‘Blessed be the Lord God of Israel,

for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them.

He has raised up a mighty savior for us

in the house of his servant David,

as he spoke through the mouth of his holy prophets from of old,

that we would be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us.

Thus he has shown the mercy promised to our ancestors,

and has remembered his holy covenant,

the oath that he swore to our ancestor Abraham,

to grant us that we, being rescued from the hands of our enemies,

might serve him without fear, in holiness and righteousness

before him all our days.

And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High;

for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways,

to give knowledge of salvation to his people

by the forgiveness of their sins.

By the tender mercy of our God,

the dawn from on high will break upon us,

to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,

to guide our feet into the way of peace.’

Luke 1:68-79

This is a story about parents and children.  Therefore, it should have neon lights surrounding it, flashing, “Warning!”

I am not so naive to believe that our stories about parents and children are simple.  Of all that we experience in life, it is how we engage with these immediate family members that can create the highest highs as well as the deepest wounds.  I will attempt to tread lightly, knowing that you hold complexity in your life.  These may not be easy stories to hear or tell.

What a curious thing that in our worship of God we recognize a parent/child relationship.  Our understanding of God holds both God the parent and Christ the child.  There is sacredness in this season where we remember mothers, parents, and tiny babies.  

There is also power in these stories that tell of where we come from, our ancestors.  There is power in these stories that tell of where we are going, our children.  Zechariah’s benediction is a lightning rod for this moment of being deeply grounded in the past and yet widely open to the future.  It is a moment of glimpsing a truth that is too hard for us to see on our own--God’s presence spans generations.  God holds the realities of the past and the possibilities of the future. 

Zechariah speaks a word for us into the midst of family realities. Zechariah’s benediction is one that is spoken like a proud dad.  He is so hopeful!  His tongue has been loosed to speak of this story about how God’s goodness will continue after all.  It wasn’t to stop with his generation, but was to continue with this next generation.  His son John was to be born, and then that other child who would change things: Jesus.  

There is no way Zechariah could’ve known what was to come.  I actually hope he didn’t, because the story of these children is not a happy one.  Zechariah’s son, John the Baptist followed the wildness of his message the whole way to persecution and death.  Jesus didn’t remain a peaceful child, but stirred up trouble in the very temple setting that Zechariah so faithfully served.  

It is hard to know that this is not a perfectly tidy story, but it also might be reassuring.  If this is how God is made known to us, how too must our messy stories of parents and children be blessed.  

Zechariah’s blessing and benediction for us is not only for what is easily contained and explained.  Rather, the opposite. 

I think of my ancestors.  I wouldn’t have to dig back very far for things to fall apart in ways that some of you might recognize.  My ancestors, those who relayed God’s faithfulness to me, as near as the generations of my grandparents, would likely be completely flabbergasted by where I am now.  I am an ordained pastor, even as I am a woman.  I am serving a church that loves and affirms all expressions of gender and sexuality.  We are a congregation that has both Black and white folks.  Just this moment of being present here right now would be so far beyond my ancestors' wildest dreams.  And I am not foolish enough to believe that they would be thrilled about it either.  And yet!  How the Spirit has guided me here, how God has sent each generation forth, how the world continues to be broken open again and again and again.

It’s like the stories of how churches will baptize children, confirm youth, and then they are sent forth and we have no control over what happens next.  Often this is spoken of as if it’s a bad thing--where have all the children gone!  But God has not abandoned them.  I think of the many people I know who refused to support a church that wouldn’t support them in return, of how new generations stand up against religious hypocrisy, of all who aren’t satisfied with half-hearted change.  

I dearly hope that the generations will be more than I can imagine.  I hope they have the challenge and wildness of John the Baptist.  I hope they push at their parents because they have a glimpse of the world to come.  I hope we can be courageous enough to receive them.  

This song of Zechariah is called the Benedictus, because when this passage was translated in Latin that was the first word of the song.  We know the word in what we call a benediction, which of course, to bring it full circle, is a blessing.  It’s a blessing in two parts, really.  Because first, it looks up--blessed are you, Lord!  But then it looks down, blessed are you, child.  

