Promising and Receiving

Romans 1:1-7
December 21, 2025
Advent 4

William G. Carter  

Paul, a servant of Christ Jesus, called to be an apostle, set apart for the gospel of God, which he promised beforehand through his prophets in the holy scriptures, the gospel concerning his Son, who was descended from David according to the flesh and was declared to be Son of God with power according to the spirit of holiness by resurrection from the dead, Jesus Christ our Lord, through whom we have received grace and apostleship to bring about the obedience of faith among all the gentiles for the sake of his name, including you who are called to belong to Jesus Christ,

 

To all God’s beloved in Rome, who are called to be saints: Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

 

It’s only four days until Christmas. Perhaps it is time for a “true meaning of Christmas” sermon. Have you ever had one of those? In some of the churches where some of us grew up, the preacher would stand in the pulpit as the days were hastening on. Looking out upon a congregation under stress from the holidays, upon good people consumed by consumerism, upon those too weary to be joyful, the preacher would tell everybody the “true meaning of Christmas.”

Today is a day like that. Even though, the Bible offers a number of “true meaning of Christmas” sermons. And who knows which one is the sermon for today.

We can ask the writer of the main story we’ve heard. “Luke, what’s the true meaning of Christmas?” He doesn’t pause. Luke says, “God came to us as a peasant child. His parents were so poor they had to cradle him in a feeding trough. When a group of sheep herders heard the news, they could scarcely believe God came to people like them.” Christmas according to Luke.

How about Matthew? Matthew says, “When God came to us, he shook up old King Herod. Herod was a cranky and violent despot, immediately threatened by someone who might get more attention than him. He was the first of many who tried to get rid of Jesus. Like the rest of them, he didn’t succeed. Jesus is the True King over all kings, with all authority over heaven and earth.” Christmas according to Matthew.

Let’s hear about Christmas from Mark. Mark, anything? Nope. Doesn’t say a word. Not going to get anything out of him.

Of course, John is ready to fill the silence. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us,” he says. The philosophical becomes physical. Grace and truth took on skin, breath, and blood. Jesus comes to show us what God is like.” Christmas according to John.

Today, of course, we hear from the apostle Paul. Paul’s not one for telling stories. He never mentions Mary, Joseph, shepherds, wise men, or nasty old Herod. He doesn’t reach into the philosophical clouds like the gospel of John. What does he have to say about Christmas? Well, we have just heard a mouthful. Paul says Christmas is “a promise received.” Did you catch that? There was a promise and it was received. Those are today’s two Advent words.

They are wrapped up in a signature. Admittedly, that flew by kind of fast. When you sent a letter in the ancient world, the signature came first. They didn’t have address labels. The writer signed the letter first, so everybody knew who it was from, so this letter begins “Paul…” and there is a string of additional words. 107 words, and that’s just in the signature. Couldn’t he have written “Paul” and left it there? Maybe, but this is Paul. The apostle Paul. Why restrict yourself to one word when you can use 107 more words?

Fact is, he is writing to people he has never met. Fifteen chapters and seven thousand words later, he says, “I hope to see you. I plan to stop by Rome on my way to Spain. But I wanted to make sure you got the whole Gospel from me before I see you face to face.[1] Oh, and I’m also collecting offerings for some famine victims. Meanwhile, say hello to all my friends who are with you. Give them a little kiss.”[2]

So, let me break that down for you. Romans is Paul’s longest letter – 7100 words – and it is his letter of introduction. This is literally his book of sermons. What we have today is Paul’s introduction to his letter of introduction – his signature and 107 additional words. Those 107 words summarize the seven thousand other words. And to make it clear, there are two verbs that summarize the 107 words. Ready? Promise and receive. These two verbs hold the essence of Christmas for Paul – and for us.

Now, Paul is a Jew. He knows all about the word “promise,” for the Jewish faith is built on promises. As a Jew, he knows God is the One making all the promises. God speaks and things happen. The promises are just that powerful.

·       “Let there be light” – and there was light.

·       “Be fruitful and multiply” – and it was so.

·       “You shall be my people” – and the calling was irrevocable.

·       “Keep my commandments and you shall be my treasure.” And God kept his part of the promise. Sadly, that’s where things broke down.

As Paul tells it, God has always been good on his promises. It’s the rest of us who have stumbled. He lays all of this out in those seven thousand words in the Letter to the Romans. And nobody gets off the hook, whether we are part of the Jewish covenant or not. The excuses won’t wash 

But then God sends Jesus into a world like this. It is a world that can’t decide if it is rebellious or indifferent; probably a measure of both – and Jesus the Christ comes anyway. And the world tries to push him away, yet he comes back. What Paul has discovered is that God promises a wide embrace. God promises enough mercy to welcome us all, whether we are Jews or not Jews, whether we are finished or unfinished. The promise is there. It comes in Jesus.

He signals this in two ways, which many of us have heard before. First, he speaks of “Jesus Christ our Lord.” Jesus is the name of the Christ, that is, the kingly Messiah. He comes from the line of David and is now the King above all other minor kings. That’s the Jewish hope. And Jesus the Christ is the Lord. That is, the One who holds all things together. The gravitational center of goodness and wisdom who governs the universe. That’s the Gentil hope. “Jesus Christ our Lord.”

Second, there’s the famous greeting he offers, once we get through that breathless signature and introduction: “grace to you all and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.” “Grace” is the Gentile greeting, pretty close to the Greek word for “howdy.” And peace is the Hebrew word, “Shalom,” the blessing offered when someone comes and goes. Grace and Peace: gifts from God, and through the Lord Jesus Messiah.

