"Nicodemus at Night"

John 3:1-17 

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS

January 23, 2022

Nicodemus came to Jesus at night. 

It seems to be their first meeting. Nicodemus was a prominent leader in the Jewish community and seems to have heard about what Jesus has been up to – you know: disrupting the lives of everyday people by inviting them to “come and see” the new thing God is doing in their midst, turning water into wine at a wedding, turning over tables in the temple. 

Nicodemus knows a few things about who Jesus is and what he’s come to do. Or at least he thinks he does. And so he goes to Jesus – at night, John is careful to tell us that he goes at night – and makes a statement, “Teacher,” he says, “The things you’ve been doing….those are only things that can be done by a person who is filled with God’s presence.”

And so, the implied questions that I hear as they hang in the silence there between these two strangers as they sit in the stillness of the night, “Teacher, how do you do these incredible things?” “Teacher, why are you here?” 

“Teacher, who are you?”

Jesus, of course, answers none of these implied questions. Instead, he does what Jesus so often does. He changes the subject a little. “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the Reign of God without being born from above.”

Nicodemus, a bit confused but intent on learning, presses on. “How can a person be born again after they’ve already grown old? What do you mean, Jesus?” And so Jesus gives him a bit more, “Well, it has to do with water and the Spirit.” But Nicodemus is still caught up in the details and wants specifics. Jesus’s answer is essentially a non-answer – at least to the specific questions Nicodemus is asking – he says, “The wind blows as it chooses, and you hear it, but you don’t fully understand how or why it is blowing. That’s kind of how it is, being born in the Spirit.”

Poor Nicodemus. I don’t think he’s getting what he came for exactly, do you? There are all kinds of theories about why Nicodemus came to Jesus and why, in particular, he came at night. Some say he came at night because he was embarrassed to be seen with Jesus, others because he didn’t want Jesus to get in trouble for talking with him. I tend to have another theory, though, and it’s this: maybe Nicodemus came at night because that’s when it’s hardest to be alone with your own thoughts. 

It’s funny how you can have a perfectly fine day – not thinking too much about the big stuff. But then at night, everything feels different. In our family, we call this “the nighttime worries.” At night, the silence is louder, the stillness is downright oppressive, and the voices inside your head won’t quiet down and let you rest. The big questions come. The sense of emptiness can feel immense. If you’re lucky, you can drift off to sleep, but if you’ve ever laid awake in bed, you know that time is also strange at night. Hours and hours can pass, but then you roll over and look at your clock to discover it’s only been 15 minutes. 

And so I imagine Nicodemus, tossing and turning in bed. Dealing with the big stuff – whatever his big stuff was, we don’t know. Maybe he was worried about his kids, or feeling guilty about something he should have done but didn’t, or remembering his parents and wishing he could see them again one more time, or counting his pennies in the bank and wondering how he would pay his bills. Maybe he had an inexplicable pain that couldn’t be fixed, maybe he felt sad for no reason at all, maybe he felt remorse about some long-ago act that he couldn’t undo, maybe he simply noticed, as all of us do from time to time, that he wasn’t getting any younger, that the days were flying by at warp speed. 

We don't know exactly what was ailing Nicodemus on this particular night. Gosh, he might not have even known what was bothering him. Do you ever get like that? Just generally uneasy or anxious or miserable….and you’re not sure why? We just know that he was drawn to Jesus. Seeking something.  

And Jesus delivers. Whatever it was that ailed him, Jesus offered the salve. “Let’s not have a philosophical debate about who I am or where my authority comes from,” says Jesus. “Let’s get right to it. Let’s get right down to what I can offer you. Salvation. It’s easy. All you have to do is be born again.”

Of course, being born again is not exactly that simple, right? Nicodemus cracks me up a little as he struggles with the concept, “What, am I supposed to crawl back into my mother’s womb and be born again?” No, no, that’s not it, of course. So what is it, exactly? Well, Jesus never does give us a 1, 2, 3 step process to follow. Instead, he speaks in generalities. Something about water and the Spirit. 

As Christians, of course, we start to think about baptism when we hear “water and the spirit” but I think it’s also important to remember that God’s movement through water and the Spirit existed long before the practice of baptism. Biblical scholar Robert Williamson, Jr. reminded me that way, way back the prophet Ezekiel said something very similar. [1] He said that God would come to the people in a sprinkle of cleansing water and that God would put a new heart into them and a new spirit, too. God has always been holding out this offer to humans - this offer of love, this opportunity to begin again, this invitation to ground ourselves firmly in our identity as children of God, our spiritual Mother. 

