Now when Jesus learned that the Pharisees had heard, “Jesus is making and baptizing more disciples than John” (although it was not Jesus himself but his disciples who baptized), he left Judea and started back to Galilee. But he had to go through Samaria. So he came to a Samaritan city called Sychar, near the plot of ground that Jacob had given to his son Joseph. Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired out by his journey, was sitting by the well. It was about noon.

A Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.” (His disciples had gone to the city to buy food.) The Samaritan woman said to him, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” (Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans.) Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.” The woman said to him, “Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? Are you greater than our ancestor Jacob, who gave us the well and with his sons and his flocks drank from it?” Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.” The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.”

Jesus said to her, “Go, call your husband, and come back.” The woman answered him, “I have no husband.” Jesus said to her, “You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband,’ for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!”

The woman said to him, “Sir, I see that you are a prophet. Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you say that the place where people must worship is in Jerusalem.” Jesus said to her, “Woman, believe me, the hour is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. You worship what you do not know; we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews. But the hour is coming and is now here when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father seeks such as these to worship him. God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth.” The woman said to him, “I know that Messiah is coming” (who is called Christ). “When he comes, he will proclaim all things to us.” Jesus said to her, “I am he, the one who is speaking to you.”

Just then his disciples came. They were astonished that he was speaking with a woman, but no one said, “What do you want?” or, “Why are you speaking with her?” Then the woman left her water jar and went back to the city. She said to the people, “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?” They left the city and were on their way to him…

Many Samaritans from that city believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, “He told me everything I have ever done.” So when the Samaritans came to him, they asked him to stay with them, and he stayed there two days. And many more believed because of his word. They said to the woman, “It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the Savior of the world.”

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.

***

How have you been passing the time this week? I mean beside shoveling and rearranging your schedule.

Interestingly, the quote from last Sunday bulletin—the one we missed— was from the Rev. Rebecca Mallozzi was suggestive of a couple ways to cope with being snowed in. She writes, “I hope you lean into that curiosity and wonder, in the same way you might lean into a good story or a warm quilt, trusting that our Creating God is still working in ways we have yet to see.”

Amy and I have been enjoying watching the squirrels digging in the snow in our backyard. You see, we have a giant oak tree that sheds more acorns than we can deal with. We try to collect them in the fall, but inevitably there are piles left around the yard. The squirrels are grateful for this supply of nutrition and even under nearly a foot of snow, they can detect their presence, dig them up and have themselves a mid-winter feast. You see, there are signs everywhere of the benevolent work beneath the surface, just waiting for us to dig it up!

Last week we were supposed to read John 3, the story of Jesus encounter with Nicodemus under the cover of night. The overall picture is of a religious leader who is curious about Jesus, but is afraid of what others might think. He is trying to get Jesus’ message, but can’t quite grasp it. Today’s reading is in many ways the mirror image of last week’s…

Allison deForest writes, “In a blaze of light, Jesus encounters a woman of Samaria at a well. This story is presented in deliberate contrast to the earlier story of Nicodemus. The leader of the Pharisees comes in darkness, and by the end of his story in John 3, his belief is still suspect. Though he seems the most likely person to understand and receive Jesus, he leaves confused and uncommitted. On the other hand, Jesus encounters the woman at noon, the brightest part of the day, and though she is one of the people least likely to comprehend him, she receives what he offers with joy and becomes one of the first of his apostles by bearing witness to her whole community.”

The day before the storm I attended a BUILD gathering with RPPC Elder Barbara Jarvis. BUILD stands for Baltimoreans United in Leadership Development. If you are not familiar, BUILD is an organization that uses community organizing to unite around issues that impact the community, and use our collective influence and power to put pressure on elected officials to address the issues that matter most to the people. From their website: BUILD is a broad-based, non-partisan, interfaith, multiracial community power organization rooted in Baltimore’s neighborhoods and congregations. For more than 45 years, BUILD has worked to improve housing, increase job opportunities, and rebuild schools and neighborhoods, among other issues.

