way? Could we speak with honesty to friends and neighbors, or even strangers and enemies, and say, "There's something compelling about this Jesus, and his way of loving people--I won't promise anything more or anything less than Jesus, but come and see"? Could we hold off on seeing the Christian faith as a deal to be accepted [Jesus certainly doesn't act that way], but more of a shared journey with Jesus? And could we then keep making ourselves available to people around us, simply making the authentic invitation to join the walk and share the road? Could we dare to engage people with the kindness we see in Jesus, which opens up to their questions, thoughts, ideas, and needs? I don't know about you, but that sounds downright compelling to me.

And it makes me grateful that I have been drawn to a Savior whose first move is to ask questions and invite conversation, even from me. Even from you.

Lord Jesus, draw us in by your kindness, and let us meet others with that same genuine care we have first met in you.

Gathered to the Lamb--January 19, 2026

Gathered to the Lamb--January 19, 2026

[John the Baptizer] saw Jesus coming toward him and declared, “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! [John 1:29]

After all the talk of fire and wrath, the One John had been waiting for turns out to be best described as a Lamb. How about that?

We get reintroduced to John every year it seems in the weeks of Advent, and he's generally a pretty fiery figure. He's the one dressed like a wilderness survivalist and who talks like a prophet, who calls even his devoted listeners "brood of vipers." This is the guy who was utterly certain that when God's Messiah came, he would bring down judgment, burn the unworthy and unrepentant with fire, and cut down the wicked like a lumberjack with an ax.

And now here we get the passage that many of us heard this past Sunday in worship. And as the storytelling goes, John comes face to face with Jesus--who, mind you, apparently doesn't look impressive or noteworthy at all--and now somehow John knows... this is the one you were waiting for. And yet, the first thing John blurts out about Jesus is: "He's a Lamb."

No conquering king imagery. No mighty emperor who will overthrow the Romans. No burning words of judgment. Not a lion; not even an intimidating ram with fierce horns to charge at his enemies with. Jesus--the One John had been waiting for--turns out to be a Lamb... the kind that would bear the sins of the people in a sacrifice. A barnyard animal known for its docile fluffiness. Nothing threatening to go up against the imperial eagle of Rome or even the wicked "vipers" that John had labeled the Religious Leaders, but a petting-zoo staple who might eat out of your hand. It is without a doubt one of the great reversals of the Bible, and it reveals that when God truly chooses to be revealed most clearly, God chooses to be known in kindness and gentleness, rather than fire and fury.

And, to gauge it from John's response to finally getting it, John is apparently discovering the joy of being wrong. Rather than being bitter and upset that Jesus isn't what he wanted, rather than being angry or disappointed that the Messiah didn't turn out to be a warrior-king but a Suffering Servant, John just seems to take it all in with awe and humility. "Here he is, after all," John seems to say with a grin, "I should have known--he's the Lamb of God, while I had been looking for a general commanding angel armies. Well, how do you like that?" Maybe that's the difference between John's response to Jesus and the Respectable Religious Leaders' reaction to him. Both John the Baptizer and the so-and-sos among the Pharisees and Sadducees had been surprised by what Jesus turned to be, but John apparently learned how not to dig his heels in and double-down on his wrong-ness. John was willing to let God's unexpected gentleness in Jesus lead him to a new way of thinking, rather than ignoring what didn't fit with his assumptions. I wonder whether we could dare to be that brave, too, and to let ourselves be surprised by the kindness of Christ, rather than trying to force him into our boxes of vindictiveness and triumphalism.

These days, there are a lot of loud and angry wolf-like voices in the world, growling, threatening, and salivating to carve up the map for the sake of their own greedy appetites. But Jesus is not one of them, and it never will be--because the way of Jesus is never the way of Empire. The predators who want to conquer, devour, and intimidate never represent the Reign of God. They are in a very literal sense anti-Christ--that is, contrary to the way of Jesus, the Lamb of God.  John the Baptizer can recognize that, even if that meant rethinking a great deal of his previous expectations.  I wonder if we are brave enough to let this truth do its work on us and realign our priorities and approach in the world, too.

Maybe that's enough for us to chew on for this day--to ask ourselves how we will respond when we come face to face with the grace of God, and whether we will let God be bigger than our expectations, or whether we'll try and coerce Jesus into our own coercive preconceptions. Because Jesus is going to keep on being his Lamb-like self, even if we sometimes tell ourselves we want a Caesar (whose empire clung to a myth that their city was founded by twins raised by a literal wolf, tellingly). Jesus is going to keep on being the One who lays down his life for us rather than the one who destroys his enemies in rage. Will we be open to letting his kindness stretch our understanding of God? And will we be willing to let God's kindness shape the ways we love the neighbors around us as well?

Will we let ourselves be gathered to the Lamb?

