That Water Burns!

Luke 3:7-18
Advent 3
December 12, 2021
William G. Carter

John said to the crowds that came out to be baptized by him, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruits worthy of repentance. Do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.” And the crowds asked him, “What then should we do?” In reply he said to them, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” Even tax collectors came to be baptized, and they asked him, “Teacher, what should we do?” He said to them, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.” Soldiers also asked him, “And we, what should we do?” He said to them, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.”

As 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.” So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people.


The southern end of the Sea of Galilee empties into the Jordan River. There is a place there, visited by pilgrims from around the world. The buses park outside. After an admission fee is paid, you enter the site through the gift shop. (That’s one of the realities of the Holy Land: there are thousands of gift shops.) After weaving through the aisles, passing up olive wood creche sets, Dead Sea bath salts, and forty kinds of incense, you pass through the glass doors – and there is the Jordan River.

It's an impressive location. Beautifully landscaped. Clean. Not a palm frond in the river. And the tour guide never bothers to tell you that you are seventy miles north of the spot where John the Baptist did his work. It’s way south, near Jericho, not far from the Dead Sea. But they don’t tell you this, and the tourists come, step into the river, take their photographs. And when the visit is done, they leave through the gift shop. Back and forth, past the olive wood crosses, the postcards, and the t-shirts that read, “I was baptized in the Jordan River.”

I saw this water bottle and decided to purchase it. There’s a picture of John the Baptist on the front. I asked the salesclerk, “Is this water from the Jordan River?” “Oh yes,” he replied, “from the Jordan River. It’s holy water.” So I packed it in my suitcase and brought it home. It remains on the top shelf of the bookcase, near the Bible dictionary, and the samples of frankincense and myrrh.

One day, I got to try out the spritzer nozzle. One of our outspoken church folks had paid me a visit. He was a man well known for his opinions, often shared generously. I won’t say anything more than his name was Ed. He stopped in to make a speech about something or other. Taking a breath, he looked up from his chair, saw the bottle, and asked what it was. So I went over, picked it up, and told him the story. “Does it work?” he said. What? “The spritzer with the holy water. Does it work?” So I aimed it at him and went psst, psst.

“Wow,” he said, “it’s going to burn.” We both broke out in laughter. I always thought I should make a sermon out of the story. Today’s the day. Holy Water, from the Jordan River, with John the Baptist – and that water burns.

It’s not the heat, of course, but the impact. All the accounts of John the Baptist tell us about the crowds who made their way to the Jordan River. It was a national event. Everybody was affected. They came in the expectation of the Messiah, the long-imagined deliverer who would lift them from oppression and turn around the fortunes of the nation. 

John dressed like one of the prophets who announced him. He lived simply in the desert, in austerity, not luxury. He embodied the closing words of the last book in our Old Testament, where the prophet Malachi declared, “Behold, I will send you the prophet Elijah before the great and terrible day of the Lord” (4:5).

And the people came. God was breaking in from the desert. God was present in the fire of the word that John preached. He called his listeners a bunch of snakes. He called them out for avoiding the fiery judgment of the Lord. He took them off at the knees if they thought they could stand on their prominence or good breeding. And he called them into the water to invite God to wash their sins away.

What sticks out in this account is that baptism is merely the beginning. It’s not the end. It’s not the goal. It’s the first sign – the wet sign – of everything that must follow. In the church, we practice a Jesus baptism – that is, a Trinity baptism, not a John the Baptist baptism. The difference is we believe the Messiah has come. In covenantal obedience we offer ourselves and our children to the new Dominion of God where John was pointing.

Yet there is an identity to be claimed. A life to be lived. A faithfulness congruent with the calling of God for all of us.

John Burgess wrote a book about this, which he titled After Baptism. John teaches at our Presbyterian seminary in Pittsburgh. He knows all too well our tendency to sentimentalize our baptisms. As he notes,

The pastor sprinkles a few drops of water on the baby’s head and parades her up and down the aisle. Those in the pews smile approvingly, as the organist finds the register with tinkling bells and plays, ‘Jesus Loves Me.’ But baptism is not simply a gentle anointing that makes everything about that baby innocent and clean. Baptism is also a drowning and dying. We have every reason to be terrified by it… (so) it is not inappropriate that a cute little baby dressed in a white linen dress should now holler and scream as she comes to new birth in God’s kingdom. None of us takes on a new identity without some kicking and screaming.[1]

You might say the water burns.

A couple of months ago, a pastor of a nearby church was awakened at four in the morning. Somebody was pounding at the door. That was strange, since he and his wife live out in the hills. Peeking through the window, he recognized the man. But he didn’t like the tone of his voice. And he didn’t know yet the man had just attacked his own father after waking him from sleep. All he knew is this man was pounding at the door, getting louder. Then it sounded like he was trying to break in.

