We’ve Been to the Mountain Top
It was a cold and rainy night in Memphis, Tennessee. As the sanitation workers were given no provision to get out of that weather, two Black workers had taken refuge in the bin at the back of their truck.
Inadvertently, they were crushed to death when the compactor mechanism was triggered.
It was that incident and the strike that followed that prompted Dr. King to head to that troubled city. Many of his followers had advised against the trip, but Dr. King resolutely set his face to Memphis. Why, for just a bunch of garbage collectors? Why? King set his face for Memphis in steely resolve despite their counsel.
That night, after his arrival, a congregation gathered at the Mason Temple. It was a hot, sweltering crowd that packed the sanctuary as Dr. King addressed the congregation. We should all remember that stirring line that came towards the end of his sermon. “I’ve been to the Mountaintop.” I’ve been to the Mountaintop.
This, it so happened. would be the culmination of that marvelous life, for in the morning a shot would ring out at the Lorraine Motel as Dr. King stood on a balcony for some fresh air and conversation with colleagues.
In his witness to the dignity of all people, he not only made it to the mountaintop, but he took this nation with him.
I had the experience of hearing him talk in person. It was in Lincoln Nebraska at a conference for some 5000 United Methodist students and pastors from all across the U.S. He was the keynote speaker for the last day of that event.
I didn’t know that much about him at the time. I did know he was famous and he had led a bus boycott in the south.
But when I heard him that evening, he took me to the mountaintop. I said to myself, if this is the church, INCLUDE ME IN.
It was a rebirth of my faith. It made all those lessons in my early Sunday school years come to life – cohere into a faith I could claim as a young college student. King opened up an entire new world for me.
I grew up in a very conservative, prejudiced family. Cloistered in an upper-middle class neighborhood of Long Beach, California. My parents made very clear to me who “our people” were and who they weren’t.
They weren’t blacks, though that’s not what my father called them. They weren’t Mexicans. They weren’t Jews. On my mother’s side, in addition to all these, they also weren’t Okies and Arkies.
These last two had come into the San Joaquin Valley in the 20s, fleeing the desperation of the Oklahoma Dust Bowl. They are the characters of Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath, the Joad family, poor as dirt.
The struggle for economic and racial equality in Black theology is grounded in Moses’ experience in a wasteland when a burning bush catches his eye.
The message of God to him, “I have observed the misery of my people who are in Egypt; I have heard their cry on account of their taskmasters…So come, I will send you to Pharoah to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt.’”
“Go down, Moses, way down in Egypt’s land,
tell old Pharaoh: Let my people go.”
The image of Dr. King’s mountaintop in his final sermon in Memphis comes out of the Book of Deuteronomy. God told Moses, “This is the land I promised… I have let you see it with your own eyes, but you will not cross into it” Moses from the top of Mount Nebo could overlook that Promised Land, but would not make it himself, but his people would.
Dr. King had been to the mountaintop. Though he was not sure if he would make it to that promised land of equality, opportunity and respect, he had absolute faith that God would lead his people, and by extension all people to that land.
Yes, the promises of our creeds and Constitution had not been fulfilled.
My dad, a dentist had a number of Black patients, but in the way he spoke of them, it was clear to me he didn’t respect them. Somewhere in the category of the Cadillac Welfare Queen.
BUT, BUT, BUT…the transformation King wrought over my lifetime was nothing I could have imagined. Our entire nation (or at least a lot of us) were taken to that mountaintop of brotherly and sisterly love – and something had happened in my dad’s heart.
Late in life, he began to realize that if this nation didn’t work for everybody, it wasn’t going to work for much of anybody. That included his former Black patients.
One morning when I showed up at the office when I was working with him to run our family construction company, he greeted me, “John, how’s Al Gore doing?”
“What do you care about him,” I responded. Puzzled that this life-long Republican cared a wit about this Democratic candidate.”
“I always thought, as a dentist running a small business that the Republicans were the party of small business. They don’t give a damn about small business, nor much of anyone else unless they have a ton of money. It’s all about the money. And Bush is an idiot – he’s destroying the country.”
An EPIPHANY!
He went for quite a bit more of a rant about how the Republicans were ruining the country and everybody was getting poorer and poorer.
My father had had an entire change of heart and mind about who counted in America. It was the “little people” – people like him and many of his patients on welfare. He was even now okay with unions. They’re the only ones standing up for the average worker.
Dr. King has indeed taken this entire nation to the mountaintop and we have seen a shining promised land of harmony and opportunity for all.
I also realized a moment of closure. In our “nice” – read “white” –neighborhood a Black dentist and his family had purchased a house down the street from us. I still remember moving day when I and some of my playmates went down to see what was happening as the van unloaded furniture and lots of boxes.
The mother served us up some cups of lemonade. Their boy seemed like he’d fit into our group.
