Andy James

wandering the web since 1997

Presbyterian minister in Atlanta.
Music lover.
Found beer in seminary.

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Loving and Troubling Waters

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a sermon on Isaiah 43:1-7 and Luke 3:1-21
preached on January 10, 2016, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

You’ve gotta love John the Baptist. He bucks every trend in the book. His parents had so given up on having a child that his father directly questioned the messenger of God who brought this news and ended up mute for nine months. John himself took an old Jewish tradition of ritual washing and put new meaning on it by inviting people to venture out into the wilderness to repent and find forgiveness for their sins. He offered a message compelling enough to draw people out of the villages and cities to come hear him preach in the wilderness. And he managed to amass such a large group of followers that he still had a pretty big group left after calling them all a “brood of vipers” and suggesting that they were trees who would be cut down if they did not bear good fruit.

The people left behind took his words seriously and asked him what this repentance would look like in their lives. First, the told the general crowds that they should share from their abundance with those who are in need. Then, he instructed the tax collectors to be fair in their collections. Finally, when soldiers came, John told them to end extortion, treat people fairly, and be satisfied with their wages. People clearly thought that John was something important—they were “filled with expectation” and “questioning in their hearts concerning John”—but they couldn’t tell what he was really up to. Had he come to offer a new prophecy for their new time and their new challenges as a people under Roman rule? Had he come to lead a political rebellion against these strange overlords? Or had he come to be the Messiah, blending these political and religious roles to guide them out of this terrible morass and save them from all the difficulty that was before them?

According to Luke, John did not see himself as the Messiah. In his view, his baptism and his message were surely important, but there was something more coming up ahead:

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. 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.

John’s message was unmistakable—the old way of doing things that benefited only a few had to be set aside, and a new way of living had to emerge. Some would find hope in this new day, especially those who had little hope in the present, but others would find this new path far more challenging, with their power and privilege drawn into question along the way. This message had immediate and real consequences for John. There were some who were truly threatened by this way of life, and so the puppet king Herod threw John into prison because he had condemned several of Herod’s actions.

But somewhere along the way, it seems that John the Baptist had encountered Jesus. While all four gospels record an encounter between these two figures of renewal, our reading from Luke this morning is very vague about exactly what happened. “When all the people were baptized,” Jesus also “had been baptized.” Somehow Jesus was brought into John’s tradition, following in the footsteps of this one who had come “crying out in the wilderness” preparing the way of the Lord, offering himself to receive this baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, and claiming this connection with John and his troubling words at the beginning of his own ministry.

But we don’t usually think of baptism as in any way troubling. The brutal honesty of John the Baptist at the Jordan River in this reading is usually eclipsed at our modern-day baptismal font by a beautiful baby and smiling parents. These are generally not people that we would think of as a brood of vipers! Based on my conversations with them over the years, parents presenting their children for baptism are usually not concerned that their child needs to flee from any wrath ahead. And when approach baptism, we generally do not worry that we must bear good fruit or face the threat of being thrown into the fire. The troubling words of John the Baptist at the Jordan are likely replaced with something more like the gentle and hopeful words of the prophet Isaiah when we gather at the font:

Thus says the Lord,
he who created you, O Jacob,
he who formed you, O Israel:

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name,
you are mine.

When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;

and through the rivers,
they shall not overwhelm you;

when you walk through fire
you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you.

Surprisingly, in this case it is the Old Testament that gives us comfort and the New Testament that strikes fear into our bones!

But this strange mix of loving and troubling words is probably the most faithful thing we can carry when we come to the waters of baptism. There is great love revealed to us in these waters, the love of one who welcomes us no matter who we are, the love of one who stays with us when we feel like we are being overwhelmed, the love of one who gathers us in to show us the pathway to new life. But this great love also shows us that we have responsibility, too—responsibility to set aside the things that might get in the way of us embracing the fullness of this love, responsibility to care for those others who journey with us on this way, even if they do not venture into these waters themselves, even responsibility to examine ourselves to find ways that we can bear greater fruit as we follow the example of Jesus through these waters into new life.

Every time we approach these waters, we must carry all these words with us. Whether we come to the font to be baptized or to reaffirm the promises of the baptismal covenant, we are asked to reject sin, profess our faith in Christ Jesus, and confess the faith of the church, to honor John’s challenging words as we embrace his call to repentance and new life. But then we are even more reminded that these waters are a gift to us, a place that shows us how we are created for God’s glory, an opportunity to experience everything that we need to go forth in justice, love, and peace. These loving and troubling waters remind us of the depth and breadth of God’s care for us and presence with us and the real call and challenge that God gives us as we respond to all that we have received. And these loving and troubling waters express the deep wonder of God’s gifts to us, gifts that remind us that God loves us so much that God is not satisfied with the way things are now, gifts that invite us to respond to God’s love in our lives by joining in the transformation of our troubled world.

