Posted by stpauls on December 26, 2010 under Sermons | 
The first few verses of the Gospel according to John are one of the most profound, yet, also the most difficult parts of God’s self-revelation in Holy Scripture. Of course, I have read this hymn-like piece over and over again. In fact, one of my theology professors once told us, that we had to know it by heart – and not just in German, in its original Greek no less. Well, don’t test me, I did not even try. Yet, I kinda understood, why he wanted us to know it so intimately.
This piece is at the heart of what we believe as Christians: God becomes incarnate in Jesus, the pre-existent Logos tabernacles in the flesh of the boy- child born of a virgin.
Understood?
You didn’t?
Well, no wonder. I am going to be honest with you. I don’t find this passage easy at all and I wonder if I will ever grasp at least a glimpse of what God wants us to tell through these verses. It is all very theoretical… And, for crying out loud, this is the first Sunday after Christmas, this is only the second day of Christmas and I still want angels, Mary, Joseph, shepherds, wise men. I want hey, an ox and a donkey. Above all I want a manger and a stable… and I want a baby.
Our picture of what happened on Christmas has so strongly been influenced especially by the account from Luke, which we listened to yesterday and on Christmas Eve. But this piece from John is so different…
Could you imagine a nativity set constructed along the lines of the Gospel of John? Let’s play around with this, shall we: Instead of a crèche, we would have the wooden letters W-O-R-D, carved in Germany or (God forbid!) Austria, or “Made in China,” under our Christmas trees. Our Christmas presents snuggled next to it would be wrapped in paper with hand painted cards reading “WORD.” Our Christmas trees would look more like letter-soup thrown over evergreens. It would make for interesting Christmas hymns, too. Merry Christmas – hmmm!
This is the Gospel of John. And it is not at all like the romanticised and idealized Christmas we sing about in our carols and which we sometimes over-celebrate on December 24th and 25th. The first chapter of John is not a picture we can colour in. It’s more of a thought, an idea, a concept. And it is a challenge.
But why is that?
Each of the Gospels presents the story of Jesus in a different way, and much of their richness is lost if one tries to harmonize them into one consistent account. Each gospel contains a different structure, develops different themes, comes from and speaks to different communities, and portrays the person of Jesus in its own unique way.
Luke’s Gospel is the Gospel that reveals God as being concerned with very concrete things, things of everyday life and care, things that speak to us as human beings in this world. More concretely, in Luke, God is especially concerned with the poor, the oppressed, the hurting, the marginalized, and the outcast. Luke proclaims the Good News in Jesus Christ as a shout of and cry for liberation from darkness, death, and oppression. For Luke, it is all about God’s upside-down kingdom, in which the oppressed are liberated, the captive set free, and in which the human order, the human way of doing things is put on its head.
In the Gospel of Luke Mary sings, and I quote: “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour, for God … has scattered the proud in their conceit. God has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly. God has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”[1] End of quote.
Luke shows a side of God that is compassionate and will not allow for injustice to stand forever. It is all very concrete, very real, very comprehensive. That’s why the Gospel according to Luke has to start with a very concrete story, with a very real tangible saviour, born of a very real woman in a very real stable at a very real time.
John’s approach is different, very different indeed. Through John, Jesus is proclaimed as the Word incarnate, as God taking human flesh. Jesus is the heavenly reveal-er, who is not of this world, but who was sent into our world to make known the Creator of all things. John witnesses to the truth that Jesus re-defines the relationship of humanity with the divine forever.
To understand the theological world of John, one must begin by recognizing the centrality of the Incarnation to this Gospel: God and Humankind become one in Jesus of Nazareth. The Word became flesh in Mary’s son: “In the beginning was the Word,”[2] John writes on the one hand, “and the Word was with God and the Word was God.”[3] Yet, on the other hand, John continues: “And the Word became flesh and lived among us.“[4] These two claims are the foundation on which God’s Good News is built.