Several weeks later, while they were on a vacation, one of their neighbors ran their garden hose through the second floor and turned on the water. It must have run for almost a week, completely ruining the house. Shortly afterward, they moved out.
There was only some hush-hush talk about what had happened. This to my young mind seemed so unfair. Completely contrary to what we had learned in Sunday school about Jesus. AND our church said absolutely NOTHING. NOTHING!
For me, Dr. King brought some resolution to the guilt and pain I had felt over that incident. Things would not be perfect, but I could now see a time coming when this hateful act would be condemned. Publically condemned. And some of our white neighbors would rally around this anguished family.
The memory of that incident was front and center in my first ministry out of seminary. I and another seminarian founded a fair housing organization in the San Gabriel Valley, a suburb of Los Angeles. We and our committee of volunteers would work against injustice in the housing and apartment market. And irony of ironies, our first client? He was an Italian man. This one landlady hated Italians.
Yeah, we got him his apartment once she knew the consequences of violating California’s fair housing law.
As we now have government ICE goons beating and shooting people in Minnesota, we must rise up against a new Pharoah. We must march together, sing together, pray together. It will be a long struggle against the most vindictive president this nation has ever had.
But, as in Memphis, we can see a way ahead. We will take care of one another. Ada Limón reminds us, “Caring for each other is a form of radical survival that we don’t always take into account.”
With Dr. King, we have all – America has been to the mountaintop and looked over. That evening at the conclusion of his sermon, this was Dr. King’s message:
“Well, I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t matter with me now. Because I’ve been to the mountain top. And I don’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to ive a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I’m happy, tonight. I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”[1]
Amen.
[1] Martin Luther King, “I’ve Been to the Mountaintop,” delivered at Mason Temple in Memphis, Tennessee, April 3, 1968.
January 11, 2026
Epiphany 2
Martin Luther King Sunday
Exodus 3:7-12; Psalm 77:11-20
Letter from a Birmingham Jail; Gospel: Luke 6:27-36
“We’ve Been to the Mountain Top”
Our Baptismal Vows
I vividly remember a critical moment in our confirmation class when I served a medium-sized United Methodist Church out in Ridgecrest. As in the Episcopal Church, confirmation is that ritual wherein one claims for oneself the baptismal vows they made, or were made on their behalf if they were infants
I had arrived a little late and Kay our secretary had already let the class of about 8 into my office. I made my apology for being a few minutes late and moved to get the class going. “Alright, guys, lets get our books out and get started,” I urged. At this point one of the girls corrected me, “Hey, we’re not all guys.” At that point, the wise guy in the room blurted out, “Well, you’re sure flat enough.”
Instant thermonuclear explosion. Alicia jumped up in tears and stormed out of the room. I rushed out after her as she ran into the arms of Pete, our associate pastor, who just happened to be coming to my office to drop something off. I asked him to deal with distraught Alicia while I went back to the class.
Absolute quiet. The silence was an acknowledgement that a social rule had been violated to devastating effect.
I realized that the lesson for that day was out the window. Instead, I told them we were going to talk about community, what makes it and what rips it apart. I asked them to share what they were feeling at the moment. Of course, all comments were directed to the boy, Warren.
When they had had a while to share their thoughts and feelings, I asked them, what would it take to restore community of our class. Sheepishly, Warren quietly mumbled, “I guess I have to say I’m sorry.” At which point the entire class as a chorus erupted, “Yeah, Warren!”
Later that day, Warren did in fact apologize and the next week the class was able to resume according to schedule. As devastating as that incident was, in a strange way working through it as a group, we developed a much closer bond. And no one will ever forget that lesson of sin, repentance, making amends and grace.
I could have never devised such a powerful and lasting lesson on my own.
After confirmation, a good number of the kids drifted away from the church. For them and their families, confirmation was the end of the faith journey. So, it is with many of our mainline churches. Confirmation is the graduation ceremony right out the back door.
We might see them again at a few significant moments, the baptism of a child, marriage or when six strong men have carried them through the door at the end of their journey. As one wit put it, the church is significant if at all on three occasions: hatched, matched and dispatched.
If we look at Jesus baptism and commissioning, it is not a culmination, but a beginning.
Personally, I compare it to my induction into the U.S. Army. I had registered as a conscientious objector willing to go into the medics. I wasn’t willing to shoot anyone over what I considered an illegal and immoral war but I was willing to patch up anyone who got shot or worse.
I remember reporting at the induction station in downtown Los Angeles early on a dreary, overcast morning. My mood matched the weather.
A primary thing I learned about the Army would repeat itself throughout my two-year stint. After the first minutes of going through that door it was hurry up and wait. And wait. And wait.
Finally, someone assembled us in a loose formation and we were herded off to a battery of tests. We were tested, inspected and injected. And yelled at a whole lot as we went through this process.