So as we reaffirm the promises of the baptismal covenant and remember our baptism today, may we experience God’s grace and mercy in these loving and troubling waters as we are assured of God’s love for us and empowered to join in God’s transformation of our broken and fearful world until Christ comes to make all things new. Lord, come quickly! Alleluia! Amen.

The Bright Star

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a sermon on Isaiah 60:1-6 and Matthew 2:1-12
preached on January 3, 2016, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

The light of Christmas is beginning to fade all around us. The discounts on Christmas decor are now up to 75 or 90 percent, if the stores haven’t given up on selling it altogether, and the unstoppable shift to Valentine’s Day has already begun. Tomorrow begins the inevitable return to the usual routine after two consecutive weeks of holidays for many people. Even the poinsettias here at the front of the sanctuary are wilting as we move beyond December 25.

But on this day when we celebrate Epiphany, the coming of the wise men as recounted in the gospel according to Matthew, the church calendar insists that we look at the bright star of Christ once more before we step away from it for another year. “Arise, shine, for your light has come!” the prophet declares. Isaiah almost certainly had another light in mind when he first wrote these words, but they nonetheless point beyond his immediate hope of new light in the returning exiles to the wondrous new light that broke into the world in Jesus Christ. And when the light comes, as it does in the appearance of a star in our gospel reading, it shines far beyond the places that we might expect, inviting even wise men from the East to respond with joy and hope to shine this light into the whole world.

In the light of this star, in the light of this season, we are called to bear forth this light into our world. This world is so weary, so much in need of new light. Violence strikes near and far, paralyzing us with fear. Hatred rises up from those who look like us and those who do not look like us, setting us against one another all the more. Uncertainty and fear hold us hostage, keeping us from following the light into new places and ways of living in hope. Our world needs the light of Christ, and we are called to let it shine in and through us each and every day.

There are so many ways that we can do this that it can sometimes be overwhelming! The darkness can be so great that we may have no idea where to begin shining our light. The light can shine from us in so many different ways that we may not know where we can offer our light best. And the gift of this light may overwhelm us, leaving us blinded and uncertain about how we can let it shine. So as we go out from the celebration of light to shine God’s light from our lives into the world, we may need a little help to sort out how we might shine in our world.

Toward that end, I offer you this star word to carry with you today.

This word speaks to one of the many ways that we can shine God’s light into our world. Think about how God is calling you to shine the light of this word into the world this year. If after a minute or two you just can’t see how you can make that word shine with God’s light in your life, then refresh this page and you will get another.

Friends, our light has come, and the glory of God has risen upon us, so may we shine God’s light into our weary world each and every day until all things are made new in the wondrous light of Jesus Christ our Lord. Thanks be to God! Amen.

Light in the Darkness

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a sermon on Luke 2:1-20, Isaiah 9:2-7, and John 1:1-14
preached on December 24, 2015, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

Sometimes it is hard to see the light. Even on these shortest days of the year, we are surrounded with more lights than we can every imagine. The bright lights of our city shine even more brightly surrounded by the festive bulbs of this season which seem to get brighter with each passing year. It turns out that our nation uses more electricity on Christmas lights than El Salvador, Ethiopia, Tanzania, Nepal, or Cambodia use in an entire year! Yet even with all these lights around us, the darkness of our world seems to prevail so easily.

As I look back over this year, I have seen so much of this pervasive darkness around us. In this darkness, we have been able to see refugees turned away in fear after putting their lives at risk to seek safety. In this darkness, we have been able to see war and strife escalate around the world as prayers and actions for peace seem to go unheard. In this darkness, we have been able to see people treated unfairly because of the color of their skin or the faith they choose to practice. In this darkness, we have been able to see countless people harmed by acts of terror, in startling acts of violence driven by perverted interpretations of faith, in the senseless and preventable tragedies of mass shootings, and in the deep hurt of violence perpetrated in the unseen recesses of homes far and near. And in this darkness, we have been able to see the politics of fear and hatred rise up with a new vengeance.

The darkness of our world is all too familiar, but there is plenty of darkness in our lives closer to home, too—maybe in the pain and hurt of divided families, perhaps in the midst of friendships challenged by change, maybe in distance of time or space that drives us apart from those we love, in illness and loneliness, in the search for meaningful work, in so many things that we can easily name, and in so many things that cannot so easily be named. Sometimes, oftentimes, it is hard to see the light.