With this, the pastor and his wife ran into the bedroom and locked the door. Just in time – the intruder smashed through the door, screaming and bellowing, calling out for the pastor. Well, he and his wife grabbed their phones, dialed the state police, and escaped to a neighbor’s house. The state police arrived quickly, and after some resistance from him, arrested the intruder.

Now, that’s a frightening event. It sounds totally random – except for this: the pastor’s wife told the newspaper that the man had been baptized by her husband that morning.[2] Baptized! Do you suppose it’s possible that some time passes before a baptism will take hold?

I’ve wondered about this. In the early church, one of the leaders advised those who were newly baptized. He said, “You were taught to put away your former way of life, your old self, corrupt and deluded. And you were taught to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to clothe yourselves with the new self, created according to the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness” (Ephesians 4:22-24).

To put it another way, it’s not enough to simply get wet. True baptismal water has the power to burn, to singe away the bad habits, the selfish assumptions, and the destructive actions. There is a holy life to be lived after we climb out of the water. There is a righteousness that reveals the transformation that God is stirring in our lives. Yes, God loves us as we are – but never calls us to stay that way.

The Messiah is at hand. What does that mean? In the days of John the Baptist, it meant, “Turn away from your sin, change your heart, step into the water, and then keep moving toward God’s light.” The righteous life is not static. It’s far from finished. “The Holy One is coming,” John announced, going on to say, “Prepare yourselves for the Messiah to rule over all things.” Live a life that is congruent with your baptism.

Then, as now, it’s worth asking, “So what should we do?” And the Baptizer offered three specific examples:

•  To the affluent: share your coats and food with those who have none
•  To the tax collectors: don’t take more money that amount prescribed
•  To the soldiers: be content with your wages and don’t extort money through threats or intimidation

Did you notice? All three requirements have to do with money and possessions. Sounds like Jesus, the Coming Messiah. When he found his voice, he warned constantly against greed, selfishness, and deprivation of the neighbor. According to Jesus, according to the Gospel of Luke, the kingdom of God is a matter of economics. In God’s kingdom, there will be no hoarding of coats and food, no grabbing what isn’t yours, no cheating of those less powerful. Instead, if you are baptized, you are called to give generously, to share willingly, to love honestly. This is how God treats us; this is how those who are baptized shall treat others.

If you feel challenged by this, it’s because the baptismal water burns. John says, “The One who is coming will baptize all of you with Holy Spirit and fire.” Every selfish inclination will be burned away. Every evil intent will be incinerated. And the Gospel of Luke says, “This is Good News.”

So what should we do? I suppose we could share what we have in our closets, which is something that cuts both ways. On the one hand, there are many who need the very coats and sweaters that we moth-balling. On the other hand, it’s good training for the soul to learn how to live with less. The same goes for food.

And for the tax collectors among us? Well, we only have a few, and they’ve never struck me as particularly greedy. So the Word from John expands to confront all the waste that is manufactured for the holidays. It’s the same thing Lucy has been saying to Charlie Brown for the past 56 years: “We all know that Christmas is a big commercial racket. It’s run by an eastern syndicate, you know.” Conspiracy theories aside, abundant life is rooted in the joy of giving, not the greed of grabbing.

So let’s consider the invitation from our Mission and Justice committee this month, to share Christmas with a stranger, to show love to those whom we have not met yet. Our Narthex is filled with invitations to make abundant life abundant for all.

And then for all those Roman centurions who can hear John speak: be a good steward of your power. Use it to lift up others, rather than to keep them down. Learn contentment, as a kingdom alternative to the hunger for acquisition. God is the giver of every good and perfect gift; we do not have license to steal candy canes from children. Or rent money from those working two jobs. We are only given permission to help them.

And let me tell you one thing more, a bit of personal confession. Remember that day when I squirted old Ed with the holy water? Well, I don’t remember the specifics of the conversation that day, but I will tell you old Ed was one of the many people who called me to a life of integrity and generosity. I miss him, but I still hear his voice.

I hear him speak whenever one of you speaks up for those who are overlooked,
whenever one of you punctures the illusions of suburban well-being,
whenever one of you says, “Can’t we stop thinking so much about ourselves
and do something to empower the hungry, the lonely, and the left-out?

That’s when I hear Ed speak,
That’s when I hear John the Baptist speak,
That’s when I hear Jesus say, “Whatever you have done for the least of these, you have done it for me.”

And in those moments, if you’re listening,
you will hear that baptismal water sizzle and burn...to the glory of God.
And that’s good news.

