Arriving

“Arriving” was preached at Princeton Theological Seminary on March 15, 2016 as part of my “When Sundays Come Quicker Than Sermons” course. Inspirations for this meditation included Scripture, Lukan literary themes, liturgical seasons, and a biblical reflection by Kathryn Matthews.

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Luke 19:28-40

²⁸After he had said this, he went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem. ²⁹When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, ³⁰saying, “Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. ³¹If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it.’” ³²So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them. ³³As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, “Why are you untying the colt?” ³⁴They said, “The Lord needs it.” ³⁵Then they brought it to Jesus; and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. ³⁶As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. ³⁷As he was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, ³⁸saying, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!” ³⁹Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.” ⁴⁰He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”

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Chapter 19, verses 39 and 40 are the last we hear from the Pharisees found in the Gospel of Luke. During Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, the Pharisees command a final phrase of fear: “Teacher, order your disciples to stop” to which Jesus replies, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.” And then the Pharisees are gone. For the rest of the Gospel according to Luke, they are gone! No more commands. No more lectures. No more of their fears and no more of their worries. They’re not even mentioned again or even alluded to… they are gone. Now I am sure they were around there somewhere, but there is not another literal reference to them in the Gospel of Luke after this. The Pharisees are gone as if they just disappeared forever. From here on out, they are absent in Jesus’ story. I must admit it is almost a trivial way for them to go out. They command something, and then they are denied. They are denied, and then they are gone. Jesus’ triumphal arrival into Jerusalem also includes the departure of the Pharisees.

This is something we often do not consider. The arrival of something usually includes the departure of something else. For example, the arrival of spring means the departure of winter. Look at this past week. The weather was in the seventies! It was bright and sunny and warm, and I am sure many of us did whatever we could to spend as much of each day outside. On my way to work one day, I even saw two young boys hosting a lemonade stand between the university and seminary campuses! If that’s not a sure sign of spring, then I’m not sure what is! Sure, we might have more days of winters. We might have other days of the weather being cold or gloomy or dark. We might even have another day of snow, but this past week was a sign that spring is arriving. Spring is arriving and winter is departing. Even if some of us like winter, we must think about it like this. Winter must leave so that spring may come.

Palm Sunday is another sign of something arriving and something else departing. Like Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, we are entering into Holy Week. This week is a sure sign of transition from Lent into Easter especially as we experience an entire spectrum of emotion while we worship during Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday. In one week, we do what we can to lament, remember, and celebrate the life, death, and resurrection of Christ. One week! We know it is a lot to handle, but we do it anyway. We do it every year. We enter into Holy Week, and we willingly experience the spectrum of emotion because we see this as the sign we need. Lent will soon be departing and Easter will soon be arriving. We must be willing to leave Lent in order to enter into Easter.

With the departure of Lent and the arrival of Easter, we also move into a time of transition between the struggle and the celebration. Lent is our season of mourning. During Lenten worship, we come and we openly lament and we give weight to our struggles. It’s a time to bring our fears and our worries and our anger and our sadness, and we are encouraged to bring them with us to the table each and every week. We bring them in hopes that Christ will take them away, but sure enough, the next week we are afraid and worried and angry and sad once again. We wonder how long can we keep this up. How long can we feel like this before we don’t feel at all? But then one day, instead of not feeling, we actually feel okay. And then one day we feel good. And then one day we feel great. And then one day we will feel assured and affirmed and moved and loved. There will be days when our fears and our worries and our anger and our sadness come back, but we know in those days that we have seen the sure sign that something else is coming. Then, our voices will join in with the multitude of disciples and the stones on the ground! Our voices will join in with all creation! In joyful praise, we shall declare, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!” The time of struggle will depart, and the time for celebration will arrive. We will celebrate what God has done! We will celebrate what God will do! We will celebrate that Christ has risen, Christ has risen indeed!

This is the sure sign that something is arriving! What once ended with death is now promised in new life. Death has departed, and it does not hold any power in its final day. It cannot stop what has been promised. The Resurrection is coming. New life has arrived. It came as a king riding a colt. It came as a lamb upon the cross. It came as a dove rising into the heavens. We will see its glory and we will experience its peace. This is promised. This is guaranteed. Death may be commanded, but death will be denied. The resurrection found in Christ is arriving.

