Today's sermon is offered by Pastor Mark Guevarra from Edmonton Moravian Church. This sermon was pre-recorded for our service, so the link is provided below along with the manuscript. We hope you enjoy this new sermon series and we hope that hearing the voices of our clergy from around Alberta will provide some new insights and opportunities to worship God.

Here is the link to Mark's recorded sermon: https://youtu.be/JN9T3Y8ApDY.

And here is the manuscript if you wish to read it:

​Sermon by Mark Guevarra
Good morning.
My name is Mark and I’m the pastor at Edmonton Moravian Church.
I am honoured to share my message with you today.
I am also eager to hear the messages from my fellow pastors from our sister churches over the course of the next several weeks in our epiphany series titled “Manifesting Hope in Darkness.”
 
We’ve just heard Matthew’s account of Jesus’ baptism.
For me, the central message is not just about who Jesus is, but who we are, and
where our dignity truly comes from.
 
Many people today struggle with dignity.
We live in a world that constantly measures our worth--
by appearance, influence, productivity, success, or failure.
From a young age, we learn that love often feels conditional:
You are valued if you perform well.
You are accepted if you fit in.
You matter if you prove yourself.
Over time, this can shape how we see ourselves and even how we imagine God sees us.
 
Among those who struggle with dignity are 2SLGBTQ+ people.
We grow up in a world where the norms are heterosexual.
From a young age, many 2SLGBTQ+ people feel less than since they are not like most people.
For me, I was careful about acting masculine to fit in.
This caused me to look down upon men who acted feminine.
Besides being gay, I’m a person of colour.
While I grew up in a multicultural context in Canada, I was also deeply aware about how different I was, particularly in contrast to the white standard and norm.
Growing up in the 80’s and 90’s there wasn’t as much representation in the media of people of colour.
This hyperawareness of my difference caused me to hate my ethnicity.
 
In time, I came to accept every part of me.
Much of that had to do with education, theological formation, but most importantly spiritual direction.
 
I recall going on a spiritual retreat in my 20’s and taking a full day reflecting on today’s gospel.
I learned to hear the words “You are my beloved child” not only directed at Jesus, but directed to me.
This forever changed my perspective on things.
Rather than seeing myself as other,
I saw my wonderful individuality as a gift given by God,
and that enabled me to see others as beautifully unique individuals, and
siblings in one human family.
 
In the gospel, we hear that Jesus comes from Galilee to the Jordan River to be baptized by John.
John is hesitant. He knows Jesus’ goodness, his authority, his holiness.
John says, in effect, “This doesn’t make sense. You should be baptizing me.”
But Jesus insists, not because he needs repentance, but because he chooses solidarity.
He chooses to step into the waters of human brokenness to be with us, and to make things right and whole.
 
When Jesus comes up from the water, we know what happens, the heavens open,
the Spirit of God descends like a dove, and a voice says:
“This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”
 
Notice something important.
At this point in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus has not yet performed a miracle.
He has not preached a sermon, healed the sick, or fed the crowds.
He has not proven anything.
And yet God declares love, delight, and identity.
The love comes first.
And then Jesus’ mission flows from it.
 
This moment reveals a foundational truth about dignity: our worth is not earned; it is given. Jesus is named “beloved” not because of what he has done, but
because of who he is in relationship to the one he called Father.
 
I hope you come to hear the words “You are my beloved in whom I am well pleased” as directed to you.
I hope you believe that you are beloved not because of what you’ve done but simply because you are a child of God.
 
I was baptized on December 25th 1980 and according to my parents, there was not dove descending upon me or a voice from heaven.
It was just the priest, my parents, my 3 year old brother, my godparents, and relatives, all witnessing the ritual and called to raise me to believing that I am God’s beloved child.
I was blessed to have so many faithful people in my life to teach me that truth, but even still I doubted it, as I’m sure you all have.
 
But claiming our dignity begins with believing this truth - not just up here in our heads, but deeply, personally, and courageously.
I recently presided at a funeral of a man who had a strong faith.
I believe that faith was rooted in him knowing in his heart of hearts that he was loved by God unconditionally.
He wasn’t perfect, but even in those time of weakness, he remained faithful to God.
 
Too often, we allow other voices to define us.
Voices of comparison tell us we are not enough.
Voices of shame tell us we are our mistakes.
Voices of fear tell us we must earn love or risk losing it.
Social media has become both a blessing some ways but also a curse by intensifying these voices.
 
But the baptism of Jesus reveals a God who loves first.
A God who names dignity before achievement.
A God whose love is unconditional, faithful, and unshakeable.
 
To claim our dignity, then, is not an act of pride; it is an act of faith.
It means choosing to believe God’s word over every other word that tries to define us.
It means saying, “I am not what I produce. I am not what I lack. I am not what others say about me. I am God’s beloved.”
 
This claiming of dignity has consequences.
When we know we are beloved, we are freed from the exhausting need to prove ourselves.
We can risk compassion instead of competition.
We can serve others not to earn worth, but because we already have it.
And we can manifest hope even amidst uncertainty, darkness, and even death.
 
Jesus’ own ministry flows from this identity.
After his baptism, he is led into the wilderness, where his identity is immediately challenged.
“If you are the Son of God…” the tempter says.
But Jesus does not argue. He does not perform. He stands firm –
rooted in the truth spoken over him at the Jordan.
Knowing who he is allows him to resist lies and walk faithfully into his mission.
 
The same is true for us.
When we claim our dignity as God’s beloved, we become more resilient.
We are less easily defined by failure or success.
We are better able to love others without fear,
because we are not operating from emptiness, but from abundance.
 
This dignity is not private or individualistic.
It shapes how we see others as well.
If our dignity comes from God’s unconditional love, then so does everyone else’s.
Every person we encounter—regardless of gender, ethnicity, ability, sexual orientation, or belief—is someone over whom God delights.
To claim our own dignity is also to honor the dignity of others.
 
At the Jordan River, God does not whisper love; God proclaims it. Publicly. Boldly. Without qualification.
And that same love continues to be spoken over us, again and again, even when we forget, even when we doubt, even when we struggle to believe we are worthy.
 
So today, the invitation is simple, but profound: listen again to the voice of God.
Let it speak louder than your fears. Let it interrupt your self-criticism. Let it heal what has been wounded.
 
You are God’s beloved. Not someday. Not if you succeed. Not if you get it all right.
Now. Always.
 
May we have the courage to claim that dignity, to live from it, and to reflect it to a world desperate to know it is loved.
 
Amen.

​Young at Heart Message
 
I’ve always been a daddy’s girl. From a young age, I adored my dad and I wanted to be just like him.
 
When I was four or five years old, I wanted so badly to learn to ride a bike so I could ride with my dad.
 
My parents started me on training wheels, but I hated them. They scared me.
 
Yes, I was afraid of falling, but I was far more afraid of those training wheels.
 
The training wheels created a level of uncertainty and surprise that I couldn’t stand.
 
You’re riding along and then all the sudden you start leaning to one side. Yes, the training wheels catch you, but before they do, you feel like you’re falling.
 
Then, you’re stuck riding off to the side, and you’re too afraid to try to right yourself for fear of leaning too far to the other side and then waiting for the other training wheel to catch you.
 
No thank you.
 
But, I also didn’t want to fall and skin my knees.
 
So, my ingenious solution was to practice in the grass. That way, when I inevitably fell, it wouldn’t hurt so much.
 
It also forced me to learn quickly because I didn’t want to keep falling, even in the grass. But more importantly, I wanted to be able to ride on the sidewalk or the road with my dad.
 
It did not take me long at all to learn to ride a bike. Soon, my dad and I were riding around the block, to the cemetery down the street, and to church.
 
Eventually, I was able to ride by myself on our street. I wasn’t afraid of falling anymore, and I loved being outdoors.
 
One day, I was riding along, just about back to my house from down the street, when I felt my shoelaces get caught up in the pedals.
 