It’s the space between these blessings that we dwell.  Between past and present, between what is tangible and unknown, between reality and possibility.  If you have ever held a child, perhaps you have known this moment of transcendence.  This is a blessing to live faithfully in that moment.

It is hard for us to know fully where we come form. We certainly do not know where we are going. But with the love of God that spans generations, let us be held in peace.

So then, putting away falsehood, let all of us speak the truth to our neighbors, for we are members of one another.

Be angry but do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger,

and do not make room for the devil.

Ephesians 4:25-27

Have you noticed that people are really angry lately?

Here are a few examples:

1. Vaccinated folks at the unvaccinated

2. Spirit airline folks--lots of cancelled flights!

3. The news is mad at … everyone?

In particular, we’re good at a hot, fast anger.  You’ve got to be explosive to cut into the media deluge.  It’s outrage, it’s cancel culture, it’s an entire planet traumatized by a virus that has killed millions, it’s the frustration of being alive.

If you want to take this scripture and do a hot take, you can have a pretty tidy takeaway here in just 20 seconds.  We’re mad, but the bible says, do not let the sun go down on your anger, so there you have it. 

As with many things, if we take this slower and sit a little longer we get a fuller picture.  Pause your outrage brain and let’s look again.  

I’ve only picked out three verses for us today, but the whole of Ephesians can hold this type of meaning.  Sometimes when we read scripture we can read wide, inhaling long story epics or entire letters at once.  But sometimes we can just look at a small snippet and find depth.  We could start in the middle with that famous phrase, “do not let the sun go down on your anger.”

Alone, there is such beauty and truth to this.  I had a practice toward the end of my school career where I didn’t do any homework or writing after dark.  This was a commitment in winter months, but it always gave me this boundary where I could step aside and unwind before rest and beginning a new day.  To not let the sun go down on your anger is an old version of new advice--don’t go doom scrolling on Twitter when you’re trying to sleep.  Don’t read news headlines right before bed.  Don’t drink coffee at 9:00pm.

Yet our scripture is so beautiful and rich because it doesn’t stop there.  The beginning of that same sentence actually begins, “be angry.”  Which, you know, is a fairly honest and realistic place to begin.  I know I can start there.  And yet, there is a boundary around this anger that is so helpful.  It says, “be angry, but do not sin.”  There is so much just in that phrase!  Because this seems to indicate that there is anger that is no sinful, but anger that is tied with something else that becomes sinful.  Something to ponder.

On the other end of our “don’t let the sun go down on your anger” we have another great bookend that says, “and do not make room for the devil.”

And listen, I do not entirely know what this means!  I know there was a period in my life where I often heard the opposite, that when a couple was dancing too close together, they were supposed to leave room for Jesus.  But we do not leave the same room for the devil?

Yet I do understand on some level what it might mean for anger to leave the door open to results that I do not want to claim long term.  Do not make room, do not make space, do not widen the door.  Keep it locked up.  

We’ve also got this wonderful introductory verse to this whole thing.  “So then, putting away falsehood, let all of us speak the truth to our neighbors, for we are members of one another.”  Now this really sets the stage for all this anger talk, because our anger, or our management of our anger, still has to live in the context of truth-telling.  We cannot simply just hide away all of our feelings if it means we are not being honest with those who are our neighbors.  This is because we belong to one another, we are members of one another.  We are connected in Christ.  

I could riff on these three verses all day.  That’s the depth we can get in our scripture.  That alone is such an antidote to the fast outrage and anger that swallows us in singularity.  This is the careful building and adapting and growing of a community that finds its identity in Christ. 

I recently had someone ask me when I knew I wanted to marry my spouse Josh.  I remember when Josh and I started dating, how I would be checking my phone for messages from him when I woke up.  I remember wanting to know more about what he was thinking when I could see him across the room.  I remember how kind he seemed.  