Jesus provides unique and unprecedented access for us to the Creator, because Jesus shares God’s character and God’s identity. Jesus’ revelation of God is thus not simply that Jesus speaks God’s words and does God’s works, although that is part of it. It is, rather, that Jesus is the Word of God, is God. No line can be drawn between what Jesus says and does and who Jesus is. No barrier can be erected between Jesus’ identity and Jesus’ mission in the world. Jesus’ coming into the world as God-incarnate on the one hand and on the other hand his passion, death, resurrection, and ascension form an eternal unit that provides full and fresh access to God. That’s why in John we hear Jesus say: “I am the way,”[5] rather than: This is how the way looks.
And this has consequences: The Word becoming flesh is the decisive event in human history – indeed, in the history of creation. In Jesus Christ, God is born by a woman, is one of us. In Jesus Christ, God walks our ways, speaks our language, listens to our words, feels our pain and loneliness, and most importantly, in Jesus Christ, God dies our death and restores us and creation to the beauty God intends. Because God comes our way, creation is affirmed as something good, as divinely willed, and as filled with the Spirit of God.
This doesn’t make understanding today’s Gospel much easier. However, I do realize that whoever chose the readings for this Sunday did so with great care and huge wisdom. It is as to say: After you have heard how the Saviour was born, now listen to why he was born.
Yet, this is not all. Especially, Anglicans go a bit further. As Anglicans, we have always maintained that the Incarnation is a two-fold event. It is not just God, who unites with humanity in Jesus. We also have to turn it around: In Jesus, humankind unites with the divine, too. The Incarnation changes humanity’s relationship with God as much as it changes God’s relationship with humanity. And like Mary, through the Incarnation, we can become God-bearers, too. God seeks to embrace us all in an intimate way, so that we can be penetrated in every fibre of our being by the divine love and so that we can discover the divine spark growing under our hearts, too.
And this will change our relationships with one another.
In the baptismal covenant,[6] which is part of our baptismal liturgy, we commit to loving our neighbour as ourselves, to striving for justice and peace among all people, and we commit to respecting the dignity of every human being. This we do, not because it’s politically correct. But we vow to do this, because through the Incarnation we can discover the divine spark not just in ourselves, but in others too. When we meet a fellow human being, we encounter Christ, whoever they are and wherever they find themselves on the journey. The miracle of the Incarnation is not just a vertical redemption. The miracle of the Incarnation has horizontal implications too. Not only does God take flesh to live among us and to open a new way into the divine mystery. But we are also called to live out the Incarnation with our neighbours, by embracing them as sisters and brothers, by sharing the Good News with then, and by working for justice and peace on this planet earth.
Yes, the Incarnation is not just a theological concept. No, the Incarnation is central to God’s self revelation and it is central to who are meant to be. No wonder, then, we hear the first chapter of John read on this day. And maybe, just maybe, we should read it more often and more regularly.
[1] cf. Luke 1:46, 51-53
[2] John 1: 1
[3] Ibid.
[4] John 1:14
[5] John 14:6
[6] cf. p. 158-159, Book of Alternative Services (Anglican Church of Canada)
Posted by stpauls on under Bible Readings, Webmaster Blog |
John 1:1-18 ~ Gospel Reading for December 26, 2010
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.
There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.
He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.
And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth. (John testified to him and cried out, “This was he of whom I said, ‘He who comes after me ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’”) From his fullness we have all received grace upon grace. The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known.
Posted by stpauls on under Bible Readings, Webmaster Blog |
Galatians 3:23-25; 4:4-7 ~ Bible Reading for December 26, 2010
Now before faith came, we were imprisoned and guarded under the law until faith would be revealed. Therefore the law was our disciplinarian until Christ came, so that we might be justified by faith. But now that faith has come, we are no longer subject to a disciplinarian.
But when the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, in order to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as children. And because you are children, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, “Abba! Father!” So you are no longer a slave but a child, and if a child then also an heir, through God.
Posted by stpauls on under Bible Readings, Webmaster Blog |
Isaiah 61:10-62:3 ~ Bible Reading for December 26, 2010
I will greatly rejoice in the LORD, my whole being shall exult in my God; for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation, he has covered me with the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom decks himself with a garland, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels. For as the earth brings forth its shoots, and as a garden causes what is sown in it to spring up, so the Lord GOD will cause righteousness and praise to spring up before all the nations. For Zion’s sake I will not keep silent, and for Jerusalem’s sake I will not rest, until her vindication shines out like the dawn, and her salvation like a burning torch. The nations shall see your vindication, and all the kings your glory; and you shall be called by a new name that the mouth of the LORD will give. You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the LORD, and a royal diadem in the hand of your God.