As I said, for something to arrive, something else usually has to depart. This is okay. We are okay. Let us experience the departure of this season so that we may expect the arrival of the next. Sometimes we must leave something behind for something else to come. Think about what is departing. Winter. Lent. Our struggles. Death. Now think about what is arriving. Spring. Easter. The celebration. New life. It cannot be stopped. It will not be silenced. The resurrection will arrive. Thanks be to God.

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Holy God – the Lord of all Lords. We come to you today asking for you to give us the courage to depart the emotions and debilitating weights that bring us down. In doing so, you allow us to give you the space for you to arrive. Be with us during these times of transition. You have promised us the resurrection, and we give thanks, as we know this promise will be fulfilled. Glory and praise to you, O God, for it is in your name we pray. Amen.

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Provisions and Promises

“Provisions and Promises” was preached on Tuesday, March 1, 2016 at Princeton Theological Seminary as part of my “When Sundays Come Quicker Than Sermons” course. Inspirations for this short sermon included scripture, commentaries, my current congregational context, and “The Awakening” by J. Seward Johnson, Jr.

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Joshua 5:9-12

9 The Lord said to Joshua, “Today I have rolled away from you the disgrace of Egypt.” And so that place is called Gilgal to this day.

10 While the Israelites were camped in Gilgal they kept the Passover in the evening on the fourteenth day of the month in the plains of Jericho. 11 On the day after the Passover, on that very day, they ate the produce of the land, unleavened cakes and parched grain. 12 The manna ceased on the day they ate the produce of the land, and the Israelites no longer had manna; they ate the crops of the land of Canaan that year.

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This past weekend I spent my Saturday exploring the outdoor art exhibit “Grounds for Sculpture” out in Hamilton, New Jersey. For those of you who have never been to or heard of “Grounds for Sculpture,” it is an outdoor sculpture park covering 42-acres of land. As you walk through the park, you will see various sculptures both as abstract and concrete pieces of art. For example, you will see a large glass box filled with human-sized baby dolls in the middle of a small forest and you will also see a giant-sized farmer dancing with his wife as soon as you enter through the gates.

One particular piece really had me contemplating its meaning. It was a statue of a giant man separated into five distinct pieces protruding from the ground. The five pieces are the tip of his right foot stretched upward; his left thigh, knee, and shin bent at an angle; his right arm reaching for the sky; his left hand barely exposed but grasping at something; and last, his face detailed with an open mouth and opened eyes as if he was in great pain. My first thought was this man – this giant – was taking his last breath lying on his back before the earth swallowed him forever, but then I saw the title of the piece. It was called, “The Awakening,” and after I did a little research, I realized the opposite of what I had initially thought was actually true. The man was not sinking; he was rising. This was not the man’s last breath; it was his first. He was desperately clawing his way to the surface. He was fighting to break away from the earth that once trapped him beneath.  He was free! He was finally free!

That is how the Israelites must have felt in our passage today. For forty years – an entire generation’s worth – the Israelites desperately fought their way through the wilderness. I imagine their struggle; I imagine their pain. I imagine how difficult the entire journey must have been for them. Their journey was definitely not without fault. There was whining and complaining. There were golden calves and other idols. There was war, disease, and death. And there was an unsatisfiable thirst and hunger manifested from the people’s distance from God. Their journey was rough. Their journey was painstakingly rough, but the Israelites had arrived. They had finally arrived. With the crossing of the Jordan River, the Israelites were now in the Promised Land. Sure, it was just barely inside of the Promised Land, but like the sculpture of the giant, this was their first breath of the promised air. They are out of the desert. They are out of the wilderness. They are now free in the Promised Land. 

In praise and thanksgiving, they then celebrated the Passover marking their arrival into the Promised Land. It was their celebration of being freed from their captivity in Egypt. And after the Passover, the manna that had rained from the heavens ceased. They were now surrounded by the produce of the land, and it was this food that would now provide them their nourishment. 

Promise after promise was fulfilled. The Israelites had made it through the wilderness. They had arrived into the Promised Land. They celebrated the Passover as a sign of their liberation from Egypt. And the manna ceased as the Israelites ate the produce of the land. Promise after promise, God had provided.

This is the message we need to remember in the season of Lent. As we experience of our own struggles or times of difficulty, we must remember God’s provision and God’s promises. This is especially relevant as each of us have experienced a season of death and darkness. Some of us are going through this season right now. These past few months have been difficult on us – painstakingly difficult. There seems to be this black cloud hanging over of us, and we are struggling to find even a glimpse of hope. Here we are, starving in the wilderness, struggling for that first breath of promise! We are crying out to God waiting for a sign to show – a sign of grace or reconciliation or love – we are crying out for a sign of provision!