.
(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

------------------

[1] John P. Burgess, After Baptism: Shaping the Christian Life (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2005) p. 3

[2] “Newton Twp man charged in assault of father, break-in at neighbor’s house,” The Scranton Times-Tribune, 16 September 2021.

A Word in the Wilderness

Luke 3:1-6
December 5, 2021
Advent 2
William G. Carter

In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah, “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.’”


When we gather each week to open God’s Book,
Let’s confess that sometimes we scarcely don’t look
Beneath or beyond the white page to the Source
Of all that is Good as we run our course.
Perhaps rhythm helps to engage heart and mind,
And give us fresh ears to discover and find
That God can still speak a Good Word from above.
It originates in mercy, and goodness, and love.
So bear with me, please, for it has been some time
Since I offered a sermon entirely in rhyme.
Today, I’m inspired by Spirit and text
Even if you’re wondering what could possibly be next.
Well, I will tell you if you’re willing to linger
Today here’s a Man with a sharp Pointy Finger.
His name is John and his fierce voice is strong.
Now bear with me please, and I shan’t go too long.

Tiberias was Caesar, the Roman despot.
He thought he was God, but certainly was not.
Pilate was governing at his Judean post.
An incompetent fool, yet quite prone to boast.
King Herod ruled over all Galilee
When he wasn’t debauching and collecting fleas.
Philip, Lysanias – oh, no one remembers
who they were, what they did, that’s in history’s embers.
When the Lord chose to speak, he didn’t speak to them.
They weren’t listening any way. So not to condemn,
But to preclude them from pride, God spoke out to John,
That outsider prophet with camel skins on.
He was the Man with the Pointy Finger.

Take note: God spoke not to the palaces of power,
And neither to priests for it wasn’t the hour.
No word went to Annas, or Caiphas, either,
Preoccupied with order in the ancient cathedral.
They obsessed over candlesticks, vestments, and gowns.
They might as well sit on high thrones wearing crowns.
So smugly in charge of their inherited religion,
They muted the Voice that created the pigeon.
When they opened God’s scrolls, they read with a drone,
As if the Almighty were sleeping and prone.
So God didn’t speak to the priests in the Temple.
The Message was aimed for the meek and the simple:
“Come home,” spoke the Lord, “turn around and come home!”
“Wake up and repent ‘til you sparkle like chrome,”
Said the Man with the Pointy Finger.

Where was he pointing? He pointed ahead:
For Someone is coming who raises the dead.
He will gather the harvest of all that is good
And burn chaff with fire like blazing deadwood.
“Don’t presume you have privilege to escape the Great Purge!”
John said, “Repent now! That is what I must urge.
Let mountains be lowered and valleys raised up,
And straighten that highway for God to walk up
And claim prime allegiance from you and your soul.
Or else you will perish and be cast in a hole.”
His message burned hearts and exposed what is phony.
God’s Word came with fire but without acrimony.
His intent was to cleanse. To set right. To restore.
To prepare us for One who knocks at the door.
“The Christ will come soon to set all things right,
To teach us to fear God without any fright.
He is coming with power, and fire, and might.”
So spoke the Man with the Pointy Finger.

They came from the cities. They came from the hills.
They traveled to the desert ‘cause they had the chills.
They went to the river with hope in the heart,
They stepped in the water so life could restart.
They hoped for Messiah whose righteousness could
Create them anew in the lives where they stood.
The accounts also tell us that leaders took notice
Caesar ignored – but Herod was curious.
And up from the river, the Pharisees listened,
Their hearts slightly warmed, their eyes almost glistened.
“Who dares to speak truth on behalf of our God?”
Their conventional religion found that a bit odd.
But John spoke the Word with passion and fire.
Even tax collectors, soldiers, and others were inspired.
“God is near,” he proclaimed in his most simple speech,
“Wake up and get ready! Scrub your souls with hot bleach!”
There was truth in the fire of John’s living Word.
To ignore it would be foolish and truly absurd!
He spoke with deep energy and everyone heard
the Man with the Pointy Finger.

Where else is he pointing? At me and at you.
Disturbing the peace by speaking what’s true:
“Don’t presume to believe that you’re tight with God,
If you go through the motions, you’re merely a fraud.”
Oh, I think of the times when I’ve just played the game,
As I diluted God’s Holiness and made it look tame.
John points down below the soul’s hardened crust
Illuminating the shadows and calling forth trust
That God sees us as we are, without any illusion
How sin damages life and creates contusions.
His voice cuts through all filters at night and at day,
He blows back our hair as he speaks up to say,
“You’re greedy like Scrooge! You’re mean like the Grinch!
You stumble through life with no more than an inch.
Of repentance and turning from darkness to light.
You avoid all exposure. Your soul is affright.”
When I hear him speak thus, I know he is right.
For sin can destroy the great grace of Shalom
“So I call you to turn back, to repent and come home,”
Says the Man with the Pointy Finger.