Lord Jesus, surprise us as you will with your unexpected gentleness--and reshape us as you do.

God's Kind of People--January 16, 2026

God's Kind of People--January 16, 2026

Peter began to speak to [Cornelius and his household]: “I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every people anyone who fears him and practices righteousness is acceptable to him...." (Acts 10:34-35)

There's never a time when God says, "Those aren't our kind of people." There is no point where God says, "Get out of here and go back to where you came from." There will never be a person of whom God says, "We don't welcome your kind around here." And once we realize that, we are changed forever.

That was certainly Simon Peter's story, which we get here in this snippet from the book of Acts, and which many of us heard in worship this past Sunday.  This is the moment when Peter finally "gets it," when it finally dawns on him that God is doing something new in the community of Jesus' followers that includes people from every background, every nation, every language, and every culture. And this is the moment when the old hardened racial and cultural prejudices he didn't even realize he was still carrying finally crack and begin to fall away for him.  

How did he get there? Well, the short version is that God had sent him to go to the house of a Roman centurion named Cornelius and to tell him about Jesus. Cornelius, obviously, was a gentile (non-Jewish), and as a solider in the army of the occupying empire, it would have been easy (and not incorrect) to see him as an "enemy." He was from the "Italian cohort" of soldiers, which strongly implies he was from far away back in Europe, rather than a local Judean native who somehow enlisted in the Roman army.  He would have grown up worshiping the gods of the Roman pantheon, speaking Latin, and immersed in the cultural practices of the Empire.  There were LOTS of ways it would have been obvious that Cornelius and his family were "not our kind of people" from Peter's perspective.  And so when God finally persuades Peter to go (and teaches him along the way that "you don't get to call UNCLEAN what God has called CLEAN"), and Cornelius hears the message about Jesus, he and his whole family want to be baptized on the spot. They come to faith in Jesus, they receive the Holy Spirit, and they commit to following the way of Jesus, too!

And that's when it dawns on Peter: this is what God had in mind all along!  This was in fact God's doing, and God had let Peter to bring the message in the first place to Cornelius and his family--even when Peter felt like he was being dragged kicking and screaming to Cornelius' house at first! Peter realizes that God intends to draw all people, from everywhere, including every background, language, ethnicity, culture, and place, into the community of Jesus.  That had seemed scandalous to him earlier in his faith journey; Peter had grown up assuming that pretty much God only cared about his group--people from the ethnic group descended from the tribes of ancient Israel.  For certain, a young Peter would have believed that God cared about his group FIRST, at least, and that only after his own group's interests were covered would God give any care for other people.   But now, Peter realizes that God doesn't show partiality to any group of people or love one nationality more than another. There is no language God requires we speak, no country on the map which is exceptional in God's eyes, and no barrier keeping out "the wrong kind of people" from following Jesus and belonging in God's Reign. Peter realized that when Cornelius came to faith, and apparently we keep needing to re-learn it twenty centuries later.  All of us, it turns out, are "God's kind of people."

As we keep exploring this season what it means to be called by Christ, it's worth remembering that we are called alongside a LOT of other people, and all of us are different.  For me to recognize that you are also called by Christ doesn't take anything away from me or lessen my calling.  And the fact that God has called people from halfway around the world, whose language I do not speak, whose culture is different from my own, and whose stories are divergent from my experience, doesn't threaten my identity as someone called by God, either. Sometimes we who have been around the church for a while start to think of ourselves as Peter, as though we are experts who have been self-deputized to decide who is "in" and who is "out" on God's behalf.  But we are very much Cornelius, too--that is, we are people who were outsiders and strangers, who have been welcomed in by God, despite our many kinds of difference. And if God has drawn us into the love of Christ, regardless of where we have come from or what our story is, then God surely reserves the right to draw in anybody and everybody else, too, no matter where they are from or who they are.

That realization changed Peter. It will change us, too.

Lord God, help us to welcome all whom you are calling to yourself, and help us to rejoice that your welcome includes us, too. Enable us to see that we are all your kind of people.

Called with Purpose--January 15, 2026

Called with Purpose--January 15, 2026

 "Thus says God, the LORD,
  who created the heavens and stretched them out,
  who spread out the earth and what comes from it,
  who gives breath to the people upon it
  and spirit to those who walk in it:
 I am the LORD; I have called you in righteousness;
  I have taken you by the hand and kept you;
 I have given you as a covenant to the people,
  a light to the nations,
   to open the eyes that are blind,
 to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon,
  from the prison those who sit in darkness." (Isaiah 42:5-7)

Pretty much in the Bible, being called is never an end in and of itself. When God calls you, it is always for the purpose not only of drawing you in, but of reaching out to others through you.  When God chooses you, it is not only to make you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside, but also to work in and through you for the sake of others.  There is no version of being called by God that ends with just getting to call ourselves "exceptional" or "special" so we can pat ourselves on the back; when God calls us, it is with the intention that we serve in God's work to welcome, to illuminate, to heal, and to set people free.