But here is what we know – here is what we can take away from this passage – if God fulfilled the promises to the Israelites with abundant provision, then we can be certain God will fulfill the promises made to us. It took forty years – forty years! – as the Israelites wandered through the wilderness, but God still fulfilled God’s promises. A gift has been given to us: we don’t have to wait those forty years. We don’t even have to wait at all. Through the life, death, and resurrection of Christ, a covenant of grace was established with all of us: a covenant that is constantly renewed and restored with each of us on an individual basis with the passing of every second of time. The provision of God’s grace is so bright that even in our darkest times, the light will win. We can see the hope God has promised to us. This Lenten season I challenge you to find the hope around you. Look for God’s provision; rejoice in God’s promises!

This journey will be difficult, but we are fighters. We will make it through the wilderness and arrive in the Promised Land. We. Will. Survive. God’s provision is greater than what we have asked for; God’s fulfillment of promises is greater than what we have expected. That first breath of hope will be our awakening, and the pain we have endured will be nothing in comparison to the grace extended to us through Christ. We are not sinking; we are rising! Thanks be to God. Amen.

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            God of patient love and grace. Here we are as your people, wandering through our own wilderness of darkness. We ask that you shine your grace upon us as a light to guide our paths. Let us come to you, O God, as you have promised divine provision in your presence. We seek you in our hearts and in our minds and in our souls. All glory and honor belong to you. In Christ’s name we pray, Amen.

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This homily was preached on Tuesday, February 23, 2016 at Princeton Theological Seminary as part of my "When Sundays Come Quicker Than Sermons" course. Inspirations for this short sermon included scripture, commentaries, and a modern interpretation of The Parable of the Barren Fig Tree.

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1 Corinthians 10:1-13

1 I do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, that our ancestors were all under the cloud, and all passed through the sea, 2 and all were baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea, 3 and all ate the same spiritual food, 4 and all drank the same spiritual drink. For they drank from the spiritual rock that followed them, and the rock was Christ. 5 Nevertheless, God was not pleased with most of them, and they were struck down in the wilderness.

6 Now these things occurred as examples for us, so that we might not desire evil as they did. 7 Do not become idolaters as some of them did; as it is written, “The people sat down to eat and drink, and they rose up to play.” 8 We must not indulge in sexual immorality as some of them did, and twenty-three thousand fell in a single day. 9 We must not put Christ to the test, as some of them did, and were destroyed by serpents. 10 And do not complain as some of them did, and were destroyed by the destroyer. 11 These things happened to them to serve as an example, and they were written down to instruct us, on whom the ends of the ages have come. 12 So if you think you are standing, watch out that you do not fall. 13 No testing has overtaken you that is not common to everyone. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tested beyond your strength, but with the testing he will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it.

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There once was an apple tree. Legends were told about this apple tree. People came from miles and miles to see this apple tree. It was a mighty apple tree. It was a sturdy apple tree. It was the apple tree of all apple trees. For years, it produced the biggest and juiciest apples. Every bite came with the satisfying crunch of delicious freshness. As I said, this was the apple tree of all apple trees.

But somewhere in time – somehow – this apple tree quit producing apples. Just one spring, no flower buds filled the tree. No apples would come that year. The tree was empty and barren, and its branches were like a lonely shadow of desolation across the night sky. Surely this was a mistake! An apple tree must produce apples! The people assumed they must wait for the next year! But once again, spring came and there were no flower buds. There were no apples. It was just a mighty tree, void of its purpose. The next year was also the same. For three years, the apple tree did not produce any apples. For three years, the apple tree of all apple trees was just a tree.

People came to the gardener of the apple tree. “Chop it down! Why waste good ground with it any longer?!” The gardener looked from the people and then up to the tree. He remembered what the apple tree had once done for them. Would he let this tree wither and die? Every apple – red, yellow, and green – had mattered to him. But the tree hadn’t provided life in three years; for three years the tree seemed dead. What should the gardener do? I’m asking you to consider this for yourself: what should the gardener do? I want us to continue to reflect on this question as we explore our passage from today.