Posted by stpauls on December 25, 2010 under Bible Readings, Webmaster Blog |
Luke (2:1-14) ~ Gospel Reading for Christmas Day, 2010
In those days, a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child.
While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn. In that region, there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them,
“Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.”
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favours!”
Posted by stpauls on under Bible Readings, Webmaster Blog |
Letter to the Hebrews (1:1-4) ~ Bible Reading for Christmas Day, 2010
Long ago, God spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways by the prophets, but in these last days he has spoken to us by a Son, whom he appointed heir of all things, through whom he also created the worlds. He is the reflection of God’s glory and the exact imprint of God’s very being, and he sustains all things by his powerful word. When he had made purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high, having become as much superior to angels as the name he has inherited is more excellent than theirs.
Posted by stpauls on under Bible Readings, Webmaster Blog |
Isaiah (52:7-10) ~ Bible Reading for Christmas Day, 2010
How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger who announces peace, who brings good news, who announces salvation, who says to Zion, “Your God reigns.” Listen! Your sentinels lift up their voices, together they sing for joy; for in plain sight they see the return of the LORD to Zion. Break forth together into singing, you ruins of Jerusalem; for the LORD has comforted his people, he has redeemed Jerusalem. The LORD has bared his holy arm before the eyes of all the nations; and all the ends of the earth shall see the salvation of our God.
Posted by stpauls on December 24, 2010 under Sermons |
Earlier this year, we lost an angel, our angel. We were left behind and we were struggling not unlike the shepherds in the story from the Gospel according to Luke1, which we just heard. However, our angel’s disappearance wasn’t at all like the disappearance of the angels in the Gospel, because our angel was not an ordinary angel.
I first met our angel shortly after I had moved to Vancouver. And our first encounter wasn’t really “angelic.” In fact, it was scary!
I first encountered the angel here at St. Paul’s. I was standing in this very pulpit and had just started my usual three-hour sermon, when all of a sudden one of our entrance doors, flung open – and there he was! I looked. I was dumbfounded. But he only got started and nothing could stop him. There was determination in his eyes and there was determination in his step as he came right down the centre aisle.
I had no clue what to do. But, hey, I had to get through three hours of sermon material – and I was determined too. So I just kept on preaching.
Our angel didn’t pay much attention to what I had to say, though. That, by the way, is something he had in common with some of our choir members, right?
As the angel kept on walking I got more nervous. What would happen next, what would he do? Would there be a commotion? Would there be a scene? Eventually, fear took over. Yes, I was afraid. And I wasn’t the only one. This wasn’t some kind of apparition, an imagination of my mind. Others saw what was going on, too. Nobody was listening to me anymore. I wasn’t even listening to myself anymore. We were all fixated on the angel marching down the aisle.
When he finally reached the chancel steps, it happened:
He genuflected, crossed himself, stood up again, turned around, and as fast as he had entered, he had left.
Yep, that was all. Nothing more and nothing less. No scene, no commotion, and no need to be afraid. In fact, quite the opposite.
Over the next few years, the angel reappeared a few times doing the same thing, the same ritual. And yes, that is what it was, at least on the surface. It was a ritual – his ritual – or so it seemed.
However, one of our liturgical servers first observed that our angel would usually appear when something profound was going on here at St. Paul’s, something not necessarily earth-shattering, just something profound, something in our worship or in one of our many ministries such as our study groups, or the Labyrinth, or the Advocacy Office, or “Our House.” The angel always appeared when we celebrated a bit more intentionally the ways in which we encounter and the ways in which we listen to the Holy One in this sacred place. As if to challenge us to embrace our core identities of worship, hospitality, healing, and reflection, the angel’s presence – as short as it was – was always very apropos. The ritual wasn’t just the angel’s ritual anymore. It had an impact on us. It drew us beyond what we thought we were. We were pushed beyond our comfort zone and something was revealed to us anew.
This is why we called him “angel.” He appeared in order to bring a message.
