Psalm 25 - Sacred Instructions

            It is Lent.  It is the time here in church that we mark the journey of Jesus to the Holy City of Jerusalem, the epicenter of Judaism in the ancient world, the place where all the events of Holy Week occur – from the palm parade to the turning of the tables in the temple to the last supper to the betrayal, the trial, and the crucifixion.  Jesus is on an epic journey.  The rabbi is on the move.

            It is Lent.  It is the time here in church when we – you and I who call ourselves his modern day disciples - mirror the journey of Jesus to Jerusalem with our own journeys.  We too are on the move, attempting as best as we can to follow in his footsteps, but all the while also trying to make sense of the craziness of our world, struggling to untangle why we continue to do the things we do – inflicting hurt and ignoring the pain it causes, venturing to figure out why the Gospel message seems so far away and so much more like a dream than a reality. 

            It is Lent.  It is a time of passions and feelings.  And so it is appropriate to begin the season with a psalm, one of those Biblical vessels overflowing with all that lies deepest in our human hearts and souls. The psalms express our most profound – and often most troubling – emotions like no other writing in the entire Bible.

            We will not begin Lent with just any psalm, of course, and definitely not with an old favorite like the joyous and celebratory 100^th – “Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the lands. Serve the Lord with gladness: come before God’s presence with singing. “ No – we will not begin Lent with that kind of psalm because Lent is not a particularly joyous and celebratory season. 

            Instead, we begin this rather somber season of introspection, these weeks of journeying inside ourselves, with a psalm that is less widely read and so quite a bit less popular.  It is at first an individual lament (and who likes lamenting), and then it is an acknowledgement of all the failures that have, over all the years from our very youth, darkened our lives (and who likes reliving those most embarrassing and most forgettable moments).  And finally it is a plea (and who like to go a’beggin”).  This psalm is an entreaty for guidance to the God who is always to be trusted.  It is an appeal for a set of sacred instructions.

            From the very deepest part of her being, the psalm singer asks God not to put her to shame, not to let her enemies gloat over her broken and regrettable life.  She makes a heartfelt request to this faithful God of hers to teach her and all who wait upon the Lord the true ways, the ways of the Holy One. 

            The Psalms are a good companion to take with us on a Lenten journey – if for no other reason that surely Jesus carried the psalms with him on his climactic journey to Jerusalem.  The psalms, you see, were the songs of the ancient Jewish people, his people.   Jesus would have used the psalms when he and his followers worshipped together in the evening or as he did his own daily private devotions.

            I like to think that the Psalms had an enormous and deeply profound meaning for Jesus because these wonderful poetic chants and ditties and laments poured forth the same thoughts and emotions that surely he carried with him on his journey – and that we too schlepp along with us.  Joy to be sure and great high hope and holy praise, but also anger, loneliness, weariness, and even abject despair.  Brian Erickson notes that the Psalms "read more like monologues than conversations, exercises in spiritual eavesdropping." 

            This particular psalm that we are reflecting on this morning is actually one of nine acrostic psalms, meaning that each line begins with a different letter of the Hebrew alphabet.  The point of an acrostic psalm is simple.  It is meant to cover a particular subject in its entirety, from “A to Z” so to speak. 

            The purpose of Psalm 25 then is to re-orient us, to set us off once and for all in the right direction – which, when you think about it, is the point of Lent as well.  The function of Psalm 25 is to pass on to us some important sacred instructions.

            It is Lent, and so we journey with Jesus, as Lutheran pastor, Sara Olson-Smith writes, “honest about our own failings and struggles, our souls lifted up to God, for only God can give us forgiveness and power to change. (We journey), truthful about our despair and grief and weariness, our souls lifted up to God, for only God can bring our life out of death, dancing from our mourning.”  We journey, searching, always searching.

            But what do we journey toward?  What ought we to be searching for?  Do you think Jesus ever asked those questions too as he made his way to Jerusalem?  Might he ever have whispered the psalmist’s words too: “Make me know your ways, O God”?  I do not know about Jesus, but I do know that if Lent is to have any meaning whatsoever for us this year, then those questions must be our questions.  

            What is the true pathway that we are supposed to seek?  God, which way do you want us to go?    What is your Torah (which is the Hebrew word for instructions)?  O God, teach me to live according to your truth….please.