Finally, in groups we were lined up before a white line on the floor. We were given the oath to “protect and defend the Constitution of the United States, so help me God.” One step over that white line and we belonged to Uncle Sam for the next two years.
Flawed as it is, our Constitution is the covenant that unites us together. The defense of it is what each of us, in our own specialty would be doing. I was trained as an electroencephalograph technician. I stuck pins in peoples’ heads for the next two years.
The other lesson I learned, take care of the colonel and he’ll take care of you. After my two years I was discharged as an E5, the equivalent of sergeant.
Likewise, we in our baptism are also commissioned. We are called, through word and action to respect the dignity and worth of all persons. How we each do that will vary over the course of our life’s journey.
From Matthew’s telling of Jesus’ baptism:
“And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.’”
And for all who follow, God’s honest truth holds: You are beloved, in you I am well pleased. You are commissioned. Go forth and be of good courage.
Bishop Mariann Budde lives out this commission in Washington, D.C. where she serves as the bishop of that diocese. She has written a wonderful book; How We Learn to be Brave: Decisive Moments in Life and Faith.[1] In it she explores what bravery means in light of our baptismal vow. In part this pledge is: “to strive for justice and peace, and to respect the dignity of every human being.”
“The decisive moments in life are those pivot points when we’re called to push past our fears and act with strength.”[2] And I would add, push past our lethargy.
Through several life choices, like the decision to leave friends and move across the country at the age of 17 when her family fell apart – to leave an alcoholic and clinically depressed father and a step-mother who resented her, Mariann had displayed moments of bravery.
Bishop Budde had begun receiving phone calls about President Trump having assembled a group of top cabinet members and top military brass at Lafyette Park, across the street from the White House which then the whole entourage marched the short distance where Trump stood in front of St. John’s Episcopal church. There he held up a Bible upside down for a photo op and mentioned what a great country this is.
On CNN the Bishop was moved to say:
“Let me be clear: the president just used a Bible, the most sacred text of the Judeo-Christian tradition, and one of the churches in my diocese, without permission, as a backdrop for a message antithetical to the teachings of Jesus. Everything he has said and done is to inflame violence. We need moral leadership, and he’s done everything to divide us.”[3]
Her words, after the massive nation-wide protests over the George Floyd murder, captured the moment and spread throughout the airwaves.
Leading up to that point, the bishop’s essential work had been with clergy and congregations in her diocese. Definitely not on the national stage. But as phone calls flooded in after the incident, she arrived at that decisive moment where she knew she had to say something. This is what bravery looks like.
Many new beginnings are fraught with the call for bravery, for leaving our comfort zone. A new job can be quite a baptism into the unknown.
My friend Kep, having a Stanford masters degree in engineering, tells me of his first job with an oil company in Texas. Before he knew it, he was in a small boat being tossed about by a choppy sea. They were headed for an oil rig hundreds of miles out in the middle of the ocean. Everyone was getting seasick and Kep was wondering what he had gotten himself into.
But even the terror of getting on that flimsy contraption to hoist them up some nine stories, swinging over open ocean water to the living quarters of that rig. Even this was better than staying in that small boat retching over the rail feeding the fish.
Out of his comfort zone? You bet! A heart-in-his-throat moment for a city boy to be sure. No small degree of bravery is involved in some new beginnings. For Kep, a baptism by water, a lot of salt water.
I opened the paper on Friday to the headline: “Trump Asserts His Global Power Has One Limit: Himself.” Further: “My own morality. My own mind, It’s the only thing that stop me.”[4] This from one who has all the impulse control of a two-year-old.
The royal pronouncement of Louis XIV: L’État, c’est moi (I am the state) was given to his parliament in the assertion of complete and absolute authority. Well, Mr. Trump, we have no need of such royal rubbish. The last time we had a king, we had to kill an awful lot of British soldiers to get rid of him, and we aren’t about to go back now to any such subjugation. We’re not going back!
In his interview with the New York Times, Trump has abrogated the entire international order crafted following WWII. Tossed it all aside. It’s now Darwin’s rule, the law of the strongest. The United Nations may as well as fold up shop if it’s okay for any powerful nation to gobble up a weaker neighbor. A clear signal to Putin that Ukraine is up for grabs – along with any NATO country he might want — Lithuania or Latvia, or, maybe even, Poland. Yours for the taking.
Such sentiments are a reckless dismissal of the constitutional order that has guided our nation, for good or ill, for over two hundred fifty years. Lawless it is! The day after November 3rd must be Impeachment Day.
As our own Bishop Taylor urged in a recent Facebook post, we need all of us out in the streets on January 20 for the next No Kings Day.
I know some brave souls who have confessed that this was something they never thought they’d do. Be out in the streets with a sign protesting.
