Tag Archives: violence

“Paul, Philippi, and Privilege” – Sermon on Philippians 3:4b-14



If anyone else has reason to be confident in the flesh, I have more: circumcised on the eighth day, a member of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew born of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee; as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to righteousness under the law, blameless.Yet whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss because of Christ. More than that, I regard everything as loss because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things, and I regard them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ

and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but one that comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God based on faith. I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death, if somehow I may attain the resurrection from the dead. Not that I have already obtained this or have already reached the goal; but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Beloved, I do not consider that I have made it my own; but this one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.

Let those of us then who are mature be of the same mind; and if you think differently about anything, this too God will reveal to you. Only let us hold fast to what we have attained.

Brothers and sisters, join in imitating me, and observe those who live according to the example you have in us. For many live as enemies of the cross of Christ; I have often told you of them, and now I tell you even with tears. Their end is destruction; their god is the belly; and their glory is in their shame; their minds are set on earthly things. But our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ. He will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory, by the power that also enables him to make all things subject to himself.” – Philippians 3:4b-14

This August, I took 24 youth to Dubuque, IA for our third mission/service and learning trip. We had so many wonderful experiences, and I really hope you will stop by founders hall today after worship to watch a slide show from our trip.

Every year we’ve had wonderful experiences in Iowa. However, the first year we went – several years ago, there was one experience that was not as wonderful as the rest.

While in Dubuque, we went to the local YMCA to shower each day after our service projects. At the Y, there was one locker room for girls under 18 years old and one locker room for women above 18. Unfortunately, the girl’s locker room did not have any enclosed showers with doors on them and only had one large open, shared shower.   Since I knew this would not be a very comfortable situation for our girls, I asked the manager months in advance if he would allow our girls to shower in the women’s locker room under my supervision so that they could access the private individual showers that were enclosed with walls and doors. The manager had no problem with this. Unfortunately, while we were in Iowa, two of the women in the locker room did… And what was even more unfortunate was that the manager who gave us permission was out of town that week…

Let’s just say that those two women were not very kind to our girls when they walked out of the showers… Or to me, (or to the rest of the YMCA staff) when they explained to these women that we had received permission because the Y was our only access to showers for the week… (Might I add that these same women were also not very kind to one of our other adult women chaperones when she accidentally dripped some water on the locker room floor when she walked into the locker room from the pool.)

In my conversation with these women, I heard a lot of: “this is the way we have always done it.” “I’ve been a member here for 22 years and it’s my right to be able to come to my locker room without having people like you break the rules.” And “I don’t care if you got permission, this is the rule, and if you don’t like it, then you can leave.”

After talking with the YMCA staff and a few other members later on in the week, we found out that we were not the only ones these women had been snippy with or had thrown a fit about… for various reasons…

These two women were long-term members, had established a set of “rules” – both written and unwritten – about the way things needed to be, and they believed that they had the right to enforce those rules because of their seniority. Newcomers and visitors needed to abide by their rules, and there were no exceptions. Period.


Privilege, entitlement, judgment, closed-mindedness, exclusion. These are some of the themes we see in this scenario that took place at the YMCA several years ago. And to be honest, I think these are some of the themes we see quite a bit today as our country is trying to determine who is welcome to live in this country, who gets to receive needed services and has particular rights, which victims of natural disasters should receive aid, who and how people should speak up against injustice, and how we might address local gun violence and world violence. And the list could go on.

And this scenario at the YMCA also reminds me of the situation Paul is addressing in his letter to the Philippian church. You see, the city of Philippi was in the center of Macedonia, and yet since it was considered a colony of the Roman Empire, all residents had Roman citizenship and therefore received the benefits that were awarded to the citizens of Rome, such as property rights, exemption from taxes that were enforced upon non-citizens of Rome, and civil and legal protections. Because of this, most citizens of Philippi were very proud of their Roman citizenship, viewed themselves as the elite residents of the preeminent city in the center of Macedonia, and often boasted about their status.

