Malachi 3:1-4
Philippians 1:3-11
Luke 3:1-6
The third chapter of Luke’s Gospel begins
filled to the brim
with empirical noise.
In the midst of empire and more empire
and rulers and rulers and rulers
and priests and priests and priests
layers and layers and layers
of might wielding
and hierarchical death dealing
John cuts through like a knife —
John, son of Zechariah
and Elizabeth,
the unlikely one
whose very singular
and small birth
left his father speechless —
cries out
a lone voice in the wilderness:
Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight.
Every valley shall be filled,
and every mountain and hill shall be made low,
and the crooked shall be made straight,
and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.
In other words:
everything’s about to change.
I wondered:
Did anyone hear him?
How did anyone hear him
amidst empire’s words of war,
so many words of woe,
that, to the life of the people,
meant so little?
This week,
I long not to preach,
to not search for words
in the arsenal of words
for that which is beyond all words.
Preaching feels too close to noise.
I long to be Jewish,
for those brothers and sisters have a way of writing God
that cannot be spoken —
for it is all vowels — YHWH —
only breathed.
That feels truer than true.
Surrounded on all sides
by layers and layers of impotent inaction
after weeks and weeks of mass shootings
and hours upon hours of blasphemous Trump loops
and Fallwell’s commentary on Trump loops
I long to just sit and breathe
with you all.
Words can be doorways
opening a way,
or hands reaching out in the dark
grasping for a way,
but breathing together
feels more honest.
Like, what I know about the great I AM is:
you and me and
in and out,
in and out,
in and out,
cutting our way
through the layers of
death and bullshit
back to God.
It seems I am also feeling a bit Buddhist today.
But really,
after weeks and weeks and weeks
of living in newsfeeds where violent carnage
is the new, strange and unsettling normal
and there is so much so much so much
to make you feel alien,
like you don’t belong to the world
and the world doesn’t belong to you,
I don’t want to tell you about the Breathing One
who changes everything.
I want to stand up here,
climb up on this pulpit
and hold up a mirror
so you could see yourselves this week
breathing together
and how the change
has already begun.
How you sang together,
how you came alongside one another,
how you fed one another,
and cried and touched and cradled one another —
despite the terror that was supposed to,
meant to, designed to
tear you apart.
I know it sounds simple
and small and insignificant,
like a voice crying out in the wilderness,
but it’s a start,
a radical, defiant beginning.
In the face of fear,
you made love,
you blessed a baby-almost-born,
you found one another in coffee shops
and across tables,
you watched one another’s children,
you drove one another to appointments.
Susan made the most amazing turkey soup
and Sara made curry
and Michael made bread.
Ali made music
and Angie made laughter
and Dory made prayer.
LaVeta and Dick schemed relationships
and Mira and Eric schemed neighborhoods
and Debbie and Eric and John schemed bathrooms —
cause we’re gonna need functional ones downstairs
as Scott and Cheryl scheme hospitality and sharing place
in the waves and waves and waves of displacement.
Rather than grasping at words
that feel insignificant,
I’d rather climb to the top of this earth
and say: Pick your head up out of your numbing devices
and look! Because I know you would not see mobs,
but black and brown brothers and sisters, joined by pink brothers and sisters
risking their lives on picket lines
in Chicago and North Minneapolis
because love and justice and not one more…
Because I know you’d see justice hungry peoples
and borders opening up
and houses of faith opening up
and homes opening up.
And where you saw another brown-skinned brother
beaten or shot or left for dead,
where you saw doors locked and borders shut up,
and churches and mosques burning down
and neighbors shut out —
if you could stay there long enough to let yourself breathe with them
in and out
in and out
in and out
you would stop and weep and light a candle and start to scheme
because you would know we belong to one another.
It’s almost as if the One beyond words
is not beyond hands and feet
and head and heart and body
and you and me
and breathing
in and out
in and out
in and out.
I’m not gonna preach today.
You’ve already done that.
So, let’s just sit here,
you and me
and breathe
in and out,
in and out,
in and out
and stop and weep
and light a candle
and eat
and get on with the scheming.
Bell + Bell + Bell
In and out
In and out
In and out.
+Amen
Spokin' in Portland 