In other words, the promise is for all. God’s promise is no longer distinguished by bloodline, race, or language. God sends Jesus to make this crystal clear. Got all that?

And that opens us to the second Advent word: “receive.” The sense of the verb is to “take hold,” as in to “take hold” of what has been offered as a gift. Paul likes that verb. About a third through this seven-thousand-word letter, he speaks of “taking hold” of how the cross of Jesus reveals God’s mercy. God could have blasted us away when we pushed Jesus away, but God chose to cancel the power of that sin.[3]

Then, a little further, Paul speaks about “taking hold” of our new family status, a status independent of how the world would try to classify us. He says we did not receive the confinement of fear or abandonment – rather, it’s as if we are children who have been adopted by our Single Parent who art in heaven. And we cry out “Abba, Daddy!” when we pray.[4] Take hold of the One who has taken hold of you.

With this, it’s Christmas. At least, it’s Christmas for the apostle Paul. For Christmas is the promise God makes to welcome us, to scrub us clean, to put on us a new set of clothes. All we have to do is receive it. Because God’s saving, God’s claiming, God’s loving – all of it comes as a gift. Take hold of that.

This is God’s good word, literally the “Godspell” of God. And what a wild, crazy week for anybody to take hold of it. The writer Anne Lamott, Presbyterian Sunday School teacher, was lamenting the kind of week it’s been. It reminded her of that dark December in 2012, when the school in Newtown, Connecticut was attacked. She had asked her friend Tom, the Jesuit priest, where is Advent in the middle of despair and chaos?

He said, “Annie, you Protestants and your little questions!” Then he added, “Faith is a decision. Do we believe we are ultimately doomed and there’s no way out? Or that God and goodness make a difference? There are heaven, community, and hope – and hope that there is life beyond the grave.”

“But Tom,” she protested, at the same time, the grave is very real, dark and cold and lonely.”

Tom replied, “Advent is not for the naïve. Because in spite of the dark and cold, we see light – you look up, or you make light with candles, trees, and you give light. Beauty helps, in art and nature and faces. Friends help. Solidarity helps. If you ask me, when people return phone calls, it’s about as good as it gets. And who knows beyond that.

He continued, “Advent says there is a way out of this trap – that we embrace our humanity, and Jesus’ humanity, and then we remember he is wrapped up in God. It’s good to remember where to find Jesus in the least of these, among the broken, the very poor and marginalized. Jesus says, ‘You want to see me? Look there.”

So, she called Father Tom after hearing about the human damage of that week. Neither said anything interesting, she said, but they spent time on the phone, listened to each other’s voices, and grieved for those affected. That helped. She said, “These tiny bits of connection to the broken are very real, and the kindness and attention people show to one another create a tiny bit of light. That’s Advent.

She concludes, “I will not let hate, violence, or despair be my norm, my reality, or my way forward. I choose to believe we are better together and connected, even in heartbreaking days. I choose light – and your light. We have never needed Hanukkah and Advent more.”[5]

Can you hear the promise, the promise of God? It’s the promise that all of us are invited in, all of us are beckoned to make our way forward together as one family with Jesus. Can you take hold of that? Can you let go of all that hurts and divides, and take hold of the faith, hope, and love that come as gifts because of Christ’s coming into the world?

I think we can. Yes, I believe we can. For we are God’s beloved, called to be saints together. So, Merry Christmas from the apostle Paul. Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

(c) William G. Carter

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[1] Romans 15:14-24.

[2] Romans 16:16.

[3] Romans 5:6-11

[4] Romans 8:15-16.

[5] Anne Lamott with Sam Lamott, Some Assembly Required (New York: Riverhead Books, 2012) 103-104.

Rejoicing and Abounding

Romans 11:33-36
December 14, 2025
Advent 3

William G. Carter

O the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God!

How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways!

“For who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has been his counselor?”
“Or who has given a gift to him, to receive a gift in return?”

For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be the glory forever. Amen.

We are making our way through the season of Advent by paying attention to the verbs. Careful observers were waiting for today’s two verbs – rejoicing and abounding. Careful listeners did not hear them in the reading of the text. At least, not that text. Not the Romans text. 

There is plenty of rejoicing in the reading from Isaiah 35. The prophet is thrilled at the prospect of going home. He speaks in poetry, of course, so his words lack specifics. But the emotion is there. The desert shall rejoice. The crocus shall rejoice. The speechless will sings for joy. Those claimed by God will rejoice. “Everlasting joy shall be upon their heads.” That’s a pretty good promise.

And the abounding is there, too. A stark landscape breaks into blossom. The hot sand burst into green grass. Those who can’t see shall see. Those who can’t hear shall hear. Those who can’t walk shall dance. This is the abundance, the abounding. There is a surprising over-supply beyond what anybody expected.

Many times, the New Testament verb for “abound” points to food. Like loaves and fishes! Church people know about abundance. The quilting group invited me downstairs for lunch on Tuesday. There was a lot of food. Last Sunday’s LIFT luncheon, also downstairs, had too much food. I drove my wife over the mountain to the small church where she plays the organ on Sundays. They were preparing for a Christmas cookie sale. They expected 130 pounds of Christmas cookies. We know about abundance. And it’s more than merely food. God is exceedingly generous.