Turning towards the Spirit is how we keep going in a world that too-often defaults towards hate and fear and violence. We root ourselves in water and the spirit and God’s ways to love and justice and peace. Baptism is an outward and visible sign of this inward and invisible truth: we belong to God. 

I have the fortune of remembering my baptism because I was about 5 years old when I was baptized by immersion. I remember feeling a little vulnerable when it happened. I held my breath and I went under and for a split second I thought, “Is everything going to be okay? Am I coming right back up?” I did, of course, and everything was just fine. But I’ve never forgotten the feeling of vulnerability in that moment. 

That vulnerability makes me think a little of Nicodemus, coming to Jesus as night. Most of us aren’t willing to be born anew if everything in our lives is going just peachy. Most of us don’t realize just how much we need the loving care of the Spirit when things are fine. No, it’s often in the night when we realize we need the Spirit. And it’s when we’re dunked into that tomb of water for just a split second that we realize how much we need the air around us that we take for granted. 

This is what Jesus offers Nicodemus. Air. Oxygen. Release from fear. The opportunity to be born anew. A chance to be saved from what ails him and the gift of being a witness - sharing his story with others and inviting them to be rooted in God, too. 

Nicodemus took that leap of faith into the wild and wonderful and terrifying world of water and the Spirit. He was willing to radically reorient himself and begin the journey of being born again and again and again. After all, being born anew is not about doing something one time and checking it off on a list. 

And it isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s for the desperate, actually. It’s for those who, like Nicodemus, lay awake at night. It’s for those who feel trapped underwater, unable to find the air they need to survive. And so, it might not be for you – not right now. And that’s okay. But the promise remains. The invitation is always there. 

God loved the world in this way: God sent Jesus to show us how to live and to transform and heal us. God sent Jesus to be our light, our air, our healing balm. And as this particular story reminds us, we - the world - don’t quite know what to do with that kind of love. And so our ancestors did what humans too often do, they leaned instead into hate, fear, violence. Just like we often do now. We do ourselves no favors if we look away from the awful things humans have done and are doing to each other. The crucifixion reminds us of that. As much as we might want to look away, Jesus tells us it's important to be willing to look at the fullness of our brokenness and sin as humans. 

Because it is to us - needy, messed up, lying awake at night, unsure, falling-apart human beings - it is to us that God keeps coming again and again in love. In water. In the Spirit. In Christ - sent to us over and over and over again, even now, even to us, speaking of hope – abundant life – new possibilities – redemption – salvation. 

For all who are needy, hear the good news: the promise of new life abides. The invitation abides. Salvation abides. Still. 

Thanks be to God. Amen.

NOTES:

[1] With gratitude to Robert Williamson, Jr.’s thoughts on this in this week’s episode of the Bible Worm podcast. 

"One with Authority"

John 2: 12-35

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS

January 16, 2022

Have we coined a new word yet for the extreme decision fatigue that so many of us are experiencing right now? I’d be willing to bet that many of us have found ourselves in a place sometime in the past month or so where we know we NEED to make a decision about something but find ourselves just kind of blankly staring into space, or bursting into tears, or resorting to flipping a coin. I’d also guess that the amount of time many of us have spent second-guessing our decisions is pretty high, too, right? 

We’re trying to decide simple stuff like what to have for dinner or whether we need a coat (not always easy in Kansas when it can be 70 degrees of -7 degrees in the winter). 

We’re wondering, “Is this sniffle a cold, the flu, COVID, all of the above?” We’re carefully weighing our needs with other people’s needs. 

Many folks are also carrying a level of frustration and anger just under the surface (or, okay, not under the surface) because they feel so tired of making decisions based on what’s good for the whole community when it seems like some people never give a thought to anyone but themselves. 

We’re agonizing over big decisions, like whether it’s safe to get on a plane to see our family. (Only to then have that decision made for us when COVID tests show up positive or flights are canceled.) 

Those in leadership positions are making hard decisions, once again, about how to lead organizations and communities when the ground under our feet keeps shifting and changing. 

And then, of course, there are people making decisions about how to make an insufficient paycheck stretch to buy groceries or make this month’s rent. And parents deciding how to handle an unexpected day or week off of school - not because of something fun like snow but because we don’t have enough staff to keep our schools open. 

