“When God saw that the people had changed, how they turned from their destructive ways, God changed his mind about the calamity that would be brought upon them.” Jonah 3:10
How often does God change God’s mind?
The story of Jonah is recorded not as an account but parable. Here, a prophet called, Jonah, after emerging from the “belly of a whale” astonishingly succeeds. Cut to the heart by the prophet’s warning, the entire city mends its ways. When seeing that the people had turned from their evil ways, God changes his mind and spares the city.
But what if God wasn’t poised to destroy the city of Nineveh? What if Nineveh, like the fall of the Roman empire or the rampant deforestation leading to the collapse of Easter Island and Norse Greenland, were well on their way to destroying themselves? What if the figure of God in this parable and elsewhere, isn’t bent on bringing about the destruction of whole civilizations as much as trying to get our attention – using prophets like Jonah – before it is too late?
Prayer: God of the Whale and the Dolphin, who broods over the waters of the deep, in your steadfast love summon us to make amends for the harm we have committed against each other and this planet we call home. Teach us to turn from the violence that readily insinuates itself into every corner of human life. Quell our voracious appetite for hoarding, while abolishing the meanness that festers and the parsimony that corrupts.
In your mercy, transform us by thy grace. So that you can change your mind about us, once more. Amen.
Stepping into the woods and down a narrow path of gnarled branches on both sides, within the span of a heartbeat I entered nature’s womb. Sometimes straight, other times the trail would veer off and curve into an unbidden direction. Though not sure what lay ahead nevertheless I walked on, held fast by its raw but tender embrace.
Wrote the psalmist, “You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me.”  Though heavy-laden with grief, the tightly knit trees, and forest floor held fast incarnating the Spirit’s embrace. Lovingly hemmed in from all sides, the sweet caress of your hand was upon me and this sojourner felt secure once more.
Creation’s Glory, be upon us this day and those ahead, we pray. Lay your hand upon us, and smooth our furrowed brows. Through your incarnation, surround and sustain our broken hearts, so that we may be strengthened for the work that lies before us. For just as the path before us is uncertain, hem us in from all sides – so that whatever we say or do – will illuminate your mercy, justice, and steadfast love. We ask all this in Christ’s name. Amen.
 Photo image by Barry McArdle, Fells Reservation
 from Psalm 139:5
 Ken Sehested www.prayerandpolitiks.org
“…You will do well to be attentive to this as to a lamp shining in a dark place until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts.” 2 Peter 1:19
You, the lamp that shines in a dark place. You, the morning star that rises in our hearts. You, who awakens us, having spoken through prophets of old and your people in this time and place.
Yet faced with the trepidation of yet more chaos, we acknowledge our anxiety and fear. Unable to hear you above the cacophony of divisive and egocentric speech, we resort to apathy or downright cynicism. For while there was a time we dwelt securely, we find ourselves at the whim of those who are ruled not by conscience but the unconscionable.
But it is not just darkness that overwhelms us. Unable to make out even the faintest glimmer of your distant star, we see no future canopy to guide us. Overcome and in despair, we stumble. O Divine Maker, what will become of us?
But you – you in your creative power, you in your mercy, you in your paradoxical vulnerability – have not left us without recourse. Formed in your image and likeness, you do not abandon us, but equip your servants to disempower the diabolical forces that threaten humanity and all creation.
So summon us, we implore you, Sovereign God. Issue your authoritative warrant, the one we cannot ignore. Wake us up from stupefying slumber so that we, with eyes wide open, may serve you all the days of our life. We ask this in the name of the One who was, and is, and is to be. Amen
Holy One, you audaciously call us the “salt of the earth,” but who can hear you above the deafening roar of retaliation and mayhem? You say that your followers are “the light of the world,” but what do you make of us, we who stumble in the darkness of despair? You insist that “our light shines before others, so that they may see our good works and given glory to God in heaven,” but what if our efforts are insignificant when compared to the degradation and injustice that confronts us?