He names our homesickness, our primary thirst
For love and inclusion where we can be nursed
Back to wholeness of life with venerable grace
To untangle what’s twisted and discover the Face
Of neighbor and God whom we’re called to love.
This is Primary Commandment from heaven above.
John calls us to obedience as we live here on earth,
While pointing beyond us to Christ whose soon birth
Offers us life eternal in justice and mirth.
And confirms the deep dignity of our true worth.
God has no grandkids, just children who trust
That they are beloved, so they shall not rust
From baptisms grown lazy and negligent of
The works of compassion, and justice, and love.
In each generation, God’s family is formed
As each of us steps up with hearts that are warmed.
We all start from scratch with no assets to claim.
It is God who adopts us and gives us a name.
“You are my child,” God says when we’re wet,
“So come home and stay close. Don’t wander or fret.”
God has kept speaking to reprieve us from threat
After the Man with the Pointy Finger.

This is a remarkable Gospel to hear,
And all flesh shall see it. The truth shall be clear.
All illusions dispersed. All crooked made straight.
True mercy shall replace our tendency to hate.
John calls us to wake up and prepare the Way
For Christ to live with us. He goes on to say
That honesty prepares to live with the Lord.
Let’s give up on greed. Put away the sword.
And stand with our heads high, scrubbed by his grace.
The hour is nigh. We will soon see God’s Face.
So says the Man with the Pointy Finger.


(c) William G. Carter.  All rights reserved.

When Heaven Was Shaken

Luke 21:25-36
Advent 1
November 28, 2021

“There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in a cloud’ with power and great glory. Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”

Then he told them a parable: “Look at the fig tree and all the trees; as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near. Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.

“Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day catch you unexpectedly, like a trap. For it will come upon all who live on the face of the whole earth. Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these things that will take place, and to stand before the Son of Man.”


The pumpkin pie is barely cold, and Jesus speaks of the end of the world. Once again, the calendars collide.

I hope you had a good Thanksgiving. On the cusp of winter, we pause and give thanks for all the blessings received from the hand of God. The past year had its challenges, but we have gotten through it. So we gathered at abundant tables, sliced up the feast, and celebrated all the goodness we have tasted. The main course for the meal is gratitude: gratitude for a generous God, a saving God, a most gracious God.

And yet, Jesus says, “Keep your eye on the sky. The end is near.”

It’s a hard Sunday to preach. If I had my druthers, we’d have another slice of pie and sing a few more verses of “Now Thank We All Our God.” Gratitude is a virtue, the well-spring of love and generosity. We love and give because God has loved and provided for us. One Thursday a year is a good beginning for counting our many blessings - family, friends, meaningful work, warm home, reliable resources, and so much more.

Gratitude looks backward. We survey what we’ve received. We give thanks for what we’ve experienced.

And yet, the Voice of Advent interrupts and points us to the sky ahead. “Signs in sun and moon and stars… the heavens will be shaken.” Friday night, heaven shook a bit when we returned my mother to her home. The snow dust came tumbling down. It’s a sign of things to come.

Beyond the return of snow, there are perpetual signs of trouble. Jesus assumes we will always endure “distress among the nations,” that the sea will roar, and people will be afraid. Distress is what drives the daily news. There’s always something to panic about. The Lord is not surprised by that. In his own day, there were earthquakes, famines, and the occasional deadly pestilence. Nations were always clashing their swords against one another.

And in his Advent Voice, Jesus declares the day is coming when all of that will be over. No more swords, no more danger, no more violence. He speaks with the Old Testament prophets, pointing ahead to an event they called “The Day of the Lord.” They were convinced that human history is going somewhere. The seasons may cycle around, the years may slumber on, but one day it will no longer be the same old thing. The hidden Dominion of peace and justice that Christ came to inaugurate will be revealed. All shall see it. It will be obvious and all-encompassing. In the words of the prophet Isaiah, “All flesh shall see the glory of God.” Or as the Lord himself quotes the prophet Daniel, “They shall see the Son of Man coming in power and great glory.” It’s going to be big.

The problem, which Jesus highlights so clearly in our text, is that too many of those covered with flesh have stopped hoping, or working, or preparing the way for the Son of Man to come.

I was telling a couple of my Bible study groups the same old joke that I’m fond of telling every time Advent rolls around. If you’ve heard it, just nod your heads and groan. It’s a joke drawn from the days when the Pope of Rome was Italian, not an Argentinian.

