Claimed by God and Nothing Can Change That - Sermon on Luke 3:15-22 - 01.13.2019

Listen to the gospel lesson and sermon here.

Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

15 As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah,¹⁶ John answered all of them by saying, "I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.¹⁷ His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire."²¹ Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened,²² and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."

A little show and tell for you this morning.  “This certifies that Daniel Brady Locke, son of John and Susan Locke was received into the Holy Christian Church through The Sacrament of Holy Baptism in the name of the Father and of the son and of the Holy Spirit in St. Mark’s Lutheran Church Claremont, NC on July 19, 1987.  Signed by Pastor Stanely L. Stiver.

This is my Certificate of Baptism.  My show and tell for the day. I also have, believe it or not, a bulletin, a picture, and the baptismal cloth used to dry my head.  I can never remember what hymn we sang that morning, so it’s nice to look back and see we sang “Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me.”  

July 19, 1987.  That’s the day God washed over me, cleansed me, made me whole, and made me an heir to the promise of eternal life.  That is the day that God named and claimed me as God’s child. And from that moment on, there was NOTHING, is nothing that I could/can do, thank God, to change that.  Daniel Brady Locke, child of God.

Now, believe it or not, I don’t remember much of anything about that day.  And to be completely honest, I didn’t know many of the specifics of my baptism until my seminary application directly asked questions about my baptism.

But pictures from that day tell me that I was surrounded by my parents and grandmothers, my 5 year old brother, aunts and uncles, and of course a entire congregation of people I didn’t yet know.  

At 6 weeks old, I was introduced to the sacrament of Holy Baptism.   Water was poured over my head. I was cleansed. I was washed clean from the power of sin, death, and the devil.  God intimately and inextricably claimed me forever. 

How many of you can recall your baptism?  Certainly most of us have no actual memory of the event, but rather do you know what day you were baptized?  Who were your sponsors? In what community of faith were you baptized. Do you recall the promises made by God? By your parents and/or sponsors?  By the community of faith.

Or if you haven’t been baptized, have you given any thought into being baptized?  Do you desire to be apart of the body of christ, to die in a death like Christ, and rise into new life like Christ?  

To be washed by the water and claimed by God as a child of God?

Or best yet, how many times have you participate in a baptism?  As a family member, sponsor, or simply a member of the congregation?  How many times have you replied “We Will and we ask God to help and guide us” when the pastor asks, “Do you promise to support and pray for the newly baptised in their new life in Christ?”

I grew up in the church.  The ELCA was born when I was a year old.  The Lutheran church is all I’ve ever known.  And even though as a kid I didn’t know much about my baptism or the significance of being baptised, I distinctly remember the font.  It was made of wood and stood about 4.5 half feet off the ground. It was about a foot and a half wide and was in the shape of an octagon.  It had pretty, decorative wood carvings around the edges. I have seen many like it since then.

But what I remember most is that it had a silver, metal bowl that sat in the top and there was a wooden lid with a cross on the top.  And for my entire childhood, the font sat off to the side of the sanctuary, with no water, and the lid on top. It was only opened and filled when there was a baptism. 

In retrospect, it seems so strange to me that we would keep something so central to our faith, a sacrament none-the-less, something so foundational to our identity, that we would keep it off to the side and out of mind unless needed.  Why not bring it front and center.  Prominent and overflowing.  A constant visual reminder of the grace of God.  A testament to who and whose we are?

Today we celebrate Baptism of Our Lord Sunday.  Following Advent and Christmas, we continue to the season and Spirit of Epiphany...of Christ being made known, and we celebrate Christ being baptized in the river Jordan.

And Today, our gospel text brings baptism front and center.  John the Baptist was busy preaching and teaching. He was on the scene out of the wilderness and he had developed quite the following. 

Our text says that people were filled with expectation, eager with anticipation. They were questioning whether John might be the one.  The messiah they had longed for. 

Then John does what in my opinion is one of the most humblest things in all of scripture.  Rather than play up the crowds and anticipation and soak in their affection and curiosity. John steps out of the way.  He moves to the side. He points to Christ. John redirects their attention. He bows out and lifts up Christ. 

