The authors of the Gospels are just not interested in giving us all the details.  They are not interested in thoughts, feelings and motivations.  They are telling us a theological story, not a psychological one.

So we’re left with this very brief description of a momentous event.  Jesus’ baptism was so important that each of the four Gospels have an account.  Matthew’s is the longest, and is an expanded version of the baptism in Mark.  The version in Luke is extremely similar to the one in Mark.  And in the gospel of John, we don’t see the baptism take place, but John the Baptist refers to it.

After Jesus is baptized, a dove comes from the heavens, and rests above Jesus’ head.  This dove floating above the waters evokes the Spirit moving above the waters in the Creation story.  God is creating something new.  Some major change is coming.

This event is important because by this time in Jewish history, God had pretty much stopped showing up in momentous ways.  When we read the Old Testament, God appears all the time in dreams and visions, even occasionally allowing someone to catch the briefest glimpse of him.  But God had not revealed himself in that way in a long time.  For God to break into our world, to a send a message, however brief, was heart poundingly exciting.

In the three synoptic gospels, the dove is accompanied by a voice from heaven.  In Mark and Luke that voice speaks directly to Jesus, but in Matthew the voice speaks to everyone within earshot.  “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

Two thousand years later we hear that statement and we think, “Aw, isn’t that nice.  God’s giving his son a little pep talk!  I bet that made Jesus feel awesome!”  But if we keep in mind that the writers of the Gospels are interested in making a theological statement, we take another look at what God says about Jesus.  That short sentence is extremely loaded.  It evokes Psalm 2, when the author of the Psalm says that

I will tell of the decree of the LORD:
He said to me, “You are my son;
today I have begotten you.

The Psalms are associated with David, and the Messiah is supposed to come from David’s line.

The sentence also evokes Isaiah 42:1

Here is my servant, whom I uphold,
my chosen, in whom my soul delights;
I have put my spirit upon him;
he will bring forth justice to the nations.

In Isaiah, this describes the suffering servant.  Jesus being linked to the suffering servant is really important.  When Jews pictured a Messiah, for the most part they imagined a mighty warrior.  The suffering servant in Isaiah was just a character of his time, not an archetype for a Savior.  But in one little sentence, God begins making the link for people that this Messiah is going to be different.

God’s words also evoke his own words to Abraham.  When he instructs Abraham to bring Isaac on the near fatal walk, he says,

Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains that I shall show you.

We can’t help but hear those instructions when God refers to Jesus as his beloved son.  Where God spared Abraham’s son, God’s son will not be so lucky.

Each of these men, Abraham, David, and Isaiah were critical players in God’s salvation history.  He used each of them to further define his relationship with humanity.  God makes a covenant with Abraham that he and Abraham’s descendents will belong to each other.  They will be God’s people.  He will be their God. God makes a covenant with David, too, that kings of David’s line will be the rightful kings until the Messiah comes..  Isaiah was a prophet who urged the people of Israel to return to keeping their side of the covenants they had made with God.

Each of these men, and the covenants made with or defended by them, is a key part of God’s history with humanity. For God to reference them as he introduces his Son, demonstrates that Jesus is part of the same salvation history.  Jesus is deeply connected to these men who have come before him in faithfulness to God.  But God also distinguishes Jesus by so clearly announcing their relationship.  Jesus is not just another human in relationship with God.  Jesus is God’s flesh and blood.  His son.  Jesus is the same substance of God.  And yet, Jesus chooses to immerse himself in the same baptism as ordinary humans, to identify with us completely.  To immerse himself in our experiences, our sorrows and joys.

Today [at the 11:00 service] we will celebrate three baptisms.  While the voice of God may not break through our roof, and we may not see a dove flying in, we do know that the Holy Spirit will be present.  Baptisms are not merely our culture’s version of a baby naming ritual.  Today, our two adult baptismal candidates remind us that a baptism is a leap of faith, the beginning of a new stage of life, a response to that Jesus who so confidently accepted his own baptism and role as our savior.

Baptism is a reminder of the Covenant that God makes with us through Jesus.  No longer are we bound by sin and death, but through Jesus we are set free and invited to live new lives.  When we say yes to life with God through Baptism, we are letting go of our old ways of life.  No longer are we bound by our accomplishments, keeping ahead in the rat race.  No longer are we defined by cruel words that have been spoken about us.  No longer do we need to surround ourselves with people who do not have our best interests at heart.    No longer do we need people to be impressed by what brand we wear or what car we drive.  Baptism frees us from the need to gird ourselves with earthly things, because now we are joined with Christ.  Now we are bound to love and service; humility and patience.  We have moved from darkness into light.

Today, as we renew our own Baptismal vows, we are invited to remember that the Holy Spirit remains with us, and even if we’ve slipped back into old ways of life, the Spirit still dwells within us, ready to help us walk back towards the light.  God’s covenant with us will not be broken.  God’s beloved Son has made sure of that.

We may not know all of Jesus’ motivations for becoming baptized, but we do know why God became Incarnate in Jesus.  We know why Jesus was willing to die at our hands.  We know why Jesus was resurrected.  Jesus was extending the story of God relationship with humanity.  Jesus was showing us how far God is willing to go to make and keep covenants with us.  Jesus was reminding us just how much God loves us.

Thanks be to God.

Today we celebrate All Saints’ Day.  And when we say All Saints’ Day, we mean Allll Saints’ Day.  We don’t just celebrate Mother Theresa and Hildegard, we celebrate all those Christians who have lived and died before us, and who now have—in the words of our Ephesians reading today—received their inheritance and have been redeemed by God.

All Saints Day can be a sad day, as we remember people we dearly loved who have died in the last year.  We read their names and we think of them fondly and wish they were still with us, but that grief is just the beginning of what God has for us on this day.  This day is a celebratory, victorious day that reminds us of who God is and who we are.

The book of Ephesians reminds us that God has adopted us as his children.  Not only has he adopted us as his children, but he also gives us an inheritance.  Now, usually, inheritance is where grief gets really tricky.  Usually the person who has died has set aside some money for the people he or she loves, but in the worst case scenarios, there is a real sense of competition, as if the inheritance was a prize.  People sue each other, even commit murder, all in an attempt to get what they think of as theirs.  More than one family has fallen apart for a time over hurt feelings related to an inheritance.

Well, in New Testament times, inheritance worked a little differently.  Generally only one child was chosen to receive the family inheritance and that child was almost always a son, and usually the elder son.  Other children had to hope their older sibling was generous and would look after them.

So, when early Christians read this passage in Ephesians, they were blown away!  God doesn’t just choose Jesus to receive his inheritance.  In fact, God doesn’t just choose the best or the oldest believers to receive his inheritance.  Nope, God offers all of us his inheritance.