To set the stage my colleague from Brown Memorial Presbyterian Church downtown, Andrew Connors gave a passionate plea to overcome dominant power with relational power. Essentially, dominant power is about “power over,” while relational power is “power with.” Dominant power is a top-down, often coercive, and visible form of control used to impose will and gain compliance. In contrast, relational power is a subtle, horizontal, and network-based influence, rooted in trust and mutual benefit. Dominance forces compliance, whereas relational power fosters cooperation and persuasion.

It is interesting to use this lens of dominant versus relational power to help us uncover what be going on in John chapters 3 & 4. Jesus interactions with both Nicodemus and the Samaritan woman are clear examples of relational power. Jesus meets them where they are, seeks to understand them, and offers to be in relationship with them. When Nicodemus has trouble shedding the familiar trappings of dominant power has trouble understanding Jesus’ meaning.

At this point the Gospel of John offers one of the clearest statements that the God of the Universe is not interested in dominant power when it declares: God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world but in order that the world might be saved through him.

The Samaritan Woman has an easier time understanding Jesus’ message of relational power, because like all those who are closer to the bottom of the ladder of society, she lives with an acute awareness of her dependence on others.

Friends, this is how our world is saved. Not through dominant power, but relational power. Dr. King reminded us, “Power without love is reckless and abusive, and love without power is sentimental and anemic. Power at its best is love implementing the demands of justice, and justice at its best is power correcting everything that stands against love.”

In the end, Nicodemus returns home and tells no one about his interaction with Jesus. The Samaritan woman, on the other hand, returns home and tells everyone. “He told me everything I have ever done, she tells them.” And based on her testimony, the invite Jesus to stay with them for two days. Even in that short time, their relational power grows. They say to the woman, “It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the Savior of the world.”

Next Sunday is the day that companies will spend billions of dollars on advertisements to convince you that you are not enough, that you are incomplete, without their product. The Reverend Joanna Adams writes, “There are so many voices that would tell us who we are and what makes our lives valuable—that we are what we have, we are the car we drive, we are how we look—but all of that is a lie. We are first and last the beloved of God. We are the reason Christ came into the world and gave his life. Our lives will be pepper and salt, honey and vinegar, but more than anything, they are grace, divine grace. Grace beneath us. Grace above us. Grace everywhere.”

Jesus meets the Samaritan Woman at the well in the middle of the day and says, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.”

What’s in your well?

The post What’s in Your Well? appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.

Well, sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good.

I wish I could claim that I had planned for our renovations to be complete and that I would launch a sermon series on our campaign theme, Come and See. But I didn’t plan it—it just turned out that way. Because the Narrative Lectionary has us in the Gospel of John this January, and that’s where we hear that invitation from Jesus to his first disciples.

He doesn’t say, “Worship me.” He doesn’t say, “Become my disciple.” He simply offers this open-ended invitation: Come and see.

I ran across a quote this week that really summarizes—succinctly and nicely, I think—what the overall message is that I’m trying to impart through all these sermons in the Come and See series. It’s a quote from a mentor of mine, Dave Davis, who’s pastor of Nassau Presbyterian Church in Princeton. He said:

“When it comes to following Jesus, the life of discipleship, the call to be a faithful steward of God’s gifts, and one’s relationship with God—it was never about a memory verse, a poster, a slogan, or a program. It is about an invitation to a divine relationship that offers a window into the very heart of God.”

John 2:1–11

On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” And Jesus said to her, “Woman, what concern is that to me and to you? My hour has not yet come.” His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to them, “Fill the jars with water.” And they filled them up to the brim. He said to them, “Now draw some out, and take it to the person in charge of the banquet.” So they took it. When the person in charge tasted the water that had become wine and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), that person called the bridegroom and said to him, “Everyone serves the good wine first and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now.” Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee and revealed his glory, and his disciples believed in him.

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.

***

An exorcism. A wedding. Or a sermon. Either in Nazareth or on the Mount.

