Sermon on John 2:1-11

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

The Gospel of John doesn’t call miracles “miracles.” It calls them “signs.” This might seem like an insignificant detail, but it’s important:

A miracle is miraculous because of what it is. It’s a show of power that defies the laws of nature.

A sign points to something beyond itself. Each of the seven signs in the Gospel of John tells us something about God.

The sign of Jesus turning water into wine might seem like a weird one for the Gospel of John to begin with. It’s not life-altering like healing someone or dramatic like walking on water. Jesus doesn’t even get credit like he does when feeding the 5,000!

Even Jesus seems reluctant to get involved. It’s only at his mother’s urging that he does anything at all!

Mary notices that the wine is running out at the wedding she, Jesus, and the disciples are attending. Hospitality is an incredibly important value in their culture, so running out of wine is horribly embarrassing.

In this story, there is lack. There is scarcity.

But Mary notices what is lacking and has the insight that Jesus could do something about it. She isn’t initially successful in convincing Jesus to act, but she pursues her insight anyway. She points the servants to Jesus and directs them to do what Jesus says.

And Jesus quietly, discreetly turns water into wine.

And remember, as remarkable as this is, this isn’t just a miracle (though it is impressive). This is a sign. This tells us something about God.

When Mary first alerts Jesus to the lack of wine, Jesus tells her that his “hour has not yet come.” “His hour” is the cross and resurrection. It’s not yet time to do what he has come to do.

But, this is the first sign that points to it.

Jesus is the fulfillment of the Reign of God. Throughout the Bible, God, and specifically Jesus,is referred to as someone getting married. We see an example of that in our Isaiah reading today:

“as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, / so shall your God rejoice over you.” And in other parts of the Bible, the fulfillment of the Reign of God is described as a wedding feast.

This first sign points us to the “wedding feast of the Lamb,” the fulfillment of the Reign of God, and God’s glorious, lavish abundance.

It’s all too easy, though, for us to fall into a mindset of scarcity. It seems more realistic:

It seems like there are only so many resources to go around, so we’ve got to make sure we, or other people who are deserving, receive them.

And that leads us to creating—consciously or not—hierarchies of people.

We, the institutions we support, and society in general can start treating people differently based on any number of factors: race, gender identity, economic status, education level, body size, physical ability—it goes on and on.

If a CEO and someone who is unhoused walked into pretty much any building anywhere around here, they would be treated differently.

A mindset of scarcity can lead us to judging whether people are deserving or not and deciding whose lives are more important than others.

We can start asking ourselves: what concern are other people’s problems to me?

The truth is: they have everything to do with us. We are all made in the image of our God, who loves each of us and wants us to be in relationship with one another.

When we start asking ourselves what concern are others to me, God sometimes puts someone like Mary in our lives to encourage us to get involved.

When we fall into a mindset of scarcity, God calls us to something different: a mindset of abundance, where there is enough for everyone, where everyone is important and cherished.

For example, God called Martin Luther King Jr., whose life and work we will celebrate as a nation tomorrow, and God called so many others during the Civil Rights Movement to a mindset of abundance.

God gave Dr. King a dream.

Dr. King drew on biblical imagery of what the Reign of God would look like, saying: “we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream.”

He had tangible ideas of what that would look like, such as:

·        there would be no signs saying “for whites only”

·        Black people would have equal access to housing, lodging, and hotels

·        Black people would have the full voting rights they had been promised

And he had broader, more philosophical ideas of what justice and righteousness would look like:

·        That “the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood”

·        “that[his] four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character”

·        That “all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning: My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrims' pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring.”

We, as a nation, as a world, and as a church, fall so far short of this dream still. Yes, there have been improvements, but there is still so much disparity in housing, education, employment, rates of incarceration, and healthcare between people of different races.

There have been improvements, but racism has gotten subtler—it hasn’t died.

Disparity based on race has continued to work its way into our institutions.

It’s harder to point to than different sections of a bus or different bathrooms.

It’s less likely that you will hear an overt racial slur (though that, of course, still happens), but it’s harder to point out why backhanded compliments like “you’re so articulate” or “you’re a credit to your race” are so hurtful.

Death by a thousand paper cuts. Or not getting a job because one’s resume has a name on it that doesn’t sound white. Or getting pulled over because one lives in a “bad neighborhood.” It’s much harder to identify racism when it’s not explicitly codified in law but happens anyway.