            Sacred instructions:  That is what the psalmist seeks.  But what are those instructions?  As Presbyterian pastor Alan Brehm notes in his blog, “Most of us have labored under the mistaken notion that the Torah was the law, something from which we have been set free by Jesus. But nothing could be further from the truth. The torah is not a set of rules that are intended to bind us or to be codified into a set of laws. The torah is God’s instruction (and this is important:  The Torah is God’s instruction for how to live) in light of the reality that God is working in this world to make all things new.”

             “Show me your ways, Lord, teach me your paths. Guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long.”  How am I to live?  What is the path I am to seek?  Give me somedirection here, God. 

            And you know what?  In the end, the Psalmist answers her own question – and the answer is important, so take note!  “All the paths of the Lord are steadfast love and faithfulness.”

            It is pretty simple, when you come right down to it.  When all is said and done, there is really only one instruction: Steadfast love and faithfulness, like God’s covenant faithfulness to the Hebrew people and, through Jesus, like God’s covenant love for us. 

            And if you are not sure exactly sure what covenant faithfulness is or covenant love involves, then this is important too:  No matter what the Hebrew people did or how disobedient they were, God still loved them.  Likewise, no matter what we do or how many times we turn away, God still faithfully walks beside us, ready to lead us home. 

            That is steadfast love and faithfulness – at its simplest and yet most profound and beautiful.  And that is the challenge that God lays before us, we who are here because somewhere along the way we made a commitment to live as Jesus lived. 

            God’s instruction is to emulate God’s character—being faithful in relationships, loving in a way that never quits, working to set all things right in the world. (Alan Brehm blog)  Alan Brehm writes, “One of the fundamental lessons of Lent is that we are called to live the life of the kingdom of God. But another one of the fundamental lessons of Lent is that we cannot live the life of the kingdom on our own.

            The only way we can possibly achieve any success is if God “teaches” us. Being humble enough to seek God’s instruction is a matter of trust—of entrusting ourselves to God’s goodness and steadfast love and faithfulness, and being willing to take the risk of following God’s ways.”

            And Jesus, of course, is our role model.  Jesus emulates the character of God fully.  Jesus embodies God and the way God wants us to live.  And that is what this Lenten journey is all about.  That is what following in the footsteps of Jesus these 40 days (not counting Sundays) until Easter means. 

            Lent is our opportunity in a very intentional way through prayer and study and hands on giving and mission to learn the ways of Jesus, to try our hand at following God’s instructions, to let go of old grudges and resentments, to see what our lives and our world might be like if the balance of power that we have put in place was shifted to the one that God would have us put in place. 

            When Lent is over, will we have all the answers?  Probably not.  When Lent is all over, will the world be a different place?  Highly unlikely.  What then is the point of first seeking and then following God’s sacred instructions.

         One day a pilgrim began a long journey in search of peace, joy, and love. The pilgrim's journey passed through landscapes that were not always happy ones —through war, sickness, quarrels, rejections, and separations.  The pilgrim also passed through lands where the more people possessed, the more warlike they became; the more they had to defend, the more they needed to attack each other. Longing for peace, they prepared for war. Longing for love, they surrounded themselves with walls of distrust and barriers of fear.

         One morning, however, the pilgrim came to a lone little cottage beside the road, a hut that seemed to beckon him inside.  Full of curiosity, he pilgrim entered.  Inside the cottage was a little shop, and behind the counter stood a shopkeeper.

         “What would you like?” asked the shopkeeper.

         “What do you stock here?” asked the pilgrim.

         “Oh, we have all the things here that I’m sure you most long for”' replied the shopkeeper. “Just tell me what you desire.”

         “Well, I want peace in my own family, in my native land, and in the whole world. I want those who are sick to be healed and whole once more and those who are lonely to have friends.

I want those who are hungry to have enough to eat.”

         There was a pause, while the pilgrim reviewed this shopping list. Gently, the shopkeeper broke in. “I'm sorry. I should have explained. We don't supply the fruits here. We only supply the seeds.”

         And so it is with God’s sacred instructions, with the ministry of Jesus, with the Gospel message that he leaves with us.  We have the directions, but the finished product is up to us.

