What Then Should We Do?

“And the crowds asked him, ‘What then should we do?’” Even the tax collectors and the soldiers asked him, “And we, what should we do?” And the lawyers and judges, the nurses and doctors, the teachers and the stay-at-home moms and dads, even the priests and deacons asked him, “And we, what should we do?”

It’s Gaudete Sunday. We’ve lit the pink Advent candle. We’ve begun to anticipate celebrating Christmas and especially finding the gifts that mysteriously appear under the tree. Why then do we hear John the Baptist’s thundering exhortation? Why do we hear his answers to the plaintive questions of the crowds?

All the other Scripture readings for today tell us to rejoice. Following his recitation of the judgments of God on the people of Israel, the prophet Zephaniah now calls on them to rejoice: “Sing aloud, O daughter Zion; shout, O Israel! Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem!” In the canticle from the prophet Isaiah, which we said in response to the reading from Zephaniah, we hear a similar theme. Looking ahead to the return from the Exile in Babylon, the prophet exhorts the people “Cry aloud, inhabitants of Zion, ring out your joy….”

Most important, we hear the call to rejoice in Paul’s letter to the Christians at Philippi. Written from prison in 64AD, this was Paul’s last letter. We heard the opening section of the letter last week, in which Paul gave thanks for the help and support he received from the Philippian Christian community. Now, at the end of the letter, Paul twice commands the Philippian Christians to rejoice. The Latin for the command to “rejoice,” gaudete, gives us the name for this Sunday.

In seeming contrast to all these commands to “rejoice,” in our Gospel reading we hear John’s pronouncements and promises of judgement. We even hear him fulminate at the crowds who come out to be baptized by him: “Brood of snakes! What do you think you’re doing slithering down here to the river? Do you think a little water on your snakeskins is going to deflect God’s judgment?” And then the evangelist tells us that, “with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people.” Good news?

Advent is strange. To begin with, it’s counter-cultural. Out there, we’ve been celebrating “Christmas” since Thanksgiving – or even before – and for many people, the Twelve Days of Christmas begin today, rather than after Christmas day. Moreover, in Advent we live in three time zones at once. We look back to the past, to the past even before the birth of Jesus, we look to the future, to the coming celebration of Jesus’ birth and to Jesus’ Second Coming, and, we acknowledge Christ’s coming to us in the present. But Advent also has two faces, both of which are reflected in today’s readings. It has a joyful aspect, in which we rejoice at the coming celebration and trust in God’s future, in God’s promises of a renewed creation. And Advent also has an aspect of judgement, in which we are called to reflect on how we live our lives as we wait for God’s coming, God’s coming at Christmas, in the future, and in our lives now.

How then are we to live? What do we see in our readings? In John the Baptist’s exhortations, we are asked to recognize that God’s call to repentance, to changing our way of life, is addressed to all of us. While Matthew directs John’s hard words at the religious leaders, here in Luke, John’s exhortations are to the “crowds.” John is not shouting at the Scribes or Pharisees, he is shouting at ordinary people. And not only ordinary people but also the hated tax collectors, who colluded with the Roman occupiers, and even with Roman soldiers themselves, who enforced Roman rule. He was especially critical of those who claimed special status as God’s chosen people, reminding them that “children of Abraham are a dime a dozen. God can make children from stones if God wants.”

John also calls the crowds to recognize that immersion in water is a symbolic act that reflects an inner commitment to draw closer to God. But it is a commitment that has to be realized in concrete acts, in concrete individual and communal behavior. So, if those who were baptized were serious about preparing to greet the one who will baptize us “with the Holy Spirit and fire,” they must be generous with their worldly goods, honest in their business dealings, kind and compassionate in their personal relationships, and content with their station in life.

With all these prescriptions, John also asked the crowds to recognize what Barbara Brown Taylor called “an altar in the world.” That is, they were to understand that their ordinary lives, their daily lives, were sacred and holy. Although John himself was a desert ascetic, who wore garments of camel’s hair and ate locusts and honey, he did not ask people to follow him into the wilderness. Instead, he asked them to show their commitment to God’s way in their day-to-day lives. Moreover, they were to trust that God was at work in them and in the world, and that God would deliver on God’s promises.

Don’t we hear a similar message in the letter to the Philippians? After commanding these new followers of Jesus to “rejoice,” Paul also exhorts them. He calls them to “forbearance,” or as The Message puts it, “Make it as clear as you can to all you meet that you’re on their side, working with them and not against them.” Moreover, they are to let God’s nearness change their behavior now, by behaving more compassionately with others, and by trusting that God is aware of their needs. If they do, again quoting The Message, “Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.”

Not surprisingly, our canticle and reading from Zephaniah echo Paul’s call for a deeper trust in God in all that we do. As Isaiah puts it, “I will trust in him and not be afraid. For the Lord is my stronghold and my sure defense….” Similarly, Zephaniah calls the people to trust in God’s promises, most especially God’s promise that, “I will make you renowned and praised among all the people of the earth, when I restore your fortunes before your eyes says the Lord.”

What then should we do? The virtues to which John the Baptizer calls us twenty-first century followers of Jesus are good for all seasons. Perhaps, though, it is especially important to hear John’s message at this time of year, when the “Christmas season,” tends to overwhelm us. Make no mistake: we too are part of the crowds who heard John’s exhortations, and we too must change our lives. First, we too are called to realize that ultimately no human status will save us. We will not be saved through our class, our caste, or our ethnicity. Neither will our possessions, our wealth, or our attainments save us. We will not be saved solely because we are Episcopalians. To paraphrase John, we cannot say to ourselves, “We have Thomas Cranmer as our father,” as if that alone guaranteed us special treatment before God.

Like the crowds who heard John, we are also called to be generous. As we scurry to find the perfect Christmas gift, as we worry if we cannot afford everything on our children’s gift lists, do we remember those who have no coat? Right in this parish, you can be generous with hats, scarves, gloves, and diapers. Can you donate to food banks, the Outreach Center, or Serenity House? National and international charitable organizations abound. Episcopal Relief and Development is an especially worthy organization, as it works in disasters in this country, including one right here in Gallia County, and in partnership with church organizations overseas. Consider supporting them with a monthly donation. Or how about organizations working on environmental issues? Two to consider: the National Parks Conservation Association, which works to protect our own national parks, and the World Wildlife Fund.