In addition to this, as with a few other churches Paul communicated with, within the church at Philippi there were some Christians who were insisting that any converts to Christianity must first take on the Jewish identity, such as observing the Jewish Sabbath and dietary laws and being circumcised, a practice that was viewed by many Greeks as revolting. In some instances where non-Jewish Christians did not observe such laws and chose not to be circumcised, they were deemed as “un-savable,” inferior to those who were “saved,” and were even excluded from meals and other gatherings. (Acts 15:1)

So, as we can see, the members of the church of Philippi inherited privileges (that many other Christians in Macedonia lacked) and were proud because these privileges elevated their social status above the others. And it is possible that they were using some of those privileges to exclude others from their community, unless these “others” first gave up their own identities and became like “one of them.”


Now, I can imagine many of us here have encountered modern-day prideful Philippians at least at one point in our lives. I imagine many of us at one time or another have known someone who has been excluded from a group or discriminated against because of their identities or lack of societal status — or some of us have even experienced this ourselves.

And yet, I wonder if any of us here can also see ourselves in the Philippian Christians. I wonder if we – too – have inherited privileges that allow us to enjoy benefits and opportunities that others around us cannot enjoy: Whether we benefit from the privileges of being white, male, Christian, heterosexual, cis-gender, or having socially accepted body weight and abilities – where we have never felt unsafe, been shamed by others, or discriminated against because of our identities or abilities. Or maybe we benefit from the privileges of being educated, employed, economically stable, or a U.S. citizen, where we are granted the rights of these statuses and never have to worry about putting food on our tables, losing our homes, or being deported back to very dangerous situations.

And within the church, some of us may even have the privilege of growing up in a Christian congregation and knowing the Christian lingo, being involved in the Lutheran denomination for as long as we can remember and knowing its rituals, or even worshipping here at Immanuel Lutheran Church for years and knowing its expectations and unwritten rules that newcomers do not know.

We might even sometimes expect that those newcomers must also act, talk, dress, worship, and think like we do in order for them to be fully included into our community or worship gathering.

And there may be some of us here who know what it is like to work really hard throughout our education process and our careers, are involved in our communities, and are pleased at how far we have come. And so it’s no wonder that there might be times when we feel so proud about our resumes and status that we can’t help but boast about our achievements.

It’s easy and very tempting when things go well in our lives to look at ourselves as better than those whose situations are not like our own and to look at those “others” with judgment… They are “lazy” or “not smart enough”; she has “poor leadership;” she isn’t making the “right” choices; he isn’t standing up for just causes in a “respectable” way, the way I would – we might think or say. And so we victim blame. They got themselves into these difficult situations. And as we point fingers at those people while we uplift our own choices, we often do so without recognizing our own inherited privileges – that so many others lack – and yet that have enabled us (maybe even with a lot of hard work) to get to where we are now.


And yet, for Paul, there is no room for finger pointing and boasting. No matter how impressive one’s resume or achievements are, no matter what community or “club” one is a member – or citizen – of, and no matter if one makes all sorts of the “right choices” (based on certain people’s standards) that have gotten that person to a comfortable and elevated place in society– according to Paul, this all counts for nothing.

Of all people, Paul knows this. At the beginning of our passage, Paul states that if anyone has the right to have confidence in the flesh (meaning confidence in one’s circumcision or Jewish identity markers, human achievements, or societal status) – if anyone has the right to be prideful of and boast about such things – it is Paul, himself, who has more. For it is Paul who has quite the extensive resume, as we see in our passage for today.

And yet, in his letter to the Philippians, Paul acknowledges his privilege that enabled him to reach such a worldly status and says whatever societal and religious “gains” he once had, he now regards as loss because of Christ. These “gains” no longer matter. They are rubbish, or in a more accurate translation and more crude terms: they are dung, horse manure… or whatever other four letter word that comes to your mind.

Contrary to his old understanding, Paul has not gained righteousness by making the “right choices” determined by the law that elevated his worldly status. Righteousness does not come from anything he has done to achieve it. Rather, Paul says: righteousness comes through faith in Christ – or, as some translators suggest: it comes through “the faithfulness of Christ.”