This passage from Isaiah 42, which many of us heard this past Sunday, is a case in point.  It is an excerpt from sections of the book that are sometimes called the "Servant Songs," in which the prophet speaks of a figure who is God's Servant, who has been chosen by God for God's set purposes in the world.  Sometimes, these poems sound like they are talking about a single individual person--and we Christians have come to recognize that they sure do sound a lot like Jesus.  At other times, these Servant Songs seem to be speaking to the whole community of God's people who had lived through exile and were wondering, "What's next?  Does God have any use for us anymore?" And sometimes, in a way that only poetry can accomplish really well, it seems like these passages are simultaneously about a group of people who are called by God and a single individual person yet to come (again, we Christians will point to Jesus there).

In a sense, for our purposes, it doesn't exactly matter, because both realities are true.  Jesus is, to be sure, chosen and called by God to be the Suffering Servant of God who brings about justice and righteousness and restores life where it is needed through his gentleness and nonviolent love.  (We explored that theme in yesterday's devotion, too, you might remember.)  And it is also true that God's people, both in the ancient covenant people of Israel through the exile and into the community of Jesus' followers now, are also called for a purpose to embody the ways and character of God.  The bottom line is that either way, when we are called by God, it is always with a sense of direction, of purpose beyond ourselves, and of serving other people as our way of serving God.  Being called by God always carries with it a mission.

As the prophet describes it here, that purpose has to do with helping other people to flourish.  It is bringing light to the nations of the world--to embody the ways of the covenant-making God so that others will want to live in the same justice and mercy they have seen in us.  It is opening the eyes of those who cannot see--or refuse to see--what is in front of them.  It is helping to release people who have been wrongfully detained, unjustly imprisoned, and taken captive.  All of that is at least a part of God's agenda in the world, and being called by God means being called to share in that agenda, too.

All of this is to say that if we as Christians see ourselves as people who have been "chosen" and "called" by God (and that much is true), it is not so we can puff ourselves up or kick our feet back.  It is so that we can be a part of God's work in the world. If it is right to say that we have been "called" (and it is), then this is at least part of what we have been called to: offering light and welcome to "the nations" (those who are not "like us"), truth-telling vision for eyes that can't or won't yet see, and striving to release people who are held captive and should be free.  That's the work into which God invites us.

If we are faithful to our calling, then, the world should not be dimmer, more willfully unseeing, or more inhospitable to outsiders, as a result of our presence in it. There should be fewer people held captive because of us, not more. There should be more light in the world, not less. The calling always includes a mission, and Isaiah tells us that's what the mission looks like.

Today, then, the right question to ask is not, "Am I called by God?" but rather, "What does God's calling to me look like in my time and place?" You are called.  You have been chosen. Those are the starting point of grace as followers of Jesus, and they are not up for debate. But knowing that God's call--whether we are talking about the call to Jesus the unique Son of God, to the exiles of Israel witnessing in Babylon, or to us in this present moment--is always into a mission, the open question is how we act in light of that call. Will we add more light to the world or less?  Will we help neighbors around to see even uncomfortable truths we might all wish to ignore? Will we spend our energy setting people free or allow them to be taken captive and disappear into dungeons? The calling is already given--the question is how we live into it... today.

Lord God, we dare to believe that you have called and chosen us already for your purposes in the world. Open our eyes to see what you intend us to do with this day for the sake of the people to whom you have called us.

Without Stepping On People--January 14, 2026

Without Stepping On People--January 14, 2026

"Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen in whom my soul delights; I have put my spirit upon him; he will bring forth justice to the nations. He will not cry or lift up his voice, or make it heard in the street; a bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quench; he will bring forth justice." (Isaiah 42:1-3)

Did you ever see a kid step on a bug just because he could?

Have you ever been the one who yanked a flower out of the soil where it was struggling to blossom, or snapped a limb off of a tree for no other reason than that it was there?

I suspect if each of us is honest, we've been there before. We've seen it, and we've been the ones breaking things, squishing things, or even killing things, just because we can. Not because they were in our way or harming us, not because they posed a threat to us or anybody else, and not even because of fear--but because we had the power and whatever happened to be in our target sights had no power to stop us. 

And, not to be too hard on ourselves, realizing that we have power over some things in our world is probably one of those steps in our mental development as human beings. You learn that you have the ability to affect your environment, and sometimes little children figure that out by breaking or stomping on things in that environment. You just hope that before long, each of us learns to outgrow that kind of gratuitous destruction.