Like the tax collectors who heard John, we are also called to be honest in all our dealings. And that includes honesty with ourselves. Self-examination, as twelve-step programs repeatedly stress, is an important practice. I invite you to practice reviewing your day or week regularly. Like the Roman soldiers, we are also called to contentment, to “bloom where you are planted,” as we used to say. Ambition and the desire for transformation, challenge, and growth, are all important parts of maturity. Yet, we are also called to contentment, to staying grounded where we are, doing our best to be Christ for others where we are. And, of course, we are called to kindness and compassion, to gentleness or forbearance with all. Random acts of kindness are wonderful, but the deeper challenge is to see all people as children of God, to see Christ’s face in all those whom we meet and treat them as we would treat Christ.

So is there good news after all in John the Baptist’s message? My sisters and brothers, here’s the good news. We can trust that God loves us so much that God wants to transform us, that God wanted to gift us with God’s son to provide us with a model of how we are to live, and that ultimately God gives us God’s Spirit to guide us in what we do. “The Lord is near.” The Lord is always near, walking beside us, not just at Christmas, but now and forever. What then should we do? “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say Rejoice.”

Questions

“But who may abide the day of His coming? And who shall stand when He appeareth? For He is like a refiner's fire.” These are the lines from an air in part 1 of Handel’s “Messiah.” Although it was actually written to be heard in Easter tide, “Messiah” is now often sung near Christmas. When we do hear it at this time of year, we often listen attentively to the opening tenor air, “Comfort ye, my people.” Then in our minds we rush ahead to “O thou that tellest good tidings to Zion.” We often miss, or we don’t pay attention to, these words from the prophet Malachi. Actually, this is a challenging air to sing. It’s even more challenging to hear. Do we really want to hear the questions it asks?

Actually, three of our four lections for today pose challenging questions, questions that are appropriate for Advent. Our Hebrew Bible reading, which we just heard sung, is from the prophecy of Malachi. Malachi is traditionally considered the last prophetic book. For Christians, it is the very last book in the Hebrew Bible. It is also the last prophetic book for Jews, although Jews place all the prophets in the middle of the Hebrew Bible, between the Torah and the other writings. Traditionally, Jews read this portion of Malachi on the Sabbath before Passover, as they look forward to hearing again the great story of God’s deliverance of the Israelites from slavery.

Malachi was written for those who had returned to Judea from Exile, i.e., after 515 BC. Although the returnees were under Persian rule, they were allowed to restore sacrificial worship and begin rebuilding the temple. The entire book, only four chapters, is actually a dialogue between prophet and people, in which the prophet challenges the people with God’s word, and the people respond. In the section we just heard, the prophet, speaking for God, announces the coming of God’s messenger. He flings challenging questions at the people: can you stand to be in the presence of God’s messenger? How will you respond when God’s messenger lays out all the ways in which you have strayed from God’s covenant with you? The prophet then warns them that God will subject them to cleansing processes that will transform them into the people God wishes them to be. Can you picture those processes? A refiner’s fire can reach 1500 degrees Fahrenheit. Fuller’s soap is an abrasive bleaching soap. The purification process that God desires will be painful indeed. But there’s also a promise. God will accomplish God’s purposes, so that indeed the people may offer appropriate worship as they rebuild the temple. When today’s Jews hear this promise on the eve of Passover, they hear a promise that they may some day be able to build a third temple – the first one, Solomon’s temple, having been destroyed by the Babylonians in 586 BC, and the second one, having been destroyed by the Romans in 70 AD. (The Temple Mount in today’s Jerusalem, sacred to Jews, Christians, and Muslims, is what remains of the second temple.)

Malachi’s questions to the people in his prophecy were explicit. In our reading from Paul’s letter to the Christians at Philippi, the question is implicit. This was probably the last of Paul’s letters. It was probably written from a Roman prison about 64 AD. As you heard, Paul thanks the Philippians for their gifts and support. Then he prays for them. As we hear Paul’s prayer, do we ourselves wonder, “Who will be ‘pure and blameless’ in the ‘day of Christ?’” Do we wonder what it will take for us to be “pure and blameless” when Christ comes to us?

There’s even an implied question in our gospel reading. At the moment, of course, we’re getting the story backwards. With the ministry of John the Baptist, we’ve jumped forward thirty years after Jesus’ birth, just before the beginning of Jesus’ own ministry. Here the evangelist shows us the adult John – the story of his birth comes before Jesus’ birth. In fact, in place of our psalm, we said what is called the Benedictus, from its first word in Latin, which is John’s father’s prophecy about John. Instead of becoming a priest like his father, John has become an ascetic. Like the prophets of the Hebrew Bible, he has come out of the desert to speak God’s word, to “prepare the way of the Lord,” as he says, quoting the prophet Isaiah. In preparation for Jesus’ ministry, he has called out the entire community – not isolated individuals, but everyone – to a change of heart, and to be immersed in water to symbolize their readiness to change their way of life. And let’s be clear about this: in the New Testament, “repent” does not mean feeling sorry for your sins. “Repent” means changing your entire way of life. And the questions? Surely as difficult for us as they were for those ancient Judeans. Does God really want us to change our way of life? Are we willing to do more than go down into the Jordan River? What does it really take to live differently? Hard questions all.

Advent is the time for such questions. Prophets often ask us hard questions. And often their questions inspire terror, not joy. We don’t want to hear the challenge in their questions. We certainly don’t want to undergo a painful process of letting go of what keeps us from hearing God’s words more clearly, and we don’t want to change our way of life. Yet that is our call in Advent. Advent is our time for self-reflection. It is our time to ask ourselves the questions we hear in Scripture today. It is a time for self-examination, for opening ourselves to God and allowing God to begin in us the slow work of transformation.

So what kinds of questions am I suggesting that we ask ourselves this Advent? We profess to be followers of Jesus. Does our commitment to Jesus affect our lives as citizens in any way? In the wake of the recent gun tragedies – dear God, yet another – shouldn’t we be asking ourselves whether we are doing all we can as a nation to prevent such tragedies? Or have we let the NRA buy off our politicians, so that assault weapons are freely available, and background checks virtually non-existent? Is it time to ask ourselves as a nation whether all our citizens, regardless of their income or their employer, have access to decent healthcare – like the citizens of every other industrialized nation in the world? As we beat down the doors of our stores or flood the sites of online vendors in our quest for the perfect Christmas gift, do we give a thought to the poor in this country? Ironically, today is St. Nicholas day. St. Nicholas, the ancestor of our modern Santa Claus, was a fourth-century bishop who was known for secretly putting coins in the shoes of the poor. As the climate change talks progress in Paris, are we thinking at all about creation care? Are we trying to pare down, reuse, and recycle our “stuff?”