In other words, righteousness comes through the faith in or faithfulness of the One who came to bring good news to the poor, to proclaim release to the captives, give sight to the blind, and set the oppressed free. It comes through and because of the One who spoke out against all forms of violence and challenged the unjust hierarchical structures – both in Rome and the Temple – that created class systems of privilege, which elevated and cared for only some while marginalizing others. Righteousness comes through and because of the One who boldly and loudly proclaimed justice on behalf of the “least of these,” even though his radical teachings and actions ultimately led him to his arrest and eventual death on the cross. It comes through and because of the One who – through his resurrection – conquers injustice and death and brings forth new life, which is both that which is to come and that which liberates us from all the hate – the isms and phobias – that cause us to experience death here and now.

Righteousness comes through the One who calls all of his followers to choose this resurrection life that proclaims love, peace, and life-giving justice for all of God’s children, especially in a world where evil and suffering seem to overcome us. Because – as we see in Jesus’ resurrection – death does not have the final say. And we – as resurrection people – are called and gifted with the ability to share this good news of hope to a hurting world.

And so counter to what the world says, it no longer matters what our resume looks like, how much education we might or might not have, what our heritage, identity, or worldly status is, how long we have been in or out of the faith community, or whether or not we know the Christian lingo and rituals.

In Christ and because of Christ, we are all invited to the Table.

Now – according to Paul – what does matter is the way we live. And the way we love. That we become like Christ in his death. That we come to know him and be transformed by his compassion and the power of his resurrection – and in doing so – that we might emulate and share that love to all of God’s children, especially to those who are suffering the most.

What does matter is that we continue to learn about and acknowledge our privileges that have helped us get to where we are today and allow that acknowledgement of our privilege shape the way we look at, care for, love and stand in solidarity with others who walk through this world differently than we do. That we begin to listen to those voices around us that are not being heard or represented. That we begin to use our privilege to help right wrongs so that Christ’s liberating resurrection may not just be experienced in the future, but that it will also begin to be experienced by all in the here and now.

This is not an easy task, and we cannot just reach our goal with the snap of our fingers. It’s a process. It’s a life-long race that we cannot run on our own: it’s one we must pursue together.

And as we do, we must remember – as Paul explains – that we may never quite reach the finish line and obtain the prize at the end of the race. But, as we continue to learn how to take our eyes off the worldly values of our past, learn from our mistakes when we stumble or fall off the path, and let go of the guilt that sometimes weighs us down when we begin to acknowledge our privilege, we must press on toward the goal of the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.

And this is true – even and especially in times such as these – when evil and injustice overwhelm us and we feel so overcome by hopelessness and helplessness. And so in times such as these, may we sing and cling to the words of the late rocker Tom Petty: “Well, I won’t back down. You can stand me up at the gates of hell, but I won’t back down. No, I’ll stand my ground. Won’t be turned around. And I’ll keep this world from draggin me down, gonna stand my ground. Hey, there ain’t no easy way out. But I won’t back down. Well I know what’s right. I got just one life, in a world that keeps on pushin me around, but I’ll stand my ground. And I won’t back down.”




“A Lament For Times Such As These” – Sermon on the 20th Sunday after Pentecost



Scripture readings: Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4; 2 Timothy 1:1-14; Luke 17:5-10


How long, O Lord, how long!?

Many of us may have spoken these words from this morning’s passage in Habakkuk a lot lately.

Unrest, tension, and the ever-increasing division that’s taking place throughout our country as we get closer and closer to the end of this election season.

How long, O Lord, how Long!?

Devastating state budget cuts to programs and services that many in our community – including many of us – rely on.

How long, O Lord, how long!?

Indigenous communities fighting desperately to protect their water and sacred burial sites. More police shootings of unarmed persons of color. The continuous bombings of innocent families in Aleppo, Syria.

How long, O Lord, how long!?

Financial strain. The death of a loved one. A debilitating illness…The loss of a job. Broken relationships. Depression and anxiety.

Too often in times such as these, it can be easy to just check out. We often feel so overwhelmed with grief, anger, and pain. The needs around us seem too great, and we feel lost and defeated by a sense of helplessness. We fear the kind of backlash we might receive if we do speak out against injustice. We wonder where God is in the midst of all of this suffering, and we worry that if we express our real emotions and if we are honest about our doubts, others – and maybe even we – ourselves – will start to think we have lost our faith.

