The Christ Cycle didn’t just unite the Realms, canceling fear of the unknown and liberating us to walk as the citizens of the Celestial Reign that we are and have always been. Pentecost demonstrates that God has shattered every single impediment that might divide us! Jesus did not come to be the ultimate drawbridge or portcullis…

It’s like we’ve been looking at with Revelation the past few weeks. Revelation may be prophecy—memorable imagery of patterns we humans continue to repeat throughout history and across cultures—but it isn’t prognostication. John never expected that we would use his words to fortune-tell or soothsay.

…there’s a subtheme sprinkled throughout the Hebrew Bible about a point when all this reverses. At that time, “cleanness” becomes dominant and begins pushing out defilement. Wastelands become lush fields. Fresh water somehow completely desalinates the Dead Sea. Even plates and utensils purify whatever touches them.

Despite the future-leaning language, the reality John speaks of is not something we still need to wait for. The one seated on the throne doesn’t actually say, “It is done.” They say, “It has become” or “It has happened.” The word reflects childbirth.

We in the Episcopal Church don’t often run into Revelation during our Sunday Lectionary cycle, but when we do, we have a nearly impossible task in trying to understand the book. With such a legacy of confusing and conflicting explanations and expectations, it’s no wonder so many people throughout history have wanted to pull it from the Bible.

…to comprehend…the significance of Easter…we need to look past our modern theologies and ideas of how the world works, beyond even that of the Reformation and Medieval eras. We need to remind ourselves of a long-forgotten universe, one that ruled human imagination for nearly all of history.

Not many of us give a whole lot of thought to Barabbas. He’s sort of throw-away character—the typical literary bad guy who gets away while the hero suffers on their continuing quest. Information about him is scarce, to say the least. No other ancient sources identify him, so the Gospels are all we have…

As Lent draws to its conclusion in Holy Week, just as I did in Advent, I ask you to fight the urge to skip ahead. Keep your attention turned from anticipated joy and celebration and focus on the reality of what it takes to get there. Our commitment to following Jesus is not about the reward. Nor is it about attaining some sort of magical afterlife.

Luke’s Jesus generally has a strong response to what we might call social-justice situations, so it’s more than a little surprising when he, too, seems to find the horror passe. “Yeah, that happened. Do you really think you’re any better than they were? If you don’t repent, expect the same for yourselves.”

Beware those who “promote Christianity” through domination, division, and fear. No matter their lip-service, they are no servants or friends of God. They are traitors to the cross and enemies of those who would truly follow Jesus.

It’s easy to get distracted during [the Transfiguration] by turning all our attention to the divine displays surrounding Jesus. In fact, that’s what most preachers and theologians (and songs) emphasize about this text—proof of Jesus as God. But if we look past the apparent temporal disruptions and flashing lights, what we observe is a deeply human moment.

…what if Jesus is trying to communicate something even bigger…? What if he isn’t simply telling us how children of God “ought” to behave but is trying to expand our understanding of the nature of who God is and how God “works”?

[1] See Matthew 5 for the alternate version.

…this passage is probably the most obvious contrast we have between the first and third Gospels. Where we as a modern American audience can take Matthew’s words and find ways of inserting ourselves into the text so as to sit among those “blessed,” Luke makes that a lot harder. His first beatitude is simply, “Blessed are the poor.” Not a lot of wiggle room there.

[1] See Matthew 5 for the alternate version.

It might be a little confusing to realize that the Gospel isn’t actually about you or me as individuals. We certainly benefit from it, but none of us is in any way the focus of the Gospel. That’s because the Gospel is about God. The Gospel is the proclamation of God’s character, an explanation of who God really is, brought down to a level that humans can understand.

The true purpose of Christianity has never been simply to have our sins forgiven or to someday go to heaven or to receive any other type of metaphysical reward. Our purpose, the only thing that truly gives our lives lasting meaning, is to embody, here and now, the Jesus that we read about in the New Testament.

Luke’s version of Jesus baptism tends to be familiar to anyone who’s spent much time in church. John the Baptist is yelling at the crowds. Jesus comes along and submits to the ritual, and then a lovely little vision transpires with rays of light and fluttering birds and a supportive parental voice echoing out its love for this individual. It’s sort of a tidy tableau that confirms Jesus’ divinity and then allows us to move on to more important things. For a 1st Century listener, however, this scene is raw sedition.

For the last four Sundays, we here at St. Andrew’s have been taking heed to Advent’s warning: Love is coming. Love—fiery, jealous, all-consuming, and unquenchable Love—draws near, intent on reasserting its reign. This raw and raging Love returns to reestablish our wayward world in its glorious and terrible image.

We look to Mary’s song and hear her rejoice, but have any of us ever really paid attention to what she says? The Magnificat certainly is a song of joy, but it’s a joy found in relief, in escape from oppression and in light of desperately needed kindness and acceptance.

For our ears, it can be difficult to hear anything particularly good about what John says, with his threats about trees being chopped down and burned. But the truth is, John isn’t making threats—nor is God menacing anyone with an axe, for that matter.

Last week we tried to shift our understanding of Advent, redirecting our expectations from the culturally ingrained distraction of readying the house for a baby Jesus to more clearly recognize the reality of this Season, the purpose of which is, in truth, preparation for the Day of the Lord, which is not a pleasant thing.