And while a parent may offer us a trust fund or a house or a beloved piece of furniture as an inheritance, God offers us redemption as our inheritance.  We become God’s people, we go from being estranged to being in relationship.  And when we die, we don’t just die, we join other saints and angels and archangels in the very presence of God.

So yes, on All Saints’ Day we mourn those who have gone before us, but we also celebrate that they have moved on to a new stage in their journey, where they are at one with the God who created them and who loves them.

The Saints who have gone on before us were specific individuals who we knew and loved, but they also become symbols for us.  They remind us of the meaning that can be found mixed in with the struggle of life.  They remind us that we share in the same inheritance.  That we, too, are claimed by God.

They also remind us that we don’t have to wait until we die to start behaving like we’re God’s children.  The moment we are baptized we become part of the community of Saints.  We become people who belong to God’s family and God invites us to help make his Kingdom apparent not just in the metaphysical realm, but right here on earth, too.

In the Kingdom of God the poor rule, the meek inherit, the weeping laugh.  We are called to start making the Kingdom a reality as we go about our own lives.  The saints urge us onward as we live lives oriented to the reality that God is real and makes a difference in the world.

The saints offer us hope that when the world seems ugly and corrupt and filled with violence, God is still at work in the midst of the darkness, using members of his Kingdom to bring beauty and justice and peace.

When you teach a child about God, when you participate in a Done in a Day project, or help with Rummage, or give glory to God by singing in the choir, you help build the Kingdom of God.  When you serve God by loving your coworkers, being kind to outsiders, welcoming newcomers, you help build the Kingdom of God.  When you support Housing Initiatives of Princeton, and Trenton After School Program and the Crisis Ministry, you help build the Kingdom of God.

The Saints who have gone before us were not superheroes.  When you look at the list in our bulletin today, none of our parish family that died this year ever miraculously healed someone or raised anyone from the dead.  But they were people of faith, and many of them showed us what it means to live the quiet life of a saint through their dedication to God, love for their families and communities, generosity of spirit and dignity and determination through adversity and illness.

Today we give thanks for them, and we honor their memory by trying to walk in their shoes.  Amen.

Last fall, when we first moved to Princeton, my husband and I attended a couple of parties one weekend.  Now, having lived in Virginia, we were used to a certain kind of party chatter.  My favorite party story to share was about the time I accidentally locked myself in a trash corral while wearing an entirely pink outfit, including pink galoshes.  I was 28 at the time.  Other friends had their own stories of times they had embarrassed themselves or crazy things their co-workers had said.  So, we were prepared with our funny party stories when we moved to Princeton.  We realized there was a problem with our plan, when at the first party we attended in Princeton, we got into a long conversation with a young man who had just returned from his Fulbright year in Spain.  In fact, everyone seemed to have a story about either their fabulous year in a foreign country or their doctorate or their first book or how they were developing some new economic theory.  So our stories about that time our dog rolled around in goose poop suddenly did not seem that scintillating.

We started to realize that Princeton is a different kind of town.  Princeton is made up of high achievers. You can’t throw a stone in Princeton without hitting someone who is an expert in their field.  And if you threw enough stones you would be bound to hit a Nobel prize winner or two.  About twice a week I hear some expert from Princeton pontificating on issues on NPR.  The brain power in this town is amazing!

And so, as I have been following the Tyler Clementi case in the news, I’ve been really saddened to see that the two students, Dharun Ravi and Molly Wei, accused of leaking the video that led to his suicide, were West Windsor kids, our kids. Some of our parishioners went to high school with them.  I started to wonder whether our culture of excellence somehow backfired and contributed to their behavior.

Because it turns out there is a danger in living in one of the smartest towns in America.  I would not call Princetonians intellectual Pharisees, but there is a drive toward perfection in this town.  We may not stand in the center of town bragging about how amazing we are, like the Pharisee in our reading today, but there is a constant push towards excellence.  There are at least six private schools on Great Road alone, each promising to help your child to be the smartest, most responsible child he can be.  And our public schools are filled with incredible teachers and bright students all pushing, pushing, pushing to be the best.  And adults are jockeying for tenure, and promotions, and seats on the quiet car on the train, all while trying to pay for the incredibly high cost of living here.

But what happens when you’re not the best?  What happens when you’re not an A student?  What happens if you’re just an average student?  I have had several parents come up to me in the last year who were just devastated by how their beautiful children were left behind in their schools because they weren’t the best.  These kids dealt with feelings of failure well into their adult years.

And our excellent students may not be getting what they need, either.  News reports about Molly Wei and Dharun Ravi indicate they were really bright students.  Ravi had almost perfect SAT scores, ran track, was captain of an ultimate Frisbee team.  Wei was an honors student who took many AP classes.

Being smart is a wonderful thing.  Smart people contribute greatly to the world.  Educated people help us solve many of the world’s problems.  But being smart and being educated is not enough.

Our scripture reading for today is not about intelligence, but it is about attitude.  God does not raise up the person who has done everything right.  This Pharisee tithes, prays, does not sin, but his heart is cold and proud.  The tax collector on the other hand sees himself clearly, knows he is broken, and bows before God, humbly.

God honors the broken man, rather than the perfect man.

And this is true throughout Scripture.  Jesus does not choose the head of rabbinical schools to be his followers, he chooses fishermen.  God does not call the smartest of Jesse’s children to be King, he chooses David  the smallest, the musician, the guy who will later do all kinds of dumb things.  God does not call a sinless man to lead Israel out of Egypt, he chooses Moses, an abandoned baby who grows up to be an anxious, whiny leader, not to mention a murderer.

God chooses real, complex people to do his work.  Being fully human in God’s eyes is not about how many accomplishments we rack up, it’s about having a heart that is open to God.  Being fully human is about being able to see and love the other.  Being fully human is about being humble and seeing ourselves clearly, and admitting our weaknesses when we have them.  Being fully human is about letting go of seeking our own accomplishments and asking God what he would have us do.

If we believe God created each of us, then we believe there is something good at the core of each of us.  Whether we are A students or C students, God can use us for good in this world. When we talk about our children to one another, we have a habit of talking about how they are doing in school or in sports or in extra-curricular activities.

We list their accomplishments, brag about their grades. What if, instead, we talked about their character, not their accomplishments?  What if we praised the way they stuck up for a bullied kid at school?  What if we talked about how quickly they accept responsibilities for mistakes?  What if we talked about how forgave a sibling after a misunderstanding?

Our children are so much more than their accomplishments; they are spiritual and moral beings who need love and guidance about what it means to be a child of God.  Children need to learn that showing others love and respect is even more important than being at the top of their class.  Children need to learn how to respectfully disagree with a friend, how to ask forgiveness when they have made a mistake. Children need to learn how to pick themselves up after a setback. Children need to learn that they are fearfully and wonderfully made, no matter their skin color or sexual orientation.  Children need to see all these things modeled in us.