         May your Lenten journey truly take you in the footsteps of Jesus.  May God’s ways be made known to you in a more compelling manner than they ever have before.  May the sacred instructions become much clearer, and, like the pilgrim looking for his heat’s desire, may you become motivated enough to pick up lots of seeds along the way.

           

           

Mark 1:40-45 Risky Love and Anger

The tension continues to build as we continue to work our way through the first chapter of Mark’s gospel.  Yes – we are still on the first chapter!  But, hey, this is the Gospel of Mark, and one of the narrative’s most obvious characteristics is its immediacy, that sense of the rising crescendo of events:  And then...and then… and then. 

            

The tension builds.  Plans are adjusted.  Changes are made.  Exorcisms – like the demon-possessed man in the temple – and dramatic healings – like Simon’s mother-in-law with her fever – those sorts of events just do not fit into the mold of a gentle rabbi and a nice, quiet preaching ministry.   What is Jesus to do?

            

As we saw last week, the crowds in Capernaum insisted upon following Jesus expectantly – craving more miraculous healings and more dramatic exorcisms – more and more and more - until he said, “Enough, enough, enough, moving right along, moving right along, moving right along.           

As United Church of Christ pastor Kate Huey writes, “Perhaps (Jesus) doesn't want to be seen as a magician, or even to be known as a worker of miracles if that keeps people from hearing the message he proclaims, from coming to understand who he is.”

            

And so Jesus and the Twelve left Capernaum, the town that had almost begun to seem like home (what with those meals that Simon’s mother-in-law insisted upon preparing for them – what a good cook she was) – and they moved out into the countryside – down the dusty dirt road toward whatever it is that would come next.

            

I picture Jesus in my mind - heaving a great sigh of relief when the last hut on the outskirts of Capernaum disappeared over the rise of the road behind them.  Surely now the crowds would be gone.  Surely now the cries of the crippled, the blind, the oddballs, the doomed would be replaced by an almost blessed silence.  Surely now, they would be alone – just the rabbi and his little group of devotees.

           

And so it was.  But not for along.  Nothing in the Gospel of Mark is for long.  You see, down the road a piece, a man was walking their way – a man quite obviously not doing well. 

            

Patrick Oden describes the wretched fellow this way:  “He is extremely gaunt, and wearing what can only barely be called clothes.  These tatters are wrapped all around him, trying to cover seemingly every part of his body.  But the wind and their raggedness keep that an impossible task…White splotches cover what (the skin) underneath the rags.  Scabs and sores are everywhere.” 

            

It cannot be – but lo and behold it is - this man is a leper - in those ancient times, one known to be cursed by God, one whose sin is clearly shown for the world to see.”

            

It is perhaps instructive at this point for us to understand that the ailment that afflicted the unnamed man approaching Jesus was most likely not our modern day disease of leprosy.  You see, leprosy, as we know it, was practically non-existent in Palestine in Jesus’ day. 

            

Armed with that knowledge, this tale becomes a bit more nuanced when we realize that the man’s ailment might better be described as simply rough or scaly skin – less than perfect – perhaps pock-marked, acne-ed,  Runaway psoriasis maybe? 

Or untreated eczema?  Like your grandfather or uncle.  Like the friend of your teenaged son. 

            

Describe it as you will.  The man who brashly approached Jesus and his followers was, by social convention and religious dogma, a pariah, an outcast.  Here is how Presbyterian pastor Robert Elder describes the situation.

           

“The social taboos for lepers in Israel were powerful and frightening in their comprehensiveness. No leper, under any circumstances, was to approach a non-leper. Any time a person who was clean came near them, lepers were to stand off at a distance and shout, if they still had voices to shout with, "Unclean! Unclean!"

            

… Lepers were excluded from the general population and from any contact with the people of God. Participation in the religious life of the community was forbidden, any approach to the temple in Jerusalem was entirely out of the question. Rabbis of the time are known to have expressed opinions on the status of lepers, calling them living corpses whose cure was as difficult as resurrection of the dead.”

            

And yet, this dead man walking continued to approach Jesus.  And as he did, those close followers of the rabbi did something they would continue to do right up until the end.  They backed away.  They melted into the scenery even as Jesus took a step closer to the disfigured man. 