Advent also challenges us with questions we might ask as a parish. For example, is our worship prophetic? Do our hymns, prayers, and lections enable us to hear God’s word more clearly? Does our worship provide entertainment or edification? Diversion or direction? Amusement or awareness? Most important, does what we do here on Sunday impact our lives? Does worship lead to transformation?

And what about our personal lives? Are we willing to honestly look at what needs changing in our lives and ask God’s help to make those needed changes? Many of you may be familiar with twelve-step programs. Franciscan Richard Rohr, who has had a long prison ministry, has recently been reflecting on each of the twelve steps. They provide a wonderful introduction to the spiritual life! After admitting their need for God and their obligation to make amends to those whom they have harmed, alcoholics are reminded, in step 10, “We continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.” Do those of us who are sober need to take such a personal inventory? Advent is a time to do that. Remember that Advent is a gift from the church that enables us to prepare more seriously and more intentionally for receiving Christ at Christmas.

After the first performance of “Messiah” in London in 1741, Handel wrote to a friend: “I should be sorry if I only entertained them. I wished to make them better.” Although by 1751 Handel was blind, until his death in 1759, he continued to conduct “Messiah” every year as an annual benefit for a hospital that served widows and orphans of the clergy. “And he shall purify the sons of Levi.” As we engage in self-examination in Advent, as we ask ourselves hard questions, as we ponder where our lives need to change, we can trust that God is at work in us. We can trust that, if we are open to God, God will fulfill God’s promises to us, in the world, in the church, and in ourselves.

The Days are Surely Coming

We’re an impatient people. We want what we want when we want it. Think about what was once called “mail order.” We pored through the Sears and Roebuck catalog, then we filled out the order form, dropped it in a mailbox, and waited. Now, open a website, point, click, and done, and your order is at your door two days later. Or think about computers. In the late ‘80s, the dark ages, we had little monochrome screens, you could read a novel waiting for programs to load, and polish off another novel waiting for your email messages to come in over a dial-up connection. Now, we’re on instantly, and downloads come in at warp speed. And you just better answer my email or text within twenty-four hours!

We’re an impatient people. Except in Roman Catholic, Episcopal, and a few Protestant churches. Unlike the rest of the world around us, we have not rushed headlong into Christmas. As you see, except for the Advent wreath, there are no decorations or trees here – and we won’t put them up until after the service on Advent 4. We won’t sing any Christmas carols until Christmas tide. And if you came to hear “comfort and joy” in the sermons for next four Sundays, you are in the wrong place. So did the priest-in-charge steal Christmas, like Dr. Seuss’ Grinch? Is she like Mr. Scrooge, stingily dismissing Christmas with, “Bah, humbug?”

Not really. We have begun a new church year, and with it, the holy season of Advent. It’s a quiet, solemn, and serious season. You can see that seriousness reflected in the color of our vestments and paraments – they’re a subdued blue. We’re using our liturgy with the old seventeenth-century language, honoring our history as we pray in more solemn tones. Even the settings of the sung parts of our liturgy are simpler.

While the world outside us may be in the throes of the “Christmas season,” the church gives us a valuable gift in the quieter season of Advent. We can slow down, take a deep breath, and listen for the stirrings of the Holy Spirit. More important, we can take the time for quiet reflection on what God has done, what God is doing among us now, and what God will do in the future.

Advent initially was a forty-day season of fasting, to prepare for the baptisms that would take place on Epiphany, January 6th. In fact Orthodox Christians, who emphasize Epiphany rather than Christmas, still keep a forty-day fast to prepare for Epiphany. Western Christians like us keep Advent for the four Sundays before Christmas. Our lessons for the first Sunday in Advent focus on God’s promises for the future. John the Baptist thunders his message on the second and third Sundays. Only on the fourth Sunday do we look ahead to Christmas, when we hear Mary’s response to the Annunciation. In this season of Advent, the lectionary readings and the special devotions that the church invites us to undertake are meant to awaken us, to make us more aware of the surprising ways God comes to us, and to enable us to wait patiently and attentively for God to continue to act.

All our readings for today remind us of our call to wait patiently and attentively for God. Jeremiah’s prophecies were first written in the midst of the chaos and despair that followed the sack of Jerusalem and the exile to Babylon in 586 BC. To remind people of God’s covenant with them, the prophet uses an image familiar to the people of his time, viz., a king who would victoriously lead them out of exile. He exhorts his hearers to remember God’s promises, especially the covenant that God made with the Israelites after the Exodus. In that covenant, God declared that Israel would be God’s people forever. The prophet also reminds his downcast people to remember God’s promises to David, which we heard last week in David’s last words, and especially David’s confidence that God had made an everlasting covenant with him. As a response to the reading from Jeremiah, Psalm 25 also calls us to remember God’s promises and to trust God to deliver on God’s promises.

Paul’s letter to the Christians in Thessalonica was Paul’s first letter, written about 50 AD, to one of the earliest of the new communities of Jesus’ followers. Christians in this community were earnestly waiting for Christ to return, and they believed that they would see his return before they themselves died. We don’t know whether Paul himself believed that Christ’s return was imminent. Even so, Paul clearly exhorts these new believers to wait for Christ, whenever he comes, with gratitude, love, and holiness.

The gospel according to Luke – we will be hearing a lot from Luke in this third year of the Revised Common Lectionary – was written in the ‘80s AD, after the fall of Jerusalem, and the destruction of the Jewish Temple by the Romans. Here too the evangelist uses symbols his hearers would appreciate. This part of Luke’s gospel is apocalyptic, like the book of Revelation, i.e., it is symbolic writing that looks ahead to the future. In using apocalyptic symbols, the evangelist reminds his hearers that despite the chaos and destruction that they see all around them God is at work. As faithful followers of Jesus, they are therefore called to “stand up and raise your heads,” i.e., they are to be watchful for further signs of God at work, and they are to trust that God’s reign is near. More important, they are to trust that they are already living in God’s realm, despite what they see around them. As Jesus himself had proclaimed, “The Kingdom of God is at hand,” i.e., it is here already. Even as they trust that God has already inaugurated God’s realm, even as they wait for its final culmination, they are to use God’s gifts to them wisely, not squandering God’s gifts in indulgence, drunkenness, and worldly cares, but watching and waiting patiently and attentively for signs of God at work.