Eventually, we discovered his name: Gerry. Of course, it was very clear that Gerry wasn’t a member of the angelic host and not just because he didn’t have wings. No, Gerry was of our flesh and blood.
But still, he was an angel, at least for us. He might not have known about it and probably did not intend this, but his action reminded us of what is essential. And it showed us that nothing really can sever our bond with God: not shame, not fear, and not even the embarrassment of well-meaning Anglicans.
And by letting nothing stop him in his worship of God, Gerry moved us from fear to peace, too. Words were never spoken, but his genuflecting, his crossing himself, his short worship of God in the middle of our service, all this sang as loud as the angelic choir in the fields of Bethlehem: “Glory to God in the highest and peace, yes, peace on earth: peace to you and to me and to the whole cosmos.”
In the end, this is the truth that is at the heart of the story that we have just heard, regardless of whether angels with wings flutter around shepherds or not. The legend set in the fields of Bethlehem reveals a truth that is first and foremost theological and not historical. The story reveals God’s yearning to embrace us and restore us. It tells of God’s desire for us to “do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with our God.”2 It breaks through our fear and proclaims peace. It speaks of God’s love as something as tangible as the touch of an infant. And it makes God’s compassion concrete in the open arms of a human named Jesus.
And it is the job of angels – in whatever from – to remind us of this heart of the story. When we get lost in details, when we wonder and discuss if a virgin birth is really possible or if Jesus could really have been born in Bethlehem, angels challenge us: “Yes, it makes sense to critically analyze and yes, it is always appropriate to question. But, as important as this all might be, is that really all you worry about? Isn’t there our world that needs saving? Aren’t there children starving? Haven’t too many little ones been exploited, abused, or sacrificed on the killing fields of your wars? Isn’t the earth yearning for relief and a better stewardship? Don’t racism, sexism, homophobia, and social injustice destroy the dignity of each and every human being? Isn’t isolation, fragmentation, self-absorption, and self-gratification threatening the very fibre of what it means to be alive?”
Angles break through our fear and ignorance and they bring us back to what really matters. Angels make sure we won’t get lost. Angels sing into our darkness of God’s fear-conquering love and angels send us on the way back to the Light.
And this is exactly what Gerry did for us, too.
Yet, Gerry also struggled with life.
He lived on the streets, panhandled on the corner of Thurlow and Davie, and often, he was drunk, even drunk out of his mind.
Yes, by worldly standards, Gerry was no angel. But still, God chose him, God sent him to us, God made him a messenger, something the world would have never done. When he came here those Sunday mornings, he interrupted the service. Yes, he did. But he also interrupted our complacency and reminded us of what is essential. In and through Gerry, God affirmed once again that the open arms of the child in the manger are really meant for each and every one of us, whoever we are and wherever we find our selves on the journey. God saw Gerry in ways we couldn’t and affirmed the deep mystery of Christmas in Gerry’s life – and consequently in our lives, too.
Christmas proclaims that no life is too puny, too dark, too pained, or too screwed up. Salvation is not about us beating ourselves up or trying to strive high to reach an unbelievably distant god, who seems to constantly whack his finger in disapproval.
No, God, our true God, comes the other way, seeking us out – not despite who we are, but because of it. God comes to be with us, comes to walk our ways, comes to speak our language, comes to listen to our words, comes to open her heart to our concerns, comes to restore us to the awesome beauty that God created in us, comes to heal our pains and sorrows, comes to forgive our trespasses, and comes to reveal wisdom, justice, and peace here on earth and in ways we understand. God comes to be born of our sister Mary as one of us, so that we don’t have to search God in faraway places or in a heaven out of reach. And God comes to experience the fullness of our lives, including death, so that even in that darkness God will not abandon us, but will lead us through death into life. Death does not have the final word. God’s love is stronger.
Into this life-giving love, Gerry disappeared this summer when he died, unexpectedly and suddenly. And we could now just go back to our routine, after all, no more angel…
But I don’t think it works like this. I believe God will send angels to us again. God will send angels into our darkness, into our complacency, and into our fear. God will send angels that will sing once more: Glory to God in the highest and peace, yes, peace on earth!
1.
Luke 2:1-14
2.
