One of the things that gets lost in the coming of Jesus is the fact that the people of God had been waiting a long time for a Messiah. We’re not talking about waiting for Christmas morning to come again… we’re talking about waiting hundreds of years. How much longer could the people of God cling to the dim light of promises written hundreds, probably a thousand years prior?  How long until they believed tomorrow would just be a repeat of today?  Whatever it is that you fear, whatever feels inevitable, isn’t.  One day it will break beneath the weight of God’s mercy.  But until then, we take heart because it is in the dark of night, it is in the shadow of death, it is in the pit of despair that God meets us and offers to us a peace that does not discount the reality of what is, but in the face of it, dares to promise something that we didn’t think was possible, dares to sing a song, dares to believe that tomorrow will not be the same as today.

Variations of “do not fear”, “do not be afraid”, and “fear not” appear more than 100 times in the pages of scripture—it’s clearly something that God wants to address, and it’s clearly one of the things we’ll struggle with most in life.   We live in a world that pours fuel on our anxieties so that we stay in a state of perpetual fear. What should be healthy, helpful fears can grow into a gigantic specters of terror that paralyze us and dictate the ways we interact with others and ourselves. But when we put fear into the context of something or someone “bigger”, then fear doesn’t have to be the loudest voice or the driver of our lives.  We can rest assured that united with him, we, too, can fear not fear, because he came to this earth to be with us. To meet us in our fears as a human being… and to meet our fears with the promise that he is almighty, powerful, good, and just. 

Mark structured the first half of his gospel so that we would arrive at this moment of truth. The disciples have seen and heard enough. They should be able to answer the question that Jesus posed to them. “Who do people say that I am?” Peter had been taught that the Messiah would be a royal figure, the offspring of King David, whom God would empower to deliver Israel from her enemies. The Messiah was, by definition, a winner. Peter acknowledges that Jesus is the Messiah, but Jesus goes on to say that he must “suffer many terrible things and be rejected by the elders, the leading priests, and the teachers of religious law. He would be killed, but three days later he would rise from the dead.”  A Messiah was good news for sure, it was the news Peter and the rest of the Jewish nation had been longing for over 400 years. But a Messiah who turned himself over to the Romans? A Messiah who suffered and would be killed? A Messiah who got killed? And yet, Jesus insisted that it was good news; that he had come to save them all, not just from Rome, but also from themselves—to conquer sin, to defeat death, to restore and reconcile all things to God. 

When you think about your life and the ways you move through the world, would you say that you see yourself as the main character? If so, what does that mean for how you view those around you? Are you so focused on your own chances to stand in the spotlight that you forget to shine a light on the needs of others? Or do you relegate yourself to the role of background character in everyone else’s life? Do you worry that you don’t have the right background or resume or track record? Or maybe you’re afraid you’re too broken and therefore, not worthy of the spotlight? In her encounter with Jesus, the Syrophoenician woman chooses neither to position herself as the main character of the story nor to shrink back from being seen and known. She humbly takes the illustration Jesus used and rightfully places herself inside the story. She says she’s willing to take whatever Jesus is willing to give her, because even the crumbs of God’s promises are enough to work wonders and are worth showing up for.

It’s easier to claim to be virtuous, than be virtuous. It’s easier to talk the talk than walk the walk. And that's what Jesus was talking about in this passage—the discrepancy between what we project on the outside and what’s actually going on in our hearts. Jesus was highlighting one of the big problems with rules that govern external behavior. It gives you, and everyone around you, the feeling that you are doing all the right things but your heart can still be far from God. Jesus was constantly drawing people back to the heart of the law. He wasn’t diminishing God’s requirements, but sharpening them so that people’s hearts were aligned with their actions. He doesn’t want us to settle for superficial compliance, he wants our hearts to be healed and whole. We don’t have to be perfect, and we don’t have to pretend that we’re perfect either—pretending to be what we’re not makes our mistakes even worse. We can choose a better way.

Wealthy people, poor people, kids, adults, progressives, conservatives… we all get hungry. Using their stomachs as a common denominator, Jesus was teaching them that their needs united them in solidarity with every other person. And if we can see that what another person needs is the same thing that we need, it has the power to awaken our compassion for that person. Recognizing our common humanity can break down the walls that divide us so that when we see someone else in need, we want to help them just as we’d want them to help us.  By feeding thousands of people, Jesus is showing us in this story that his kingdom is not a place of scarcity, but a place of abundance. Not a place of fear, but a place of generosity. A place where there is sufficient food and drink and where the needs of the whole person are satisfied.  Meeting the needs of our neighbors is one of the most important characteristics of being a follower of Jesus. He doesn’t just give us what we need, he gives us more, so that we can give it to others. Not only are all needs met, it also reminds us that we are recipients of grace. Everything we have from God is a gift rather than something we’re entitled to or that we’ve earned.