When we look back to that first Christmas, it is easy to imagine that they had an easier time of seeing the light, but I think that the first Christmas had plenty of darkness, too. After all, the whole story began with an unexpected and unplanned child, conceived before the socially acceptable time. There was a special government edict that required a pregnant mother to put her health and life at risk to travel so close to her baby’s due date. There was a shortage of rooms in the inn that left this family with no place to stay other than in the manger out back. And a fear of the angel of the Lord left a bunch of shepherds cowering in the field.

Yet the events we celebrate tonight assure us that darkness is not the last word and that God is with us in all the darkness around us. “The glory of the Lord shone around them” when the shepherds were afraid, and they saw that there was light in their darkness. “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined,” and they saw that there was light in their darkness. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it”—and so we too can see that there is light in our darkness.

Even so, this good news of the birth of Jesus that we celebrate tonight does not mean that all the darkness of our world is suddenly flooded with light. Rather, the birth of Jesus at Christmas assures us that this light shines in the darkness, that there will be enough light from the glory of God in our midst to show us the way through to the new day that Christ will bring into being. I think author and preacher Barbara Brown Taylor puts it well:

Even when light fades and darkness falls—as it does every single day, in every single life—God does not turn the world over to some other deity. Even when you cannot see where you are going and no one answers when you call, this is not sufficient proof that you are alone. There is a divine presence that transcends all your ideas about it, along with all your language for calling it to your aid… But whether you decide to trust the witness of those who have gone before you, or you decide to do whatever it takes to become a witness yourself, here is the witness of faith: darkness is not dark to God; the night is as bright as the day. (Learning to Walk in the Dark, p. 15-16)

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” So in this world where it is so often hard to see the light, may we be people of the light—people working to shine God’s light into our weary world, people seeking to be a light shining in the darkness, people watching and waiting and working for a new and greater light to come into our world—so that we might see the glory of God in Jesus Christ this Christmas and every day until he comes in even greater glory to make all things new. Lord, come quickly! Alleluia! Amen.

Joseph: The Last to Know

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a sermon on Matthew 1:18-25
preached on December 20, 2015, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

Joseph must have been the last to know. They had been pledged to each other, all the steps toward marriage complete except for the final ceremony and celebration, when Mary figured out that something was going on in her body, that she was growing another human being inside her. Joseph would have had no clue about this for a while unless Mary told him what was going on, so I suspect she waited as long as she possibly could to tell him. Surely Mary knew that things would not go well when she did finally tell him—after all, modern attitudes about having children before marriage would not begin to kick in in most communities for two thousand years or so.

When he did find out, Joseph prepared to do exactly what you would expect—he decided to protect her reputation by “dismiss[ing] her quietly.” Except God had other plans. “Just when [Joseph] had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream.” Mary and her child would not be dismissed quietly so easily, for God was at work in her life. The angel told Joseph that he should take Mary as his wife after all, that there was no disgrace worth fearing from marrying her, for “the child conceived in her [was] from the Holy Spirit.” The next steps then became clear: Mary was to bear a son, whom he should name Jesus, “for he will save his people from their sins.”

When Joseph awoke from his dream, he set aside his plans to send Mary away. He followed the angel’s instructions and reaffirmed his commitment to her. Against all the cultural norms and expectations, Joseph took Mary as his wife and welcomed her son by the Holy Spirit as his own. In so doing, he took his place in the long line of his ancestors who had waited, watched, and worked for the coming of the Messiah. As Matthew puts it, “All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: ‘Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,’ which means, ‘God is with us.’” Even though his initial instincts suggested that he should do otherwise, Joseph would not get in the way of this new thing that God was doing in the world. Joseph may have been the last to know, but he was among the first to get out of the way of what God was doing in the life of Jesus.

As this season of Advent preparation draws to a close, as our look at some of the major personalities who mark these days comes to an end, Joseph gives us yet another perspective on how God calls us to wait in hope and respond in faith to the coming of Jesus into our world. Like Zechariah and Mary and Elizabeth before him, Joseph’s surprise at the events that unfolded around him cannot be duplicated in our own celebrations of the coming of Jesus at Christmas. When we enter these days of waiting, we generally know how things will turn out. The annual commemoration of Jesus’ birth will go forward as it always does. We will celebrate Christmas in the usual way at the usual time on the usual day. December 25th will come, and we will share this great feast that marks our lives and our world, and then we will return to the way things have been before until Christmas comes again next year.

