Thin Places and Monumental Moments

 Friends, this week, we finish up Epiphany and move into Lent, a word that is tied to the coming of Spring (yay!). Need some ideas for a Lenten practice? Just ask!

 

I’m considering a Lenten poetry study, through a theological lens. Because sometimes the world seems so fraught with complexity and ambiguity, because we often cannot wrap our minds around some change – (For example, the Alaska Stand on the Ocean City Boardwalk closing after 90 years!) I need scripture. I need poetry. They offer an alternate way into the complex and the ambiguous. Lately, I’ve been reflecting on this poem. See if you recognize it by its first line:

 

“Not like the brazen giant of Greek Fame, with conquering limbs astride from land to land…”

 

Did that line ring a bell?

 

This one might be more familiar: 

 

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…”

 

The New Colossus was written by 19^th Century poet Emma Lazarus. Intended as a gesture of worldwide welcome when it was mounted on a bronze plaque in the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty in 1903, the poem sparked some heated debate.

 

This poem, as poems will do, spurred reflection on a sixth-grade field trip to New York City. Daffodils had started to poke through the earth, but there was still a chill in the air as my boisterous classmates and I bounced and giggled, snacked, and serenaded our way up I-95 on the hard green vinyl bench seats of a yellow school bus. As I recall, it was even chillier when we finally got to our destination, but our bodies warmed quickly as we scrambled up the endless circular stairs into the glorious crown of the iconic statue gifted to us by France in 1886.

 

Looking out over New York Harbor would be a thrilling experience for any kid. But even from a cloud-high perspective, there’s no way our young minds could fully comprehend the monumental (get it?) symbolism of Lady Liberty’s light.

 

Similarly, in our Gospel reading, Peter, James, and John seemed to be having some difficulty of their own grasping the full magnitude of the light on that mountain.

 

Early church tradition holds that Mount Tabor is where the Transfiguration of Jesus took place. A dome-shaped hill in Northern Israel about 11 kilometers from the Sea of Galilee, and seven km from Nazareth, Mount Tabor was situated near a major trade route, one that was apparently worth fighting for, as it was home to countless bloody battles. Although several religious structures were built there over the centuries, only two remain, a Catholic and a Greek Orthodox church. There’s a 12K race around the mountain each April and a 5K hiking trail that’ll take you to the top. One source suggests the Hebrew word Taborcomes from the root word meaning “something fragile or easily broken.” Mount Tabor is a popular pilgrimage site, considered to be a “thin place.”

 

A thin place is where heaven and earth are said to meet, where profound spiritual experiences can and do happen. Stories of thin spaces vary from culture to culture. In these mystical places, it is said, the veil between the ordinary and the sacred is so thin, so fragile that one can get a glimpse into another realm. 

 

Today’s thin space atop the mountain is chock full of fascinating details like a visitation from deceased Biblical luminaries, otherworldly light, and God’s voice from inside a cloud. And yet, theologians in general, especially Protestant ones, do not seem to know what to make of the Transfiguration. One writer suggests that we avoid it because it’s just too complex, ambiguous, and mystical, which makes some of us squirm. Not me. I say, bring it on. 

 

All three synoptic Gospels include this story, albeit with slight variations. In his second letter, Peter recalls the event for his readers (2 Peter 1:16-17). And even though John’s Gospel doesn’t have a transfiguration story per se, one might make the case that the entirety of his gospel is infused with mystical light. In John, Jesus is the light.[1]

 

In light of all that is happening in our world, perhaps we could use some special reminding that the veil between heaven and earth might actually be thinner than we might think. 

 

Here’s what the 13^th Century Sufi mystic poet Jalaluddin Rumi has to say about that veil:

 

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.

Don’t go back to sleep.

You must ask for what you really want.

Don’t go back to sleep.

People are going back and forth across the doorsill

where the two worlds touch.

The door is round and open.

Don’t go back to sleep.[2]

 

In such a fast-paced world, it’s tempting to go back to sleep, to check out. To numb out. But keep awake friends. Lent is almost here. We are but dust. Remember? 

 

This just in from the farthest reaches of the cosmos: The Webb Telescope reveals Unpredictable bursts of light pulsing from the gas and dust surrounding Sagittarius A*, offering new insights into the mysterious behavior of the most massive object in our galaxy

.

