I was on a Zoom call (becausepandemic) and I said,
“I think one of the most difficult things about this pandemic is that it’s stretched on without us really knowing when it might end. If we knew when that might be, even relatively, we could gauge it more easily. Now, with the vaccine on the horizon, there’s no more… what should we call it? FOMOP? You know, FOMO? Fear of Missing Out? We’ve had FOMOP — Fear of Missing Out Perpetually.”
We’re in such a dichotomous time. We hear hopeful stories about new developments and the game changer of vaccines. But this is also the most perilous timeframe so far. All of those numbers have names attached…
I find myself truly dreaming of what my post-pandemic life might look like. And I sit in concern as this virus comes closer to loved ones and upends so many people. What an odd, in-between time.
In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah, “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.’”
This passage begins with words that don’t seem particularly significant to our 21st century context, so if you’re like me, as you read them, you might tend to tune them out. Luke initiates this section of his Gospel with a list of rulers from the 1st century — despots, kings, foreign occupiers, and the highest religious officials.
It takes a bit of time to move through these names, which adds to the probability that our brains might move elsewhere. But these words are absolutely significant to the message Luke intends for us to hear.
So let’s consider them again.
In the fifteenth year of the Emperor Tiberius. . . Tiberius was the primary ruler and ultimate authority in the expansive Roman Empire.
When Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea. . . Pilate was the Roman prefect who governed a large portion of the occupied land.
And Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis. . . The Herod dynasty included kings who ruled harshly as a client state for Rome.
During the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas. . . Annas and Caiaphas were the highest religious leaders put in place by Rome.
This is Luke’s list at the opening of this passage. But take notice of what happens after he lists all of these powerful leaders with high status. Luke says. . . During the time when all of these powerful people governed, “the Word of God came to John in the wilderness.”
The Word of God came to John and it came to him in the wilderness.
This is significant. At first, it may seem like Luke is simply setting the scene and establishing the time period as he mentions what was happening in the government, but it’s so much more than that.
Luke wants us to know that at the time these leaders ruled — some with corruption and all with wealth and influence– the Word of God came to one of society’s so-called nobodies in the wilderness, a remote spot entirely removed from society’s center.[1]
And this man named John went into many places in this wilderness. Luke says that he went into all the region around the Jordan River, and as he did that, he baptized people into the very waters of that river, proclaiming good news and a message of repentance. The word ‘repentance’ literally means to ‘turn around.’ John invited people to turn around toward a lifetime of good news, living toward God with worship, passion, and justice.
And John did this with power.
John the Baptist did not have the world’s power. He wasn’t wealthy. He wasn’t welcome in high society. He didn’t have a position in the government. He wasn’t the leader of an army.
But John was a prophet of God, a fiery prophet of power who did not mince words. Without question, John would have made us uncomfortable, and he might have made us angry too. Like so many of Luke’s characters, John preaches a radical Gospel: God is turning the world upside down. The powerful are becoming de-centered, and the people on the margins are empowered to lead the way toward new life.
With this message in the wilderness, John cries aloud the very words that the prophet Isaiah proclaimed centuries before him. “Prepare the way of the Lord, make God’s paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight and the rough ways smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.”
God is turning the world upside down. The mountains and hills and bastions of power will be made low! And the valleys of those who are humbled, despised, and marginalized shall be filled so that all people will see and know the salvation of God.
As John proclaims this message, he serves as a messenger, preparing the way for Jesus who will indeed turn this world upside down. When John cries words aloud in the wilderness, Jesus is about thirty years old and on the verge of his public ministry. John is the herald, inviting people to prepare their anticipation, because once Jesus comes into the fullness of this ministry,
He will speak truth to power, He will uplift the downtrodden, He will eat in full communion with the ‘outsiders,’ And he will empower these very people to take his message of worship, passion, and justice to the ends of the earth. All people, All people, will see the salvation of God.
This world-turning intention is central to the character of God. It is a vital part of Who God Is. So it makes me wonder. . .
How is God moving now? How is God proclaiming a message of salvation now? How is that happening in our own time and in our own modern forms of wilderness?
After all, isn’t that just the kind of thing this God would do? Arrive in the middle of wilderness places that some label insignificant?
This is one of the primary messages of Advent —
God is always coming, Always arriving in this Jesus, Always initiating movements of power and good news through the Holy Spirit, often in the least likely of places.
So it makes me wonder how God is showing up in the wilderness.
We certainly have many places of wilderness in the landscape of our lives. These places seem rough and are perhaps on the outside of anyone’s knowledge or notice.
Our losses, Our addictions, Our health crises, Our disappointments, Our broken relationships. . . They can feel like places of wilderness.
But we can take heart, And we can remember, God shows up even there and can turn the world upside down.
Your life is not insignificant in God’s vision. It is immensely significant. Even in these places of wilderness, God turns our lives upside down, so we can turn toward the direction of new life.
It makes me wonder how God is showing up in the wilderness.
We also know that there are many in our neighborhoods and many around our world who experience burdens that are heavier than we can easily imagine —
People struggle through poverty, Children fall through the cracks of failing schools, Some are despised and disenfranchised through racism, Some are stigmatized and treated as less than because of disability, Men, women, and children are caught in the trauma of wars, Refugees escape those wars but have nowhere to go, And victims die and are wounded by the senseless and seemingly continuous gun violence in our country. These are wilderness places, These are painful wilderness places.
And these lives are not insignificant in God’s vision. They are immensely significant. Even in these places of wilderness, God turns our lives upside down, so we can turn toward the direction of new life.
It makes me wonder how God is showing up in the wilderness.
I know this. . . God often shows up in the presence of other people, and God can arrive in these realities of wilderness through our very presence.
In the midst of heartache, God brings comfort and good news through our presence.