Kids bikes have the brakes on the pedals, or at least they did at that time. You pedal backward to brake, so you couldn’t pedal backward to unloop your shoelaces from the pedals.
 
I had no choice. I had to fall because both my feet were stuck to the pedals. I was scared.
 
I pulled over to the side of the road, found what I thought would be the softest grassy area along the curb, and I fell. Disgraced, I took my shoes off and got the laces free.
 
I was afraid of that happening again, so I learned how to tuck my laces into my shoes so they couldn’t get wrapped up in the pedals. Problem solved, and fear abated.
 
When my family moved to a new house in a rural area, our house was the second one built on our street, which was a cul-de-sac.
 
Unfortunately for me, the cul-de-sac met up with a busy rural road, and I was still young, so I was only allowed to ride my bike on our short street.
 
I was riding one day, and my dad came home from work and drove into the cul-de-sac. The road was newly paved, and they hadn’t built the gravel shoulder up yet, so there was about a 5-inch drop-off from the road to the gravel shoulder.
 
As my dad pulled in, I tried to move over to make sure I gave him plenty of room on the road, and my back tire slid off the pavement.
 
I went down hard. I skinned my knees and I had a huge scrape on my chin.
 
I was distraught, not just because it hurt but because the next day I had my very first day of school at a brand new school. I was starting third grade.
 
This felt like the end of the world. I was afraid of what the other kids would think about this new girl with a huge band-aid on her chin.
 
Weirdly though, I don’t remember being afraid to get back on my bike. I loved riding so much, and I just learned to steer clear of high shoulders.
 
As I got older, my dad and I started to ride together on the busier rural roads.
 
I was afraid to ride alone, and I am sure my parents were afraid to let me.
 
One day, my dad asked if I wanted to ride and I must have said no because he left without me.
 
But then, I must have changed my mind. I hopped on my bike and followed him.
 
But, my dad was too far ahead. The wind was in his ears, and he couldn’t hear me yelling at him.
 
I pedaled harder than I’d ever pedaled, but I couldn’t catch up to him. My bike was smaller than his, and even though by this time I had a bike with gears and handlebar brakes, it still wasn’t big enough and didn’t have enough gears for me to be able to catch him.
 
I rode the entire way with him about half a mile ahead of me, no idea I was behind him.
 
My fear of riding alone on the rural streets was dissipated because, after all, I could see my dad ahead of me. (If anything happened to me though, he never would have known, but that didn’t occur to me.)
 
We got home and I pulled into the driveway after him, out of breath and sweaty.
 
Surprised, he said well, I guess we don’t need to be afraid of you riding alone anymore!
 
As I got older, I rode more and more, and most often I rode alone.
 
In university, I decided I needed to buy myself a decent bike if I was going to take riding seriously.
 
I bought myself a Giant brand road bike. This thing was fancy, and it was expensive.
 
It had the curved handlebars, 21 gears, and… it had pedals that I needed special shoes for so I could clip my feet to them.
 
I hadn’t had my feet stuck to bike pedals since my shoelaces got wrapped around my pedals as a kid.
 
I was scared to try these new shoes. I mean, who wants to be stuck to their pedals when something comes up and you need to take your feet off the pedals unexpectedly?
 
But, this bike was SO cool, and I was so excited to ride it. I set aside my fear and I practiced clipping and unclipping each foot.
 
Then I rode around large parking lots, practicing clipping and unclipping while I was riding.
 
Soon enough, I was riding and I wasn’t scared of getting my feet stuck.
 
Until one day, it happened. I took a turn wrong, couldn’t get my feet unclipped, and took a huge fall.
 
I don’t know if you know this, but falling as an adult hurts a lot more than falling as a kid.
 
You’re a lot farther off the ground, and I was moving fairly fast.
 
But, the fall didn’t stop me, and fear of falling again didn’t keep me from getting back on the bike.
 
Now that it had happened once, I guess I figured I knew what it felt like. I had learned more about the clips and how to use them, and I loved riding so much that I didn’t want to give it up.
 
I have a million more examples of the fear that has come along with riding my bike.
 
People would often ask me, “aren’t you afraid of getting hit by a car riding on the road?”
 
My response would be sure, if I think about it, I should be scared. A lot of bad things could happen when you mix bikes and cars on the road.
 
But I don’t think about it. Because if I think about it too much, I would never do it again.
 
And that’s where the lesson in this small story lies. There are many, many things that, if we think too hard about all the bad things that could happen, we would never do them.
 
But if we let fear overwhelm us, we would never do anything in our lives, either.
 
Fear can paralyze us. Fear can consume us.
 
And often, we can let other people’s fear become our fear.
 
The Message
 
And this is where we find ourselves in scripture today.
 
Once again, today’s passage starts with a reminder that Herod was king at the time Jesus was born.
 
Sharing this is like asking me “aren’t you afraid of getting hit by a car on your bike?”
 
Everyone knows that Herod is dangerous, violent, and paranoid.
 
Just offering that reminder would fill anyone living in that era with fear.
 
Meanwhile, the magi hear about the birth of Jesus, king of the Jews, and wish to worship him.
 
When Herod hears about this “king of the Jews,” he becomes worried – not because he’s worried for the child, but because he’s worried about the threat to his own reign of power.
 
So Herod calls these magi to him.
 
He lies to the magi and tells them that the reason he wants to know as soon as they find him is so that he can worship him, too.
 
Luckily, the magi were warned in a dream not to take the news of Jesus’s location back to Herod.
 
The scripture doesn’t speak of their fear, but they must have been filled with fear.
 
They were defying the orders of Herod, a ruler known for violence and vengeance.
 
The magi couldn’t possibly have known what was coming next.
 
They could not have known that their act of defiance would cause Herod to order the murder of all the young boys living in or near Bethlehem.
 
And yet, they had to have known that there would be consequences to their actions.
 
And they bravely chose love over fear nonetheless.
 
Their choice could have been the end of Jesus’s life. His life could have ended before it began if they had chosen to give in to their fear.
 
Instead, they chose love. Instead, they chose hope for a better world.
 
They did not allow their fear to stop them from doing what the angel in their dream told them to do.
 
They did not allow fear to paralyze them.
 
And really, when it comes down to it, they did not allow Herod’s fear to become their fear.
 
Herod’s actions – his violence and paranoia – also stemmed from fear. Fear of losing power and control. Fear of someone who may one day be able to turn people against him.
 
Fear of loss of control or power is a major driving force for those who oppress others. It is a contributing factor in many, if not most wars.
 
The magi were certainly afraid, but they did not allow their fear to paralyze them, and they did not allow Herod’s fear to influence them.
 
This is the power of epiphany: the beginning of a new path.
 
The magi do what Herod and his allies refuse to do: they seek, they kneel, and they listen.
 
So, on this Epiphany Sunday, may we wonder how the story of the magi might guide us in our own lives.
 
Like the magi, let us kneel in awe, not before the powerful, but before the powerless Christ, whose birth marks the beginning of God’s peace campaign.
 
Let us believe, with trembling hope, that fear does not have the last word.
 
Because we cannot allow fear to stop us. We cannot allow the fear of others to become our fear.
 
Instead, may love lead us forward. May love lead. Amen.
 
Let us pray:
 
God of the Stars, like the magi, we come to this place searching for you. So today, just like every day, we ask that you would remove any barriers that keep us from your Spirit. Clear out the distractions. Wipe away the doubt. Open up our hearts.  
 
And as you do, help us to keep walking. As you do, help us to move toward you. With hope we pray. Amen.

​Meditation
 
Those of you who know me know that I used to own a business. And here is what I know to be true:
 
One hundred people could tell me in one day how much they loved my business.
 
And still, if one person left a bad review or complained or said we were horrible, it was a lot easier to believe that one person than it was to believe the 100 others who loved us.
 
Studies show that it takes five positive messages to outweigh one negative message.
 