O Lord, in the face of suffering across our planet and this land now veiled in darkness, can you even hear the cries of your people? Do you perceive the injustice committed in your name? Are you aware of the cruelty committed against all your creation, but nevertheless justified by those who pervert your Word?
Yet you have promised that we are your children and will not forsake us – even to the end of our days. You have sworn to be faithful, even when we have abandoned you. You have suffused us with grace, so that we may set our sights on your hope once more.
Could it be when even a single voice is raised in opposition to wholesale complicity, it becomes salt for those weary of fabrication and incivility? What if acts of kindness, however seemingly remote in the face of cruelty, become the illumination that lifts up the discouraged and disheartened? Imagine if even the seemingly little that we strive to do becomes yeast, expanding the possibilities of what had seemed unlikely at best?
Hear our prayer, Divine Maker. In your mercy, heed the distress of those who suffer – human and creature alike. Hear the cry of those who despair of waiting in vain. In these weary times, cover us with thy grace. Come and come quickly, we pray. Amen.
43:5 I will say to the north, “Give them up,” and to the south, “Do not withhold; bring my sons from far away and my daughters from the end of the earth–everyone who is called by my name, whom I created for my glory, whom I formed and made.” Isaiah 43:6-7
A year and a half ago, overcoming breast cancer consumed me. Though the tumor was discovered early – its aggressiveness meant undergoing chemotherapy in addition to surgery and radiation. Recalling the ordeal and how sick one can get during treatment, the passage from Isaiah 43’s theme of exiles came to mind, “I will say to the north, ‘Give them up,’ and to the south, ‘Do not withhold…”
How I longed to be released from the exile of illness and returned to the land of the living.
Throughout scripture, the Sovereign’s mandate bodes with nothing less than the full emancipation of God’s people. Nor are God’s people summoned out of darkness nameless. To be called by Jahweh’s name jettisons us out of categories long claimed by mortals. Whatever our life’s circumstances, we were created for the Sovereign’s glory.
When a child is to be baptized, the officiant standing before the parents, asks, “What is the Christian name of this child?”
Note that the officiant doesn’t ask merely for the child’s name – be it Marie, Benjamin, Cynthia, or Andrew. Whatever name is to be given to the child, it is not just prefaced but profoundly altered by the addition of the word, Christian. Looking at its Greek equivalent, the name, Christian or Christianos, literally means “a follower of Christ.”
You and I belong to God-in-Christ. No matter how long or brief our lifespan, the losses we’ve suffered, the deep-seated regrets we’ve shouldered, the assaults incurred, and the failures endured, the marvelous mystery is this: you and I remain faithfully known and irrevocably claimed by God.
And this is Good News…
When [the Three Kings] saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary, his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road. Matthew 2:11-12
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. John 1:5
Some fifty-two hundred years ago, before Stonehenge, before the great pyramids and before the birth of Christ, stone age farmers just north of what is now Dublin, conceived and constructed a large stone mound called Newgrange. Two-hundred feet in diameter but just under fifty feet high, Newgrange consists of a solitary opening connected to a long passageway that leads into the interior of the mound. At its center is a cavern made up of three alcoves. What makes this structure especially remarkable is that the long passageway and its interior chamber are aligned to the rising of the sun each year during the Winter Solstice.
For at dawn, and on December 21st, a narrow beam of light penetrates the roof-box of Newgrange and reaches the floor of the chamber, gradually extending to the rear.
As the sun rises higher, the beam extends and widens, reaching its interior cruciform chamber so that the whole room becomes dramatically illuminated.
Each year scores of people gather in the darkness…and wait.
The activist theologian Bill Wylie-Kellerman was quoted by Sojourner’s, noting, [The Epiphany season] ‘beings and ends in light. From the heavenly star to the radiant robes of transfiguration, Epiphany is about revelation, [a]…sudden brightness that lights up the landscape of a mind or a community or a whole social order. The light reveals, but not passively; it summons and it sends.” 
