Sojourning: The Well of Rebecca

Sojourning: The Well of Rebecca

God Calls Us in Our Work

Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67

Rev. Tim Callow

Preached Sun. July 5th, 2026

In the middle ages the most commented upon book of the Bible was not Matthew, Mark, Luke or John. It was not Romans or Galatians. It was not Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, or Deuteronomy. It was not Isaiah, Jeremiah, or Ezekiel. Daniel or Revelation. The most commonly commented upon book of the bible was Song of Songs. Or Song of Solomon. That might seem very strange to us because Song of Songs does not tend to figure much in our own devotional reading. This Sunday is the one Sunday out of three years the Revised Common Lectionary includes a reading from Song of Songs, and it is optional. But whenever it comes by I take my chance to preach on it.

The reason that it doesn’t figure too much in our own devotional reading today is the same reason it was so commented upon in the middle ages. The poem, at face value, in its literal sense, is an erotic poem. It is about a man and a woman. The man describes the woman in lurid detail. They poetically discuss their desire for each other. The man is absent and the woman yearns for him. Eventually they are united and praise the love they share.

The poetry of Song of Songs is also rather odd to our ears today. “Your teeth are like a flock of ewes” or “Your neck is like the tower of David” don’t hit the same way they did over two thousand years ago. It is an odd book for the Bible. And so we tend to put it aside and focus on the books we know how to deal with.

But the allure of Song of Songs for the medieval commentators was precisely because they didn’t quite know how to deal with it. It was because the book is so strange, because an erotic poem seemed out of place in Holy Scripture, that they couldn’t help but spill precious ink over it. Whatever this book seemed to be about, they thought, it has to have something to do with the desire Christ has for his Church, or the desire the soul has for God, and vice versa. Because they were convinced, by their own experience, that the desire of the soul for God and the desire of God for human souls was like erotic desire. Truthfully, they thought the fulfillment of erotic desire was actually found in uniting the soul to God in Christ.

So when they read, “The voice of my beloved! Look, he comes, leaping upon the mountains, bounding over the hills.” They understood Christ leaping from on high to be with his Church, or the soul witnessing the arrival of her Lord. And when the beloved says, “Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away,” that is God calling the soul. That is what each one of us earnestly desires to hear. Deep down. Really, truly. All human desire finds its fulfillment in being carried away, going away with God.

I want to use this theme — our desire for God and God’s desire for us as the fulfillment of erotic desire — to read our old testament lesson this morning and maybe pick something up from it. This will be a sort of medieval reading of that passage, the way the monks would have done it long ago.

We read that Abraham sent his servant back to Ur to find a wife for Isaac from his father’s house. Abraham didn’t want his son to marry one of the gentiles in Canaan. But he also didn’t have much connection back home, so nothing had been arranged. When his servant makes it back to Ur he waits at the well. The well is often a site of erotic entanglement in scripture. This is a classic example of that. The servant tells himself that if a woman comes to draw water, and offers him and his camels water, he will know that the Lord had selected that woman to be Isaac’s wife.

Rebecca comes to the well as she would do every day. And while drawing water she sees this servant. He asks her for water, and she offers to give water to his camels as well. He knows she’s the one. As it turns out, she is the daughter of Bethuel, a member of the household of Nahor. That is, from Abram’s father’s house. He tells Rebecca and Bethuel about Abraham and Isaac. How Abraham has been blessed with great wealth, and Isaac is in need of a wife. She is given a choice whether she would leave everything she knew to go to this foreign land, much like Abram did so many years ago.

She agrees.

We can see here a similar theme as we were discussing in Song of Songs. We can interpret Rebecca as the soul, Isaac as the divine. We can see the promises of God given to us for a new home, a new heritage, and a joyful house. The detail I want to focus on is how it is that she even hears about this promise, why it is the promise is even offered.

Here I am borrowing from Origen of Alexandria, an ancient commentator who had a sermon on this passage. He liked to pick at details and draw lessons out of them. The detail he notices here is that Rebecca went to the well to draw water. She went to the well to draw water as she did every day. She was always about her work, and she never expected her work to amount to more than a few jugs of water a day. But because she was diligent in her work she was offered something far more than she could have guessed or imagined.

We too are given work to do. The work of forgiveness. The work of generosity. The work of mercy. The work of prayer. The work of scripture reading. The work of fasting. The work of worship. The work of love. God gives us so much to do. But all these things are not ends in and of themselves. They are opportunities. Opportunities to be called and swept away. Opportunities to meet God face to face. Opportunities to be called on our own journey like Abram was called. Opportunities to see God.

Sojourning: The Far of Hagar

Sojourning: The Fear of Hagar

God is Free

Genesis 21:8-21

Rev. Tim Callow

Preached Sun. June 21st, 2026

God is free, but he is not arbitrary. I mean, God can do what ever he wants, but God does whatever he wants. The wants and desires of God are not fickle.

The freedom of God can be both a joy to us and an anxiety. The freedom of God can be an anxiety because it means we have no control of God. It can be a fearful thing to pray, “thy will be done.” I have often let those words leave my lips with great hesitation. I want to be comfortable, but God’s will is not necessarily that I would be comfortable. Sometimes it conforms with God’s will that I be very uncomfortable, or that I even suffer. In the eyes of God there are far more important things he wants for me than mere comfort. God wants me to be holy. And the comfortable do not grow in holiness.

But God’s freedom can be a joy because it means God is free to be love, pure love, complete love. God’s love is not constrained by anything. God’s love is not exhausted. Human love can be constrained by resentments or fears. Our own love can be exhausted over time if we don’t take care of ourselves. It is not so with God. As Charles Wesley wrote in his hymn Come O Thou Traveller Unknown, “pure universal love thou art.”

Our reading this morning from Genesis concerns the pure universal love that God is.

God made a promise to Abraham that he would bless him, and make him a blessing. That he would be the father of a great nation even though he was old. But God’s promise was long in its fulfillment. So Sarah, his wife, suggested that he have a child with her slave child Hagar. This sounds very strange to our ears. But in the context of Abraham’s day a slave was available for sexual pleasure and a child born of a slave could stand to inherit the family property if need be.

But at the same time I don’t want to pass over Hagar’s situation here. She did not have a choice in this arrangement. And the intent of Abraham and Sarah was that this child that Hagar would give birth to, Ishmael, would be more Abraham’s son than the son of a slave woman. Even worse, when Hagar is pregnant with Ishmael Sarah’s resentment burns. She so grievously mistreats Hagar that Hagar runs away into the wilderness. There she has an encounter with the angel of the Lord who sends her back.

Given our sermon last Sunday where I mentioned that while Abraham has a close relationship with the Lord while Sarah only speaks to the Lord once, I don’t think it’s insignificant that Hagar encounters God much as Abraham did. And like Abraham Hagar receives a promise, “You are now with child and you will have a son. you shall name him Ishmael, for the LORD has heard of your misery. He will be a wild donkey of a man; his hand will be against everyone and everyone’s hand against him, and he will live in hostility toward all his brothers.”

Hagar even names God, “the God who sees me.”

This morning’s reading concerns the second time she leaves Sarah. This time is after Isaac is born and after Ishmael is born. Sarah’s resentment continues to burn and after she sees Isaac and Ishmael playing together she demands Ishmael leave. There is no way, she says, that he will stand to inherit anything. Abraham seems torn, but the Lord tells him to do what Sarah says. So Abraham gives Hagar some bread, a skin of water, and sends her on her way.

When the bread and water has run out, and she is at her wits end, she hides Ishmael in the bushes and walks a bows shot away. She cannot bear to watch her son die in the desert. But it is then, when she feels all hope is lost, that the Lord again appears to her. "What troubles you, Hagar? Do not be afraid, for God has heard the voice of the boy where he is. Come, lift up the boy and hold him fast with your hand, for I will make a great nation of him.”

It is then she looks, and the Lord has opened her eyes. There is a well. The Lord has provided for both Hagar and her son. And the Lord continues to provide for them. For, indeed, God fulfills his promise to Hagar that from Ishmael would come a great nation.

God makes a promise to Abraham, but that does not preclude that God would also make a promise to Hagar. God watches over Isaac, but that does not mean God cannot be with Ishmael as well. God works great blessings over Israel, but that does not mean God cannot bless the nations. God is free. God makes promises, and God will hold to those promises. But the promises God makes, the ones we cling to, do not preclude other promises. Does not mean God does not work in other ways. God is free.

I say this because I know people who have worried about, say, family members who die without knowing Christ. Or wonder about those who die who had never heard the gospel. God makes sure and certain promises in Christ. We can reliably and dependably trust in him. Christ is the way, the truth, and the life. He is salvation. That is what is revealed to us, and we are called to walk in his paths. But the God Jesus reveals to us is the free God of Israel who is with Isaac and Ishmael. We do not know all that God does, or all the ways God works. We do not know exactly how that final judgment will go down. What we do know is that God is free, and in his freedom God is love. This is what is revealed in the Gospel. And we put our trust in him.

Sojourning: The Laughter of Sarah

Sojourning: The Laughter of Sarah

A Servile Faith

Genesis 18:1-15, 21:1-7

Rev. Tim Callow

Preached Sun. June 14th, 2026

This morning I want to talk about two stories of laughter. The first is in our Genesis reading. Abraham is sitting at the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day when he sees three visitors. He seems to recognize at least one of them because he hurries himself to greet them and bows low to the ground. He offers them generous hospitality, but gives them more than he says. He offers a little water, and he brings milk. He offers something to eat, and he slaughters the calf and bakes cakes. When he and Sarah are done working in the heat of the day, Abraham rests to eat with the visitors.

While they are eating the visitors ask Abraham “Where is your wife Sarah?”

Abraham replies, “There, in the tent.” She is eating alone rather than meeting with these strangers.

Then one of the visitors says, “I will surely return to you about this time next year, and Sarah your wife will have a son.”

As it turns out Sarah was not keeping to herself this whole time, but she was listening. And when she heard that she was supposed to have a child she laughed. “After I am worn out and my master is old,” she says to herself, “will I now have this pleasure?” The whole thing seems far too outlandish, far too ridiculous. How can she but laugh at the suggestion?

But the visitor hears her laugh. “Why did Sarah laugh and say, ‘ will I really have a child, now that I am old? Is anything too hard for the Lord?” At this point, we are told, Sarah is afraid. She’s been spotted. And she didn’t mean to offend the visitors. So she says, “I did not laugh.” But the visitor replies, “Yes, you did laugh.”

Sarah’s fear at being spotted here contrasts mightily with Abraham’s laughter in the previous chapter. In Chapter 17, right before this account, the Lord appears to Abram. In this account he renames Abram, “Abraham,” tells him he will be the father of many nations, and gives him the covenant of circumcision.