 

Back on earth, some churches are distributing tiny little red cards with detailed instructions for what to do if confronted by immigration officials. Indeed, some things do feel quite fragile, if not completely broken.[3] 

Here’s the poet Mary Oliver: 

 

"Why do people keep asking to see
God's identity papers

 when the darkness opening into morning
is more than enough?”

Certainly, any god might turn away in disgust.

Think of Sheba approaching
the kingdom of Solomon.
Do you think she had to ask,
“Is this the place?"[4]

Is this the place? Asking for our future children. Asking for anyone who, like me, has ever taken their comfortable life for granted. Is this the place? Or is it a thin place? It’s hard to say. Things feel a little cloudy these days. I refuse to stop looking for the light (Mt. 13:43).

 

Transfiguration by Madeline L’Engle:

 

Suddenly they saw him
the way he was,
the way he really was
all the time,
although they had never
seen it before,
the glory which blinds
the everyday eye
and so becomes invisible.

 

This is how
he was, radiant, brilliant,
carrying joy
like a flaming sun
in his hands.

 

This is the way he was—is—
from the beginning,
and we cannot bear it.

 

So he manned himself,
came manifest to us;
and there on the mountain
they saw him, really saw him,
saw his light.

 

We all know that if we really
See him we die.

 

But isn’t that what is
required of us?

 

Then, perhaps, we will see
each other, too.

 

I keep thinking about those little red cards tucked away in pockets and purses.[5]

And then I hear Rumi’s words: 

 

“Ask for what you really want. Don’t go back to sleep.”

 

We cannot always comprehend the meaning while we’re all up inside a monumental moment. Sometimes silence is the only appropriate response to the holy. Silence and listening, and looking at one another with the sincere intention of seeing Christ there.

 

The veil is thin my friends. Your own light is near blinding. Don’t go back to sleep.

 

Amen.

---

[1] Patrick Schreiner, The Transfiguration of Christ: An Exegetical and Theological Reading, 1st ed (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2024), 16. 

[2] Coleman Barks, The Essential Rumi - Reissue: New Expanded Edition (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 2004).

[3] “Red Cards / Tarjetas Rojas | Immigrant Legal Resource Center | ILRC,” accessed February 24, 2025, https://www.ilrc.org/red-cards-tarjetas-rojas#espa%C3%B1ol.

[4] Mary Oliver, Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver (New York: Penguin Press, 2017), 3.

[5] “Immigration Action Toolkit,” The Episcopal Church, accessed February 28, 2025, https://www.episcopalchurch.org/immigration-action-toolkit/.

Blessings and Woes

  

I’m a Maryland girl. I love it down the ocean, hon. I enjoy a nice bowl of crab soup, especially when it’s cold outside. Show of hands, who prefers cream of crab? Who’s more of a Maryland crab soup fan - with all the veggies? Anyone mix the two? Apparently, it’s very trendy.

 

The cream of crab soup at The Food Market in Columbia, MD, currently has 43 reviews. “Loads of crab meat,” writes one satisfied customer. Steve B. reports, however, that the menu may have overstated the claim that their crab soup was “the best in these parts.” Kayla disagrees. Her cream of crab is “out of this world.” Amanda gives it an A+ and orders an extra cup to take home. Melody enjoys lobster fingers with her soup, which is, by the way, “Amazing.” 

 

Mostly good reviews. I’d try their soup. 

But, while many reviewers have good intentions to share information and advice, some reviews are tough. Reviewers can be fickle. It takes wisdom to sift through the good opinion of others in search of truth.

 

There’s nothing fickle about our readings today. 

 

In language strongly resembling wisdom literature, Jeremiah takes a break from all his prophesying and lamentation about the sad state of affairs in 6th Century BCE. Jeremiah has a lot to say to the people, religious and political authorities, and even to God, and it takes him all of about 50 chapters. The prophet tends to call things as he sees them. Despite a preponderance of doom and gloom, Jeremiah also offers hope and the promise of a brighter future using beautiful poetic language: “Those who delight in the law of the Lord are like trees by a stream, bearing fruit and prospering.” The rest of you, good luck. 