Their bravery is what our baptismal vows look like. The forthright statements of our religious leaders – that is what our baptismal vows look like.
Unfortunately, like some in my first confirmation class, too many Christians have come up from the baptismal waters stillborn. A lot of to-do to no noticeable effect.
That’s why our church believes that baptism is a public event wherein the community of faith pledges over the long haul to nurture the baptized in a life of faith that is courageous.
When we step up, screw up our courage to stand for the right thing, it is contagious. Our singular example gives others to follow the impulse to bravery, to join us. Yes, it will take not only a village but an entire nation risen up to rid ourselves of this tyranny. As someone said, they can’t kill us all.
As the nationally known gardener Paul Avellino asserts: “The point of standing together isn’t to change something overnight. It’s to become the lighthouse that reminds others there’s still a way through the storm.[5]
Remember your baptism and be thankful. Thankful for the most expansive journey opening up your days and years to come. And through that door lies eternity. Be thankful. Amen.
[1] Mariann Edgar Budde, How We Learn to Be Brave: Decisive Moments in Life and Faith (New York: Avery, 2023.
[2] Op cit., book jacket.
[3] Op cit., xviii.
[4] Katie Rogers, “Trump Asserts His Global Power Has One Limit: Himself,” New York Times, January 9, 2026.
[5] Paul Avellino, quoted in Bits and Pieces, January, 2025.
January 11, 2026
Epiphany 1
The Baptism of Our Lord
Isaiah 42:1-9; Psalm 29
Acts 10:34-43; Gospel: Matthew 3:13-17
“Our Baptismal Vows”
Let Your Love-Light Shine
The story goes in Matthew that there was an anomaly in the sky, something ajar. More than a shooting star caught their attention. In a world beset by a great malaise, a wonder to behold.
In that “bleak midwinter frosty wind made moan.” And moans yet today in the souls of the dispossessed. A very bleak midwinter for those on the streets or sleeping in their cars.
Let me tell you of one such woman, a woman who works at a tough, thankless job and yet found herself and her family homeless. Priced out of her apartment in Atlanta, Georgia.
Cokethia Goodman and her children have been homeless for several months when the author of Working and Homeless in America[1], Brian Goldstone, came upon her.
The road to ruin began when she noticed a letter from the landlord in her mailbox on the afternoon of August 2018. The terse letter informed her that the property had been sold and that she would have to move out.
She and her children had lived in that quiet Atlanta neighborhood over the past year. The apartment was near her kids’ schools and a nice playground.
That was it. The property had been sold and her lease would not be renewed. Time to cash out in this gentrifying neighborhood.
After frantically looking for anything nearby, she settled in a dilapidated dump in Forest Park, on the city’s outskirts. A dump, and for $50 more a month.
After two weeks in the place, she heard a scream from her twelve-year-old son. Running the water, he had received a bad electrical shock. She called code enforcement and the place was condemned. The family was without housing again. Nowhere left to go. For a while they holed up in a squalid hotel, but soon couldn’t afford that.
All the time she was working fulltime as a home health aide. She was working, doing everything she was supposed to do and they were out on the streets. How could this be? She thought homelessness and a job were mutually exclusive. This didn’t add up.
In her job she had been taking care of men and women in her city of Atlanta, and now she and her kids were homeless? There she was in her blue scrubs checking to see if any of the shelters had room for her and her children.[2]
This is America, for God’s sake! The wealthiest nation in the world and this is how we reward people who play by the rules and do everything in their power to support themselves?
Jesus, let your love light shine down on this humbled family. Let the Epiphany Star of Promise shine down on Cokethia and her children.
It is a bleary, depressing landscape over which the Epiphany Star will shine in many of our cities and in our rural areas.
The citizens of Willows, California, are in a state of shock as the only medical center for miles and miles around is being forced to close. Yes, that “One Big Beautiful Bill” has done them in.
Like countless other small rural communities, Willows has lost its only medical care facility. Glenn Medical Center in Willows closed Oct. 21 after losing “critical access” status for being 3 miles closer to the nearest hospital than rules require.
This rural outpost has treated residents wounded in accidents along with countless victims of car crashes on nearby Interstate 5 and a surprising number of crop-duster pilots — all done on Oct. 21
As hospital staff carted away medical equipment from emptied patient rooms, Theresa McNabb, 74, roused herself and painstakingly applied make-up for the first time in weeks.
“’I feel a little anxiety,’ McNabb said. She was still taking multiple intravenous antibiotics for the massive infection that had almost killed her, was unsteady on her feet and was unsure how she was going to manage shopping and cooking food for herself once she returned to her apartment after six weeks in the hospital.”[3]
This was in a county that voted over 60% for Trump. What did they expect when Johnson and his marauders cut over $900 billion out of Medicare. That’s Billion with a capital B. And slashed Medicaid payments to the states by hundreds of millions?