In Paul’s letter to Corinth, we see Paul sending the people a spiritual warning. His message is abrasive and straightforward and blunt and slightly offensive. Okay, not even slightly offensive; it is flat-out offensive to the people of Corinth. Paul is telling them that they are on a path of spiritual destruction. The weak have already turned away from their life in Christ and returned to their former religious practices. They have once again indulged in their wicked and evil ways. Even the best among them are on the path of becoming idolaters. Paul warns even the best will soon fail Christ if they continue on with their ways. Therefore, he warns them that none of them are better than the other. They are all – both the weak and the strong – falling short of their new life in Christ. They will soon be dead trees producing no life or any fruit.

The Corinthians, however, are not the only ones who have fallen short. Paul has them recall the Israelites. After the Israelites were brought out of Egypt, after they passed through the sea, and after they escaped into the desert, many of them tried to put God to the test, but it was the Israelites who failed the test of their own making, and as Paul puts it, “God was not pleased with most of them, and they were struck down in the wilderness.” Paul has the Corinthians recall the Israelites to serve as an example. The Israelites were the chosen race – God’s own people – and yet they still failed God and they fell and they were destroyed. If it happened to the Israelites, what does the mean for the Corinthians? And if it happened to the Corinthians, what does that mean for the people of today?

In an initial reading, one might assume that this text is saying bad things happen to bad people. One might assume that tragedy is the punishment for one’s sins. But if we assume that this text says anything along those lines, we fail to address other common questions we may have or have known to experience. These include “why do bad things happen to good people?” and “why do good things happen to bad people?” What is the relationship between good things and bad things with good people and bad people? Where is God in all of this? An initial reading would not answer any of these questions, so therefore this passage must, in fact, not be about punishment or the consequences of sins. Maybe this passage is not only about how we are unfaithful to God; maybe this passage is also about how God is faithful to us.

Faith is the greatest journey we will ever experience. It also might be the most difficult. This journey will include temptations and tests – everyday challenges – that will cause us to stumble and fall. The truth is, we will stumble and we will fall. We will constantly fall short of the grace that has been extended to us. Even after years of life-fulfilling progress, we will experience moments of temptation and spiritual deadness. Our trees may occasionally fail to produce fruit. To paraphrase Paul, “Even when we stand we have the possibility of falling.” The comfort, though, is the assurance that God is the constant rock, a source of refuge and strength; and the gardener, a source of care and nourishment. When you fall, God will stand for you. When you are weak, God will be your strength. When you are unfaithful to God, God will be faithful to you. You are not expected to make this journey alone. Christ walks with you.

Let us return to the apple tree. What should the gardener do? What would you do? Would you cut it down or would you let it stand? What if you were the tree and you now failed to give life to your fruit? Would you want the gardener to give up on you or would you want the gardener to work on your behalf?

Jesus gives us the answer. Give it another year. Let Christ be the one to dig around the tree and to fertilize it. Let Christ be the one to care for you. Let Christ be the one to stand with you. Because for every great and mighty apple tree, there is one greater and mightier Gardener who watches over and tends to them all. Thanks be to God. Amen.

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            Faithful Creator, you are our gardener and our rock. We give you thanks for your everlasting faithfulness to your people. We are sinful and broken, but our greatest joy and praise go to you for loving us in despite of this. We ask that you continue to bless our lives with your presence. In Christ’s name we pray, Amen.

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From the Top of the Mountain

            “From the Top of the Mountain” was preached at Lawrence Road Presbyterian Church on Sunday, February 21, 2016. Inspirations for this sermon included scripture, personal experiences, commentaries, and discussions covering biblical interpretations & studies.

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Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18

1 After these things the word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision, “Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.” 2 But Abram said, “O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?” 3 And Abram said, “You have given me no offspring, and so a slave born in my house is to be my heir.” 4 But the word of the Lord came to him, “This man shall not be your heir; no one but your very own issue shall be your heir.” 5 He brought him outside and said, “Look toward heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them.” Then he said to him, “So shall your descendants be.” 6 And he believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness.

7 Then he said to him, “I am the Lord who brought you from Ur of the Chaldeans, to give you this land to possess.” 8 But he said, “O Lord God, how am I to know that I shall possess it?” 9 He said to him, “Bring me a heifer three years old, a female goat three years old, a ram three years old, a turtledove, and a young pigeon.” 10 He brought him all these and cut them in two, laying each half over against the other; but he did not cut the birds in two. 11 And when birds of prey came down on the carcasses, Abram drove them away.