 

The apostle Paul, perhaps discouraged by the divisiveness of the Corinthian Church and their repetitive propensity for getting sidetracked from what’s most important, builds a case for resurrection as the foundation of the Christian faith. Like Jeremiah, Paul also lays it on the line: If Christ has not been raised, our faith is futile. For Paul, Christ is the Wisdom of God (1 Corinthians 1:24) in stark contrast with the foolishness of people.

 

In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus and his newly appointed apostles, along with a “great multitude” of new and diverse potential disciples, have gathered to experience the healing power of Jesus. He doesn’t disappoint. And they are treated to a sermon. This is the sermon on the plain, similar but shorter than the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew’s gospel. Blessed are the poor, the hungry, the grieving, the excluded…Woe to you who seem to have it all; it could all disappear in a flash. All y’all, those who struggle the most, those in need of a miracle, you are blessed. Blessed are you when people say mean things. They did that to the prophets. Woe to you when people build you up and flatter you with praise. False prophets got the same treatment. 

 

If Jesus’ sermon was a restaurant dish, I imagine it might generate these kinds of reviews: “Comfort food with a kick.” “Pretty hard to swallow.” Or, “Amazing,” like Melody.

 

Of course, those were hypothetical reviews. I mean, who disagrees about biblical interpretation? Umm…Seems like - everyone. Have you noticed? 

 

That was rhetorical. Where can we go for wisdom? What sources can we trust? 

 That’s not a rhetorical question. 

 

In the years leading up to the Civil War in America, abolitionist Frederick Douglass, another Marylander whose feast day falls on February 20^th, also found trusted sources to be in short supply, so he started a newspaper, naming it The North Star after the light that guided enslaved people to freedom. The North Star began publishing in 1847 in Rochester, New York, using the slogan:

 

“Right is of no Sex—Truth is of no Color—God is the Father of us all, and all we are Brethren.” Good, right? Douglas believed firmly that nonviolence was key. But when he started to lose faith, an encounter with Sojourner Truth reportedly shook him to the core. In a public antislavery forum, Truth was said to have challenged Douglas’ new resolve with the provocative rhetorical question: “Is God dead?”

[1]

 

I don’t know about you, but I’m hearing similar questions being asked of the church today. 

 

I think it’s wisdom people are seeking. 

 

Jesus, the wisdom teacher, comes down to a level place where he can look his followers in the eyes and speak truth. Jesus knows his words will generate mixed reviews. He knows minds tend to wander and truth can be interpreted differently. He knows the divisiveness of the human heart. Those who listen become the early church.

 

Two thousand years after Jesus preached his sermon, we are the church, still tasked with carrying out a counter-cultural message of love that is just plain hard for this ever-changing, ever less God-centric world to grasp. How do we stay focused?

 

How do we keep a Christ-centered focus as this community grows and changes? You know what we could use? A new slogan to guide us through. Kinda like Frederick Douglas had.

 

I like the way Psalm 36 expresses our utter dependence on God: “In your light, we see light.” How about Psalm 121? God will keep us “in our going out and our coming in.” That’s good too. 

 

There’s always “We’ll leave the light on for ya.” We could borrow that one from Motel 6. Which incidentally also gets some mixed reviews:  

 

“Didn’t get my AARP discount. Customer service excellent. Everyone so nice and helpful. Couldn't find the pool.”

 

Bless our hearts.

 

Blessed are you, church, poor and unmoored, yet still striving to stand up for kingdom principles. 

 

Blessed are you who hunger for justice even while feeding others. You who imagine a world without locked doors or ceilings, without walls or exclusions.

 

Blessed are you who mourn. And blessed are you who mourn the pain of your neighbors. Those who, even in your own grief, show up to pray, smile, sing, embrace, and care for others.

 

Blessed are you when people revile you for your opinion, and you with patience to listen respectfully.

 

Blessed are you, the broken body of Christ, at God’s table. You with crossed fingers during the creed. You who walk humbly in faith, acknowledging doubt, embracing uncertainty, all while answering your individual calls to ministry. 

 

Blessed are you who are anxious yet manage to keep a resurrection perspective, you whose hands stitch together God’s love for others.[2]

 

Woe to you, church, who seek truth among mortals, obsessed with your stats and your “great multitudes,” with wealth over wisdom, status over soul. 