We like to suppose we control of our lives, but if you’ve ever found yourself outdoors in a storm, you realize just how small and helpless we really are—completely at the mercy of a storm so much bigger and more powerful than anything we can handle. This story is also about a storm, but it’s a storm raging inside of a person. This man in Mark 5 lived among the tombs, possessed by demons. We don’t know how and why he became possessed, but it was clear he was not himself, not in control. Jesus walked toward the man and casts out the demons. The bad news is that we too suffer from the storms within—storms that are much bigger than we can handle on our own. The good news, is that Jesus moved towards this man and set him free. He also moves toward us. We will pass through storms, but God promises to be with us even in the storm. And because God is with us, we will not drown, not be consumed, and not be overwhelmed.

Sometimes the stories we tell ourselves can get in the way of what is actually possible. We sometimes assume our problems are not big enough compared to what else is happening in the world.  Or, we may believe we're not worthy or deserving of God's love and care.  Maybe you think if you're honest about what you've been struggling with others will judge you or think you're weak. These kinds of stories keep us at arm's length from the help and care we need.  They can become barriers that keep us from experiencing a good and loving God and the care and compassion of those who love and care for us.   The stories we see in Mark 5 paint illustrate that Jairus and the woman who touched the hem of Jesus’ garment did not let their circumstances keep them from God. They chose to believe the stories they had heard about Jesus—that he could bring them good news.

What is a parable? Parables are stories thrown alongside real life to illustrate or explain something. It’s a story with a lesson, a creative way to make a point, a mirror to help us see ourselves more clearly.  At the end of chapter 4 Jesus says the Kingdom of God is like a farmer who scatters seed on the ground. Night and day, while he’s asleep or awake, the seed sprouts and grows, but he does not understand how it happens. The earth produces the crops on its own. The seeds work within the earth automatically, without assistance from the farmer. It’s a good reminder that God’s kingdom is going to grow, not because of anything that I do, but because of the power inherent in the kingdom itself.  It’s tempting to look around at the world we live in and think nothing good can grow given these circumstances. Yet woven into the fabric of the universe is the promise that God’s good news will grow in us, around us, before us, and beside us. 

According to Jesus’ family, he was, “out of his mind”, beside himself, not seeing things clearly. The religious leaders also thought he was “out of his mind” and were threatened by ruling breaking and challenges to their authority. The two groups of people who should have been the most on board with Jesus, the religious leaders and his own family, wanted to stop him. Whether out of fear or pride, they tried to stop Jesus. But Jesus was redefining the family; establishing a new kingdom. He was drawing a wider circle. One not restricted by biology or blood, but one birthed by belief. If we’re with Jesus, then we here with sister, brothers, mothers, fathers, aunts and uncles and cousins. A new family. In sickness and in health, and not even death can tear us apart.

In his gospel, Mark is purposefully stringing seemingly random and unrelated stories together and in doing so, invites us into the interpretive process.  He wants us to not examine these stories in isolation but in relationship to one another to see for ourselves the bigger picture he is painting.  This bigger picture of course is a picture of Jesus, who he was, what he did, how he did it, and why he did it.  The picture is radically good one. Jesus’ good news is too good and his religious and political opponents can’t take it anymore.  Jesus relieves the oppressed of their oppression but invites their oppressors to dine with him.  Jesus brings restoration and healing to those exploited by political, religious, and economic systems, and he also appeals to those in charge of those systems. Jesus’ arrival is good news.  For us and for our enemies.  For the oppressed and the oppressor.  For the ones who think they’re righteous and for the ones who know they are not.  Jesus came to love us all. 

In Mark chapter 1, Jesus is a disruptor. He’s not merely tweaking the system, he’s re-writing it, stirring the pot, unsettling the status quo. It’s clear here that Jesus has authority to restore not just one aspect of our brokenness but every aspect. We see him healing bodies. Restoring spirits. Bringing people back into community. Upending systems of exclusion. Terrifying those who benefit from the status quo.  In each of these situations, he confidently goes against the current, trusting that there are some who will eventually fall in love with God’s way and follow Christ. We can all get stuck. Stuck in patterns of thinking that make it hard for us to change direction, we’re left feeling helpless and hopeless. We can look at what’s broken and think, “It’s all too broken. It can’t be fixed or put back together again.” The good news of the gospel speaks to us in these moments. It’s good news because it’s so drastically different from what we’d come up with on our own.

In the first chapter of Mark’s gospel, Mark declares, that Jesus is the gospel, or in every day English, the good news. The word “gospel” is that the Romans, the ones who ruled Judea in the time of Jesus, had already been using that same word for years.  In the Roman world, when they pronounced a gospel, messengers were sent throughout the empire to share the “good news” that a new Roman Emperor had come to power. Mark puts his own slant on the term “gospel”. To Mark, the good news is a person. Jesus is the gospel. This is how Mark starts the story of Jesus. With good news about a man from Nazareth, the Son of God. A man who identifies himself with the poor and common folk, who meets us in our suffering, and who goes into the wilderness on our behalf to win our freedom. And that is good news.

