To paraphrase Olivia Newton-John: Let’s get political.

I want to talk about the inauguration.

There has been a fraud perpetrated against the people of this nation. A scam has been carried out on this people.

We’ve been hoodwinked. We are the victim of vicious shenanigans.

We, the Church, the priesthood of all believers – the nation of Abraham’s blessing – have been deceived, conned, and bamboozled.

There was once a forest filled with every kind of animal. Once verdant and full of green, the abundance of the woods had withered, making food, shelter, and security for the animals scarce – a premium controlled by those in power.

The animals of the forest gathered one night, unclear about who should have this power. After little debate and less reflection, a race was proposed between a donkey and an elephant. The winner would rule them all.

Here are some stories from scripture we love:

The Israelites are freed from slavery under Egypt, crossing the parted Red Sea to freedom.

A young David takes on the giant, Goliath, winning a victory for his people against the Philistines.

Jesus kneels before Judas, washing his feet, even with full knowledge of what Judas is about to do.

Why not rather be wronged?

All we hear is noise and we never listen.

Cluck. Click. Cluck. Click. Cluck. Say this aloud a few times. The words break down and all you hear are odd sounds. No meaning. Nothing.

This is the atmosphere we breath today. Noise. No meaning.

On his way to Rome, Paul found himself in a tight spot.

Already a prisoner of the Roman Empire and being transported to stand trial before Caesar, the ship carrying him – and two hundred and seventy five others – had run into several problems crossing the Mediterranean Sea. Slow and difficult sailing had hampered their voyage – and now, having ignored Paul’s advice, the captain had driven them directly into a massive storm, battering the ship day and night, and threatening the lives of all those on board.

Hope of survival was fading when Paul, assured them, ‘None of your lives will be lost,’ though he added ominously, ‘though we will lose the ship.’ (v. 22)

Here’s a story you’ve heard before.

Elijah, THE prototype of all prophets, has just walked off the stage of what might be the most cinematic moment in the Bible: An epic showdown between YHWH, the one true God of Israel, and the pretender god of Jezebel, Baal.

All due respect to Charlton Heston and the parting of the Red Sea, but this showdown was truly EPIC.

And just like that…it’s September.

It’s hard for us to imagine what it was like to be a Christian in the early days of the Church. Threats from both inside and outside the community lurked and loomed, casting a shadow over the terrain of the believer’s path. Gathering for worship was a daily gamble, wagering the gift of life against the odds of an eternal payout.

I was reminded in Zoomday School this week of my deep love of the Beatitudes with which Jesus kicks off the Sermon on the Mount in the fifth chapter of Matthew. All of them say something important about the character of a disciple, building on each other and focusing the lens through which we are called to live our lives. But this week I was struck most by the fourth Beatitude:

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.

I wasn’t there, so I can’t be sure of the details, but based on what has happened since, I have a pretty good idea what happened. It wasn’t dark, light saturated everything, though its source remains something of a mystery. From what I understand, the sky was empty and the ground was barren, but this was a considerable improvement over the conditions just a few days before. I’d say that those present waited with bated breath, held in suspense, curious as to what came next – but there wasn’t anyone else there, at least not anyone like us.

It had to be the most annoying part of Moses’ job as leader of the Wayward and Obstinate People of God.

Just imagine it.

You hike up to the top of a mountain where you get the unbelievable chance to sit at the feet of God as he gives you the Word of God that will shape the Hebrew people with justice and righteousness, truly forming them into the image of God and a beacon of light and hope for the rest of the world.

You rush down the mountain, excited to share this Word with the people, your face literally beaming with the glory of God. You gather everyone together so that they too can share in this glory and hear the very words of God.

But before you can say a single word, your brother pulls you aside.

Aaron has a request: ‘Hey, Mo, would you mind wearing a face mask?

Tradition is the backbone of any community, especially the Church. It gives structure to our practices and shapes our hearts and minds in profound ways. More than that, tradition connects us with our past and reminds us of who we are – and who we are called to be.

These are a just a few of the reasons that John Wesley valued tradition so much, even in a time when seemingly everyone else was tossing it aside for personal freedom and individual choice.

The parables of Jesus are some of our favorite and most beloved passages in all of Scripture. And yet, familiar as they are, there is often a lot more going on than we realize. As short as they are, they offer some of the deepest and longest lasting truths about the Kingdom of God.

Why Jesus often chose to encode the good news in parables, we may never fully know. But one thing we do know: We humans love a good story – and stories have the ability to live on for generations in ways that few sermons ever do.

In our Wisdom Literature class here at Northside, we’ve been reading through the book of Job. Though the text is ancient, I can’t help but hear it echoed in the world around us today. As another wisdom book, Ecclesiastes, put it: There is nothing new under the sun. What we see today is not new – but perhaps our response can be.

God’s apocalypse is not a dark lens that casts shadows on our world, but rather a light lit by the revelation of his love through Jesus Christ – a light that we, as disciples, are called to shine as the Body of Christ in the world. 
 
We, the Church, are an apocalypse of God that, as Paul tells us, ‘the whole creation breathlessly awaits with anticipation,’ (Romans 8:19).  He goes even further, saying: ‘We know that the whole creation is groaning together and suffering labor pains up until now,’ (v. 22).