But here is the important part for this morning. The Lord tells Abraham, “As for Sarai your wife, you are not longer to call her Sarai; her name will be Sarah. I will bless her and will surely give you a son by her. I will bless her so that she will be the mother of nations; kings of peoples will come from her.” What is Abraham’s response to this promise? Does he nod sagely? Does he thank the Lord through tears?

In fact, we are told, he doubles over in laughter. “Abraham felt face down; he laughed and said to himself, ‘Will a son be born to a man a hundred years old? Will Sarah bear a child at the age of ninety?’ And Abraham said to God, ‘If only Ishmael might live under your blessing!’” Ishmael being the son born to him from the slave woman Hagar. More on that next Sunday.

But the Lord’s response to Abraham’s laugher isn’t to ask, “why are you laughing?” And Abraham’s response isn’t fear. Rather, the Lord simply restates the promise, “Yes, but your wife Sarah will bear you a son, and you will call him Isaac.” Isaac meaning, “he laughs.” Almost as if God, here, were in on the joke. As if the Lord took joy in making Abraham laugh.

What are we to make of this? Why is Sarah’s laugh an occasion for fear while Abraham’s laugh is no problem at all? Why does Sarah try to hide her laugh when she is found out? Why does the Lord seem to rebuke her when he hears her laugher, but there is no rebuke for Abraham?

Did someone make a mistake? There are many scholars who believe Genesis is a number of independent accounts edited together. Is it possible, then, that the editor or editors of Genesis miss that they had two stories where God announces Isaac’s coming birth and someone laughs? And that they missed that they put both of these stories together? Or maybe they put the stories together wanting to put as many accounts in as possible? Or maybe these two accounts of laughter betray ancient near eastern misogyny? It’s ok for a man to laugh but not ok for a woman to laugh?

I am of the opinion that there are no mistakes in the Bible. In the least, God means for us to find something in instances such as this. Sometimes we do see the same story repeated, or an account awkwardly woven into the story. I take this as an invitation to stop and look for a deeper meaning. When we come to places like this we are meant to ponder. It is part of how Scripture works, and how God means to teach us.

In this case, I think it’s significant that Sarah is in the tent when she laughs, she is not at the dinner table. Sarah does not have the relationship with the Lord that Abraham has. In fact, this episode is her only bit of dialogue with God. A pretty awkward one. I think it is this relationship, and lack thereof, that makes the difference between Abraham’s laughter and Sarah’s laugher.

It is not that Sarah’s laugher was wrong. Her embarrassment was wrong. Her fear was wrong. But she is embarrassed because she doesn’t have that prior relationship with God that bears embarrassment. Like how we might want to make good first impressions,  but when we get to know someone we can be an absolute fool in front of them. Abraham has the intimate friendship with God that allows him to kneel over in laughter at God’s promise and receive no rebuke. Sarah does not know that sort of relationship and is afraid.

Sarah is not without faith. But it is a servile faith. Abraham’s faith is great because he has the faith of a close friend or family member. His is more the faith of a Son. He is not afraid of showing his real feelings, because he has the relationship that can bear it. Whereas Sarah feels she needs to present herself in a certain way. How dare she laugh before the promises of God? And yet, it appears God thinks the promise he has made is funny as well.

In our own walk with the Lord let’s not put up appearances for God. He knows our heart. He is, in the words of St. Augustine, nearer to us than we are to ourselves. When we turn to the Lord in prayer, if we want to maintain that strong relationship, we should offer our real selves. Our fears, our doubts, our laugher, our pain. God is not looking for formalities. He desires us. He wants to hear from us what is really upon our hearts. And what we offer to God comes back transformed.

Sojourning: The Call of Abram

Sojourning: The Call of Abram

Do You Have the Faith of Abram?

Genesis 12:1-9

Rev. Tim Callow

Preached Sun. June 7th, 2026

Abram was seventy-five years old when he first heard the call of the Lord. He had already lived a lifetime in the land of Ur. His family hearth would have been full of stories from the past. Stories of sibling rivalry, of neighborhood intrigue, of adolescent exploits, and the stubborn personalities of different bulls. Stories of the trouble his sheep got into, or harsh winter nights. But we do not know any of those stories. We are not told about Abram’s life in Ur. We are not told why the Lord chooses to speak into his life. But we do know that, for us, Abram’s story begins when he is seventy-five years old.

The Lord said to Abram, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you.” Sometimes when the Lord speaks he really sticks the knife in you. Each phrase is more intimate, making clearer the sacrifice God is asking Abram to make.

First, go from your country. Leave the nation that you know and love. Leave this place where you are familiar with every rock and valley, every creek and hill. Go instead to a land that I will show you.

Second, leave your kindred. Leave everyone behind, save Sarai your wife and Lot your nephew. Have no more to do with a lifetime of friends and relations. You will now live among strangers in the land that I will show you.

And third, most painfully, leave your father’s house. Leave your inheritance. Give up on your obligations to you father and mother. Never see them again. But go, instead, to the land that I will show you.

The Lord does not sugar coat his request. He does not pretend that he is asking Abram to do anything other than what he is asking him to do. Leave everything you knew. Leave everything you know. Leave every bit of identity you have. Leave all the security you have. Give up on your whole life, all seventy-five years of it, and go to the land that I will show you. Go to a place that I have set for you.

I’m getting ahead of myself here but I also want to point out what the Lord says about the land of Canaan, the land of the promise, to Abram. “To your offspring I will give this land.” He does not even promise the Land to Abram. Abram will from here on out live as a nomad, an alien, a migrant. He will have no land to call his own save the grave he purchases for Sarai. He will live in a land populated by others, owned by others. And he will live among them at their mercy. He will get by on the kindness of strangers. This is the life the Lord is calling Abram to lead.

But the command of the Lord is not all hardship. The command comes with a promise — however vague. “I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing.” In other words, give up all you have, all you once were, and I promise you a future far greater than the future this land holds in store for you. You will be the father of a great nation. Your name will be great. You will be blessed. And more than that, “I will bless those who bless you, and the one who curses you I will curse, and in you all the families of the earth will be blessed.”

There is hardship in what the Lord asks, but also great promise.

We are not told how long Abram deliberated, or if he had to deliberate at all. We only know that he followed the command of God. He left his country, his kindred, his father’s house, and went to Canaan. So his story began.

I, myself, marvel at the faith of Abram. I am not so sure I would do the same. I’m a bit of a homebody. Part of the joy of traveling, after all, is coming home again. But more to the point, Abram is being asked to sacrifice a lot that I hold dear. Family. Stability. Security. Identity. And he’s having to sacrifice these things for a future that is left somewhat vague. He’s giving up the life he knows, for a life he does not know.

Why does he do this? I don’t think it is because of the nature of the promise. It is because of who makes the promise. He doesn’t so much hold faith in the promise, as much as he has faith in the promiser.

Paul, this morning, commends to us the faith of Abram. A faith that is not founded on Law, or ideology, or confessions, or money, or power, or wealth, or nostalgia, but a faith that is grounded purely and solely in the one who makes the promise.

We may not be called out of our country, our kindred, our father’s house, but we are all called to have faith in the one who promises eternal life. And such faith casts aside all other supports, all other security, all other marks of identity, and fully, entirely, puts its hope in the one who calls us.

Abram’s life is not made easy because he has this faith. If anything, his faith makes his life a whole lot harder. In human terms he may have been better off in Ur. But if he stayed in Ur he’d never have a son. If he stayed in Ur he’d never be the father of a great nation. If he stayed in Ur he’d be totally forgotten. But he has faith in the God who makes something out of nothing. The God who can raise the dead. And on account of that faith perseveres and is richly rewarded.

The Miracle of Pentecost

The Miracle of Pentecost

One in Christ

Acts 2:1-21

Rev. Tim Callow

Preached Sun. May 24th, 2026

Before Jesus ascended into Heaven he told his disciples to wait. Wait in Jerusalem. Wait among the crowd and mob that crucified me. Wait for the gift of the Holy Spirit. You’ll know it when you receive it. We do not know how long the disciples waited. We do not know how fervent their prayers were, how they passed the time. But what we do know is that it was early in the morning on the day of Pentecost, when they were gathered into one room, that they first heard a sound like violent wind. And that wind then manifested above their heads as tongues of fire. And every single one of them began to speak.

They spoke of Jesus and his mighty deeds. How it was that he was crucified by the people of Jerusalem, the very people they bore witness to. How it was that he rose from the dead, has ascended to the right hand of power on high. How he has now poured out his spirit as it had been prophesied. And how this is not the time of wrath, but the time of mercy. “Be not afraid!” We may imagine them saying. Now is the acceptable time, now is day of salvation.

Now it’d be one thing if the miracle of this day was that tongues of fire fell upon their heads. It’d be another thing if the miracle of this day was that they were given the courage to leave their rooms, enter the streets, and proclaim in power and authority the mighty acts of God in Christ. But the work of the Holy Spirit was still greater than this. When they spoke, everyone could understand them.

Whether they came from Jerusalem or Alexandria, from Parthia or Rome, from Lybia or Media, they could understand what the apostles were saying. And it wasn’t because the apostles were so clear in their speech, or because they knew the right lingua franca. But because the Holy Spirit interceded that everyone could hear in their own language.

Not knowing what to do with all this many assumed the apostles must be drunk! But no, Peter told them, it is but nine in the morning. Instead this is what the prophet Joel had prophesied, “In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams. Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour out my Spirit, and they shall prophesy.”

We call Pentecost the birthday of the Church. Because the Church is more than just an assembly of individuals. It is the work of the Holy Spirit. It is God’s presence in us, moving through us, bringing about God’s purpose and will. Whatever mission statements we endorse or institutions we concoct it is all in service, first and foremost, to what God wants. Everything we do is a response to God’s activity. The Holy Spirit comes down as a thunderous wind, and we must act.

What interests me this morning is that this first manifestation of the Holy Spirit in the life of the Church could have come about in any way. Peter could have raised the dead right then and there. The apostles could have marched around the Temple and torn it down. The moon could have turned blood red or frogs could have fallen from the sky. All sorts of portents, wonders, and miracles could have taken place. But the miracle God brings about is to make it so that everyone can understand the apostles’ preaching regardless of what language they speak.

But this is the most appropriate miracle that God could bring about on the day of Pentecost when you consider what gospel is preached on the day of Pentecost. Peter announces that the one they crucified is the one who is risen. And the one who is risen is the one who reigns. “Therefore let all Israel be assured of this:,” Peter announces, “God has made this Jesus, whom you crucified, both Lord and Messiah.” What better way to announce the rule of Christ than by casting aside earthly divisions? Whether you are Mede or Cappadocian or Roman or Jewish you hear the word of the universal God.

We hear from Paul as well this morning, “For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body--Jews or Greeks, slaves or free--and we were all made to drink of one Spirit.” We must not let this pass us by like it is not radical. By the one Spirit we are baptized into one body. Whether we are Jews or Greeks, slaves or free. It is not a Jewish body. A Greek body. A Slavish body. A free body. But Christ’s body. We are made one, in the Spirit, in him.