But to be honest, I'm not sure that we always really do arrive at the realization that gentleness is a mark of maturity--not raw power. The ability to crush, break, or step on things isn't really a sign of greatness, but we don't always realize that. We still do fall for the childish thinking that raw power is a mark of strength, rather than the ability to temper and harness power in ways that nurture life rather than destroying it. One of the sad lessons of history is how often crowds rally in support of the strongman, the authoritarian, the dictator, and the bully, all because they fool the people into confusing recklessness with strength, and gentleness with weakness.  The conventional wisdom of the day even now is that here in "the real world" things get done "by strength," "by force," and "by power," and that you have to push people around to get your way. We still hear it from podiums and talking heads on television all the time to justify all sorts of things.

God, of course, is not fooled by those demagogues, and never has been. We sometimes forget this, too, and think that whoever has the most sheer raw power at any given moment must have God's endorsement [although I'll bet Goliath, Pharaoh, and Nebuchadnezzar would all eventually have admitted as much]. If we've been actually listening to the voices in the Scriptures, though, we'll hear that God has always chosen to work in gentleness and kindness rather than domination and cruelty. In fact, the prophets were convinced that such compassionate love would be the telltale sign of the Messiah.

I love the way this passage from Isaiah 42, which many of us heard this past Sunday, puts it. In speaking of God's chosen "servant," (whom we have come to recognize as Jesus!) the prophet says, "a bruised reed he will not break," and "a dimly burning wick he will not quench," and yet he will bring about justice for all peoples. God's chosen one--whom we often name "the Messiah" or "the Christ"--doesn't resort to sheer displays of domination or cruelty in order to get things done. He isn't even the sort of person to snap a bent stalk off of a plant or snuff out a weak flame. He wouldn't even step on a bug "just because he can." He doesn't need to shout obnoxiously or rile people up to get their attention. He doesn't need to threaten or intimidate, and he doesn't destroy things or harm people simply to make an example of them. And he doesn't need to pick on someone smaller to make everybody else in the schoolyard afraid.  That is simply not the way of God's Chosen One.

Those kinds of tactics, however, are exactly how empires operate--from Pharaoh insisting on the enslaved Hebrews making more and more bricks without straw, to Rome crucifying whomever it saw as a potential troublemaker, just to set an example of what they could do to you, to every empire and superpower since. Bullies flex their imperial muscle like that because they think it makes them look strong... when in actuality it makes them look childish. God's Chosen One knows that and doesn't have to resort to saber-rattling, angry yelling, or shows of brute force to do God's work.

We are constantly reminded of the brutish--and childish--things people are willing to do if they think it will make them look great or put them on top. Each day's news keeps giving us disappointingly fresh examples of that tired way of doing things. But the prophet points us to Someone who doesn't snuff out fragile flames or break what is bruised. The Servant of God--Jesus--offers us an alternative to the dangerous (but childish) bullying we are so used to settling for. Today, it is worth asking, "Where have I allowed myself to think it was OK to step on someone else to get ahead? Where have I let myself believe that sometimes you have to step on people and intimidate others in order to get your way? Where have I let the voices around me persuade me into believing that gentleness is weakness, or that domination is strength?" And maybe we might find the way of Jesus, God's chosen one, to be just the antidote we didn't know we needed.

Perhaps we'll recognize that our whole lives are made possible because the Almighty God doesn't just step on beings that are smaller [or troublesome] just because God "can."

This is just the sort of thing that will happen to us as we hear ourselves called by Christ to follow in the same way of life as Jesus.  We will also become gentle like Jesus. We, too, will set aside childish bullying tactics or angry threats, because we are called to become like him.

O Gentle One, where we are bruised and dim breath life and strength into us again, so that we may grow and shine... and walk in the ways of your Chosen One, Jesus.

God's Beloved, Too--January 13, 2026

God's Beloved, Too--January 13, 2026

"And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw God’s Spirit descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from the heavens said, 'This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased'.” (Matthew 3:16-17)

Our older brother in the faith, Martin Luther, called it "the happy exchange." 

It's the notion, grounded in the New Testament, that whatever belongs to Christ is given to us because we have been joined to Christ... and whatever was ours belongs to Christ as well.  The reason he called it a "happy" exchange is that it turns out to be completely lopsided in our favor.  We gain Christ's righteousness, abundant life, and identity as God's beloved children, and Christ gets... our sin, our fragility, and our death. Talk about a good deal, right?

The whole concept boggles the mind and begs the question: Why would Jesus be willing to do such a thing?  Well, love, obviously.  The same way when two people get married and one of them still has college loans to pay off, the debt is assumed by both and taken on together, or the same way a new baby in the family is given the same home, name, and family belonging as the parents who have brought the child home from the hospital.  Jesus is willing to take all of our baggage and give us all of his freedom because he loves us. It seems like utter nonsense from the perspective of self-interested logic, but it makes perfect sense from the vantage point of self-giving love.