It would’ve been nice if the four Gospel writers had gotten the story straight. They don’t even agree on Jesus’ first public appearance. I mean, come on!

Of course, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John are from different areas, different times, and they have different overriding concerns and perspectives—which perhaps accounts for the different ways they choose to tell their story.

Mark and Luke don’t agree on everything, but they hold the most in common. And John—John is widely agreed to be the last to be written, and it has the most unique, original material.

Perhaps the most important difference between John and the rest is the characterization of the relationship between the earliest followers of Jesus and their Jewish community. In Matthew and Luke, the Jesus movement is still part of Judaism. It’s under the umbrella.

But by the time John writes later, tensions have grown among the two communities, and they’re starting to fracture.

Now, I’ve used this analogy before, but I think it’s really helpful to think of John as a teenager.

As you know, it is a teenager’s job to grow from being a dependent child into their own unique personhood. The necessary separation between parent and child is rarely smooth—and often includes churlishness, moodiness, and sometimes full-out rebellion. (And that’s just the parents!)

But seriously, we know that it is the job of a teenager to challenge authority.

Now, if we think of John as the teenager of the Gospel writers, then when we see him speak negatively of “the Jews,”—a term he uses often in the Gospel—we can understand that this reflects a very specific and unique period in the long history between Jews and Christians.

It is a misuse of the text to take these temporary sentiments as the all-time stance for the relationship between Christians and Jews.

The truth of the matter is that we share much of the same story as our Jewish siblings, and we do not improve our faith at all by denigrating theirs. Quite the opposite.

No one knows the Jewish story better than they do, of course. Some of my deepest, most meaningful, and impactful theological conversations have been with rabbis. They’ve helped me understand my own faith and tradition better.

I believe—and my experience has taught me again and again—that our faith traditions, Jews and Christians, although unique and distinct, are much more in line and much more complementary than they are in conflict. I would add Muslims to that as well.

So when we read John and his apparent animosity toward “the Jews,” we need to be very mindful and very careful. We do not want to feed into Christianity’s sin of antisemitism—even though, unfortunately, it’s true that these texts have been used as justification for all kinds of evil.

And so, we cannot simply read John and these passages and ignore this history.

Therefore, I find it helpful to re-translate. When John says “the Jews,” I re-translate that to “religious authorities,” or sometimes “Jewish religious authorities.” The purpose of this is to remind us that John was not talking about Jewish people in general—and certainly not Jewish people of all times and places. He was talking about a very specific group of mostly religious leaders who were opposing these earliest followers of Jesus.

The real difference between people of faith is not between Jews and Christians. It’s between those genuinely seeking a path of spiritual enlightenment and a way of living—and those who would use their power for their own desires.

So let me stop explaining and start showing.

Today’s passage is a familiar one: the wedding at Cana.

Jesus is there with his pals. His mother’s there too. We notice that in John’s Gospel, she’s called the mother of Jesus—never by name, Mary. Right?

This introduces us to something unique John does: he’s more apt to refer to people by their relationship to Jesus, rather than by their name. So it’s not just Mary, but the mother of Jesus. It’s not just disciples, but the beloved disciple, for example.

In addition, Jesus’ response when his mother points out that the host has run out of wine—it’s probably not meant to be as harsh as it sounds in English. I have so much trouble reading that! I don’t know how to read those words without it sounding insulting. But I don’t think it was meant that way.

So there we are. Jesus and his followers are at a wedding where the host has run out of wine—a huge faux pas. A big shame on the host. His mother alerts him to the problem. He indicates he’s not really ready to start the show quite yet—I mean, you only get one chance at a first impression, right?

But despite this… his mother just proceeds without him!

Jesus decides to do something about the situation. He spots some large jars used for Jewish rites of purification. He asks the stewards to fill the jars with water, which they do. And when the chief steward draws water from the jar, it turns out to be wine.

And not just any wine—but good wine. Twenty to thirty gallons of good wine added to the pot. The party’s saved. Everyone’s impressed.

That’s the story.