It seems one day in the Vatican, somebody looked out the window. He gasped, called out, and pointed. Everybody in the office gathered around to see Jesus was drawing near on the clouds. It was the big day, the Promised Day, the Day of the Lord. One of the archbishops said, “Get the Pope. Bring him here.”

The Pope arrived, looked outside. Indeed, it was a most glorious sight. He said, “It’s the Lord, coming just as he promised.” And one of them said, “Holy Father, what should we do?” And the Pope said, “Look-a busy!”

Martin Luther would have smiled at that. He famously exclaimed, “When the Lord returns, may he find me at my plow, working in the fields.” In other words, not standing around or twiddling the thumbs or wearing a white robe of celibacy – but at work, tending to the daily chores, anticipating his return by doing what normally needs to get done.

What’s curious in today’s text is neither the Pope’s advice, nor Luther’s retort, seems to have characterized the believers in Luke’s church. As Luke reports the words of Christ, they sting: “Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life…”

Now, we know what drunkenness is. What’s “dissipation”? In the Greek language, “dissipation” is another word for “hangover.” So, we wonder what was going on in Luke’s congregation: “Be on guard so that your hearts are nor weighed down with hangovers and drunkenness.” Oh my. Were they going back for refills on the communion wine? Passing around another kind of spirit? Hmm, I wonder.

Luke also reports the story of Pentecost, as told in his second volume, the Book of Acts. In that account, Simon Peter stands up to preach after the miracle of speech and understanding. He addresses the people who had gathered for the Pentecost holiday and says, “These people are not drunk as you suppose, rather they are intoxicated by the Holy Spirit.” But by all appearances, it looked otherwise.

I don't want to make too much of this. There are some churches who make a lot of noise about the consumption of alcohol. One of our choir members grew up in a Kansas City church where the pastor gave an annual temperance sermon. This was the expectation. He told me the story over a glass of wine in his home.

Other churches take a more modest approach, declaring “all things in moderation.” They point out there was wine at the last supper, and the apostle Paul advised, “A little wine is good for the stomach” (1 Tim. 5:23). But he does say, “A little wine.” In Luke’s day, it seems there were more than a few who were tipping a few too many glasses. “Dissipation” was the word he used. It was a distraction from the coming of Christ, a distraction that some had a tough time overcoming. “Be on guard,” he says. Watch out.

And then there’s that other phrase: “Be on guard that your hearts are not weighted down … with the worries of this life.” If you have worries, you might be seeking a distraction. However, if you lean back to get the full sweep of the Gospel of Luke, “worries of this life” are the distractions.

Like that day in the home of two sisters, Mary and Martha. Martha bustled around, preparing dinner, while Mary sat and listened to Jesus teach. Finally Martha built up enough steam to explode, “Teacher, don’t you care that Mary has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her to help me.”

What does he say to her? “Martha, Martha, you are distracted by the worries of this life” (10:42). Same words.

Or that other day, when he told the crowd a story: “A farmer went out to sow a field. He threw the seed all over the field … Some grew among thorns, and the thorns grew with it and choked it.” Afterward, the twelve disciples said, “Tell us what that one’s about.”

How did he explain it? “As for what fell among thorns, these are the ones who hear (my Word), but as they go on their way, they are choked by the worries and riches and pleasures of life.” (8:14). Same exact words.

I’m reminded of the blooper that somebody saw in a worship bulletin: “Don’t let worry kill you; let the church help.” Kind of a double entendre, don’t you think? It’s true – some churches will add to your worries. They pile on the fears.

But what does Jesus say? Stand tall. Lift your heads. Be on guard. Stay awake – and pray. This is his invitation to pray with our eyes open. To pay attention to the signs of the times and the distractions in our lives – and to look beyond them to the coming of the Lord. He is coming to help, to finish, and save. We will be gathered up, not left on our own.

How does he say it? “Your redemption is drawing near.” The Christ is coming. This is the hope at the heart of Advent. And it’s precious, good news.

In fact, that news is so good that, when I get home today, I’m going to have another piece of pie.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

The Parentheses

Revelation 1:4-8
Christ the King
November 21, 2021

John to the seven churches that are in Asia: Grace to you and peace from him who is and who was and who is to come, and from the seven spirits who are before his throne, and from Jesus Christ, the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth. To him who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood, and made us to be a kingdom, priests serving his God and Father, to him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen. Look! He is coming with the clouds; every eye will see him, even those who pierced him; and on his account all the tribes of the earth will wail. So it is to be. Amen. “I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.