            

It was then that the man asked Jesus a most serious question.  He asked Jesus not to heal him but rather to make him clean – and therein lies a huge difference.  You see, only a Jewish priest can make someone clean.  After all, there are 32 verses in the Torah book of Leviticus explaining the only acceptable process that can lead to being clean.  Check it out – Leviticus 14. 

            

Now Jesus must make a decision.  Does he fly in the face of not only social convention but also religious laws regarding purity?  Some translations of this story tell us that pity showed on Jesus’ face at this point.  However, many Biblical scholars believe that the more accurate translation from the Greek is anger. 

            

And so, even as a flash of anger glimmered in Jesus’ eyes, he does what he has been called to do.  He steps right over those 32 verses in Leviticus into reimagining a social order where the rough and scaly skinned people – your grandfather or uncle, the friend of your teenaged son - the outcasts, the pariahs are no longer excluded.  

            

In fact, Jesus embraces that new world even as he embraces the leper before him.  Yes - Jesus touches the man – making himself unclean in the eyes of the temple hotshots in order that the lost may be found, the marginalized welcomed, the unclean clean. 

           

Of course, Jesus knows that a sudden healing of this sort will seem very suspicious and so with the best interest of the leper in mind, he urges him to go to the priest for confirmation.  Remember that only a priest could declare someone to be clean.  Remember those 32 verses in Leviticus 14. 

            

Realize, however, that the priests were not a cold-hearted lot determined to make life miserable and difficult for the Jewish people.  The priests were the ones who were ultimately responsible for keeping the community together and safe, for making it work in the midst of the pagan Roman Empire. 

            

No wonder Jesus the Jew sternly directed the man to go to the temple priests in order to be officially reinstated in the community.  However, instead the leper dances off joyfully, his glee something he could not keep inside.  And, really, do we blame him?

            

That is the essence of this little story.  However,  I want to briefly talk about two ideas that leap out at me as I ponder it.  The first is this anger business.  Why would Jesus have been angry?  And was he angry at the leper, or did something else get his dander up?

            

I suppose one could say that his anger was directed at the leper.  After all, the guy should have kept his distance and obeyed the rules.  By approaching Jesus, all he was doing was stirring up a lot of trouble and putting Jesus into a very difficult position.  It was almost surreal – the tattered sunken-eyed man coming closer and closer.  What was Jesus supposed to do – turn tail and run?

            

However, I am not so sure that it was the leper that made Jesus angry.  I have a feeling that if we had been there and had watched closely, we would have seen a flash of compassion in Jesus’ eyes before we saw the anger. 

            

You see, I think that Jesus’ anger was not directed at the leper, but was rather focused on the powers that had been created (and that we still create) that ultimately hold back all of creation – the values, the systems, the things we feel forced to do to one another to cope with and survive in this crazy world. 

            

And so in both risky love and anger, Jesus reached out and touched the man.  And that is the second thing I want to ponder.  Jesus begins to break the rules when he continues to walk toward an obviously ritually unclean, impure person.  And he smashes those rules to bits when he reaches out and touches the man. 

            

Jesus’ followers must have been aghast, horrified, so tied to their culture were they, to the way things are, have always been, and will forever be.  Yikes!  Imagine!  In contrast to all the social and religious mores, Jesus gives that leper a bear hug. 

            

What an act of faith – to not only re-imagine the world, but to take one small step to make it so.  What an act of courage – to build and rebuild relationships in radical ways, relationships between the clean and the unclean, between those who are in and those who are out.  What an act of blessed defiance – to jump right over all 32 verses in Leviticus 14 in order to welcome an outcast home, home to the community, in order to do what is right instead of what is easy.  What an act of risky love and anger.

Rev. Nancy Foran

Raymond Village Community Church

Raymond, ME

www.rvccme.org

           

            And so for us, there is a nagging symbolism in these five little verses in the earliest Gospel we have, in this story of Jesus and a nameless leper which has made its way into Holy Scripture, the Book on which we say we base our lives.  

            Jesus openly commits an act of risky love and anger.  He does not turn his back on a hurting world, but rather faithfully, courageously, and defiantly steps right into it and embraces it – in all its brokenness, in all its dirtiness, in all its pain.  May we as his followers be faithful enough, courageous enough, and defiant enough to do likewise.