And so it becomes much easier to just shut our eyes and to ignore the cries around us – and within us. To just allow ourselves to become numb to the world’s afflictions.

And yet, we hear the author of 2 Timothy this morning urging us not to give up hope, even and especially in times such as these… For we have been saved – the author reminds us – and therefore we have been called to a holy calling, that does not allow us to shut our eyes to the pain around us.

“I recall your many tears,” the author writes from behind prison doors to Timothy, likely referring to the tears Timothy had shed over the suffering of many under the Roman Empire and over the persecution that the early Christians were facing. “I understand your sense of helplessness and why you seem to be at a loss of faith. And yet,” he continues, “I remember your sincere faith, one that has been passed on through your ancestors. One that I am sure still remains deep within you. Therefore, I urge you to remember that faith. Remember why you have that faith and who walked alongside you, helping to shape and inform your faith.  Rekindle that gift of God that is – indeed – with you, no matter how much you might feel it has been lost. For God did not give us a spirit of cowardice,” he urges, “but rather God gave us a spirit of love and self-discipline.”

Yes, it is in times such as these, when we must hold onto our faith the most – even when we feel we may have lost it. It is in times such as these when we must open our eyes to the suffering in our midst and cry out to God in our anguish. Because we don’t just encounter God in the times that are easy, comfortable, and joyous, and we don’t just encounter God when we feel most confident in our faith. We also encounter God in our anger, in our suffering, and in our strongest of doubts. We encounter God when we step out of our comfort zones and when we face our biggest fears. Because God actually meets us right there in all of the messiness – even when we don’t see God and even when we refuse to let God in.

God is right there with us.

I love what one author shared in her lectionary devotion this week: “When I am in the midst of a tough time, I don’t always see God at work,” she explains. “Looking back on those tough times though, I can often see God in hindsight. When I was a senior in high school, my family was having a lot of trouble. God gave me good friends to support me and an outlet in music with my choir teacher and my class to express my emotions. I remember praying and begging God for resolution while I waited. What I couldn’t see until looking back, though, was how God was present in the midst of that tough time. Now I see that God provided the right people at the right time. I also see that one can’t go around pain, or over it, but we have to go through it.”

How long, O Lord, how long?!

Yes, it is in times such as these when we must go through the pain. It is in times such as these, when we need to join our voices with the voices of our siblings around our city, our country, and throughout the world in lamenting the suffering, violence, and injustice that surrounds us. 

And yet, when we just can’t find the words to say, we can look to the words of those who have paved the way for us.

“How long, o Lord!?” – We cry out with Habakkuk this morning.

“How long shall I cry for help, and you will not listen? Or cry to you ‘Violence!’ and you will not save? Why do you make me see wrong-doing and look at trouble? Destruction and violence are before me; strife and contention arise. So the law becomes slack and justice never prevails. The wicked surround the righteous— therefore judgment comes forth perverted.”

How long, o Lord, how long!?

Now sometimes, we might need to stop right here with these words because we might not be quite ready to move beyond this place of lament. And that is okay. For a bit. Because there are times when we need to sit for a while in this place. There are times when we need to do our grief work. For we cannot go through the pain without first actually taking time to express it and process it.

And yet, after some time we will eventually need to move forward. Because our lament cannot just end here. It must move us to act.

And so we can look to the rest of our passage in Habakkuk this morning for guidance as we begin to move through. When we are ready, we – like Habakkuk, must take a stand at our watch-posts, and station ourselves, keeping watch: waiting with our eyes open to see God in our midst and with our ears open to hear how God is calling us to let our laments move us to action.

And when our inadequacies and sense of helplessness in times such as these get the best of us and when we feel like our faith is just not big or strong enough for us to make a difference, we can look to our Gospel text in Luke today. For, Jesus’ message to the disciples when they asked him to increase their faith in the face of such great suffering – is the same message that is intended for us. “If you have faith even the size of a teeny tiny mustard seed,” Jesus says, “you can say to a mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.’”