I’m glad that Andy Kepler is the liturgist today. Thirteen years ago, I traveled with Andy and Donna to a Greek island named Patmos. When you get off the boat, you proceed up the mountain on a long, winding road. You will pass a few cafes, a series of whitewashed Orthodox churches, and a couple of monasteries. On the hill you find the Cave of the Apocalypse. A priest will meet you, hand you a brochure, and point you down a series of narrow steps.

You descend inside a small stone dome. The aroma of beeswax and incense mingle in the air. Icons lean against the wall. Then your eyes notice a large diagonal crack in the cave wall. According to tradition, this is where the prophet John heard the Voice of the Risen Christ. When the Lord spoke, tradition says it cracked the wall.

This was the spot where John had a series of visions that comprise the Book of Revelation. This final book of the Bible is stuffed full of fantastic visions. He can picture strange beasts and hear warnings of woe. He finds himself surrounded by the heavenly choir. They are singing Easter hymns at the top of their heavenly voices. This is a dazzling book, bewildering to many, intoxicating to others. The Book of Revelation tends to divide the Christian house – either you avoid it like one of its plagues or it’s the only thing you read.

Yet the singular message is clear: God rules over all. Jesus Christ is king.

The book was composed as a circular letter, sent to seven churches in uncertain and dangerous times. The original name of the document is the "Apocalypse," which means a disclosure. In the Bible, an apocalypse is a moment when God pulls back the curtain that hides heaven from earth. The Revelation offers glimpses of a holy reality which is normally hid from human eyes.

Today we hear a voice from heaven announcing, "I am the Alpha and the Omega." That unusual expression appears three times in the final book of the Bible. Each time the voice speaks, we learn something about God that is crucial to our faith and life.

The first insight is a simple observation about language. When God announces, "I am the Alpha and Omega," all the fraternity boys sit up straight in their pews. God connects to two letters from the Greek alphabet. In a Bible full of words, God says, “I am revealed in human alphabets.” Letters combine into words. Words are spoken. God's speech makes a world. That is how it was in the beginning, and how it shall be in God's new creation. The Creator’s primary tools are words. Whenever God speaks, something happens.

Reflecting on his life, the author Frederick Buechner affirms how the power of God creates each new day. It is a creative, holy force expressed through words. As Buechner writes,

Darkness was upon the face of the deep, and God said, "Let there be light." Darkness laps at my sleeping face like a tide, and God says, "Let there be Buechner." Why not? Out of the primeval chaos of sleep (God) calls me to be a life again . . . To wake up is to be given back your life again. To wake up is to be given back the world again and of all possible worlds this world . . . Waking into the new day, we are all of us Adam (and Eve) on the morning of creation, and the world is ours to name. Out of many fragments we are called to put back together a self again.[1]

Every morning, the word that puts us back together is the same word that spoke the world into being. If God has been around since the first day of creation, God has seen it all, heard it all, and spoken it all. God does not speak any new words.

As scholars point out, there is no new word spoken in the book of Revelation. In the 404 verses of this book, there are 518 allusions to earlier passages of scripture.[2] The prophet John points to the books of Exodus, Daniel, Zechariah, and the Psalms, among others. John does not simply string together words from other books. He points to the one Word that holds together all other words. Beginning on the first page of Genesis, God speaks a lot of words. By the time we get to the book of Revelation, only one Word captures all God has to say, and that is the Word made flesh, Jesus Christ. As one of our confessions declares, Jesus Christ is "the one Word of God which we have to hear and which we have to trust and obey in life and in death."[3]

Yet there’s something more. Alpha and Omega are more than mere letters in the alphabet; they are the first and last letters. No sooner does God say, "I am the Alpha and the Omega," then a voice in a vision goes on to say, "I am the first and the last" (Revelation 1:17, 22:13). It echoes a passage from the prophet Isaiah's poetry where God says, "I am the first and the last" (Isaiah 44:6). The point is simply this: God alone speaks the first and last words on human life. No other person, power, or principality can say what God alone can say.

We are created by the Word of God and re-created each day. And the Word claims us as well. I think of that every time we stand over there at the baptismal font. If baptism is merely water, it’s an excellent bath. That’s why somebody once told me to splash a lot of water – it is a symbol of the washing away of sin.

But words surround the washing. Remember some of them? Turn from the ways of sin, turn to God. Who is your Lord and Savior? Will you be his disciple? Will you hold these promises in covenantal trust until the little shaver can confirm them at his confirmation? At the heart of the paragraphs and promises, what does it all mean? That we belong to God. No matter what happens, no matter how far we wander, no matter who we discover ourselves to me – before everything else, after everything else, God is our Sovereign Lord.

