Mark 1:1-8

The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ.

As it is written in the prophet Isaiah, 

“See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,
who will prepare your way,
the voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
‘Prepare the way of the Lord;
make his paths straight,’ ”

 so John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. And the whole Judean region and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him and were baptized by him in the River Jordan, confessing their sins. Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. He proclaimed, “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the strap of his sandals. I have baptized you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

For the Word of God in scripture,
For the Word of God among us,
For the Word of God within us,
Thanks be to God.

***

With Thanksgiving and the start of Advent being back-to-back this year, it occurred to me that Advent is like the morning before the big Thanksgiving meal: you don’t just go about your normal routine, it is all about how you prepare yourself. In his book Voices of Advent, Matthew Skinner reminds us that Christian holidays are also called “feast days” in the church. He writes, “Feasts usually need to be preceded by an extended period of fasting…For one…, it takes work to prepare a feast and moderation to save the food you need for a supersized party. That was especially true for people in medieval Europe, because food was relatively scarce in December. Another reason is less practical and more spiritual: Abstaining from food—either entirely or in moderation—is considered by many an exercise in religious devotion meant to deepen a person’s sense of reliance on God alone. Fasting was not viewed as punishment but as something that can benefit your spiritual vitality and help prepare you for all that Christmas declares about God’s reliability and generosity.”

In Advent we prepare for Christmas. Not preparation as in shopping, decorating and cooking, but as in anticipation, longing and introspection—deepening our sense of reliance on God alone. The call of Advent is to pay attention to where it hurts, where the world is not right, and where we need healing, even dare we say, saving. Because before we celebrate the birth of our savior, it’s important to remember that we need one.

Which is why one of the first voices we hear during Advent is that of John the Baptist. Skinner calls John “one of the most peculiar figures in the Bible, and that’s saying something.” He appears in all four Gospels, as a herald and precursor for Jesus. We read Mark’s version today, which is the simplest. Luke gives us the fullest account. Matthew and John are somewhere in between but add their own unique flare.

Mark’s “Gospel gets right to the point,” writes Skinner, “beginning the whole story of Jesus with a short description of John…drawing from the Old Testament to give us a sense of [his] significance…John’s voice in Mark, along with John’s wardrobe and location, declares that a time of disruption is coming. John characterizes the public arrival of Jesus as an occasion marked by a divine intrusion and expression of God’s power.”

“Since we now live in a society—and a world—that is fitfully drifting toward fascism, the breaking of silence is altogether urgent,” writes Walter Brueggeman. “In the institutional life of the church, moreover, the breaking of silence by the testimony of the gospel often means breaking the silence among those who have a determined stake in maintaining the status quo.” In other words, those who have a voice have a responsibility to use it. But too often we stay silent!

“We need John’s voice in Advent,” writes Skinner. “As the Gospels tell their stories, John is also vital for setting Jesus in the context of agitation and protest. John expresses dissatisfaction with the current state of affairs. He’s eager for God to inject new life and forgotten convictions into the world. John leads us to reflect on our own expectations and frustrations. John urges us to get ready.”

The getting ready of Advent, the fasting before the feast, is removal of all the ways we deny, pretend, or otherwise ignore the state of affairs around us and within us. Before German pastor and theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer was martyred by the Nazi regime, he wrote, “The coming of God is truly not only a joyous message, but is, first, frightful news for anyone who has a conscience … God comes in the midst of evil, in the midst of death, and judges the evil in us and in the world.”

***

              A friend of mine is going through some things. The specifics don’t matter, because we’ve all been there. There are just times in life that are like that. It isn’t a matter of blame or guilt. Whether you are in control of the circumstances or not isn’t really important either. All that matters is that things aren’t right.

Of course, this is the very same time that everyone asks, “Are you alright?” or simply states, “Don’t worry. Everything will be okay.” To the first, you want to say “No, of course I am not alright.” To the second, you want to shout, “You don’t know that everything will be okay.”

Advent is the Christian calendars way of saying, “It’s okay not to be okay.” To my friend going through some things I said, “Of course you are not alright right now. No one would be in your circumstances.” Sometimes all we can do is acknowledge that things are not alright at the moment and might not be for some time. As Christians we can do this, without losing hope in God’s future and God’s promises. Rather Advent reminds us just how deep our hope runs.

