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.

The post An Idea Is Born to Us appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.

Discussion Questions:

1. Prophetic Imagination & Hope

• Isaiah 9 was originally written for a coronation in ancient Israel, likely during a time of war. How does understanding this historical context shift or deepen your appreciation for the text?
• Pastor Mark shared that prophets aren’t fortune-tellers but people with “supreme trust in God’s future.” What does it look like to trust God’s future in our world today?

2. Language About God

• The sermon reminded us that all language about God is metaphor. How does that affect how you engage with titles like “Father,” “Son of God,” or “Prince of Peace”?
• What are some new or different metaphors you’ve used—or might be open to using—for God? How do these reflect your lived experience?

3. Jesus as Metaphor and Meaning

• Pastor Mark explored how calling Jesus the “Son of God” expresses theological, not biological, truth. How does that shape your understanding of Jesus’ relationship to God—and to us?
• Which metaphors or descriptions of Jesus feel especially relevant or powerful in your faith right now?

4. Inclusive and Evolving Faith

• The sermon emphasized that it’s not only okay to use new images and language for God, it may be essential. How do we balance tradition and innovation in faith language?
• How can the church model this openness while honoring diverse spiritual experiences?

5. Practicing Hope and Light

• Isaiah speaks of light shining in darkness. Where do you see glimpses of that light today?
• What does it mean to live with “imperfect tense” hope—believing God’s vision of peace is already completed, even if it hasn’t happened yet?

6. Applying the Sermon

• How might you explore or introduce new God-language in your own prayer or spiritual practice this week?
• As a church, how can we better reflect a community that welcomes evolving understandings of God, rooted in justice, hospitality, and curious faith?

The post Sermon Discussion Guide: An Idea Is Born to Us appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.

We are skipping over a whole lot to get from where we were last Sunday, which was Moses and Aaron had led the people of Israel out of Egypt and out of slavery, out of Pharaoh’s grasp. And they escaped through the Red Sea, and they find themselves in the wilderness.

And after just a short amount of time, they begin to wonder what they’re doing out there—where their next meal is going to come from—and they begin to question the plan. And Moses and Aaron reassure them: “No, God will take care of us. We just have to trust each day in our daily bread.”

Well, as I mentioned last week, that was at the beginning of their forty-year journey in the wilderness. We are on the other side of that journey—and through the time of the Judges, where local authorities were more in charge—and now to this time where they’re trying to consolidate power, consolidate government under kings and prophets.

1 Samuel 3:1–21
Now the boy Samuel was ministering to the Lord under Eli. The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.

At that time Eli, whose eyesight had begun to grow dim so that he could not see, was lying down in his room; the lamp of God had not yet gone out, and Samuel was lying down in the temple of the Lord, where the ark of God was. Then the Lord called, “Samuel! Samuel!” and he said, “Here I am!” and ran to Eli and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” But he said, “I did not call; lie down again.” So he went and lay down. The Lord called again, “Samuel!” Samuel got up and went to Eli and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” But he said, “I did not call, my son; lie down again.” Now Samuel did not yet know the Lord, and the word of the Lord had not yet been revealed to him. The Lord called Samuel again, a third time. And he got up and went to Eli and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” Then Eli perceived that the Lord was calling the boy. Therefore Eli said to Samuel, “Go, lie down, and if he calls you, you shall say, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.’ ” So Samuel went and lay down in his place.

Now the Lord came and stood there, calling as before, “Samuel! Samuel!” And Samuel said, “Speak, for your servant is listening.” Then the Lord said to Samuel, “See, I am about to do something in Israel that will make both ears of anyone who hears of it tingle. On that day I will fulfill against Eli all that I have spoken concerning his house, from beginning to end. For I have told him that I am about to punish his house forever for the iniquity that he knew, because his sons were blaspheming God, and he did not restrain them. Therefore I swear to the house of Eli that the iniquity of Eli’s house shall not be expiated by sacrifice or offering forever.”

Samuel lay there until morning; then he opened the doors of the house of the Lord. Samuel was afraid to tell the vision to Eli. But Eli called Samuel and said, “Samuel, my son.” He said, “Here I am.” Eli said, “What was it that he told you? Do not hide it from me. May God do so to you and more also, if you hide anything from me of all that he told you.” So Samuel told him everything and hid nothing from him. Then he said, “It is the Lord; let him do what seems good to him.”