His sovereignty rules over all tenses – past, present, future. Or rather, “who is, who was, who is to come” - present, past, and future. God will say it a second time, "I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last" (Revelation 22:13). The faithful church lives in this promise. While Revelation is full of unsettling visions and disturbing pictures, the first word is identical to the last word. The beginning and the end are the same.

As the writer addresses this book to the church, he greets them by saying, "Grace to you, and peace from him who is, and who was, and who is to come" (Revelation 1:4). As the book ends, the last words are, "The grace of the Lord Jesus be with all the saints." In between there is much in this book that unsettles a sensitive stomach. But the first word and the last word are the same . . . and the word is grace. It is a word that God alone can say.

Like all the words God speaks, grace is the word that describes how God is relentlessly inclined in our favor. According to our text, Jesus is the "faithful witness" who points to the truth of God's love. He is "the firstborn of the dead," who opens the way of resurrection. Jesus is ruler over the earth's royalty, exalted as King of kings and Lord of lords. He is "the One who loves us," and "the One who sets us free by his blood." He is coming so that every eye will see him.

And the work of grace is not finished yet. We live in a world enchanted by its own destruction. Yet for a few moments this morning the curtain is drawn back, and we catch a glimpse of how God pursues us through the love of Jesus Christ. Thanks to such grace, we belong to a God who has set us free and will never let us go.

Yet one thing more must be said. God speaks the first word, "I am the Alpha and the Omega," and promises to make all things new. God alone speaks the last word, which is a surprisingly gracious word. The third time God says, "I am the Alpha and the Omega," he affirms, "I am the beginning and the end" (Revelation 22:13, 21:6). This is our greatest hope: that God will be both our source and our destination. Through the grace of Christ our king, we trust the God who gave us birth will complete and finish our lives.

Daily crises can blur our vision. When caught up in illness or trouble, we may forget the One who made us. When a kid gets arrested for shooting a military-grade rifle, we wonder, "What's this world coming to?" Listen: every day is full of enough hassles and horrors to shake up the strongest soul. Each one of us needs a place to stand and a promise to hold.

Some days all we can do is hang on by our fingernails, and trust the One "who is, who was, who is to come." We hope for God and remember God. We remember God's saving history and hope for God's final victory. As one of the great hymns of the church sings the essence of faith,

Through many dangers, toils, and snares, I have already come;
'Tis grace has led me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home.

I remember the story of Joachim Jeremias, the German New Testament scholar of the last century. He was the son of a Lutheran missionary in Jerusalem. Hitler came to power, and the relationship between the German people and the Jewish people became hostile and painful. After the Holocaust, Jeremias wished to return to Israel. He wanted to see if anybody remembered him as a young person, and could say to him, "Joachim, we forgive you."

He said, "I knocked on door after door. I couldn't find anybody. Finally a man opened the door. I remembered him, he remembered me. The man said, "Please come in. It is good are here. We are celebrating the feast of tabernacles. Come into our back yard."

The family had erected a tabernacle of brush. The family tradition was to enter through a small door and recount the stories of Israel's life in the wilderness. Professor Jeremias noticed a little piece of paper clipped to one side of the doorway, and another piece of paper clipped to the other side. Jeremias asked his host, "What is written on the papers?"

The man sighed and said, "That is a summary of Psalm 139: 'Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there. If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast'" (139:7-10).

Jeremias said, "I’m not following you." The man said, "Well, that word on the left is 'from God.' This word on the right is 'to God.' In between, we live from God . . . to God."[4]

This is the parentheses around my life and your life. We live "from God to God." Our destination is to return to our Source. We will return to the God from whom all things were made. In between, we have a promise to claim. We belong to God, the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.

And before the beginning, after the ending, and all the time between, Jesus Christ rules over all.


(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.
//
[1] Frederick Buechner, The Alphabet of Grace (New York: The Seabury Press, 1970) 21-22.
[2] Eugene H. Peterson, Reversed Thunder: The Revelation of John and the Praying Imagination (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988) 22-23.
[3] Barmen Confession
[4] Thanks to Fred B. Craddock for the story.

Generous to a Fault?

Mark 12:38-44
November 7, 2021

William G. Carter  

As he taught, he said, “Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.”

He sat down opposite the treasury and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. Then he called his disciples and said to them, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”


It's a story we can remember or imagine. Everyone gathers for the birthday party. As the family sings, the little boy leans forward. He blows out five candles on the cake. Everybody cheers. Then a mountain of gifts appears, and the little guy’s eyes open wide. As he rips into the wrapping paper, Grandma realizes most of the packages have come from a single source – from Aunt Kathy. “Kathy,” she whispers later, “you spent too much.”