Epiphany reminds us that we are summoned and sent to Be a Light (…in a dark place). 
Just last Tuesday and while offering a Bible study about the Christmas Season at the retirement community where I work, a resident asked, “If December 25 is over, just why are you continuing to talk about Christmas?”
But provided (as one author notes) that your eggnog hasn’t soured or that you haven’t stashed the creche until next December , there is a reason why the lectionary lingers on the Christmas Season and Epiphany. Because the arrival of the Christ child is anything but sentimental…as much as we’re tempted to make it so.
Scripture recalls the visitation of Three Kings from the east, who seeing that the star’s radiance remained over Bethlehem, entered the house where Mary, Jesus’ mother, and Joseph were with the infant Jesus. Despite that the newborn king was not surrounded by a royal entourage but lay in a feeding trough, the Magi were overcome with joy and adulation. Kneeling down, these distant travelers paid him homage. Then opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream NOT to return to Herod, they left for their country by another road.
But there is a problem – both as identified by scripture, and as experienced in the world, Jesus was born into. It is not coincidental that the journey of the Magi to see the newborn king begins and ends with Herod. The subsequent passage that speaks of the Holy Family’s escape into Egypt following the Magi’s visit – because an enraged Herod sought to destroy the Light of the World by ordering the massacre of children and infants in the vicinity where Christ was born is not coincidental either. Any more than it is coincidental that the gifts to the infant Jesus, foreshadowed his death.
Scripture points to this problem unequivocally, for darkness continues to cast its shadow.
Indeed, Herod and his kind have plundered humankind and all of creation for that matter, for thousands of years.
The birth of the Christ child and thus, the incarnation challenges our assumption – that the physical and the spiritual are irreconcilable. Christ’s birth challenges the dualism and disconnect between matter and spirit, the secular and the religious, the practical, and the temporal. It took a vulnerable infant born to impoverished Palestinian refugees who later crossed a border to flee from violence – to confront the lengths we go to – to keep the incarnation only about Jesus – so that we can get on with business as usual.
But what if each of us, as suggested by Augustine, Meister Eckhart, and others, were created to make real the incarnation, this synthesis between matter and spirit? What if each of us like Mary are summoned and sent to give birth to the Son of God in our own persons and time and culture, to reconcile our spiritual sides with the work and action so desperately needed in the world?
In other words, to Be a Light (in a dark place).
Serene Jones, seminary president, theologian, and author observed how, for years, the conversion of the slave trader, John Newton, writer of the Song Amazing Grace, was often spoken of at the church she attended . She had been told growing up, that after nearly losing his life at sea, John Newton became a Christian and completely turned his life around: returning to Africa to set the slaves on his ship free and becoming a fervent abolitionist from that time forward.
But the real story is quite different. For though John Newton felt grateful to God that he had survived when others had perished in the storm, he did not immediately turn his ship around and free the slaves incarcerated on board. If anything, though he became a personally pious Christian, he continued to trade and ship enslaved Africans for years – contributing his growing success to a state of blessedness. It wasn’t until Newton reckoned the disconnect between his personal piety as being at complete odds with the human trafficking business he was engaged in that Newton realized aligned his professed beliefs with action. It was then that he finally wrote the song, Amazing Grace, and became the abolitionist he is known for.
He finally chose to Be a Light (in a dark place).
I confess it is difficult to align one’s personal commitment – the matter of the heart – with what we do in the world. It is and continues to be a lifelong struggle for me. I suspect that many others struggle with this too. But this is where God’s grace comes in. To be an incarnate one of God, to continue to birth Christ in ourselves in this time and place is a high calling. But I believe it is the only one worth giving our lives for.
Epiphany points to the incarnation, God made flesh in Jesus. But as the incarnation means the synthesis of physical matter and the spiritual, then the nativity isn’t only about Mary giving birth to Jesus.