And so, in this first Sunday of the new church year, in this first week of Advent, we wait patiently, with hope and holiness. We look attentively for signs of God’s presence, trusting that God is at work and seeking ways to partner with God in God’s work. In our personal lives, we savor the gift of Advent, the gift of time to reflect on the ways that God was, is, and will be present to us, changing and shaping us into the people God created us to be. Can you use this gift of Advent to find time for more intentional prayer? I invite you to use, for example, the Forward Movement meditations in the booklet we are giving you. I also invite you to light your Advent candles, perhaps at the same time that you use the booklet. Can you take some time for self-reflection? Perhaps at the end of the day? Can you see God at work in your own life?

Can you see God at work in our parish? I recently learned that someone who had once been connected to this parish left us, because it seemed to this person that St. Peter’s had no future, and that the parish was dying. That’s not what I see. Yes, the parish is smaller than it was in twenty-five years ago, but so are many Episcopal parishes, especially in small towns. Even so, this is not a dying parish. God is at work here. I see a parish that has begun to grow again, especially with people deeply committed to prayer, worship, and mission. I see a parish that has kept the red doors open, raised up a deacon, and been given a resident priest-to-be. I see a parish that is even now discerning the new ministries into which God might be leading us. Can we wait patiently and attentively for what God might do next among us?

It’s hard to miss the chaos and destruction in the world outside our parish. Paris, Beirut, Mali, Charleston, Oregon, Colorado, Phoenix. As I wrote this, a gunman had wounded several people and was holed up in a Planned Parenthood facility in Colorado Springs, Colorado. Meanwhile, global warming is playing havoc with our planet and causing ever more severely destructive weather. Is God at work? Are there signs of hope? There are. On Friday, for example, we learned that all the women kidnapped by Boko Haram in Nigeria have been released. And today, as we turn our hearts to God in this peaceful, sacred space, after only two weeks since the attacks in Paris, 147 world leaders have arrived in the city for a mega-conference on climate change. God willing, the talks will produce solid agreements among all these nations that will help reduce greenhouse gas emissions. And I see other signs of God at work. I see community gardens, solar panels and other forms of renewable energy, composting and recycling, thirty-mile meals and farmers’ markets, and more fuel-efficient cars. I see a Habitat for Humanity group that built a house in honor of three Muslims who were murdered in North Carolina. I see The National, a Scottish newspaper, welcoming Syrian refugees with the banner headline, “Welcome to Scotland.”

So in this holy season of Advent I wait. We wait. We trust in God’s promises. We wait patiently for God for fulfill God’s promises. We watch for signs and wonders, in our own lives, in the lives of this parish, and in the world around us. And we attentively seek God’s leading in our work to bring God’s realm ever nearer.

Rejoice, the Lord is King

How does one become a U.S. citizen? As most of you probably know, if you are born in one of the fifty U.S. states or one of its territories, you are automatically a citizen, regardless of the citizenship of your parents. Anyone born here, even the child of foreign nationals, is a U.S. citizen. If you are born abroad to U.S. citizen parents, all your parents have to do is register your birth with a U.S. embassy or consulate, and, again, you are automatically a U.S. citizen. If you are born anywhere else, you may become a naturalized U.S. citizen. You must be at least eighteen years old, must have lived here at least five years as a resident alien, i.e., have a “green card,” you must have a reasonable command of English, and you must pass a citizenship test. After that, you have all the rights and responsibilities of U.S. citizens. You may vote, and you are expected to abide by the law and pay taxes.

How does one become a citizen in God’s realm? For those residents of God’s realm who acknowledge Jesus as their leader, the process is something like that of becoming a U.S. citizen. If you were “born into” the church, i.e., if you were baptized as an infant, you became a Christian by virtue of the promises and commitments of your parents and sponsors. If you were baptized as an adult, you made your own promises and commitments, promises and commitments that you affirmed or reaffirmed in confirmation. As a citizen in God’s realm, you are assured of forgiveness of all your sins, you may share in Christ’s Body and Blood, and you may receive, as the old Book of Common Prayer put it, “all other benefits of his passion.” But what else? To what else have we committed ourselves, and, more important, what are our responsibilities as citizens of God’s realm?

This is a good question to ask ourselves today. We are at the very end of the liturgical year. Next Sunday we will begin a new year, with a new set of Scripture readings. You’ll notice that your bulletin cover and Scripture insert says that today is the Last Sunday after Pentecost and the feast of Christ the King. Why, you might ask, are we reflecting on Christ as a king? Jesus strongly resisted those who would have made him a king. The Gospel of John tells us that, “When Jesus realized,” after multiplying the loaves and fish, “that they were about to come and take him by force to make him king, he withdrew again to the mountain by himself.” Even so, the gospels frequently use royal imagery for Jesus. The gospel of Matthew begins by announcing straight out that Jesus is God’s Anointed One. In the same gospel, when the Persian astrologers arrive in Jerusalem after Jesus’ birth, they ask, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?” And towards the end, when Jesus enters Jerusalem in triumph, Luke tells us that people shouted, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!”

Even so, the feast of Christ the King is not an ancient feast. In the Book of Common Prayer that preceded our current book, the so-called 1928 Prayer Book, we had a one-year lectionary, i.e., the same readings year after year. The last gospel reading for the Sunday next before Advent, as this day was known, was the story of the Loaves and Fishes from John. And this is a strange feast for those who live in a democracy, especially for citizens of the U.S., whose forebears either fought a war to detach from a monarchy or fled tyrannical regimes and persecution elsewhere in the world.

Actually, the feast of Christ the King only dates from 1925. It was created by Pope Pius XI, who also suggested today’s readings. Fascism was rising in Italy and Germany, the Great Depression was looming in Europe, and war was clearly not far off. Pius wanted to remind the faithful that our allegiance as Christians is to something other than earthly rulers. When Protestant churches adopted the three-year lectionary in the 1960’s and ‘70’s, they also adopted the feast of Christ the King with it.

