Pastor Mark

Come and See The Color Purple

John 1:41-53

The next day, Jesus decided to go to Galilee. He found Philip and said to him, “Follow me.” Now Philip was from Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter, and he went and found Nathanael and said to him, “We have found the one about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus, Son of Joseph, of Nazareth. Nathanael said to him, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Philip said to him, “Come and see.”

Now, when Jesus saw Nathanael coming toward him he said, “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit.” Nathanael said to him, “Where did you get to know me?” Jesus said to him, “I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you.” Nathanael said to him, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God. You are the King of Israel.” Jesus said to him, “Do you believe because I said I saw you under the fig tree? You will see greater things than these.” And he said to him, “Very truly I tell you, you will see the heavens opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.”


I wonder why we don’t ever use the phrase “Doubting Nathanael.” Most of us know about “Doubting Thomas,” right? He’s the one who gets a bad rap for not believing Jesus had been raised from the dead until he could see and touch the wounds from his crucifixion. Even for people who don’t know the story, “Doubting Thomas” is likely something they’ve said or heard before. To be called a “Doubting Thomas,” of course, is all about whatever it means to be cynical or skeptical in the face of some sort of news.

I suspect the reason “Doubting Nathanael” never became a thing was because his doubts came so early-on. Nathanael hadn’t witnessed yet all that Thomas had seen by the time his doubts about Jesus were revealed. I mean, Thomas had seen the water become wine. Thomas had seen some miraculous healings. Thomas knew about Lazarus stepping out of his tomb. He was there at the Last Supper and all the rest. So, I suppose Thomas is more infamous for his doubts because he should have known better.

But Nathanael – Mr. “Can-anything-good-come-out-of-Nazareth” – didn’t have the benefit of all that history and experience, yet. This little ditty at the beginning of John’s Gospel is just the start of Jesus’ life and ministry – we’re still in Chapter 1 here, after all. All the soon-to-be disciples knew at this point is what had been written, “by Moses, in the law and also the prophets,” about this guy they’d yet to meet.

So, as far as Nathanael is concerned, I like to consider that Philip probably knew a thing or two about Nathanael when he decided to tell him about this Jesus he and the others had found. After all, the story says that Philip “found” Nathanael; not that he bumped into him on the street corner; not that he ran into him on his way to somewhere else; not that Nathanael came to him for something. No, it says that Philip went and found Nathanael, which makes me think they had a history together, that they were friends in some way.

And I wonder if Philip knew his buddy Nathanael was going to react in just that way – doubtful; skeptical; cynical. (“Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”) I wonder if Philip knew Nathanael was a hard nut to crack… that maybe he was lonely, or grieving, or stewing about something in particular underneath the fig tree that day… and that that’s exactly why he set out to find his friend to tell him about Jesus.

And I wonder if Philip was tired of debating Scripture; studying the prophets; dissecting the rumors around town. I wonder if he just couldn’t wait to tell Nathanael, those sweet, simple, inviting words. “We’ve found this Jesus. It’s happened. He’s for real. It’s true. Come and see.”

He’s not threatening his friend. He’s not challenging him. He’s not setting up a debate. He doesn’t judge Nathanael for whatever doubts he has, either. He just says, “Come and see.” And Nathanael goes.

And Nathanael finds, it seems, what he didn’t think he would – “The Son of God!” and “The King of Israel!” – much to his apparent suspicion and surprise.

And this story is nothing more or less than a picture of what gracious, faithful evangelism looks like, if you ask me. See, this story actually begins a couple of verses prior to what we just heard, when Andrew and Peter share what they know with Philip. See, before Philip finds Nathanael, Jesus is the one who starts this “come and see” thing. No threats. No judgment. No fear. No double-dog dares. Just a sweet and simple invitation to “come and see.”

And that’s all evangelism and sharing faith require, I believe. “Come and see.” It’s NOT a judgment. It’s NOT fearful. It’s not “if you don’t come, see, and believe what I believe, you’re doomed for all eternity.”

It’s “come and see” because this grace is for you; it will bless you; it will surprise you in amazing, worthwhile ways.” “Come and see, because you wouldn’t believe it if I told you, anyway.” “Come and see, because there aren’t enough words to describe this kind of love; this kind of forgiveness; this kind of goodness.”

But we’re timid about that, aren’t we? Some of us are out of practice. Some of us have never had the chance to warm up. Some of us might just as soon hang out with Nathanael underneath a fig tree somewhere with our questions and our doubts, not sure where to go or what to look for. And I get that. I can get pretty comfortable beneath my own proverbial fig tree every now and then.