And out of the crowds, out from among them, Jesus comes forth to be baptized.  And what seems like just another baptism, this one has a different result. The heaves split open and the Holy Spirit descended upon Jesus in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” 

Front and center, at the start of Jesus’ public ministry, God declares Jesus as God’s son, a beloved child, in whom God is well pleased.   Jesus is the Messiah, the one hoped for. All of the crowds’ and the world's expectations fulfilled and assured in that moment.

About the time I was in late elementary school, Pastor Stanley Stiver retired from St. Mark’s, and we welcomed a wonderful man, named Jim Stephenson.   Within his first week, he made two major changes to the worship space. 

First, he pulled the altar away from the wall.   I’ve since learned that they were called Walltars.  Anyways, he moved it forward so that he could stand behind it during communion. 

The second thing he moved was the font.  He placed the baptismal font in the front of the sanctuary, just in front of the steps.  He removed the lid and filled it with water.  And every single sermon, after reading the gospel from the pulpit, he would make his way to the font and preach from the water.  He had a small index card for his notes, and no matter what the topic of his sermon, no matter the text he would always always find some way to play in the water.

He was notorious for splashing around in the water, reminding us of our baptism.  His affection for the font and the water gave deeper meaning and and appreciation for who and whose we are.   He was known for dipping his hands in the water and saying, “in the name of the father, the name of the son and the name of Holy surprises.”

On his last day as our interim, after reading the gospel from the pulpit, he made his way to the font.  Looked down and Smiled as three goldfish swam around in the font. He said, “I wondered how long it would take for this to happen.” 

Pastor Jim brought baptism front and center.  I couldn’t tell you much detail about my baptism, but to this day I can tell you with confidence that Pastor Stephenson's commitment to keeping the sacrament front and center has stuck with me.  I credit him for my love and affection for the sacrament. 

Jesus, God made flesh, born among us took on death and was victorious.  Jesus conquered the grave and the abiding promise of God was fulfilled. God overpowered sin, death, and the devil, making way for new and life eternal.

And it is in the waters of baptism that God claims us as God’s children.  Marked with the cross of Christ, Sealed by the holy spirit. The heavens torn a part, the Spirit descends.  God makes us heirs of God’s promised salvation. God’s victory over death. 

God folds us into the story of compassion, love, grace, peace, and forgiveness.  God clothes us in mercy. And NOTHING, absolutely nothing, thank God, can change the life we have in God.  

Baptism is God’s action.  God’s claiming of us. God’s choosing and naming.  God welcomes us into the body of Christ and makes us heirs to the most incredible promise.  God does this purely out of God’s own goodness. God’s love is that powerful.

On this second Sunday of Epiphany, we celebrate baptism, we bring it front and center intentionally, lest we ever forget who and whose we are.  In the waters we die to our old selves, we are made new. We belong to God. Our identity, in the most holistic sense is inextricably connected to God.

And out of the waters, everything else in our lives is to be a expression of that grace.  A testament to that gift. That child of God and the body of Christ is our one and only true affiliation.  

In the waters God washes away the divisions of world.  Race, ethnicity, sex, gender..all the marks of human-made division fail in the grace of God to offer salvation in this holy sacrament.

Make no mistake that every group, organization, party, club, or other affiliation is a choice we make in our lives.  Some may have dues or regulations, rules and commitments, but in the end, they’re all choices and they all have the ability to fade away.  But baptism, God’s grace-filled claim on God’s people never, never fades away. Never expires. 

This is why baptism and remembrance of baptism is so important.   I love love love our font. I admit I wish it was deeper, but I’ll save that fight for another day.  I love that we literally have to walk around it in order to enter and exit the worship space. And if it weren’t cemented in the back of the church, there’s a good chance I’d be splashing in the water right now.