But even more than a moral education, we, like the tax collector in today’s reading, need to show our kids how to actively and humbly draw towards the holy.  The primary influence in a child’s spiritual life is not Sunday School teachers or youth ministers or clergy.  The primary influence in a child’s spiritual life is her parents.  If children see parents praying, reading scripture, making decisions based on spiritual rather than financial or practical reasons, they learn crucial skills.  Paul and I are reading Kenda Creasy Dean’s Almost Christians as part of our local clergy group.  Dean reminds us that the skills of the Christian life:  prayer, scripture reading, being in community, are skills that must be learned and practiced, just like the skills that come into play when a child is learning a sport or an instrument.

There are many different ways to start integrating these practices into your family life.  My favorite recent example is the practice of my friend MaryAnn McKibben Dana and her family.  MaryAnn is a Presbyterian pastor and writer who has three young children.  Over the dinner table, they practice the Ignatian practice of the examen.  The examen is a spiritual practice in which at the end of the day you ask yourself a series of questions about the day, you explore the gifts of the day, the reasons behind the decisions you made, where you saw God move in the day, where you saw your own brokenness interfere with the day and so on.  What is brilliant about what MaryAnn and her husband are doing is that the kids have no idea.  MaryAnn does not sit down and say, “OK kids, it’s examen time!”  Instead, she weaves these questions into ordinary conversation.  She is helping her kids learn to think theologically about their day, to take responsibility for their choices, to see God at work in the ordinary stuff of pre-school, playground fights, and homework assignments.

We owe it to our children to take our own spiritual development, and their spiritual development as seriously as we take their SAT scores.  Their SAT scores will get them into college, but their spiritual development will make them loving human beings who contribute to the world.

And for those of us who do not have children, we are not off the hook.  If you have ever been to a baptism here, you have promised to help uphold the baptized child’s life in the church.  Adults in the church can be crucial conveyers of God’s grace to children and youth.  And the children and youth in this parish are amazing.  They are funny, complicated, loving, honest, shy, outgoing and all made in God’s image.  We, as a congregation, have the opportunity to offer them kindness, express interest in their lives, pray for them and demonstrate God’s grace in the way we treat each other.

The pressure of developing our own, not to mention our children’s, spiritual life can seem really overwhelming!  When it seems like too much responsibility, just remember the words Angel Gabriel said to Mary, “Be not afraid!”  Our God is a powerful, loving God who is always in the business of drawing us near.  If you take one teensy step, he will take a giant cosmic step.  God is waiting for you with open, loving arms and will never turn you or our children away.

The word freedom means many different things to many different people in our culture.  Lately there has been a lot of conversation about Stewart Brand’s 1984 speech in which he declared that “information wants to be free”.  (In the same paragraph he said that information also wants to be expensive, but that part of the quote has disappeared in our public discourse.)  People are ruminating on whether that sentence means that information is inexpensive, whether information wants to roam without limitations, whether it wants to be politically free.  For twenty-five years we’ve been debating what Brand meant and that is just one use of the word free!  Freedom also has powerful political connotations.  We are the land of the free, we let freedom ring, when we’re mad at France we call our fried potatoes freedom fries.

For us, freedom means we don’t have a King, that we rule ourselves.  But it also means we can do whatever we want and we resent when government interferes with our bodies, our guns, our money.  Freedom evokes summer vacations and the backseats of cars and long stretches of highway.  And sometimes our use of the word freedom makes no sense at all. This week Fox and Friends, a morning cable news show, was doing a Fourth of July food special and they had representatives from the restaurant Hooters there and the news anchor said, “Nothings spells freedom like a Hooters meal.”

In today’s world, and in the ancient world, the word freedom meant many different things to different people.  The apostle Paul knew he had to be careful when he used the word in his letter to the Galatians.

Paul and the Galatians go way back.  Paul started the churches in Galatia and knows them well.  He writes this letter to them out of frustration.  He has heard that since he’s left, some teachers have come to the churches and instructed their members that they must be circumcised and follow more of the Jewish law in order to be Christians.

The letter to the Galatians is argument against circumcision and the need for Christians to follow the Jewish law.  Paul is arguing that following Christ means one no longer has to follow every detail of the Jewish law, because Christ fulfilled the law himself.  However, you can imagine the reaction if one of our modern politician’s platform was to abolish our laws entirely.

We would be upset!  As much as we may talk about freedom in our country, if suddenly murder or theft or brutality was legal, we would be seriously unhappy.  We know that laws are necessary to reign in our wild, jealous, angry, selfish impulses.

In the same way, Paul is predicting his audience’s objections.  Paul knows that the Galatians are afraid if they abolish the law, that people will just run wild!  If there is no law, what is to stop people from adultery and murder and generally bad behavior?

When you are free, it means you used to be bound to something.  In our country’s case, that was English rule.  In the Galatians case, it means the Jewish law.  But Paul explains that in the freedom from Jewish law, they are now bound to something else—each other.  Paul says, “For you were called to freedom, brothers and sisters; only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence, but through love become slaves to one another.”

The thing that will keep the Galatians in check is their love for one another.  When a person acts out of love for the other, he or she will refrain from doing harmful things.  Paul reminds the Galatians that the law can be summed up as “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

In this new freedom, Paul calls them to live in that spirit of love, rather than gratifying everything their bodies might want.   Paul does not want them to be slaves to the Jewish law any more, but he also doesn’t want them to be slaves to their bodies either.  Following the spirit is the third option.

So, what does it mean for us to be free.  Are we slaves to each other in love, or are we yoked to something else?

Somewhere in the last week I read or heard a story about a woman from a Middle Eastern culture who came to the west for the first time and was shopping.  Now we in the West might look at a woman in a head scarf or hijab and feel real pity for the oppression she is under.  We might long to show her the freedom women in the west experience.  This particular Middle Eastern woman was not used to shopping by sizes.  In her home country, she had a relationship with a dressmaker who would make things just for her.  So, she had no idea what size she was.  The shop she was in was pretty fancy and when she asked the shopkeeper for help, the shopkeeper sneered that they did not have sizes that would fit her.  She said that women should be a size six or smaller and if they were not, the store did not carry their size.  At that moment, the woman from the Middle East had an insight.  Western women were just as oppressed as Middle Eastern women—just by a different power.  Western women were oppressed by the cultural pressures to be thin and attractive.  Never before had this woman worried about her shape or her weight.  She had always been at home in her body, but in an instant she saw herself as unworthy and ugly.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that story.  I don’t consider myself enslaved by our culture’s idea of beauty, but I spend well over a thousand dollars every year on haircuts, make up, whitening toothpaste, pedicures, new clothes.  And every morning I spent at least twenty minutes putting on make up, blow drying my hair, straightening it, making sure I’m wearing earrings and clothes that match.  I think sometimes we can be so entrenched in our culture, that we don’t even realize we’re at some level enslaved by it.  I’m certainly not going to experiment with freedom by not grooming myself any more.