So what do we make of it?

Some interpreters like to focus on the detail about the jars being used for Jewish purification rites. Why tell us that detail? Could this be an indication that Jewish purification rites are no longer needed? That they’ve been replaced by the wine of celebration now that Jesus is here?

A clear indication of the supremacy of Christianity over Judaism?

Have you heard that one before? I have.

It seems to me that it misses the point—big time.

I mean, you have to do some pretty fancy footwork to make it all work. Maybe the jars were just there because… they were there!

You know, there’s a difference between approaching Scripture like a miner—whose job is to extract the one and only possible truth—and approaching Scripture like an explorer: someone who is curious, asking questions, enjoying the process of learning and discovery.

So let’s look at the passage again.

John chooses a wedding as the setting of Jesus’ first public act. Not a pulpit. Not a house of worship.

A wedding.

A celebration of joy and love. Where the whole community is invited and participates. Where so much fun and joy and fellowship is happening that they run out of wine.

I mean… what a party, right?

And what about Jesus?

He’s simply there to celebrate with the newlywed couple. And when the wine runs out, he doesn’t take the spotlight. In fact, the only people who know he had anything to do with it are his mother, the stewards, and his followers.

Everyone else just assumes they brought out more wine—or maybe they were never aware it had run out in the first place.

Sounds like not everybody was in the best shape, right?

In either case, the party continues. And at heart, that’s what this story is about.

Did you notice what John calls all of this?

He doesn’t call it a miracle. He calls it a sign.

The other Gospels talk about Jesus’ miracles. But in John, he prefers the word sign.

Why is that?

Well, a miracle is more of an aberration, isn’t it? It’s an exception to the norm.

But a sign… a sign is an indication. A marker that you’re on the right path. A glimpse into the way things really are.

In her Pulitzer Prize–winning book Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, Annie Dillard tells of growing up as a child in Pittsburgh. She was about six or seven at the time, and she played this game where she would hide a shiny new penny—one of her very own—along the path where someone else might find it.

She’d tuck it off to the side, in a crack in the sidewalk or under a leaf. Then she’d hide and watch to see if someone would notice it.

If no one did, she’d put up a sign that said something like, “Surprise ahead!”

She just believed—deep down—that there were signs in the universe for those who had the eyes to see them.

Jesus’ signs are like that too—offered with great generosity and great love.

And these signs are everywhere. They invite us to consider our surroundings. [NOTE: audio appears to drop out briefly here]

English author Terry Pratchett once said that humans believe in the strangest miracles—flowers blooming in concrete, weeping statues. But what if it’s not that we need more miracles… it’s that we need better eyes?

Maybe everyday miracles are enough. If we’re open enough to experience them. If we can see.

God’s love and grace constantly surround and uphold us.

Like two people committing themselves to each other in love.
Like a community joined together in celebration.
Like the good gifts of food and drink.
Like justice over hate.
Like the company of family and friends.

These are signs that we are on the way—Jesus’ Kingdom way.

After a week like the one we just had, Reverend Ginger Gaines-Cirelli reminds us what this way looks like. She writes,“Christianity is not about controlling others or protecting our privilege. It is about following Jesus, who consistently chose love over domination, who chose compassion over cruelty—every time.”

Before worship today, I gave a bunch of pennies to some of our youth with the intention of hiding them around the church where people could find them.

I’ll encourage you to look for them today. There are a few on the communion table, too—they’re all over.

Also—your star word for 2026 is up here on the table. You’re welcome to come receive it.

Friends, our Lord invites us to Come and See the Kingdom signs that are all around and within us. The everyday miracles that remind us that:

God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them.

Amen.

The post Come and See: Everyday Miracles appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.

Now King Hiram of Tyre sent his servants to Solomon when he heard that they had anointed him king in place of his father, for Hiram had always been a friend to David. Solomon sent word to Hiram, saying, “You know that my father David could not build a house for the name of the Lord his God because of the warfare with which his enemies surrounded him, until he put them under the soles of his feet. But now the Lord my God has given me rest on every side; there is neither adversary nor misfortune. So I intend to build a house for the name of the Lord my God, as the Lord said to my father David, ‘Your son, whom I will set on your throne in your place, shall build the house for my name.’ 