I don’t remember when I knew I wanted to marry him though.  There was no flash, no instant moment.  It was never that I didn’t want to marry him and then I did.  But it was built over time, through walks and hand holding, through families shared and dinners and conversations.  It wasn’t urgent, it was inevitable. 

May our Christianity be the same.  We are pulled so hard to the hot take, to the immediate reaction.  We are pulled apart in isolation, into an identity that is self-centered and lonely.  But in Christ, we see a way that has complex feelings, anger that is identified but not sustained relentlessly.  We see a world in which we belong to one another.  We find wisdom in slowness.  We speak truth.

Remember who you are and whose you are.  Go with God.  Amen.

You might think that it was the four walls that made the gathering special.  It’s right there in the opening lines--they were all gathered in one place.  Imagine, a whole crowd of people packed into a room.  Four walls, hugging them in, creating that magic that comes from human bodies existing, living, breathing in the same place.  

I remember those times.  Bringing people together, gathering, getting close enough to see and hear one another.  

You might think that it was the four walls that made this first Pentecost special, but that wasn’t it. We might idealize those up close and personal get-togethers after this year plus of distance.  We might still be missing those times that we can all be under one roof, but don’t forget that there can be emptiness there, too.  

These members of the early church can tell you, so much if you can get together in one place, but what if you can’t understand one another?  What’s the meaning of being together if there is no communication, no sharing, no life?

It wasn’t the four walls that gave life to the first Pentecost.  It was the movement and power and presence of the Holy Spirit. 

I know that because it has not been these four walls that have given us life this year.  It has not been this building, or even that we are gathering in one physical space.  But we have had life!  We have seen and felt the movement of the Holy Spirit.  We don’t need to worship these walls.  We need to worship the Holy Spirit.

I mean, it would be easier to praise the location.  Imagine if we could just return to the site of the first Pentecost, or return to our building, or return to a magical location where we could be certain of God’s presence and blessing.  Maybe this is a bad message for the day in which I’m hoping many of you will help tidy and clean our physical building right here.  Yet our scriptures tell the story again and again of a God that is on the move, of the Christ who didn’t stay put, and the Spirit who moves and breathes among us today. 

You cannot limit the Spirit to four walls.  

Today, on this first of many Sundays that we will be worshipping outdoors, I celebrate that.  I celebrate that our worship has changed to be even beyond this space, to welcome all who are connecting online.  I celebrate that today is the birthday of the Church of Jesus Christ--a living, moving, breathing body that has never seen fit to stay in one place or speak in one language, or maintain a single way of being.  

The church is alive because the Spirit is alive in our midst.  It is our responsibility to recognize and respond to this life.  

There is a line tucked into the ending of the Pentecost scripture that could be written for us today.  It says that the saving message of Jesus Christ is for “you and for all who are far off.”  These words could not have imagined their resonance as they have travelled around the world to find us here in Bedford, Ohio, to find us in Florida, in Illinois, in Georgia, and more.  

Today let us not celebrate these four walls.  Let us instead celebrate the Holy Spirit. 

While they were going, some of the guard went into the city and told the chief priests everything that had happened. After the priests had assembled with the elders, they devised a plan to give a large sum of money to the soldiers, telling them, ‘You must say, “His disciples came by night and stole him away while we were asleep.” If this comes to the governor’s ears, we will satisfy him and keep you out of trouble.’ So they took the money and did as they were directed. And this story is still told among the Jews to this day.

Matthew 28:11-15

We never know for certain, but if you had to guess or just go with historical tradition, Matthew the tax collector wrote the Gospel of Matthew.  It could be the very Matthew that is told about in the Gospel of Matthew, chapter nine, verses nine through thirteen.  Matthew the tax collector did leave his tax collector’s booth in this story, but also continued to gather and assemble other people like him, that is, other tax collectors.  