We are all bound to things that are not God.  We may be bound to dysfunctional families, our work, expectations that others have for us, expectations that we have for ourselves.  We may be bound to more ominous things: abusive relationships, drugs, alcohol, adulterous sex, power, money.  Trying to extricate ourselves from all these binding things so we can live in the freedom of Christ can be tricky.

Thankfully, Paul gives us markers to look for to see if we’re living into our freedom by following the Spirit.  These markers are a gift from God that are given out of God’s grace. They are the fruits of the Spirit’s work in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

Everyone knows someone they think of as a saint.  Some person who is just so kind, it’s almost hard to believe.  Well that person often can be described as having several—if not all—of the characteristics described above.  We are all eligible to receive those gifts—and it starts with choosing the freedom Christ offers us from whatever it is we are bound to.  Christ has the power to unshackle us from whatever we are enslaved to, but then, of course, we are bound to him and bound to one another.

And that may be too threatening for some people.  Being bound to Christ and to other Christians can be challenging.  Real, deep relationships take enormous effort.  Learning to love your neighbor as yourself is no picnic.  Especially when your neighbor is a big pain in the neck.  But that kind of intimacy and conflict and reconciliation are the kind of experiences that start shaping us as people of patience and faithfulness and gentleness and self-control.

The messy, human, holy relationships of Christians loving God and loving each other is freedom, even if that freedom feels more like a hot church on a Sunday morning than something more ecstatic and fitting the word “freedom”.  But freedom is as much an internal shift as a set of external circumstances.  A single, unattached, independently wealthy man who rides his motorcycle along the shore of northern California, may not experience nearly the freedom of a little old lady in a nursing home who has said her morning prayers faithfully for 80 years and knows with all certainty that she belongs to God.

For true freedom comes when are bound—bound to God, bound to love, bound to one another.

Amen.

The author of the Gospel of Luke does a wonderful job of portraying the way the Pharisees and scribes followed Jesus around, unable to tear their eyes away from what they thought was a theological train wreck.  They have spent years of their lives following every rule, gaining knowledge of every bit of law and scripture, and gaining power step by logical step.  And then Jesus, a carpenter, strolls on the scene and immediately starts captivating his followers with his powerful words about God’s love.  I picture the Pharisees and scribes a little bit like principal Rooney in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. I picture them so unsettled that they get a little obsessed, a little unhinged, but they just cannot stop themselves from following Jesus around and getting even more agitated.

What the Pharisees and scribes REALLY can’t stand, what just drives them batty, is who Jesus invites over for dinner.  They cannot reconcile why a man who claims to speak for God would hang out with tax collectors and “sinners”.

Jesus takes pity, or a jab, at the Pharisees and scribes and he explains his behavior using three parables:  the parable of the lost sheep, the parable of the lost coin, and the parable of the Prodigal Son.

In the parable of the Prodigal Son, a young man approaches his father and asks for his share of the inheritance.  And while this is a greedy question, it is also an incredibly hurtful question.  The young man is implying that his father is worth more to him dead than alive.  The young man is rejecting the relationship with his own family so he can go party in the big city.  And although the father must have been devastated by this betrayal, the father complies with the son’s wishes, and gives him his share of the estate.

Like many a young man before or since, the prodigal son blows through his money, much sooner than he expects and is soon reduced to working on a farm, envying the slop the pigs enjoy.

He soon comes to his senses and decides to go home, eat crow, and hope his father takes him back.

We all know what happens next of course. Before the young man can get a word out of his mouth, his father is running out of the house, throwing his arms around his son and welcoming him back into the fold.  The prodigal son makes his repentant speech, but his words are just icing on the cake for the man’s father.

And just this story alone would be lovely.  The image of a heavenly father welcoming us rebellious children back home with open arms speaks deeply to us about how much God loves us, even when we make mistakes.

But Jesus’ parable has a wrinkle.  And the wrinkle is the older brother.  The older brother who has always been faithful to his father.  The older brother who took on more work when his good-for-nothing sibling took off to the big city.  The older brother who did not have any extra money, who never got to go to the big city, who never went to a party.

When this older brother comes home from the fields, smells the celebratory fatted calf cooking, and realizes his brother is safely home, he is furious.  He complains to his father that he has never had so much as a celebratory goat cooked for him despite his years of faithful service and now his dissolute brother gets an entire fatted calf?  He’s so mad he even accuses his brother of using his father’s to sleep with prostitutes, a claim that is made nowhere else in the text.  Older brother is NOT HAPPY.

The father pleads with the older brother, reassures him that all the father’s property will still go to him, and invites him to join the celebration.

We never find out what the older brother decides to do.  Jesus leaves the Pharisees and scribes hanging, leaves us hanging.

Instead of mocking or rejecting the Pharisees and scribes, Jesus is offering them the same invitation the father offers the older son.  You are still welcome here.  Jesus may be hanging out with tax collectors and sinners, but the Pharisees and scribes are still welcomed at the table.   Jesus’ may be changing the game, and showing how God includes those on the margins, but that does not mean that God is shoving out the establishment.  The question is whether the establishment wants to join the party!

There is never a scene in the Gospels where the Pharisees and scribes look at one another and say, “Let’s take a risk!  Let’s join this Jesus and see where he leads us!”  Until the very end, they resist his invitation of a new way of being in relationship with God.  They are so tied to the rules and regulations and the old way of doing things, that they cannot join the party, even though they have an open invitation.

Whether we like it or not, those of us in the Episcopal Church, for the most part ARE the establishment.  We have money and power and hundreds of years of liturgical tradition to which we cling.  There is great value in all that tradition, but the danger remains that we will cling to the past and refuse an invitation to new life that Jesus puts in front of us.

Paul and I have been to several conferences and meetings of Episcopalians lately and we’ve noticed a disturbing trend.  More than once we have heard people make speeches during which they lament the demise of the Episcopal Church.  These particular priests were a generation older than we are, and my understanding is that they were lamenting the Episcopal church of the 1950s, when the church was rich both in numbers and in finances.

I have to tell you, I think these speakers have completely missed the mark.

I may be biased, but I fell in love with the Episcopal Church in 1999, when it was already “declining” according to some perspectives.  The Episcopal Church of the 1950s was probably great.  I bet members wore really snappy hats and that children had more time to be involved in church life and that people tithed a bigger percentage of their income.  But from my perspective, the Episcopal Church of this decade is much more exciting, much more like one of Jesus’ dinner parties, than the church of yore.

