In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

[This is the text of an interactive sermon, delivered with the aid of the congregation, out of the pulpit, on the morning of the Annual Meeting.]

Today’s Jesus story tells us about how Jesus’ friends saw him work a miracle, and how it made them feel to know that they were with someone who was so powerful--with God.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Here’s a question to start us off today. What in the world do pomegranates have to do with today’s lessons? Those great, healthy, juicy fruits that we have pictured on the cover of the bulletin--what do they have to do with today’s lessons? Listen and see.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

I wonder how many people here have read this little book--The Purpose Driven Life? It made quite a splash some 5 years ago and sat on the Best Seller List a very long time.

I think that’s the case because it speaks to our yearning to know what we’re here for, what life is really all about, what our role is in the “Big Picture.” In all truth this book is a little too strident in places for me, but nonetheless it did strike quite a chord in our cultural psyche.

Today our gospel tells the story of Jesus telling out HIS purpose to those family and friends who were with him in the synagogue in Nazareth. This little Gospel passage says so much. Let’s take a look at it together.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

We’ve all heard that old cliche that says “Be careful what you pray for, because you might just get it.” But I want to shorten that today --to -- “Be careful when you pray.”
Period.

Be careful when you pray. Because you never know what might happen. Look what happened to Jesus in today’s gospel story.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Now that the year has turned over I get to engage in a beloved ritual, and that is leafing through the Burpee Seed Catalogue. Have you noticed how these come in the mail right when we enter the darkest time of the year--the time when the cold wind blows right through us and the darkness comes upon us by 5:00 in the afternoon?

Of course it’s not by accident that the seed companies time their catalogues to arrive in our mailboxes in the darkest part of the winter. I think there’s not much finer illustration of hope than these little catalogues that come with their cheery pictures of verdant gardens with flourishing flowers and veggies, all cloaked in abundant sunshine.

And in the church year, too, it’s no accident that we have the birth of the Light of the World into the darkest part of the year, the coming of the Savior at the time when things are cold and the light in the sky is less and less abundant. Christ is born into the darkness, and the Magi seek the hope he brings --when he is still an infant or a very young child they seek him. They come to touch his new life, his abundant life, the hope he carries with him.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

There’s a book out there that’s called Children’s Letters to God. It’s a little book and apparently you can breeze through it in no more than 5 or 10 minutes. One letter says, “Dear God, Are you invisible or is that just a trick?” Another reads, “Dear God, Thank you for the baby brother, but what I prayed for was a puppy.” And my favorite says, “Dear God, Are you real? Some people don’t believe it. If you are, you’d better do something quick.” [Cited in Christian Century, Dec 15, 2009, page 3.]

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Once again we read the story of the Syrophoenician woman—this story is affectionately referred to by some theologians as “the day the gospel went to the dogs.” This woman cleverly bests Jesus—or maybe even wakes him up—to see that all people are to receive God’s healing touch, God’s loving acceptance, no matter what they’ve done, no matter who they are or where they come from.

It’s called “the day the gospel went to the dogs” because of the way Jesus insults this woman and her kind, calling them dogs. And she comes right back at him, accepting the status of a dog next to the children of Israel, but making sure that Jesus remembers that even dogs get the food that was originally intended for the children. “Sir,” she says, “even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.”

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

I bet there are some of us here today who recognized this passage from Paul’s letter to the Ephesians from our own experiences in church school. The images of the various pieces of armor we’re told to put on are quaint.

But I’d like to approach this text in a very “grown up” way today. First I think it’s important to admit / that to most of us, warfare as a metaphor for the spiritual life probably sounds pretty antiquated. And if you grew up during the 1960’s you may even recoil at some depth when you hear too much talk of military metaphors. I still do.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Today’s gospel gives us one of those split-level conversations that happen again and again / in the Gospel of John.

Just a couple of chapters before the feeding of the 5,000 John gives us the story of Jesus meeting the woman at the well. They have a conversation about her history of sleeping with different men; and then they move to a conversation about what really satisfies—that’s the living water from God. The woman wants this living water always, and then Jesus tells her / he is the living water. For the whole conversation it seems the woman is either too dense or too afraid to catch the real significance of living water. She’s talking about the water that’s so hard to draw up from the well in the noontime of the day. Jesus is talking about the water of the Holy Spirit, the water of Baptism, the water that really quenches our deepest spiritual thirsts.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

I was late last Sunday for church but it didn’t matter. I was late because I stayed home a little longer to read an article in the Sunday Times op-ed section about Greg Mortenson, the American climber who worked with next to nothing for years and years, and put his life on the line time and again, and is making a real difference for the children of the mountainous areas of Afghanistan and Pakistan.

Greg Mortenson is the guy whose story is told in this book—Three Cups of Tea. I know that many of you have read it. It’s absolutely fascinating to read about the gradual unfolding of his calling to open schools for impoverished kids—primarily girls—in these besieged nations.