Jews and greeks didn’t always get along! Greeks thought the Jews were a contentious and superstitious lot. They didn’t understand why they can’t be more tolerant and open to the worship of other gods. The Jews had a long memory, and never forgot the insult from Antiochus IV Epiphanes, how he tried to convert the Jerusalem temple to pagan worship and banish Law observance. They thought greeks were unclean, immoral, and oppressive. But Paul says they are made one in Christ.

And let’s not pretend slaves got along with their masters! Or along with those who were free! Part of how the greeks justified owning slaves was by saying slaves obviously cannot be expected to govern themselves. There are some people naturally fit for slavery, who are better off being told what to do by someone who is more virtuous than they are. And the free imagined they were the more virtuous. But Paul says regardless of all that, they are actually made one in Christ, one in the reception of the Spirit. Formed into one body.

If the Spirit of Pentecost is alive and well it will work the same miracle today. That we won’t continue to sort ourselves by politics or class or race. But recognize we have a common Lord, who pours out a common Spirit, that we may be made one. If the Spirit of Pentecost is alive today we will be able to give witness and testimony to each other about the work of God in our lives regardless of our politics. if the Spirit of Pentecost is alive today we will be able to understand each other, even if we can’t agree on everything. Because we know the Spirit has fallen on each of us, to unite us to Christ, and so we are all those for whom Christ died.

The miracle of Pentecost is not a story from a bygone age. A nice tale to tell ourselves before bedtime or in a Sunday School. But it ought to be, if the Bible is true, the continual reality of the Church. The Spirit comes to unite us in strange ways. That we might find ourselves in the company of those we did not expect. But in that way might receive grace.

Universal Grace: Deed

Universal Grace: Deed

Preach the Gospel at All Times

Matthew 5:13-20

Rev. Tim Callow

Preached Sun. Feb. 8th, 2026

God’s grace is open to all. And God wishes to make use of this his Church to share the message of that grace to the world. Through the preaching of the gospel, through the celebration of the sacraments, through our prayers and fellowship, we make the love of God tangible and known to a world that needs to hear it. This is the adventure God has called us to in our baptisms, it is the mission we are honored to join. We not only grow in love with God, but we are called to grow in love with our neighbors. And the two are enjoined.

So far in this series I have focused on the universality of God’s grace as well as the importance of sharing the proclamation of his grace. That is to say, the gospel. But there is a famous, though falsely attributed, line you may have wanted to quote to me the past month. As St. Francis of Assisi is supposed to have said, “preach the gospel at all times, and when necessary use words.” Now, this is an odd line to put in the mouth of St. Francis. He is the one who famously preached to the birds after all. He didn’t do so mimicking bird songs or waving his arms. He did so using words. The story goes that he was traveling when the realization came upon him that he had restricted his preaching of the gospel to other humans and had neglected the creation. So he immediately went off the path and told the birds, “brother bird, Jesus loves you!”

But on the other hand, could the line be put in the mouth of anyone but St. Francis? He is the one who gave up everything to follow Jesus. Who cared for the lepers because in the Gospel Jesus cares for the lepers. Who begged for the poor because in the gospel Jesus served the poor. Who had no place to lay his head because Jesus said he had no place to lay his head. And, finally, had so united himself to Jesus in his life that he is said to have taken on the very wounds of Christ, the stigmata, at the end of his life. He certainly made his life a living proclamation of the gospel, word or no word.

And so it should be for us. Let us preach the gospel at all times not just in word but in deed. Let us make our lives a living proclamation. Make our lives such that who we are makes no sense unless we have hope in Christ. Let us, through our lives, show the difference Christ makes to the world.

Is this not what Jesus is commanding us to do this morning in our reading from the Sermon on the Mount? He says first, “You are the salt of the earth, but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything but is thrown out and trampled under foot.” Salt works both as a preservative and a source of flavor. It makes a difference where it is applied. But if the salt is gone and you have nothing more than rocks in your hands, what’s the use? Jesus tells his disciples that they are to be life-giving. And if we are not a source of life and joy to the world, why not throw us out?

He says as well, “You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. People do not light a lamp put it under the bushel basket; rather they put it on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.” We reveal to the world who they are and who God is. We reveal that there is a better life than the one of constant doomscrolling and consumption. But there is a way that leads to happiness and life. We show this not just in our words but in our deeds. In who we are. In the lives we choose to lead. It is our good works that shine, Jesus says, and leads others to give glory to God.

Jesus calls all of us to be salt and light. He calls all of us to be sources of life and illumination for the world. To give zest to the world. To show forth his love and mercy to the world. To proclaim the gospel by word and by deed.

Now, you might say, that all sounds well and good. Certainly we don’t want to turn people away by being miserable people. We don’t want to cause scandal to Christ by committing serious sin. But what does such a life look like? In what does it consist? What am I actually telling us to do?

I’ll give two answers.

The first is found in our Old Testament reading from Isaiah. Isaiah is taking the rulers of Judah to task for taking on fasts and publicly worshipping God while doing the things God hates. Oppressing the poor and the needy. So what is it that Isaiah calls them to do instead? “Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the straps of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them and not to hide yourself from your own kin? … if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday.” That is all to say, to care for those in need at a personal cost. To provide for ones necessities when they need it, to show hospitality to those who need hospitality, to be a human face in a world where you’re more likely to talk to a chatbot. It is far easier to pass the buck. But we are not called to do that. We are called to serve when we can, when opportunity arrises.

But secondly I’ll say you already know what I’m talking about. So often preaching is stating the obvious we would rather avoid. You know what I’m talking about because saints have walked among us. You have known your lives touched, and you know what it takes to touch a life. You have known the support you have received in hard times, and how to share that support to others. It is this costly love, this personal warmth, this sharing of ourselves that is the true salt and life. It is the way we imitate Christ for others. It is the way we preach not just by word, but by deed.

Universal Grace: Power

Universal Grace: Power

The Gospel is Power

Matthew 4:12-23

Rev. Tim Callow

Preached Sun. Jan. 25th, 2026

There’s a story about a french priest by the name of John Vianney that I can’t source. I heard it back in seminary and it stuck with me. Among the Catholics John Vianney is regarded as the patron saint of priests and is also known as the Curé de Ars. As the story goes he was a pious man who struggled greatly with his priestly studies because he was no good at latin. But after much trial he was finally ordained and sent to a small village in rural France. His sermons were short, simple, and plain, his personality unassuming, there was nothing outwardly remarkable about the man. But he became known as a great confessor. Soon people were taking the train to get out to Ars to confess their sins to John Vianney. And, as happens around figures like this, miracles began to take place.

The story is that John Vianney was called in to perform an exorcism. When the demon saw the Curé de Ars the wretched thing screeched at him in fear and anger. Now, as a general rule one shouldn’t take the statements of a demon to heart. They are led by the father of lies after all. But this one said, “We despise you. When you preach, you do so in such simplicity. Why can’t you be like the preachers in the city with their erudition and rhetoric, that we can work with!”

Certainly, God can work with erudition as well. But this story falls in line with what we hear from Paul this morning. He writes, “For Christ did not send me to baptize but to proclaim the gospel--and not with eloquent wisdom, so that the cross of Christ might not be emptied of its power. For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.”

It seems one of the problems plaguing the Church in Corinth was there were teachers who made use of their eloquent wisdom to win over others. They formed their own cliques within the church, and soon people were talking about belonging to this or that other teacher and not about their unity in Christ. Paul says he does none of that. He speaks without eloquence. He speaks plainly, and simply. He can do so because the power of the gospel is not found in his own fleshly eloquence, or his own human wisdom. The power of the Gospel is Christ and him crucified. While it may seem foolish, the gospel itself is power.

We may find it easy to be discouraged. More and more Americans don’t see the point in coming to church. More and more the foundational stories of the Bible are forgotten or ignored. Our hair grows thinner and there are more seats in the pews than there were before. The church has faced such trials before, and will perhaps face them again. Before the American Revolution church attendance was poor in most of the colonies. Before WWI in America there was a large worry over demographic shifts in the Church and the young people no longer attending.

Sometimes this discouragement means we lose trust in the power inherent in the gospel. Before WWI many churches introduced counseling services and built community centers because they felt people needed something tangible before they could receive something spiritual. In the 70’s there was a boom in church growth methods that used marketing tools and slick services to reach what turned out to largely be christians from other churches. In nations like Spain and Portugal the Church tightly integrated itself into the government so to be Spanish or Portuguese simply meant to be Catholic. But that experience has not led to lasting piety in those nations.

I remember when I was interning in North Carolina we took our youth group to a day camp where they had a water slide, zip lines, hot dogs, and rap music. And when it was all done the head of the day camp got all the kids together and said, “now we had fun here, but we know that’s not what this was really about…” and told them about Jesus and how to say the sinners prayer so they could be baptized. And I remember thinking how strange that was. Does God really need zip lines and hot dogs to claim his own?

But too often we lose confidence in the power of the gospel and think we need to add zip lines and hot dogs if we are going to see any success.

I suppose eloquence and zip lines and hot dogs and rap music can all have their place. I’m not entirely opposed to those things. Kids should have fun in church. The music should be enjoyable. And we should care for the physical and tangible needs of those in our community. But that’s not the engine of the Church. That is not what gives her her power. It is the power inherent in the gospel. And we should not lose confidence in that.

The message of Christ crucified is power. The knowledge of God’s love is power. The experience of God’s forgiveness and mercy is power. The hope that God alone can give is power. And when Jesus calls us, there is power.

This morning we also hear how Jesus calls Andrew and Simon and James and John as they are working their nets. He doesn’t need to hand them a hot dog or give them an eloquent speech. He simply says, “follow me.” And what can they do otherwise? In the gospel we may hear those words, “follow me.” This is my love for you, follow me. This is eternal life, follow me.

Let us have confidence that the gospel has not been robbed of its power. That the gospel is our true engine. That the gospel alone is our hope.

Universal Grace: Witness

Universal Grace: Witness

The More We Share the More Our Love Deepens

John 1:29-42

Rev. Tim Callow

Preached Sun. Jan. 18th, 2026

Have you ever known the pleasure of introducing a friend to a new song, or movie, or TV show, that you are certain they’ll love but had never seen before? One of my friends was a big X-Files fan and loves that sort of paranormal, conspiracy stuff. Not because he believes all the conspiracies and whatnot, but because he thinks it’s a good yarn and is fascinated by the personalities that inhabit the space. Some are buffoonish, some are outright conmen, some are endearingly sincere and naive. So I had asked him if he ever saw Twin Peaks. To my astonishment he hadn’t. How can you love conspiracies and the esoteric and never see Twin Peaks? Well I insisted he absolutely had to watch. And he, of course, was hooked from the first episode like so many were when it was on ABC. And I was glad to have someone to talk to about Twin Peaks.