People are tired. And the onslaught of huge-big-medium-small-tiny decisions is a major factor in that tiredness. 

Into the midst of this tiredness, the lectionary has served us up cranky Jesus today in the Gospel of John. Now, I don’t actually know if Jesus was tired when he went to Jerusalem for the Passover feast. He may have just been flat-out angry and it may have had nothing to do with exhaustion. I only know that SOME people can get angry when they’re exhausted or overwhelmed or scared. Not pointing any fingers here. 

And Jesus is angry in today’s story. I’ve heard it called Jesus’s Temple Tantrum. Cute, right? 

Except this story isn’t cute. It’s disturbing.  I don’t have any way to sugar coat that or wrap this story up in a neat little bow. Jesus’s zealousness is over-the-top. He flips tables. He puts together a whip to drive the animals out. It’s a lot.  And, really, that can make us feel pretty uncomfortable because Jesus is so out-of-character here. 

My guess is that’s why this story is one that is included in all four gospels. Something about Jesus’s behavior in the temple was so unusual, so shocking that all four authors said, “This is important.”

In the other three gospels Jesus makes this scene in the temple near the end of his life, but in John’s gospel it happens right here at the beginning of his ministry. And so we have to wonder, why does John move it to the beginning? 

Now, this is one of those stories where even the best biblical scholars are left scratching their heads because it can be hard to figure out why, exactly, Jesus is so mad. Jesus is mad when he goes to the temple for Passover and finds it filled with people doing exactly what was common-practice in his religious community at the time. There was nothing scandalous or weird going on. 

Jews like Jesus were required to travel to Jerusalem for the Passover. They were supposed to offer an animal while there. And it had to be an unblemished animal so it didn’t make much sense to bring the animal with you from afar. So you bought an animal once you got there. This is just how it was done. Seems odd to us but would have been utterly unremarkable for them. 

Also: not strange to have money changers there. People came from all over to Jerusalem and many of them had money that wasn’t allowed in the temple. So the money changers were there to help them convert their money into a different currency that was considered to be appropriate. Again, not weird. Just normal.

There’s nothing in John’s version to suggest that anyone was doing anything immoral or dishonest. Nor should we mistakenly assume Jesus was somehow trying to tear down the whole temple system. He’s not railing against his own Jewishness - if anything, he’s leaning into it more fully. He’s passionate, zealous about his Jewish faith here, for sure. 

Theologian Gilberto Ruiz says that scholars have been trying to figure out for centuries what exactly Jesus is AGAINST in this story. But, really, Ruiz says, the better question is what is Jesus FOR. Rather than seeing this story as Jesus being against the economic or religious activity taking place inside the temple, or against the religious institution itself, perhaps it’s more useful to notice that the author of John’s gospel is using this story to make a POSITIVE statement about who Jesus is. That’s probably why it was placed at the beginning of the Gospel. That’s why the whole thing reads like such a spectacle. Because we’re still being introduced to Jesus and the author wants to make sure we really understand who he is. [1] 

And Jesus in John’s gospel is One with Authority. He’s the Word who co-exists with God in the beginning. Nothing comes into being except through him. Jesus refers to God as “my Father” over and over again in this gospel. He exists in a privileged place of authority as God’s own Son with a capital S. Jesus This is the gospel where we hear Jesus call himself “I am,” just as God did centuries before. Jesus says, “I am the way and the truth and the life.”

Jesus is One with Authority in this gospel. One who authoritatively shows up in the world to stand on the side of the oppressed. One who authoritatively comes so that we might have life and have it abundantly. One who authoritatively teaches in parables and through actions, pointing the way to a more just, more loving, more compassionate world. 

One who authoritatively points the way towards what he called the Kingdom of God and Martin Luther King called the Beloved Community: A world where the table is big enough for absolutely everyone. A world where we somehow have the strength to love even our enemies. A world where we bend our weapons into farm tools and focus on the work of holy creation rather than destruction. 

And this feels like good news to me today. 

Good news to those who are weary and burdened. 

Good news for those who can’t make one more decision on their own. 

Good news for those who are disappointed by lack of leadership or flat-out terrible leadership here on earth. 

Good news for all who are looking for hope in the midst of a chaotic world. 

Good news for those who are missing someone they love and good news for those who are sick right now. 