A few weeks ago, during the birthday for Christ service, I was standing in the back with Tracy Williams and her two daughters.  Cassidy and I were looking at the font and whispering to one another about the font and what it means. So I dipped my fingers in the water and sprinkled a bit at her and said “remember your baptism.”  Cassidy, without missing a beat took her hands in the water like you would in a pool and shoved a big ol wave back at me. Tracy turned around immediately and I confessed that I instigated.

Martin Luther said that we should rise every morning, splash water in our face, make the sign of the cross, and remember that we belong to God.  

The waters are a foundational, integral part of who and whose we are.  If you don’t already, I encourage you to acknowledge the gift of God’s grace each day.  Make the sign of the cross when you wash your face. Open the ELW to page 228 and remember the promises made.  Run your fingers through the water when enter and exit this space. And thank God, who is well pleased, that there is absolutely nothing in all of creation that can change that truth.  

Amen

© Pastor Daniel Locke, preached Jan. 13, 2019 @ St. Mark's Lutheran Church, Jacksonville, Florida

Roadwork, Pathways, and Transformations

The roadwork on Hendricks Avenue is endless.  I was warned when I first arrived in Jacksonville that “they” like to “work” on Hendricks Avenue every other year or so.  But ever since I arrived at St. Mark’s, “they” have been paving, stripping, repaving, and paving some more.  Some days I feel like Bill Murray in “Groundhog Day,” stuck in repetition.  Didn’t they pave this exact lane yesterday? 

Last week, I was sitting in traffic on University Blvd, waiting to turn on to Hendricks Avenue, and I heard the words of the prophet Isaiah in my head as John the Baptist is introduced in Luke 3, “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.’”

If Advent is a season of anticipation and preparation, anxious yet patient waiting-- a season calling us to prepare the way for the king of kings and to straighten and smooth pathways-- then it seemed oddly appropriate that I sit in traffic waiting for a giant truck to lay a new, shiny path for me to journey on.  So I waited to turn right, said a prayer of thanksgiving that the return of Jesus was not dependent upon FL-DOT or Duval Asphalt, and then waited some more.

By the time you read this, Advent has come and gone (here’s to hoping we can say the same for the work on Hendricks).  We transitioned from Advent to Christmas, and now Christmas to Epiphany as the liturgical cycle continues.  But I wonder, have our lives been changed by all the hard work of Advent-- the waiting, anticipation, and preparation?  We spent a significant amount of emotional and spiritual energy preparing the way, making straight the paths, filling the valleys, and lowering the mountains.  Are we at all changed by the labor of Advent?  Or like Hendricks Avenue being “worked” on every other year, are we resigned to simply wait around for another time of waiting?  Do we wait for waiting’s sake because that’s what “we” like to do?

True, our waiting comes to somewhat of a culmination on Christmas Eve as we remember the birth of Christ but, deep down within our Christian identities, waiting is deeply rooted in the promised return of our Messiah.  And with every season of waiting-- active waiting-- the path is formed, reformed, and transformed.  Each cycle of waiting brings new light to the imperfections of our way.  Once corrected, lowered, raised, or straightened, our new, shiny way yields a renewed sense of waiting-- active, proclamation-filled waiting.  A re-reformed path should be easier to traverse, clearly marked with signs and direction. 

Maybe I’m naive and hopeful because I’m still new to Jacksonville, but I think the work on Hendricks Avenue will come to an end (even if temporary).  Then we will travel Hendricks again and again until such a time that it needs to be “worked” on once more. 

The same is true with us.  Advent was a season of waiting and preparation, making straight the paths.  Now that Advent has gone (and it will come again), how has your life in Christ been changed?  Illumined?  Reformed? Transformed?

© Pastor Daniel Locke, published 01.2019 in St. Mark's Lutheran January Messenger, Jax, FL.

A single flame - Sermon on Matthew 2:1-12 - 01.06.2019

Listen to the gospel lesson and sermon here.