Oh, that the Light of Epiphany might brighten our wits to understand that elections have consequences. The Orange Felon has done exactly what he said he would do – slash government to the bone. Except for his rich buddies and fellow grifters. And your New Year’s present? Exploding health premiums. But no sweat for Congress – they’re on extended vacation and have wonderful taxpayer-supported, gold-plated health care.
Jesus, let your Love Light shine on those abandoned folks in Willows, California. Let your Light of Compassion and Enlightenment shine on their choices this coming November. Let it shine!
Dr. King reminds us that we’re all part of an “inescapable network of mutuality” where one person’s fate is tied to that of everyone. As American citizens we have a shared destiny.
We learned this in our churches, our mosques, our temples and in our synagogues. Now, let’s vote like it. Take your concern, prayers and thoughts right into the polling place. Be the Light!
Jesus, Let your Love-Light shine in our politics, the darkest of places right now.
Marjorie Taylor Green (MTG) has had an epiphany. A Damascus Road Moment. Maybe so the residents of Willows, California. Rugged individualism is a lie, not the ethic of the Jesus Movement.[4]
MTG had gone so far as to accuse Democrats, including Speaker Nancy Pelosi, of treasonous conduct, adding that treason was punishable by imprisonment or death.
After the death of Charlie Kirk, she has now suddenly lost all appetite for vengeance. She later told a friend, who confirmed the exchange: “After Charlie died, I realized that I’m part of this toxic culture. I really started looking at my faith. I wanted to be more like Christ.”[5]
Jesus, let your Love-Light shine on Marjorie Taylor Green and her spiritual awakening.
Sister Simone Campbell, the lead Nun on the Bus of several years ago has a new book out on the spirituality that undergirds her work and helps her be fit for human consumption.
Sister Helen Prejean, author of Dead Man Walking, notes in her Forward, “If there’s one governing mantra of Simone’s life, it is this: get in there close with people on the margins of society and allow your heart to be broken open. It’s in the breaking open to raw human need of real people that is for Simone the fire at the heart of her passion for justice.”[6]
Sister Simone is a splinter of this Epiphany Love-Light. Her recent book will be our Lenten study if I can find enough copies.
The Epiphany Star reveals reality to us. As it revealed the Christ Child to the traveling sages, it also revealed through a dream the wicked intent of Herod.
The Love-Light of that star also reveals bitter reality, past and present, but also reveals those merciful souls who acknowledge the wrongs of their people and in some small way make amends.
Timothy Snyder, in his book, On Freedom,[7] tells the story of taking his children to school in Vienna, Austria. While they waited for the bus for kindergarten, his son became fascinated by the construction machines operating across the street.
As the workers spread new asphalt for the sidewalk, they were preparing to install Stolpersteine, “stumbling stones.” These are markers denoting the houses where Jews once lived before the Holocaust.
“The information they carry – names, addresses, sites of death – give us a chance to rehumanize, to restore, at least in imagination, what they lost”[8]
“Before the Jews were killed, they were stripped of everything: first their property, then their clothes.”[9]
Jesus, let your Love-Light enfold those repentant souls willing to acknowledge the past. Let it gently shine and embolden. Embolden historians like Timothy Snider who are willing to write the truth that it may warn us of what we are capable of in the future.
May we in America have the same courage to acknowledge the dark moments of our past where we have inflicted incredible suffering.
Let your Love-Light shine on our willingness to make amends and move forward in to this eternal Light of Promise, the Light of a New Day.
If you have a chance, catch Rachel Maddow’s new podcast, “Burn Order.” It’s about our roundup and incarceration of thousands of American citizens solely because of race – our Japanese-Americans. Folks who had absolutely nothing to do with Pearl Harbor. These citizens lost virtually everything. New evidence shows the underlying avarice of those wanting their farms that was behind the racist accusations of treason.
On her recent program introducing this podcast, Rachel had three Japanese-American scholars, some who had been incarcerated in these camps. This truth-telling is Love-Light brightly shining. Jesus, let your Love-Light shine on Rachel and all intrepid reporters who would inform us on what is really going down in 2026.
Jesus, keep your Love-Light shining that we learn from our past, the good and the bad. Keep your Love-Light shining on those stalwart souls who continue to forge a better way forward. And warn of dangerous curves ahead.
Jesus, keep you Love-Light shining on those who would be victimized by the worst of us – for our Somali immigrants, for the Haitians — for the destitute immigrants seeking work at Home Depot stores, for those who can no longer afford the steep, new premium increases for their health care — or even groceries or rent, for God’s sake.
Jesus, keep your Love=Light shining today, tomorrow and all through 2026, for renewed days of promise and for the Love of God. Keep it shining. This we urgently pray. Amen.