 

Woe to you, church, with your “all are welcome” signs, filled to the brim with people who look and think and vote and pray exactly like you. 

 

Woe to you, with your excellent Google reviews and five-star ratings, you might be laughing now…

 

Hard truths.

 

Remember when Jesus asks Peter, “Do you love me? Do you love me? Do you love me?” “Of course, I do,” responds Peter. “Then just feed my sheep,” Jesus says plainly (John 21: 15-25).

 

God is love. God is love. God is love. Nothing can ever separate us from that love (Rom 8:38-39). Not our wandering minds or our fragile fickle hearts, though they sure will try. 

 

Can we agree on that?

 

Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

---

[1] Alex Schwartz, “‘Is God Dead?’: Frederick Douglass’s Recollection of a Contentious Moment in Antislavery History,” New North Star: A Journal of the Life and Times of Frederick Douglass 3 (December 13, 2021), https://doi.org/10.18060/25879.

[2] Adapted from: Cláudio Carvalhaes’, Liturgies from below: 462 Acts of Worship; Praying with People at the Ends of the World (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Pres, 2020).

Sharing Our "God Moments"

 
While our Bishop Carrie (Schofield-Broadbent) was on pilgrimage to the Holy Land recently, she posted about the trip on social media. One day, she posted about sharing our God sightings. I think she was referring to those seemingly inexplicable, life-changing, sacred experiences that, all too often, we have but keep to ourselves. Some might refer to these as God moments or mystical encounters. According to one Pew Report, around half of the American population claims to have had at least one such experience.[1]

 

In his landmark book on religious experience, psychologist and philosopher William James proposed that there were four necessary criteria for such an experience. They must be ineffable (unexplainable), noetic (not just a feeling but more of a deep knowing), transient (passing but capable of having a lasting impact), and passive (or initiated from outside the experiencer).[2]

 

In such a time such as ours, I think Bishop Carrie is onto something. Theologian Karl Rahner would likely concur. In 1961, Rahner made the bold statement that the Christian of the future will be a mystic, or “he” will not exist at all.[3] (It was 1961!)

 

Epiphany season is party time for mystics! Remember? We’re supposed to be paying attention, watching for God sightings and signs! The Gospel of John doesn’t disappoint. Of the four, John’s is the most mystical gospel. It’s said to be shallow enough for a child to wade in and deep enough for an elephant to swim. Ready to dive in?

 

 An entire community is invited to a wedding party. There is food and wine in abundance, music and dancing. A week-long joyful celebration. A new family in the making. The entire early church seems to be in attendance. Jesus’ mom is there. Jesus is there, too, with all his disciples.

This party roars on and on…until:

 

"They have no wine." An imperative from mother to son. 

 

"Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come." 

 

Is Jesus nervous, a little apprehensive about the start of his ministry? I can relate.

 

Jesus’ mother presses on. 

 

"Do whatever he tells you,” she directs the servers.

 

Spotting six empty jars used for Jewish purification rites, Jesus instructs them to fill the large stone vessels with water (no easy task in the ancient world!). Then there is so much wine. Hundreds of gallons. Good wine. Like 99 on the Wine Spectator rating scale good. 

 

“Draw some out and take it to the steward,” Jesus tells the servers.

Amazed and astounded, the steward gives all credit to the bridegroom. “The good wine is always served first. But you, you saved the best for last.” 

 

The servers know. Can’t you just picture them? 

 

Best. Wedding. Ever.

 

In the Fall of 1969, Peter Yarrow, who passed away just a couple of weeks ago, asked Paul Stookey to write and perform a song for his upcoming wedding to Mary Beth McCarthy. 

 

As you might recall, they were members of the popular sixties folk trio Peter, Paul, and Mary. A dark cloud had descended over the country following the assassination of John F. Kennedy, his brother Robert, and Martin Luther King, Jr. Stookey felt as though his life was spinning out of control. Encouraged by a friend to read the bible, he also began to pray. He prayed before making small decisions like which elevator to take. He prayed for himself and others. Eventually, Stookey’s life began to feel more manageable.