12 As the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell upon Abram, and a deep and terrifying darkness descended upon him.

17 When the sun had gone down and it was dark, a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch passed between these pieces. 18 On that day the Lord made a covenant with Abram, saying, “To your descendants I give this land, from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river Euphrates.”

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I once asked myself the question, “Am I afraid of heights?” It just so happened that I asked myself this question as I was riding a ski lift up a mountain. In that moment everything became just a bit scarier. The ski lift seemed just a bit more shaky. The mountain seemed just a bit higher. And the probability of me falling to my death seemed just a little bit more likely. Just a little bit. I rode with this newfound fear until I arrived at the top of the mountain. It was then that I easily exited the ski lift and looked out across the view. I saw the beautiful peaks covered with snow and trees and people and exhilaration. It was in that moment, I realized I was – in fact – not actually afraid of heights. I have never been afraid of heights. Sure I am afraid of other things but not heights. Rather I realized I was afraid of something else: it was the feeling of something foreign to me. I had questioned something new during a time of unknown expectation, and it scared me. That and I was being just a little bit dramatic. Again, just a little a bit. However, I realized it was in this moment that I gave a notice to my fear, and for just one small moment as I rode the ski lift; I let the fear control my thoughts. But here I was, I was on the top of the mountain – top of the world really – and that was a beautiful sight. The view from the top was worth the fear I had to endure. Anyway, I was now more afraid of getting down the mountain. I learned that day it’s a lot easier to go up a mountain on a ski lift than it is to go down the mountain on your skis, or in my case, my back, my knees, my stomach, even my face. Despite my difficulty getting down the mountain, I learned something that day. If you don’t let fear control you and you embrace it for what it is worth, fear can bring on quite the promise.

We are already in the second week of Lent. The second week! Now I don’t know about all of you, but some part of me is on the verge of just begging God to slow it all down. I’m sure a part of it is this is my last semester of seminary before I graduate in May and I’m slightly worried about the things to come, but I know another part is I want to live in this moment and take full advantage of what is happening around me, right here and right now. Eventually we will get to Maundy Thursday – and we know this will come sooner than we think – but when we get to Maundy Thursday, we will spend the evening sitting in darkness. Then the next day we’ll have Good Friday where we’ll spend the afternoon siting in silence. The promise of Easter will come that Sunday where we will spend the day rejoicing and celebrating and lifting up God’s glory to the heavens, but some part of me is not ready for the promise of Easter yet.  Some part of me is content to sit in the darkness and in the silence. It is not because I don’t want to Easter to come – I want Easter to come, I need Easter to come, I am actually beyond thankful Easter will come – but it’s because I’m still wrestling with these fears and I need a moment and a time and a place to sit down and lift them up to God. We know the promise is coming, but right now I believe we could all use a moment to just acknowledge our fears and embrace them for what they are worth.

That is how I believe Abram felt in our passage today. In Genesis 15, we have a back-and-forth exchange of words between Abram – later better known as Abraham – and God. This is not the first time for God to talk to Abram. In every previous occasion, God had promised to give Abram prosperity and land. What makes this time notable, however, is this is the first time that Abram talks back to God. The two actually held a conversation. But it makes me ask the question: why? Why did Abram talk back? What is the fundamental issue that brings Abram to speak? Why this time?

I ask myself, “How afraid he must have been…” To question God and to question life. To question his visions and to question the promises. How afraid… Afraid when God comes to him in the night. Afraid as he looked out among the infinity of the stars. Afraid of sacrificing the animals. Afraid as the birds of prey came down on the carcasses. Afraid as the deep and terrifying darkness descended upon him. Afraid of the smoking fire pot and the flaming torch.  Afraid as God promised him descendants of multitudes and afraid as God promised him a new land of uncertainty. Most of all, afraid because he did not yet understand what was coming or how it would come to him. I imagine Abram – surrounded and overwhelmed by his fear – taking a moment to embrace all that was happening around him. Hesitantly but still surely responding to God’s call – to God’s promise.