Some people are deemed more important than others or less of a threat than others or more likely to succeed than others. That’s the scarcity mindset talking.

That is not what God calls us to.

God created us each in God’s image—every person of every skin color and hair texture. People of every profession and education level and economic status. People who our society celebrates and those who are forgotten and marginalized.

In our Gospel story today, those who are “in” on the secret of where the wine came from are the servants—they are the ones at the margins of the wedding. They are the ones who are working when others are celebrating. They are waiting on others. They are the people in the background. They are the ones deemed not as important as the guests.

And they are the ones who see Jesus more clearly than anyone else there (other than Mary, of course). They are the ones who see the sign and what it points to.

God calls us to a sense of abundance that is something far beyond simply physical wealth—beyond Teslas and yachts and designer clothes. God calls us to abundant celebration together. And it is often the most marginalized that see most clearly the vision of what abundance means.

God calls us to a dream of radical community,

where the least are the greatest,

where the forgotten see God,

and where God’s abundance means that the celebration goes on forever.

Let that spirit of abundance cast out any fear of scarcity, and let freedom ring!

First Lutheran Church

January 9, 2022 – The Baptism of Christ

Isaiah 43:1-3aBut now 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. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.

Luke 3:15-17, 21-22As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, 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. 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. ”Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, 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.”

Sermon “Fear and Faith”

Rev. Greg Ronning

“Be not afraid, I go before you always.” “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.” -  “Be not afraid.”

One of the most frequent commands found in the bible, one of the most basic of encouragements from God found in the bible, is, “Do not be afraid.”  You’ve heard me say that before from this pulpit and you will hear me say it again!  In my New Revised Standard Version of the Bible the phrase, “Do not be afraid,” appears 149 times; the phrase, “Have no fear,” appears 225 times; and the words, “fear not,” appear 424 times.  God does not want us to live out of fear, God does not want us to be motivated by fear, God does not want us to make choices based on fear; God does not want us to be afraid.  “Be not afraid.”

Instead, we are called to choose life, to embrace the possibilities of the kingdom; to live according to the dreams, passions, and vocation God has placed in our hearts; to allow ourselves to be graced; to step away from the tyranny of the law and into the freedom of the gospel;- we are called not to fear but to love! 

Yet, we are afraid. We live in fear. Despite the gift of faith that is undeniably ours, despite the wonderful promises of scripture that we claim, despite the ongoing witness of our baptism, despite God’s loving presence in bread and wine, despite the fact that we hang out with faithful people who do faithful things, despite the fact that we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses; - we are still afraid!

And why not?  Of course we are!  There are so many things “out there” of which to be afraid! So many things we “should,” without question, fear.  In fact, the experience of fear is actually very critical to our survival as individuals and as a species. Fear is not always a bad thing.  Clinical Psychologist Zachary Sikora reminds us, “Fear is a natural and biological condition that we all experience.” … “It’s important that we experience fear because it keeps us safe.”

Fear is experienced in your mind, producing a strong physical reaction in your body. As soon as you recognize fear, the middle part of your brain, the so-called reptilian part of your brain, goes right to work. It alerts your nervous system, which sets your body’s fear response into motion. Stress hormones are released. Your blood pressure and heart rate increase. You start breathing faster. Even your blood flow changes — blood actually flows away from your heart and into your limbs, making it easier for you to start throwing punches, or run for your life. Your body is preparing for that “fight-or-flight” response.

So it is that all “fear” is not bad, and that some fear is absolutely necessary! For example, fear of wild animals like bears and mountain lions, is not a bad thing!  It turns out that fear is a very complex human emotion that can be positive and healthy, as well as negative and unhealthy.  There are some things we should fear, and some things we should not fear.  But how do we know the difference?

Max Lucado, the popular author, and pastor from at Oak Hills Church in San Antonio Texas, writes regarding the difference between “healthy fear” and “unhealthy phobias, ”or in his words the difference between, “prudence” and “paranoia.”

“The step between prudence and paranoia is short and steep. Prudence wears a seat belt. Paranoia avoids cars. Prudence washes with soap. Paranoia avoids human contact. Prudence saves for old age. Paranoia hoards even trash. Prudence prepares and plans. Paranoia panics. Prudence calculates the risk and takes the plunge. Paranoia never enters the water.”

When it comes to “fear,” Lucado believes it’s a matter of “Prudence vs. Paranoia,” “healthy fear vs. unhealthy phobias.”