In the Advent promise, we see extravagance and hear exuberance emanating from the heart of God. Rejoice! Abound! It sounds like a holy protest against the sadness and the meanness that threatens our world. Joy and abundance defy the fear and scarcity that constrict so many people’s lives.

I think of a woman who many of us know. She’s always laughing. No matter what happens, some kind of carbonated holiness infuses our spirit. She is a make-lemonade-out-of-lemons kind of person. Is her life easy? No easier than yours or mine. Is everything going her way? Not at all. Does she sink into a slump from time to time? Everybody does, her included – but she can break into a Christmas carol without notice.

Last time I saw her, she was recounting some health challenges. Suddenly she broke into song, “Joy to the world! The Lord has come. Let earth receive her king! Let every heart prepare him room. Let heaven and nature sing…”

What is astonishing is how to explain people like that. Are they in denial? No, not really. They know what kind of world this is. Are they avoiding tough conversations? No, they are well aware of the issues. Are they trying to change the conversation? Well, maybe. Maybe something else has happened to them.

There’s that moment the Grinch steals Christmas from the Whos down in Whoville. He leans to listen to their wailing on Christmas morning after he has stolen all their presents. You remember what happens. He hears them break into song, a happy song, a joyful song. Then, as Dr. Suess tells us,

And the Grinch, with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow,

Stood puzzling and puzzling: "How could it be so?

It came without ribbons! It came without tags!"

It came without packages, boxes or bags!"

And he puzzled three hours, `till his puzzler was sore.

Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before!

“Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store."

“Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!"

(Theodor Seuss Geisel, How the Grinch Stole Christmas (New York: Random House, 1957)

Yes, yes. This is the secret. This is the Mystery. And we name it as the coming of God into this world. That God is not absent. God is not indifferent. God may be quiet and exceedingly subtle – yet God is coming. And everything will be infused with unexpected joy and abundance.

So, we circle back to what we heard today from the apostle Paul. It comes from his letter to the Romans. This is the thickest book in our Bible. Not the longest in terms of pages, but the thickest. The heaviest. The most profound. Paul is laying out the entire work of God in human history. He is swimming in very deep water. At the end of chapter eleven, he suddenly breaks into song:

O the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God!

How unsearchable are God’s judgments! How inscrutable God’s ways!

Now, he is interrupting himself. He has just spent three entire chapters wrestling with a thorny spiritual problem. Jesus the Messiah has come, but many of his own people do not believe in him. Paul is a Jew and he agonizes over the unbelief of so many of his spiritual family. Some of you know what this is like. Maybe your kids graduated from confirmation class and never came back. He is struggling to make sense of this. He knows God loves every one of them, that God will not abandon any one of them, that God will not revoke his call upon their lives. Then, without warning, comes the song: “O the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God!”

Why is he interrupting himself with praise, especially here? Well, it’s a habit. He has done it before.

• Back in chapter one, Paul wrote about those who live without the Bible or any knowledge of Christ. He interrupts himself with another burst of praise to “the Creator who is blessed forever. Amen.”[1]
• In chapter nine, as he anguishes about the rejection of the Messiah, he does it again, interjecting, “the Christ, who is over all, God blessed forever. Amen.”[2]
• And then, one more time, at the very end of this letter, he sings once again, “to the only wise God, through Jesus Christ, to whom be the glory forever! Amen.”[3]

Paul can’t seem to speak about God without praising God. He knows his words, his reasoning, his thinking only goes so far. God is greater than our understanding. God’s grace is more abundant than we can comprehend. No matter much we think we know about God, God is bigger. God is greater. And this holy and inscrutable God is infinitely inclined toward loving all of us. God is going to take in the world for repairs. That’s the Mystery.

To strengthen his doxology, Paul paraphrases two verses from his Hebrew Bible. The first, from Isaiah, chapter 40: “For who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has been his counselor?”[4] God is beyond our comprehension. No one is going to tell God what to do. The best we can do is line up with those things that God cares about. And it takes a good bit of discernment to figure out what they are. 

The second verse comes from the end of the book of Job. God says to Job, “Who has given a gift to him, to receive a gift in return?”[5] In other words, life is not a transaction. Life is a gift, a whole lot of gifts, an abundance of gifts. And God is infinitely more generous than we could ever expect or deserve. So, rather than explain God, Paul bursts into song. He rejoices because God’s love abounds.

Now, are you feeling the same way? Maybe, maybe not. Paul was an unusual character, after all. Once when he was in prison, he rattled his tin cup against the iron bars. Then he exclaimed, “Rejoice in the Lord always! Again, I will say rejoice!”[6] How could he rejoice in those circumstances? Because he knew there are things worse than sitting in a prison. He had his life. He had his hope. He had his friends. He had his knowledge of the scriptures. More than that, God had him – a God so gracious that he couldn’t even comprehend it.

What we learn from Paul is something about the true nature of joy. Joy doesn’t depend on our circumstances. Happiness usually does; someone or something can make us happy. Happiness comes and goes. But the grounds for our joy don’t depend on us or anybody else. Joy is that spiritual essence that carries us through. It is rooted in the truth that we are divinely loved, that our purpose is to love in return, and, as Paul says elsewhere in this letter, the knowledge that “nothing shall ever separate us from the love of God.”[7] Nothing at all.

A second lesson about joy is that we don’t have to understand everything there is to know about God – and that’s OK. Trained as a Bible scholar, the apostle Paul sings out, “There is so much that I don’t understand. The fullness of God is incomprehensible.” There is so much more wisdom to pursue, so much more knowledge to grasp, so much more love to learn and practice. Even then, we cannot apprehend it all. We probably never will. But God apprehends us – and God comes to us in Jesus Christ. It’s something we could never demand or deserve. We can only receive the gift – and we can do so with open arms and open hearts.