As Samuel grew up, the Lord was with him and let none of his words fall to the ground. And all Israel from Dan to Beer-sheba knew that Samuel was a trustworthy prophet of the Lord. The Lord continued to appear at Shiloh, for the Lord revealed himself to Samuel at Shiloh by the word of the Lord.

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.

***

Rob Bell noticed that his children had this odd habit when they called out for him. Instead of just saying, “Daddy,” to get his attention, they would always say, “Daddy, Daddy”—always three times.

Why three times?

He always wondered about this peculiar calling until one day he was at the playground with his kids. They were having a good time on the slides and the swings and they were playing with the other kids. And he was looking on and watching when suddenly his phone buzzed.

And he looked down, and he checked it, and sure enough—it was an email from his publisher. He’d been waiting for this response, and he opened it with great anticipation.

And as he was reading the email and making sense—not only of what it said, but all that it meant for him and his career and their future—he heard this strange noise off in the distance.

“Daddy…”

Then again, this time a little bit closer:

“Daddy…”

And then finally, full volume—realizing that one of his children was right in front of him, tugging on his shirt:

“Daddy!”

And that’s when he finally understood. It wasn’t some quirk of theirs. They had learned that it takes three times to get his attention. Because he has this habit of being there—but not really being there. Distracted by work, by his phone. His kids had gotten used to saying his name three times to get his attention.

Well, it took the Lord four times to get Samuel’s attention.

He called out, “Samuel, Samuel. Samuel…” and even then, it was Eli who realized what might be happening.

The first three times, Samuel thought that he was hearing his mentor, Eli, in the other room. He must be the one calling him in the night. Who else could it be? No one else was there. And yet he keeps hearing, “Samuel… Samuel…” until it’s so close that you can no longer deny it. It is like the voice is right there in the room with him.

And Eli, who has more experience with this sort of thing, says: “Go back. And if you hear it again, say, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.’”

Now, there are several things that we can take away from this exchange.

According to Amy Oden, she says:
Notice how this encounter happens at night. First, both Samuel and Eli are lying down—a posture of stillness and receptivity. A spiritual practice.

What listening practices do we have? What pauses or openings do we create in our daily lives for the holy?

Second, God calls Samuel by name. God addresses Samuel directly. Separately from messages that God sends more generally to the whole people, God is speaking here to just Samuel. There is an intimacy in God speaking Samuel’s name directly—and persistently.

It’s hard for most of us to imagine, isn’t it? Much less accept that God could be speaking to us personally—to our particular time and place, to our own biography, our own personality.

Have you ever thought about that?
Have you ever asked yourself:
Am I willing to let God speak personally to me?
To my particularity?
What does it sound like when God calls my name?

Third, Samuel doesn’t recognize the voice. It’s reassuring, isn’t it?

Even when God speaks his name directly, Samuel doesn’t recognize God’s voice. It takes someone else—his mentor Eli—to help him even entertain the possibility that it is the Word of the Lord speaking to him.

Professor Oden writes: that’s what the body of Christ—that’s the role that we can play. We need each other to help us pay attention and recognize when God is speaking in our lives. Sometimes it’s easier for our friends to notice it, right?

“Can you not see what God is saying to you?”

Fourth, God is persistent.
God doesn’t get fed up with Samuel not getting it.

This means the divine revelation does not depend on our spiritual quickness, but on God’s faithfulness to us. If we don’t get it, God will try again.
And again.
And again.

And last, and not least—we may not like what we hear.

There’s no denying the message that is given to Samuel for Eli is hard. Eli doesn’t want to hear it.

How do we receive what God is saying to us—and what sermon might come from listening to God—as we determine its meaning for our lives?

Now, anytime I start listing things, I always feel like I need to give the caveat: I don’t want it to sound like these are the steps for having a faith of our own. If only it were that easy.

There are no one-size-fits-all prescriptions for forming faith, nor is there a single outcome.

One of the things that this story shows us is that each of us has our own calling.
Each of us has our own story.
Each of us hears scripture in our own way.

They’re all different, and no two are the same—and that’s good. Because faith is not monochrome.

And the further I get in my own ministry, the more and more I am convinced that my role is not to teach the faith or espouse a particular set of doctrines.

Rather, it’s to help us—as individuals and as a community—to be able to articulate our own faith, our own particular beliefs and doubts. Questions.

Isn’t that an exciting vision of what church could be?