 

In an interview, he describes how The Wedding Song came to be:

 

Retreating to his tiny basement studio, Stookey tuned up his twelve-string. After sitting in silence for a moment, he prayed, asking for God’s blessing and presence at the wedding of his dear friends:

The lyrics came quickly:

He is now to be among you at the calling of your hearts. Rest assured this troubadour is acting on his part. The union of your spirits here has caused him to remain. For whenever two or more of you are gathered in his name, there is love.

So strikingly instantaneous was Paul Stookey’s inspiration that he felt it wasn’t his song. He decided to give away the rights to a non-profit. The Public Domain Foundation was created in 1971 with royalties from “The Wedding Song.” Since then, millions of dollars have been raised for social justice causes all across the country.[4]

 @kellylatimoreicons

In his book, Stride Toward Freedom, Martin Luther King, Jr. also shares a powerful God moment:

It was a cold January night in 1956, and as he was drifting off to sleep, Dr. King received a disturbing phone call. The person on the other end of the line spouted horrendous racial slurs and violent threats. Shaken, King went to his kitchen, sat down, and prayed, pouring all of his fears and his hopes out to God.

At that moment, Dr. King shares, “I experienced the presence of the Divine as I had never experienced God before… I could hear the quiet assurance of an inner voice saying: ‘Stand up for justice, stand up for truth, and God will be at your side forever.’ Almost at once, King wrote, his fears  subsided. “My uncertainty disappeared. I was ready to face anything.”[5]

 

From her pilgrimage, Bishop Carrie shared this on Instagram: “We all have unique perspectives ...The God-moments that may be obvious to us may be inaccessible to others.” I totally agree! We should talk about them!

Jesus gives the mystified servers something to talk about as they share the excellent wine with thirsty wedding guests. But wait, where is the bride in this story? 

 

Did you catch the last lines of Isaiah? 

 

For as a young man marries a young woman,
so shall your builder marry you,

and as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride,
so shall your God rejoice over you.

 

In our marriage rite in the Book of Common Prayer, Jesus’ presence and first miracle at Cana signifies “the mystery of the union between Christ and his Church.”[6]

 

In the true Church, the beloved community where love, justice, and mercy flow abundantly, I think we are the bride. Therefore, those whom God has joined together let no one put asunder.[7]

 

In the spirit of a God moment, I invite you to close your eyes and drink this in, from Christian mystic Meister Eckhart: 

 

In the deep quiet of the soul where thoughts dissolve, and worries cease.

There lies a rest, a sacred whole. A hidden peace that brings release.

Let go of striving. Let go of quest. In this vast stillness find your ground.

For here within the inmost breast the divine presence can be found.

Not in the clamor of the day. Nor in the rush of worldly things.

But in the space where thoughts give way.

The soul’s true resting place now sings.

Like a still lake reflecting skies.

Reflect the light of God within.

In this deep rest your spirit flies.

A union with the divine begins.

 

Amen.

 

---

[1] Russell Heimlich, “Mystical Experiences,” Pew Research Center (blog), December 29, 2009, https://www.pewresearch.org/short-reads/2009/12/29/mystical-experiences/.

[2] William James, The Varieties of Religious Experience: A Study in Human Nature. (New York: Longmans, Green and Co, 1902),380-81.

[3] Karl Rahner, Theological Investigations, trans. Cornelius Ernst (Baltimore: Helicon Press, 1961) XX, 149.

[4] Noel Paul Stookey, “The Song I Had to Give Away,” Guideposts (blog), June 1, 1993, https://guideposts.org/positive-living/health-and-wellness/better-living/the-song-i-had-to-give-away/.

[5] Martin Luther King, Stride Toward Freedom: The Montgomery Story, King Legacy Ser, v. 1 (Boston: Beacon Press, 2010), 135-36.

[6] Episcopal Church., The Book of Common Prayer and Administration of the Sacraments and Other Rites and Ceremonies of the Church: Together with the Psalter or Psalms of David, According to the Use of the Episcopal Church. (New York: Church Publishing, 1979), 423.

[7] BCP, 428.