And at least part of what that great exchange means is that Jesus' standing as God's Son, and as God's "Beloved," is conferred on us as well.  It happens, at least at some level, because of what transpires at the waters here.  As we saw yesterday, when we first looked at this passage that many of us heard this past Sunday, when Jesus went to be baptized by John in the Jordan River, at least part of what he is doing is standing in solidarity with a world full of sinners.  In effect, Jesus is saying, "Count me with them.  I am one of them.  They are mine, and I am theirs" as he gets in line with all the others who have come to John as a public sign of repenting of their sins--even though Jesus is the one person in all of human history who has no sins to repent of.  And on the other side of that equation, the apostle Paul wrote to the Romans that "all of us who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death... so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we also might walk in newness of life. For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his" (Rom. 6:3-5).

You can hear that "happy exchange" idea in there, can't you?  Because we are joined to Christ in our baptism, we are connected both to his death and resurrection.  All of our sin has been taken into Christ, and all of his righteousness has been given to us.  All of our mortality is taken with Jesus to the cross, and all of his resurrection life is shared with us.

So when the voice from heaven calls out, while Jesus comes up out of the water from being baptized, saying, "This is my Son, the Beloved," this isn't just good news for Jesus--it is good news for us, too.  It is not only Christ who is declared to be God's own Son, but we who are named as sons and daughters as well. This isn't just a story about Jesus being claimed by God--but about us being claimed as well, because we are joined to Christ.

That's what we mean by saying we are a part of the "found family" of God.  We don't belong because we share DNA with Jesus, per se, but because he has claimed us.  Our status in the family of God doesn't depend on our accomplishments, achievements, or performed piety, but because of Jesus standing with us and calling us his own.  The whole good news of the Gospel hangs on the reality of God choosing to include us regardless of how far out, far away, and estranged we have been.  We belong because God says we do--and that's enough.  What is true for Jesus is true for us as well, and since Jesus is God's beloved child, so are we.

Whatever else happens in this day, this year, or this life, that identity cannot be undone or taken away. You are not an employee on God's "staff," carrying the risk of being let go if they need to downsize or you don't perform well next quarter.  You are a child of God, whose identity is irrevocable and whose belonging is grounded in God's claim--because of Jesus.

Yeah, sounds like a pretty happy exchange to me, too.

Lord Jesus, assure us today of who we are because of who you are.

Strange Righteousness--January 12, 2026

Strange Righteousness--January 12, 2026

"Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying, 'I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?' But Jesus answered him, 'Let it be so now, for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness." (Matthew 3:13-15)

Whatever it means to be righteous, it doesn't include looking down your nose at other people. At least not for Jesus.  For him, "righteousness" isn't about being "above" somebody else or treating another person as "less-than." And it doesn't involve intimidating, threatening, or zapping some group or person you have labeled "unrighteous."

We need to start here today, I think, because so often in our day the word "righteous" itself comes with the unavoidable baggage of the term "self-righteous," and it conjures up all the times we've seen people look down on others from their own holier-than-thou perch.  All too often, the word "righteous" gets invoked by arrogant zealots who have deputized themselves to condemn anybody they think doesn't measure up, or folks who won't associate with the sinners, mess-ups, and failures because of some presumed need to keep their holiness untainted. And if that's what "righteousness" means, well, it sure doesn't make sense then that Jesus would show up in line like this to be baptized by John for the sake of "righteousness."

That's because going out to be baptized by John in the Jordan wasn't a proud sign of your holiness and moral perfection--it was a statement of your need to repent and turn around in a new direction!  The folks who went out to John the Baptizer came, as the gospels remind us, "confessing their sins," and used this moment as a turning point in their lives to reject all the rotten stuff, sins, and guilt of their past.  It had the feel very much of going to your first AA or other Twelve-Step program meeting--you went forward, basically to admit that you were a mess-up, had gotten in over your head, and couldn't manage in the old patterns anymore.  For the folks there on the banks of the Jordan River, being baptized wasn't a way to show folks how "righteous" you were--it was an admission of how "unrighteous" you were, in the hopes that such radical honesty would let you turn a new way.

And all of that leads to the conundrum about Jesus being there.  Why would Jesus come to be baptized as a show of repentance? Isn't he supposed to be the sinless Lamb of God?  Isn't he the one person whose Permanent Record doesn't need to be wiped clean? And why would going there to be baptized by John somehow "fulfill all righteousness"? We are so used to assuming that being "righteous" involves condemning or criticizing all the unrighteous people that we might expect a holy messiah to scold or smite these sinners at the shore, not to stand in solidarity with them.

But that's just it: Jesus redefines "righteousness" for us to show us that it was never about zapping rule-breakers or condemning people for not measuring up. Jesus' strange kind of righteousness comes and meets us where we are and stands with us--as one of us.  When Jesus goes to be baptized by John, it is a public statement that says, "Count me with all of them.  I'll stand in their place.  I haven't come to send people to hell--I've come to bring them to life."  For Jesus, "righteousness" is solidarity with a world full of unrighteous people.  