[1] Brian Goldstone, There’s No Place for Us: Working and Homeless in America (New York: Crown, 2025).
[2] Ibid, xv-xvii.
[3] Jessica Garrison, “This rural hospital closed, putting lives at risk. Is it the start of a ‘tidal wave’?” Los Angeles Times, November 26, 2025.
[4] Robert Draper, “‘I Was Just So Naïve’: Inside Marjorie Taylor Greene’s Break With Trump,” New York Times Magazine, December 29, 2025.
[5] Op.cit.
[6] Sr. Simone Campbell, Hunger for Hope (New York: Orbis Books, 2020), Forward by Sr. Helen Prejean, ix.
[7]Timothy Snyder, On Freedom (New York, Crown, 2024), 24.
[8] Ibid.
[9] Ibid.
January 4, 2026
Epiphany Sunday
Isaiah 60:1-6; Psalm 72:1-7, 10-14
Ephesians 3:1-12; Gospel: Matthew 2:1-12
“Let Your Love-Light Shine”
Do Not be Afraid
We live in a fearful age. “Precarious” describes the situation of many folk these days. Many of us think the country is headed in the wrong direction, with a sociopathological narcisist at the helm. Heroid incarnate.
Destitution is everywhere. On the streets you can smell it, the oder of urine and feces wafts from the sidewalk encampments of the dispossed. This season many families are food insecure.
Pregnant immigrant women are held in detention even though it’s against federal policy. ICE dosen’t care. “Screw the courts,” Stephen Miller and his crew retort, or words to that effect which are inappropriate from the pulpit. The present day Madonna now pregnant in a holding facility, lies shackled to her bed. Terrified, she remained tied to her bed as she miscarried.[1] Outrageous!
Undocumented mothers are separated from their children – the descending gloom of our national disgrace. A palpable fear seeps in through such misery and torture. A fear not of one but of many. The fear of those judged only to have the wrong skin color. How dark the night in today’s Bethelhem.
And on Christmas Day someone will win a Powerball jackpot of $1.7 billion. In the midst of so much want, that amount of money for just one person is obscene. Who needs $1.7 BILLION? That’s right, folks billion with a capital B. How dark this night!
Heroid’s raging – his campaign of retribution and vengeance ever presses against this season of expectation and hope. Yet it is precisely into such a bleak winter that an unexpected Gloria in Excelsis breaks through. “Be ye not afraid.”
“Unto you. Unto you.” That is the ever present joy that yet seeps into this night. “Be ye not afraid.”
This is the world of those shepherds tending their flocks on that pitch dark and chilly night. They, like ninetynine percent their fellow inhabitants, lived on the margins. Cold, malnourished, at the whim of robbers, wolves and greedy taxmen.
As Luke tells the story of that wretched, freezing evening, how a most astounding, disrupting event burst through the skies above. And for this, we’ve just gotta have the King James version.
“And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,
Glory to God in the highest,
And on earth peace, good will toward all.”[2]
What joyous words – “Fear not.“ Do Not Be Afraid
Calm, soothing words. The sort of comfort a parent would give a child who has been awakened by a terrifying nightmare. “It’s okay. It’s just a bad dream. Don’t be afraid. The same comfort our brused world seeks today.
Mary’s child is Good News to a fearful planet. Do not be afraid. In the birth of this tiny baby is the Good News of Salvation. Hope restored, In this message we are gently held. Yes, in a tiny, squalling baby born in ICE detention is also the promise of ages. His mother shackled to a bed without pain relief. Unseen, the multitude of the heavenly host attend that lowly birth. Gloria in Excelsis Deo the chorus.
On Christmas Day our Luther James will be exactly three months old. A sign of God’s favor. Best present ever! My Christmas prayer is a supplication for the other precious children of this world that they might have the same care, the same promise of our little Luther. I know this presently is not the case. Yet each newborn is a miraculus blessing, no matter how rude and impoverished the circumstances of their birth.
For this prayer to become sacramental reality — our political action, our open wallets, our ready credit cards, our raised voices, our gumption will be the tangible expression: In Gaza, in Sudan. In the Congo and in Ukraine – where wealthy nations make real their concern and care. Where we make real and visible our concern, our hope — our supplication becomes sacramental reality. Actual care delivered on the ground. Follow the money derect to Doctors Without Borders, to UNICEF, to Episcopal Relief and Development. Follow the money. Gloria in Excelsis. Yes, we are cooperators with the Spirit of Christmas for these others. Santa — if his visage means anything at all in our commercialized day.
As God brought forth Blessing and Salvation by way of an illiterate, impoverished pesant woman in Bethlehem, who knows that miracle lies hidden in any of the millions of children born in these war-torn lands, in impoverished America. With God, this Christmas, all is possible, for we of the Jesus Movement, God willing — we are the hands and feet of this Christmas promise. Gloria in Excelsis.