Now we know God’s promise to Abram comes in two parts. One, Abram will be given an heir and a multitude of descendants. Two, Abram will be given land “from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river Euphrates.” However, these two promises won’t be given right then and there to Abram, and so they don’t quite make sense. At least not yet anyway. William Yarchin, a professor of Biblical Studies at Azusa Pacific University, writes it like this, “Possessing no actual heir, Abram is given not a substitute or even a son, but rather a prophetic experience of a promise that there will be one. Owning no actual estate to pass on, Abram is given no possession but a covenant commitment that the vast land will ultimately go to his descendants.” Let me put that into my own words: “Abram, you don’t have a descendent. Abram, you also don’t have an inheritance to give to the descendent you don’t have. And although you don’t know when, where, why, or how this will happen, someday – one day – you will have both in abundance.”

It is in this where we see a fundamental issue that we can relate to in our passage: it is the problem of making sense out of divine revelation when it doesn’t make sense in the actual life of the recipient. In other words, when we don’t understand how God is acting in our lives, we become afraid. That is the cause of our fear, but it is through this fear where we can learn about the promise of what God has done and what God will do. But to do that, we must first acknowledge that we do – in fact – have fears. Just take a moment, ask yourself, “What are my fears? And where is God in my struggle?”

What are you afraid of? Is there something you’re afraid of upcoming in the next couple of years? How about this next year? The next month? Even tomorrow? Are we afraid of death? The end of something? The death of a job? The death of a passion? How about physical death? The death of a loved one? Or the death of one’s self? Or are we afraid of new life? A birth?  A moment of transition? The start of something new? Even the resurrection? Do we pray for good health, good fortune, and a good life? Are we afraid of what happens if the “good” doesn’t always come? What are you afraid of?

It is okay. It is okay to be afraid. God is with you. God is with you in your fears, and God is with you in the promise to follow.

I don’t know what your fears are. We all have are own. You have yours, and I have mine. Some are rational and some may seem irrational, but it doesn’t mean they are not true. They are there; they are present. While I may not know what your fears are, I do know this. God is with you in your struggle. That’s the meaning of Lent. God is right there with you in your struggle. Our God knows our fears. Our God has felt our fears. Our God knows the feeling of going up and experiencing something new. It was in the waters of the Jordan where the baptism took place in the form of a rising dove. It was on the top of the mountain while the Lord was transfigured before the eyes of three of his disciples. It was on the cross where nails pierced our God’s flesh as he was lifted high into the air. Each was a moment of great fear, and I have to believe that the fully human Christ was afraid. But Christ isn’t only fully human, he is also fully divine. Therefore, I also have to believe that while Christ may have been afraid, Christ was also the promise telling us this, “Remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

Abram was lifted up in moments of fear. Christ was lifted up in moments of fear. You too shall be lifted up in your moments of fear. This is the view from the top of the mountain!

Our fears may not make sense. The divine revelation of God may not make sense. But that is okay. It is okay because at least we know God is present with us at all times, especially in our moments of fear. It is okay to doubt and to ask questions. It is even okay to want a clarification to what is going on around you. After all, Abram did all these things. But where there is no doubt or no question is whether God promises to secure your future and be present with you during your times of fear and uncertainty. This much is true.

Sometimes the way that God works in our lives is hidden. We do not understand it then. We might actually never understand it. We might even fear where it will take us. But while God’s work in the world may be hidden at times, it is also unstoppable. It is an unstoppable forced filled with love and grace and life. It is filled with wonder and glory. It is filled with promise. Even if we doubt this promise due to the midst of overwhelming situations, God will deliver. Even if we have trouble believing the promise due to our fear, God makes the promise even better. The resurrection? The new life found in Christ? This has been promised to you! This is no greater gift extended to you! Believe and hear the good news! Do not let your fear control you. Embrace it for what its worth. It means something is coming. It means you will be lifted up. Soon you will see the view from the top of the mountain!

          It is okay to be afraid, but if we let of the feeling of going up the mountain stop us, we lose the beauty of the view from the top. In the same sense, if we ignore our fear, we lose the strength found in the promise. Hold onto the place in which your fears come. It is telling you something. It is telling you this. Your future has been secured by a covenant made with God promised in the resurrection. Thanks be to God. Amen.

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Holy God, we give you our highest thanks and praise for your presence among us today. We are human, and we are afraid. Comfort us, O Gracious Savior. Let our fears be lifted up to you for you are the One who has always been with us in our journey. The promise found in you is mighty and true. May your Spirit lead and guide us delivering all of humankind into moments of divine revelation. In Christ’s name we pray, Amen.

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