Awe at God's Big Reveal

EPIPHANY IS NOT an all-at-once revelation of God’s presence with us in the person of Jesus Christ. The entire world was not made aware of Jesus’ arrival at the precise moment it happened. The Magi didn’t make their trek to see the Christ child until he was a toddler. Often Jesus’ own disciples didn’t know who he was when they first encountered him. And little if any positive change occurred in the sociopolitical climate for Israel. The reveal of the Messiah’s identity, and the change that would come with it, happened at a painfully slow pace.

In February, we continue the journey of revelation. We recall stories from the Hebrew Bible and Christian Testament of longing and resignation that give way to revelation and encouragement. We see how the faithful through the ages held onto faith as they faced great threat. We see how, despite the prosperity of the wicked, they somehow recognized the hand of God at work.

Perhaps we find ourselves proclaiming to a people who thought a new administration or other promising change would usher in more favorable conditions. Perhaps we personally struggle with how to hold onto hope, not to mention how to encourage our communities to do it. These Epiphany season texts hold us in our lack of clarity and waning faith, reminding us that we are not alone. While we await a substantive change, may the text in some way help our unbelief.

February 6

Great to Feel Small

“WE'RE NOT WORTHY!” was a catch phrase from my favorite Saturday Night Live skits as a kid. It’s what Wayne and Garth would yell while bowing down whenever a celebrity or someone they admired visited them. I’m embarrassed to say I sometimes invoke the phrase when I feel I’m in the presence of greatness, probably dating myself in the process!

While I don’t encourage false humility or self-effacing attitudes, at times I wonder if we’ve lost our ability to feel relatively small. The hubris of our age suggests that even authentic humility escapes us. We create echo chambers of opinions that confirm our biases. Politicians and corporations rarely offer apologies or restitution when confronted with their iniquity and will often double down on their actions. It’s not always evident that we feel humbled by or accountable to anything.

The common thread through our texts is the feeling of awe—and inadequacy—that accompanies one’s call. Countless songs and sermons have been written about Isaiah’s response to God’s call—“Here am I; send me!” (6:8)—but that response comes after realizing he is a man of “unclean lips” (verse 5) who needs purification. The psalmist sings of a God who is high but “regards the lowly” (138:6). In 1 Corinthians 15, Paul names himself as the least of the apostles (verse 9) because of his previous persecution of the church. And Simon Peter, when confronted with Jesus’ power, sinks to his knees before him and asks him to leave because, like Wayne and Garth, he’s not worthy!

Perhaps we might draw contrasts between these examples and the pervasive self-aggrandizement of our time and culture. What happens when one considers one’s “unworthiness” before the grandeur of the Most High God? How does it impact the trajectory of one’s life? How are others impacted?

February 13

An Active Faithstyle

THEODICY, FROM THE Greek words for “god” and “justice,” attempts to resolve the goodness, providence, and sovereignty of God amid suffering and injustice. These days, a global pandemic, worsening climate crisis, and the jarring vulnerability of democracy worldwide has left many faithful people wrestling with God’s role in it all. These texts can shed light on how our predecessors in the faith similarly wrestled.

Throughout its anthology of oracles, the book of Jeremiah’s tone wavers between reticent, hopeful, angry, and resigned. In chapter 17, we meet the Weeping Prophet in a moment of great resolve, trusting in God over “mere mortals” (verse 5). We should note that this passage is ahead of an invasion and subsequent exile. Is Jeremiah girding his psychosocial and spiritual loins for impending danger? Probably. He also may be drawing from the psalmist who says the wicked are “like chaff that the wind drives away” (Psalm 1:4). In Corinth, Paul reminds the church of the promises of resurrection, but it’s worth noting that resurrection comes on the heels of death. If death can’t be avoided, is there yet hope beyond death? Paul asserts there is. Finally, as Jesus begins his Sermon on the Plain in Luke, he calls those experiencing peril “blessed,” assuring that their poverty, hunger, and grief will be addressed. By contrast, those who are already considered blessed—the rich, the food-secure, and the highly regarded—have reason to be wary.

In each text, we’re reminded of the ephemeral nature of peril and, for that matter, of peace. This reminder has implications for our work in both environments. Trusting in God in all times means we seek justice when it’s waning and preserve it when it’s strong. The Greek connotations of the words “faith” and “steadfastness” are active. They require us to be resolute, irrespective of the circumstances.

February 20

Making a Statement

I HAVE A CONFESSION: I love Jesus, but I don’t always like him. I like the “leave Mary alone, Martha” Jesus and the “Let the one without sin cast the first stone” Jesus. The Jesus who includes a Syrophoenician woman among “the dogs,” however, disappoints me. The “love your enemies” Jesus (Luke 6:27) is a hard pill to swallow. And the “offer the other cheek” Jesus (verse 29) wants far too much. He’s too radical, even for me.

These texts are too often weaponized. As a minister who works to cultivate racial justice, I commonly get questions about “forgiveness first” and “not harping on the past.” These detractors tell me that the most appropriate Christian response to injustice is to “forgive and forget” or find something redeeming about the past. In either case, mentioning present pain suggests there’s lingering animosity over something that happened ostensibly “so long ago.”

“If you are silent about your pain,” Zora Neale Hurston is purported to have said, “they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it.” Some Christians use the Bible to pacify hurting people. Thankfully, God doesn’t require silence in times of injustice. In Luke 6, Jesus invites his hearers to make a statement. Offering the other cheek is not passively ignoring what has happened; it’s an act of resistance in the face of injustice.

God’s justice requires us to be confronted with the ways we do harm, which ideally leads to reconciliation, healing, and the repair of breaches. Any justice that ends at punishment stops short of God’s intention. Any justice that offers cheap grace without truly dealing with harm done also falls short. The texts call us to resist injustice and its corrosive influence. We don’t ignore what has been; we instead choose resurrection into something new.

February 27

Changing with God

THE ONLY CONSTANT is change, or so the adage goes. What does it mean when God calls us into change?

When Moses descended from Sinai, his face shone, and no one wanted to get closer to him for fear that they would die (Exodus 34:29). Indeed, they would die, but perhaps not in the literal sense. By receiving God’s law, they’d find new life as a covenanted people. But new things can be frightening.

In Luke 9, as Jesus communed with Moses (who represents the law) and Elijah (who represents the prophets) during his transfiguration, Peter wanted to commemorate the event with altars, but a voice from above admonished him: “Listen to Jesus!” (verse 35). Just as Moses brought the law down the mountain so that it would be heeded, Jesus’ transfiguration should also have implications for how those witnesses would live their lives thereafter. Eventually, they’d have to come down from the mountain, be with the community, and put their faith into action. But when the disciples finally descended and had an opportunity to heal a boy, they couldn’t do it.

In 2 Corinthians 3:14, Paul references his opponents who looked back with veiled vision or a hardening of the mind, which kept them from living into their new identity. People rarely want change. We don’t know what change will mean for us, what it will take away, or what it will require. We walk through a world in need of help, but mentally we’re among our own altars of doctrine, theology, and polity, or we’re trying to recapture an extraordinary time in our history. If those things don’t produce change beyond us, what good are they?

This week precedes the season of Lent, when the church considers its mortality and repents of its sins. Many will fast or give up something temporarily, but the real challenge before us is to allow the veil to be lifted.