This takes the scandal of the gospel to a whole new level.  We have just finished the season of Christmas, of course, and its mind-blowing claim that God took on flesh in Jesus.  That by itself is staggering.  But now at the river Jordan in line with a whole crowd of people who are confessing that they are sinners looking for a new start, Jesus' presence is like saying that same holy God is willing to be associated with unholy and sinful wretches.  In Jesus, God identifies with us all, and not only us at our best moments of good behavior, but precisely when we are face to face with our sins.  Whatever it means for Jesus to be "righteous," then, it is not about condemning sinners, but actually taking their side--our side.  Whatever it means for God to be holy, it can't be that God is unwilling to be associated with the likes of us--because in Jesus, there is God standing in line with a bunch of sinners all seeking a new beginning at the water.

If that's true (and Matthew sure seems to believe it is), then our presence in the world isn't meant to be a condemning or condescending one. Rather, we are called to be, like Jesus, people who stand with others in love.  We are called, like Jesus, to be on the "side" of folks who are facing their baggage and their demons and starting over.  And because we know that Jesus' "righteousness" doesn't involve him zapping sinners but coming along beside them, maybe we can be honest and admit our own sins rather than covering up our worst selves because we are afraid of being found out.  Jesus' presence there at the waters makes it possible for us to be brave enough to tell the truth about ourselves rather than point the finger at somebody else in order to take the focus off of our own failures.

Whatever it means to be righteous, it doesn't mean that Jesus is our enemy or adversary looking to condemn us.  Jesus' kind of righteousness takes our side--the whole human family--and says, "Count me with them."

That is absolutely good news.

Lord Jesus, help us to see you, not looking down on us in condemnation, but at our side in solidarity.

An Alternative Way--January 9, 2026

 An Alternative Way--January 9, 2026

"And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road." (Matthew 2:12)

Yes, the Magi go home--but they go home differently. These would-be wizards and sky-watching gurus who appear out of nowhere, following a light in the sky to find the true king of the Jews, they do return back to where they started, but you get the sense that they will never quite be the same again.  Not to steal from the well-known musical Wicked or its recent two-part cinematic adaptation, but they "have been changed... for good."

We can't say, of course, exactly how they have been affected by this journey--although, I suppose like anyone who makes a religious or spiritual pilgrimage, maybe the Magi themselves can't quite put their finger on how they have been changed by the experience. But they still know that they have been. I think of how T.S. Eliot imagines their contemplation and remembrance in his poem, "The Journey of the Magi." He voices one of these wise men saying they "returned to our places, these Kingdoms/ But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation/ With an alien people clutching their gods." Everything about their old lives has faded in comparison to being in the presence of the Christ-child, even if they struggle to put that difference into words.  I think something like that must have been the case for Matthew's Magi.

But even without that kind of faithful imagination and scriptural speculation, I think Matthew has given us evidence of at least one other important change that comes from this encounter with Christ.  He mentions that after the Magi find the Christ-child, having been drawn by their belief that stars and astrological phenomena could tell them about truths in the world, they no longer need the star--or at least, it doesn't seem to be their navigator any longer.  Now, an angel visits them in a dream (the same way Matthew tells us that God had communicated with Joseph when he was about to break up with a pregnant Mary!), and they learn that they are not supposed to go back down the route that leads them back to Herod. The Magi are to go home "by another road" and not to play into Herod's schemes any longer. Perhaps they had been fooled before by his ploy, but now they can admit it and refuse to be bamboozled any longer. They know that they must choose a different way--there must be an alternative to Herod.

At this point in the story, that is quite literally "different way," that is, "another road" to get them back to their homes in "the east" without taking them through Jerusalem and back into the clutches of Herod and his political machine.  But in a sense, Matthew is preparing us for a major theme that will come back throughout the story and message of Jesus in his Gospel: a choice of which "way," which route, which path, we will take in life.  Jesus himself will describe later a choice of two "ways"--the wide one which terminates in a dead-end, or the narrow way that goes in his footsteps. He will also continue to contrast his own sort of "kingdom" and way of life with the world's sorts of "kingdoms." The world's way of operating--whether typified by Herod or Caesar or "the rulers of the gentiles"--is always one of domination, conquest, and violence. And Jesus' way of operating--which he unapologetically claims is also God's way of operating--is the opposite. There is no invading, no conquering, and no killing in Jesus' way; his path is quite literally an alternative way, and a different road from the one that leads to Herod.