So, in a dark world, we sing. We have seen enough of the light to know the darkness does not win. Darkness did not win over Jesus, and it will not win over us. And we live as fragile beings in a world of trouble, yet we are living - and fully alive - because the God of life has breathed life into us. And we pray for eyes to see the same abundance that the prophets could see: streams of water in the wilderness, sight and speech restored, hope renewed, and God approaching us on the holy highway.

And to take a cue from Paul, none of us have to pretend to be experts in the ways of faith. The Messiah does not come when we attain enough knowledge, comprehension, or even faithfulness - as important as those things are. The Messiah comes solely on the generosity of God. Rejoice, O people of God. Out of the abundance of God’s mercy, our Savior is at hand. He claims us as his own.

For what does the Bible say? “From God and through God and to God are all things. To God be the glory forever. Amen.”

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

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[1] 1:25.

[2] 9:5.

[3] 16:27.

[4] Paul’s paraphrase of the Hebrew text of Isaiah 40:13.

[5] Paul’s paraphrase of the Hebrew text of Job 41:11.

[6] Philippians 4:4.

[7] Romans 8:38-39.

Hoping and Watching

Romans 15:4-13
December 7, 2025
Advent 2

William G. Carter

For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, so that by steadfastness and by the encouragement of the scriptures we might have hope. May the God of steadfastness and encouragement grant you to live in harmony with one another, in accordance with Christ Jesus, so that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.

 

Welcome one another, therefore, just as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God. For I tell you that Christ has become a servant of the circumcised on behalf of the truth of God in order that he might confirm the promises given to the patriarchs, and in order that the Gentiles might glorify God for his mercy.

 

·       As it is written, “Therefore I will confess you among the Gentiles, and sing praises to your name”; 

·       and again he says, “Rejoice, O Gentiles, with his people”; 

·       and again, “Praise the Lord, all you Gentiles, and let all the peoples praise him”; 

·       and again Isaiah says, “The root of Jesse shall come, the one who rises to rule the Gentiles; in him the Gentiles shall hope.”

 

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

 

We sing a short melody each week as we light the candles on the Advent wreath. The first time we heard it, someone said, “That song is remarkably Jewish.” Yes, it is. The melody comes from a Yiddish folk song. It yearns in a minor key. The harmony does not resolve; it lingers in the air, unfinished. That is a Jewish song, a remarkably Jewish song. And it prompts us to hope.

That’s one of our Advent verbs: hope. The other is watch. What we are watching for is the very thing for which we hope. But what would that be? What are you hoping for Christmas?

There was a line of cars driving into one of the local casinos, bumper to bumper, inching along. What are all those people hoping for? A good steak dinner? Some entertainment to counter the dark nights? Or do they hope to hit it big? Like the hat somebody was wearing on TV: MLAA - make life affordable again.

What are you hoping for Christmas? Everybody to come home and circle around the tree? All those old acquaintances, not to be forgot and come to mind? As life rolls on, the herd disperses and time together thins out. Some may still receive Christmas cards, but for others, it’s like Charlie Brown at Christmas, echoing inside an empty mailbox. “Hello in there…”

Is there something you hope for? Peace of mind? Gentleness of spirit? Perhaps to sleep through the whole night without tossing or turning or waking at 3:00 a.m.? Whether emotional, mental, or physical, peace would be a great gift if it weren’t so elusive. 

So, what do you hope for Christmas, for Christmas and beyond Christmas? Listen to what Paul said: “Read the Bible.” He was referring to his Bible, the Jewish Bible, before the Christians added him to their Bible. His suggestion is if we read the ancient scriptures, we might find encouragement and gain some hope. His hope is that people will “live in harmony with one another,” that they will get along – but more than merely get along – that they will work for one another’s benefit.

Paul remembers four Jewish texts from his old Bible: Psalm 17, verse 50; Deuteronomy 32:43, Psalm 117, verse 1; and Isaiah 11:10. He’s paraphrasing these from memory, not concerned with quoting them exactly, because in these four texts, as in others, he has heard the Advent promise of God - that people of good will welcome one another, that they will live side by side with one another, that they will flourish together. It won’t matter if they are Jews or Gentiles – because the Christ has come for all. There is the true possibility of human community.

Can we hope for that? Watch for that? Work for that? I think we can. And that, as they say, reminds me of a story.

In January 2024, Overbook Presbyterian Church lost their sanctuary to a devasting fire. It was Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday. The congregation had met, then scattered to serve the community through projects around that part of western Philadelphia They returned to discover the sanctuary was in flames. The building was a total loss. The congregation could not worship there, much less gather. It was a terrible tragedy.

It also had personal implications. My daughter had planned and arranged to have her wedding there that May 18. The day of the fire, I contacted my daughter, knowing this would ensue panic. I’m glad to say the situation resolved. We were able to rearrange the location of her wedding. She's married, she's happy, and life has moved on.

But I've always wondered what happened to Overbrook Presbyterian Church. How did they negotiate that loss? What did they do? How did they get through it? A month ago, The Philadelphia Inquirer filled in the gaps.