Then Solomon assembled the elders of Israel and all the heads of the tribes, the leaders of the ancestral houses of the Israelites, before King Solomon in Jerusalem, to bring up the ark of the covenant of the Lord out of the city of David, which is Zion. All the people of Israel assembled to King Solomon at the festival in the month Ethanim, which is the seventh month. And all the elders of Israel came, and the priests carried the ark. So they brought up the ark of the Lord, the tent of meeting, and all the holy vessels that were in the tent; the priests and the Levites brought them up. King Solomon and all the congregation of Israel, who had assembled before him, were with him before the ark, sacrificing so many sheep and oxen that they could not be counted or numbered. Then the priests brought the ark of the covenant of the Lord to its place, in the inner sanctuary of the house, the most holy place, underneath the wings of the cherubim. For the cherubim spread out their wings over the place of the ark, so that the cherubim made a covering above the ark and its poles. The poles were so long that the ends of the poles were seen from the holy place in front of the inner sanctuary, but they could not be seen from outside; they are there to this day. There was nothing in the ark except the two tablets of stone that Moses had placed there at Horeb, where the Lord made a covenant with the Israelites when they came out of the land of Egypt. And when the priests came out of the holy place, a cloud filled the house of the Lord, so that the priests could not stand to minister because of the cloud, for the glory of the Lord filled the house of the Lord.

Then Solomon said,
“The Lord has said that he would dwell in thick darkness.
I have built you an exalted house,
a place for you to dwell forever.”

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.

***

Seven years. That’s how long it took. The same approximate time it takes for every cell in your body to replace itself. Seven years. You can earn a Ph.D. in that amount of time. Raise a human being. Seven years. That’s how long scholars think it took to build the temple. It could have been more but probably not much less. Seven years from foundation to roof.

Today it would probably take closer to 7 months. More effective tools. Better materials. A crane alone would have cut a few years off the project, but Solomon and his contemporaries had only manual labor, perhaps some crude machines to build the temple.

This past week cranes and bull dozers tore down the east wing of the White House. Built in 1902 and significantly upgraded in 1942, it took less than 7 days to tear down a significant portion of the so-called people’s house.

We have had front loaders and jack hammers tearing up the front yard of our church this week. Tuesday, I pulled up to the church and there was a toddler sitting in his toy truck watching the workers in awe.

I imagine that the Israelite kids would have loved watching the Temple go up. Though after 7 years it would have just become part of the backdrop. Imagine living nearby and waking up to the sound of construction every morning for seven years.

Scripture tells us that God gave Solomon rest on all sides, which is what allows him to turn his attention to this monumental project. It is hard to attend to such things when you are at war or in conflict with neighboring nations. Not to mention that they may have some natural resources that you need. Such seems to be the case with Solomon and King Hiram of Tyre. Hiram had been a friend of David, but David was a war time king. He didn’t have the time or resources to dedicate to such a massive project. Or so we are led to believe.

Solomon hopes to succeed where his father had failed. To have his name associated with such an accomplishment will surely secure his legacy. Solomon the wise. Solomon the generous. Solomon the builder.

It all seems to be falling into place. There is only one problem. Solomon’s version of things is a bit self-serving. He says that God wanted David to build the temple, but that is not really true. It wasn’t that David was busy with all of his battles and drama, though he was. He was more than willing to build a temple nonetheless. So why didn’t he? Because God told him not to. And for all of his faults—and David had many—he did try to be faithful to God.

The truth of the matter is that God never asks David or Solomon for a temple. They want to build one, but God prefers more of a mobile home. God doesn’t want to be pinned down, shut in. God wants to be loose and fancy free to mingle amongst the people. It is we who want to keep tabs on God. We want God to stay put. To be tame. In other words, we want to be in control.