The Right Rev. Maryanne Budde, the bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of DC, who famously pleaded with President Trump in her homily at his inauguration, recently traveled to Europe. The trip was part personal, to take her mother’s remains to be buried with her parents and part professional; she was giving a book talk in Sweden.

About her time oversees she writes, “The people I met in Europe wanted to talk about life in the United States, and I was moved by the depth of their concern. The question I was most frequently asked was some variation of “What is life like for you in America now?” While I didn’t presume to speak for all Americans, I tried to describe the fullness of our life, alongside the sober realities that make international headlines…The second most frequent question I was asked in Europe was “Where do you find your hope?” That was easier to answer. My hope is in Jesus, crucified and risen. No matter how I feel on a given day, Jesus has given me a path to walk and his light to see by. It is the way of love.” Then she wrote this, “When I falter and lose hope, others walking the path beside me become my hope bearers. I look to the example of those wondrous human beings across our world whose sacrificial love is like light shining in darkness.”

That’s it! Advent calls us to be hope bearers. To use our voice to tell the truth. We are not okay. Our world is broken and so are we. We have not loved God with our whole heart. We have not loved one another as God has loved us. We have done that which we should not and left undone that which we should have done. But we do not lose hope because God is not done with us yet! Before every feast, there’s a famine. So we pray, may the full feast of God’s justice come and come soon. While we wait Lord, come. Amen.

The post Voices of Advent: John the Baptist appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.

Discussion Questions:

1. Preparing the Way

• In what ways is Advent like the quiet morning before a great feast? How might slowing down and reflecting help prepare your heart for the coming of Christ?
• What practices—spiritual or otherwise—help you enter into the kind of preparation John the Baptist calls for?

2. John’s Voice in the Wilderness

• John the Baptist is described as a disruptive voice calling people to honesty and change. Where do you hear modern echoes of that prophetic voice?
• What voices today are calling attention to injustice or spiritual complacency? How might God be calling you to be a truth-teller?

3. Hope and Honesty

• The sermon reminds us that Advent allows space to say, “It’s okay not to be okay.” What does that mean for your life right now?
• Who are the “hope bearers” in your life—those who carry light in dark times? How can you become a hope bearer for someone else this season?

4. Repentance as Readiness

• John’s message of repentance isn’t about shame but about readiness. How do confession and truth-telling make space for grace and growth?
• What is one small step you can take this week to “make straight” a path for God in your life?

5. Being Voices of Advent

• The Advent season reminds us to use our voices rather than remain silent. What truth do you feel called to speak right now?
• As a church community, how can we be a prophetic voice—like John—helping prepare the world for love, justice, and the coming of Christ?

The post Sermon Discussion Guide: Voices of Advent: John the Baptist appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.

Jeremiah 29:1, 4–14

These are the words of the letter that the prophet Jeremiah sent from Jerusalem to the remaining elders among the exiles and to the priests, the prophets, and all the people whom Nebuchadnezzar had taken into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon. 

Thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel, to all the exiles whom I have sent into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease. But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare. For thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel: Do not let the prophets and the diviners who are among you deceive you, and do not listen to your dreams that you dream, for it is a lie that they are prophesying to you in my name; I did not send them, says the Lord. 

For thus says the Lord: Only when Babylon’s seventy years are completed will I visit you, and I will fulfill to you my promise and bring you back to this place. For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope. Then when you call upon me and come and pray to me, I will hear you. When you search for me, you will find me; if you seek me with all your heart, I will let you find me, says the Lord, and I will restore your fortunes and gather you from all the nations and all the places where I have driven you, says the Lord, and I will bring you back to the place from which I sent you into exile.

For the Word of God in scripture,
For the Word of God among us,
For the Word of God within us,
Thanks be to God.

***

“I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord. Plans for your welfare, not for your harm. To give you a future with hope.”

This beautiful, encouraging statement has been used in a variety of contexts over the years. You may have encountered it on a graduation card, or congratulations for a newborn baby, or at a baptism. We might encounter them in a condolence card when life has somehow not gone according to plan, or to encourage a young person who’s about to set off on a new adventure.

The words are meant to convey divine care and providence—the idea that the God of the universe loves and cares for us, has laid out a plan for each of our lives, and wants the absolute best for us. Michael Chan writes that this verse, “emblazoned on coffee mugs, jewelry, graduation cards, journals—has provided comfort to countless readers of the Bible. Its beauty is undeniable, and these words are certainly deserving of our thoughtful attention.”