            

Mark 1:29-39 Moving Right Along

            Once there was a man who went to his doctor because he really needed help with his snoring problem.  The doctor questioned him closely about it.

            “As soon as I go to sleep,” the man explained, “I begin to snore. It happens all the time.”  He was really quite desperate.  “What can I do, doctor, to cure myself?”

            The doctor then asked him, “Does it bother your wife?”

            “Oh,” the man answered, “it not only bothers her, but it disturbs the whole congregation.”

            

I guess this little story points out that one person’s behavior can indeed have a great impact on those around him or her.   And so it is in our Gospel story this morning – on two levels.  First, Jesus’ actions have an immediate and profound impact on the other characters in the tale – from Simon’s mother-in-law to the persistent crowds of people who followed him and his disciples.  And second, Jesus’ actions ought also to also have a profound impact on us as his latter day followers.

These verses from the Gospel of Mark are really two stories linked together in our lectionary, that is, in the verses assigned to us to read each Sunday.  There is first the healing story, which then leads into an account of Jesus trying to capture a few moments alone to pray – in a sense to re-calibrate or re-center himself – after all the activity of starting up his ministry.

            

“And then…and then….and then.”  You see, there is a certain immediacy about this particular Gospel, a rising crescendo of events.  We have not even completed the first chapter of this narrative, and already Jesus has been baptized, spent forty days in the wilderness dueling with his own temptations, called his disciples, exorcised an evil spirit in the midst of a presumably whiz bang sermon in the synagogue, healed Simon’s mother-in-law as well as all those who were sick and possessed of demons who were brought to him in the aftermath.  No wonder he yearned for a little time alone.

            

It was right after the incident in the synagogue with the possessed man ranting and railing that Jesus and his disciples hightailed it to Simon’s home – and that is where our story today picks up. 

Oh, they must have been surprised when the usual welcoming dinner table was not set and no fragrant odors of matzo ball soup and lamb ragout wafted out from the kitchen.

            

This is unusual!  What’s going on? Oh, no!  The woman of the house – Simon’s mother-in-law - was sick in bed with a fever – not a good thing in first century Capernaum – what with no aspirin and only a cool wet rag to bring down the body’s heat and sooth the anxious twisting and turning, the moaning and crying. 

            

Jesus, of course, went to her bedside.  Perhaps his mere presence calmed her a bit.  That we do not know, but what the Gospel writer does tell us is that Jesus reached out and took her hand.  “Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me on, help me stand.” 

            

And stand she did, her fever gone.  She was healed.  And just so we know that it really happened that way, that the Gospel writer was not making the story up to bolster Jesus’ already burgeoning reputation, Mark provides us with a wonderful detail, a joy-filled aside. 

            

The old mother-in-law not only gets up, but then she goes about her first century womanly business – serving the men a full course meal – from soup to nuts. 

For some of us, that may be almost as much of a miracle as the healing itself.  But then again, maybe, as United Church of Christ pastor Kate Huey notes, Jesus and this unnamed woman give us a glimpse of what Jesus is really all about: wholeness, healing, service, humility.

            

However, moving right along….moving right along.  Word spreads fast in this first century town.  Texting and Facebook aside, when the sun had set and the Sabbath was officially concluded, people lined up outside Simon’s home – pushing, pulling, carrying, and offering an arm to the lame and the sick, the depressed, the oddballs, and the crazies. 

            

“Oh, Jesus, it is my head, my back, my knees, my feet.”  “Oh, Jesus, help me.  When it is morning, I want the night to come, and when the night comes, I only want it to be morning once again.  Jesus, help me.”

            

And Jesus began and then continued to heal the assembled motley crew sporting all sorts of ailments and diseases far into the night.  And when the last cripple had gone home and Jesus had no sooner shut his tired eyes, the first rosy inkling of dawn began to color the Eastern sky. 

            

Our rabbi raised his own tired body from the mat where he had caught just a couple of winks, quickly snuck out the back door and (moving right along….moving right along) walked briskly in the morning dew down the road that wound outside of town, there to find a lonely place, a quiet place, a place to breath deeply of the fresh air of a new day – and to pray.