In other words: “Your faith is enough to make an incredible impact in the world.”

There’s a story I often think about when I feel overwhelmed with feelings of helplessness in the midst of so much suffering throughout the world.

One day a wise man was walking on the beach when he noticed a younger man, who was throwing things into the ocean. As he got closer to the young man, he asked him: “what are do doing?” The young man answered him: “well, I’m throwing starfish into the ocean.” “Why, might I ask, are you doing this,” the wise man asked him. “Well, the sun is up and the tide is going out.” The young man said. “If I don’t throw them in, they’ll all die.” Upon hearing this, the wise man said, “Don’t you realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can’t possibly make a difference!” Just then, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, he looked at the wise man and said: “Well, it made a difference for that one.”



“What Do You Expect?” – Sermon for the 3rd Sunday of Advent


The sermon I preached at Unity Lutheran Church on Sun., Dec. 15, 2013.

Matthew 11:2-11

2When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples 3and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” 4Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: 5the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. 6And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”

7As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? 8What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. 9What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. 10This is the one about whom it is written, ‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way before you.’11Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.


It is the beginning of June in the year of 1964… One month before his 46th birthday… After being transferred the past two years while on trial for “sabotage” from one prison to another, he is now back in his tiny, dark cell on the secluded Robben Island with a life sentence for “treason.”

Though we now know that Nelson Mandela’s life sentence was cut “short,” isolation on an island in a small prison cell with only a mat on the floor for a bed, a bucket for a toilet, the allowance of only one visitor a year for 30 minutes, a poor diet, enforced hard labor, and having to continuously face discrimination because of his skin color even within the prison – all for 27 years: cannot seem like a sentence cut “short.”

This man’s faith was extremely important to him.  And the faith that had once led him to confidently and boldly fight for equality and justice for all in South Africa by trying to end the apartheid had now led him to an unbearable sentence in prison.  My guess is that there were many times in that little cell on Robben Island where Nelson Mandela could relate to John the Baptist in Matthew 11, our Gospel text for today: doubting and questioning who and where Jesus really was.


This morning we encounter John the Baptist for the second week in a row… Though now, he no longer looks or sounds like the same man we encountered last week: who – with wild-eyes and camel-haired clothes (in Matthew 3:1-12) – so boldly and confidently proclaimed in the wilderness a message of justice for all and called out for repentance from those who were sinners and hypocrites and who claimed they had a special privilege because of their status and heritage while taking advantage of the blind, the lame, the lepers, and the poor.

John the Baptist is now a different man than he was last week – as he sits in his tiny cell: no longer with the assertiveness and the bold voice, but rather with a shaky and doubtful voice, a voice of longing and confusion and of despair.  As he waits out his ultimate life-sentence (one that would not last 27 years, but rather only a little less than one year, and would end with his ultimate execution by beheading) – he wonders if he prepared the way for the true Messiah he and his ancestors had been long-expecting.  And he wonders whether or not what he did and proclaimed in the wilderness was in vain.

But somehow in the midst of his doubt and despair in that secluded prison cell – as he hears about what Jesus is proclaiming and doing – he decides to seek out answers by going to the source directly.  And so out of final desperation, he calls out for his own disciples and tells them to go to Jesus and to ask him: “Are you the one who is to come?  Are you truly the Messiah we have been waiting for for so long?  Or are we to wait for another?”

It may be shocking for us to see such a transformation this week of the one who was preparing the way for Jesus in the world and who – by Jesus, himself, – was said to have arisen greater than all others who were born of women.  And yet, how can we blame John?  How can we blame him for questioning and doubting?  How can we blame him as he sits alone awaiting his execution in his little secluded cell wondering where in the world was this Jesus – the one who came to bring salvation to the world and to conquer death and evil?  Where was this Jesus now?

Don’t we understand where John was coming from?  Isn’t it easy for us, as well, to see, trust, and proclaim who and where Jesus is in our lives when things are going well?  And yet, don’t we know what it is like to start doubting Jesus the minute things start to take a downhill turn and don’t go the way we expected them to go?  …When we unexpectedly loose our job or don’t get into the school we had worked so hard for… when our marriages are failing, our relationships are broken, or we have to watch our children and grandchildren struggle to succeed… when we find out about our terminal illness or our loved one unexpectedly passes away…  In times like these, don’t we – like John – begin to question where Jesus is in our midst and sometimes wonder:  Is he really the one we have been expectantly waiting for?