But in that first Advent over two thousand years ago, these women and men found themselves in a much different place. They had varying levels of confidence in the proclamation offered to them by the angels, because the promises offered to them had not yet been fulfilled. They may have been told something about how the story of the birth of Jesus would go forward, but they certainly had no idea how this story would go on to end some thirty or so years later.

Like Zechariah, Mary, and Elizabeth, Joseph had to step out in faith. Doing what the angel told him to do would put his reputation on the line and risk his past, his present, and his future. Marrying this woman who became pregnant before she was married would risk being pulled away from his family. He could have been separated from his wife through her own punishment for this act that would be attributed to her. If they managed to stick together, everyone would have known what had happened to them, and the social capacity to shun such misbehavior was developed many centuries ago. Going forward as the angel instructed may have even left this new family without a way to get by—after all, who would hire a carpenter who married such a woman?

In the end, all these things would bring huge changes for them. In Matthew’s telling of the story, Joseph and Mary would be forced to leave their hometown of Bethlehem, first escaping to Egypt to elude the death squads of King Herod who came targeting all the infant boys of Jesus’ age, then finally settling in Jesus’ hometown of Nazareth to stay far, far away from this evil and jealous family. However, all this also meant that Joseph, Mary, and Jesus were able to begin a new life in a new town, separated from those who knew about this potentially disgraceful past by some 70 miles—maybe not all that far in our own time, but a long way in those days. Joseph may have been the last to know, but in the end he acted in confidence and hope that gave the space for Jesus to live out his call.

As we walk in our own Advent days, Joseph’s example can inspire and guide us in our own preparation. While we know what to expect in the days of Christmas that come so quickly before us, these Advent days still point us ahead to a time whose events are not so clear to us. So as we wait and watch and work for a different day to come, for the wonder of God’s kingdom to be unveiled in our midst, for the fullness of hope to be revealed among us, we can join with Joseph to trust God’s proclamation for our own world.

First, we can set aside our fears of being called out because we are different from others because of what we believe. Just as Joseph could stop worrying about what other people would say about his wife and child who might bear disgrace, we can stop worrying about whether other people will recognize our holidays, whether those we encounter will wish us a Merry Christmas, or whether we our way of life will be changed by people who think, believe, or practice their faith differently than we do. Whatever comes of these things, God’s presence will be with us, and that is what matters for us, just as it was what mattered for Joseph.

With Joseph as a witness for us, we can also think differently about the social assumptions we place upon people. If we act in the ways that God seemingly decrees for us, we would join the community—and Joseph himself—in rejecting the mother and child who brought salvation to our world! Instead, the witness of Joseph reminds us that God might be working beyond our expectations and usual pathways to bring something new into being around us. The people we so easily want to reject might just be the ones to show us a new way. God might just be working in ways beyond our comprehension to welcome a new thing into being. We are called to offer the kind of grace to all people that Joseph showed to Mary and Jesus, regardless of our fear, trusting that God is present in all these things in the transformation of our world through Jesus.

And Joseph’s witness reminds us that even when we do not know where the journey will lead us, God will go with us. Just as Joseph had no clue where he would end up as he welcomed this unexpected news and yet trusted the word of God offered to him by the angel, so we can trust the wondrous word that God offers us today, inviting us to set out on a different pathway, even if we cannot see where it will lead. Even though Joseph was the last to know what that road would look like, he was among the first to step out and follow, trusting that God would go with this holy family and guide them all along the way.

So as we walk these final Advent days, may we deeply trust that God is with us, setting aside our fears of how others might see the steps we take on this journey, welcoming others to join us along the way, and watching for signs of God’s presence on the journey until our greatest hope is fulfilled and all things are made new through Jesus Christ our Lord. Lord, come quickly! Alleluia! Amen.

Mary: Casting Aside Fear

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a sermon on Luke 1:26-55
preached on December 13, 2015, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

It had begun as an ordinary day in an ordinary town in Palestine for an ordinary hometown girl Mary, but by the time it was over everything was different for everyone. In the midst of this ordinary day, the angel Gabriel appeared to Mary and gave her the surprise of a lifetime. She had to have been startled and afraid, to say the least. What did God want to do with her anyway? She was just a young girl, waiting for her day to come as she would move into full adulthood upon her marriage to Joseph, preparing for the journey of life that seemed to be clear before her—but not yet begun—in marriage and childbearing, watching for something new to take hold in her own world and in the world around her.