            

It is a lovely scene – an introvert’s dream – but it does not last.  Simon and the others, heady with yesterday’s experience of massive and crowd-pleasing healings find Jesus and proclaim:  “Everyone is looking for you.  They love us here.  Up and at ‘em, so we can do it again.”  They are like modern day political handlers.

            

However, Jesus sighs, prays a quick Amen, and takes the reins himself.  As Roman Catholic scholar and professor, Dianne Bergant, writes, “Jesus realizes that the crowds are coming because they want miracles. He, on the other hand, wants crowds to come to hear the gospel he will preach”

            

“Moving right along,” he says.  “Moving right along.  We have places to go and people to meet.  We have good news to proclaim.” And so they left Capernaum that morning and traveled to other towns and villages in Galilee, preaching in the synagogues, healing the sick, and driving out demons.

            

No doubt about it.  Jesus’ actions certainly had a profound effect on those around him.  After all, he healed Simon’s mother-in-law from what could have been a life-threatening illness.  And word of that unusual occurrence was apparently enough to bring others from their sickbeds and mental prisons to find relief. 

            

Lives were changed that day.  Even the disciples were brought up short when they realized that their mission was not about fame and glory and people saluting them as miracle workers there in Capernaum, but rather it was about long miles to be walked, meals on the road, other places to go and people to see.  Moving right along….moving right along.

            

Moving right along down through the ages to us latter day disciples sitting here this morning pondering these stories.  Do these two little linked tales of healings and prayers say anything to us, all these centuries later?  Do they offer us wisdom or direction?

           

I think these two stories offer us an important lesson.  You see, when you come right down to it, they are a paradigm for sustaining ministry.  They illustrate for us that if we are to be effective disciples or followers of Jesus, then we need a balance between doing ministry and centering ourselves in order to be able to continue doing that ministry. 

            

Using these two little stories as a backdrop, I would say that we need a balance between healing or service and the lonely places of prayer.  We need a balance between a certain inwardness and our outward action.  We need a balance between doing outreach and serving others and coming to worship, which is where we re-center ourselves, re-calibrate ourselves, reconnect with the God who sends us forth in that God’s name.

            

You see, one without the other leaves us compromised.  One without the other leaves us little better than the broken and the lame that came to Jesus for healing in the first place. 

            

On the one hand, all outreach and service with no worship, no time to re-center ourselves and rebuild our energy eventually leaves us burnt out and probably quite resentful about it all. 

On the other hand, all worship and inward centering with no outreach into the broken world around us leaves us little better than those who bask in the false presumption that all you need to get by is a personal relationship with Jesus and forget about the world around you.

            

A sustaining Christian ministry  - and I am not talking just about the ordained clergy here - calls for a balance between outward action and rejuvenating prayer.  That is why serving at Monday meals and putting our change in a Heifer Project ark bank is only part of the story.  Being here at worship is the other equally important part. 

            

Now I know that I am preaching to the choir, so to speak.  And so, I would really appreciate your reminding folks who are not here that this is what worship is about.  It is not about whether or not the congregation or the choir should sing the responses.  It is not about whether we praise God with the organ or with an African drum.  It is not about the size – or even the thickness - of the bulletin.      

           

Worship is so much more than its structure.   Worship is where we are re-calibrated.  It is where we are re-centered.  It is where we are reconnected – both to God and to one another.  Worship is where we are rejuvenated so that our Christian ministry – our taking the hands of those in need, our being the hands of our Lord in the world - can be sustained.  Why?  So that we, like the disciples, can find ourselves moving right along, moving right along.

Rev. Nancy Foran

Raymond VIllage Community Church

Raymond, Maine

www.rvccme.org

Revelation 21:1-5 "The Eagle and the Condor"

Joe and I enjoy swimming laps at St. Joseph’s College in Windham a couple of times a week. Throughout eleven months of the year, there are generally 3-4 people at any given open lap swim. I like these numbers because usually everyone gets his or her own lane, so only rarely do I have to share a lane.

However, the month of January is different. At the beginning of each calendar year, the pool is crowded with folks we regulars have never seen before. I know those of you who frequent Planet Fitness experience the same phenomenon.