I love the Episcopal Church.  I love the traditions, the fancy words, the music, the liturgy.  But what I love most about the church is its welcome.  In this new, modern Episcopal church people of different races are allowed to worship together, gay members do not have to hide their sexuality, and as a youngish woman, I get the honor of being your priest!  None of that would have been possible sixty years ago.  I love the Episcopal church because we’re allowed to ask theological questions that would have made the hairs on the back of the Pharisees necks stand up!  I love the Episcopal Church because we’re allowed to read about the Gnostic gospels or world religions without someone offering to pray for our souls.  I love the Episcopal Church because to us, worshiping God is more than just having a bunch of “correct” answers.  We are invited to enter into mystery, together.

So, when I hear people lament the end of the Episcopal Church I want to tell them they are missing the party!  We may not be as powerful politically or financially as we once were, but who cares?  Being a Christian is not about power, it’s about being a disciple of Jesus Christ.  And I can think of no better place to be a disciple of Jesus than at the party the Episcopal Church is throwing right now.

And I hope we are inviting everyone to that party, the outcasts and the establishment; the Prodigal sons and their judgmental older brothers; those who are mourning what our church once was and those who are just discovering us.

Amen.

Well, maybe Elijah is not whining, exactly.  You see, Elijah has been locked in an epic battle with a powerful woman named Jezebel.  Jezebel was the wife of King Ahab and had worked with her husband to encourage the worship of Baal among the Israelites.  And frankly, that is about the nicest thing I can think of to say about Jezebel.  She was not a kind person.  Elijah was not afraid to confront her about her many failings as Queen of the Israelites, but Jezebel was not really open to criticism.  Instead of listening to Elijah, she ordered his death.  Elijah ran away, into the wilderness.

Elijah is exhausted from running.  He has no future that he can imagine.  There is a death sentence waiting for him if he returns home.  In his exhaustion he asks God to kill him and then promptly falls into a deep sleep.

What happens next is one of the loveliest moments in all of Scripture.  Instead of killing Elijah, or telling Elijah to pull himself up by the bootstraps, or berating Elijah for his lack of faith, God sends Elijah an angel.  The angel gently wakes Elijah from his slumber and gives him hot bread to eat and cool water to drink.  Before the angel leaves, he touches Elijah one more time, encourages him to eat and then disappears.

Elijah has spent a lot of his life defending God of Israel against other gods.  Elijah has spent a lot of time helping people to see the power of God, the strength of God.  But in this small moment, Elijah experiences the intimate God, the loving God.  God gently encourages Elijah to press on and gives him the literal bread he needs to build up his strength for the journey.

For Elijah, his whining, or murmuring, or cry for help is met by God with nourishment, not rebuke.

Elijah’s need is met with love.

Most unpleasant behavior can be attributed to either hunger, fear, anger or loneliness.  Elijah was certainly experiencing hunger and fear!  When humans feel these unpleasant feelings and can’t quite sort out how to get our needs met, we lash out at whomever is around us.

I don’t know about you, but when I get cranky, nine times out of ten what I need is food.  My husband knows this by now and when he hears a certain snappish tone in my voice he immediately looks around to figure out what he can feed me before my unpleasantness can fully reveal itself.

The natural response when someone is cranky or whiny or unpleasant is to steer clear of the offending party.  But instead of moving away from us when we are at our worst, God moves toward us.  God nourishes us.

And maybe the lectionary spends four weeks in August dwelling on how Jesus is the Bread of Life, because this concept is so counterintuitive.  This concept is almost as hard to imagine as an angel waking you up and offering you a hot breakfast.

Jesus is easy to understand when he is standing on a mount or a fishing boat and telling us about God or how to live our lives.  When Jesus is speaking to us, we understand that he is the teacher and we are his students. The relationship is safe, the boundaries are clear.

But when Jesus describes himself as Bread-as something we bite and chew, swallow and absorb, those boundaries blur.

Ronald Rollheiser, the Catholic theologian, makes the connection between Jesus being the Bread of Life and being present in the Eucharist.  He writes:

For most of [Jesus'] ministry, he used words. Through words, he tried to bring us God’s consolation, challenge, and strength. His words, like all words, had a certain power. Indeed, his words stirred hearts, healed people, and affected conversions. But at a time, powerful though they were, they too became inadequate. Something more was needed. So on the night before his death, having exhausted what he could do with words, Jesus went beyond them. He gave us the Eucharist, his physical embrace, his kiss, a ritual within which he holds us to his heart.

Words are important.  I believe in words.  I have included many of them in this sermon.  However, words alone cannot convey love.

I spent a lot of time this week watching the footage of the journalists Laura Ling and Euna Lee reuniting with their families after being prisoners in North Korea.  I’m sure they spoke words, too, and will continue to speak about their experiences to their loved ones, but their first reactions were to run toward their families and hug them as tightly as humanly possible.

Those hugs, their tears, her husband wrapping his arms around Euna as she clasped her daughter to her chest-those small acts conveyed more love than any speeches the women could have made to their families.

In the same way, Jesus was limited by words to express the fullness of love he felt toward humanity.

And so, Jesus becomes Bread.  He becomes a kiss.  He becomes our nourishment.  He moves beyond words to commune with us in a way both spiritual and physical.

And like the angel gave Elijah bread to give him strength for the journey ahead, Jesus gives us himself for the very same purpose.  Whether we are cheerful or cranky, strong or weak, ready or unprepared, Jesus moves toward us and embraces us.

Jesus is the Bread of life, given to us.  And that is beyond words.

The poor disciples-in today’s Gospel reading, they are in a situation far more stressful than a cocktail party.  They have thousands of hungry people on an isolated hillside and Jesus is asking the disciples to feed the crowd.  The disciples know they do not have enough food.  They are not just a mini-quiche or glass of wine short, they have absolutely no food with them.  They could not even begin feeding the first row of the crowd.  Their fear that they do not have enough is a perfectly rational fear based on the evidence in front of them.

The apostle Andrew notes that the only food anyone has is five loaves of bread and a couple of fish that a child happens to have with him.  Somehow they persuade the child to give up his lunch and we all know what happens next.  When Jesus breaks that bread and tears those fish, somehow that not-enough food transforms into an abundant feast.  Instead of not being enough, the food just keeps coming and coming and coming.

Jesus takes the reality of a scarce situation and transforms it utterly.  Where there was want, there are now baskets of leftovers.  Where there was doubt, there is now wonder.