So, when we pay careful attention, we might be surprised by what we find.

First of all, we’re still in a very tumultuous period of time in Israel’s history. You may recall from previous weeks, they’re still living in a divided kingdom—north and south—and in the southern kingdom in particular, things have gone from bad to worse. The Temple in Jerusalem—that center of religious and political life—has been destroyed by foreign invaders. They’ve sent all the rich and powerful of Jerusalem into exile in Babylon and replaced the king with a puppet who’s controlled by these foreign powers.

And onto this stage comes Jeremiah—the reluctant prophet, the weeping prophet. The people, they’re hungry for a word from God. They want to hear how these evil foreign powers are only temporary. That God will vanquish them and rescue God’s people, setting them free. That the north and the south will reunite, the Temple will be rebuilt—Jerusalem restored—even better than ever. That those in exile will return, the nations will heal, and the fortunes of each person will turn for the better.

But Jeremiah’s message is not that simple.

First of all, when it says, “I know the plans I have for you,” Jeremiah is not speaking to an individual person. He’s speaking to a collective. The Hebrew is plural. It’s not just “you,” but as we’d say in the South, “y’all.” Or better yet, “all y’all,” right? The plans I have for you—all of you.

The other thing that has a major impact on the way we understand these verses is the fact that these promises are being made less to those who are hearing them—and more to those who will come after them. It says right there in the passage: the period of exile is going to last for seventy years.

So, most of the people who are hearing these words will pass before they come to fruition.

Again, Professor Chan writes: “Jeremiah’s hope was set against a long, multi-generational horizon. It was hope that would be realized by future generations, not those who first heard the letter. The initial hearers would not ultimately be the beneficiaries.”

It might remind us of the people who had been released from slavery in Egypt. They had to wander the desert and the wilderness for forty years before they got to the promised new land. And as we read it, we realize—the group that sets out on that initial forty-year journey is not the same group that enters the Promised Land. People have passed away. Children have been born.

There’s this biblical theme: that the solace is given not for the current generation, but for future generations. Their solace is not in their own freedom, but in knowing that their people will not remain estranged. And that future generations will get to experience the return for which they themselves long.

What’s further surprising is that, in Jeremiah, the prophet tells them not only to make peace, but in the meantime, they’re to take up roots in this foreign land. They’re even to work—for the welfare of the city. Just to be clear, this is the city of their oppressors and their captors.

Professor Chan says: “instead of trying to manufacture a speedy return to Judah, Jeremiah calls upon his audience to exercise active, hopeful patience—by putting down roots, building lives, even working for the prosperity of their conquerors. Jeremiah’s words challenge the exiles not just to hold on to hope, but to act upon it through practical, everyday actions. Build. Live. Plant. Eat. Marry. Give. Bear. Multiply. Seek. Pray.

These are the verbs in the passage. These dynamic verbs call for active engagement with the world around them, even in the unfamiliar and often hostile environment of Babylon. Hope, in Jeremiah’s vision, is not passive or abstract. It’s lived out in the daily rhythms of life.”

The daily rhythms of life—that’s where hope is cultivated.

But Jeremiah knows that these small, daily acts reflect our faith in God’s promises. Remember, prophets are not those who are able to predict what happens in the future. Rather, they are those who trust so much in God’s future that they know it—not just as a possibility—but as an eventuality.

So it’s not so much that they have special knowledge about what is going to happen—so much as they know that no matter what happens, God is in control.

This idea—that some have special knowledge of the future that others do not—is a heresy called Gnosticism, which early Christians rejected. The name “Gnostic” comes from the Greek word for knowledge—gnosis. You can think Da Vinci Code here, where there are all these divine hidden secrets and clues in scripture and creation, or in history, that somehow some are able to decipher and gain an edge on the rest of us.

The early Church rejected this idea on the grounds that the Gospel does not prefer some over others. No one is given special knowledge—not even Jeremiah. Jeremiah doesn’t know exactly what’s going to happen in the future. But Jeremiah trusts in God, no matter what.

And that difference is really important, because one leads to resignation and passivity—while the other inspires courage, even in the most dire of circumstances.