In the midst of challenges, God turns the world upside down through our presence.
In the midst of wilderness, God provides a way in the desert and makes all things new through our presence.
How will we add our presence? How will we be a part of the very prayers we make? How will we act on that small thing or that large thing that keeps arriving in our minds and hearts? How will we reach out to that person or community that keeps showing up in our thinking and praying? How will we follow John into the wilderness to proclaim good news? How will we also turn the world upside down?
Sometimes, you’re busy, or you run out of things to say, or both, so you conclude, “You know what? Let’s make this baby animal week on Smuggling Grace.”
And then you remember how wonderful it would be to hug baby goats. Yes, let’s definitely share that. 🙂
Oh, these little pups! Their wiggy-waggly tails of delight get me every time I watch. Enjoy these dachshunds helping each other carry a really big stick.
Image description: There is an orange-brown background, and toward the right side of the image, there is a circle of symbols of people made from paper. They are holding hands in the circle, and a light is shining in the middle of the circle.
Sometimes, we have a zero-sum mindset about rest, care, and personal growth.
We feel anxious or guilty about prioritizing rest, care, and personal growth because somewhere deep down inside us, we believe… if we choose to prioritize these for ourselves… deliberately receiving from others, setting up daily rhythms of personal care practices, or engaging extended periods of intentional, internal work… we believe… we are somehow taking from others.
Some of us have also been socialized to view care in these ways.
I’m not talking about falling off the grid entirely (though by all means, it’s helpful to do this temporarily here and there). I just want to make a claim that rest, care, and personal growth are not necessarily selfish, which is something we can easily fear or feel guilty about. This zero-sum mindset easily creeps in amidst parenting, pastoring, organizing, and caregiving.
We, ourselves, are intrinsically worth rest, care, and personal growth. We matter.
But also, when we keep our connections with others in mind, this is not a zero-sum situation — our rest, care, and personal growth is always embedded in relationships. It is always for the benefit of the community. We are refreshed and energized. We bring our fuller selves to our relationships, roles, and work. And when our rest, care, and personal growth stay in contact and connection with others, we pay attention to the systemic forces which make it much more challenging for some to experience those extended times of rest, care, and personal growth. Our care becomes more intentional here, and respecting people’s agency, we practice care outwardly, prioritizing others also. We take care of each other. We cultivate care spaces in mutuality together.
I wonder why we think these are divided from one another — personal healing and receiving versus community care work. As if we can only do one or the other.
After all, who’s to say they aren’t absolutely connected?
Image Description: Black background and the word ‘family’ in white letters; the l has a tree growing out of it. Public domain image.
What if you could be gathered together in one place with a version of yourself from every year of your life? Like, from baby to current age of adulthood?
What if every age of yourself was present toward all the others, gathered together like a family reunion of sorts? What would that be like?
-Would certain ages pair together for care?
-Would certain ages avoid each other?
-Would certain ages wander off somewhere and find some space to tell the truth, or maybe do some reconciliation work?
-Would certain ages impart wisdom to the other ages?
What might the current you want to say to your younger selves? What might your younger selves want to say to the current you? Truth be told, our younger selves are always present in some way, embedded into the rest of our lives. We can access the various parts of ourselves, and in a sense, even be in relationship with ourselves.
I wonder what would happen in this family reunion?
Image Description: Two directional arrows — one toward Hope and the other toward Despair. Public Domain Image.
In the midst of pain — our own or that of the world around us – it can sometimes seem downright foolish to let ourselves become hopeful. It can even be risky —
What if things never get better than this?
What if the next catastrophe still happens?
What if I look like a fool?
Hope takes risk, I suppose. Hope certainly doesn’t put us in control. Hope might invite us to desire things that in the end, we do not get to see.
But hope also has a way of creating things – things that could barely be imagined before. Hope helps our imagination become alive, and from there, when we envision other possibilities, we soon discover that we are called to participate in their creation. Hope leads us somewhere.
And so, in the midst of it all — whatever it is for you; whatever it is for the world — what might it look like to dare to take heart?
Image Description:Fred Rogers sitting in the house set of Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood. He’s wearing a red, zip down sweater and a tie.
You make each day a special day. You know how, by just your being you. There’s only one person in this whole world like you.
He said this daily with emphasis and intention. Occasionally, he said it with playfulness. He always meant it, and young children across the United States internalized this message inside themselves. They came to believe it. Very likely, many came to memorize it, and in anticipation, they said it along with him, either aloud or inside their own minds.
You make each day a special day. You know how, by just your being you. There’s only one person in this whole world like you.
This was a litany of sorts. A daily recitation.
We might also call it liturgy.
Liturgy literally means, “Work of the people” — sacred words voiced, shared, and enacted. Perhaps in these days, we need to voice, share, and enact the convictions behind this daily statement.
You make each day a special day. You know how, by just your being you. There’s only one person in this whole world like you.
And maybe part of our work as a people is to internalize these words inside ourselves as well.
After all, I notice one intriguing word in this daily liturgy. It’s the word your. Fred Rogers could have easily said, “You make each day special. You know how, by just being you.” But instead, he added the word your. “You know how, by just your being you.” His phrasing is actually a bit more clunky than it has to be.
But it’s also important. We are invited to know our specialness, worth, and value as ours. We are encouraged to be in relationship with ourselves — “being you” — knowing that even in our days of doubt, we are worth loving. We can live in conversation with this truth, recognizing when we are living in alignment with its values and when we have temporarily acted outside of them. We can always return.
And this isn’t ego, a way of setting ourselves against others or above others. It is a truth we live in relationship with others. So we hear and speak it again in relationship:
You make each day a special day. You know how, by just your being you. There’s only one person in this whole world like you.
Smuggling Grace 