So, as citizens of God’s realm, to what have we committed ourselves, and what are our responsibilities? In our reading from 2 Samuel, we hear the last words of the dying King David. In reflecting on how he has fulfilled God’s covenant with him, David alludes to the just ruler, who is a blessing to all people, and who will eventually triumph over evil. In our reading from the gospel according to John, we hear Jesus confront an earthly despot. Despite facing his own death, Jesus reminds Pilate that the realm that Jesus has proclaimed is totally unlike earthly realms and has its origin and continued life in God.

Our reading from the Book of Revelation gives us more clues as to whom we have committed ourselves and what that commitment might mean for how we actually live. But first a word about Revelation: it’s often misunderstood, especially by those who make the mistake of taking it literally. It was written towards the end of the first century to a persecuted fledgling Christian community. Its writer was most likely not the writer of the gospel of John, but rather the leader of a Christian community in Ephesus, who was exiled by the Romans to the Greek island of Patmos.

Curiously, the book brings together two kinds of writing. First, it is apocalypse, i.e., a vision of a future realm in heaven that contrasts sharply with the present corrupt times. Many of the early scenes take place in heaven, while in the latter part we witness the defeat of Babylon, the writer’s stand-in for the Roman Empire. But the book is also a letter to seven of the Christian communities in cities near Ephesus. The greetings and the praise of God at the beginning of the passage we just heard are standard fare for ancient letters. Even so, in this opening section, complete with quotations from two Hebrew prophets, we have suggestions as to what it might mean to be a subject of this king, a citizen of God’s realm. And what do we hear? We hear something about who Jesus is, what Jesus has done for us, and how we are to live as Jesus’ followers.

Who is Jesus? Jesus is, first of all, a martyr, which literally means “witness.” Jesus is a faithful witness to God’s power and an instrument of it. Jesus is also the one who, though a martyr, overcame death. Most important, Jesus is a ruler, the final authority over all earthly political rulers, indeed of all creation. As a descendant of David, he too has kept God’s covenant, and he will be the just, generous, and merciful ruler to which David alluded in his dying words.

What has Jesus done for us? Jesus “loves us and freed us from our sins….” Notice the tenses. Jesus is present to us now, loving us and caring for us now. More important, Jesus’ saving work is completed. “It is finished,” Jesus said from the cross in John’s gospel. Finally, Jesus “made us to be,” or perhaps enabled us to be, citizens of his country, whose work as citizens is to worship and serve.

So how indeed do we live in this realm? How do we worship and serve? As those who wish to be faithful followers of Jesus, we are, first of all, called to follow Christ’s example as a faithful witness ourselves. We are to acknowledge that our first loyalty is to him: not to our family, not to our social class, not to our friends, our team, our school, our political party, or even to our own country. And here let me say that loving one’s country is not a bad thing, it’s a good thing, but our first commitment as Christians is to God and to God’s realm. As Pius XI reminded faithful Catholics, nationality and all other identities come second. If we are serious about our allegiance to Christ, then we must also be prepared for hard choices, when we must intentionally and prayerfully try to align our will with God’s will.

Truthfully, the only way we can align our will with God’s will is to be in close relationship with Jesus. And that is our second responsibility as citizens of God’s realm. We are called to worship regularly, pray daily, and continue to grow as Christian through study of Scripture, theology, history, and ethics. If we wish to do the works are truly of God’s realm, we must be servant-leaders. Even when the forces of darkness threaten to overwhelm us, as they did in Beirut, Paris, and Mali, we are called to work diligently for peace. We are called to demonstrate compassion for all, as Jesus did, care for those in need, and welcome to our table the least, the lost, and the left behind. In so doing, we are to bring others into Christ’s gracious realm, serving as windows and instruments of Christ’s mercy.

Finally, as citizens of God’s realm, we are called to remember that we have committed ourselves not to a tyrant or a despot, but to a God of love, a God who deeply loves us and all creation as beloved children, a God who has promised to love us forever. “Rejoice, the Lord is King!” This is the good news! Proclaim it and live it!

O Blest Communion

As most of you know, I spent last week in New Orleans. Among the places my husband and I visited was an exhibit dedicated to Hurricane Katrina. Needless to say, although the hurricane struck New Orleans a little over ten years ago, the terrible memories of the breach of the levees following Katrina are still fresh, and the city is still recovering. Over eighty percent of New Orleans was under water following the breach, and 1,833 people died. Many thousands fled the city, and to this day not all of those who left have returned. In addition to the more than 175,000 homes that were lost to the flooding, priceless cultural artefacts, religious objects, and personal items were lost forever. To compound the tragedy, three weeks later, just as the city was beginning to dry out, hurricane Rita roared by. While only seven people died, countless more homes and businesses were flooded again.

Of course we in southern Ohio are no strangers to destructive weather. We too have seen floods and tornadoes. Early last month, extreme rainfall caused disastrous flooding in the Columbia, South Carolina area, destroying homes, businesses, roads and bridges. Almost three years ago to the day, Hurricane Sandy, as a hurricane and a post-tropical cyclone, caused at least 147 deaths in the Northeast United States, Canada, and the Caribbean, according to the National Hurricane Center. And, of course there was the earthquake in Haiti in 2010 that caused monumental destruction and havoc in that small country.

We could go on and on with hurricanes, earthquakes, tornados, cyclones, and tsunamis. To so-called “natural disasters” we can easily add those caused by human folly. In fact, the curators of the Katrina exhibit in New Orleans admitted that Katrina was a “natural force with an outcome compounded by human error.” And who can forget the BP Gulf oil spill or that of the Exxon Valdez? Add to them, on the macro level famine, war, ethnic cleansing, and violent political dictatorships, and, on the micro level, rape, illness, addiction, domestic abuse, injustice, and accidents. In the face of so much human need, our elected officials seem more than ever to be handcuffed by extreme partisanship and totally unable to agree on even the smallest steps. No wonder some of us want to cry out, “Where are you, God? What are you doing about our messy, broken, sinful world? Are you totally disconnected from all these disasters?”