So, I often ask new CrossRoads classes “when was the last, best movie you’ve seen?” Or, “have you read any good books lately?” And those questions usually let people loose with conversation. Because when we see a really good movie – whether it’s so funny we laughed our heads off, or so sad we cried our eyes out – we like to tell others about it, don’t we? When we’ve read a really good book we do the same thing … talk it up with a friend, or even pass it along to share with someone we think might appreciate it.

My point is we’re more timid or shy, uncertain or unconvinced when it comes to talking about our faith with the same ease or energy or enthusiasm, aren’t we? Maybe we think we have to have all the answers. Maybe we’re afraid we might offend. Maybe we’re reluctant to reveal too much about ourselves along the way. Maybe we just don’t want to look or sound or be like “one of those kind of Christians.”

But today’s Gospel makes it easy, I think. Philip doesn’t answer questions. He doesn’t say anything that could offend. All he seems to reveal about himself is that he’s on the same sort of journey. He doesn’t pretend to prove anything. And neither does Jesus. “Come and see.”

And so, at least this morning, all we’re called to do is invite: “Come and see.” And we have a lot to show people about this movement of grace we’re up to around here, I’m glad to say.

“Come and see,” a family of faith that’s teaching generosity to our kids by way of offerings of over $7,500 last month alone. That money is going to share the simple gift of life-giving water with some of the most vulnerable children and families in our own country and around the world.

“Come and see” a place and a people who are wrestling with the work of racial justice and LGBTQ equity and inclusion in the midst of a community and a culture that will not do that work, in so many ways.

“Come and see” by sitting in on an Adult Forum, or by coming to a Men’s or Women’s Bible Study, or by bringing your kids to Grace Quest and Sunday school, and learning, together, what we can about God’s Word for our lives.

“Come and see” on any given Sunday, because everyone’s welcome here – through the waters of baptism and at the table of holy communion, too – where we eat bread and drink wine and where we’re filled up with the fullness of God’s forgiveness, mercy, and love, with no strings attached. “Come and see.”

Speaking of movies… the last one I’ve seen was the new musical version of The Color Purple. The name of Alice Walker’s novel, on which the first movie and this recent musical are based – The Color Purple – comes from a simple, profound line in the book where Shug Avery says to Celie, “I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it.”

“I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple … and don’t notice it.”

I think our call as followers of Jesus … as believers in God … as recipients of this amazing grace we claim … is simply to notice it, to celebrate it, and to give thanks to the God who so generously shares it with us. And I think we’re called to invite others to come and see it, too; to notice and share it, right along with us, not just because maybe it pisses God off when we don’t, but because we’re blessed and better – our lives and the world change for good – when we realize it’s not ours, this grace, but God’s to give – and God does give it – freely and with abundance, for the sake of the world.

Amen

The Work of Christmas

Luke 2:22-40

When the time came for their purification according to the law of Moses, they brought Jesus up to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord (as it is written in the law of the Lord, “Every firstborn male shall be designated as holy to the Lord”), and they offered a sacrifice according to what is stated in the law of the Lord, “a pair of turtledoves or two young pigeons.”

Now there was a man in Jerusalem whose name was Simeon; this man was righteous and devout, looking forward to the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit rested on him. It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah. Guided by the Spirit, Simeon came into the temple; and when the parents brought in the child Jesus, to do for him what was customary under the law, Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying,

‘Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace,

according to your word;

for my eyes have seen your salvation,

which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples,

a light for revelation to the Gentiles

and for glory to your people Israel.’

And the child’s father and mother were amazed at what was being said about him. Then Simeon blessed them and said to his mother Mary, ‘This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.’

There was also a prophet, Anna the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was of a great age, having lived with her husband for seven years after her marriage, then as a widow to the age of eighty-four. She never left the temple but worshipped there with fasting and prayer night and day. At that moment she came, and began to praise God and to speak about the child to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem.

When they had finished everything required by the law of the Lord, they returned to Galilee, to their own town of Nazareth. The child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favor of God was upon him.


Maybe you’ve seen this poem by Howard Thurman that seems, in the last few years to, appropriately, make its rounds on social media in the days after Christmas. Thurman was a Black American theologian, philosopher, writer, civil rights leader, born at the end of the 19th Century. He wrote a poem called The Work of Christmas Begins. It goes like this:

When the song of the angels is stilled,

when the star in the sky is gone,

when the kings and princes are home,

when the shepherds are back with their flocks,

the work of Christmas begins:

to find the lost,

to heal the broken,

to feed the hungry,

to release the prisoner,

to rebuild the nations,

to bring peace among the people,

to make music in the heart.