And yet, what do we get when we turn on our TV, or open social media, or glance at the news headlines?
 
Usually, it’s negative messages. Often, it’s not just negative messages, but it is messages of fear rather than hope or positivity.
 
In today’s world, it’s easy to believe that fear is louder than good news.
 
Fearful messages spread quickly, echo loudly, and linger longer than positive messages.
 
In a media world driven by algorithms and attention, fear thrives because it sells. It taps into our survival instincts.
 
We want to share fearful news because it makes us feel better to know that others are seeing it, too.
 
We cling to fear, whether we know it or not, and certainly whether we like it or not.
 
So, when the angel says to the shepherds in their field on that night long ago, “Do not be afraid,” and then declares, “good news of great joy for all people,” it’s not merely a sentimental moment.
 
It’s a revolutionary moment.
 
Here, good news is not Caesar’s victory, but God's vulnerability—made flesh in a newborn wrapped in bands of cloth and laid in a manger.
 
Good news may not always seem like it is louder than fear. But that’s the tension that we live in.
 
Like Mary—young, uncertain, and asked to carry more than she could have imagined.
 
Like Joseph—choosing to show up, even when it costs him reputation and comfort.
 
Like the shepherds—shaken awake in the night by glory and confusion.
 
The fear was real, and the risk was real.
 
The circumstances of Jesus’ birth—poverty, displacement, estrangement—are not erased by the angel’s song.
 
And yet, the good news comes anyway.
 
It comes with sound—loud and full of light.
 
It comes with bodies—angels taking up space in the sky, shepherds running through streets proclaiming glory, and Mary holding pain and promise in her arms.
 
It comes through fear, not after it.
 
Luke’s story insists that the good news of God
has weight and presence.
 
But it needs to be amplified. Proclaimed.
 
In a world where fear is curated and fed to us, proclaiming good news is a countercultural act.
 
In a world that tells marginalized communities to be quiet, that punishes joy and rage alike, joy becomes resistance.
 
The shepherds returned glorifying and praising God—they essentially became the first evangelists.
 
They tell anyone who will listen.
 
And the good news spreads—not through Caesar’s decrees, but through trembling, joyful witnesses.
 
Tonight, we are invited to do the same.
 
Not because our fear is gone—but because good news still breaks in.
 
Even when it’s quiet. Even when it’s messy. Even when it feels like the darkness will never end.
 
So let us proclaim the good news loudly.
 
Let us make space for joy that shakes the walls.
 
Let us resist fear’s domination by bearing witness to light, to peace, to Christ among us.
 
Because tonight, we remember:
 
Fear may be loud, but love is louder.
 
Violence may be strong, but hope is stronger.
 
And the good news—God is here—will not be silenced. Amen.
 
God of yesterday, today and tomorrow, we long to catch a glimpse of your Spirit. We cup our ears to hear the sound of the angel chorus. We turn our eyes toward the sky to see if we can find your star. We lean forward in our seat to see if we can feel your presence in our midst.  
 
We long to catch a glimpse of your Spirit, O God. So on this quiet night, on this holy night, on this joyful night, thank you for revealing yourself to us once more. Thank you for speaking to us through the music and the children.
 
Thank you for speaking to us through starlight and candlelight.
 
With gratitude, we catch a glimpse of you tonight and we feel your love. Amen.

The Message
 
On the First Sunday of Advent, when we began our sermon series titled, What Do You Fear?, we took time during worship to write down our fears.
 
Those fears were held in our sacred box and have been carried with us through our Advent journey.
 
And today, we have the opportunity to symbolically release those fears.
 
Originally when I began planning this sermon series, I thought maybe we would release our fears by burning them.
 
But that seemed like not the best idea, so I had to come up with a different (safer) method for releasing our fears.
 
But before we do that, I want to talk about what it means to move from fear to hope.
 
And, I’d like to use today’s scripture to do that.
 
Today, we heard how an angel appeared to Joseph in a dream and told him he could go ahead and marry Mary because the baby she was having was from the Holy Spirit.
 
As we can imagine, both Mary and Joseph must have been filled with fear.
 
In their world, having a baby out of wedlock was not safe for either of them.
 
They would both be shamed, ridiculed, and their lives might be in danger.
 
And yet, despite their fears, both Mary and Joseph decide to proceed forward.
 
They both say yes to divine intervention.
 
And in doing so, they don’t necessarily eradicate their fears.
 
Instead, they release their fears. They lift them to God and decide to trust God completely. They decide to trust that God has it under control.
 
And this trust in God makes room for hope. It isn’t that they are completely free from fear.
 
But they release that fear to God and move forward in hope – hope for a new life and a better world with the presence of the Son of God.
 
They don’t know where this path will take them, but they hold onto hope in the promised future nonetheless.
 
So today, I would like for us to follow their lead.
 
Let us take these fears that we thoughtfully and prayerfully wrote three weeks ago and let’s lift these fears to God.
 
Let us release them and trust that God will hold them for us.
 
And as we release these fears, let us move toward hope.
 
We may not be able to completely erase the fear, nor does God expect us to.
 
But as we release these fears to God, let us lift them in prayer and ask God to hold them on our behalf so we can make room for hope despite the fear.
 
When we wrote our fears, we used special paper. This paper is special because it dissolves in water.
 
So, as I place our fears into this bowl of water, I invite us all into a time of silence. Use this time to remember the fears you wrote, or perhaps new fears have come up in the past few weeks.
 
Pray over each person’s fears as we place them into the bowl of water and watch them dissolve.
 
Pray over your hope that comes out of your fears. Pray over the coming of the celebration of the birth of Jesus.
 
Pray over your hope for the Christmas season, and your hope for the New Year.
 
Pray over the fears of this community, and ask that God would hold those fears and move each of us gently toward hope.
 
Let us lift our fears to God during this time of silence as I symbolically release our fears by dissolving them in this water.
 
When this process is complete, I will ring our singing bowl.
 
*****
Now that we have released our fears to God, I want to suggest another activity that people can do during fellowship time if they wish.
 
This activity might be hard for some of us adults in the room.
 
But, I decided to offer this activity anyway because adults need opportunities to be creative and have fun, too.
 
Originally I was going to have us work on this during worship, but I realize that not everyone would enjoy doing it, and it would be tough for you to do without a table.
 
I’d just like to remind you that it’s supposed to be fun, and it is supposed to be a reminder that despite our fears, we can also be filled with hope.
 
And what better way to remind ourselves of our hope than to act like kids again for at least a few minutes.
 
So, if you would like, you can feel free to make an ornament that you are free to take home with you.
 
I suggest creating an ornament that reminds you of hope, but you can do whatever you’d like on your ornament.
 
There are plenty of markers available at the tables out in the fellowship area.
 
I would encourage you to try it, even just for a few minutes, and tap into your inner child.
 
Who knows what joy you might experience in doing a small project with others. If nothing else, it may be a reminder of our days of youth.
 
And in the meantime, as you leave here, where does your hope lie?
 
May you lift your fears to God and leave more room in your heart for hope.
 
May you allow that hope to swell and begin to displace your fears as you allow God to carry them for you.
 
May you move out of Advent and into the Christmas season with hope and joy in your hearts. Amen.
 
Let us pray:
​
Immanuel, God with us, this morning we turned off our alarm clocks. We poured cups of coffee or boiled water for tea. We slipped shoes onto our feet and combed back fly-away hairs. We bundled ourselves up to brave the cold.
 
We traveled to this room and settled into this space, all in hopes of drawing closer to you. So as we sit with each other in this sacred space, help us to feel your presence in our midst. We are reaching out our hands. We are reaching out our hearts. With love we pray, Amen. 
 
This sermon utilized the commentary by Rev. Dr. Boyung Lee  | A Sanctified Art LLC | sanctifiedart.org. Used with permission.

​Young at Heart Message
 
One year ago, on the Third Sunday of Advent 2024, we sat in this circle, and we imagined we were sitting around a pool of water.
 