For three or four weeks, you share your gym space or pool lane with men and women who have made a New Year’s resolution to loose weight and get fit. It generally all passes within a couple of months, and the gym and the pool are then back to normal. I find New Year’s resolutions to be both funny as well as a little bit sad. For most of us, they are made to be broken – and often are broken by Valentine’s Day.
When you think about them, most New Year’s resolutions are self-centered, that is, they focus inward, on oneself. I will lose 20 pounds. I will stop biting my fingernails. I will drink less coffee. I will eat more fruit. I will change my diet, change my physique, change my job. There are few of us who resolve on New Year’s Day to change our world.

However, there is something particularly compelling about doing just that on this New Year’s Day. I am referring, or course, to all the hoopla about 2012. Perhaps you have read or heard about its significance for many people around the world.

December 21, 2012 marks the end of the Mayan calendar. It is also the predicted year of a Galactic Alignment, which is when the winter solstice sun aligns with our galactic equator, the midline which runs down the Milky Way, dividing our galaxy in two. This alignment happens about every 26,000 years. And, of course, there is the perspective taken in the apocalyptic film “2012”: that this is the year when the world will end. In general, there is an overwhelming sense of unusual things about to happen in 2012.

Undoubtedly, as the winter solstice comes closer this year, there will be those who will give up all hope for the world, presuming its climactic finale, Armageddon, doomsday. In fact, you can go onto the internet and find all sorts of websites detailing how to prepare for the impending catastrophe.

However, there will also be those who see this year of 2012 as symbolic of a great hope, a hope that humanity will finally begin climbing out of the dark abyss it finds itself in and emerge in the sunlight of a new and higher consciousness – we becoming more each day as God wants us to be – children of light, people of justice and compassion – people like Jesus.

Indigenous communities, from the Incans in South America to the Mayans in Central America to the Hopis in our own Southwestern United States all hold this common prophecy, and the year 2012 lies at its heart.

Joseph Robert Jochmans summarizes the gist of it this way: "…the Hopis and Mayans (and the Incas) recognize that we are approaching the end of a World Age... However, the Hopi and Mayan (and Incan) elders do not prophesy that everything will come to an end. Rather, this is a time of transition from one World Age into another. The message they give concerns our making a choice of how we enter the future ahead.”

The Incan prophecy says that “now, in this age, when the eagle of the North and the condor of the South fly together, the Earth will awaken…Now is the time.

(We are in the midst of) an era of light, an age of awakening, an age of returning to natural ways (in order to) understand the message of the heart, intuition, and nature…When (human) consciousness awakens, we can fly high like the eagle, or like the condor…” (www.incaprophecy.com)

Now whether you believe in prophecy in general or non-Christian prophecy in particular is irrelevant here. What is important for us to consider on this New Year’s Day 2012 – even as Christians - is what is articulated at the heart of this prophecy – and that is the concept of change. What is important for us to come to grips with is whether we believe that transformation of our world is even possible and whether we – specifically you and I – play a role in that transformation.

When I heard Christian theologian, John Dominic Crosson, speak this past fall, he said that, at its heart, Christianity is all about transformation. I agree with him. For me, of all the agents of change in all of human history, Jesus is the person who has most influenced – directly or indirectly - our growth as human beings.

Even our own Bible speaks of change and transformation:

"Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away…And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people…for the old order of things has passed away…Behold! I am making everything new!”

Do you believe in the possibility of change? Do you believe that this world can be made new? Do you believe in the Biblical truth of transformation? Do you believe that it might just be happening now – or do you believe that change is something God will unleash in the distant future?

The Incans called this period of transformation that they believed we have entered “Pachacuti” which means “great change.” They would say that now is the time in which the world will be turned right-side-up, so that harmony and order can be restored.

At their core, these ancient prophecies that swirl about the year 2012 are optimistic. Rather than being a time for the world to end, they refer instead to the end of time as we know it — the death of a way of thinking and being, the end of a way of relating to the earth and to one another.

This dying away of the old is a significant part of the Apostle Paul’s theology. He used the metaphor of dying and rising in Christ to talk about ending the old ways of living and being reborn into lives of loving service to the earth and to one another.

Do you believe in the possibility of such change? Do you believe, as Paul did, that the old can die away and something new can take its place? Do you believe in the Biblical truth of transformation? Do you believe that might just be happening now?