And yet, we are also people of faith. We admit our brokenness and sinfulness, and yet we trust that there is more to human destiny than one disaster after another. Our Scriptures, so full of God’s promises, tell a different story than that of the daily news. Today’s Scripture readings in particular give us an assurance, a “blessed assurance,” that God is with us in all the disasters that crash in on our lives. What is more important, in the midst of these disasters, God offers us hope for the future, for a restoration of creation, and for life lived on a new plane. Addressing a people in exile, the writer of the first part of the book of Isaiah assures his readers that God knows their plight and sorrows with them. Although their world had been turned upside down, in much the same way as for those suffering from the hurricanes, Isaiah suggests that God will ultimately bring about a different future for the exiles. Can you picture that heavenly banquet? All the wonderful food and the best wine? After my week in New Orleans, I certainly can! Wouldn’t you be comforted to hear that God will perfect creation, and that a future without death, a future of joyful abundance that is open to all, is part of God’s plan?

Our Gospel reading puts “skin” on Isaiah’s vision, so to speak. Do you have any doubts that God knows our pain? Jesus’ visit to Bethany is the last of the signs that John’s Gospel offers us that Jesus is the Word made flesh, that Jesus is sent by God to be God in our midst. And what does God-with-us do? He weeps! He knows our pain and loss and grieves with us – then and now. And then, pointing forward to his own resurrection, he releases his friend Lazarus from the bonds of death and assures the crowd, the gospel readers, and us, that eventually all of us will be set free from the bonds of death, that all of us will, with the readers of Isaiah, feast at God’s great banquet.

Surely the writer of the book of Revelation also understood God’s promises of restoration and wholeness. He was writing to Jewish Christian communities that had suffered martyrdom at the hands of the Roman Empire, so he used different images to capture his vision of God’s future. In the image of the new Jerusalem, he gives us a wonderful symbol for perfected creation. Can you picture that perfect city, so different from any known on earth? Shining, sparkling, gem-encrusted, perfect in its dimensions, a place where all is new, where death has been banished, and where the gates are open to all? And more: in this newly perfected Jerusalem, the compassionate God who comforted the exiles and wept over Lazarus knows all of God’s people intimately. And lest we think all this is a vain hope, John declares that, “It is done!” God has already acted decisively, and, despite our doubts, God is even now bringing God’s plans to fruition.

At this point you might be asking, “Wait, isn’t this All Saints Day? Aren’t we celebrating all those saints ‘who from their labors rest?’ Why do we hear all these readings outlining God’s compassion for us and God’s promises of a restored creation? What about all those holy women and men?” Here’s the answer. To begin with, by saints we do not mean only holy people who lived centuries ago and are now enshrined in icons and stained glass windows. The true saints, both those on the official calendars, and those known only to a few friends and relatives, are those who have caught the vision. The true saints are those who have experienced God at work in their own lives and who trust God’s promises. The true saints are those who can see past the grief and pain of this life and can glimpse God’s future with their own eyes. The true saints are those who, seeing this future in their mind’s eyes, have accepted God’s invitation to share that vision with others.

The saints do indeed constitute a “great cloud of witnesses” for us. Certainly the saints of history, those ancient martyrs in whose memory this feast day began, are among their number. So too are those like Francis and Clare of Assisi, who turned their backs on wealth and adopted a life of service to the poor. Who can forget the scholars among them, Dominic, Thomas Aquinas, or Catherine of Siena? Or the mystics, Hildegard of Bingen or Julian of Norwich? Or Brother Lawrence, who knew God’s presence with him in the pots and pans of a monastery kitchen? More contemporary saints are also alive in that “cloud:” people like Philander Chase, the founder of the Episcopal Church in Ohio, Julia Chester Emery, the founder of the United Thank Offering, Mother Ruth, the founder of the Community of the Holy Spirit, Thomas Merton, Trappist monk and teacher of mysticism to us all, or Martin Luther King, Jr., whose martyrdom helped break down the walls separating the races. And then there are the saints known only to you: those relatives, friends, and teachers, who shared their vision of God with you and led you to trust in God’s promises. Truly the saints are beyond number.

And what of ourselves? What is our call on All Saints Day? Certainly, we are called to remember the saints with gratitude, to give thanks to God for the courage they showed in their day in sharing their visions of God. And are we among the saints? When our time is past, will we be among that “cloud of witnesses?” You and I could not stop Hurricane Katrina in its tracks. We cannot solely by our own individual efforts stop war and erase poverty. But can we too catch the vision? Can we deepen our relationship with God? Can we see ahead to God’s future and accept God’s invitation to join in bringing that future nearer? Lane Denson reminds us that in our readings from Mark’s Gospel this fall we have been called to be servant leaders. On All Saints Sunday, we are charged with accepting that call and falling in with all the rest of the saints, with the apostles, martyrs, and mystics, all the founders of communities, all those who have gone to the aid of those suffering in disasters, all those who gave their lives for racial and ethnic justice, all those who care for God’s creation, and all those who seek to eliminate poverty and injustice. On All Saints Sunday we too are called to join the communion of saints and proclaim the good news. We too are called to see beyond the limitations of this life in the present, beyond the disasters, beyond the social inequity and racial discrimination, beyond the abuse and destruction that we have visited on nature. With the saints we too are called to claim the promise of God’s reign now and forever.

O blest communion, fellowship divine! God grant that we may know ourselves to be numbered among them!

Continually Given to Good Works

“What must I do to inherit eternal life?” It’s a real question. And it’s a question that people throughout the centuries and throughout the world – including all of us at one time or another – have asked in some form. The questioner in today’s Gospel reading from Mark is sincere. Although wealthy, he reports that he has conscientiously followed the commandments dealing with proper human relations. Perhaps he is a searcher, someone who is dissatisfied with the life he knows and is looking for something deeper. And so he accosts Jesus on his journey, humbles himself at Jesus’ feet, and puts his question.

Why are we hearing this story now? We are more than half-way through the gospel of Mark. In the first half of the gospel, we watched Jesus heal, teach, and commission others to spread his message. Three of Jesus’ closest friends have witnessed his Transfiguration. Now, post mountain-top, Jesus and his disciples are headed for Jerusalem. Mark’s readers and we are allowed to listen in as Jesus prepares his followers for life without his physical presence. We hear Jesus teaching them what bearing the Cross really looks like, and how a community committed to him actually will live out its life.