We each received a stone with a positive affirmation on it, and we tossed it into our imaginary pool and imagined the ripples reaching out to each of us as we did so.
 
This year, I had a hard time coming up with something for our circle service. I prayed about it, and I asked God.
 
I knew that the main sermon would be focused on Mary and her willingness to say “yes” through doubt, fear, shame, ridicule – you name it.
 
On the First Sunday of Advent, we took time to name our fears before God, write them down, and place them into this sacred box.
 
And I will admit that I was surprised at how well people participated. I haven’t read any of your fears, and I will not be reading them. But I did notice that many of you took a good amount of time and put some thought into your responses.
 
And while I don’t know what those fears are, I do know that people have fears. I have fears. And what that tells me is that we could all probably use some affirmation that leans toward hope.
 
So today, before we get to our main sermon, I want to take a moment to pass around this basket. In this basket are folded pieces of paper. Please take a piece of paper from the basket, but do not unfold it until it is your turn.
 
Once everyone has a piece of paper, I’ll explain what we will be doing.
 
Now that everyone has a piece of paper, I want to go around the circle and have us take turns reading our paper. Don’t open your folded piece of paper until it’s your turn.
 
When it’s your turn, please read what is on your piece of paper. When each person is done reading, I want everyone to respond by saying, as enthusiastically as possible, the word “yes.”
 
I’ll demonstrate with mine, and then we will go around the circle and repeat the process. Ready?
 
Does God call me… even when I feel like I don’t belong?
 
YES!
 
(We will go around the room, so each person is able to read theirs and receive a “YES!” from the group.)
 
How did that feel?
 
The Message
 
Thank you everyone for participating and offering one another some positive affirmations, and perhaps even some hope as we continue to move steadily toward Christmas.
 
In today’s scripture passage, we have another example of a prominent figure in the Gospels responding in fear to the appearance of an angel.
 
We just recently heard how Zechariah initially responded to the angel who appeared to him with fear. And today we hear that Mary responds in a similar way.
 
And honestly, I think that tracks. If I were approached by an angel, I would be terrified, too. Or, at the very least, I would be extremely skeptical, and I would be wondering who was pranking me.
 
But imagine Mary’s situation for a moment. She’s young, she’s not married, and she’s living in a world controlled by patriarchal systems.
 
She’s not just casually dating Joseph. They are likely pursuing some kind of arranged marriage. There’s no ancient equivalent of online dating, and she certainly doesn’t have a choice about who she marries.
 
So, when an angel appears and says “hi Mary. Would you like to have God’s child?” – of course she’s scared. She’s maybe even afraid for her life.
 
To say “yes” to this proposal is not an easy feat. Saying “yes” to God means she’s risking her body, her future marriage, and even her life.
 
Most of us would not be willing to take such a risk without, at the very least, asking some questions.
 
Luckily, Gabriel does not punish her for questioning. Instead, he reassures her with a promise that God will intervene, and she will be protected.
 
Mary is essentially wondering if God will be with her if she goes through this. And she believes that the answer is a resounding “yes.” This enables her to respond with her own “yes.”
 
Mary moves through her fear. She doesn’t set it aside, but she moves forward faithfully despite her fear.
 
Mary isn’t going into this endeavor without any fear. She’s uncertain and she can’t see exactly how this is going to play out just yet. But she musters up the courage to say “yes,” even in the unknown.
 
Just like Mary, no one can predict the future. Most of us live our lives taking only minor risks. And most of us don’t want to take too many risks on a future we cannot possibly predict.
 
And yet Mary shows us that her trust in God is stronger than her fear. Mary is living her life just trying to survive a world that is not easy for women. And yet, her call arrived amid her attempts to merely survive.
 
I wonder how often God calls us to be brave, but we are unwilling to take the risk? Or, how often we are presented with an opportunity to accept God’s call, and we bravely move forward despite our fears?
 
Can you think of times in your own life when you have had one or the other? I know I can.
 
Speaking from my own experience, I know that taking risks when it feels like God is calling me has paid off, not just for me but, I hope also for God.
 
I would not be here in Calgary if I had been too afraid to lean in when God was nudging me to make a big change in my life. And Mary would not be the mother of Jesus if she had not leaned in when God called her to take a radical risk.
 
On the first Sunday of Advent, we asked what fears we are holding onto. Now, I ask you this: what invitation or risk are you resisting because you feel inadequate or afraid?
 
What would it mean to say “yes,” not fearfully or timidly, but confidently, with purpose and courage, because you have faith in God and in yourself?
 
In this circle today, we have received a resounding “yes” from our community and from God.
 
May you leave here today with the echo of Mary’s words in your heart: “I am the Lord’s servant. Let it happen as you have said.”
 
Go in peace to hear and respond to what God is calling for you to do, who God is calling you to be, or what God might be calling you to say. Amen.
 
Pastoral Prayer
 
Let us pray: God of Hope, thank you for loving us and understanding when we are too afraid to do what you are asking of us. When we are afraid to take a risk or walk through a door you have opened for us, guide our feet and ease our worries. We know we may not move forward without fear but help us overcome our fear with courage and faithfully say “yes” to your call. In your holy and loving name, we pray. Amen.

The Message
 
The Gospel of Luke begins in a way that may seem minor to those of us reading it today.
 
But, beginning with, “When Herod was king of Judea…” is significant.
 
With these words, Luke’s Gospel tells us that Jesus was born into a world shaped by violence, occupation, and fear.
 
It would be like starting a story today by saying, “When Adolf Hitler was in power…”
 
Or, “When Joseph Stalin was the leader of the Soviet Union…”
 
Or, “When Benito Mussolini was the Prime Minister of Italy.”
 
Those of us who know anything about the dictatorships of these men know that we are talking about times of violence, of occupation, and of fear.
 
Beginning the Gospel story in this way tells us that Jesus was born in a time of survival under empire.
 
Herod, the Roman-appointed ruler of Judea,
governed with paranoia and cruelty.
 
His power, secured through imperial alliance, was maintained by coercion, surveillance, and brutality.
 
This was not a peaceful or fear-free world.
 
Luke situates the story of Jesus within these political realities.
 
Luke’s Gospel is not merely spiritual – it is also political.
 
We don’t like to hear these words said about the Gospels, but Luke’s Gospel was written as resistance in the face of empire.
 
With this context in mind, Luke introduces us to Zechariah and Elizabeth.
 
Zechariah and Elizabeth are childless. In this context, barrenness was often interpreted as divine judgement.
 
For Elizabeth especially, her childlessness brought not just personal grief but also public shame.
 
And yet, despite the pain and grief and shame, Zechariah and Elizabeth maintained their faith, even through their longing and their waiting.
 
While offering incense in the temple, Zechariah encounters a divine messenger. During this encounter, his response is not relief or joy—but fear.
 
Zechariah is not merely startled by this encounter.
 
It evokes deep inner shaking, a disruption of body and spirit.
 
Fear, in this context, is not failure. It is a natural human response to divine disruption.
 
But fear can become more than a reaction. It can take root and become a way of being.
 
If we aren’t careful, this kind of fear can shape our posture toward the world.
 
Many of us know this kind of fear.
 
This fear can become embedded in our bodies, relationships, and public discourse.
 
It becomes background noise so constant we forget it’s there.
 
Like Zechariah, we may grow so used to disappointment that when hope finally arrives, it startles us.
 
When God interrupts, we flinch.
 
This fear is real—but Zechariah and Elizabeth’s story reminds us that it is not the only truth.
 
God has been listening. God enters the silence, the ache, the barrenness—into the very place where fear has taken root.
 
And God’s response begins not with a miracle, but with recognition: your prayer has been heard.
 
These words are not just for Zechariah – these words are for us, too, this Advent season.
 
In a season of waiting, we are not asked to suppress fear but to face it. To ask:
 
How does fear live in me?
 