Micah 6:8
[The Reverend Markus Duenzkofer delivered this sermon on Christmas Eve, December 24, 2010.]
Posted by stpauls on December 19, 2010 under Sermons |
A few weeks ago, I was once again privileged to preside at a Eucharist at 1131 Union Street, the home of “Our House.”
“Our House” is a ministry affiliated with our parish that provides peer support for homeless addicts as they seek to move off the streets, move towards becoming recovering addicts, and as they turn their lives around to reflect more clearly the beauty that God intends for each and every one of us.
At this Eucharist earlier this month, I really believe the Spirit moved among us in ways that were palpable and that opened our hearts and souls profoundly to the loving embrace of God. This prompted one of the members of Our House to share a story that gets told and retold in some Christian circles. I would like to share it with you today:
Once upon a time, there was a flood threatening a faithful child of God. As the waters rose, the man prayed and asked for God to rescue him. A few minutes later a truck arrived. The truck driver yelled: “Climb onto the truck and I will take you to safety.” But the man responded: “Oh no. God will rescue me.”
The waters rose higher and the man had to climb onto his roof. And he prayed harder for God to rescue him. Along came a boat. The captain cried out: “Come into my boat and I will take you to safety.” But the good Christian refused again and said: “No, no. God will rescue me.”
The waters continued to rise and eventually only the head of the poor man was visible. And he was still praying for God to rescue him. Along came a helicopter. The helicopter pilot lowered a ladder and invited the man to climb it. But the good Christian shook his head, because he knew God would rescue him.
Eventually, there was nowhere else to go and the man drowned.
On judgment day he confronted his maker: “God,” he said, “God, I prayed and prayed and prayed for your help. And yet, I drowned. What’s up with that?”
But the Lord shook Her head in sorrow and said: “But, my child, I don’t know what you are complaining about. I sent you a truck, a boat, and a helicopter, and you refused each one of these.”
In today’s reading from the book of the prophet Isaiah, we also encounter somebody who is refusing God, or more particularly refusing a sign from God. And on first glance, this seems the proper thing to do. Hadn’t Moses exhorted God’s people to “not put the Lord God to the test,”[1] an exhortation that had come in the wake of Israel’s inability to trust God[2]? And, as Christians, we hear our Lord Jesus himself use the very same line to confront and overcome the tempter in the desert.[3] So yes, Ahaz seems to be doing the righteous thing.
Why then is Isaiah not impressed?
Isaiah isn’t impressed, because this story is told within a context, which is not at all impressive and which needs a little bit of exploration. We enter today’s text after the story is well on its way. Let me give you a bit of background information.
Ahaz is the king of Judah, which is the Southern part of what once was the kingdom of David and Solomon and which is centred around Jerusalem, its political, cultural, economic, and religious capital. As king, Ahaz is in charge of his people’s welfare. His decisions are detrimental for the well-being of his subjects and they are detrimental to the future of his kingdom and the future of the lineage of David and Solomon.
At the time the story is told, Ahaz faces danger from the outside: Two of his Northern neighbours, the King of Israel and the King of Syria, have bonded together to overthrow their mutual overlord, the Assyrian Emperor, who is collecting tributes and taxes. And King Rezin of Syria and King Pekah of Israel also want King Ahaz of Judah to join them in their rebellion against the Assyrians.
But Ahaz refuses, which does not go down well in Israel and in Syria. The two kings turn now against Judah and try to force their will with violence and with might. In verse one of this chapter we read: “In the days of Ahaz … , King Rezin and King Pekah went up to attack Jerusalem.” Not a pleasant situation to say the least!
Yet, according to God’s prophet, these two kings are nothing, are without future. Isaiah says to Ahaz just six verses before we get to today’s reading: Ahaz, “[t]ake heed, be quiet , do not fear, and do not let your heart be faint because of these two smoldering stumps of firebrands, because … the … evil against you … shall not stand, and it shall not come to pass.”[4]
“Do not be afraid,” Isaiah prophesies. And this is why God continues to speak to Ahaz. “Again God spoke to Ahaz, saying”[5] – that’s the opening line of today’s reading. God is aware that Ahaz is afraid and God knows that if God falls silent Judah does not stand a chance. If God is silent, fear will take over, fear will destroy Ahaz’s faith, fear will overshadow God’s promises, fear will suffocate God’s blessing, and fear will then terrorize not only Ahaz, but it will also bring horror to the inhabitants of Jerusalem and of all of Judah.