Perhaps this is just interesting trivia or speculation, but the idea that Matthew was a money guy who shared the story of Jesus with others whose professions were intertwined with money makes plenty of sense.  The Gospel of Matthew is covered with stories about wealth and money; primarily it is about the renunciation of wealth.  Matthew encourages followers of Christ to not lay up treasures on Earth, the disciples are sent out to “acquire no gold or silver,” the rich young man has difficulty receiving Christ’s message (19:22), and Jesus is said to have overturned the tables of the money changers in the temple.  Yet Matthew tells stories about money that are about even more than a simple pushback against wealth.  Matthew tells about Judas, the disciple who betrayed Jesus for thirty pieces of silver.  You may remember that part of the story.  But do you remember how Judas also tries to give the silver back?  It is as if he has remembered that admonition to the disciples to not accumulate this money and wants back to that way of being.  

If Matthew the tax collector wrote this gospel, he certainly brought along his knowledge of attending to the trail money leaves in lives.  He may have included money so dramatically in his stories because he likely knew how money could consume, bribe, and misguide.  Money makes the world go round, right?

But we see the new narrative that Matthew found through Jesus quite dramatically in this resurrection story found at the end, in Matthew 28:11-15.  This is another story of bribes and money being used as power.  And this must have been Matthew the tax collector’s old story.  Those who have the money have the power and the influence and get to tell their story.  So this bribe to contain the resurrection seems to be a pretty good move to silence and limit this ragtag bunch of disciples who have been busy wandering around not accruing any wealth.  Money equals power, right?

Except...the bribe didn’t work.  The bribe didn’t work.  And I know this because you and I are still talking about the resurrection today.  

Telling this story must have been Matthew’s greatest taunt to his previous life.  Because I’m sure he had people warning him to not leave his life built around the power of money.  Why would you leave that influence, that security?  

Because the power of resurrection is always greater than the power of money, that’s why.  

To continue to speak of the resurrection is always an act against this bribe from long ago.  Matthew spoke of it in the context of his day.  He was not only a tax collector, but a Jewish tax collector.  So he was describing an insider situation, calling out those he was closest with.  We must be particularly careful to remind ourselves that Matthew was a Jew just as Jesus was.  The religious figures in these stories are not equivalent to religious and non-religious Jews today.  To suggest otherwise is a dangerous path toward anti-Semitism that we must publicly denounce.  

Instead, to retell this story we are called to be aware of the weight of money that continues to attempt to silence resurrection stories today.  This is, I find, actually an extraordinarily common story in churches.  We have built ourselves systems and structures that require money, and lots of it, to fund buildings and pastors among other things.  It’s a long way from the disciples who went out told to “acquire no gold or silver.”

We can have collective amnesia in the church about this part of the story.  Because the bribe didn’t work, and instead the message of an itinerant Jewish preacher prevailed.  So let’s be careful what we choose, yes?

This season, we are going to be listening to all kinds of resurrections stories, in part because of the power they hold.  You’re not just going to hear them from me, but they’ll come from many people in our congregation.  But the shared theme will be the same; resurrection stories might be confusing, enlightening, and not what we expected, but they will always have power.

I wonder if Matthew collected all these stories about money because he needed to be reminded that resurrection had the final word.  I wonder if he dreamed about the life he left behind.  I wonder if it is the equivalent I can feel when I wonder about what my life had been if I had pursued something other than ministry.  It must be the same feeling any of us can experience when we follow a path to new life instead of the security of what once was.

Even now, I find myself wanting to encourage you to be thoughtful, reasonable, and to not empty your bank accounts.  

Yet any bribe to keep us calm, complacent, and unable to imagine a new way of life will not last forever.  God’s transformative power continues to upend the world.  I believe in a future where we are less concerned about what we each individually earn and save and more about how all are called into abundant life.  I believe in the resurrection of Jesus Christ, which is to say I believe in the one who taught blessed are the poor.  I believe that our God is the God of life eternal, which means anything that exploits and hoards wealth for few at the expense of many is short-sighted and sinful.  

I believe that the bribe did not work and that is why we are telling resurrection stories today.  

Amen.