What voices has it amplified?
 
What longings has it silenced?
 
Fear can be a teacher. It tells us that something matters.
 
That something is at stake.
 
It is the voice of our vulnerability asking not to be erased, but acknowledged.
 
Advent gives us room to sit with fear—not to banish it, but to listen.
 
What are we afraid to hope for?
What have we stopped praying for?
Where has fear caused us to shrink back?
 
Zechariah’s fear doesn’t disqualify him. It marks the beginning of transformation.
 
“In the time of Herod...” the world was loud with empire’s threats, echoing with grief and longing.
 
And still—God broke in. In the time of fear, God heard a prayer. And responded with presence.
 
This Advent, perhaps the question is not how we get rid of our fear.
 
Perhaps the deeper invitation is this: Can we name our fear honestly—and still believe God is near?
 
So, with all of that in mind, we are going to take a few minutes now to name our fears.
 
This is not a public exercise. It is a deeply personal, private, and spiritual exercise.
 
This is between you and God.
 
You all should have at least one piece of paper.
 
There are markers or pens available – you may need to share.
 
I would like you all to take some time now to name your fears by writing them on your paper.
 
You might be thinking “I don’t have any fears.” This may be true, but remember that fear can sometimes manifest as longing.
 
For example, some people desperately long for a partner, but perhaps this translates to fear of loneliness.
 
Many of us long for more money, more resources, etc. Perhaps this longing is fear of future insecurity.
 
Many of us know exactly where our fears lie: we are afraid for the future, afraid for our children or grandchildren, or afraid of the world we are leaving for future generations.
 
There are big fears and small fears, but none are insignificant to God.
 
So, let’s take 5 minutes now to write our fears.
 
Once you are done, you can fold that paper up as small as you’d like. Then we will each put our paper in this box.
 
This box will be a sacred and confidential box. It will remain in my office during the week, and we will bring it out each Sunday so we can hold space for our fears. No one will see these fears.
 
As we move further into Advent, on the Fourth Sunday of Advent, we will symbolically release those fears and then take time to name our hopes.
 
So, please take 5 minutes now to write your fears. I will ring the singing bowl when the time is up.
 
This should be a time of silence, prayer, and opening of heart to God.
 
*****
 
May your fears be held safely in the arms of our loving and gracious God. Amen.
 
 
Let us pray:
 
With-us God, in the time of Moses, you spoke through water in the desert and a pillar of smoke. In the time of the judges, you spoke through the prophets.
 
In the time of Herod, you spoke through angel choruses and unlikely miracles. In every time you have been speaking. So today, in our time, we ask that you would speak again. Break through the chatter and the distraction of our weary minds and speak to us once more. With hope we pray, amen.
 
 
 
This sermon utilized the commentary by Rev. Dr. Boyung Lee  | A Sanctified Art LLC | sanctifiedart.org. Used with permission

​Young at Heart Message
 
Imagine one day you are walking through a neighbourhood and you stumble upon a pile of junk with a sign that says “free” on it.
 
In that pile of junk is a beautiful full-length mirror.
 
Normally, you aren’t the type to take things from a pile of junk, but this mirror is too beautiful to let it go somewhere else. In fact, you aren’t even sure why the person is giving the mirror away.
 
You take the mirror home and set it in your bedroom.
 
The next morning, you wake up and get ready for the day. As you’re getting dressed, you decide to use the mirror to see how you look for the day.
 
When you look in the mirror, something doesn’t look quite right.
 
Your hair looks grayer than ever. The wrinkles on your face look deeper. And, is it just you, or are there more of them today?
 
You look like you’ve gained 20 pounds overnight. Your ear and nose hairs are sticking out all over the place.
 
Every scar is more obvious. Those pesky chin hairs are darker and more noticeable than ever. And, do you also have a unibrow now?
 
You don’t understand what happened – all of these things might have existed yesterday, but certainly they weren’t this bad?
 
You rush to your usual bathroom mirror and look at yourself again.
 
You breathe a sigh of relief – everything looks just like it did yesterday. Whew.
 
You go back to the beautiful new mirror, thinking maybe you were seeing things. But no, this mirror seems to magnify everything you find unflattering about yourself.
 
How strange!
 
You look at the back of the mirror for any kind of information about it, and sure enough, the sticker on the back says that it’s a mirror that magnifies everything that you find unflattering about yourself.
 
Talk about giving yourself more to worry about than you need to!
 
If you stumbled across a mirror like this, how many of you would keep it? Raise your hands if you would want this mirror in your home.
 
OK, now imagine the same scenario, but this time, the mirror summarizes everything you feel guilty about having done in your life.
 
In other words, the mirror reflects back to you every “bad” thing you think you’ve ever done.
 
How many of you would want to keep this mirror around?
 
Not too many people would want a mirror around that shows them unflattering things about themselves.
 
Of course, we often already know these things about ourselves, but to have a mirror around that constantly points them out would be a hard pill to swallow.
 
It would force us to be self reflective in ways that would cause a lot of guilt and perhaps even shame.
 
It’s a lot easier to avoid looking too closely at these things about ourselves, that’s for sure!
 
The Message
 
But what does this have to do with our scripture passage today, and with Reign of Christ Sunday?
 
Well, let’s dive into it a bit deeper.
 
This passage sends a powerful message about Christ and his kingship.
 
First of all, Jesus is placed on a cross along with two other men who are guilty of crimes. Jesus, however, is innocent.
 
Everyone around Jesus, including one of the other criminals, is mocking him. They have even gone so far as to put a sign over him that says, “This is the King of the Jews.”
 
It’s as if the sign is saying, “some King. Just look at him now – a common criminal.”
 
Jesus is suffering this humiliation and rejection in a very public way while people watch – almost for entertainment.
 
Most people would see this as some form of torture. Most of us would not want to be humiliated so publicly – much like we would not want a mirror to call out the things we feel guilty or ashamed of.
 
Most of us want to retreat to solitude during times of suffering, humiliation, guilt, or shame.
 
And we certainly wouldn’t be in a position to want to forgive those who were causing our suffering! Especially if we were innocent.
 
But Jesus is suffering this humiliation publicly.
 
And despite this very public humiliation, Jesus uses his power to intercede on behalf of others – not once, but twice in this passage.
 
In verse 34 he says, “Father, forgive these people! They don’t know what they’re doing.”
 
And then in verse 43, Jesus responds to the man who asks Jesus to remember him by saying, “I promise that today you will be with me in paradise.”
 
Despite his suffering and despite his pain, Jesus’ instinct is to reach out to those who are at the end of their ropes, or the end of their lives, or the end of their ability to care or function.
 
This act emphasizes that no one is beyond the reach of God’s mercy.
 
Relationship is at the core of God’s kingdom.
 
In one of her sermons on the crucifixion, Barbara Brown Taylor said, “One cross makes a crucifix. Three crosses makes a church.”
 
We easily forget that Jesus came to minister to the sick, not those who were well. He came for the sinners, not the self-righteous.
 
It often offends our moral sensibilities to think that Jesus might forgive the criminal who insulted him by saying, “Aren’t you the Messiah? Save yourself and save us!”
 
This is because we want mercy for ourselves and punitive justice for other people.
 
We want to believe that we would be like the second criminal who, instead of trying to defend himself, admits that the two criminals got what was coming to them, but that Jesus did nothing wrong.
 
We want to believe that we aren’t like those people who are condemning and mocking Jesus.
 
But, what about all the people who were simply standing and watching, doing nothing to fight the powerful people condemning him?
 
No one stepped in – even his followers who were there did nothing.
 
No one wants to see themselves in an unflattering mirror.
 
Jesus, in this very moment, embodies the ultimate act of love and forgiveness.
 
He uses his power to grant mercy to others, even as he is nailed to the cross. He even grants mercy to those who are hurting him.
 
This act reminds us just how important grace is to the Reign of Christ.
 