I close with a poem by John Core, “This Night the Music.”
“This night the music of the spheres is somehow disarranged;
with dissonant surprise one star un-tunes the sky, set heaven ajar;
the universe is changed.
…
“The shepherd’s narrow world grows vast as glorias begin;
while God’s own voice, wide as the sky, consricts itself into a cry
behind a crowded inn. Gloria. Gloria. Gloria – Goria in excelsis Deo. And with Tiny Tim I say, “God bless us everyone.” And a Merry Christmas to all. Amen.
[1] Karla Gachet, “Pregnant immigrants held for months in detention despite rules against it,” Los Angeles Times, December 3, 2025.
[2] Luke 1:8-14, KJV.
December 24, 2025
Christmas Eve
Isaiah 9:2-7; Psalm 96
Titus 2:11-14; Gospel: Luke 2:1-14
“Do Not be Afraid”
All Changed into Blessing
What’s in a name? As parents about to be at the rather advanced age of 40 and 41 we felt especially blessed that a first child was on the way. We had been married 17 years when we found out we were expecting. I’m sure by then our parents had long given up hope of being grandparents.
Of course, the question of names began to surface. After all the years of waiting, we felt like Abraham and Sarah, startled by that outrageous prophecy at their tent. So, outraged, Sarah laughed. They named the boy Yitzhak, laughter in Hebrew.
Feeling especially blessed, like Abraham and Sarah, Jonathan seemed appropriate. In Hebrew, Gift of God. Jai also had a favorite student in her class, Jonathan. That was also the name of my grandfather on my father’s side, though I never knew him because he had died when my father was 12 or so. He was the last of some 13 children, his first sibling being born during the Civil War.
Christopher came along in a year-and-a-half. I remember asking Jai if she thought Jonathan should have a brother or sister. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you,” was her reply. Christopher in Greek means Christ bearer. I had suggested Wren as a middle name, after Christopher Wren the architect of St. Paul’s in London. “I’m not having my child named after a bird,” Jai protested. So, he became Chrisopher James after some favorite folks bearing that name, including his godfather. Yes, in him on the day of his arrival was the spark of Christ. I still remember our pediatrician Clint slapping him on his back as he held him by the heel, shouting, “Breathe, damn it, breathe.” With relief I heard the first loud squall.
Names in biblical times were considered significant for they indicated a person’s inner disposition. In Genesis one of the first tasks of Adam is to name the animals -each name reflecting their quality of usefulness to humans. Names indicated the life trajectory, the quality of one’s contribution to the greater good. Or a disastrous and bad outcome of one’s end.
And Jesus? Here is the story from Matthew’s gospel that told of his name.
When Mary was found to be with child, “Her husband joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace (actually she probably would have been stoned to death by the villagers) planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him to in a dream and said, ‘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 (Yashua in Aramac) for he will save his people from their sins.’”
He will save his people. And do we ever need help. But this word, “salvation,” seems so remote and obscure, so out of date to us moderns. Yet, there is today a great longing for purpose, for meaning, for connection, for wholeness. Our kids are experiencing their life crisis in their teen years, not in their forties. Suicide among our youth is at an all-time high. It is “blessing” we yearn for, to know that our lives amidst the toil and tedium that they are significant, that we are beloved, that there is a purpose to it all. And some joy in the mix.
Jesus will go about the countryside; his healing and message are all to pronounce a kin-dom in which all are blessed. All are loved by Abba, his father. His parables and stories, his daily actions are an affirmation of blessedness. A blessedness that includes all. Includes that women of ill repute at the well in Samaria. The woman of ill repute who washed Jesus’ feet with her tears and hair. Beloved and blessed. Includes tax collectors. You remember the story of the hated tax collector Zacchaeus? Beloved! Jesus yearned to include that rich young man with many possessions who cannot bear the cost of discipleship. As he walks away, sorrowful, and Jesus is also sorrowful for he also loved that young man. Yes, beloved! All these exchanges are transforming events, transcendent events of blessing. All are beloved.
And this Salvation includes all, down through the ages, in whose hearts he has taken up residence – the hearts where he has been born anew in members of the Jesus Movement. Stalwart members of the Jesus Movement, who, down the ages have been agents of wholeness and blessedness. Bringing in word and deed the Good News that all are beloved by God. Sometimes at the cost of their own lives.
These are the saints of God; yes, the ones you can meet at tea time, on trains or even in committee meetings. Let me tell you of one of these I have known. As she could no longer drive, I would come by and pick her up for our endowment committee meetings. Her name is Phyllis Colclough. A blessing incarnate.