Hope is often understood simply as wishful thinking, writes Professor Chan. “I hope we get a lot of rain this year. I hope things work out. I hope they go our way. But for Jeremiah, hope shapes action.”

Let me approach this a different way. Pastor Adam Hamilton writes that a member of his congregation once sent him a Facebook meme that said: “Everything happens for a reason—but sometimes the reason is just that you’re stupid and you make bad decisions.”

It’s not that the sentiment’s wrong—it just doesn’t go quite deep enough.

Hamilton affirms that “God guides us—by the Spirit, through Scripture and church. We pray. And through other Christians, God strengthens us. God walks with us. And we are called and empowered to be God’s hands and voice in the world.

But God doesn’t force us. God has shown us what is good and what’s required of us. But God also gives us freedom—to walk the path or to walk away from it.

And that choice is what makes us human.”

My friend Bobby Williamson talks about putting his five-year-old son in time out. He looks over and sees him crying, and he knows the boy’s sorry—but he and his wife have agreed that they’re supposed to be consistent in their consequences.

So instead of letting him out of time out, Bobby pulls up a chair and sits down next to him for the duration of the time.

Hearing him tell about this brought me back to my own experience as a child. It might not surprise you, but I had more than a few occasions to be put in time out—or grounded. And as I sat there, I can recall wondering if I had done something to make my parents stop loving me.

I know it seems silly, right? But you remember what it was like to be that young—to be a vulnerable child.

My parents’ love was everything to me. And the idea of losing it? Devastating.

Of course, I hadn’t lost it. Not even close. I was just experiencing the consequences of my own behavior. And they, out of love, let me experience them. But they never really left me on my own.

“I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “Plans for your welfare, not for your harm. To give you a future with hope.”

I hope you have people in your life who love you no matter what. I hope you have people in your life that you love no matter what.

And I hope that our church community can be a place where we can endeavor to be those who love and are loved unconditionally.

And while I certainly don’t want any of us to have seventy years of exile before we get a taste of God’s future… most of all, what I really wish is that we have complete and utter faith in the love of God. That, in the words of Paul, bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things.

Because sometimes in life, we do have to endure the consequences of our own actions.

But what a difference to know that we’re not alone. And that we’re loved, no matter what.

Amen.

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Isaiah 9:1-7

But there will be no gloom for those who were in anguish. In the former time he brought into contempt the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the latter time he will make glorious the way of the sea, the land beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the nations. 

The people who walked in darkness

    have seen a great light;

those who lived in a land of deep darkness—

    on them light has shined.

You have multiplied exultation;

    you have increased its joy;

they rejoice before you

    as with joy at the harvest,

    as people exult when dividing plunder.

For the yoke of their burden

    and the bar across their shoulders,

    the rod of their oppressor,

    you have broken as on the day of Midian.

For all the boots of the tramping warriors

    and all the garments rolled in blood

    shall be burned as fuel for the fire.

For a child has been born for us,

    a son given to us;

authority rests upon his shoulders,

    and he is named

Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Great will be his authority,

    and there shall be endless peace

for the throne of David and his kingdom.

    He will establish and uphold it

with justice and with righteousness

    from this time onward and forevermore.

The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this. 

For the Word of God in scripture,

For the Word of God among us,

For the Word of God within us,

Thanks be to God.

***

Now, I know I haven’t been the sharpest this morning already—with my Easter blunder there—but you’re probably wondering again if I have my dates mixed up, if I’m somehow confused. Why are we reading a Christmas Eve text before Thanksgiving?

Are we, as the Church, going the way of big business, starting Christmas observances earlier and earlier each year?

Don’t worry, you still have time.

We are actually reading these familiar words from Isaiah 9 more in their proper context. What I mean is, these words were not originally written about Jesus. They were written well before his time. And remember, prophets are not people that have special access to the future. Rather, they are people who have supreme trust in God’s future. Prophets are not fortune tellers.

Most scholars believe that the words of Isaiah 9 were written for a coronation of a new king, one that perhaps everybody was excited about. Scholars think maybe Hezekiah. During a time when Israel was at war—probably with Assyria—one biblical scholar, Charles Aaron Jr., writes: “The poem expresses deep political desires of the human heart. It presents a doctrine of a top-down picture of a leader who combines the best qualities of any person in authority. The leader displays wisdom, strength, concern for the poor, justice, and facilitates relationships, righteousness.”