It seems many local congregations reached out to Overbrook Church and its pastor, the Reverend Adam Hearlson. One of the congregations was Temple Beth Hillel - Beth El, a conservative synagogue in nearby Wynnewood. The rabbi, Ethan Witkovski had been acquainted with Pastor Hearlson. He reached out to say, “What can we do for you? We have available space. We would be glad to host you for whatever would make sense to you and your congregation.” That included space for meetings and office work.

Pretty soon, Adam picked up on that invitation. The Presbyterians began to meet in the synagogue for Bible study, committee meetings, board meetings, and again, some office space. The rabbi enjoyed the comradery and commented it was wonderful to share the space with another clergy person. “He would wander into my office and discuss everything from scripture to emails. It was amazing,” he said. The friendship continued. It grew stronger.

They had prayer services together as a congregation, particularly when the synagogue was vandalized with a swastika. The Presbyterians said, “We are standing with you. You don't have to deal with this alone. We are family of faith together.” The hope, Pastor Harrelson said, is that if you don't remember who started the mutual circle of care, it continues to feed back on itself, and you live in that circle recognizing its goodness.

And there were moments that were just extraordinary. One of the Presbyterian described a study session where both rabbi and pastor each taught a piece of scripture from the other's tradition. She appreciated the depth of scholarship as the rabbi spoke about the Sermon on the Mount. That evening, Pastor Hearlson taught a passage from the Talmud, the central text of religious Jewish law. She said, “It helped broaden my understanding of both of our traditions.” They have more in common than what separates them.

The big test came as the church prepared for Easter. The rabbi suggested the synagogue would be a wonderful place for the Presbyterians to have their Easter service. It was a novel idea. Some Presbyterians were concerned about putting up a cross and hosting Easter in a Jewish space, but the synagogue board said, “That would be no problem whatsoever.” There was immediate enthusiasm.

And then Holy Week came. Everybody realized Easter last year landed on the eighth day of Passover. That meant the church and synagogue would hold services at the same time. About two hundred Jews and three hundred Christians gathered under the same roof to pray separately but together. They all prayed for rebirth and renewal. Then came a moment of recognition: what do the Presbyterians do when serving communion? It was Passover. The synagogue could not allow bread with yeast into their building. If there was to be communion, it would have to be with matzah, the unleavened bread eaten on Passover.

Pastor Hearlson said, “I was up front as the congregation was taking communion. I said, ‘Take, eat, this is my body broken for you,’ and there was an audible crunch. And people giggled all through the sanctuary. We've never had that before.

When the Easter service concluded, Pastor Hearlson invited anybody present to come and sing the Handel's Hallelujah Chorus with the choir. Both Christians and Jews joined in the song. Afterwards, both congregations shared a meal, with an Easter egg hunt on a synagogue lawn. Inside the plastic Easter eggs was kosher candy selected so that Jewish students could participate too. One of the synagogue kids kept a plastic Easter egg to put on his Passover Seder plate the next year.

Pastor Hearlson said, “I can't tell you how theologically generous this idea is. Up until now, out on the main line of Philadelphia, we've had kind of a live-and-let-live belief. But this was something more. We're going to actively support each other. We're going to be involved in one another's lives.”[1]

And I add: isn’t that what God intended from the beginning? In a reflective moment, the apostle Paul says as much. Today’s text was written to a community in the city of Rome, constituted of Jews and non-Jews. He addressed them together because they have heard from Paul and others that the promises God made centuries before to God’s people Israel are now available to all because of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. [2]

Today’s text is the summary of what God has to say: “Welcome one another, as Christ has welcomed all of you, for the glory of God.” God hopes to create a large community. That is our hope, too. It’s our Advent hope, thanks to the Messiah who has come and will come again. The closed circle must be expanded. The distinction between insider and outsider has dissolved by the Christ who has come for all.

Paul has learned the text from his Hebrew Bible: “The root of Jesse shall come, the one who rises to rule the Gentiles; in him the Gentiles shall hope.” That’s from the prophet Isaiah, chapter 11. Our Christian future is rooted in our Jewish past. Our heritage reaches back to Jesse, the father of King David, and it stretches forward until all shall see the love and justice of God in Jesus the King, the Son of David. This is the scope of our hope.

 

“Welcome one another, just as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God.” All the promises of God lie ahead of us. We can watch some of them become real here and now. We can lean into God’s future to make life more bearable for others. The signs are already among us. Peace is possible. Harmony is possible. Love is possible.

 

Don’t you hope?

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

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[1] Denali Sagner, “A Pennsylvania synagogue opened its doors to a local church. A ‘deeply profound’ partnership ensued.” The Philadelphia Inquirer, 28 October 2025.

[2] Cyntha M. Campbell, “Pastoral Perspective on Romans 15:4-13,” in Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013) 40.

Waking and Walking

Romans 13:11-14
November 30, 2025
Advent 1

William G. Carter

 

Besides this, you know what time it is, how it is already the moment for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers; the night is far gone; the day is near. Let us then throw off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light; let us walk decently as in the day, not in reveling and drunkenness, not in illicit sex and licentiousness, not in quarreling and jealousy. Instead, put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires.

At one moment in our church’s life, one of the committees took on the task of encouraging our church members to come to worship. Folks like you didn’t need any encouragement. You were already here. But there were some that had slipped off the radar. They hadn’t been seen in quite a while. 

You can imagine the task. A task force combed through the lists of names. Who knows this person? Who knows that one? Before we reach out, is there any evidence they have been here? And then, the phone calls commenced. Conversations ensued, summaries were shared, and encouragements were offered.