The crowd has gotten what they wanted.  Those who were sick were healed right before the scene in today’s gospel.  Now, those who were hungry are fed.  The crowd had needs and the crowd’s needs were met.  But these signs were not quite enough for the crowd-or the disciples-to “get” who Jesus was.  Instead of worshiping Jesus as Lord, the crowd’s reaction is to chase after Jesus and try to make him king.

Jesus is not an earthly King.  Jesus is not a magician.  Jesus is not Oprah in front a screaming crowd, giving away prizes.

The abundance Jesus offers is real, but the abundance Jesus offers is not the same thing as wish-fulfillment.

Jesus offers us abundance of life, not just abundance of stuff.  The crowd wanted more of Jesus, but not for the right reasons.  The crowd wanted more magic, more food.  The crowd wanted a world where Jesus was their King and his magic powers would give them everything they wanted.

Our passage today moves on to the story of Jesus walking on water and I don’t think the juxtaposition is accidental.  Jesus walking on the water is not about giving the disciples something they want.  Instead, Jesus shows them, in a new way, what it means that he is the Son of God.  Jesus wants to show them that his divinity is not about meeting their material or bodily needs, but is something beyond that, something even more wonderful than that.

Americans are living at a strange crossroads of abundance and scarcity.  Even though we live in the richest part of the world, we are feeling afraid about the economy.  We are grieving the loss of jobs and have a sinking feeling whenever we check the status of our retirement accounts.

At times, we, like the disciples, are convinced there is not enough.  There are not enough jobs available.  There is not enough money in the bank account.  There is not enough hopeful news to sustain us.

I know for me, from about September to April last year my prayers went something like this, “Please help me find a job in New Jersey.  Please help me find a job in New Jersey.  Puhleeeeze help me find a job in New Jersey.”  My anxiety drove my prayers to sound very much like the cries of the crowd in today’s Gospel reading.  “Help me, feed me, fix me!”

There is nothing wrong in sharing our deepest fears and desires with Jesus.  Jesus invites our lamentations.  He hears our prayers.  He comforts us.  He provides for us.  But there is more to Jesus than his role in responding to our needs.

Jesus, in his earthly ministry, always directed attention towards his Father, the Creator God.  Jesus redirects his followers from focusing on themselves and their own needs, to focusing on God.  When Jesus walked on the water towards his disciples, they could not help but be awed by the power of God to defy the laws of nature.  The act of walking on the water toward the disciples drew them out of themselves and helped them to worship Jesus as God, rather than Jesus as wish-granter.  Jesus showed them that the abundance of God is not just what God gives us, but is inherent in the very nature of God.  God is beyond everything we could want and everything we see.  God’s power stretches beyond our imagination and God’s love is deeper than we can desire.

Jesus walks toward us, too, and invites us to look up and out and to really see him for who he is.  Jesus offers us a life of true abundance–not of material possessions–but of relationship with our Creator.

There is something in that act of looking up, looking out towards God that helps us put our own anxious feelings in perspective.  When we remember the abundance of God’s love for us and for humanity throughout the millennia, we can re-evaluate our circumstances and see God all around us.

As Christians, our lives will not always be easy, but they can always be filled with joy and deep meaning.  Today at the [10:00 or this] service, we will welcome several children into the Christian family through baptism.  We know that throughout their lives, when they bring the broken, inadequate, not-enough pieces of their lives to God in prayer, somehow God will transform them into overflowing baskets of blessing.  God does this for us, too.  And when we realize we have enough-in fact, we have more than enough-we can start giving back to our families, communities and churches.

Thanks be to God.

I imagine that if you asked him where the restroom was located, you would receive a discourse about the powers of the waters of baptism and how they wash us clean.  If you asked Jesus for directions, he would go on and on about he was the way, the truth and the life.  If you asked Jesus what was for lunch, he’d tell you about how he was the bread of heaven.

Most of the characters in the Gospel of John are Jewish and are from a fairly narrow geographical area.  But in today’s reading we are introduced to some Greeks.  They go up to Phillip-who has a name of Greek origin-and ask to be introduced to Jesus.  Phillip goes to Andrew, and then they together approach Jesus.

Jesus, of course, does not say, “Sure, I’d love to meet these Greek guys!”  He doesn’t even say, “You know, I’m booked right now, but I’ve got some time tomorrow about 1:00.  Would that work for you?”  He definitely doesn’t say, “Hey Greeks, great to meet you!  You know, my ministry is for all people, not just Jewish people. I’m glad you asked me that question so I could point out God’s inclusive love for everyone.”  Jesus is much more elusive than that.

Instead of answering Phillip and Andrew, Jesus embarks on a discourse about what it means to follow God. But, of course, being Jesus, in ignoring the Greek’s question, he is actually answering the question.  The Greeks may not get to visit with Jesus, but Jesus is going to tell them, completely honestly, about what it costs to follow Jesus.

First, Jesus talks about his own life.  He describes a seed of grain that must die so that it can produce fruit.  Jesus even refers to being lifted up on the cross and how he will draw all people to himself when that happens.  Jesus’ ministry on this earth culminates in this ultimate self-denial.  If the Greeks were hoping to see some miracles or hear a cheerful message from a deity, they must have been sorely disappointed!

Jesus makes it clear that he is not the only one who has to lose his life.  He states, “Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also.”  For the Christian, there is always going to be an element of self-denial and of sacrifice.

Last week, here at Emmanuel we witnessed four students confirm their faith as adults in the church, and nearly a dozen of our members decided to be received as Episcopalians or to renew their baptismal vows.  The Confirmation service reminds us that being a Christian is more than just a label.  When you are confirmed, you’re not given a handshake and a t-shirt that says, “I’m a Christian.”  Instead, you are asked to repeat your baptismal vows-and those vows call for sacrifice.

We are asked to renounce evil powers and sinful behavior and to actively follow Jesus.

And following Jesus is not always easy.  Sometimes we are asked to be kind to someone utterly unlovable.  Sometimes we are asked to stop doing something that gives us enormous pleasure.  Sometimes we are called to give up something or someone very dear to us.

And sometimes, we are called to move to New Jersey.

Those of you who are on our mailing list received a letter from me this week letting you know that my husband, Matt, has discerned a call to be a Presbyterian Pastor and that in July, Matt and I are moving to Princeton, where Matt will be a student at Princeton Seminary.

If you had asked me four years ago, when I began my ministry as a priest with you that one day Jesus would call me to New Jersey, I would have thought you were crazy!  Poor Matt.  He first discerned his call when we were dating and during one of our initial visits to see his parents in Princeton, we drove to New York City.  As we passed the urban landscape and the lights and smoke of the factories of northern New Jersey, I very supportively burst into tears and said, “I can’t believe I have to leave Virginia for THIS.”

In the two years since that moment, I have learned a lot more about New Jersey, and have come to realize it is not called the Garden State for nothing!  I have even come to a place where I can look forward to our life together there.