Good news for those who can’t see much further than next week because it’s all too unpredictable or because depression is a liar.

Jesus comes to us - even still - as Ane with Authority. When we can’t read one more story about the bad news out there in the world right now, these ancient stories remind us we are a part of a much bigger story. 

That we are made of stardust and in the image of God. That God is found in temples made by human hands, yes, but God is also found in the wind on our faces, the feel of mud squishing between our toes, and deep within the people we encounter each and every day. That God took on flesh and moved into the neighborhood to come and be with us - and will never leave us. 

Christ reaches out to us in these ancient stories as One with Authority. Bringing good news to a weary world still. Thanks be to God. 

NOTES:

[1] https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/narrative-lectionary/cleansing-the-temple/commentary-on-john-213-25-2

“Mundane Miracle”

John 2:1-11

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS

January 9, 2022

Several years ago now, I updated the lock screen on my phone to a photo of a Kansas sunset with these words on top: “Your life is what you pay attention to.” I figured, hey, I look at my phone too many times a day, so maybe putting this there will encourage me to remember that paying attention to the right things in life really matters. Of course, like all good intentions, it kind of just faded into the background and now I don’t notice it too much because it’s been there every day for years. But every once in a while I DO notice it and am reminded that I want to be intentional about where I place my attention. Because what I pay attention to really does create my life. 

I don’t know if Mary, the mother of Jesus, had a cute lock screen on her phone, but she was paying attention. The story takes place at a wedding in Cana. Mary is there with her son, his friends, and presumably lots of friends and neighbors. The music was bumping. The couple was beaming. The snacks were tasty and everyone was having a great time. But the wine was almost gone and Mary noticed. She was paying attention. And she brought it to Jesus’s attention. Mary invites Jesus into ministry and, while he balks at first, saying it’s not yet the right time, he eventually sneaks in a little miracle quietly, in the shadows. I’ve heard it called Mary’s “ministry of paying attention,” and it is from her ministry that the rest of this miraculous story flows. [1] 

It seems that weddings in the ancient world were a lot like weddings now - feasts where food and drinks grease the wheels of celebration. A wedding with nothing to drink wasn’t much of a party at all. And it would have been pretty embarrassing for the hosts to run out of wine. 

So Jesus, despite his reservations about it not being time for him to start doing miracles yet, does a kind and generous thing: he fixes the problem, saving the hosts from embarrassment and ensuring the celebration can keep going. 

It feels important to note that this is the first miracle in John’s gospel. We’re really just in the second chapter here - the gospel has just begun. And this is how Jesus begins his public ministry. By turning a bunch of water into wine. And I mean A BUNCH. I did the math on this and we’re talking about somewhere around 1,000 bottles of wine. And not only is it a lot of wine but it’s the GOOD STUFF. 

This act is so over-the-top, isn’t it? Because, really, when you think about it, it’s not even like it was a miracle that needed to happen. No one was going to die if the wine ran out. And although I’m sure the hosts would have been embarrassed, surely there were other solutions. I bet someone could have run home and grabbed a few extra bottles to share. Or maybe people would have just said, “Hey, it’s okay, man. We were about to wrap this up anyway.” It would not have been the end of the world to run out of wine. Just an inconvenience. 

But Jesus wants more for his neighbors. He wants them to have an abundance of wine. And abundance of celebration. An abundance of joy. He desires for them to truly feast and be satisfied. He wants good things - great things! - for the couple and their friends and family. He says it clearly later in John’s gospel, “I’ve come so that you might have life and have it abundantly.” God seems to be showing us, through Jesus’s actions, that we were made for more than just surviving. We made for over-the-top celebration, joy, and abundant life. Wow. 

And so, in this act of generosity, Jesus blesses his neighbors in multiple ways. He blesses their joy AND he turns what could have been an embarrassing moment for the hosts into the story of the year. Instead of being remembered as the people who ran out of wine, the family is now remembered as the people who threw the most epic party ever. 

Jesus does all of this quietly. The only people who have an inkling about what’s happened are the servants. Did you catch that? He quietly pulls them aside and asks them to fill up the jars with water and they do. And that’s when, as the story goes, the transformation happens. No one sees it happen. Even the steward, responsible for the wine, doesn’t know what took place. He’s surprised that this “good wine” is still flowing so late in the party. 