That’s a lot of work, don’t you think? It’s a reality-check, for sure. Frankly, it’s kind of a holiday buzz kill. It’s feels like a bah humbug moment, for anyone still basking in the glow of Christmas with fun plans for New Year’s Eve tonight. It makes me think of those people who already have their Christmas decorations packed up and put away. (You know who you are.)

But it makes me think of Simeon and Anna, in this morning’s Gospel for the First Sunday of Christmas, too. These sages of the synagogue who are hip to what Jesus was really all about.

This morning… the Holy Family… Jesus, Mary and Joseph, are doing their thing as faithful Jews in their day and age: it’s been eight days since his birth, so they’ve made their way to Jerusalem, for the required rituals of purification and for the baby’s dedication at the temple. They’ve brought their simple, customary sacrifice of some birds – two turtledoves or a couple of pigeons – nothing of much value, unless you’re a young, peasant couple in First Century Palestine.

And while they’re likely still tired from all of their recent travels and still shocked and surprised and trying to make sense of all that had already happened in their lives in the last week or so – those angels, that manger, the shepherds, and all the rest – and still living into what it means to be brand new parents and hopefully finding some joy in all of that … along comes this old guy in the temple, claiming to have been guided there by the Holy Spirit, saying all kinds of craziness about Jesus and to his parents; nothing altogether new that they hadn’t already heard from the angels or wondered about in Bethlehem, but still crazy, nonetheless.

Simeon wandered in off the street, looked at Jesus – this baby he’d never met – and claimed to be seeing, in him, the salvation of God … a light for revelation to the Gentiles … and glory to the people of Israel. And while all of that’s a tall order in-and-of itself, then comes the real kicker … the Howard Thurman, buzz-kill, bah humbug, reality-check, “Work of Christmas” kind of moment.

Simeon takes his eyes off of Jesus, turns his attention to the young parents, and says to Mary that her child is “destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel” and that this sweet little baby Jesus is going to “be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed” and that a sword would – somehow, someway – pierce the soul of Mary, because of it.

Merry Christmas. Happy New Year. Bah Humbug.

But seriously… This shouldn’t be news to us and may not have been all that surprising to Mary, really. She may never have been able to guess the details or predict the future of how it was all going to pan out, but Simeon was just another in a line of prophets and angels to let Mary know Jesus was destined for something big – that he was going to save his people from their sins, and whatnot.

So we have to wonder… like Mary must have wondered… what Simeon’s words announced… and what Howard Thurman’s words mean to inspire: What’s the point? What happens now? What do we do next about this “good news of great joy for all people?” What is the work of Christmas that Jesus’ birth and life meant to instigate?

Are we doing the work of Christmas if there’s still no peace in Israel and Palestine?

Are we doing the work of Christmas if God’s creation groans under the weight of our pollution and misuse?

Are we doing the work of Christmas if 44 million people in the US are food insecure?

Are we doing the work of Christmas if people of color are still imprisoned more often and for longer sentences than white people for the same crimes?

Are we doing the work of Christmas if we still spend and invest more on war than on healthcare?

Are we doing the work of Christmas if it’s all and only about the trappings and traditions we’ve created to make it all rhyme like a poem, sound like a song, sparkle like the lights on a tree, or shine like the candles we held to sing about silent, holy nights? Or about babies, tender and mild, sleeping in heavenly peace? (None of that sounds very much like the piercing sword Simeon was yapping about just eight days later in Jerusalem.)

But, speaking of candles … I didn’t come here just to rain on your New Year’s Eve parade. Howard Thurman wrote another Christmas poem that’s full of as much hope as “The Work of Christmas” is full of challenge. It goes like this:

I will light Candles this Christmas:

candles of joy despite all the sadness,

candles of hope where despair keeps watch,

candles of courage for fears ever present,

candles of peace for tempest-tossed days,

candles of grace to ease heavy burdens,

candles of love to inspire all my living,

candles that will burn all year long.

My prayer for these remaining days of Christmas, for this New Year’s Eve, and for every day of the year ahead is that we’ll be honest, deliberate, and faithful about what the work of Christmas looks like. That it’s not always clean and neat and tidy. But that it’s hard and holy a lot of the time, too. And that it’s our work to do – that it requires something of us – as recipients of and in grateful response for the gift of grace that has come in Jesus.

And that if we can’t … or when we won’t … or if we refuse … or when we don’t … we’ll at least light a candle maybe … to remind ourselves and to let others see that the work of Christmas can’t be packed up or put away; that it may never be complete on our watch; but that the light of God’s love in Jesus, always shines in the darkness of this world, and the darkness will never overcome it.

Amen. Merry Christmas. Happy New Year.