One evening when I stopped by to pick her up, Phyllis shared this story shortly after the events of 9-11. She had noticed that for several weeks after those horrific scenes of September that she hadn’t seen her Iranian neighbor who lived a couple of houses down the street. Finally, under the prompting of the Spirit, Phyllis gathered together her courage and walked down to her neighbor’s house and rang the bell.
After some period of time the woman finally showed up at the door. It opened just a crack. About all Phyllis could see was an eye. Finally, the woman related to Phyllis that she had been afraid to go out after the two planes had destroyed the World Trade Towers. People might blame her. Phyllis was the first person she had actually seen for several weeks, as fear of her neighbors had kept her locked in her house. She was now running our of food but was afraid to go to the market.
Phyllis told the woman, “Honey, let’s go over to my house and let’s have lunch.” Timidly, her neighbor took her hand and they had lunch. Over lunch, the woman softened and they enjoyed a wonderful afternoon together. A moment of transcendent companionship. Blessed neighbor to blessed neighbor. Salvation!
This simple act of hospitality allowed a terribly frightened woman to understand her Christian neighbor was a friend, not an enemy, or someone indifferent to her plight. As Phyllis’s neighbor gave voice to her fears over lunch, they began to subside. This elementary act of kindness was blessedness incarnate. Release from fear and estrangement. Blessedness. Salvation!
Often it is in such small acts of kindness, of service to others that Salvation is manifested. St. Augustine long ago put it this way about these small deeds of love. “Faithfulness in the little things is a big thing.” This was a “big thing.” As Phyllis related the story, I could see in her retelling of this incident that she had been blessed as well. I was certainly blessed by Phyllis’s story as a tear welled up in my eye.
Salvation in that brief moment of compassion. Phylls affirmed the blessedness of her Iranian neighbor. The Spirit which prompts to such active compassion is the Salvation Jesus sends to his followers in conjunction with his Resurrection in John’s gospel – known as John’s Pentecost. Active Salvation let loose in creation.
This week at St. Francis, we had our fall pruning workshop led by Tom Spellman, master gardener, who has been at this for years. Unfortunately, the Aquinas students who work in St. Francis Garden of Hope couldn’t come this week. Pesky finals and then Christmas vacation.
But we had a fantastic turnout of St. Francis folks. Yes, many old, somewhat decrepit and tired, but we were there. With persimmon pudding with lemon sauce as a lure, we had a good showing of our congregation, some 10 of us.
All this to ensure that the pruned trees will in the spring produce an abundant crop of peaches, plumbs, nectarines, apples for the food bank we do with St. John’s.
Folks, this is what Salvation looks like. This is what Blessedness looks like. It’s allowing Christ into our date books plus a bit of hard work on behalf of our neighbors in need. In need, indeed. Today, nationally, some fifty percent of us live paycheck to paycheck. Forty percent of us live in poverty or near poverty. A $500 unexpected expense could cause family financial disaster. These, “the least of these,” are precious in God’s sight. Our Food Bank makes real the Gospel claim of Blessedness. A sacrament – an outward sign of an inner spiritual reality.
It’s going out of one’s way to be in service to others. It’s sweat and aching muscles, some thirst in the hot sun. But this crew of some 13 folks got most of the trees prunned; with the remaining five left for Miguel to finish. That is a living picture of Salvation. In his name we bring that Blessedness.
Most of the time it’s hot, boring, grubby work, not glamorous for sure – all to affirm that the people who come on Wednesdays to St. John’s Food Bank truly understand that they are blessed. Even out in our orchard, loppers in hand – we in turn also experience transcendent moments of Blessedness. Salvation!
I believe that when anyone new shows up on our doorstep here at church, it is because of a prompting of the Spirit in their life. Something is missing. Something is askew. Something is hurting. There is an inner longing. They come to the one place that their heart tells them where there ought to be an understanding, a listening compassionate ear. And however maimed they are, they come as a blessing to us. As I’m wont to say, “We do church with whoever shows up.” Our task is to affirm that in our welcome newcomers know they are beloved, that they are a blessing to us. On any given Sunday morning.
O Come, O come to Bethlehem and see, see what awaits. The Mystery of ages. He shall be called Yashua, Jesus, for he will save his people. That Blessedness, that Salvation, is passed down through eons by all who have signed up for the Jesus Movement. It’s in our DNA. This is the Good News that you and I are beloved and precious in the sight of God and so is all creation. Treasure in earthen vessels – each of us. Our lives are grounded in something greater than ourselves – Blessedness. And this is the gift that awaits in the manger of your heart, in the manger of my heart. O Come, O Come to Bethlehem and see. Amen.
December 21, 2025
Fourth Sunday in Advent
Isaiah 7:10-18; Psalm 80:1-7, 16-18
Romans 1:1-7; Gospel: Matthew 1:18-25
“All Changed into Blessing”