Jewish Biblical scholar Amy Robinson says it’s “very Jewish” of Jesus to do the miracle in this way. Doing something generous and kind in a quiet, hidden way, without calling attention to yourself is considered to be very righteous behavior for a Jew. Much better than being loud and showy about it. And Robinson’s partner in conversation, Christian biblical scholar Robert Williamson, Jr. says there’s something beautiful about the glory of the Lord being so subtle in this moment, that no one really even noticed it. [2]

The couple was probably too busy gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes to notice. The parents were probably too busy stressing over the details of the day to notice. The partygoers were too busy, well, partying, to notice. Jesus showed the miracle only to the servants, which is VERY Jesus of him, isn’t it? But the other people there didn’t notice the  seismic shift taking place as the messianic age was ushered in. 

Except I do have to wonder if there was maybe a wallflower at the party. An loner who wasn’t caught up in all the revelry. Just off to the side, out of the light of the disco ball. And maybe they were paying attention. Maybe they saw Jesus go off into the hallway with the servants and noticed that the servants filled these giant jars with water that was then turned into really good wine. Maybe they remembered, “Your life is what you pay attention to,” and they paid attention to this mundane miracle. 

Because that’s what it really is, right? It’s a not a miracle that saved anyone’s life. It’s just an everyday miracle that blessed an everyday thing  - a wedding, a party, a bunch of silly humans crammed into a small space drinking and laughing and feasting and dancing together. The most simple, everyday thing. And Christ blessed all this abundance. And called it good. 

It reminds me of a scene near the end of the new Netflix movie, Don’t Look Up. It’s a satirical science fiction comedy about two scientists who discover a meteor heading towards the earth. Over the course of the film they do everything they can to get people to pay attention and do something to save the planet. Towards the end, they come to believe that their efforts have been in vain and the end is near. And so they do a simple, everyday thing. They go to the grocery store to buy ingredients for dinner. And they cook the food and break bread with family and friends. It’s not a big party. It’s nothing fancy. It’s just some people that love each other sitting around a dining room table eating everyday food and sharing stories and laughs. 

They share memories and take turns saying what they’re grateful for in their lives. Eventually, conversation turns to really mundane things - like debating the merits of store-bought vs homemade apple pie and how some people grind their own beans every time they make a cup of coffee. 

And the main character says, “Thing of it is, we really…We really did have everything, didn’t we? I mean, when you think about it.”

We humans really do have everything, don’t we? I mean, when you think about it.  Apple pie. Coffee. Friends and family around a table. Laughter. Love. A good party. Good wine. 

These are the building blocks of a life. There’s a reason that Jesus comes to us in bread and wine, you know. Because these simple, elemental gifts are what make a life. Receiving sustenance, sharing what we have with others, and being intentional about noticing the goodness that is flowing and overflowing all around us. 

Every day that we are alive overflows with goodness - even when it’s not fancy or showy.. At Cana, Christ reminds us to pay attention to the simple pleasures of life and invites us into the joy of receiving that abundance. 

Maybe it’s not such a mundane miracle after all. Maybe it’s everything. 

NOTES: 

[1] A colleague in a facebook group told us that he once heard a pastor say this about Mary. That her action here was the “ministry of paying attention.” I’d like to give that person credit for that observation, but I don’t know who they are.

[2] BibleWorm podcast #321. https://www.biblewormpodcast.com/e/water-into-wine-john-21-11/ 

"Epiphany: See Again"

Matthew 2: 1-12

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS

January 2, 2022

“See again.” That’s the invitation from the late-great Biblical scholar Marcus Borg. Over and over again Borg taught us that if we want to be people who “take the  Bible seriously, but not literally,” we have to learn to “see again.” To set aside what we think we know about a particular story and strip away centuries of interpretation so that we can see the story again, anew, with fresh eyes and an open heart for listening. 

This is particularly hard to do with stories that we think we know inside and out. Like this one, about the “three kings.” You may have already noticed that there aren’t necessarily three of them (we don’t know how many there were) and you might also know that they weren’t kings. They were Magi from the East. Most likely Zoroastrian astrologers. People who interpreted signs in the sky and dreams to make meaning. Calling them Wise Men or even Wise Ones doesn’t quite capture it, either, because the people who originally heard this tale certainly wouldn’t have automatically thought of them as “wise.” They might have scoffed at them, in fact, and thought of them as superstitious or misguided or, if they were feeling more charitable, perhaps just “exotic and interesting.” But most Jews wouldn’t have asked these astrologers to help them make big life decisions. They were odd, foreign - not revered. 