We want to share these things because, first, we want someone to know the joy we have received from watching or listening. But also, importantly, we want to be able to talk to someone about those things, right? In sharing a movie or song we don’t diminish our love or enjoyment for that movie or song. It is, in fact, deepened. It is deepened because we enjoy it with others, which is better than enjoying it alone.

This morning we once again meet up with John the Baptist. But this isn’t the hellfire and brimstone John from Advent. He is not a voice crying out in the wilderness calling people to repentance. He is not hurling insults at the powers that be or threatening that the axe is laid at the root of the tree of Israel. This time John is bearing witness to the one who is to come. The one who has arrived. The one who is the very presence of the Kingdom he had come to proclaim.

When he sees Jesus he cries out, “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!” John explains that he had always proclaimed that one was coming who was greater than him, because he was before him. He explains his ministry was never about himself. John didn’t go into the wilderness to make a name for himself. To talk himself up. Or to stroke his own ego. He went into the wilderness to prepare the way for the one who is to come. To prepare the people for the Messiah. And he had been told the messiah would be the one who has the spirit descend on him and remain. This, John explains, had happened. Jesus had come to be baptized, he baptized him, and the Spirit descended on him like a dove. Proving he is the one who deliver Israel, proving he is the one to bring about the forgiveness of sins.

The next day when he is walking with some of his own disciples he sees Jesus again and says the same thing, “Look! Here is the lamb of God!” And they leave him to follow Jesus.

But John is not upset by this. He will later go on to say, “he must increase, but I must decrease.” This is what his ministry is truly about. Not John, but Jesus. Not his ego, but the Kingdom. If his disciples are to leave him for another, so be it. They are following the lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.

Here, ultimately, is the legacy of John the Baptist. Not that he performed any mighty miracles, not that he left behind some sacred text or secret teaching. But that he points to the lamb of God and tells us to look. There is a famous altarpiece in Germany, I have it on the screen behind me, that powerfully illustrates this. It’s called the Isenheim Altarpiece. On the left it shows people coming to the cross looking for healing. On the right it shows John the Baptist, the triumphant lamb at his feet, pointing to Jesus. We are meant to see in this image John saying, “behold the lamb of God.” That is his ministry, that is what it’s all about, sharing Jesus and enjoying the joy of other’s faith in him.

We, too, as disciples of Christ must be like John the Baptist. The life of faith is not something for us to keep to ourselves. If we truly have joy in Christ, if we truly have peace in our faith, how can we but share that? If my enjoyment of Twin Peaks is such I have to let my friend know about it, what is my enjoyment of my relationship with Jesus? John made his life about pointing to the Lamb of God so others would know what he knew. So should we. The more we share, the deeper our own faith becomes.

Now, some may be saying “that’s not me.” We imagine people leaving tracts in gas station bathrooms or shouting on street corners or cornering strangers in awkward conversations. If that’s what the evangelism of the church was about we wouldn’t get very far. It is more like sharing a movie or a song. Hey, would you like to come to church? Hey, this is important to me can I share it? You don’t know what seeds get planted, you don’t know what God does with such things. But what I do know is that such things are part of our discipleship. That the more we share, the deeper our own love grows.

Universal Grace: Baptism

Universal Grace: Baptism

God is No Respecter of Persons

Acts 10:34-43

Rev. Tim Callow

Preached Sun. Jan. 11th, 2026

There was a Roman centurion by the name of Cornelius. He was stationed at Caesarea in the Roman province of Idumea. He was what they called a “God-fearer” back in those days. God-fearers were gentiles who expressed an interest in the Jewish way of life. They renounced the pagan gods and clung as closely to the people of Israel as they could. Cornelius was a particularly devout man. He would give to those in need and regularly spent time in prayer. It happened that at about three in the afternoon he received a vision of an angel. He was told his prayers and alms have been received as a sacrifice to God, and now he was to send his men to Joppa and bring a certain Simon Peter to him. The angel left it to Peter to bring the real good news.

The next day in Joppa, about noon, Peter went to pray on the roof. Ancient near eastern houses often had flat roofs with easy access. People would sit on their roofs to cool off in the breeze. As Peter was praying he, too, received a vision from the Lord. In his vision he saw heaven opened and all sorts of four footed animals and reptiles on a sheet. And then he heard a voice, “Get up, Peter. Kill and eat.”

“Surely not, Lord!” Peter protested. “I have never eaten anything impure or unclean.”

The voice simply said, “Do not call anything impure that God has made clean.”

This happened three times before the sheet was brought back up to heaven and the vision ended. Peter, at first, didn’t know what to make of it. Was he being given permission to eat bacon? But it was at that same moment that Cornelius’ men arrived at the house looking for him. The Spirit told Peter not to fear these men, for they were sent. So Peter followed dutifully, trusting that the Spirit would show him what to say.

Two days later Peter makes his way to Cornelius’. He asks him what is going on. Why would Cornelius summon Peter when Jews do not always associate with gentiles? But Cornelius explains the vision that he had. Which leads Peter to deliver the speech that we just heard in our New Testament reading this morning. “I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every people anyone who fears him and practices righteousness is acceptable to him.”

The Jesus who came preaching peace, doing good, and healing. The Jesus who was condemned to death, hanging on a tree. The Jesus who rose again on the third day. This Jesus did all of this for the sake of the world. Not for the sake of a few. The sake of an elect. The sake of one particular people. But for the sake of all. For the sake of Cornelius as well as Peter. When Peter spoke these words the Holy Sprit fell powerfully on that place and people started speaking in tongues. Peter took that as his cue to baptize Cornelius and his family. He was only following what God had already accomplished.

Baptism is the sacrament of our incorporation into Christ. It is the visible and tangible means by which God makes us members of the body of Christ. It is the visible and tangible means by which God makes us one in Christ. Baptism is not to be reserved for the special few. We will even baptize babies. It is the free gift of God that makes us part of God’s mighty work in our midst. Through baptism we are made clean and whole. By baptism we may be born again.

God knows that he made us flesh and bone. That we are material beings who need to see as well as hear. Which is why God choses to hug us in the waters of baptism and through them say the words, “you are my beloved.” When we see baptism in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit we may be reminded of who we truly are.

The world will throw all sorts of identities at us. In the story of Cornelius you have a centurion, an italian, a roman citizen, a gentile. Peter is a fisherman, an itinerant preacher, a Jew, a disciple of Jesus the messiah. Such fleshly identities should keep them apart. But by baptism they are told of a deeper identity. An identity deeper than Jew or greek, slave or free, male or female. An identity that crosses all earthly borders. An identity that knows no language. That is, they are one in Christ. And the water is thicker than blood.

God’s grace, such as the grace given in baptism, does not know our divisions. It’ll show up in places where, perhaps, we least expect it. God is no respecter of persons. Shows no partiality. Plays no favorites. The grace of God is truly universal, truly free. Available to the centurion and fisherman, the pharisee and the tax collector. Anyone. Baptism is given to us that we might see that.

Universal Grace: Epiphany

Universal Grace: Epiphany

There is No In-Group

Matthew 2:1-12

Rev. Tim Callow

Preached Sun. Jan. 4th, 2026

This morning we hear about magi from the east bearing gifts of Gold, Frankincense, and Myrrh. These mysterious figures were likely priest-astrologers from the Parthian empire. The Parthians were competitors of and sometimes enemies to Rome. It was a fabulously wealthy empire that controlled the overland route to China known as the Silk Road. So their priests had the security and leisure to spend their time observing the stars and interpreting their meanings. They witness a new star rising in the sky and divine that it indicates a new King born in Judea.
The magi also appear to divine more than what they say, because their gifts are pregnant with meaning. The gold, of course is a wealthy metal fit for a King. But Frankincense and Myrrh are odder gifts that wouldn’t have been terribly useful to a young family of artisans. Both are made from the sap of plants found only in the Arabian peninsula. Burned over charcoal they produced a sweet smelling white cloud. Frankincense, then, was used in the Jerusalem temple. Myrrh, on the other hand, had another use. It was also commonly made into a perfume. Particularly a perfume one might put on a body for its burial.

It seems the Magi knew more than they let on, or perhaps were led to give gifts that indicated more than they knew. Gold for Jesus’ Kingship, frankincense for his priestly sacrifice, myrrh for his atoning death.

The Magi know this even though they do not possess the holy scriptures. A rather amazing act of God’s grace. But those who do possess the scriptures are caught off guard when the Magi come to town. Because even though Jesus had been born over a year earlier word had not made its way to Jerusalem what the angels did that night in the fields. And though they do possess the scriptures, yet the news of a King remains perplexing. And Herod himself, as we learned last week, does his best to frustrate the scriptural prophecy concerning the messiah.

We are witnessing, then, an astonishing reversal. The King of the Jews receiving homage not from his own people but from far away gentiles. God incarnate being recognized not by those who search, study, and live by the scriptures. But recognized by those who look to the stars for their answers and worship a foreign god. And these foreigners, these magi, are full of joy at the sight of the boy. When Jerusalem is afraid, and Herod is filled with paranoia and rage.

This reversal ought to remind us that with God there is no in-group and no out-group. You may recall a few weeks ago we heard John the Baptist tell the pharisees and sadducees they should not put their hope in being children of Abraham because God can raise children of Abraham from stones. No one gets in the in-group when it comes to God. For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosever would believe in him should not perish but have eternal life. His grace is over all his works. God’s love is absolutely universal.

Paul marvels at this mystery in our epistle reading this morning. “The gentiles have become fellow heirs, members of the same body, and sharers in the promise in Christ Jesus through the gospel.” That is to say, the nations have been united to Israel. The promises God made to Israel for their redemption have been extended to all through Christ. And, Paul says, this was always the plan.

God always meant to save the world in this way. Through Israel. Through Jesus. For the Nations.

There is a seeming paradox that runs through the Bible concerning the love of God. And, I suppose, we confront that apparent paradox this morning. It is that on the one hand God chooses some people, but on the other hand his love is shown to be universal. God elects Israel from the nations for his purpose. But that purpose is to bless the nations. God elects David, the apple of his eye, but for the purpose of his universal redemption. And God has elected us, the Church. But not that his grace be limited. Not that we reap the benefits alone. But so that we may share the good news of his love and bless the world.

This is, then, the mission for which we are called. To show the world that God loves them. To point them to the grace that is over all his works. To tell the story of Jesus who died for our sake because he loved us. And how by his blood all our mistakes and wrongdoings are washed away. And as God is indiscriminate in his blessings, so we are called to be indiscriminate in who receives our love. Because God’s grace is not limited. Indeed, it is universal. It calls even the magi from far away to the crib of his son. It calls even us, whatever it is that we have done, to the table by which we receive mercy.