You can imagine the responses. Some had a job change. Some had a life change. Some had quietly moved out of town. A couple of them had quietly moved to heaven. A few offered excuses. A few others offered good reasons. And then there was one guy – I’ll call him Sam.

Sam worked seven months of the year as a groundskeeper at a nearby golf course. When winter came, the course laid him off. He collected unemployment. After the spring thaw, he was hired back again. Our eager volunteer said, “Well, we would love to see you whenever you can attend.” Sam said, “I can’t make it to church when I’m working. Sunday morning is prime time for golf. In fact, I see a lot of church members on Sunday morning."

“I understand,” said the volunteer, “but we would love to see you when you aren’t working.” “No,” he replied, “during the winter I take a long nap. Besides, the last couple of times I went to church, I fell asleep.”

“Oh my,” said the volunteer, “were you embarrassed?” “Not as embarrassed as my elderly mother,” he confessed. “She didn’t like my snoring.”

That was many years ago. The last time he came to worship was many years before that, decades in fact. To use an Old Testament phrase, Sam is now sleeping with his ancestors. And it has always intrigued me. How can anybody fall asleep, especially in church? Is the sermon boring? Have you heard it all before? Did the announcements go on too long? Was the prayer too subdued? Was he weary when he arrived? Overtired from a late night? Or was there too much wine during - or after - Saturday dinner?

Who can say? Perhaps we can take a moment to survey the room to see if anybody is nodding off.

“It’s time to wake up,” says the apostle Paul. The Jesus who came once is coming again. With him will come the full dominion of God. Not just the hints and whispers of it – but the whole thing. The complete experience. The Big Day, the Final Day, the Day of the Lord. All of human history is coming to its conclusion. God’s great salvage operation is right close at hand. “Don’t stay asleep. Wake up and claim the Brand New Day.”

Now, that’s preacher talk. In the sermon business, we call that “amplified speech.” The one in the pulpit turns up the volume to “11.” Everything is spoken louder, described as bigger. The volume aims to motivate, energize, and keep our attention. We can thank Paul for pointing to something Great and Large and Wonderful. He wants us to be ready to claim it when it arrives. He’s a good preacher.

And he is also a good pastor. For he knows, just as soon as he’s done speaking, the crowd can slide back into complacency. After the dog barks for a while, it is no longer heard. There is a long, slow slide into the status quo. Behaviors become habits. Habits become routines. We begin to believe the future will look a lot like the status quo. So, he smacks the pulpit and bellows out, “Wake up!” Then he adds, “Watch how you walk.”

Wake and walk: two verbs for the beginning of Advent. As the poet Bill Leety once suggested, “Pay attention to the verbs. Verbs do all the work. Verbs carry the freight.” So, let’s take a moment to explore these two verbs and try to understand what they have to do with the season.

“Wake up.” This verb is not referring to the gentle emergence from the deep pool of dreaming. It’s not that thirty-minute return to consciousness. Rather, it’s a shaking, a rousing, like an air horn at a basketball game. Or that smoke alarm that screeched at 3:00 a.m. when your chimney was backed up. Paul uses the same verb that he and others use for “raising” the dead. It’s loud, like a trumpet in the graveyard shouting, “Get up!”

And here, the waking is not from regular, old sleep, but from a form of hypnosis. It’s that long, slow slide into oblivion. You don’t even know it’s been happening. Like that moment during the third quarter of the Penn State game yesterday. There was a blazing fire in the fireplace. My belly was full of pizza, Kielbasa, and onion dip. That huge piece of pumpkin pie tasted so good. I didn’t even notice I was drifting into a carbohydrate coma on the couch.

Then my wife yelled at a missed extra point, as she is prone to do – and I suddenly opened my eyes. “Wake up!”

And walk. If you were reading along with the pew Bible (NRSV), you didn’t see the verb “walk” in verse thirteen. You heard Paul say, “let us live.” But the verb in the original language is “walk.” Drawing on the old Hebrew notion, which was familiar to Paul, to live is to walk, to make your way through the world, to move and to move on, to follow your feet into the realm of holiness.

As he says, “Let us walk decently, as if we belong to the darkness.” He contrasts the “decent walk,” the holy walk, with three pairs of behaviors that often happen after dark: reveling and drunkenness, illicit sex and licentiousness, in quarreling and jealousy. Or as someone puts them in relevant speech, “in frivolity and indulgence, in sleeping around and dissipation, in bickering and grabbing everything in sight.”[1]  We can’t afford to waste a minute of these precious daylight hours. 

Wake up and walk – because the King is close at hand. The hour is near. God’s salvation is coming right here. This is the message of Advent. The herald announces it every year. Truth be told, the cycle of liturgical seasons circles around, year after year. As helpful as it is to mark church time that way, we live fifty-weeks in Advent. We are always waiting for God to come in the fullness of glory.

Laura read to us Isaiah’s vision of peace, a vision so compelling that the prophet Micah said, “I’m going to reuse those words in my own book.”[2] The day is coming when all people shall walk to God’s house on top of God’s mountain. God will judge them and instruct them. They will pound their weapons into farm tools and they “ain’t gonna study war no more.”

“O Israel,” cries the prophet, “let us walk in the light of the Lord.” Not in the darkness of suspicion and destruction – but in the brightness of God’s revelation.