But the angel Gabriel explained that God could and would do amazing things in and through her. First, he assured Mary that there was nothing to fear in this surprising visit. She had “found favor with God” and would “conceive in [her] womb and bear a son,” who would “be great, and… called the Son of the Most High.” Even her virginity would not get in the way of all this, for she would bear this holy child by the power of the Holy Spirit. After all this, just to make it abundantly clear, he closed by assuring her, “Nothing will be impossible with God.” Mary responded with confidence beyond her young age: “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” As the angel left her, she returned to her day, her life forever changed by this encounter on this ordinary day.

The days that change us usually start out looking pretty ordinary, too. Whether things change for the better or the worse, there is strangely little that distinguishes days of great change for us from others at first. The day we get a new job offer, the day we learn of the death of a good friend, the day the world around us seems to break down in yet another way—all these days begin in the same way even though they end with incredible shifts of life to bring us hope or cause us despair.

While our ordinary days are rarely if ever marked with the sort of direct encounter with an angel of the Lord as Mary experienced, we might find God in our midst in unexpected ways on our ordinary days. Maybe we will receive a surprising possibility that offers us a new and different way for the days ahead. Maybe a crisis will come that leaves us seeking God’s presence and hope as we respond. Or maybe our hopes and expectations for life have been upended, with no clear understandings of different possibilities for the days ahead even as we are challenged to set aside our fears and live in hope.

Amid all these unexpected encounters with God, the angel’s words to Mary should echo in our lives, too. The angel’s confident words “do not be afraid” and “nothing will be impossible with God” are addressed to us, too. In these fearful days, when even the most ordinary days seem filled with the possibilities of terror, when we wonder when, not if, when we will be victims of some dramatic tragedy, when we learn about disaster and crisis in every corner of the world almost instantaneously, when we are so easily turned against our common humanity because of our fears of things that are different or beyond our comprehension, when even the hopeful things of our lives can lead us to live in fear, the angel’s words to Mary should give us comfort. We do not have to be paralyzed by uncertainty, torn apart by anxiety, forced to live in fear and paranoia, or left wondering what will happen to us. In the light of Mary’s encounter with the angel, we can instead be confident that God’s presence will sustain us on our ordinary and extraordinary days. Even the transformation that we so desperately need and that seems so impossible to attain will not be impossible with God.

Mary’s changed life continued as she set out to meet her cousin Elizabeth. The angel had told her that Elizabeth was also experiencing the unexpected gift of a child, and so she set out to share these days with her relative. When she arrived, their joyous meeting reflected the new ordinary for both of them. They were filled with hope and wonder at the new lives that they were bearing into the world, and there was something incredible about sharing it together.

As their joy and hope met, they both broke into song. Elizabeth celebrated the gift of encountering this woman who would bear such a life into the world. Her son, still in her womb, leaped for joy as soon as Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, and they were all filled with the blessing of God as they shared this time.

Then Mary offered up her own words of praise in the incredible words that have come to be known as the Magnificat. Her rejoicing was directly addressed to God who made all these things possible, who lifted up this lowly, ordinary servant, showered great blessing upon her, and showed the wonder of God’s name in these acts. She rejoiced that God was doing a new thing in and through her to transform the world, showing strength and power and might over against the seemingly powerful persons of the world, lifting up the lowly, filling the hungry, sending the rich away empty, and helping God’s people by showing the depths of mercy and hope from generation to generation.

We can know these depths of mercy and hope in our own generation, too. We can walk together with our sisters and brothers in faith and life as Mary and Elizabeth did to find the hope that we need in our ordinary and extraordinary days. When we are overcome by fear and uncertainty, we can come together to find support for the journey. When we are tempted to retreat to our own corners of life and separate ourselves from others, we are reminded that we are better together. And when there is cause for rejoicing in our lives, there is no better way to do it than to share such a moment with others.

We can join Elizabeth and Mary in songs of praise to God of our own. When our world leaves us wondering how we might begin to offer thanks, we can still offer our cries for a different way. When we cry out in this way for God’s transformation to take hold, we praise God for the ways in which things have changed before and show the depth of our faith and hope that these things can and will take place again. And as our experiences bring songs of praise, we join our voices with Elizabeth and Mary and so many other generations, celebrating the ways that God has been at work in our midst even as we look for all things to be possible in God’s gift of the days ahead and work to set aside our fears so that we can fully participate in God’s new creation as it comes into our midst.

So as we journey through these Advent days, may we trust that the angel who spoke to Mary speaks also to us on our most ordinary and most extraordinary days, inviting us to set aside our fears and trust that nothing will be impossible with God, so that we might share in the wonder and hope that comes to us in the birth, life, death, resurrection, and reign of Jesus Christ until he comes again to make us and all things new. Lord, come quickly! Alleluia! Amen.