Now to be sure, the Magi don't know yet all of Jesus' teaching, and they cannot yet have gotten a preview of the Sermon on the Mount with its call to enemy-love and self-giving.  But at least they must have witnessed the stark contrast between an insecure bully of a ruler holding court in a palace decked out in gold on the one hand, and a vulnerable toddler with his mother in a modest peasant dwelling in a two-bit town like Bethlehem (remembered, at least in part, for its smallness in the prophets).  And when the angel makes it clear to them not to return to Herod, perhaps at least that much came into focus: they could choose one or the other--Herod, or the child--but not both.  The way of Jesus always runs counter to the way of Herod, the same way that the choice to bear being crucified meant refusing to be the one crucifying his enemies. If we are going to seek after the same Christ whom the Magi found, we will also be called to walk the alternative way of Jesus. There is no going back.

Like I say, we don't really what became of the Magi after they saw the Christ-child and made their way home by "another road." They were changed, we can presume, but we dare not assume it was an easy life or that they could pick right up with their comfortable old routines once they arrived back home.  The same can be said for us if we are followers of Jesus who walk his alternative way.  We will be changed, certainly.  It will not always be easy, for sure.  And we will often feel the pull to go back into the old violent ways of the new Herods and Caesars, or at least to keep our heads down and not call them out. But the witness of the Magi sure seems to be that it is worth it to direct our lives down that other road, the one that does not lead back to Herod and his insecure outrage.

Like the poet says, when we take that road less traveled--the way of Jesus--it really does make all the difference.

Lord Jesus, lead us on your way, even when it runs counter to the prevailing order of the day.

A Revealing of Allegiances--January 8, 2026

A Revealing of Allegiances--January 8, 2026

"On entering the house, [the Magi] saw the child with Mary his mother, and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh." (Matthew 2:11)

How does Jesus say it later on in the story? "Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." Whomever or whatever you give your most valuable and precious things to, that will be an indication of where your heart is aimed. Whether we're talking in dollars, minutes, emotions, or effort, where we direct those things will tell you what (or who) matters most to you.

You might even say that where you direct your treasures is a sign of where you have given your allegiance. If you support your local school district, chances are that you'll be willing to support the tax levy when the school board recommends it and puts it on the ballot.  Or conversely, I remember learning somewhere back in school about Henry David Thoreau being jailed for refusing to pay his poll tax as a protest against the unjust Mexican-American War and against slavery.  Your convictions will direct the choices you make with your treasures, and your willingness to give away the things you value will reveal the causes and people that matter most to you.

So what does any of this have to do with the story we've been exploring this week with the Magi visiting the Christ-child? Well, I want to suggest that Matthew our storyteller is giving us a glimpse of this revealing of allegiances in the response of the Magi. Upon finally finding the long-sought-after Child in Bethlehem, they open up their treasure chests and proceed to offer up gifts of great value (in addition to whatever symbolic significance one might glean from the items listed: gold, frankincense, and myrrh).  Presumably they have had all of these treasures with them on their whole journey--there's no indication they stopped at a market or shopping mall between Jerusalem and Bethlehem after leaving Herod's palace.  And presumably, too, that means they had these treasures even when they first went to the palace in Jerusalem, originally seeking the newly born "king of the Jews." When the Magi find out that there is no child to be found in the city, and instead the current claimant of that title, Herod, meets them, it is worth noting that the Magi don't offer up their treasures to him instead. There's no, "Oh, sorry--we must have been mistaken and misread the stars; I guess these presents are for you instead."  

No, rather, the Magi meet Herod, who calls himself "King of the Jews" even though he is merely the puppet ruler that the Romans have placed on the throne provided that he doesn't step out of line, but they do not give their treasures to him at all. There is no "paying homage" (the same word you would use for "worshiping" in Greek, too) toward Herod, either. The Magi hold back what is most valuable for the one they have truly come to find; only when they meet the toddling Christ-child still clinging to his mother's side do they offer up these precious things. Christ alone is worthy of their allegiance, and therefore of their treasures.  They can spot a phony, it would seem, and they know not to give him the gifts they have brought for the true king.

Even though the Magi will soon disappear from the story, never to be heard from again in the Gospel, I think Matthew trusts that his point is made.  To give our allegiance to the God revealed in Jesus Christ will mean a refusal to give it to the Herods around us. For the Magi, that means their long-held treasures will not be handed over to the pretender-king, but reserved for the child once they find him. For us, it will mean that our time, our resources, and our energy are not to be offered up in Herod's service, but for Christ's. And Christ, of course, ends up directing our lives and serving outward to the people around us.  This same Christ-child will later grow up to be the one who tells us that when we have fed the hungry, clothed the naked, welcomed the foreigner, and visited the sick, we have done it for him.  To offer our time, treasure, and talent for the sake of the vulnerable, the adult Jesus will tell us, is the way we do what the Magi accomplish with their gold, frankincense, and myrrh. But we are never to give over to Herod what should go to Christ.