A Miserable Man

A Miserable Man

Christ is the Greatest Gift of All

Matthew 2:13-23

Rev. Tim Callow

Preached Sun. Dec. 28th, 2025

Augustine of Hippo, an old bishop and great preacher, once remarked that God is indiscriminate in his blessings, but reserves the greatest blessing to those who love him. God’s generosity is such that he makes the rain to fall on the just and the unjust alike. God gives great wealth, health, and power without condition. Sometimes it may seem unfair to us. But these blessings can become a snare to us as well. They can be a snare unless they are coupled with God’s greatest blessing: himself. His own presence. The indwelling Holy Spirit. That which alone gives us true peace and joy. That which alone helps us to make use of all the other blessings our Lord provides.

Herod the Great is an example of what Augustine means when he points this out about God’s generosity. Herod was born the son of a high ranking official in the court of the King of the Jews. His father was a good friend of a roman general by the name of Julius Caesar. Herod was able to use his connections to rise in power and, eventually, become declared King of the Jews by the Roman Senate. Having vanquished his enemies Herod became a wealthy client king of Rome and spent his fortune on lavish building projects. Among those building projects was a multi decade remodeling of the Temple in Jerusalem.

But Herod is not known to history because of his building projects. He is not known to history for his fabulous wealth. He is not known to history for maintaining the peace in a tempestuous region of the world. Rather, Herod is known to history to being a paranoid and miserable tyrant. And that is exemplified in our reading this morning. The massacre of the innocents.

The visit of a delegation from the east caught all of Jerusalem off guard. They had arrived with gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. They were astrologers from the royal court, and claimed they saw a star rising that indicated the birth of a king in Judea. But Herod was old in age, and he had no recent children. He immediately perceived this delegation as a threat. He had been declared King of the Jews by the Roman Senate, but here these wise men claimed the very stars of heaven had declared a new King. This new King could undo everything he had worked to build.

So he asks his scribes to consult the scriptures. Where is the King of the Jews to be born? When they tell him Bethlehem he sends the wise men on their way, but with the caveat that when they find the King they should tell him. He would like to see the king too.

But the wise men are warned in a dream about his ploy. They don’t come back, but go to their land by another way. Herod, infuriated, orders the murder of every male child under the age of two. Just to be safe. This king of the Jews becomes more like pharaoh of Egypt who also famously ordered the death of the hebrew boys. But Joseph is also warned in a dream and flees to Egypt from the King of Judah.

Matthew hauntingly gives no description of this horrifying event. But instead quotes Jeremiah, “A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.”

Herod is a man who has received every gift God has to offer under the sun. He is a man of tremendous wealth. He would live a very long life of good health. He was powerful and well regarded by those more powerful than him. He ate far better, slept far better, and lived far better than most anyone in his day. And yet when word came that the messiah was born his response was not to praise God that the end of the ages had come. It was not to rejoice in the salvation by the forgiveness of sins. He didn’t marvel at the gospel of Emmanuel. God with us.

He hears the gospel and decides the boy must die.

And that decision leads to the death of countless others.

All the blessing Herod had known meant nothing because he possessed them without having received the greatest possession: love. Without love all these blessings turned him into a monster. He could not be happy because he was afraid they’d be taken from him. The message of the messiah was not good news for Herod because all it meant was what he might lose. He could not see what he stood to gain.

God gives many gifts. But the greatest of them all he reserves to those who love him and those he loves. And that is himself. His presence that cannot be withheld. His forgiveness that cannot be revoked. This gift alone makes all the other gifts truly gifts. And it is this gift that we come to remember this Christmas season. The gift of God with us.

Wrapped in Bands of Cloth and Lying in a Manger

Wrapped in Bands of Cloth and Lying in a Manger

The Ordinary Made Extraordinary

Luke 2:1-20

Rev. Tim Callow

Preached Sun. Dec. 24th, 2025

There were shepherds out in the fields keeping watch over their flock on that cold Christmas Eve. But for them that night was not much different than any other night. It was cold. It was tiresome. It was long. They were left with little to do but chew the fat and keep watch. They were in the inevitable position of trying to stay awake by counting sheep. But this was the life they had signed up for. Most of their life was spent sitting, watching, walking along. They lived their lives letting the world pass on by.

Perhaps we’ve felt as listless as a shepherd. Every day seems like any other day. We feel we are without purpose or direction. We feel the world passing us by.

But this night would not be like any other night. This night would never happen again. It was on this night that the firmament tore open and heaven met earth. It was on this night, in this region, that the shepherds looked overhead as the night became as day and the whole heavenly army appeared before them. The glory of the Lord shone around them. They were, needless to say, terrified. They were gazing at things only Abraham, Jacob, Moses, Isaiah, had any inkling of.

And yet it was to these ordinary shepherds going about their ordinary and monotonous work that God had chosen to deliver the extraordinary good news. “Do not be afraid, for see, I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” The messiah. The one who is to deliver Israel from their captivity and bondage. The King of the Jews who will bring about the new golden age. But in the angel’s message I detect that even more is said even if it was not understood. This is not just messiah, but this is “the messiah, the Lord.” The eternal is born. The King of Kings. The creator of the universe. God is with us.

The angel then offers them a sign, so they may know where to find this child. “This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” I want to pause here. How odd.

The one before whom all Kings will bow. The one who touches the mountains and they smoke. The one who makes the hills to skip like rams. The one who makes the whirlwind his chariot. This one. The almighty. The Lord. Is to be found as a child? A tiny infant? Wrapped in swaddling cloths? The one who the world cannot contain is to be contained in the arms of his mother? The one who stretched out the sky like a curtain is to be wrapped up in bands of cloth?

But more than that, even stranger, this child is to be found in a feeding trough? In a manger?

And yet we had already heard how this could be. Caesar Augustus had declared a registration, requiring Mary and Joseph to make their way to Bethlehem. When they got there they had no place to lay their head. All that was available was a single stable. And when Mary, great with child, gave birth, all that was available for a crib was a feeding trough.

The King of Kings would not be born in a fine house or in a glorious city. The King of Kings would be found in a smelly stable. Likely a cave in those days. The trough likely made of stone or mud and placed along the wall. The stable would have been one of many in the city of David.

When the angels had finished singing their song, “glory to God in the highest and on earth peace among those on who his favor rests,” they had departed. And that moment ended as quickly as it began. The night sky was knit back together and the stars twinkled and danced as they always did. Having heard the news from the angels the Shepherds were full of joy and resolved to find the child they were told was the messiah.

Imagine the sight, then, when the shepherds make their way out of the fields with a train of sheep. It is late so there is no one out and about. There’s no nightlife in the city of David. But perhaps if someone were having trouble sleeping they would have seen the shepherds and their sheep walking down the streets and byways of the little town of Bethlehem. As they do they peer into every stable, every nook and cranny. They spy every feeding trough. Looking for the sign that had been promised. The child, wrapped in bands of cloth, and lying in a manger.

Those who seek find. And to those who knock the door will be open to them. And so after diligently searching the town this strange band finally finds what they are looking for. All of us can imagine the moment. But perhaps we over sentimentalize what it is the shepherds saw. There, among the hay and the grain, surrounded by mud and manure, was the child in a trough being watched and cared for by two overworked and stressed out parents. There was no halo. There was no angel on the roof. There were no wise men bearing gifts or drummers. There was the child, like any other child, different only by the unfortunate circumstance of his birth.

And they worshiped him.

This evening let us remember the story of the shepherds. Let us remember their world turned upside down that led them to turn a town upside down looking for a seemingly ordinary child. Let us remember the monotonous night that became extraordinary. Let us remember the miracle of the birth that would have escaped any uninformed observer.

God has not abandoned us. As God acted two millennia ago so God acts now. But it would be like with those shepherds. A message, an insight, shines through the darkness of our ordinary lives leading us to see the world in a new way. That we might find ourselves among the dirty stables of the world and see hope.

We are the people who put our hope in this child. Who would later go on to become a great teacher, and healer, and prophet. Who would be put to death by the authorities. Who would not let death have the final say but would rise from the dead. Who lives now forevermore. And may still be seen by those who have the eyes to see him.

Prepare the Way: Story

Prepare the Way: Story

The Story of the Bible is Our Story

Matthew 1:18-25

Rev. Tim Callow

Preached Sun. Dec. 21st, 2025

When I was on the Isle of Man this summer I stayed in Douglas, the capital city. Above Douglas Harbor is a bluff called Douglas Head. It’s a beautiful view of Douglas and the ocean. If you’re lucky you can catch sight of the Dolphins playing in the water. I wasn’t so lucky. Maybe I didn’t have the patience to wait long enough. But Douglas Head also has a small park and a number of monuments. Among them was a monument dedicated to the “gallant manxmen” who served at Trafalgar under Admiral Nelson. The Battle of Trafalgar was a naval battle between the British and napoleon’s forces. Though outmanned and outgunned Nelson’s forces defeated the french and Spanish and secured Britain’s naval supremacy. On the back of the monument was a list of the names of the Manxmen who fought in that battle. And I was surprised to see among the names a certain William Callow.

Now, Callow is not an uncommon name on the Isle of Man. But there also aren’t a lot of manxmen around. So I had to look him up to see if there was any possibility I had a cousin at the Battle of Trafalgar. But, as it turns out, William Callow came from the parish north of my family. Any meaningful relation is unlikely. I figured that had to be the case. Given my family’s interest in genealogy there is no way I could have grown up not knowing I had a cousin at the Battle of Trafalgar. Those are the sorts of things a family brags about for generations. Like those families in our own country who are lucky enough to have ancestors who fought in the Revolutionary War, or in the Civil War. You never hear the end of it at family gatherings.

I can’t imagine it would have been much different for Joseph’s family. We are told Joseph was from the line of David. When the angel of the Lord addresses him in his dream he is addressed as “Joseph, Son of David.” I’m sure if you went to a family reunion in Bethlehem (when things weren’t busy due to a census) you’d hear all about how they are from the royal line. And Joseph would have grown up knowing that he is royalty.

But Joseph did not lead a royal life. No, that was reserved for Herod’s kids. Joseph was a “teknon” which means he was some sort of skilled craftsman. Traditionally we have called him a carpenter. He worked with his hands and made a living working with his hands. He was likely involved in the many building projects around Nazareth. Building projects funded by Herod and other wealthy people.

But as he worked on whatever project he could get paid for he would have known who he really is. A member of David’s ancestral house. Israel’s great King. The one who received the promise from God that there would always be a king sitting on his throne. The one who slew Goliath when all of Israel quaked in fear. The one who built a great and mighty nation.

And he would have known about the other mighty kings of his line and how God had worked through them to maintain covenant faithfulness. He would have known about the wise Solomon whose fame spread so far and wide that the Queen of Sheba arrived to test him and was amazed at his wisdom. He would have known about the great King Josiah who restored the Law of God and was treated with great favor. He would have known about King Hezekiah who turned to God alone in the face of Assyrian invasion, and God turned the invaders away.