To be paranoid, is to feel threatened with little to no evidence that you are in danger.  To be paranoid is to exaggerate circumstances, to be delusional. To be paranoid is to be distrustful, unreasonable, self-centered, and obsessed. "In paranoia, your fears become amplified and everyone you meet becomes drawn into that web. You become the center of a threatening universe. "Paranoia leads to a downward spiral.

Lucado chooses “prudence” to describe the opposite of paranoia, and to be honest I am not a fan of that particular word.  It seems a little “too safe” to me!  Too safe for the radical disposition of the gospel.  However, prudence can also mean, to be wise, to be shrewd, to discern, and to be canny. (Astute, clever, sly, wily, crafty).I like those words better, they’re more adventurous, more like how I imagine Jesus, they describe a “faithful fear response,” the opposite of paranoia.

My favorite line in Lucado’s contrast of “paranoia” and “prudence,” “unhealthy fear” and “healthy” fear, is the last couplet, “Prudence calculates the risk and takes the plunge. Paranoia never enters the water.”

I like that phrase because that is the invitation that is before us this morning, an invitation to “take the plunge!”  Today we celebrate the baptism of Christ, Jesus’ submission to the waters of baptism, the waters of death and life.  Today we are invited to remember our baptism, to continue our baptismal journey, to lean into the consequences of our baptism, to let go and to trust in the goodness of God, to let go of our worldly conflicted understanding of self, to claim that bold heavenly declaration, “You are my [child,] the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

You see, phobia, unhealthy fear, is not able to enter these waters; phobic fear cannot let go of the world, phobic fear cannot trust in the goodness of God, phobic fear cannot envision a kingdom without privilege, phobic fear cannot love neighbor let alone the stranger, phobic fear cannot give up control even when things are out of control, phobic fear cannot surrender its selfish nature, phobic fear cannot give up its desire to “save” myself. Phobic fear, unhealthy fear, cannot begin to enter the waters of baptism.  It’s just too risky!

So it is that the scriptures remind us, and encourage us, time and time again, “Be not afraid.” So it is that the Spirit exhorts us, “Calculate the risk and take the plunge,” “Be wise, be shrewd, discern, and be canny.” “Be faithful in your fear.”

Today, on The Baptism of Christ Sunday, we are invited to “confirm” our baptism; to confirm that we are nothing less and nothing more than the beloved of God, to confirm that we have been redeemed and set free from this world’s paranoia to live abundantly in the Kingdom of God, to confirm our calling to love and to serve our neighbors with our time, talents, and treasures.  To confirm that we have walked away from this world and its fears and stepped deeply into the waters of baptism, into the realm of the kingdom.  To confirm that we are alive in Christ.

In the sixth chapter of Romans, St. Paul’s reminds us of the radical nature of baptism, “For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.  … But if we have died with Christ, we believe that we will also live with him.  We know that Christ, being raised from the dead, will never die again; death no longer has dominion over him.  The death he died, he died to sin, once for all; but the life he lives, he lives to God.  So you also must consider yourselves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus.”

“Be not afraid, I go before you always.”  The final word does not belong to fear or paranoia, the final word belongs to Christ.  The final word belongs to the waters of baptism.  And in Christ you have taken “the plunge,” in Christ you have been made alive, in Christ you are beloved.

May this truth set you free from unhealthy fear and make you ever bold in your faith. Amen.

Sermon on John 1:1-18

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 

There’s something about these words that is so simple that it’s hard to say anything more about them.

And there’s something about these words that is so mysterious that it’s hard to say anything more about them.

There’s something paradoxical about this passage. 

It’s simple and deep. 

It’s straightforward and mysterious.

These qualities are both true and yet seem opposite. And somehow more truth rests in the tension between the two truths.

Our faith is full of these paradoxes.

In the Christmas season alone:

Jesus is both all human and all divine.

Jesus is a helpless baby and the creator of the universe.

Jesus is enfleshed in a human body that will die and is also the eternal, powerful fulfillment of the Reign of God.

Where do you start when trying to tell all of these truths in Jesus’ story?

Our ancestors in faith have some ideas. The writers of our four Gospels each take a different approach in telling Jesus’ story:

The Gospel of Mark starts with Jesus’ baptism—when his earthly ministry begins in earnest.

The Gospel of Luke starts with John the Baptist’s and Jesus’ births.

The Gospel of Matthew starts with a genealogy stretching back to Abraham, which locates Jesus within the greater story of the Jewish people.