It compels those of us who follow Jesus to take this call for mercy seriously in our own lives and relationships, too.
 
It begs us to ask ourselves: are we ready to extend grace to those around us, even when it is difficult?
 
What if they’re actively working against our best interests?
 
Are we willing to embrace the radical love and grace that Jesus models for us?
 
Answering these questions and being honest with ourselves might mean looking into our unflattering mirror. We may want to say that we are willing and ready to embrace this radical love.
 
But if we are being honest with ourselves, we still want grace for ourselves and punitive justice for others.
 
But this reality simply demonstrates our limitations and our need for Jesus’ forgiveness.
 
This is exactly why Jesus stood in front of this crowd – humiliated and disgraced – and offered grace to those who mocked him.
 
Jesus knew the limitations of the people in the crowd. Jesus knew their very human nature.
 
And Jesus knows us, too. Jesus knows us and sees us, and extends his grace toward us.
 
The grace Jesus extends is not necessarily earned, and yet he offers it freely and willingly because of his limitless love for humanity.
 
Without judgement, Jesus extends his love and grace to all of us. And he challenges us to do the same for others.
 
Not because he knows it will be easy, but because he desires a more loving and gracious world for all of us.
 
So, as you leave here today, remember that Jesus is King, and his kingdom is radically different than any kingdom we could ever know.
 
Jesus’ kingdom welcomes all, offers grace and mercy to everyone, and invites us to embrace the radical love that he demonstrated, even toward those who hurt him.
 
May you receive his grace and mercy, and may you learn to extend that same grace and mercy to everyone you meet. In the name of Jesus, Amen.
 
Let us pray:
 
God of grace, we thank you for sending your son, Jesus Christ, to love and serve us and to teach us how to live our lives in ways that are pleasing to you. We ask forgiveness for those times in our lives when we have strayed from your path or treated others poorly, and we ask for your guidance as we navigate our increasingly complex world. In the name of Jesus, we pray. Amen.

​The Message
 
Last week, I preached on a passage from the Book of Job. In that sermon, I talked about the fact that Job expresses deep and bitter anger toward God, but he maintains a deep faith in God despite that anger.
 
In fact, I argued that Job could not be angry with God if he did not have a deep faith in God. If he did not have faith in God, what use would there be in being angry toward a God he didn’t believe in?
 
I spoke to many of you who said that sermon really resonated for you, and I also had several unrelated conversations with people about anger this past week.
 
So, as I was preparing for today’s service, I thought that perhaps God was prodding me to go a little deeper on this topic of anger.
 
We are living in a world where anger is rampant – anger with governments, anger with the church, anger with family members, and yes, a lot of anger toward God.
 
I encounter tons of people in my daily life who express either deep apathy toward God, or deep anger toward God (or toward the church).
 
Many people question the notion of a loving God who would allow so many bad things to happen. And this questioning often causes deep-rooted anger toward God.
 
And, because bad things happen in our world (and throughout history), people wonder whether a loving God even exists.
 
And because of these conversations that I have often with people (especially once they discover I’m a pastor), I began to wonder about Biblical stories of people who express anger toward God.
 
So, I did some research and compiled some short scripture passages for us to look at today.
 
I think it’s worth beginning with a few of the most well-known Biblical figures who express anger toward God throughout the Bible.
 
Perhaps the most obvious expression of direct anger toward God is Job, who we of course talked at length about last week.
 
But another example from the Hebrew Bible is Moses. Moses is one of the most beloved prophets from the Hebrew Bible.
 
And, despite his prominence in the Hebrew Bible, he expresses anger and frustration toward God multiple times throughout his story.
 
In Numbers 11: 10-15, for example, Moses asks, “why have you treated your servant so badly? Why have I not found favor in your sight?”
 
Moses had become frustrated with God, and he felt like he was trying to take care of his people, but it had become too much of a burden for him, and he no longer really wanted to deal with it.
 
In Exodus 5: 22-23, Moses blames God for doing nothing to help free his people from Pharaoh.
 
Some other examples include:
 
In Jonah 4:9, Jonah says he’s angry enough with God that he could die.
 
In Jeremiah 20:7, Jeremiah feels deceived by God and cries out in anger.
 
Throughout the Psalms, David cries out in anger. “My God, why have you forsaken me?” (22)
“How long will you hide your face from me?” (13)
 
In Habakkuk 1:2, he begins his story with anger: “O Lord, how long shall I cry for help and you will not listen?”
 
In Ruth 1: 20-21, Naomi bitterly resents God’s harsh treatment toward her.
 
And, in 1 Kings 19, Elijah complains that God left him alone and then asks to die.
 
All of these examples demonstrate that, at least throughout the Hebrew Bible, honest expressions of emotion and anger are not condemned.
 
In fact, throughout their stories, all of these figures maintain their relationships with God and maintain a deep faith in God through their anger, their lament, and their frustrations.
 
Furthermore, it is often the case that these moments of anger end up being a turning point on their spiritual journeys.
 
We saw that in the story of Job last week. Job finally gets his wish – to confront God – and in doing so, he’s taught a lesson in humility.
 
Job is reminded that the universe is complex and there are so many moving parts and facets that God is responsible for that Job cannot possibly understand.
 
Job can only understand his own circumstances, and he thinks his situation is unfair. But God reminds him that he is not the only living thing in the universe that God is responsible for.
 
Many of the other figures in the Hebrew Bible also move along their spiritual paths after expressing their anger or frustration with God.
 
But what about expressions of anger in the New Testament?
 
Jesus himself expresses anger often throughout the Gospels. His anger is not always at God – it is often anger with his disciples, with the Pharisees, or with injustice in general.
 
While he may not be blaming God for these things directly, he is still not condemned for expressing anger. In fact, often it’s a catalyst for a lesson or a parable that leads to a teaching moment.
 
Perhaps the most well-known of Jesus’ expressions of anger toward God is an echo Psalm 22 in Matthew 27:46 and Mark 15:34 when Jesus cries, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”
 
It’s possible that this is not always read as anger explicitly, but it is an expression of deep anguish and protest, and he is directly addressing God as he cries out from the cross.
 
And then, of course, there are expressions of anger toward Jesus as well.
 
John the Baptist, when he is in prison, wonders if Jesus truly is the Messiah, and seems frustrated or angry that his expectations of what the Messiah came to accomplish have not been met. (Matthew 11: 2-3)
 
Martha and Mary express anger and disappointment at Jesus after Lazarus died, saying “if you had been here, he would not have died.” (John 11: 21, 32)
 
In Mark 4:38, the disciples say “teacher, don’t you care that we are perishing?”
 
While the examples from the New Testament tend to be shorter and are often posed as questions or expressions of grief or lament rather than outright anger, they still demonstrate for us that we can feel less than thrilled with how God or Jesus responds to something we ask of them, and we can still maintain our faith through that anger.
 
But the key takeaway from this exploration is that God responds to all of these different expressions of anger and frustration with gentleness rather than punishment.
 
God may not always respond immediately or in the way the person expects (in fact, that is often the root cause of the anger toward God in the first place), but God still loves these figures anyway.
 
And God loves us, too. God can handle our anger as well.
 
These stories are also examples of anger speaking to deeper needs and desires that aren’t being met.
 
In other words, anger is often telling these figures something.
 
And our anger tells us something, too.
 
I once had a beautiful conversation with someone who felt a tremendous amount of guilt about the anger that he felt.
 
This person had gone his whole life thinking that God was condemning his anger and that God desperately wanted him to change.
 
But through conversation, he began to wonder if perhaps it was God’s way of telling him something about himself that he was not acknowledging.
 
If these Biblical stories tell us anything, it’s that God never asks these figures to shove their anger deeper down. God never makes them feel guilty for feeling their feelings of anger. And God never asks them to change or stop being angry.
 
God continues loving them even as they begin to learn what it is their anger is telling them.
 
Anger is a normal human emotion. And God has always been big enough to handle our anger.
 