And don’t we wonder who exactly Jesus is – if he truly is the Messiah who came to conquer death and evil – when we feel like we are living in our own prison cells, held captive by depression, lack of sufficient health care, or our struggle to pay the bills… And don’t we question who Jesus really is when we hear about others who experience captivity in their own “prison cells”: through mass damages and losses due to a typhoon, or the struggles others go through to gain citizenship and in the meantime fear deportation, or through the loss of a child because a young man entered an elementary school and started shooting?

In times like these, don’t we, ourselves, want to call out from our own tiny, dark cells to Jesus, asking: “Are you truly the Messiah, the one who is to come?  Or are we to wait for another?”

For John the Baptist, it is no wonder that he is confused and doubtful about who Jesus is as he sits in his prison cell.  John had come from a tradition that expected a Messiah to come into the world with earthly power, wealth, royalty, and authority.  In the midst of the oppressive Roman Empire, John and his contemporaries expected a Messiah to ultimately conquer death and evil by overthrowing the Empire and immediately establishing a new kingdom of God on earth.  And so we have to understand why John the Baptist was a bit confused and troubled after he had prepared the way for this expected Messiah in the wilderness and he is now sitting alone, locked up in a tiny cell and still has not seen the signs he had expected to see of the kingdom of God.  If Jesus wasn’t the one, was there another to come and conquer death and evil?  Or does this mean that death and evil have won?


Memorial and Vigil at Sandy Hook Elementary — image courtesy of nation.time.com

Yesterday was the one-year anniversary of the horrific shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School.  I cannot even comprehend what the families of those victims have and continue to go through.  And yet I imagine that at times, they can relate to John the Baptist – feeling alone and held captive in the darkness of their own prison cells and wondering when and even if light will ever shine in.

A few days ago, I watched a video created by Alissa Parker, the mother of 6 year-old Emilie, one of the victims of the shooting.  In the video, Alissa talks about how sweet, creative, and giving Emilie was.  She loved mornings and making art.  She loved doing projects.  And as the family was working on a project early last December in the house to make a crawl space into a play room for Emilie and her sisters, Emilie came up with the idea of collecting several of her toys, putting them in a box, and giving them to children who didn’t have many toys that year for Christmas.

Alissa explained that this was Emilie’s last project.

After Dec. 14 last year, Alissa could not bear to finish or look at the crawl space.  And she said every time she saw the box of toys Emilie had been collecting, she felt tremendous pain.  She said: “It was hard to imagine a world without that goodness and that selflessness in it.  I was so consumed with how evil could be so powerful and felt that evil had won.”


This week in Advent, we light the candle of joy.  And yet, in the midst of this dark week in December where we remember this mass shooting – along with all other forms of violence against children in our country, in our own city, and throughout the world – and as we grieve with the world this week over the loss of Nelson Mandela – an incredible leader who fought for peace, equality, and justice, and yet died knowing that there was still so much work yet to be done – it is really difficult to imagine where and how we can find any bit of joy.  Like John the Baptist, we are left with a lot of questions, doubts, and darkness.

And yet, in our text in Matthew 11, Jesus does not allow John to just sit alone in the darkness of his cell and wait for his expected fate without answers.

Rather, Jesus listens to John, and without judgment, he sends him a message of hope.  However, he does not answer in a way John had expected.  Jesus does not say: “Yes John, there is another one to come who will bring about the kingdom of God fully now.” And Jesus does not say: “Yes, I’m the Messiah you expected… and just wait: very soon you will be released from captivity in prison, and you will see the army I will lead in conquering evil and overthrowing the Roman Empire.  Just you wait.”

Instead, Jesus tells his disciples to:

“Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”

In other words, John was expecting the wrong things about whom this Messiah was, what this kingdom of God would look like, and how and when it would be brought forth.