The birth of the Christ child didn’t begin and end on Christmas morning. Christ came so that God would be born within us and reconcile the dualism that has long separated matter from spirit. Christ came so that we as God bearers can “Be A Light (in a dark place), champions and advocates for ALL of humanity and God’s good creation.
For our desperate world hungers for light. Remarkably, though Newgrange is 5,200 years old, the acquisition and reliance upon the sun’s energy have continued to illuminate not only the passageway and chamber but people’s lives, who come for miles if not across the world. It is extraordinary to wait in darkness, as people did so long ago, for the longest night of the year to end.
Poet Laureate Maren Tirabassi’s recently made a decision to leave Christmas candles in her window in the months ahead, despite taking down the tree and other decorations.  Knowing of how challenging it can be to synthesize matters of the heart with our work in the world, the candles are testimony to a grace-filled decision to be an incarnate one of God in a time of great trepidation…
…to be a light in a dark place.
 Jim Rice, Epiphany: A Light To The World, (Sojourners, Jan. 2012)
 John Pavlovitz, PavlovitzDesign
 Mary Luti, Merry Christmas (Stillspeaking Daily Devotional, Jan. 4, 2020)
 Serene Jones, Call It Grace: Finding Meaning in a Fractured World (Penguin House, 2019), 126-27.
 Maren Tirabassi, The candles in my windows (Gifts in Open Hands, Jan. 4, 2020)
 Photo Image from the Jewish Family & Children’s Service (JFCS) website of Greater Mercer County,
“Now among those who went up to worship at the [Passover] festival were some [non-Jews]. They came to Philip [one of Jesus’ disciples]…and said to him, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” The Gospel of John 12:20-21
Christ the Redeemer Statue, Rio De Janerio, Brazil
At the top of Corcovado Mountain overlooking Rio de Janeiro in Brazil, a statue weighing 635 metric tons rests atop its peak. Resting atop this 2,300-foot mountain and rising from its base by another 650 feet, the sculpture of Christ the Redeemer is a symbol and cultural icon drawing people from all over the world.
While a local engineer designed the statue and another sculptor created the work, a different artist was explicitly commissioned to create its face. It was this face – the face of Christ – that made the final sculptor, Gheorghe Leonida, famous.
It is not uncommon to think of Christ as being Jesus’ last name. However, Christ is not a name but a title, meaning anointed. So there is the name, Jesus, as in Jesus of Nazareth, who was born to impoverished refugees during the reign of Emperor Augustus somewhere between 6 and 4 BC. Living for thirty-three years, and executed as a common criminal – some scholars speculate that Jesus was not afforded the dignity of a tomb but instead buried in a shallow grave.
In sharp contrast, there is Jesus’ title, Christ, for whom the early architect of the Christian church, the Apostle Paul, describes as, “[the One] who holds it all together.” In other words, “…everything, absolutely everything, above and below, visible and invisible…everything got started in him and found its purpose in him.” Colossians 1:19 & 15
Am I the only one who has trouble reconciling the two?
According to John’s Gospel, Jesus was welcomed by a crowd of people during the Feast of the Passover in Jerusalem (what we customarily call Palm Sunday). Following this, two men of Greek origin (guys clearly outside the Jewish diaspora) approached a couple of Jesus’ disciples. “Can we see Jesus?” they asked.
Excited that outsiders expressed interest in meeting their leader and rabbi, the two disciples quickly sought Jesus out and breathlessly relayed this message. But Jesus’ reply must have both astonished and confounded them, as it does us millennia later.
Signally that his public and earthly ministry was coming abruptly to an end, Jesus said,
“My time is up. The time has come for the Human One to be glorified (exalted).” John 12:23
Then describing how a single kernel wheat must be buried in the ground if it is to flourish and multiply, Jesus tries to explain once again not only what is about to happen to him, but why.