Other people may struggle with it sometimes because humans all have emotions, and some of us are better at facing them, expressing them, or dealing with them than others are.
 
But God can handle all of it.
 
So, if you ever feel angry with God, there’s nothing wrong with letting God know. You don’t have to feel guilty about it. In fact, let’s be honest – if you feel angry toward God, whether you explicitly tell God or not doesn’t matter – God already knows.
 
So name it. Name your anger. Lift it to God.
 
And then, let it speak to you. Wonder with God what that anger might be trying to tell you.
 
This same thing applies to anger you might be feeling toward someone else in your life, too, or toward general life circumstances.
 
Lift that to God, and let it speak to you. Let it give you some insight about yourself that you may not be noticing on your own.
 
And remember that there are tons of examples throughout scripture of expressions of anger toward God and toward Jesus.
 
It is normal, and it’s not something to feel guilty about. Though, if you struggle with anger regularly, it might be telling you that there’s something going on within you that you aren’t aware of.
 
And that is worth exploring, whether that’s with a friend, a counsellor, a support group, a pastor, or another trusted person.
 
And my hope in continuing this conversation from last week is that it gives you hope if you need it.
 
So, if you are struggling with anger in general or anger toward God specifically, know that God can handle that, and it doesn’t mean you’ve lost your faith.
 
It just may be that it would be worth exploring what your anger might be telling you.
 
And if you aren’t struggling with anger right now, when you do, I hope you remember this message.
 
If you are a lucky person who never struggles with anger, know that many other people do struggle with anger, so perhaps you could gently honour this fact by wondering with them what their anger might be trying to tell them.
 
And lastly, may we all remember that God can handle whatever we lift up in prayer, whether we do that intentionally or not.
 
May you leave here today filled with hope, knowing that God has demonstrated to us time and time again that questions, frustration, anger, and spiritual anguish are nothing for us to feel ashamed or guilty about.
 
God loves every part of us – even those parts that we don’t always love in ourselves.
 
Amen.
 
Let us pray:
 
God of joy and God of love, we humble ourselves before you and acknowledge our emotions, including our anger. We lift these things to you, knowing that you will gladly carry them for us, loving us through it all. We pray that you would help us learn to be self-reflective, wondering with you what our emotions might be telling us, or how you might be guiding us through our experiences. In your holy and loving name, we pray. Amen.

​The Message
 
It isn’t very often that I choose to preach on passages from the Hebrew Bible.
 
That isn’t because there is anything wrong with the scriptures from the Hebrew Bible. It’s just that I tend to focus my sermons more on the story and words of Jesus.
 
But today, we’re going to talk about Job because his story is fascinating, and also a bit weird.
 
Because you may or may not be familiar with the story of Job, I think it’s worth taking a few minutes to summarize it.
 
Job is a relatively wealthy man in his era. He has a family, some property, he has money, and he has flocks of animals.
 
He also has a deep faith in God.
 
In the story, Satan and God are talking, and God basically says “look at this incredibly faithful person! No matter what happens, his faith will remain strong.”
 
Satan essentially says “yeah, sure, God. But it’s easy for his faith to remain strong when everything is going well for him! I bet his faith would waver if he didn’t have everything he has.”
 
God and Satan go back and forth like this for a while. God allows Satan to take away all the good things in Job’s life in order to show that Job will remain faithful through it all.
 
It’s a bit of an odd conversation, and it’s not really how most of us envision God these days.
 
It’s quite difficult to imagine a God who would play with people’s lives so flippantly.
 
But, the truth of the story isn’t as important as the overall moral of the story.
 
Satan ends up taking everything from Job – his home, his flocks, his children, and eventually, his health.
He ended up as a shell of his former self.
 
His wife essentially tells him to give up on God. If God is going to allow all of this to happen to you, why don’t you just give up on God?
 
His friends wonder what Job is doing to bring this chaos and wrath of God upon himself. His friends admittedly aren’t the most supportive people in this story.
 
And in the end, Job ends up crying out to God – asking to confront God face to face. He wants God to answer for the treatment he has received.
 
Now, the interesting thing about this is of course that Job doesn’t know about God’s conversations with Satan.
 
The general understanding of theology at the time was that when bad things happened in life, either God was punishing you, or Satan had snuck in and was wreaking havoc.
 
The story assumes that God allows Satan to destroy Job’s life.
 
With this understanding of God, Job does wonder for a while what he did to deserve this treatment. But he quickly begins to feel like he could not have possibly done enough bad stuff to deserve the losses he experiences.
 
So he becomes angry with God for allowing his life to essentially be taken from him.
 
But the key part of the story is that despite all of the hardships, and the assumption that God is allowing these things to happen, Job does remain faithful to God.
 
Yes, he’s angry with God!
 
But how can one be angry with God if that person has lost faith in God?
 
Anger at God necessitates a deep faith in God.
 
Job is angry at God, and he starts to demand that God answer to Job directly. He wants to talk to God face-to-face.
 
He wants to accuse God.
 
In fact, it’s almost like he wants to throw a temper tantrum at God.
 
Imagine he’s a toddler in a tantrum, kicking and screaming, punching and howling, wailing and crying.
 
He wants to stand before God, kicking and screaming and punching and howling and wailing, and he wants God to give him answers.
 
He believes he deserves this much.
 
And finally, Job encounters God. God finally shows face.
 
And Job starts kicking and screaming and punching (metaphorically), but God calmly stops him and basically says “look around. Do you see all that has been created? Who did that? Oh, I did? Mmmm hmmmm. That’s what I thought.”
 
God maybe isn’t as snarky as I made God sound, but God is pretty real with Job.
 
God wonders if Job would like to be in charge of everything.
 
In Job 38:2, God says, Why do you talk so much when you know so little?
 
God then asks Job a series of questions like: Job, have you ever made the sun rise? Or walked on the ocean floor? Can you arrange the stars? Can you help a lion hunt when it is hungry?
 
God goes on like this for a while. It humbles Job.
 
God essentially says “hey, do you want my job, or do you want to let me keep doing it?”
 
Job realizes through this conversation with God that whatever he is going through in life, there is an entire universe that also exists and must be cared for.
 
Part of the lesson in the story of Job is that he got comfortable in his cushy life. If he had been born into a different social class, his life might have looked much worse from the start.
 
He realizes that even people who are born into very different situations can remain faithful to God.
 
And that is the beauty of today’s scripture passage.
 
Job 19 is toward the middle of the book. Job is still mentally in a place where he feels like he can maintain his faith in God despite the setbacks he has experienced.
As the book goes on, we know that this becomes harder for him.
 
And yet, despite the hardships he has faced, Job holds onto hope throughout the book.
 
Yes, what his hope looks like changes over the course of the book. 
 
But it speaks volumes about his faith in God that he allows his anger toward God to bubble up to the surface, and yet he continues to desire a personal encounter with God.
 
And in the end, isn’t that all any of us really wants?
 
Those of us who believe in God desire a personal relationship with God.
 
Job wants to be able to look God in the face and say “what the heck, God?!”
 
And most of us want that opportunity, too. Perhaps not literally, but spiritually, we desire a deeply personal relationship with God.
 
That’s why we pray. That’s why we come to church. That’s why we surround ourselves with our community of faith.
 
We desire a personal relationship with God.
 
And what that looks like for each of us might be very different.
 
But like Job, when things get hard, we look to God. We might find we are angry with God at times, but that anger reminds us that we still have a deep faith in God.
 
God proved to Job that God could handle his anger. And Job received the gift of this knowing.
 
And God can handle whatever we might throw God’s way, too.
 
Sometimes, it’s easy for us to blame God for our hardships. It’s easy for us to throw our anger in God’s face.
 
And God loves us anyway.
 
Ultimately, what Job desires above all else is a personal relationship with God.
 
And I suspect that’s true for most of us, too.
I know that I get frustrated sometimes with God. I pray to God and often, I am not sure that I get anything in return.
 