…The kingdom of God is not an earthly kingdom full of worldly power, authority, and force – like what John had been expecting – and it will not be fully brought forth immediately.  It has begun to enter the world through Jesus Christ, Immanuel: “God with us” in the flesh, and it will continue to be brought forth through John the Baptist and all of Jesus’ disciples who prepare the way in the world for the coming of the Messiah, the one who brings hope, peace, joy and love to this world.

And John will sense the work and the presence of this Messiah in the world when he hears and sees signs of the kingdom of God: when he hears about and sees light being brought into the darkness of the lives of the blind, the deaf, the lepers, and the poor… the last and the least… those who are suffering the most.


You see, just when we think we know Jesus, our Messiah, and what to expect of him, he surprises us and comes to us in very unexpected ways: coming to us not as a powerful and wealthy worldly king… But as a baby, born of a poor carpenter and a teenage girl, in a dirty barn among filthy animals… bringing us light in the midst of our darkest times and calling each one of us to receive that light and to pass it onto others.

While in his dark prison cell, Nelson Mandela heard and saw these signs of the kingdom of God, and after 27 years, he walked out of prison a changed and transformed man.  Rather than seeking revenge, he chose to work for reconciliation and peace – and this work eventually ended the apartheid and led him to become the first black president of South Africa.

Mandela received light in his darkness and he passed it on, urging others to do the same.  During his inauguration speech in 1994, he quoted Marianne Williamson, saying:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine as children do. It’s not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own lights shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

You see, when we see and receive this light and when we pass it on, we can find hope in knowing that our Messiah is at work and that the kingdom of God is both in our midst and is still yet to come.  And as we hear, see, and share these signs of the kingdom of God, we can and will experience little bits of joy – even in our most dark times.

Though, for a while, Alissa Parker felt like she was held captive in the darkness she experienced after she lost Emilie in the shooting last year, over time she began to hear and see some of these signs of God’s kingdom and was able to find in them some hope, peace, joy and love.  She explains in her video:

“One day the oil truck just showed up.  I never called for our oil tank to be filled.  This kindness given quietly from a family I hardly knew was one of so many.  The letters started to pour in.  And these letters over and over were more accounts of the power of God’s love.  There was an overwhelming response from millions of people: well-wishers, people praying for us, people sending us things. I truly started to feel this obvious strength and power that lifted me… that lifted my family.  It was time to finish what [Emilie] wanted done.”

And so in Emilie’s honor Alissa co-founded a school safety advocacy group, she began connecting children in need with art, she supported a group that provided emergency response medical care in Guatemala, and she and her husband finished the project of making the crawl space into a play room for their other daughters.  Alissa continues:

“People ask: but where was your God when this happened?  Why didn’t he stop it?  God allowed others to kill his Son.  He allows for us all to make our own choices – good and bad – because that’s the only way good can be in us: if we freely choose it over all else. Evil did not win that day.  We will carry on that love like she had.  It’s quiet, it’s not on the news.  It takes an effort to find it.  But what I’ve realized through all this is how strong and how big God’s love really is.”


Twenty-six candles lit by President Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama in remembrance of Newtown. (Photo: Saul Loeb/Getty Images)

This Advent, as we continue to expectantly wait for the coming of Jesus – the meek King of Kings, the Prince of Peace, Immanuel: “God with us” in the flesh – let us remember this message of hope, peace, joy, and love proclaimed by Alissa Parker, Nelson Mandela, and John the Baptist, himself.  As we continue to feel doubt and despair in the midst of our own dark prison cells, may we call out to Jesus, keeping our ears and our eyes open to hear and see the signs of the kingdom of God in our midst.  And when we do see and hear these signs, may we receive the light of our Messiah and accept the little bits of joy that come with that light.  And as we experience that joy and are transformed by it, may we also let our own lights shine – as children do – so that others in the darkness may know and experience that Jesus Christ truly is our Messiah, the one who was and who is to come.


Related Articles:

Street Violence and Holy Darkness (on messyjesusbusiness.com)

Joy in the Advent World of Ours (on andthebearersstoodstill.com)

In Which Heaven Breaks Through (on sarahbessey.com)