Then the Psalm that we sang, a Psalm prayed by generations as they walked to God’s house on the top of God’s mountain. “I was glad when they said, ‘Let us go to the house of the Lord.’” Glad, not sad. Glad, not bored. Glad, not sleepy or lazy or full of excuses, but glad. Because gladness is the overwhelming emotion when we live in the fullness of Christ. It’s the conviction that, all evidence to the contrary, everything is going to work out in the end – because Everything and the End all belong to God. The poet says there will even be peace in the Middle East. Imagine that!

Wake up and walk this way. These are the opening invitations as Advent rolls around once again. They are continuing invitations for our spiritual life because we tend to nod off to sleep and we tend to become spiritual couch potatoes. Open your eyes! Get up and get moving! Paul wants the Christians in Rome to be ready for God’s encroaching kingdom. The same holds true for the Christians in Clarks Summit.

Dr. Christine Valters Paintner is a wise spiritual director in Galway, Ireland. She knows how our bad habits form when we convince ourselves that the-way-things-are are the way things will always be. The God who will come finally is already close at hand. The status quo has been punctured open. The darkness has been broken by the Light. So, she says, “The image of awakening calls us to shake off the slumber that creates a veil between reality and our perception.” [3]    

If we are spiritually asleep, things happen that threaten to do us in.

• Like frivolity and indulgence: when we lose track of how many glasses of wine we’ve been sipping or how many Moscow Mules we’ve been pounding down. We could live in a fog until Advent says, “Wake up and leave behind the spiritual substitutes.”

• Like dissipation and sleeping around: if we hop from one romantic attachment to another, we trade our identity as God’s beloved ones for cheap thrills that inevitably cheapen us. Advent says, “Step out of the darkness of shame into God’s cleansing light.”

• Like bickering and grabbing everything in sight: if we exist only to grab and consume whatever we can, stoked by greed and jealousy and endless comparisons to everybody else, Advent says, “Open your eyes – and then open your heart. There are others here, too, and we are all waiting together for what God so deeply wants for us all.

Wake up and walk. The alternative to living only for today is living for tomorrow. It will be God’s tomorrow. It will be the eighth day of New Creation, where all darkness is punctured by light. We can be full of ourselves, driven only by our appetites. Or we can be full of Christ, abounding in love, honoring one another, and showing wide grace far greater than ourselves. For that is what God’s tomorrow will be, for us and for all.   

In the words of the ancient prophet, “Come, let us walk in the light of the Lord.”

 

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

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[1] As Eugene H. Peterson translates Romans 13:13 in The Message.

[2] Micah 4:1-4.

[3] Christine Valters Paintner, The Soul’s Slow Ripening: 12 Celtic Practices for Seeking the Sacred (Notre Dame: Sorin Books, 2018) 40.

In the Midst of Noise and Chaos

Psalm 46
Christ the King
November 23, 2025

William G. Carter  

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
² Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change,
    though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea,
³ though its waters roar and foam,
    though the mountains tremble with its tumult.     Selah

⁴ There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
    the holy habitation of the Most High.
⁵ God is in the midst of the city; it shall not be moved;
    God will help it when the morning dawns.
⁶ The nations are in an uproar; the kingdoms totter; he utters his voice; the earth melts.
⁷ The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge.  Selah

⁸ Come, behold the works of the Lord; see what desolations he has brought on the earth.
⁹ He makes wars cease to the end of the earth;
    he breaks the bow and shatters the spear; he burns the shields with fire.
¹⁰ “Be still, and know that I am God! I am exalted among the nations; I am exalted in the earth.”
¹¹ The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah

 

Over the years, the American Bible Society has provided a tip sheet for anybody who wants to make their way through the Bible. It’s such a thick book, at times complicated, and hard to find what we’re looking for. That’s why the tip sheet was created.

·       Feeling blue? Read Psalm 42. “Why are you downcast, O my soul?”

·       Feeling happy? Psalm 100, “Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth.”

·       Feeling alone? Psalm 23. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”

·       Need to rebuild some confidence? Psalm 121 “My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.”

And then, there is Psalm 46, the psalm appointed for today. When do you think it would fit? According to the American Bible Society, it is a psalm when it feels like everything is shaken up. “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore, we will not fear, though the earth should change.”

Such a text gave comfort to Martin Luther, the great reformer, when the medieval church was going through turmoil. The earth was changing all around him. The old certainties weren’t working any more. The church to which he had given his life was corrupt. At one point, enemies were hunting him down. For ten months, Luther hid in the 500-year-old Wartburg Castle. It sits at the top of a 1300-foot cliff. 

No doubt the experience prompted him to write, “A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing.” The hymn is based on Psalm 46. It is a psalm to hang onto when the world is disrupted.

What is remarkable about Psalm 46 is how noisy it is. The earth is quaking. The mountains are shaking. The water is roaring. That is what the poet hears. This is what everybody hears. And the noise is more than the sound of nature. Outside, the nations are hollering. The kingdoms are tottering. Anxiety is rampant. Everything is up for grabs. All ground is shaky ground.

In the middle of it, the Psalms sees God. Present but unmovable. In the thick of chaos but not tugged into it. Surrounded by storms of change, but unshakable. God is in the thick of the trouble. God might have said something to provoke the trouble. Yet God stands firm, concerned but not coerced, engaged but independent. God will help, says the psalmist, but not necessarily on demand. “Help comes in the morning,” he says. Help doesn’t come in the evening, but in the morning, on the next day. Imagine that. What we have here is a picture of how God rules the world.

All of us like to stand in the presence of Someone calm. These days, such people are hard to find. There is so much noise, so much agitation, so much shouting past one another. We don’t always notice the one who is quiet. Or the one who refuses to be baited into an argument. Or the one who remains calm while the storm rages on.