Listening for God

                                        

Tomorrow, we travel to New York City to see our daughter Caroline in her one performance of Sunset Boulevard before she moves on to her next gig. It is exciting, for sure. But, when I spoke to her yesterday, we discussed the irony that Sunset Boulevard was literally burning while she was sitting in the basement of the theatre doing her job as a standby for the lead in the musical Sunset Boulevard. It was in the basement of the St. James Theatre that she decided to do what she could to help those affected by the California wildfires. Caroline had some free time, so she contacted her cast members, and they took up a small collection. It was something. 

What a week! Bitter cold and snow in our Maryland neighborhood while winds whipped up on the left coast, and there was fire, so much fire. The images were horrific. On top of that, there was a 7.1 in Tibet with tragic loss of life and hundreds of injuries.

 

Where is God in all of this? As a new “curate” (a label given to newly ordained clergy that means “cure of souls”), I think a lot about this kind of thing. Truth is, I thought about this long before I ever considered discerning a call to the priesthood. 

 

Where is God when the proverbial @#$ hits the fan? 

 

This is from the Hebrew Bible:

 

“The LORD said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the LORD, for the LORD is about to pass by.” Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper.”

 

~~1 Kings 19:11-12

 

Now, of course, these verses are in the context of a story of ancient-world turmoil and violence, of governments seeking power and control at the expense of the people they were supposed to be serving—nothing like today.  We’re much more sophisticated today. 

 

What I love about this passage is it reveals a genuine search for wisdom during a time of fear, confusion, and trauma. We could use some serious wisdom right about now.

 

I love that Caroline listened for wisdom and responded. I think it might be wise in times like these, in general, to get to a place where we might discern God’s gentle whisper. It might be wise to focus on what is in our control in the present moment. It is in the present moment that a gentle whisper is more likely to be heard. How can we help those in most desperate need? It might be wise to pause, to be still; to breathe deeply of the resources available in the now moment – which is really all we have. It is in stillness (some might call it prayer) that practical resources are most readily available. From there, we can take action. 

 

Listen for the gentle whisper. It's always there, under all the rest of the noise.

If you like, check out this yoga practice for tapping into wisdom.

Apocalypse Now (A Sermon for Advent 1)

 

From the 1938 broadcast

Travel with me back to the year 1938. Pockets are empty, and anxiety is at an all-time high. Newspapers feel the pinch as the rising popularity of radio competes for advertising dollars. A young man by the name of Orson Wells has an idea. He decides to assemble a 27-piece orchestra and ten fellow actors for a dramatic broadcast of H.G. Welles’ 1898 science fiction novel The War of the Worlds. The production features news alerts of an imminent Martian invasion of New Jersey. The broadcast is stunning, riveting, spellbinding, heart-stopping…

 

Some listeners, perhaps tuning in late, mistake the fictional play for the real deal. Frantic phone calls to police, newspapers, and radio stations convince journalists that the show has incited nationwide hysteria. Newspapers, anxious to cash in on the event, jump at the chance to sensationalize. By the next morning, 23-year-old Wells is famous, his name and face plastered on front pages from coast to coast. Headlines herald the mass panic his broadcast has allegedly inspired. This effort to discredit the radio program only enhances its impact, shoring up a burgeoning addiction to mass media.

 

With constant access to social media and a relentless 24/7 news cycle, we’re still pretty addicted. 

 

Only now we have more sophisticated media. Our phones, video games, and virtual reality all compete for our attention, but eventually, these will pass into obscurity. 

 

We need look no further than our Gospel passage to appreciate how the bible, this most influential, interesting, most misunderstood best-seller of all time, can still stir our hearts and capture our imagination. 

 

“Signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People fainting from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, the powers of the heavens shaken. Then they will see 'the Son of Man coming in a cloud' with power and great glory.” 

 

Luke’s Jesus knows how to generate buzz. 

Luke’s Gospel was likely written at least partially in Rome, sometime between years 62 and 70. Luke, also believed to have authored the book of Acts, was not one of the original disciples but was a traveling companion to the Apostle Paul, author of our Epistle. In another of his letters, Paul tells us Luke was a physician. We’re pretty sure Luke used the Gospel of Mark for reference. Luke’s audience is a growing gentile or non-Jewish audience awaiting Christ’s return amidst a dangerously hostile political climate. 