Professor Mark Hamilton writes: “How do we speak of hope in a world filled with terror?” A solution eluded them then because centuries punctuated by war, forced migration, resettlement, and all the accompanying tragedies kept generating dialogue about the work of God in such a world.

For a while now, people in the biblical narrative have put their hope in kings. First in Saul, and then in David, and then in Solomon. And then we remember, things got so tumultuous that the kingdom split into the Northern and Southern Kingdom. And that’s where we are now.

And so these people are going through these traumatic times. There are pressures from other nations. There are pressures from inside. And once again, people are looking for a place to put their hope, a way out of this darkness.

Remember, this is a time when light is so important. A candle that lasts the night means safety and warmth and all of these things. But Professor Hamilton also writes, “Even if, as many scholars think, this poem originated in this context and is about this royal coronation, the placement of the text in this larger context allows it to mean more.”

It’s this hope-filled language that points to worlds not confinable to a single moment, and they trigger new imagination.

I love that. New imagination.

We don’t often think of going to the Bible for new imagination, do we? New insight? No, that’s old imagination and old insight. But no, right here in Isaiah, we have an example of new insight, new ideas about God. We’re allowed to do that. Did you know that?

We can use new ideas and images for God. That’s allowable. You could do that.

Aren’t we supposed to stick with what we have, though? Isn’t it somehow watering down God’s word when we mix it with our own?

What we sometimes forget is that all of our language about God is metaphor. All of it is symbol. All of it is story—a way of talking about God.

And so whatever we say about God, whatever our speech is about God, it’s always incomplete.

Barbara Brown Taylor puts it so beautifully. She says, “Our words are fragile, but oh what gorgeous sounds our failures make. Words flung against silence like wine glasses pitched against a wall. As lovely as they are, they’re meant for smashing. For when they do, it’s as if a little of God’s own music breaks through.”

In other words, when we speak of God, it is our humility—and not our certainty—which gets us closer to the truth.

There’s the big one, right? And we even get it a little bit in this passage: “Son of God.” We call Jesus Son of God. And we’ve taken this literally. And this is a hurdle for so many people that I know—that this title, this word, this phrase—we’ve turned it into something literal. We say Jesus is God’s only son.

But what do we mean by that? And what did they mean by that? And what might we mean by that?

The truth is that “Son of God” is not meant to convey a biological reality, but a theological one. It’s meant to help us understand how God and Jesus are related to one another—how they’re the same and yet different—how they’re one and yet many.

And so many in the ancient world related to them as a parent and a child—a father and a son. It’s a relationship of caring and sharing. If it had been a different kind of relationship that they meant to convey—one that was more hierarchical—they could have chosen something different, right? Ruler and subject. Boss and apprentice.

But the one that dominated—the one that has persisted—is parent and child, father and son, which is a more loving relationship.

So do you see how acknowledging that we don’t mean it literally doesn’t take power away from it? It actually lends credence to it. It gives it more depth. And it makes it more useful.

And theological language needs to be useful. If it’s not useful, what good is it?

Our language about God should bring us closer to God—not set barriers between us and God—not push us further away. It needs to shed light on the idea of God, not obscure it further in darkness.

A few weeks ago in adult education, we were talking—I don’t even remember exactly the subject—but I talked about it as if God’s love and God’s justice were like radio waves or some kind of wave constantly bombarding the earth. They’re always there. It’s always there for us to access. But we’re not always tuned into it, right? We’re not always tuned into the right frequency.

I said, well, we can think of Jesus as like a satellite dish. Jesus was always tuned in to that frequency—to God’s justice vision. It’s always there, but we don’t always receive it. But we can look to Jesus to interpret it for us.

Some people found that helpful. Some people were like, “Oh, I didn’t know we could do that. Are we allowed to do that?”

Another example I used to use—some of you won’t get this because you’re too young—but I used to talk about Jesus in the Gospels—in Matthew and Mark and Luke—was like… you remember a dial-up modem? You couldn’t be on the phone and the internet at the same time. Matthew and Mark and Luke, Jesus is like that with God. There’s a connection. It just takes a little while. It’s a little slower.

Whereas in John, it’s like DSL. Remember when DSL came? You could be on the phone and the internet and it was quicker. You know, you could download something. You didn’t… you didn’t have all the noises.

Well, so that was helpful—but it’s already, that analogy is already outdated.