In my childhood, we had a pastor in our church, the Rev. Edgar Frank. He was the quietest man I’ve ever known. I was too young to remember any of his sermons. But his prayers – that was a different story. I’m sure he said some words when he prayed. All I remember were the silences. The stillness. He had no need to rush. He didn’t care if Grandma’s roast was burning in the oven. All was calm. All was bright. Everything about him was infused with peace.

And he endured for many seasons. Rev. Frank arrived during the Great Depression. He prayed for soldiers who volunteered to fight in a world war. He remained steady while nuclear bombs were created, the nation began to reckon with civil rights, and a president was assassinated. It’s as if he genuinely believed God rules over the world. Troubles come and go. God outlives them all. Ever notice that? There are stillness and stability in the midst of noise.

In our human anxiety, we usually opt for another way. We fight, we bicker, we argue. We push, we shove, we dominate. We manipulate, we scheme, we gerrymander, all in an effort to get ahead of everybody else. No wonder the Psalmist says, “the nations are in an uproar.” Who is creating that uproar? Good question. Sometimes, in their anxiety, otherwise good church people are part of the uproar.

On Thursday, I celebrated the opening of a new bookstore in Dickson City. Truth be told, a gift card from Barnes and Noble was burning a hole in my pocket. The first book I picked was recommended by a good friend. The title is Jesus and John Wayne. It’s a study by Dr. Kristin Kobes Du Mez, a history professor from Grand Rapids. She makes a good case for how the American church has been compromised by the macho movement. You know, “hit ‘em hard, knock them down, show them who’s boss, take charge, lock them up, hang them high.” That sounds like the rugged masculinity of the old cowboy John Wayne, she says, and not Jesus.

Have you encountered what she’s talking about? Some folks make a lot of noise about “battling for the soul” of the nation. Then they proceed to sell out their own souls. Others say, “Let’s fill the court with judges who agree with us,” which is more important than living by the law. And then, there’s all the noise, inside the churches, outside the churches. It’s old-fashioned locker room talk, boasting of superiority, dominance, and winning. All of that is code language for “I’m feeling out of control. I need to force my way on others.” The book is called, Jesus and John Wayne.

By contrast, what is today? We call it the Festival of Christ the King. It’s the culmination of the church year. It’s the End Point, the High Point, the Reality above all Realities. What is the Gospel text that the church selects for today? Jesus on the cross. What kind of king is that? Good question. It may be the only question.

Jesus never talked like a bully. There is not one place in scripture where he pushes people around. He heals people that the religious folks wouldn’t touch. He speaks truth to those who are obsessed with being right. And he pays for it. Even then, he turns the other cheek. He waits us out. He pauses long enough for us to come to our senses.

Here’s the point of it all. Christ the King never dominates others. He serves them. Serving others is his super-power. He loves the unlovable – which suggests there is hope for us all. How profound! How different from the mood of the day! Or the mood of any day.

The Christ of the cross reveals the God of Psalm 46. He doesn’t need to say too much, for it he really unleashed his holy tongue, the psalm says there would be a lot of melting and quaking. No, the Holy One says just enough for those with ears to hear. Then he waits for us to pay attention and align our lives with his life. There is silence in his sovereignty. In the midst of human noise and earthly chaos, God is the middle of it all, serenely in charge. 

So, consider that crucifixion story we’ve heard so many times. When a rebellious world puts his son Jesus on a cross, God doesn’t raise the Voice. When his beloved Jerusalem handed over the Christ to the Romans, God does not shout, nor condemn, nor extract revenge. No, not at all. In the Voice of Jesus, God says, “Forgive them, they don’t know what they are doing.”

When the scene clears away, peace and mercy remain. The bow and arrow are broken. The shields of self-defense are burnt to a crisp because they are not necessary. On the cross, the Quiet God takes away the poison of the world. Then he sends Jesus back to keep working with the likes of us. Because God is the One above all others. Christ is the King above kings.

My father was a deer hunter. Sometimes he came home with venison. Later in life, the family joke was that he went hunting to get away from four noisy kids. The more probably truth is that he went hunting to step away from a very stressful job with the military-industrial complex. He helped his company make guidance systems for war planes. He was good at it.

When I came home from my Ivy-covered seminary, making a lot of noise about peace and justice and the prophet Isaiah, he would listen. Eventually he would point out the paradox of his professional life, that engineers like him paid the salaries of preachers like me. Then he would add, “We need both of us.”

That was my dad. An old farm boy from western Pennsylvania, there was nothing he enjoyed more than sitting up in a tree in late November, watching the forest wake up. It was so different from the cubicle at work. Once, he told me he missed an easy shot in the woods because he didn’t want to disrupt the peace and quiet.

One day my mother surprised him with a painting that her art teacher had painted. He was enchanted by it, couldn’t stop looking at it. I like it, too, and I am proud he bequeathed the painting to me. This is a painting of a wooded glen. Light streams down. Everything is breathing. At the center of enormous vitality, there is stillness. And the painter wrote a caption at the bottom to frame the picture. It reads, “In the silence you will know.”

When my father passed ten years ago, there was only one Bible verse worthy of his tombstone. Psalm 46:10, “Be still and know that I am God.” 

In sovereignty, there is silence. In the stillness is the One who outlives us all and promises to raise us once again. God is exalted in the earth and over the earth. The One who is crucified and has risen rules over all.

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