Matthew 2:1-12

In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, ² asking, "Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage." ³ When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; ⁴ and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. ⁵ They told him, "In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: ⁶ "And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.' " ⁷ Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. ⁸ Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, "Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage." ⁹ When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. ¹⁰ When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. ¹¹ On entering the house, they 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. ¹² And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

 

Today is a significant day, not only because it’s Epiphany, but because I, as a preacher and pastor have reached what I believe to be a Rite of Passage in my preaching career.  In fact, I think it’s a significant moment in every pastor’s career. It’s the moment that I decide I really want to share a relevant story to start my sermon today, but I can’t remember if and when I might have already told it.

So, let me preface by saying, if you’ve already heard this story, I’m sorry to be repetitive.   And I hope, despite the repetition, that it might resonate with you today. On this day of Epiphany.  And to be certain, as I continue to grow in wisdom and age here at St. Mark’s, this undoubtedly won’t be the last time I repeat myself.  

In the mountains of Tennessee, near Chattanooga, there is a place called Ruby Falls.  Ruby Falls is the nation’s tallest and deepest underground waterfall. In 2007, dad and I took a tour a Ruby Falls.  We entered the elevator and descended nearly 1200 feet below Lookout Mountain.

And as the doors opened, we stepped into a large cavern, busy with tourists.   And just beyond the souvenir stands and food vendors was this enormous waterfall, Ruby Falls.  It was backlit with red flood lights, making it look like...well...Ruby. The falls were named after the discoverer’s wife, Ruby.

Once in the cavern we joined our tour group. The tour would take us deeper into the cave system, so we could take in the stalagmite and stalactites and the wonders of naturally made beauty.  After walking a way, we stepped through a big metal door frame into what I would call a dead end… a nightmare for anyone claustrophobic. Once we gathered in the room, the big metal door slammed behind us.  Our tour guide said, “don’t panic...I’m going to turn off the lights.”

He turned off the lights and gave us a minute to adjust.  He then said, “you are now standing in completely darkness.”  100% darkness….” The room was completely deprived of light. And he told us that no matter what we did or how hard we tried, we would never be able to see even our hand in front of our face.  And what’s even more terrifying is that he said if we stayed down there long enough, eventually we would become temporarily blind because we weren’t using our sense of sight.

Now here’s the fun part, and I had no idea this was a thing.  But he said that actually if you take your hands and rub them together like this really fast, eventually the static friction between your hands would create a warm blue glow.

After about a minute of everyone furiously rubbing their palms together, he cracked and said, I’m just kidding.  That’s not true.

Then he said, “Let me show you something that is infinitely true.  He said, “no matter how dark it may be, even in 100%, complete darkness, the light of a single flame can illumine an entire room.  A single flame has the power to overcome and dispel the darkness.” He struck a lighter, and instantly we were able to once again see our own hand, our neighbor.  And after enough time, we could see across the room.”

A single flame has the power to overcome and dispel the darkness.  Even in complete, oppressive darkness, a single flame gave us vision, direction, and hope.

That is Epiphany.  That is the manifestation of Christ to the whole world.  That’s the power of God incarnate, born to the world to live, breath, reign, and rule as a king of kings, a lord of lords, and wonderful counselor, and a mighty prince of peace.  Christ as the Messiah, Emmanuel - God with us.

A single flame ignited in the dark to drive away the darkness.  To overcome sin, death, and the devil. To dispel the oppressive darkness in the world.

The celebration of Epiphany is a celebration that the light of Christ shines in the darkness and the darkness does not, cannot, and will not ever overcome it.  It is a celebration that God has become incarnate and taken on life for the sake of the whole world. All people. All nations. All Races. From the shepherds of the fields watching their sheep by night to wisemen in the East.  

Every year on Epiphany we hear this story from Matthew.  The story of wise men from the East, journeying to Bethlehem, guided only by a star, to see the child that has been born king of the Jews.  

Tradition has romanticized this story.  We have grown to appreciate the sentimentality of three wise men bringing three gifts worthy of a king.  Tradition has gone so far to name these three wise men and predict their origin. Melchior, Caspar, and Balthazar.  