Seven years is a long time. Long enough to build a temple. Long enough to earn a Ph.D. Long enough for every cell in your body to regenerate. Long enough to become a completely different person.

According to biblical scholar Alphonetta Wines, “The temple was a seven-year joint project of Solomon and Hiram, King of Tyre…Like much of today’s construction, temple walls and objects were created elsewhere and brought to the building site where they were assembled and installed. Gold was everywhere, inside and out. Rich furnishings and decorations were made of the finest materials.”

Just after our passage ends today, there is a ceremony to dedicate the Temple. Dr. Wines writes, “[Solomon’s] dedicatory speech and prayers are some of the most exquisite passages in the entire Bible. His speech makes it plain that even with all his work, he recognizes that God is beyond physical space. His prayer beautifully requests that God hear and answer not only the prayers of the people of Israel, but also the prayers of foreigners as well.”

It would seem as though in the time it took to build the temple—7 years—is enough time for Solomon’s own spiritual renovation as well. Not that he is a finished project at the end, but he seems to have matured in his faith quite a bit. At the beginning, Solomon assumes God is as vein and shallow as he is. By the end, Solomon realizes that even the most elaborate and exquisite dwelling cannot contain the Holy One. The only temple fit for God is the human heart.

To the people of God in Ephesus, Paul writes “I pray that…you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love. I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.”

There is not a structure on this earth that can contain the fullness of God. No building. No belief system. No religion or church. No state or politician. No country or nation. No temple. No ballroom. No sanctuary.

The only dwelling place God wants, the only the sanctuary God desires is the dwelling, the sanctuary of the human heart. The only temple God wants is the temple of you. Amen.

The post Rest on Every Side appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.

We have been, for the latter half of the summer, looking at the last book of the Christian Scriptures—the last book of the Bible—the book of Revelation. A very misunderstood book, a very misinterpreted book.

We have been reading Revelation, as Eugene Peterson says, not as prediction but as perception. It is a book about what the people of God at that time were experiencing, but it’s also a book of hope—that the way things are now is not necessarily the way they’re going to be, or that they have to be.

One of the reasons the book is so misunderstood is because it’s so heavy into the use of symbolism and metaphor. There are talks of dragons and lions and lambs and all of these kind of fantastical things. But these are really symbols that are pointing to realities that the people of that time would recognize and—as we’ve hopefully seen through this series—that you and I might recognize as well.

Just a quick word or reminder, as always—and I know some of you are like, “Mark, you say this all the time, we got it”—but our culture is so strong in the opposite message. And that’s just simply that this word apocalypse, this word revelation, it’s not a big scary word. It doesn’t mean the end and judgment and fire. It actually refers to—kind of just what I was joking about a little bit—those little miracles that pop up that we can claim, that give us a glimpse.

That’s what the word apocalypse means. It means kind of like—it’s the idea of pulling back a curtain to reveal something that you didn’t see. It’s been there, but you didn’t see it. So that’s literally what the word apocalypse means: a pulling back of the curtain or veil to show us something.

And so the idea is that these little miracles, these little things, are instances of us getting a glimpse of grace, a glimpse of God’s reality kind of infusing our own. And it gives us hope, even in the midst of some difficult circumstances, to keep on going.

And with that, we will be reading toward the end of the book of Revelation. This whole thing has been building—there have been battles and all of these things—and then it’s kind of a nice surprise ending.

Let us pray:

You are our God, and we are Your people. And in Your kingdom, every place is holy. We pray for hearts open to see Your face reflected all around us, not only here. Even now, already, Your glory shines, and You bid us taste and see that You are good.

Give us a glimpse—even a moment—that we may be strengthened for the living of these days. Amen.

Revelation 21:1–6, 22:1–5

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 

“See, the home of God is among mortals.

He will dwell with them;

they will be his peoples,

and God himself will be with them and be their God;

he will wipe every tear from their eyes.

Death will be no more;

mourning and crying and pain will be no more,

for the first things have passed away.”