 

Cut to Advent 2024. We enter a new liturgical year for the church. Advent is a time of preparation, waiting, and expectation… 

 

As we light candles of hope, peace, joy, and love on each of the four consecutive Sundays of Advent, we prepare for the coming of God’s kingdom into our world, into the joy and the mayhem of our individual lives. And like the early Christians, we wait expectantly for Christ’s return. 

 

“O come O come Emmanuel and ransom captive Israel that mourns in lowly exile here, until the son of God appear.”

 

Tom Petty was right, “The waiting is the hardest part.” 

 

Jurgen Moltmann, who passed away at age 98 this year, is considered one of the most important theologians of the 21^st century for his revolutionary and somewhat controversial teachings.

 

He writes, “…Faith, wherever it develops into hope, causes not rest but unrest, not patience but impatience. It does not calm the unquiet heart but is itself this unquiet heart in (us.) Those who hope in Christ can no longer put up with reality as it is but begin to suffer under it, to contradict it. Peace with God means conflict with the world, for the goad of the promised future stabs inexorably into the flesh of every unfulfilled present.” 

 

Reading Moltmann is a little like reading science fiction, only better - because it’s rooted in the grittiness of real life.  By the ‘promised future,’ I believe Moltman refers to something like Kairos time (as opposed to Chronos or linear time) – Kairos is Greek for the right, critical moment. Kairos is God’s time. Fluid and unpredictable, with a magnetic pull toward justice and redemption. In God’s time, God breaks through, and anything can happen. 

 

“Stand up, raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” Luke’s Jesus interrupts the regularly scheduled programming of the anxious first-century Christ follower with a reminder to “keep alert.” 

 

How long, God? How long, I imagine the apostles ask, as, one by one, many of them die horrible, violent deaths. Paul was martyred around the year 70. It’s thought that Luke finished his gospel in the aftermath of that traumatic reality.

 

During time spent as a prisoner of war, Jurgen Moltmann encountered Christ in the holy scriptures and the kindness of strangers. In a blossoming cherry tree out his window, he found hope for new life after the devastation of war. For Moltmann, everyday experiences reveal the inbreaking of God into our lives, and most especially into our suffering. Moltmann’s theology is not pie in the sky. It distinguishes hope from mere optimism. Hope, it seems, is less about dreaming and more about paying really close attention.

 

All year, but perhaps especially during Advent, we’re called to assume a posture of receptivity: to stay alert for the inbreaking of Christ. In doing so, we are agents of our own transformation, co-creators with the Holy Spirit of the Kingdom of Heaven, here and now. 

 

Where have you noticed God breaking through in your life this past week? Turn to a neighbor and tell them about it. 

 

Was that hard? It gets easier with practice. My friend, who recently found her cancer has reoccurred, is good at this. These days, she seems to encounter God just about everywhere, even on Facebook, as she keeps us updated. Like so many others, she regularly stops in front of the huge statue of Christ in the dome of Johns Hopkins Hospital, where she goes for treatments. But the inbreaking Christ may not always be so obvious. Think babies, blossoms...bumper stickers…

 

My friend and her doctors have been vigilant, so they’re hopeful. Still, she waits for results as her friends and family enfold her in prayer. 

 

My friends, during this extraordinary and challenging season, may we lift our heads and hearts in expectation of Emmanuel – God with us. May we stay receptive and alert to hope that just might be reaching out to us from a long-promised future. 

 

In Spirit Wheel, Meditations From an Indigenous Elder, former Episcopal  Bishop Steven Charleston writes: 

 

Don't look down, don't look back, don't look away. 

 

Don't look down with your head bent by sorrow or fear, for the courage you have within you is reason enough to hold your head high. 

 

Yes, you carry a heavy burden, but you know you never carry it alone. Look up, for love still has much to show you. 

 

Don't look back to the old hurts and struggles, for they have had their moment and cannot live in the light of this new day. 

 

Look ahead to what life offers you now. Don't look away from the challenges before you, no matter how hard they may seem. 

 

Breathe in the strength of the Spirit and trust what guides you. Look your truth straight in the eye and capture the vision that will set you free.

 

Heads up, friends. Christ is coming. Always and in All ways. Happy New Year. Welcome to Advent.