Though the Israelites had been delivered from Egypt, Pharaoh’s economy of never-ending work, greed, and oppression had formed and patterned their relationship to work. We live in economy like that of Pharaoh’s—an economy governed by the almighty dollar and not by generosity, justice, and mercy. In Isaiah 65, we see God’s hopes for our work. Work is meant for our good and for the common good.  As we fashion things, God fashions us into people who can embody the love of God in whatever we do.  Whether big or small.  God cares about our work, because God cares about us and the world we’re forming and shaping.  God longs for justice, mercy, and love to rule in our hearts, and by extension, in our dealings with others. 

Misión de Caridad was formed to break the cycle of poverty for displaced women and children on the Mexico side of the United States border by educating and empowering families to build healthy lives of purpose within self-reliant communities.  When families come to the border, they often settle on land in an area near Misión de Caridad’s facility. The streets are dirt. Families construct houses out of whatever materials they can find. Few have running water in the home and some are even without electricity. But all are experiencing the effects of multi-faceted, multi-generational poverty. The programs at Misión de Caridad are designed to empower and help families see their inherent dignity. When a student is accepted at our school, the entire family is enrolled in programs that afford them the opportunity to participate in a number of empowerment initiatives.

Revelation 7 gives us a glimpse of what worship could look like when we get to heaven. Here, the church isn’t plagued by debates over different worship styles and practice or what’s the “right way” to worship. The image presented is one of both diversity and unity. It’s not just people from a few nations, or just those who speak Greek and Hebrew, it’s representatives from every nation, every tribe, every people group, and every language, which also signals to the early church that their efforts to spread the Gospel are not in vain. When we hear the word “worship”, we often think of music or singing, but worship is so much more than that. Yes, we worship when we sing praises to God, but we also worship in all the ways we live our lives for the glory of God. Worship that is good and true and beautiful reflects the heart and character of God and draws us in to form us and shape us and send us back out as we more closely resemble the character of Christ. Worship is both a personal and a communal response to who God is and what God has done for us.

It important to look forward and visualize what we hope will happen. When I was a teacher, we would set goals for our classes and students. Knowing where we wanted to be at the end of the year helped us make decisions about what to prioritize during the year. Being able to see our destination helped us actually get there. Leading up to Micah 4, we see there’s an army at the gates and corrupt leaders within. The circumstances are dire. And yet, Micah lifts his eyes to the horizon. He sees an amazing vision of humanity’s ultimate destination—people coming to a mountain to worship God where they will learn God’s ways and walk in God’s path. It’s a vision of the future that promises justice, peace, security, and prosperity for all. In God’s kingdom, all people will be safe. They will have enough. In God’s story, no one will make us afraid. This is the far better future God promises us.

There is no doubt the world is a place of great need, and it's easy to feel overwhelmed by the extent and complexity of that need.  It's hard to know where to even begin.  Can do we end hunger?  Can we fix unjust systems?  Can we save the world?   Only God can heal us and make whole what we have broken. God demonstrated this on the cross. Instead of creation ending in death, a new path was opened. In him, our deep wrong is transformed so that we, too, can reflect and reveal the love of God.  We don’t have to fix the world in our lifetime. We don’t have to win the war against evil. This is God’s world and God loves the world and Jesus is coming again. It’s not all up to us. We are free to joyfully reflect God’s love without feeling pressure to do more than we can do. 

We’re kicking off a new summer sermon series called Spoiler Alert: God’s Story Rules.  We are going to explore the end, or perhaps the culmination, of God’s story.  We will talk about the ways that knowing the trajectory of God’s story informs how we think and live now.  What’s the reason we do anything? The end of God’s story, the last pages of Revelation, give us some reasons.   The picture we see in Revelation is one of restoration. The leaves of the tree of life will be the healing of the nations.  What has been broken will be restored.  At the culmination of God’s story, we will experience God’s glorious presence in ways we have never known. God wants to dwell with. If we look backwards, we see God wanted to give us a physical place to be with God–the Tabernacle and the Temple. In Jesus, God came as a person. In the future, we will experience God’s presence in an even more direct and intimate way than we do in Jesus—in a way that is perhaps beyond what we can comprehend or grasp right now.

We all tend to overestimate our abilities. For example, 93% of drivers think they’re above average drivers. But what’s that based on? How do we arrive at these conclusions? Similarly, do we overestimate our ability to know and understand how God works? Maybe we’ve defaulted to think God works in predictable ways. Or, maybe we think God doesn’t, can’t, and won’t work in other ways. In Acts 9, the Lord spoke to Ananias in a dream and tells him to visit and pray for Saul. Ananias is understandably resistant to the idea that he is supposed to go and visit someone who was authorized by the leading priests to arrest everyone who calls upon the name of the Lord. Ananais chose to do what God wanted him to do, even though it went against what he knew to be true. God is always doing a new thing—moving in surprising and unexpected ways.