Then, there’s the Gospel of John, which goes back to the Beginning.

“In the beginning was the Word” sounds an awful lot like: 

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth,” which is the opening line of the book of Genesis.

That’s not a coincidence—the writer of the Gospel of John is making sure we know that Jesus’ story does not begin at his baptism, birth, or even with his ancestor Abraham.
Jesus’ story begins at the capital “B” Beginning.

That’s important, because that gets us to another paradox of our faith:

God is both the cosmic Creator who orchestrates the movement of the stars in an ever-expanding universe

And God is the tender nurturer of the tiniest sparrow.

And, as Jesus reminds us, we are worth many sparrows.

God is at once concerned with what is cosmic and what is particular—particular to the smallest detail of creation, and particular to humanity, and particular to each and every one of us.

When the Gospel of John describes God becoming human it says, “And the Word became flesh and lived among us.” The word “lived” has a sense of “set up a tent.” It’s reminiscent of the people of Israel wandering in the wilderness, bringing with them a tent or tabernacle for God’s dwelling place.

God lived with God’s people in the wilderness when they were definitely not at their best. From creating and worshiping idols to complaining repeatedly about the food, the water, or the lack of it, the Israelites were probably not pleasant to be around. 

And anyone who’s been camping knows that we’re generally not at our most pristine even in the most glam of campsites. And that’s after a weekend, not forty years.

And Jesus, who was there at the beginning,  without whom not one thing came into being,  and who will rule over the cosmos for eternity, 

Jesus came not at a time when there was a holy ruler or when Israel was in a position of power among the nations. Jesus didn’t even come to a rich or noble family.

Jesus came to a poor, unwed mother and a craftsman surrogate father in occupied territory in a dangerous time.

Jesus set up his tent with us when we—as humans—were definitely not at our best.

The Creator of the universe is also intent on and deeply invested in the particulars of our messy, confusing lives.

Jesus came to be with us because he cares, not just about the universe as a whole, but about you. You are God’s beloved. No matter how messy or confusing your life is, nothing will make God love you any less. Jesus wholly and deeply loves you forever.

This leads us to another paradox:

While God is powerful and eternal and boundless in ways we will never understand, let alone be, we—finite, fallible human beings—are still made in God’s image.

Though we fall short constantly, we are still like God.

We, like God, can love both the whole of creation and the particulars of it.

We, like God, can set up our tents wherever we are and love the particular, messy people we are surrounded by.

We can be grieved by big picture things: wars, natural disasters, climate change, human trafficking, racism, violence, poverty, and so many other terrible things.

And sometimes we can get overwhelmed by the magnitude of the world’s tragedies. Compassion fatigue is real.

That’s when it can be helpful to focus on the particular: the individuals around us. We, as individuals, may not be able to feed all the hungry people in the world—though there are things even we as individuals can do to ease world hunger—but we can certainly do something about our hungry neighbors—whether through our Caring Hands ministry or dropping a meal off for a sick neighbor.

We can love both the world and our neighbor.

A great example of someone who loved the world and his neighbor is Archbishop Desmond Tutu. I was terribly saddened to hear of his death last Sunday.

He was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for his leadership in the movement against the racist and oppressive system of apartheid in his home of South Africa. His voice was critical in the reconciliation work that took place in the dismantling of apartheid. He advocated for LGBTQ rights and equality among all people for the rest of his life. Because of his love for all humanity and the individuals that make up humanity, he was able to help change things for the better in the name of our God who loves both the cosmic and the particular.

This week, I stumbled across a children’s book Archbishop Tutu had written called Let There Be Light, which tells the creation story. His foreword perfectly illustrates the way God loves the cosmic and the individual. This is what he wrote:

“You are part of something truly amazing.

Long, long ago, the world was a dark and dreary place.

But then God said four marvelous words:

‘Let there be light.’

This book is about what happened then.

As you’ll see, God got very busy creating wondrous things.

And eventually, God said, ‘Let there be you.’

God wanted you to shine your own special light of love, because without you the world would not be quite as bright and beautiful.

God bless you,

Desmond Tutu”

In telling the creation story, Archbishop Tutu locates us in the grand scheme of things and also reminds us that God created us, specifically, as individuals, and God loves each of us as much as God loves all of creation. And God loves each of our neighbors as much as God loves all of creation.

So, people of this paradoxical faith, made in God’s amazing image, “without you the world would not be quite as bright and beautiful,” so “shine your own special light of love.”