I desire a personal relationship with God, too. Sometimes I just want God to give me an answer.
 
But, in my life anyway, God doesn’t usually work that way.
 
God speaks, but I have to be paying attention. God doesn’t come in storm clouds or burning bushes.
 
God comes to me through other people. Through my community. Through nature. Through prayer.
 
And most often, God comes through silence. God sometimes has to hit me over the head when I’m least expecting it.
 
I wonder if God is like that for you, too?
 
As we leave here today, let us wonder together.
 
Let us enjoy the amazing way that God works in our lives as a faith community. Let us continue to desire a personal relationship with God, and may we come to that relationship through this community of faith.
 
May you deeply know God’s love, and may you allow God to work in your life in ways you least expect.
 
As we come to the communion table today, allow God’s grace and love to wash over you, and know that through communion, we receive the deeply personal connection with God that we desire.
 
And may we remember: in all things, love – always. Amen.
 
God of grace, we lift our eyes to you today in humble prayer. We know we are not always perfect, and we are grateful for stories like Job’s to remind us that even the prophets and the people in scripture struggle with their relationship with you, too. We desire a deeply personal relationship with you, and we ask that you help us to see You all around us. Be near to us, always, O God. In your loving name, we pray. Amen.

The Message
 
Today, I want to share with you one of the hardest lessons I’ve learned so far in my life.
 
And that lesson is this:
 
Life is like a ladder. We can move up or down – sometimes very slowly, and sometimes quite quickly.
 
When I was running my dog daycare and training facility, I learned not to allow myself to get too self-confident.
 
Inevitably, every time I would feel like life moved me up a rung or two on the ladder, something would happen that would knock me down three or four rungs.
 
For example, I might come in to work one morning and see that we had three days in a row of excellent sales. Hooray! Maybe we can post a profit this month!
 
And then, next thing you know, the grooming tub is leaking and I need to call the plumber.
 
Or, I might start to feel like my staff are working well together and I’m so lucky to have them, and then two of them quit, leaving me short-handed.
 
Or maybe, it’s been two months straight of no significant issues and I accidentally think to myself “wow, it’s been two months and things are running smoothly” and all the sudden a dog fight happens with injuries, an owner leaves us a bad review, and my groomer cuts her hand and needs stitches.
 
One rung up, two or three rungs back down.
 
The point is, I learned that no matter how well things were going, it was always possible that things could turn downhill just as easily.
 
And, actually, it was often the case that if I even allowed myself to think for a minute that nothing bad had happened recently, before I knew it, something bad would happen.
 
It was a strange dynamic. And I don’t say this to sound negative. I say it because it is the reality of life.
 
It’s the reality of everyday life, but in that industry, particularly bad things could happen that would make my life as an owner extremely difficult.
 
And it’s an important lesson to learn in life because it keeps us humble. Everyday life isn’t always puppies and rainbows and sunshine.
 
Sometimes, it rains, or thunder snows, or worse. Sometimes it can feel like life is just beating you down.
 
So, when I read the Luke passage for today, I thought of this lesson because Jesus is reminding us that life has ups and downs.
 
Luke’s Gospel contains three beatitudes, compared to Matthew’s eight. These three beatitudes are accompanied by three woes.
 
The woes are here to remind us that God’s justice is not all loveliness and light. The lowly are raised up, and the mighty are brought down.
 
Up a rung, down a rung.
 
And most of us can spend time both as “lowly” and “mighty.”
 
When I was running my business, I wouldn’t have ever considered myself “mighty,” but those times when I started to feel a little arrogant that I was really getting the hang of “this whole running a business thing” are the times when I would suddenly be humbled.
 
That’s when I realized how lowly I actually was. I might have thought I was becoming mighty, but God just chuckled and reminded me I had more to learn.
 
The woes that Jesus mentions are not curses or punishments from God.
 
They are not retribution for the “sins of the mighty.”
 
These woes are merely observations about the way that life works.
 
Woe to the rich, not because they are evil but because they have spent their lives seeking riches and attempting to move up the ladder.
 
When life gets tough for those who have sought only riches, they will have the money that they built up, but they won’t necessarily be aware of God’s love.
 
Not because they aren’t deserving of God’s love, but because they have chosen to seek money rather than seeking God’s love.
 
Jesus isn’t saying that the rich can’t access God’s love, but in order to do so, they must humble themselves and begin to seek something beyond riches – something beyond themselves.
 
It’s also a woe because the nature of life is that it can turn around in an instant, as I learned when I was running my business. Woe to you who are rich, because tomorrow you may find yourself poor.
 
Woe to you who laugh or are full, not because it’s bad to be happy but because, again, life will turn.
 
It always does at some point, and we’d be lying to ourselves if we didn’t acknowledge that fact.
 
Up a rung, down a rung.
 
The important thing to remember in Jesus’s words is that when life does inevitably knock us down a rung or two or three, we will all need to know and trust that those who weep, or who are hungry, or who are poor are blessed.
 
So when Jesus offers these woes, it’s not a judgment. It’s an observation.
 
It’s great that life is great right now – we can be rich, or full, or laughing. But we also need to remember who we belong to when things change.
 
God knows us and loves us on our best days and our worst days.
 
These beatitudes could easily say “blessed are you who are grumpy,” “blessed are you who are anxious and depressed,” “blessed are you who struggle with addiction,” or “blessed are you who feel unworthy and unloved.”
 
And, likewise, woe to you who are happy, or mentally well, or free of addiction, or fully aware of how loved you are.
 
Woe, not because you aren’t deserving of feeling happy, mentally well, or fully loved, but because we all have good days and tough days.
 
And God loves us through all of them.
 
God doesn’t withhold love, even when we have allowed ourselves to get overly confident. And, God continues to love us when we are discouraged or feeling like we’ve been knocked down a few rungs on the ladder.
 
Jesus spends time on the blessings and the woes, and then he drops an even bigger truth: love your enemies; do good to those who hate you; bless those who curse you; pray for those who mistreat you.

This often gets preached as the golden rule, but I think on a much deeper level, this is a reminder that we all go through periods in our lives when we are among the “mighty,” and periods when we are among the “lowly.”
 
And, so does everyone else. Including our enemies.
 
We have good days and bad, and God loves us on our best and worst days.
 
But if that is true for us, it’s also true for our enemies.
 
And this is the difficult truth that Jesus is trying to convey. As difficult as it may be to take the higher road, we are called to do so to the best of our ability.
 
At the end of the day, we have good and bad days. We have rich days and poor days. Full days and hungry days. Days filled with laughter and with tears.
 
And our enemies experience similar ups and downs. They move up and down their ladder just like we do on our ladder.
 
We are all just living out our human existence, doing the best we can with a life that is uncertain.
 
So, in the uncertainty of life, remember that life can change in an instant.
 
And when it does, God is right there with you, and you are loved and blessed in the hard moments just as much as you are loved in the easy moments.
 
God gives love freely, whether we feel deserving of that love or not. God is not a fair-weather lover – only extending love on our best days when everything is going well for us. God is a “die-hard fan,” loving us each and every day.
 
And we are called to share that love that is given to us so freely.
 
Jesus is calling us to extend that love to everyone – even our enemies.
 
He knows it isn’t easy, but he also knows we can do it.
 
So, let us leave here receiving God’s love, and readying ourselves to give the love that we receive freely to our friends, family, neighbours, and yes, even our enemies. Amen.

Let us pray:

Eternal God, hope of all who trust in you, in Christ you weep with those who mourn even as you cry out in triumph over the grave. Unbind us from sin, release us from captivity, and raise us from death to life, so that we may join that great crowd of saints who forever sing praise to your holy name; through Christ, the resurrection and the life. Amen.

~ Prayer modified from the PCUSA website. https://www.pcusa.org/site_media/media/uploads/theologyandworship/pdfs/prayers_for_all_saints_day.pdf