And the one who was seated on the throne said, “See, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true.” Then he said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life.

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city. On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month, and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. Nothing accursed will be found there any more. But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him; they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And there will be no more night; they need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever.

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.

***

The very first verse of the very first chapter of the very first book of the Bible—Genesis—reads: “In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth.” In Revelation, the last book of the Bible, we read about a new heaven and a new earth. In Genesis 2, we read about the Garden of Eden, the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, the river watering the garden flowing from Eden. In Revelation, we read of the river of the water of life flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb, and the tree of life on its shores. Clearly, the author of Revelation wants us to hearken back to the beginning—that original vision of paradise.

In many ways, that is the story of the Bible. It’s the story of getting back to the Garden of Eden. That first ideal. That original wholeness and completeness. Generations have been asking, “How do we get there?” Is it through power and might, by conquering neighboring kingdoms? Is it through obedience and faithfulness? How do we get there?

And it almost seems like the harder we try, the worse it gets. First there’s the flood—where things are so bad, God wants to restart. Just like a malfunctioning computer or device: “Have you tried turning it off and on again?” Now, initially this seems to work, but then more trouble comes. In Egypt, the golden calf. Wandering in the desert. Exile in Babylon. And on and on.

But then for us Christians, eventually Jesus arrives on the scene with a direct link to the divine. And he shows us what is possible: loving God and loving neighbor, sharing our bread, caring for the widow and the orphan. But these are the very things that put him in opposition to the empire. His message of love and justice is a direct threat to the status quo and the powers that be. So eventually, they arrest Jesus, and they put him on trial for sedition. And at this, the crowds—who had once gathered to hang on his every word and welcomed him into town with shouts of “Hosanna!”—lose hope yet again. Their shouts of praise turn to cries of “Crucify!” As one hymn puts it: “A murderer they save, the Prince of Life they slay.”  All of our attempts to return to the Garden—to get to God—fail. In large part because we prefer the empire and the status quo to the Kingdom of God.

One way of understanding the book of Revelation is that it is kind of a retelling of this biblical narrative. A fantastical reworking of salvation history, with the Roman Empire as the beast and with Jesus as the Lamb, and the people of God caught between these two ways of being in the world. Revelation portrays the battle between these forces, where everything seems to be at stake.

And this is the thread most often picked up from Revelation—this eternal battle between good and evil, along with its vivid imagery. This is why Revelation is such an inspiration for so much art—for paintings, for music, for movies, for novels.

Though it’s interesting that many of these artistic interpretations—as well as regular interpretations—suppose, like those first crowds who followed Jesus, that love and justice are ultimately no match for the ferocity and power of the empire. We just—just cannot imagine, in the language of Revelation, the Lamb outlasting the beast. If this were a video game, the beast wins 100 out of 100 times.

And I’m guessing that most of us, if asked about Revelation, might say something about the final judgment, about the end of the world. But as we’ve hopefully learned over these past several weeks, Revelation is not about the end of the world. Rather, as the band R.E.M. put it in the ’80s—maybe early ’90s—“It’s the end of the world as we know it.” To get that distinction—it’s so important. It’s not the end of the world. But it is the end of the world as we know it.

As we just read, Revelation doesn’t conclude with destruction, but new birth. New creation. It is about that return to the Garden. The reunion of God and humanity. But instead of us finding our way to God, God comes to us. “Behold, the home of God is among mortals.” Turns out we’ve had it wrong all along.

Richard Rohr describes this theological reality when he writes: “Most of us have been taught that God would love us if and when we change. In fact, God loves us so that we can change.” Turns out we don’t need to prove ourselves. We don’t need to earn God’s love. It’s been with us all along. We just have to trust that love to guide us. And most of the time, you and I do not believe that it’s powerful enough to overcome all that we face.