Jesus reminds his followers that the realm of God is neither a place nor a political system. It is not “pie in the sky by and by.” Rather, Jesus has proclaimed that they begin living in God’s realm now, as they pursue a way of life that will enable them to live in God’s realm forever. As Jesus has taught his friends, in God’s realm, there is no one who is “the greatest.” Jesus has talked about marriage and divorce, encouraging them to live in faithful committed relationships and stable families. He has exhorted them to live as spiritual children, realizing their dependence on grace and each other and recognizing that all are members of God’s family. Now, speaking especially to those of his followers who are wealthy, Jesus takes up the questions of their relationship to their resources and, more important, how they are to use their resources.

“Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” So how does Jesus answer the man’s question? To our surprise, Jesus scolds the man for calling him “good.” In his scolding is an implicit reminder that all that is good in life comes from God. Jesus then reminds the man that the old rules of life, those that have governed the Jewish community for centuries, still hold. And notice that Jesus includes a rule not found in the original Ten Commandments: don’t get wealthy by fraudulent means.

Apparently, this answer doesn’t satisfy the man, as he continues to press Jesus. Jesus answers – but subtly shifts the question: he answers a slightly different question from what the man had posed. In his answer, he suggests that the goal of religious life is not “getting into heaven,” i.e., worrying about some life after this one. Rather, Jesus suggests that the goal of religious life is living in God’s realm now, i.e., beginning now to enlarge the self that the man will have when he comes to the end of his life. The man must not, Jesus implies, be overly concerned with self-preservation, with saving himself – what must I do. Rather, Jesus invites the man to cultivate lifelong wisdom, humility, passion for justice, lovingkindness, mercy, and hospitality. In inviting the man to “sell,” Jesus suggests that earthly possessions may become an obstacle in the way of pursuing such a way of life. Although he himself was an itinerant who owned nothing, Jesus knew – and cautioned the man – that the man was in danger of focusing on his possessions, on acquiring and maintaining them, rather than on his relationship with God and with other people. Finally, in inviting the man to “give,” Jesus reminds him of his obligation – and his joy – to make sure that others have adequate access to the goods of this world, to food, shelter, clothing, and all those other things that enrich life.

“What must I do to inherit eternal life?” This is not the real question. When you think about it, there’s nothing anyone can do to inherit anything. No, the real question for us is, how do we begin to live in God’s realm now, so that we may continue living in that realm when we pass from this life? In other words, how do we use our resources in a way that leads us to spiritual health and a larger soul? It’s a question all of us must grapple with, but it’s an especially daunting question for those of us whose monetary resources exceed our immediate needs.

So how do we live in such a way that our resources contribute to our spiritual health? Do we close all our bank accounts, draw out all our retirement savings, and give all the proceeds to charity – or to the homeless person in the next street? Traditionally, those who enter convents or monasteries do just that. Many courageous nuns and brothers go into poor neighborhoods and live simply, owning nothing, while working to end poverty and homelessness. For the rest of us, is Jesus suggesting that we go on welfare or join the homeless population?

There’s a part of me that would like to say “Yes, he is,” but I also know that there would be no Christian community without resources. So how do we live if we are Jesus’ disciples and truly want to become spiritually rich? To begin with, we are called to recognize the source of what we have. No one is self-made. Ultimately, all we have is God-given. Knowing that, we cultivate a sense of gratitude. And we can be conscientious in expressing our sense of gratitude. As spiritual teacher Henri Nouwen has taught us, ““Gratitude...goes beyond the 'mine' and 'thine' and claims the truth that all of life is a pure gift. In the past I always thought of gratitude as a spontaneous response to the awareness of gifts received, but now I realize that gratitude can also be lived as a discipline. The discipline of gratitude is the explicit effort to acknowledge that all I am and have is given to me as a gift of love, a gift to be celebrated with joy.”

Second, as citizens of one of the world’s wealthiest nations, and as members of a culture that encourages us to amass vast amounts of physical possessions – indeed an array of goods unthinkable in the ancient world – we can begin to recognize the consequences for the earth of all our possessions. Just think about what goes into making the things that you own. And think about what happens to them when you are ready to throw them away! All of us need to learn to live more simply and to begin finding ways of life that are less destructive of our one and only planet, “this fragile earth, our island home.”

We can remember that ultimately we will all surrender every single thing that we own. And so, we can begin to use what we have more intentionally. Scrutinize your checkbook or your bank statement. When I do that, I cringe when I see, for example, how much I am spending on communication: on cable, internet, cell phone, and land line. Are you using your resources in ways that reflect your commitment to Jesus and growing a spiritually healthy soul?

We can commit to sharing what we have. When Jesus talks about selling and giving, what I hear is using intentionally and sharing. So ask yourself, who is benefiting from your resources besides you? Can you use some of your resources, even a small amount, to make life less harsh for others, to open doors for others, to partner with God in bringing about what in Hebrew is called tikkun olam, the repair of the world?

Finally, we are called to remember that we all have resources. Our “possessions” are all that we have been given, not only our physical possessions. And we all have resources beyond economic resources. Even if you are living paycheck to paycheck, even if you are retired, even if your health is limited, we all have resources. “No arm so weak but may do service here,” as the old hymn puts it. Besides our money, we have resources of talents and time. So, in addition to scrutinizing our bank statement, we must ask ourselves how we are using the rest of our God-given resources. Are we using all our resources in ways that contribute to spiritual health for ourselves and others?

The man in today’s gospel story chose to turn away from Jesus. We can hope that perhaps he thought about his choice and eventually came back to Jesus – maybe that’s how the later Christian community knew his story! However, we have promised to follow Jesus, to “obey him” as our Lord, as the baptismal covenant puts it. In having made the choice to follow, we can be assured of blessing and grace. We can be confident that God’s grace will indeed anticipate what we need and accompany us in our efforts to grow spiritually. With that confidence we can trust that our lives may truly “continually be given to good works,” and to enjoying God’s grace forever.

Why?

The dead ranged in age from 18 to 67. One of the first-year students was active in Future Farmers of America. Two had just started college. Another was studying chemistry and volunteered at an animal shelter. One of the dead was one of six daughters of a local landscaper. Another had just returned to college to study alongside her daughter. Another student had come back to school after recently turning his life around. The oldest of the dead was an adjunct professor who loved literature and was also an avid outdoorsman. Despite the best efforts of an Iraq war veteran to protect them, in all ten people died, and another nine were seriously injured.