The reality is, we don’t know how many wise men there were or even exactly where they came from.  All we know is that they were born into a priestly lineage within a religion that valued the reading of stars.  They were astrologists, reading the sky. And their place within scripture is recognized on Epiphany to celebrate the reach and breadth of the message of God with us in the birth of Christ.  The story of the wise men marks the overwhelming inclusiveness of God’s love and salvation through Jesus. From the shepherds of the field to the wise men in the east.

Through Christmas and Epiphany, we celebrate and remember that God’s promised Messiah is for all people.  God’s love incarnate in the world to live, breathe, and save is for all peoples. All places. All nations.  All races.

That the light of Christ has been born among us to ignite the world with a promise of everlasting love, peace, grace, and above all, hope.  The love of God shines in the darkness, revealing the way for all people, restoring hope to all nations.

But I think there is another important story to be told on this day of Epiphany.  The text tells us that “When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; ⁴ and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born…

Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. ⁸ Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, "Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.

“So that I may also go and pay him homage.”  Let’s be clear that homage in this case does not mean public honor and respect.  King Herod’s motives are not out of admiration or mutual respect. Herod, frightened and worried, wanted to find the new born king of the Jews because he was threatened.  

He knew good and well, not only of the prophecy of a Messiah born from the lineage of David, but he knew that he was not that king.  He was not of the prophesied lineage and therefore not the king of kings. And some day, if prophecies were fulfilled, his reign as king might be usurped.  

And let’s remember that shortly after Jesus is born, Joseph, Mary, and the new born king of the Jews flee to Egypt as refugees because King Herod out of fear and terror orders all children 2 and under to be killed in and around Bethlehem.   An entire generation of children killed because Herod feared his power was at risk.

On this day of Epiphany, we celebrate the light of Christ shining in the darkness...giving way to vision, direction, and hope.  Revealing the way for all people. Epiphany calls us to proclaim this message of hope. To remind the world that even in the darkest situations, the light of Christ, a single flame, has the power to overcome and dispel all darkness.

But I think there is another power to this light.  The brighter the light shines, the more it is reflected, the stronger it burns and the more it unveils.   

In our new house Sarah and I have hardwood floors throughout the entire house.  And many of you know that we have a dog. A husky. A very hairy husky. He sheds like it’s his job and hobby. And for the most part you don’t notice the dog hair all over the floor.

But when I pull out the vacuum, plug it in, and turn it on...there is a small light on the front of the vacuum cleaner and it just illuminates every single strand of dog hair.  The way the light hits the hardwood at such a low angle….1000s of hairs that were previously unseen become ever so present.

That’s the power of the light of Christ. The light of love, truth, justice, grace, forgiveness, and peace.   

It burns to shed a light on the fractures and cracks of society.  Light to illumine darkness and unveil injustice. Light to convict wrongdoing, and false witness.

Light shines not only to the lowest, least, and last among us, like shepherds in the field watching their flock by night, empowering a renewed sense of hope and promise.  

But the light also shines to reveal the brokenness of creation...so the mighty and self-righteous might be cast from their thrones.  

If the light of a single flame can illuminate a single room, giving way to vision and hope then how much more powerful can the promise of God in the Emmanuel burn with each of us. Empowering the body of Christ to burn as a beacon of hope, casting truth in the face of fear, hate, and terror.  

That is Epiphany. God’s fulfilled promise to be among us.  As the Messiah. To clothe the downtrodden, faint of heart, discarded, and hopeless in the light of love, truth, grace, and hope…

To expose and convict the brokenness of the world.  Even to the point of death.

Friends, there is no doubt that we continue to live in a dark, broken world.  The cracks run deep and there is so much darkness….so much oppressiveness, sin, injustice, hate, fear, terror, and brokenness that needs to be illuminated.

But let me tell you something that is infinitely true.  The light of Christ still shines this day. In all places.  For all people. In all nations. For all races. And At all times.  The light of Christ shines and it cannot, and will not ever by extinguished.  Especially by darkness. There is nothing we can do about that…. except perhaps fan the flame, reflect the light, and proclaim the good news...until all the brokenness of the world is unveiled, and brought forth to repent, believe, and be made whole.

That is the invitation and power of Epiphany.    Amen.