Or it’s Christmas week, and the new fiancée has arrived at the future in laws. He cuddles by the fire with his beloved. Enjoys the conversation with her family. When it’s his turn, he opens a package to discover a sweater and tries it on. It’s a perfect fit. Then he says, “Here’s a little something for you,” as the rest of her family smiles. She opens a small package and pulls out a key ring. He points and says, “Look out there!” It’s a brand-new Mustang, candy apple red.

As everybody drops their jaws, she says to him, “You shouldn’t have.” He begins to reply, and she cuts him off. “No, really, you shouldn’t have. It’s too much.”

Sometimes generosity might seem to go too far. A gift can exceed the situation. If it’s a moment when we are trading gifts, there’s always someone who exceeds the limit. (I’m thinking of one of my family members; it’s not her.) But somebody does this. Maybe it’s you. And we need not diagnose this psychologically. True giving is not always a power trip, much less a competitive game. No, it’s an expression of the heart.

I found this. I thought of you. I made a sacrifice because I wanted to.

And if the gift is extraordinary, a person’s character is revealed in how they receive or reject the gift.

Of all the low points of my moral life, the lowest came on my 23rd birthday. My college girlfriend showed up at the graduate school I was attending. She extended her arms with a package, to which I said something stupid: “Oh, is that for me?” She rolled her eyes, waited for me to take it. Pulling off the paper, I was stunned to discover a sound system for my car. I listen to a lot of music in the car. She knew that, wanted me to have it.

And I confess to you, I was angry. “You spent too much. You can’t afford this. What are you thinking? Take it back. I can’t accept this.” She started to cry. I didn’t know she had been saving for it, that she took on an extra part-time job to pay for it. In my arrogance, in my inability to see the depth of her sacrifice, I demolished her heart. It was a frosty night. Bitterly cold.

All this bears on how I hear the story of the widow who donates her last two coins to the Jerusalem Temple. It is an astonishing gift. Quantitatively, not much money. Two lepta – two copper coins – barely enough to buy bread. But qualitatively, it’s a fortune. And it’s an act of faith. She will have to trust God to deliver the next meal. Or rely on the mercy of strangers. Yet she gives it. She gives it all.

And Jesus says, “Look at that!” That's all he says - "Look at that!"

Notice what he doesn’t do. He doesn’t go over there and scold her. No, he perceives that selfless generosity is her motivation. She opens herself to great vulnerability. She gives herself away. He understands that, especially a couple of days before his own crucifixion. He’s going to give himself away, too, in an enormously powerful act of vulnerability. He respects what she is doing. Her self-giving resonates with his divine heart.

Notice that he doesn’t go over there and reward her, either. These days, when people hit us up for donations, they often offer something in return. Then we get the little slip declaring the subtracted value of the gift. It misses the point – if you’re giving, you’re giving, not getting.

Like my friends who run an arts center up in the hills. They do a $10,000 raffle. Tickets are a hundred bucks, and they sell only five hundred of them. “You could win the top ten-thousand-dollar prize!” It appeals to our greed, which has a way of canceling any feelings of generosity. So I put a hundred dollars in an envelope and send it to them anonymously, because I want them to have the money. I don’t need to “get” anything in return. I believe in what they’re doing. I want them to succeed.

So this story of the woman who gives it all is handled with restraint. Jesus honors her, without ever getting her name and recording it for future generations of stewardship sermons. And the fact that he honors her is something his own disciples won’t understand.

According to Mark’s Gospel, in a matter of hours, Jesus and the twelve will eating at a house up the hill in Bethany. And another woman will appear, break open a jar of expensive perfumed oil, and pour it on his forehead. It’s expensive. It costs about ten months’ wages – just calculate that. And the twelve men explode! “Why is she wasting this? Why is she releasing it into the air? Why didn’t she sell it and feed the poor?”

Jesus says, “Leave her alone. Get off her case. She has done a beautiful thing.” They don’t get it. That’s because the men in the Gospel of Mark usually don’t understand – but the women do. The women give of themselves generously, without fear or calculation. They give because giving is one of the holiest things we can do.

Ever think about that? We open our hands and we let it go. We offer our very living without any desire to manipulate or control. We give because we were created to give, not to keep. We give because we love. We give because we hope. We give because we are free.

It is an extraordinary story. There is no moral to the story, but there is an example: this selfless woman. And in the example is the invitation: we can be like her. In our generosity, we can be like Jesus.

It’s the story that gathers us around this Table, where we learn through broken bread and blood-red wine that Jesus has given everything to ransom us from the powers of evil. That’s how this Gospel describes what he has done (10:45). He has given his life to set us free. He has totally set us free.

What an extraordinary gift! What are you going to do with it?

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.