By now you know that I am talking about the shooting at Umpqua Community College in Oregon. Along with the devastated families of the dead, perhaps you too are grieving. I can’t even place myself in such a situation or begin to imagine what those families are experiencing. Perhaps too you are thinking of those who died at Mother Emmanuel Church in Charleston, SC, or of the children in Newtown, Connecticut, or of those who died in a movie theater in Aurora, Colorado, or of Gabby Giffords, whose rising Congressional career was tragically cut short in Tucson, Arizona by a deranged gunman. As those other tragedies flash by in your mind, perhaps you are tempted to ask what those who died or their families and communities did to bring about such suffering. After all, isn’t that basically what the disciples asked Jesus when they saw the blind man, “Rabbi,” they asked, “who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” And maybe, as you grieve, perhaps the only word that comes to mind is “Why?” Why do tragedies happen? Why do we suffer?

Why? It’s an age-old question. It’s the central question of the book of Job, but it’s not unique to Job. In fact, long before Job was composed, ancient writers of the Near East asked these questions. And every faith community since has some version of this question. Actually, the book of Job is a strange and difficult book. We will hear three more readings from Job in the coming weeks. It is part of what is called Wisdom literature, which includes the Book of Proverbs, the Wisdom of Solomon, Ecclesiastes, and other similar books. Often there is no mention of God in these books, as their goal is to teach us something about how to live moral and upright lives.

The book of Job is essentially a fable. It is intentionally not set in any recognizable time or place. Like the opening of Star Wars – long ago in a galaxy far, far away – it’s intended as a universal story, applicable to everyone. It begins and ends with a frame story. In between the frame are many dialogues between Job and his friends – his tormentors, some would say – as wells as complaints from Job to God, and God’s final answer to Job. Today, we’ve heard the opening scenes of the frame story, in which the Lord has convened a heavenly council. The Adversary has posed a challenge to the Lord concerning the steadfast commitment of Job. An aside here: Satan here is not the devil of later popular lore. This Satan, rather, is a kind of check or challenger to the Lord. The Adversary, the word used in the Jewish Publication Society translation, is one of the Lord’s councilors whose role is to make sure that the Lord considers all angles of a situation. So today, we hear the Adversary’s suggestion that Job would forsake the Lord if any harm came to Job’s body. It would be as if you lost your faith if you came down with shingles. Next week we’ll hear Job’s complaint that God has abandoned him. Two weeks from today we’ll hear God’s response to Job’s questioning, and, finally, three weeks from today we’ll hear the end of the framing fable.

As a fable with much embedded dialogue, the book of Job raises many difficult and important questions, even for us Christians. Perhaps the most serious question is, why do we have faith? Why indeed do we hold fast to a belief in God? Isn’t that what Job’s wife is really asking when she says, “Do you still persist in your integrity? Curse God and die.” Job holds fast to his commitment to God. But why? What has his commitment given him? When he was wealthy and happy, was it his faith that blessed him? Does faith save us from suffering? Clearly, Job, as well as the faithful Jews who were murdered in the Holocaust, the innocent people who have been condemned to death, and the families of victims of mass shootings would emphatically say no, faith does not save us from suffering. So what good is faith? Why does Job, why does any of us, believe? Is belief just a habit, something we’ve always had without thinking or questioning? Or do we believe, as the Prosperity Gospel suggests, so that we might be wealthy and happy? If we’re not wealthy and happy, is it because we don’t have a strong enough faith? At some point in our lives – perhaps at many different points, perhaps even in response to personal tragedies – all of us must grapple with these questions – and there are no easy answers.

The story of Job also raises the question of why people suffer. Do people bring their own suffering on themselves? Are they responsible for the bad things that happen to them? That was surely what the disciples thought when they posed their question about the blind man. And wouldn’t we agree? We moderns don’t believe in fate, so it must be our own fault when something bad happens, right? The book of Job says emphatically, “No!” Despite all the attempts of Job’s “friends” to get him to justify his suffering by “confessing his sins,” Job steadfastly maintains his innocence – and is ultimately vindicated. And in our hearts we know that Job is right. In truth, most of what people suffer it totally undeserved. None of the people who died in Oregon deserved to die. None of their families deserved to have to mourn their deaths. Gabby Giffords did not deserve to be shot in the head. The children and teachers in Newtown did not deserve to die. Suffering and death simply are.

However, the book of Job also reminds us that we don’t have to accept suffering stoically or uncomplainingly. As we will hear next week, Job vigorously questions God and complains to God. Job knows that God is part of what’s happening to him, and Job expects answers! Towards the end of the book, Job succeeds in getting God to answer him. And does Job get the answers that he wants? For many of us, as we’ll hear in two weeks, Job does not. Spoiler alert! Speaking out of the whirlwind, God will say, “Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?” God then goes on to thunder questions back at Job, “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth…. Who determined its measurements – surely you know….” Can you make it rain, or send forth lightening, or create dust storms? Did you create the animals? Whether or not we want to hear it, God reminds Job that the nature of God is a mystery, that truth is more complex than we with our limited minds can comprehend, and that ultimately humans cannot know the reasons for suffering – or often for anything that happens to us.

So what can we take from the story of Job? There are no easy answers to the questions this book poses. However, even if we find God’s answer in chapter 38 unsatisfactory, we can be assured of this: God is present in the complexity of our lives, in our griefs and sorrows. God doesn’t cause our suffering – please no trite sayings, “God doesn’t give us more than we can bear,” or “God needed another angel in heaven” – but neither is God divorced from our sufferings. God is with us in our suffering. While life offers us no guarantees, Job reminds us that nothing can separate us from God’s love. Other books of the Hebrew Bible affirm God’s nearness in our suffering. What is more important for us Christians, we believe that in Jesus God experienced all that we humans experience, including suffering and death, and that eventually all our suffering will be redeemed through Jesus, as we will hear repeatedly in the Letter to the Hebrews this month. And we cling to the hope that in God’s good time, we will be reunited with those we have lost, and that all creation will be made whole.

Meanwhile, we pray for forgiveness for the sufferings and wrongs that are within our responsibility, most especially for those we have inflicted on others. We pray for the grace to trust in God’s love for all of us and to have compassion for those who suffer and mourn. Perhaps most important, we pray for the energy to do what lies before us to mitigate suffering: to seek sensible gun laws, to work for the end of capital punishment, to broaden the availability of mental health services, and to actively work for justice. As we live out own brief lives, may God help us to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with God, as children worthy to bear the name of the Prince of Peace.