And so, if we want to try and see this story again - anew - we’ve got to get our characters right. There IS a king: King Herod. He’s whiny, scared, pouty. Threatened by a baby! How ridiculous. 

And there are wise men: the chief priests and scribes of the Jewish people. And they ARE wise. They know what’s up. Herod asks them where this scary, threatening baby is going to be born and they know right away. They consult their sacred texts and tell the King that the babe will be born in Bethlehem. 

And so….why do we need the Magi at all? Couldn’t the King just listen to the wise men he already had at his disposal? They seemed confident enough that the child would be born in Bethlehem. And Bethlehem’s not that big of a town, so….?

But here they are in the story. The Magi. Seekers from a far-away land. Outsiders. Dream-readers. Star-gazers. Oddballs. Why are they included? What are they supposed to teach us? 

Well, if nothing else, they’re good for some comic relief. They initially follow the star to the wrong place and wind up in Jerusalem. Herod’s the one who tells them to go to Bethlehem after all and they don’t seem to have any inkling that Herod is the bad guy here. They dutifully traipse off to look for Jesus, presumably planning to do just what Herod has asked and send back word about where he can find the baby. And when they arrive, they fall down and worship Jesus, presenting some unusual gifts, including myrrh, which was primarily used for embalming and is a very bizarre gift to give a baby. It’s all very strange. 

Since this story is one most of us have just “always known,” it’s easy for us to miss the absurdity of it. The strangeness. But the Jews who originally heard it would have been shaking their heads and maybe even laughing a bit. Of all the people in all the world to be the ones to fall down and worship Jesus first - Magi? Of all the people in all the world for God to speak to in a dream and warn them about Herod’s nefarious plans - these weirdos? Of all the gifts in all the world to bring a baby - myrrh? 

Just what is God up to in this story? 

Why would God come in the form of a baby to save the world? Why was the baby born in some tiny town and not the capital city?  Why would the first people who come to worship be outsiders, nobodies? Why would God speak to these outsiders through stars and dreams rather than more conventional methods? Just what is God doing, anyway?

Epiphany, which marks the end of Christmas on Jan. 6, is the observance of God made manifest. The revelation of Emanuel, God with us, in the most unexpected of ways. The symbol of this season is light - stars in the sky that light the way to the Christ child, the light that shines in the darkness in John’s gospel, light that reveals and helps us to see again. 

Perhaps the absurdity of this strange story is a flashing light. To make us sit up, pay attention, see again. This God who leaves us with so many questions, this God who comes in unexpected people and unconventional methods, this God is shining a light and inviting us to see again as we enter a new year together. 

I recently heard Jane Goodall interviewed and she was speaking about finding hope in the midst of a world in crisis - climate change, the pandemic, political unrest, violence and more. It can feel absolutely overwhelming. Especially right now when we had hoped so desperately to be in a better place with the pandemic by 2022 but here we are once again - worried about the strain on our healthcare system and recalculating our own risk budgets. We desperately want and need the light of Epiphany, don’t we? [1] 

Goodall said that hope, for her, is active. She said it’s like being in a long, dark tunnel. But we can see just a pinprick of light at the end. We don’t just sit there, she said, waiting for the light to come to us. Instead, we move towards the light. Sometimes crawling on our knees or climbing over obstacles. We take breaks and rest. We draw near to others and give each other strength for the journey. We move towards the light. That’s hope - partnering with the light and with each other. 

That’s what the Magi did, right? They kept moving, following the star. They stayed close to one another and traveled as a community. They listened with the ears of their hearts, allowing God’s voice to come to them even in their dreams. And they rejoiced! Even in the midst of all the mess, they allowed their spirits to soar and rejoiced exceedingly with great joy when they finally found their way to Jesus. 

They were people of hope. Travelers who held on tightly to the light. Protectors who stood up against a tyrant. Listeners who were bold enough to go home by another way. Seekers who saw God revealed among us in the most unexpected of places. Old, familiar characters who invite us to see again. 

Thanks be to God for those who light the way. 

NOTES:

[1] Jane Goodall on the 1A podcast. https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/1a/id1188724250?i=1000545433436&fbclid=IwAR1r-5yj49HgIEMVA1_Ine8MD_sbWCdDvt3JdA06vwUSVpFAijgs2NVMchk