He would have known about the Exile of his people, his ancestors treated as trinkets in the court of Nebuchadnezzar. But he also would have known about God’s faithfulness to restore his family to their ancestral lands.

But perhaps the one thing he would have doubted is whether God was still so active in his own day. If there were another David or Solomon among his people. If the great deeds done in days of old could happen in his time. When he ate the Passover Sedar, would he have been so certain that the God who delivered his people then would deliver them now?

He would have grown up soaked in the stories of his people. Soaked in the stories of his own descendants, his own heritage. But did that mean that he was an extension of that same story? Could the story come alive among the hewn stones and cut lumber?

This morning Joseph’s story joins the story of his people as he learns that his wife-to-be is pregnant. He resolves, then, to divorce her quietly. We are told this is because he’s a righteous man and unwilling to expose Mary to public disgrace. But that night in his dream he receives a message from the angel of the Lord, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.”

This pregnancy, he is told, is not an ordinary pregnancy. But it is a conception by the Holy Spirit. This child, is no ordinary child, but the one who is to save Israel from her sins. That name, Jesus, comes from the hebrew Yeshua. But we have another way of rendering Yeshua in english: Joshua. As in, Joshua son of Nun. The successor to Moses who conquers the promised land by the power of God. This is who the one in Mary’s womb is to be, a second Joshua. But a more perfect Joshua because he is the very incarnation, the very presence, the very person of God.

And the story continues on.

Joseph accepts the message of the angel. He accepts that he is part of the story that begins in Abraham and continues through Moses and David. The one who grew up in the house of David discovers to his astonishment that the God who called his ancestor calls him as well. The story is true. And it continues. And he belongs to it as a character of tremendous faith.

The story continues on. It is our story. We are children of Abraham. We are descendants of David through Christ. We are those our brother Jesus has called. And we are those our Lord Christ has sent out. When we meet again on Wednesday night it will be to tell the story of his first coming. In anticipation of his second coming. And to remember the story we tell is true. Not a fable. Not something we put on screens to entertain ourselves. But the story we find ourselves in, of which we are characters. Like Joseph who in his own way came to say, “yes.”

Prepare the Way: Joy

Prepare the Way: Joy

God Gives Us Joy

Matthew 11:2-11

Rev. Tim Callow

Preached Sun. Dec. 14th, 2025

If your goal is to win friends and influence people, being a prophet is not the best career path. John was a prophet’s prophet, a serious man full of vigor and the word of the Lord. He burned with such fire that people came from miles around to watch him burn with the vengeance of God. Even Herod Antipas, the King of Galilee, was interested in the guy. Surely not because he was convicted, but because he liked to hear the things John said. Like he was some actor, or some stage artist. But one day John went “too far.” He targeted his barbed words at Herod and said it was unlawful for him to marry his brother’s wife. This went too far because now John was getting involved in politics. So Herodias, the wife of Herod (formally of his brother Philip) urged that John be put away. And he was. He was put in prison.

While John is in prison he begins to doubt. Perhaps, he thought, this is not how things are supposed to go. Or, perhaps, he was confounded by the reports he heard about Jesus. Recall John claimed the one who was to come after him would baptize the world in fire. But Jesus was dining with the very people John called a brood of vipers. Where John ate only locusts and wild honey, word got around that Jesus never stopped eating and drinking. Where John never left the wilderness until his arrest, Jesus could be found in the towns among the well to do as well as the outcast. It is possible, this is only speculation, that he was wondering whether Jesus really was the messiah because he was not doing the things John though the messiah should be doing. Where is the judgment? Where is the terrible recompense? Where is the vengeance of God? If messiah has come, why is John in chains?

So John sends some of his disciples to Jesus looking for an explanation. They ask, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Are you the one who is to deliver Israel from occupation? Are you the one who is going to fulfill all the promises of God? Are you the one who will end the last remnants of our exile? Or are you just another rabbi, just another teacher?

Jesus answers not with a “yes” or a “no” but by telling John’s disciples what has taken place. “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, those with a skin disease are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.” You may have noticed that in responding to John Jesus is making use of our old testament reading from Isaiah this morning. “Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf shall be opened; then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. For waters shall break forth in the wilderness and streams in the desert; the burning sand shall become a pool and the thirsty ground springs of water; the haunt of jackals shall become a swamp; the grass shall become reeds and rushes.”

Jesus must be the messiah because he is doing the things Isaiah says messiah will do. He is the agent of God’s healing. He is the agent of God’s love for the poor. He brings the good news of the Kingdom of God. And those who are not offended by his works know the blessing of God.

In other words, Jesus is the messiah because the presence of Jesus is the presence of healing and joy. Where the Kingdom of God is present, how can it be otherwise?

I realize the past two weeks may have come across as a little dour. All this talk about repentance, judgment, sin, the end of the world, not being lulled to sleep by our ordinary lives, what am I doing? Isn’t the sanctuary all dressed up in green? Haven’t we covered this space in candles and lights? Isn’t this the “most wonderful time of the year?” Why, Linus has recited Luke 2 far before I have.

But this scripture reminds us of what is truly coming, and yet already here. It reminds us of what we are waiting for, and what we can know now. Jesus comes bringing healing, reconciliation, and good news. Those who know him know joy. True joy. Not some manufactured feeling of happiness. Not some nostalgia or sentimentality. But the ecstatic happiness that is called out of us by the presence of God and his blessings.

Today we lit the candle of joy on the advent wreath. That is to remind us what we are waiting for, and what God gives us. That the holiness God calls us to is nothing more than our own happiness. And that the happiness of God can break through even in the midst of our own drudgery, our ordinary lives, or our sleepiness. It can break through even when we are tired. It can break through even when we are afraid. Because it is not our own concoction, but the presence of the Holy Spirit among us.

The joy we feel is confirmation of that presence. Confirmation that he who has come is still coming. That God is at hand. That our redemption is near.

Prepare the Way: Repent

Prepare the Way: Repent

Seeing Clearly

Matthew 3:1-12

Rev. Tim Callow

Preached Sun. Dec. 7th, 2025

It is “in those days,” we are told, when John the Baptist first appeared in the wilderness. It was in those days when the world was at relative peace. It was in those days when the Temple was functioning in all its beauty, and sacrifices were offered up to God. It was in those days when there were good harvests. It was in those days where there were a lot of building projects, new cities rising up on the shores of the sea. It was in those days where people ate and drank, where they were married and given in marriage. When people laughed and cried. When fishermen would wash their nets in the early morning and kids would run with dogs through the streets. It was in those good ol’ days, which were days just like any other, when John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness.

John didn’t walk through the streets. He couldn’t be found in the towns or the cities. He remained in the wilderness. Instead, people from the towns and the cities would stream into the wilderness to see him. He was a severe and wild man. He did not eat loaves and fish. He did not drink wine. Instead he subsisted on desert locusts and wild honey. And he did not wear linen, or animal skins. He wove together attire made from camel’s hair. A rough fiber that irritated the skin, but covered what it needed to cover.

When they streamed out to meet this man they didn’t find some hippy shouting about peace and love. Instead they found a voice crying out in the wilderness, a self-conscious prophet declaring, “Repent! For the Kingdom of Heaven has come near!”

And when he made this declaration he considered no one exempt. He didn’t say only the tax collectors need to repent. Or only the great sinners need to repent. Everyone needed to repent. Everyone needed to change their ways, reset their minds, fix their hearts. In fact, when some Sadducees and Pharisees arrived his response was not to say, “oh thank heavens some good people.” But he increased his vitriol, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath?”

Abraham Heschel was a Jewish rabbi and he wrote a book on prophets. He said that a prophet is someone who can see through God’s eyes. For many of us our spiritual senses are dulled by sin. And a consequence of sin is resignation. We simply come to accept that powerful people are corrupt. We simply accept that some people take advantage of others. We simply accept lying. We simply accept hypocrisy. I mean, at least some people have the standards and values to be hypocrites. And on and on. Sin greases the wheels of the world and makes it go round. And if we were to be indignant at each and every slight, each and every injustice, every instance of wrong doing, we’d be exhausted or we’d be mad or both.

But the prophets are graced with sight as God sees. So they are indignant at all the injustices of the world. They do repudiate sin. They are enraged, they are sarcastic, they are horrified, and they despair. Because they see at a greater intensity that we allow ourselves to see. And God grants them his word. Whether that be a word of judgment, or reconciliation. Whether that be a word of insult, or consolation. God entrusts that word to those who are given the eyes that see and the ears that hear.

John the Baptist is one such prophet. Which is why he can say, “Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; therefore every tree that does not bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.” Because he sees something that the pharisees and the sadducees cannot see.

Certainly the pharisees were not the sort of people to make their peace with sin. But they did think they had a good handle on it. They took great care to put what they called a “hedge around the Law” to ensure the Law was followed. Jesus called it human tradition, they likely considered it more a precaution. The Sadducees had made their peace with Rome, but that only allowed them to continue the Temple sacrifices and so sustain the people of Israel. Those in both parties would have thought of themselves as pretty decent, even righteous. And both of them would have thought, moreover, that they had an in. They were children of Abraham.

But John can see what’s coming. He sees the world and all its evil, but he sees it in contrast with the Kingdom of God and its righteousness. It is because he sees such a great and desirable thing coming that he shouts “Repent!” He sees the advent of justice, the coming of righteousness, God being with his people not in sacrifice but in mercy. Not through the Temple but in this person Jesus Christ. He sees what is to be, and he wants to make everyone ready for it.

In Advent we take time aside to hear the words of John once again. “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near … Therefore, bear fruit worthy of repentance.” We may see our lives as the same old same old. We may be lulled by ordinary life. We may not think our lives are the sort God might interrupt. So John interrupts us. The ax is laying at the root of the tree. This is not the world we are made for. Repent. The new creation is coming. Repent. Be made ready for that day which has no end. Repent. Love what is truly lovely. Repent. Enjoy what is there to be enjoyed. Repent. The Kingdom of Heaven has come near.

Prepare the Way: End Times

Prepare the Way: End Times

Treat Every Day as the End

Matthew 24:36-44

Rev. Tim Callow

Preached Sun. Nov. 30th, 2025

I grew up around a lot of end times expectation. The Left Behind books were still being published. Christian movies about the end of the world happened to become box office draws. It was the earlier days of the internet so if you were looking for information about the end times and how it will come about you’d easily fall into some conspiracy rabbit hole. I remember reading about the UN’s Agenda 21 and the New World Order and how the antichrist would bring about a one world government and strike peace in the middle east. Whether you were paying attention to Pat Robertson, or Hal Lindsey, or Jack van Impe there was someone willing to share their view about the events that need to take place before the return of Christ.