But before I could get to that place of acceptance of following God’s call, I had to go through a great deal of grief.  I am not losing my literal life, but I will lose my life with you in order to follow God and that is very costly to me.

All of us go through these kinds of transitions when we follow Jesus.  When we are called to be parents, we lose the freedom of not being responsible for children.  When we are called to begin working a new ministry, we lose the free time we used to have.  When we are called to live in a mature and responsible way, we lose the excitement of our old, irresponsible behavior.

Following Jesus is costly. But following Jesus is also rewarding.  To be with you, I sacrificed a life in Northern Virginia.  To be in seminary, I sacrificed a life in Richmond.  To go to college in Richmond, I sacrificed life at home with my parents.  Each choice we make means there are an infinite number of choices we did not make.  When we make the choices that we sincerely believe Jesus is calling us to make, we can trust that we will learn and grow and be matured in our new context.

By choosing what Jesus has for us, we can enrich our own lives and the lives of those around us.  Each of you on a Sunday morning could easily sleep in late and have a leisurely day at home, but you have chosen to spend your time here at Emmanuel.  By listening to God’s call, and spending your time and energy here, you have made this church a place that radiates with the love of God.  You have created a church community that gives life to the people that enter its doors.  You have modeled for each other, and for me, how following Jesus and sacrificing your own desires can bring alive the Kingdom of God.

And so, we follow Jesus, not just because it is the right thing to do, but because a life of journeying with Jesus is far more interesting than any life we could plan for ourselves.  We follow Jesus because as we sacrifice our surface desires-for stability, for security, for an easy life-we find our deepest desires-for meaning, for connection with God, for connection with others.

I have been blessed to be on this journey with you-and the journey is not finished!  Over the next few months we will have a chance to think about where Jesus is leading Emmanuel and what following Jesus as a congregation might mean.  We are all on the path together, even when our individual paths must diverge.

In a lot of ways, at this point in Exodus, Israel is like a big baby.  Israel was born into a nation when it crossed the Red Sea.  The last couple of weeks we have seen how soon after that, just like a baby, Israel began whining, “Are we there yet?  I’m hungry!  I wanna go home!  This trip is stupid!”  Well, like a big whiny baby, Israel also needed boundaries.  They knew God had saved them and they knew they were now a nation, but they had no idea what any of that meant!

God gives the Israelites the Decalogue-another word for the Ten Commandments–as a set of boundaries for how they should live their lives together.  He covenants with them by giving them the gift of rules.  I’m sure they were thrilled. (Yay! . . .rules?)

The first four commandments are specifically about how to be in relationship with God.

First, God helps the Israelites by explaining who is giving these commandments.  He tells them that “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the house of slavery.  Remember, that in these days there was the belief that many gods ruled the heavens.  Here, God is telling them that the God who is speaking, is the same God who freed them from Egypt.  He goes on to tell the Israelites that they should worship only Him.  For this new nation, there will be only one, all-powerful God, not the many small gods that made up other religions. In our imperfect analogy, God is the parent, the only parent and God knows what is best for Israel.

The next commandment is about the danger of setting limits on the Israelites’ understanding of God.  Immediately after identifying himself, God instructs the Israelites not to make any idols of his image.  God knows that the Israelites will be uncomfortable with worshiping such an abstract God, but he doesn’t want them to be limited in their idea of who He is and what He can do.

Next, God tells them not to use his name in vain.  While we think of this in terms of curse words, what it actually means is not to make a vow or promise using God’s name that you do not intend to keep. Do not use God’s name lightly.

Finally, God commands the Israelites to take one day of the week, to rest from all labor, and worship God.  Part of being a nation governed by God, is reflecting God’s own pattern of work and rest that has been passed down in the Creation story.

Once these four boundaries are set, defining what it means to be a people of God, and how that people should relate to God, God then goes on to give Israel boundaries for how to live with each other. Honor your parents, don’t murder, don’t commit adultery, don’t steal, don’t lie about your neighbor, don’t covet.

They are pretty basic rules, right?  These rules give a framework of safety to Israel’s society.  If everyone follows the rules, then members of society can trust each other and a society can progress rather than falling into chaos.

I’ve got to say, preparing a sermon about the Ten Commandment in light of the Presidential Race and financial bailout arguments has felt very ironic.

Adultery?  Check.
Lying?  Check.
Coveting?  Definitely.
Stealing?  Possibly.

If I understand the news about the financial crisis correctly, we are in this financial pinch precisely because there were not boundaries, or lenders ignored the boundaries that were there.  We are here because lenders lent money to people who could not pay them back.  We are here because people lied about the amount of money they made or lenders just did not check.  We are here because people want to live in a bigger house, a house more like their neighbor’s.  We are here because we, like the Israelites are still people who need boundaries.

While we are made in God’s image, we can also be greedy and covetous.  And, of course, it is not just “them”-those Wall Street brokers, bankers and Congressmen who are the problem. We all suffer from the same set of problems.  The problems of our government reflect the problems of our culture, and vice versa.

In a recent article, pastor Jim Wallis called for culpable financial managers and members of Congress to repent, but then he wrote this:

As for the rest of us, perhaps we could also reflect on our need for repentance.

For being seduced into lifestyles beyond our means and contrary to our religious traditions of simplicity and stewardship.

For living on far too much credit, rather than living within our limits.

For sometimes putting economic values ahead of family values.

For letting the relentless assault of advertising and a culture of consumption to seed in us the sin of covetousness.

For valuing our lives too much by the cultural values of worth, instead of by the values of the kingdom of God.

And maybe this financial crisis is a gift.  Maybe it is God’s way of yelling “Stop!” while his people run enthusiastically towards a street of oncoming traffic.  Maybe this crisis will remind us that the Ten Commandments were given to us for our own good.  They may feel old and dusty, but because they address the human condition, they are as relevant for America today as they were for Israel thousands of years ago.

The Ten Commandments are boundaries that orient us to what is good and healthful and holy.  They rein us in from our worst impulses and give us a framework to live together in a constructive and productive way.  They remind us that we are not alone, but that God created us and guides us.

The allure of making a quick buck, or having a nicer house than we can really afford, can seem really exciting and fun at the time.  Ultimately, however, what gives us deep satisfaction is not what we own, but how we live our lives.  Are we persons of integrity, and kindness and wisdom?  Do we reach out to those in need?  Are we honest with ourselves and others even when it is difficult?  Our dignity as human beings comes from these kind of questions, not how much money we have or whether our house is as nice as our friend’s house.