According to the ancient 2012 prophecy, the pachacuti, or great change, has already begun. Now is the time of the great gathering and reintegration of people from of the four directions – north, south, east, and west - the building of a truly global community. Now is the time that “munay,” love and compassion, will be the guiding force of this great gathering. Perhaps as Christians we might say that now is the time for Jesus’ great commandment: Love one another - to take hold in the world.

The 2012 prophecies also speak of tumultuous changes happening (not only) in the earth, (but also (and perhaps more importantly)) in our psyche, redefining our relationships and our spirituality, offering us an opportunity to redefine ourselves not as who we have been in the past but rather as who we are becoming. Now is the time when we have the potential to become a new kind of person. As our own Biblical Book of Revelation reads, “Behold I make all things new.”

Do you believe in the possibility of change? Do you believe that we can be made new? Do you believe in the Biblical truth of transformation? Do you believe that might just be happening now?

The Q’ero tribe, who are the modern day keepers of the Incan prophecy in Peru, believe that the doorways between the worlds are opening again. And here lies the special significance of 2012. Holes in time that we can step through and beyond, where we can explore our human capabilities, where we can once again become children of the light – that light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness will not overcome it.

Do you believe in the possibility of change? Do you believe that this world can be made new and that we can once more shine brilliantly with the light of God? Do you believe in the Biblical truth of transformation? Do you believe that might just be happening now?

The ancient 2012 prophecy would say that rekindling this light is a possibility today for all who dare to take the leap – and, as a Christian, that is what I find so hopeful and so exciting about the year ahead.

The Andean shamans say, “Follow your own footsteps. Learn from the rivers, the trees and the rocks. Honor the Christ, the Buddha, your brothers and sisters. Honor the Earth Mother and the Great Spirit. Honor yourself and all of creation…Look with the eyes of your soul and engage the essential.”

As Christians, we call this period of transformation the coming of the Kingdom, and Jesus’ message is that you and I are instrumental in its unfolding. “The Kingdom of God is among us, within us,” he preached. “Thy Kingdom come, they will be done on earth (here, now) as it is in heaven,” he prayed.

f the ancient prophecies of the Incas, the Mayans, and the Hopi have any relevance for us as Christians, it is because their essence is so similar to Jesus’ Gospel message. And if this year of 2012 will have any special significance for us, it will be that we will make the commitment to be the agents of change that I believe we are called to be.

The time is now. The place is here. The people are us. Will this be the age when the eagle and the condor fly together? Will this be the age when we really see more than just glimpses of the Kingdom of God among us? Will this be the age when humanity exercises its potential to be transformative? After all, as Gandhi once said, “Be the change you want to see in the world.”

I believe there is a new world about to unfold. For me, this is a time of great high hope. And so I must ask these questions: What do we want this new world to look like? How do we want it to be when it is finally transformed? What can we do to begin that change, that transformation?

Here are a couple of broad themes to think about:

1. Building community globally – What is one thing you could do, one action you could bring to fruition, that would build up relationships between different cultures and peoples?

2. Building community locally – What is one thing you could do, one action you could bring to fruition, that would build up relationships between people or generations in this church and between this church and the Town of Raymond?

3. Building collaboration - What is one thing you could do, one action you could bring to fruition, that would foster collaboration rather than conflict, that would enhance discourse rather than argument, that would bring individuals, groups, or political parties together rather than polarize them?

4. Building a viable earth – What is one thing you could do, one action you could bring to fruition, that would help to ensure that you are passing on a livable earth to your children and grandchildren?

I truly believe that in this year of 2012, we can be agents of change and transformation. And I hope that I have convinced you to at least entertain that possibility.

Working against that hope, we are going to take some time now to come up with a

2012 resolution – just one resolution – a specific action you commit to take that reflects one of these themes that are so essential to the transformation of our world.

For the next 10 minutes right now, using the insert in your bulletin as a reference, think about what you will do to help in this pachacuti, this time of great change, the coming of the Kingdom. This is not a test. Nothing will be collected, and no one will see what you write down. However, this is an opportunity to take concrete action in 2012, to help the eagle and the condor to fly together and to usher in the Kingdom of God.