We may well be putting away our Christmas decorations by now and boxing up our figurines of the wise men along with the ceramic sheep and angels, but the power of this story persists.  Every day we have to choose to whom we give our allegiance--and therefore, to whom we offer what we value most.  Who and what gets our time? Our energy and passion? Our money and goodwill? And where, like the Magi, might we be led to hold back our treasures from the counterfeit causes who are not really worthy of what we deem precious, until we are brought face to face with Christ? And might we hear the words of the adult Christ to us as well, reminding us that if we want to care for him or pay him homage, we will care for those who are most vulnerable among us right now?

If you look for Jesus in the manger, he won't be there. Even the Magi eventually find the Christ-child in a house by the time they get to Bethlehem.  We aren't sent to find Jesus frozen in a moment of the past, but to recognize him in the faces of those with whom he identifies right now--and to give for their sake the things we hold as treasures.

Lord Jesus, help us to see your presence among us and to give all that we have to honor you and worship you by caring for those in whom you are present.

The Relentless Light--January 7, 2026

The Relentless Light--January 7, 2026

"When [the Magi] had heard the king, they set out, and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen in the east, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy." (Matthew 2:9-10)

I have absolutely no idea how to explain the celestial event that Matthew describes here, but I find it utterly beautiful to envision a light that patiently waits for us when we get sidetracked, persists in sticking with us, and then leads us precisely to the place we need to be. I don't have a scientific accounting for a star or other cosmic entity that can steadily move in one direction, then hover in place like a car left idling outside while you run into the store on an errand, before resuming its motion and coming to rest at precisely the house that is your destination.  But I do know that it says something about the way God's patient grace takes us by the hand while even taking into account our habit for getting lost, derailed, and detoured.

This isn't the typical behavior of astronomical phenomena, in other words. A comet might suggest a direction in the sky, but they tend not to hold in place while they orbit the sun.  A supernova might well have provided a bright and new flash in the sky, but they tend not to shift position, only to sparkle and fade in place.  And the motions of the planets were already well known even in ancient times, so nobody would have confused Jupiter or Venus with a new star in the sky that had some new significance.  In other words, Matthew intends for us to see the peculiar hand of God in this scene. The motion of this curious star--including its patient waiting while the Magi get held up by Herod's scheming--is a glimpse of how God operates. The relentless light that ensures these traveling magicians are brought to Christ is a picture of God's own insistent and enduring love that pulls us into God's embrace.

And honestly, once you realize that's what is going on here, you realize that God's modus operandi in the Bethlehem Star keeps showing up all throughout the Bible. Back in the early memories of ancient Israel, God had accompanied the people through their journey in the wilderness in fits and starts, bearing with them when they complained, providing for them despite their doubts, and getting them back on track when they got distracted (or started making golden calves). Then Jesus calls a bunch of thick-headed, easily distracted, frequently misled fishermen and tax collectors to be his disciples--and when they do get themselves off track, he waits patiently, gets their attention again, and calls them back to himself.  And as the disciple-community starts figuring out how to carry out its mission to share the news of Jesus with the world, there again is the Holy Spirit nudging, waiting, guiding, and sometimes grabbing by the scruff of the neck to lead the early church to reach new people and live the Jesus way of life.  The patient persistence of the star that guided the Magi is just one more instance of God's way of acting toward us in the world.  The relentless light is the same as the relentless love of God: drawing constantly like gravity, and yet also able to hold in place when we get off course to pull us back rather than leaving us behind.

When we see that in the story of the Magi, and then recognize the same pattern throughout the Bible, it dawns on us that this is how God relates to us, too.  We sometimes imagine that our progress in faith is ever-forward with no missteps or dead-ends, like a short straight line between two points.  Much more honestly, though, our real journeys of faith come in fits and starts like the Magi--going off course when we think we know where we are headed, getting sidetracked when the latest demagogue mesmerizes us, and then looking for how to get back on track when we realize we've gotten lost.  We sometimes struggle with doubts, with grief, with trauma, with rabbit trails that lead us astray, and through all of those seasons, God remains patient, faithful, and persistent to keep calling to us like a light in the sky that keeps grabbing our attention.  And the same is true with others, even when we want to give up on them or write them off.  When someone else is going through a time in their faith when it seems like they are off course or getting sidetracked, we can be tempted to leave them behind as though they don't matter.  But God doesn't give up on them. God continues to reach out, to radiate love, and to call them--the same way God does each of those for us as well.

Today, wherever you have felt stalled out, off course, or unsure of where to put your next footstep, the good news of the Bethlehem star is that God is willing to bear with our fits and starts, and to keep calling and drawing us more fully into the presence of Christ. No matter where you've been, no matter what mistakes you fear you've made, and no matter how many times it feels like one step back for every step forward.  The love of God will not let us go--it is as relentless as the light.

Lord God, keep drawing us into the presence of Christ with your unfailing, undimming love.