Barbara Brown Taylor writes:

“What if people were invited to come tell what they already know of God, instead of to learn what they’re supposed to believe?
What if they were blessed for what they’re already doing in the world instead of chastised for not doing more at church?
What if church itself felt more like a way station than a destination?
And what if the church’s job were to move people out the door, instead of to keep them in—by convincing them that God needs them more in the world rather than in the church?”

In other words, the church at its best is like Eli in this story—helping to discern God’s voice, not insisting that the next generation be a replica of the previous. Not viewing diversity of opinions as a threat, but as a blessing.

Eli is Samuel’s spiritual mentor and his guide. He’s not simply telling Samuel to walk the same path that he did, but he gives him the freedom and the support to find his own path.

Now to be clear—I’m not suggesting that one generation doesn’t have wisdom to share with the next. Clearly, each generation has wisdom to share. But each new generation also has its own path.

So I hope you hear what I’m saying today.
Because it’s really important.

You do not simply have to accept what has been passed down to you without your question or input.

Our faith is never set in stone. It is alive, and it is evolving.

You’re allowed—indeed, you’re encouraged—to bring your own thoughts, your own questions, your own doubts, experience to bear on this faith that we are trying to live out together. That’s both individual and communal.

Because that’s the tension that we live in.
We share our faith with one another, but without insisting that we all have to agree on every last little thing.

It’s been pointed out that you can insist on being right, or you can be loving, but you can’t necessarily be both.

Love of God and neighbor means that we hold onto our beliefs and our doctrines lightly.

What I mean by that is not that we don’t take them seriously—in fact, quite the opposite. We take them very seriously and realize that they can have great impact.

Which is why we also hold onto them lightly—because sometimes our beliefs can have unintended consequences. And if we find that our beliefs have caused harm to others that we did not intend, then we need to be willing to re-evaluate those beliefs, rather than valuing dogma over people.

Notice that it’s become popular once again to proclaim this hierarchy of love.

“I love—” you know, we’ll list them on a t-shirt or whatever—
“I love God first, then family, then my country, then my Honda…” I don’t know. Whatever it is. “I love this first, and then I love that.”

But where does Jesus ever talk about love in any kind of hierarchical way?

He very specifically says when asked:
Love of God and love of neighbor are not ranked.
They’re the same thing.

So if our dogma—if our beliefs—result in us harming our neighbor, whether we intend it or not, whether our neighbor be female, or queer, or foreign, or poor, or Black, or Brown, then it’s our dogma—our belief—that needs reevaluating, not the other way around.

Because as William Sloane Coffin reminds us:

“The time is always right to change our minds when to do so is to widen our hearts.”

Amen.

The post A Faith of Our Own appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.

Discussion Questions

1. Hearing God’s Voice

• The young Samuel hears God’s call repeatedly but does not recognize it until Eli guides him.
  o Have you ever felt uncertain whether something was “from God” or not?
  o Who or what helps you discern God’s voice in your life?
• The sermon reminded us that “God doesn’t give up.”
  o How does God’s persistence in calling Samuel speak to your own spiritual journey?
  o Where in your life do you feel God might be trying to get your attention?

2. Creating Space for the Holy

• Samuel and Eli were lying down, a position of rest and openness.
  o What practices help you slow down and listen for the holy in your life?
  o Where do you create space to be spiritually receptive—in your home, routine, or relationships?

3. Intergenerational Wisdom

• Eli didn’t push Samuel to copy his own path; instead, he supported Samuel in listening for God’s unique call.
  o What role does mentorship or spiritual friendship play in your life right now?
  o How can we as a church support different generations in finding their own voice?

4. Faith that Evolves

• Pastor Mark said, “Our faith is never set in stone. It is alive and evolving.”
  o How has your understanding of faith changed over time?
  o What questions or doubts are part of your faith right now?
• The sermon encourages each person to articulate their own faith.
  o If someone asked you what you believe, what would you say today?

5. Holding Belief Lightly and Lovingly

• The message reminded us that belief should never harm others—and if it does, it must be reexamined.
  o Have you experienced moments when belief was used in a hurtful way? How did you respond?
  o How can we as a church hold our beliefs in ways that expand love, not limit it?

6. Faith in Action

• Quoting Barbara Brown Taylor, Pastor Mark asked:
  “What if church felt more like a way station than a destination?”
  o How does this change how you think about the purpose of church?
• What might God be calling you to do or become right now?
  o What’s one small step you can take this week to follow that call?

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