God wanted the Israelites to grow up and be a dignified, holy, mature people.  He wants that for us, too.  And we are in a better position even than the Israelites.  We have not only the Ten Commandments, but also infinite chances to ask forgiveness and start over through Christ’s death and resurrection.  We also have the gift of the Holy Spirit, who will help give us the strength and discipline to actually follow the Ten Commandments, rather than just feeling oppressed by them.

As dour and somber as the phrase “Ten Commandments” can sound, these boundaries are actually a great gift to us.  A gift that helps us to know how to be together as God’s people and helps make our life together full of integrity.

About a month ago, I realized that the lectionary was transitioning into Exodus.  I am embarrassed to admit it, but before I began working on the series of sermons about Joseph, I could not, for the life of me, remember how the Israelites ended up slaves in Egypt!  My Old Testament professors are somewhere shaking their heads in disappointment. I am very grateful to the author of Exodus for tying the end of Joseph’s story to the beginning of Moses’ story.  The author reminds us that Joseph’s brothers came to live in Egypt with him.  Over the years, they had children, and their children had children and before you know it, Jacob’s children were not just a family, they were a tribe-the Israelites. Remember, that Jacob’s name was changed to Israel after he wrestled with the angel.

God’s promise to Abraham is coming true-his descendants are multiplying.  There are not yet as many descendants as stars in the sky, but his family is getting there.  But as we’ve seen over and over again in history, when a minority group grows more numerous in any given culture, they become a perceived threat by the powers that be. 

In this case, the man in power is a king, Pharaoh, who has forgotten the important role that Joseph had in saving Egypt from famine. 

At first, this king enslaves the Israelites and forces them into hard physical labor.  But this did not stop the Israelites.  The text reads,

“But the more they were oppressed, the more they multiplied and spread, so that the Egyptians came to dread the Israelites.”

In his translation of the Pentateuch, Robert Alter points out that the imagery here is that of swarming.  The Israelites are industrious, even when oppressed, and they keep having babies, which makes the Egyptians very nervous.  So, the king develops a devious plan.

Pharaoh pulls aside the two head midwives and instructs them to kill all boys born to Israelites. 

If all Israelite boys are killed, then the people would not be able to reproduce, but the king could still have Israelite girls and women to do his bidding, at least for a generation. 

But what the king does not count for is the brilliance, nurturing spirit and outright trickery of women empowered to do the work of God.

The first women that rallied to save Moses did not even know Moses existed.  The two midwives, Shiphrah and Puah, smile and nod before the king, agree to kill the male babies, and then leave his office and continue to do their job as they have always done it. We are taught in Sunday School to always tell the truth, but here Shiphrah and Puah lie heroically and gloriously in order to save the Israelite children.  When the king asks why they have not done as he instructed them, they completely play to his ignorance and stereotypes about the Hebrew women and tell him that they are like animals and don’t even need midwives when they give birth. 

These midwives remind us that morality is complicated.  Most of the time it is wrong to lie, but if you’ve got Anne Frank in your attic, or Rwandan refugees in your hotel, or escaped slaves in your basement, suddenly it becomes your moral duty to lie your head off. 

The midwives’ trickery keeps the Israelite children safe for a time, but the Pharaoh will not be stopped.  He invites the people of Egypt to participate in genocide-to kill every Hebrew boy they see.  We have seen enough genocide in our lifetime:  in Sudan, Rwanda, the former Yugoslavia and for some of you in Russia and Europe to have some sense of how terrifying this must have been. 

The narrative lens focuses now and we go from fearing for all the Israelite babies to fearing for a particular baby, Moses, born of the tribe of Levi. 

Luckily, this is a boy with a very courageous mother and a very creative sister.  Mama Moses was able to nurse her baby for three months and keep him hidden, but she needed to do something drastic before Moses began to roll over or heaven forbid, crawl!  There is no hiding a crawling baby.  There is no one she can give him to where he will be safe, but there was a small chance he could be found by someone, someone who did not know his ethnic background, and that they would take him in and raise him safely.

So, Mama Moses puts her baby in a basket, waterproofs the basket, says her prayers and sends him on his way.  His sister, Miriam, has a little less trust in the universe and keeps her eye on her baby brother.  She follows him along the riverbank until he is rescued by who else but Pharaoh’s daughter!  Pharaoh’s daughter is no fool.  She immediately identifies the baby as a little Hebrew refugee, but that does not stop her heart from going out to him. 

If Pharaoh was not such a murderous dictator, I could almost feel sorry for him.  He is the man with the most power for hundreds of miles around, and yet, lowly women, Hebrew women, even his own daughter are aligned against him all to preserve the life of a child. 

In a wonderful twist, Miriam thinks quickly, and persuades Pharaoh’s daughter to let her find a wet nurse for the baby.  Miriam fetches her mother and so Moses’ mother gets to see her child grow, even if he is unaware of her identity.  Again, lies abound, but they abound in such a way that Moses grows up safely, and not only safely but with a deep knowledge of how the powerful Pharaoh thinks and works-perfect for a man who will one day need to confront him.

The five women who help Moses are acting out of human kindness and maternal drive to save one kid.  But in saving one kid, they are saving an entire nation!  By defying authority and risking their own safety, and doing what they think is right, they are setting in motion events that will liberate the Israelites from their bondage and in turn creating a story that will give hope to every generation that has been in bondage, particularly American slaves. 

Women-and men-are still in the business of rescuing children.  Last year, on an episode of, Oprah, I heard about the story of Lysa and Art TerKeurst.  Lisa and Art are the parents of three young girls.  One day Lysa went with the girls to hear a choir of Liberian boys sing.  After the performance, the audience learned that 12 of the 14 boys were orphaned and homeless after the recent war in their country.  They also learned that there were hundreds of more children in the same situation in their home country.  After the concert, Lysa had a long conversation with the boys and then called her husband.  She says,

“I had to get in the car and call him on the cell phone and say something like, ‘Hi, honey. Do we need milk? And by the way, there are two teenage boys from the other side of the world now calling me Mom.’”

Sure enough, the TerKeurst family ended up adopting two of the boys, but that is not where the story ends.  The TerKeursts live in North Carolina, and Lysa’s four best girlfriends were totally appalled by what seemed to be a spontaneous decision.  After all, who in their right mind suddenly opens their homes to teenagers from an entirely different culture?  Lysa invited her friends to a concert by the boys, and each one of her friends was so moved they each made the decision to adopt as well.

Yes, all five families now had taken in Liberian children.

And still, the story is not over.  After all was said and done FOURTEEN families in this North Carolina community took in homeless Liberian children.  They reached past their comfortable lifestyles, prejudices, and fear and opened their lives to the lives of others.

We don’t know what long term effect these adoptions may have on the boys, but we do know these families have given the children safety, security, education, love:  all the tools they will need to make a difference in the world. 

And they remind us to keep our eyes open, because we never know when we’ll have the same opportunity.