Franciscan writer and teacher, Richar Rohr, emphasized that while Christian orthodoxy taught that Jesus was both “fully human AND fully divine” at the same time, the best any of us mortals could do was see ourselves as only human…with Jesus as only divine. Only by doing so, “we missed the whole point, which puts the two together in him AND then dare to discover the same mystery in ourselves and all of creation.” We were never intended to be mere spectators, standing on the sidelines.
At the top of Corcovado Mountain overlooking Rio de Janeiro in Brazil, a statue weighing 635 metric tons rests atop its peak. Resting atop this 2,300-foot mountain and rising from its base by another 650 feet, the sculpture of Christ the Redeemer is a symbol and cultural icon drawing people from all over the world. Yet it is the face – the face of Christ – that pulls scores of people to it.
Writes Frederick Buechner, author of, The Hungering Dark, “[t] here is so much about the whole religious enterprise that seems superannuated and irrelevant and as out of place in our age as an antique statue is out of place in the sky. But just for a moment…there can only be silence as something comes to life…”
What comes to life is this startling recognition.
We know this face.
It is Jesus of Nazareth. It is the Christ. The One who came and comes still.
“We’ve made some progress but, we still have a distance to travel,” stated [Representative John] Lewis of Atlanta on the 53 anniversary of the crossing of the Bridge in Selma over voting rights
“From Mount Hor [the Israelite wanderers] set out by the way to the Red Sea, to go around the land of Edom [given the refusal of Edom’s King to give them safe passage]” Numbers 21:4
What if the first generation who followed Moses out of Egypt
were not unlike the brave souls who crossed over Selma’s Bridge fifty-three years ago with sights set for the Promised Land?
Like the recent re-enactment of the crossing of the Bridge in Selma, by the time we get to the twenty-first chapter of the Book of Numbers in the Hebrew Bible – we witness the next generation. These are the grown children of those who fled Eygpt; these are the ones who never knew anything else other than living as tent-dwelling Bedouins in a raw, forsaken, wind-swept desert. Though born in liberty, they were the offspring of those condemned to captivity.
In fact, the only one amongst them who had never known the lash of the overseer’s whip was Moses. Moses – born into privilege. Moses – educated by the best that Pharoah’s household had to offer. Moses – who was adopted by a princess and raised as a ruler’s son.
So when the Book of Numbers talks about the second generation of escaped slaves being bitten by fiery serpents because of they rejected the provisions of our Sovereign Lord (Numbers 21:4-9), I find myself wondering what is not said. Is there more to this account than stated? Could there be more to this story particularly when we consider that fifteen hundred years later Jesus uses this incident to prefigure his death?
When extensively hiking the deserts of California, recognizing poisonous snakes AND treating snakebite – is a necessary skill when traversing its wind-swept and rocky terrain. Take heed, unlike the ancient account from the Book of Numbers, gazing upon a bronze snake set upon an upright pole won’t be found in backpacking first aid manuals or elsewhere. But nevertheless, both ancient scripture and current medical treatment underscore the venom’s systemic threat, potentially causing paralysis, severe swelling, difficulty breathing, cardiac arrest and death.
Fifteen hundred years later, Jesus used this account and image when speaking to a prominent religious leader who came to him under cover of night. “If I have told you about earthly things and you don’t believe, how can I tell you about heavenly things?” Jesus said, “…[for] just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.” (John 3:12, 14)
Millennia later, you and I read this account and ponder what Jesus meant by these words. Save this. What if the only thing that can heal the likes of us is nothing short of a systemic remedy, one that treats toxin ravaged souls as well as bodies? What if the crosses we wear and those posted on church steeples and elsewhere are as holy witnesses – testifying that God-in-Christ sustains not by taking us out of the wilderness but by remaining – even in the most godforsaken places and times.*
*Inspiration is credited to Professor Terence E. Fretheim’s outstanding commentary on this passage