I say I grew up around this, but a lot of end times speculation will always be with us. It wasn’t too long ago that predicting the date of the rapture was a TikTok trend. Peter Thiel, one of the richest and most influential people in the world is happy to give lectures on the antichrist and what form he or she will take. Many people believe there the signs are out there for people who have eyes that see and ears that hear. In some way this must be true. As Paul reminds us this morning, “salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers.” Jesus does warn us about wars and rumors of wars, earthquakes and pestilences. These things, he tells us, are the beginning of the birth pangs.

But this morning we get a different picture from Jesus than we would get from end times prognosticators. He says no one knows the day or the hour of the Son of Man’s return— not even the Son of Man! He does not lay out a blueprint of the events that must take place before he returns. He does not warn us of one world governments or sustainability agendas or syncretic religion. Rather, quite astoundingly, and disturbingly, he tells us the end will come like a thief in the night. Otherwise the master would not have let his house be broken into.

But what I am most struck by is his description of life immediately before his coming. He likens his second coming to life immediately before Noah’s flood. In that story humanity had given itself over to such wickedness that God regretted his creation. But rather than give up on it he decided to start things over. He singled out Noah, the sole righteous man in his sight, and told him to build a giant boat and put two of every kind of animal on the boat. Noah had forewarning, but no one else outside of his family did.

Jesus describes the entirely ordinary form of life people had before the cataclysm came. “in the days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day Noah entered the ark.” He does not say they were waring and looting. He did not say they labored under an oppressive global tyranny. But they were eating and drinking, they were marrying and giving in marriage. They were leading normal, ordinary lives. Prosperous lives. If they may have abused what they ate and drank, or the marriage bed.

He says it will be like this upon his return. “Then two will be in the field; one will be taken, and one will be left. Two women will be grinding meal together; one will be taken, and one will be left.” While people will be at work, while they will be eating and drinking, in the midst of their ordinary lives, the end will come.

It is because Christ will return in the midst of our ordinary lives that we are called to be vigilant. Watchful.

I think the end times prognostications of televangelists and self-proclaimed prophets are beside the point. The end will not come when we have seen the signs and calculated the bible code. The end comes when we are lulled into slumber. When everything seems so ordinary, not so extraordinary. When we take things for granted. When we are so secure and confident that we are sure we have another day ahead. God is not waiting to wrap things up until his checklist is finished. No one knows the day or the hour.

I don’t say this to frighten anyone. If anything, this should be good news. We don’t need to fear one world governments or global tyranny or the like. That’s not what Jesus offers, and that’s not the biblical picture. But what we should do is be vigilant and watchful. We should not let ourselves get lulled into normalcy. We should use the time we are given to be made more ready for that day which has no end. We shouldn’t say, “oh I have another day.” Because you may not. The event we all hope and long for may arrive. And that is good news.

If we want to be ready it’s not by buying a book or watching a movie or documentary. It is in reaching out beyond the normal life into the extraordinary life Christ offers in the here and now. It is in making yourself a conduit of his love through prayer and service. It is through the fellowship of believers that points us to the things that matter, what remains after history is rolled up like a scroll.

Because part of the good news is that the end is really not the end. And we can experience eternity now.

Declared: You Are Mine

Declared: You Are Mine

God Makes Us His Own

Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

Rev. Tim Callow

Preached Sun. Jan. 12th, 2025

When you grow up you have no idea you have an accent. Everyone speaks the way you do, uses the same slang you do, has the same intonation you do. I had no idea that I had an accent until I went to college in southern Wisconsin. When my friends heard me say “bag” the  illusion that I had no accent evaporated. Though, now, I can only hear it in a few words. Every once in awhile I am shocked by some elongated “O” that comes out of my mouth. But I can always pick it out in a recording, as it goes.

You pick up an accent by learning to speak the same way the people around you speak in the place you live. Accent, then, can become part of one’s identity. We know New Yorkers speak one way, southern whites another. And we are more aware of identity today than ever before. One’s identity can be a source of pride. I am certainly glad I grew up where I grew up, that I have a chance to live where I live. I mean, could you imagine living in Chicago?

But this sermon isn’t about that nasty morass we find ourselves in: identity politics. It’s about recognition. Recognition and identity go hand in hand. By recognition I mean an esteemed place in society, having value, being heard, being respected by virtue of who you are or who you have become. So much of identity politics is people feeling they aren’t getting the recognition they deserve, in other words they are being ignored because of who they are. But recognition isn’t only political.

I don’t think I’m painting with too broad a brush when I say we all seek recognition. We all want to be esteemed. We all want to be honored. We all want to be known by others, known well, and remembered. The opposite is anonymity, being ignored, being alienated, being alone. Recognition is something everyone strives for in their own way, whether it be through assuming responsibility and discipline in becoming a respected member of your circles, or whether it is through violence and abuse. Not being known, not being recognized, can be unbearable. These are dynamics any school teacher is familiar with.

Our gospel reading this morning is Jesus’ public debut, the moment of his recognition. On Christmas we recalled how the angels proclaimed his birth to the shepherds. The Sunday after we talked about Jesus in the Temple. And last Sunday we heard about the wise men who saw his birth proclaimed in the stars above. But none of this was the beginning of his public ministry. For the first thirty or so years of Jesus’ life he was fairly anonymous. He likely helped his father with his contracting work and assisted at the synagogue. It isn’t until he makes his way to the River Jordan that his ministry properly begins.

John the Baptist was sent to prepare the way for Jesus. He prepared the way by calling people to repentance. But he also prepared the way by baptizing Jesus in the river. After Jesus was baptized, we are told, "the heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, 'You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’”

Jesus, here, assumes an identity other than Jew, other than Galilean, other than artisan, other than man. He assumes the public identity of God’s beloved Son, and the object of God’s pleasure. He is publicly proclaimed as the Son of God. The one through whom God will redeem Israel, and release the captives.

Our baptism is the baptism of Jesus Christ. We are not made God’s Son as Jesus is God’s Son. But still God speaks through that baptism. And he speaks to us. He tells us as well, “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are mine.” And, “you are my child, my beloved, in you I am well pleased.”  God speaks through this sacrament because God knows we need it. We need the feeling of the water on our skin, we need to hear the words in our ears, we need the public reminder. Because we are likely to forget who we are. We are likely to forget we are children of God. We are likely to forget we are redeemed. That we are God’s. We are likely to revert to our fear, our doubt, our loneliness.

We all seek recognition. And if we do not get the recognition we are looking for it stings inside. But in our baptism we are given the highest honor. We receive the utmost recognition. “you are precious in my sight and honored and I love you.” The Father says. “You are my child. The beloved. You are mine."

Jesus Our Brother

Jesus Our Brother

Jesus is Human, Jesus is Divine

Luke 2:41-52

Rev. Tim Callow

Preached Sun. Dec. 29th, 2024

Our gospel reading this morning presents us with something of a paradox. Perhaps, even something some of us may find troubling. We are, first, given an account of the adolescent Jesus in Jerusalem. Mary and Joseph, being pious folk, went to Jerusalem every year to celebrate the Passover even though this would have been a financial and logistical hardship. But they travelled by caravan with others to ease the burden. When they left Jerusalem they did not realize at first that Jesus was not with them. They had made it out a days journey before they noticed Jesus wasn’t there. No one in the caravan could say where Jesus had gone.

They left the caravan and headed back to Jerusalem. It took them another three long days of searching before they found him. He was back at the Temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. That would be strange enough. But even more astoundingly he was able to answer the teachers’ own questions. And his answers were filled with such insight and wisdom that those around him were amazed.

I’m sure, though, that Jesus’ wisdom and insight didn’t change how his parents felt. “Child, why have you treated us like this?” They ask. They’ve been so full of anxiety running around Jerusalem looking for him. In the very least he could have told them his plans. Made an arrangement. But Jesus’ answer is even more astonishing than all of this that has taken place. He says, “Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?”

They did not understand what he meant. But, Luke helpfully informs us, he did go back to Nazareth with Mary and Joseph. And he was fully obedient to them from that day on.

The picture we have here of Jesus is Jesus the Son of God. He is able to take care of himself without the aid of his parents. He sits in the Temple and is able to talk fluently with the teachers of the Law. But moreover not only is he able to discuss things with them but he is able to answer their own questions. He shows such wisdom and insight that all those who hear this child are amazed at how he might know these things even the teachers of Israel did not know. But most importantly, when asked to explain why he is acting the way he’s acting Jesus tells his mother, “don’t you know I must be in my Father’s house?” Not the house of Joseph in Nazareth, but at the house of his Heavenly Father in Jerusalem. On Mount Zion. In the Lord’s Temple. Doing his Father’s work.

The paradox, then, is this. Having given us this depiction of Jesus the Son of God Luke goes on to tell us, “And Jesus increased in wisdom and in years and in divine and human favor.” It may make sense how Jesus could increase in human favor. They do not know who he is and his name becomes more well known. We may be able to explain how he increases in divine favor. As he remains obedient to his Father in heaven. That he would increase in years goes without saying. He is, after all, flesh. But how do we make sense of this Jesus, who astonishes even the chief rabbis, increasing in wisdom? How can he, who is the Son of God, learn? If he is the incarnate God who is omniscient, how can there be things he does not know?

This paradox points to something that has troubled Christians for centuries. If Jesus is the son of God, if Jesus is the incarnation of God, how do we understand his humanity related to his divinity? How do we know Jesus as fully human? How do we know Jesus as fully divine? Insofar as Jesus is human, it makes perfect sense to us that he would grow in wisdom. Don’t we all? At least, we would hope we do. Our lives are all about change, and growth, and illness, and chance. Jesus wouldn’t be very human if he didn’t grow! But divinity does not change. God is perfectly wise, perfectly knowledgeable. If Jesus is also God, how can we say God learns? Shouldn’t he have all of that wisdom already in his head?

Throughout history there have been Christians who have emphasized Jesus’ humanity over his divinity. There have been others who emphasize Jesus’ divinity over his humanity. But here is what I know. Jesus must be our brother. Jesus must take on fully our humanity in all its weakness, growth, and change. If Jesus is not in every respect human as much as we are then our salvation is in doubt. As the early church put it, what is not assumed is not redeemed. Jesus is our salvation, in part, because he is fully human. God has assumed all our humanity in Jesus. When Jesus dies on the cross that is a human being dying on a cross. A human being God has assumed. And if this Jesus is not the God-Man on the cross, then he’s just another man on the cross. Then, the mysterious work of atonement is not made.

Jesus is our brother. And Jesus is God. The human Jesus cried when he was hungry. The Son of God needed to be rocked to sleep. The human Jesus coughed. The Son of God sneezed. And the human Jesus grew up, learned to speak, learned to read. While he may have received some insight by virtue of his godliness, it is none other than the human Jesus who impresses the rabbis in the Temple.