Throughout this series, I’ve made some unusual comparisons to help us dive deeper into the message of the book of Revelation—and maybe to demystify it a little bit. You might remember in one of the first sermons in this series, I said that Revelation was like the children’s book Goodnight Gorilla. A few weeks ago, I equated it to a New Yorker cartoon that appeared in the magazine shortly after 9/11, in which a man was standing on a street corner holding a sign—and instead of “The End Is Near,” he proclaimed the message: “It’s All Going to Be Okay.” Then last week, I used the example of an uptight college admissions counselor from an elite private college to remind us that God’s grace is not stingy, but sweeping.

Today, in my final sermon in this series, I want to offer one last comparison: The book of Revelation is like one of those Hallmark movies that my wife loves so much. She agrees with me that they’re a bit cheesy and predictable. In fact, that’s the reason that she loves them. With so much in our world that is complicated and depressing, it’s nice to escape from that reality to one in which love does, in the end, always win.

I sometimes tease her about how predictable these movies are. Here’s the typical plot:

Two people meet in some unexpected fashion, right? And there’s a spark—an attraction—but it can’t be. Circumstances are preventing it. They’re from two different parts of the world. Perhaps one’s already in a committed relationship. Inevitably, one’s from a small, quaint, picturesque country town, and the other is from the big city. Am I doing okay so far? Yeah? I’m doing okay.

The person from the big city has big dreams. But the person from the small town also has big dreams—although they seem a little bit more humble and quaint. Despite these differences, circumstances just keep somehow bringing these two people together—until eventually they can no longer deny their attraction. But still—still—their circumstances prevent them from seeing a future together. But then, finally, in the end, something changes. The opportunity presents itself. And they can both live out their dreams together in some previously unforeseen way. And eventually, love wins. And the movie ends—usually with the two people getting engaged, or maybe there’s the beginning of the wedding—and almost always with a kiss.

Sometimes I lovingly joke with my wife that just once—just once—I’d like to see a sequel that goes back to this couple years later when they’ve been married for a while. Maybe when they have kids and a mortgage. Maybe when their careers don’t quite pan out the way that they had hoped. But that never happens, because of course, that would ruin the fantasy, wouldn’t it?

Did you notice that Revelation ends with a wedding? The wedding of the Feast of the Lamb.
It’s this metaphor that we’ve encountered many times throughout the Bible— The marriage, the unification, of God and God’s people. Ultimately, the book of Revelation is like a Hallmark movie. It’s about hope and the perseverance of love. Not hope that life is without struggle or that the battle is easily won. Not hope that the empire never wins anything—only that those wins are short-term. The long-term—the end—belongs to our God who loves us and promises never to leave us to our own devices. Hope that all of this is only the tip of the iceberg, and that beyond this reality, there is a benevolent way of being where truly love and justice do reign.

Hope, on the one hand, writes Walter Brueggemann, is: “An absurdity too embarrassing to speak about, for it flies in the face of all those claims that we have been told are facts.”

(This is on your bulletin cover, by the way.) “Hope is the refusal to accept the reading of reality which is the majority opinion, and one that does that at only great political and existential risk. Hope,” Brueggemann says, “is defiant and insists that God is not finished writing the story.”

Throughout this series, we’ve been saying Revelation is not about prediction, but perception. The truth of the matter is: the author has no special insight into the future.

Rather, he has a vision. And it is a vision that we, as fellow Christians, are invited to adopt as well: The belief that love is stronger than hate. That life is stronger than death. And that in the end, all will be well. So if it’s not well, it just means it’s not the end. And if it’s not the end, then you and I have work to do.

Now, it is my understanding that in the Jewish tradition, when they come to the end of a set of biblical readings, they always end by going back to the beginning, where they read the first sentence of the first reading of the next year. In this way, they remind themselves that the end is not really the end—but just a new beginning—and that everything is in this continual loop. Likewise, next week we will begin again at the beginning, in Genesis chapter 1, where God invites us to join in the work of creation—to be co-workers and co-creators with God—because God is not done with us yet. The story is still being written, and the promise is that the best is yet to come.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

The post Revelation and Resistance: A New Heaven and Earth appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.