I feel like that’s what we can do with our… and you all can come up with a lot better ones than I can. But that was one that was helpful to me to get that point across. It made it useful, right?

And there’s been a whole lot of discussion in recent decades over the predominantly male language for God that heavily emphasizes God as Father, right? And the case for this is strengthened when we notice how often Jesus himself uses this metaphor for God—notably using the overly familiar “Abba,” which is not just “Father,” but “Daddy.” It’s much closer.

Additionally, when Jesus is asked to pray, he tells his disciples to pray addressing what? God as “our Father.” And what we might miss now is how innovative that was at the time—that Jesus would go around referring to God as “Father” or “Daddy.” I’m sure more than a few religious gatekeepers criticized him for that: “He’s changing the language about God. He’s making it overly familiar. He should stick to what we have.”

But today, now, “Father” sometimes can be a little off-putting for people. Not everyone has a loving relationship with their father. “Father” means someone who is emotionally distant—maybe even cruel—maybe absent.

So do we just stop using “Father”? Do we throw it out?

No. But maybe we use it a little bit less. And maybe we mix it with other metaphors. And that’s why I begin the Lord’s Prayer the way I do—not because I want to change the tradition—but because tradition itself doesn’t use just one metaphor for God, but many.

That’s what the Bible does. Father. Mother. Rock. Redeemer. Savior. Lord. Friend. Companion. Guide. River. Lamb. Lion. Eagle. Protective mother hen.

These are just a few of the titles—the words—the metaphors that the Bible uses to address God, to refer to God.

As one of my mentors once said to me, “As Christians, our job is not just to believe what scripture says. It’s to do what the Bible does.” The Bible uses many names and metaphors for God—not just one. And it uses not just the old traditional ones—the ones that people are familiar with—it uses new and innovative ones as well.

So maybe it’s not just permissible for us to do so. Maybe we’re supposed to.

Now I started by saying—and maybe this caught some of you off guard, maybe some of you knew it—that the original author wasn’t referring to Jesus when he uses all these words: Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. We call Jesus “Prince of Peace,” right?

So what does it mean to say, “No, no, in Isaiah 9, not referring to Jesus but Hezekiah”? Who’s Hezekiah to us, right?

Does that mean we don’t follow Jesus?

No, of course not.

Acknowledging this doesn’t lessen its impact for us as Christians—quite the opposite.

You see, part of what I’m trying to show us is—we don’t have to trample on other traditions to uphold our own.

It’s important to recognize that first and foremost, this is a Hebrew text—written for the Hebrew people in their understanding of God. But it is also true that for us as Christians—for millennia—we have found Jesus in these words.

That’s to say, where people once put their hope in kings and warriors to save us—for many of us, once we met Jesus, once we heard him preach of God’s love, once we saw him heal the sick, embrace the outcast, challenge political and religious leaders of his day—we said, “That’s what a real king should look like.” That’s the type of ruler that we want.

One who leads from love and stands for justice. One who is not propping himself up at the expense of others.

So we can acknowledge that this is a Hebrew text and that it was not originally referring to Jesus. But we can also acknowledge that as Christians we have found him in these words. And that is where we place our hope.

It’s very interesting that Hebrew doesn’t have a past tense and a future tense. It has a perfect tense and an imperfect tense—something that has been completed and something that is yet to be completed.

When the author of Isaiah talks about this time in the future where peace will come—where we’ll no longer have need of the things of war, where we’ll have turned them into other things, where we are led by love, where righteousness and justice are not just constant—the author of Isaiah 9 says, “This is already completed. It just hasn’t happened yet.”

Being so sure of God’s future that even though it hasn’t happened, we know it’s going to—and so that is what we work ourselves toward.

So as we head into this season—one of thanksgiving and anticipation and hope—we’re going to hear a lot of different words for God. Different names. Different metaphors. Different language for Jesus and the reign of God.

May they not only enrich the message of God’s love and peace and justice, may they be a reminder for us to do what scripture does—to find new ways to communicate and show and make real and make tangible this gospel that we proclaim in word and deed, that the world may grow more and more into the likeness of the Holy who cannot be contained by our language but who invites us to try nonetheless.

Because in our trying—and even in our failing—we move ever closer to this ineffable mystery that we call God. This love in which we live and move and have our being.

Amen.

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