Here is a core mystery of our faith. The wise one learns, the immortal one dies, the immutable one grows. It could be no other way. The divine takes on humanity. The holy one is profaned. The prisoner is set free. The blind see. The lame walk. The lepers are cleansed. The dead rise from their graves.

Christmas Eve: God With Us

God With Us

God Becomes One of Us

John 1:1-14

Rev. Tim Callow

Preached Sun. Dec. 24th, 2024

“In those days,” Luke’s gospel tells us, “a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered.” The registration required that everyone go to their ancestral towns. Joseph, being of the house of David, returned to the town of David. That is, Bethlehem. But the little town of Bethlehem was packed with people who had come to be registered. That left no room for the couple, even though Mary was about to give birth. They went from house to house until finally an entrepreneurial innkeeper offered his barn where the donkeys stayed.

When Joseph paid the innkeeper for his night he likely did so with coins marked with the face of Caesar Augustus himself. Though Augustus would have been well advanced in years by this point, the coins would have portrayed him as a young and handsome man. Written above his profile would have been the latin words “Divi filius” the son of a deity. The son of a divine one. The son of a god.

Augustus was born Octavian, but took on the name Augustus after he assumed leadership of the Roman Republic. At which point the Republic became an empire. His adoptive father was Julius Caesar, who, after his assassination was declared a deity by the senate. So Augustus could literally claim to be the son of a god. He could literally claim to be god-like.

And who was going to tell him otherwise? He was a handsome man who through force and cunning brought peace to the Republic and to the world. He was a man of deep piety and virtue who lived in a relatively small dwelling. Augustus worked tirelessly for the people of Rome. He was courageous, just, temperate, and magnanimous. He was strong. He was glorious. When he entered a room people imagined they were gazing upon a hero. They knew they were in the presence of someone divine.

Augustus was a man who tried to make himself like the Roman gods he worshiped. He tried to imitate them in their virtues, their strength, their immortality, their impenetrability. His power was so great he did get people to worship him even when he was alive. But, for all that, Augustus did die. When he died the Roman Senate declared him to be a god as well. But his flesh turned to dust. His bones are all that remain. They lie in a mausoleum in Rome. Bu that mausoleum is not a sacred site, it’s purely of historical and cultural interest. No worshippers come by to pay respects. Only tourists.

You are what you worship. Or, more accurately, you try to become like that which you worship. Augustus worshipped gods of might and glory. Eventually the Roman Senate declared him to be part of their pantheon. Great sages across the ages have worshipped gods of deep tranquility and contemplation. Gods who cannot be bothered by the changes and chances of life, the ravages of time. And so they too seek lives of deep tranquility and equanimity. Others may worship power for its own sake, and seek to gain power. Some worship money, and spend their lives accumulating it even though they don’t know what they’ll ever do with it. But such people are striving to make themselves more like their god. Closer to their god.

Luke’s gospel also tells us there were shepherds in the field keeping watch over their flocks by night. They were not like Augustus. They would never turn heads when they entered a room. Their lives were not glorious, their faces were not handsome. They weren’t the most reputable. They smelled. They lived a hard life, and couldn’t always expect a roof over their heads or food for dinner. It was in the middle of an ordinary cold night that all of the sudden the sky burst overhead with all the glory of heaven. An angel appeared before them with the most extraordinary news, “to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” And if they were to find this child he would not be in a palace wrapped in warm blankets. He would instead be “wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a feeding trough.” Before the angel departed he was joined by a whole army of heaven as the sky grew brighter than the day, and they all proclaimed, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!”

As soon as the angel had arrived he was gone. And the shepherds left to Bethlehem to see this child they had been told about. To see the one who was to redeem Israel. To see the messiah, the Christ. To see the one John tells us is the Word become flesh, who dwells among us.

We do not worship a God who dwells in unapproachable light. We do not worship a God blissed out and tuned out. We do not worship a God who waits for us to make ourselves more like him. We worship the baby in the manger. We worship the God who suckled on his mother’s breast. We worship the God who grew up. The God who would grow ill. The God who wept. The God who laughed. The God who died. The God who conquered death. The God who joins himself to every element of human experience. The God who calls us. The God who gives us the power to be called children of God. That we may be born, “who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.”

We strive to become the gods we worship. We strive to be more than human. To escape our vulnerabilities, our weaknesses, our dependence on one another. But God chose to make himself known to us by becoming one of us. That is how God understands himself. As the babe in the manger, because there was no room in the inn. Who does not conquer with great glory, but suffers meekly.

In his weakness we find strength. In his death, life. In his forgiveness, grace.

Let us become, then, what we worship. The merciful one. The grace-filled one. The sacrificing one. The joyful one. The light. The life of men.

Tinsel: The World Upside Down

Tinsel: The World Upside Down

Salvation is by Grace Alone

Luke 1:46b-55

Rev. Tim Callow

Preached Sun. Dec. 22nd, 2024

These past few weeks I’ve talked about the way Christ may deliver us from our own illusions and sentimentalities. That there can be something fake about this season, and that fakeness can be spiritually deadening. The more we indulge in our own illusions the more we give room for sin. Sin thrives on unreality. As I was working on this series there was an old short story by Flannery O’Connor called Revelation that I just couldn't get out of my head. And I want to tell it to you. Because like all Flannery O’Connor stories it says something loud about grace. It may shock us into some recognition about the strange story of the Gospel.

Revelation concerns a proper southern land owner named Ruby Turpin (what a great name). The story opens with Mrs. Turpin sitting in a doctor’s office waiting for the doctor to check on her husband’s leg ulcer. As she sits down she immediately casts judgment on everyone in the office. Though let’s be honest, we’ve all probably done this. She sees a little boy who is too inconsiderate to move so she can sit down. There’s the boy’s mother who’s hair is unkempt and is clearly white trash. There’s an 18 year old college student who is fat, acne ridden, and ugly.
The only respectable individual (other than her husband and herself) in the room is the student’s mother. So they strike up a conversation about the farm Mrs. Turpin works on and how it is hard to find good black migrant workers these days.

As the conversation goes on, and we are allowed into Mrs. Turpin’s head we learn more and more about the seemingly proper farm lady. We learn how she stays up at night trying to classify people from low to high. Obviously black people are the lowest, but poor white trash are just as bad, just off to the side. Though she doesn’t know what to do with people who have more money than her, but are not as respectable as her. She wonders how she would have decided if Jesus had told her that she were going to be made white trash or black. She decides she would have rather been made black, as long as she could keep her good and sunny disposition.

As she is talking the student glares into her. The narrator tells us that it seemed like the student had hated Mrs. Turpin her whole life. Not the student’s whole life, but Mrs. Turpin’s. That she could see deep inside her, and was disgusted by every bit. Finally the student, who we learn is named Mary Grace (another great name), has enough of Mrs. Turpin’s pretensions and respectability and throws her textbook in Mrs. Turpin’s face, and lunges at her. The textbook, ironically, is titled “Human Development.” She wraps her hands around Mrs. Turpin’s throat and tries to choke her out. The doctor jumps out of his office and tranquilizes Mary Grace. The two lock eyes one more time, and we’re told Mrs. Turpin waits on expecting some sort of revelation. But Mary Grace says, “go back to Hell you old wart hog.”

Mrs. Turpin is deeply troubled by this revelation. She can’t do anything the rest of the day but stare off into space, wondering what it might mean. How could she be an old wart hog? She’s always done good by others. She even showed kindness to the black people who worked for her. She’d always worked hard. She’d always gone to church.

That night as the sun goes down she heads to the pig parlor to spray the hogs. And that’s when she receives her final revelation. And here I need to quote Ms. O’Connor’s words directly, “Then like a monumental statue coming to life, she bent her head slowly and gazed, as if through the very heart of mystery, down into the pig parlor at the hogs. They had settled all in one corner around the old sow who was grunting softly. A red glow suffused them. They appeared to pant with a secret life.” So first she sees that even the hogs are worth something. But then she looks out onto the tree line.

Until the sun slipped finally behind the tree line, Mrs. Turpin remained there with her gaze bent to them as if she were absorbing some abysmal life-giving knowledge. At last she lifted her head. There was only a purple streak in the sky, cutting through a field of crimson and leading, like an extension of the highway, into the descending dusk. She raised her hands from the side of the pen in a gesture hieratic and profound. A visionary light settled in her eyes. She saw the streak as a vast swinging bridge extending upward from the earth through a field of living fire. Upon it a vast horde of souls were rumbling toward heaven. There were whole companies of white-trash, clean for the first time in their lives, and bands of blacks in white robes, and battalions of freaks and lunatics shouting and clapping and leaping like frogs. And bringing up the end of the procession was a tribe of people whom she recognized at once as those who, like herself and Claud, had always had a little of everything and the God-given wit to use it right. She leaned forward to observe them closer. They were marching behind the others with great dignity, accountable as they had always been for good order and common sense and respectable behavior. They alone were on key. Yet she could see by their shocked an altered faces that even their virtues were being burned away. She lowered her hands and gripped the rail of the hog pen, her eyes small but fixed unblinkingly on what lay ahead. In a moment the vision faded but she remained where she was, immobile.

At length she got down and turned off the faucet and made her slow way on the darkening path to the house. In the woods around her the invisible cricket choruses had struck up, but what she heard were the voices of the souls climbing upward into the starry field and shouting hallelujah.

It is something like this that Mary intuits and she sings her song. Mrs. Turpin is obsessed with her own goodness, her breeding, her sunny disposition. She is thankful to God not for his grace, but for the way God made her. She is certain that the world is exactly as God had intended. That God has set everything and everyone into a beautiful hierarchy. But it took the mad fits of lunatic to break through her false self and reveal that truly, “prostitutes and tax collectors are entering the Kingdom of Heaven ahead of you!” It took the vision of the pigs to show her a world turned upside down. She sees the blacks and white trash making their way into the Kingdom ahead of her and all her virtues, all her properness and respectability and common sense being melted away by the fires of grace. Because they were false before the God who elects the despised and saves the condemned. And she could only be saved, in the words of Paul, “as through fire.”

Mary, in her song, depicts a world that is being turned upside down. A world that has been turned upside down in the incarnation of Jesus Christ. “He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty.” The last illusion that needs to be cast aside is the illusion of our own goodness and merit of God’s blessing. God does not look on our strength, or sunny disposition, or our “a little bit of everything and the God-given wit to use it right.” God looks on our faith alone. Which is why it’s the people at the bottom of the rung that Ms. Turpin sees making it first. The people who thought they had it made having their illusions burned away as if through fire. The world literally being turned upside down. The last first. The first last.

This all may seem harsh. But this is in fact good news. The good news is that our salvation is accomplished by Christ, not by us. And we worship a God who lifts up the lowly. We worship a God who took a little girl and made it so all generations would call her blessed. Why? Because of her innate charm? Her beauty? Her breeding? No. Because she said yes.

Say yes to Christ, and he will show you his mercy and his love. And this Christmas you may know his joy.