God knows, too, that if God keeps talking, Ahaz might remember the stories of old going back further than even the stories of the Exodus from slavery and the liberation from Egypt’s yoke. God knows, if God keeps talking, Ahaz might remember the chronicles that speak of the divine love that empowered Abraham and Sarah not only to leave behind perceived security and move across treacherous territory, but that also conquered Abraham’s and Sarah’s fear of dying childless and granted them a son. God knows, if God keeps talking, Ahaz might remember the accounts of the many signs God has gifted to Her people, the signs that speak of God’s abiding presence and that reveal God as Emmanuel, as God-with-us, as God-with-us in the highest heaven as much as God-with-us in the “deep of Sheol,” in the deep of darkest night. Yes, fear won’t stand a chance, if God is talking… and if Ahaz is listening.
Unfortunately, Ahaz doesn’t listen to God. Instead, Ahaz listens to the wrong voice, gives in to the fear and refuses the signs offered by God. He reverts to default mode and listens to his fear, which whispers words of false security, words that make him rely on his limited abilities, on his own scheming and cunning.
According to the Second Book of Kings, Ahaz asks help not from God, but engages in a diplomatic ploy. He asks the Assyrians, of all people, he pleads with the overlords, the ones that extract tribute and taxes, to rescue him from the threat of Syria and Israel. Yet, this short-sighted rescue doesn’t come free for Ahaz: He has to pay King Tiglath Pileser of Assyria with silver and gold stripped from the temple.[6] He has to pay for a perceived safety with the integrity of his faith. In the end, he even places a copy of Tiglath Pileser’s altar inside the Jerusalem temple.[7]
In a way, Ahaz is not unlike the man in the flood at the beginning of this sermon, who also refuses God’s signs, God’s reaching out, and tries to be in charge instead. In the end, that cost the man his life. And Ahaz’s decision destroys his identity.
No wonder, Isaiah is not amused by Ahaz’s display of unbelief.
But the amazing thing in today’s reading is this: God’s self-revelation in our texts today doesn’t come through a condemnation or a judgment of Ahaz, but through this: God doesn’t give up. God doesn’t allow for Ahaz’s fear – or for our fear for that matter – to have the final word. In verse 14, Isaiah says: “Look, the young woman is with child.” We might hear this verse as future tense, as a foretelling of the birth of God in Jesus Christ, but the Hebrew text also sets the birth into the present tense. Isaiah’s words confirm that God’s promise is already happening in Ahaz’s times as much as it is happening in this very moment here at St. Paul’s Anglican Church in Vancouver, BC.
Look , the birth is happening now. Look, God is setting signs that confirm God’s presence now. There is pain, there is failure, there is darkness, as there is labour in birth. But, look, life is happening, a child is born, God is with us, and fear has already lost the battle. Look, in the midst of our darkness, in the midst of our night, God gives any sign, gives any grace, to help us believe and live. Look, and you will find God, find Him in a manger among ox and donkey, as much as you will find Him in the life all around you.
Look, God is with us: Now!!
[1] Deuteronomy 6:16
[2] Cf. Exodus 17:7
[3] Cf. Matthew 4:7 & Luke 4:12
[4] Isaiah 7:4-6
[5] Isaiah 7:10
[6] 2 Kings 16:7f
[7] 2 Kings 16:10-18a
[The Reverend Markus Duenzkofer delivered this sermon on December 19, 2010.]
Posted by stpauls on under Bible Readings, Webmaster Blog |
Isaiah 7:10-16 ~ Bible Reading for December 19, 2010
The LORD spoke to Ahaz, saying, “Ask a sign of the LORD your God; let it be deep as Sheol or high as heaven.” But Ahaz said, “I will not ask, and I will not put the LORD to the test.”
Then Isaiah said: “Hear then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary mortals, that you weary my God also? Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel. He shall eat curds and honey by the time he knows how to refuse the evil and choose the good. For before the child knows how to refuse the evil and choose the good, the land before whose two kings you are in dread will be deserted.”
