I have a confession to make. I realize that’s a cheap ploy to get your attention, but it’s true. I grew up in a place where we didn’t have snow days. Nobody living within a few miles of the beach in California ever gets a snow day. But, since I’ve lived in Maryland for 27 years, I have learned about snow days … especially from my kids. You know how it goes, you check the weather and calculate whether or not you’re going to get a snow day and then decide whether or not to do your homework, right? Yeah … well … clergy do this too with sermons and I was thinking I would get a snow day today. Yep … snow day … don’t need to write a sermon … and then … uh … well … here we are … 18 faithful souls and we’re doing church. Now that IS awesome but I didn’t write a sermon. So, what we’ll do today is more of a reflection and we’ll see where that goes.

Today’s gospel reading should sound familiar. If you were with us back in January, you heard it on the first Sunday after Epiphany where we observe the Baptism of Jesus. Same gospel reading … but today we get the rest of the story. After coming up out of the water and hearing the voice say “You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased”, Jesus finds himself driven by the Spirit into the wilderness. That’s right – no party, no cake, no nothing … just thrown into the wilderness. The Greek makes it sound like he was hurled like a Frisbee … picked up by the scruff of the neck and hurled into the wilderness. And he spent 40 days in the wilderness being tempted by Satan. Now this doesn't sound like something one who is “beloved” should be going through, does it?

One thing that might help us understand this wilderness time is how the Jewish people understood Satan. Much of our views come from popular culture more than the Bible. I’ve been reading Walter Wink’s book Unmasking the Powers (thanks to Susan Brock) and he goes into where the image of Satan as “ultimate personification of evil” came from. Largely, he claims, it came from later extra-biblical writings like Dante’s Inferno and John Milton’s Paradise Lost. The Jewish understanding of Satan was more imaging him as a prosecuting attorney type: the one who would accuse us of our egocentric and sinful nature. Satan was a creation of God and a necessary servant of the most high God. Therefore, Jesus’ understanding of Satan was not as the diametrically opposed rival of God, but rather his agent who through temptations, digs at the weaknesses of our egos and strips away our false selves, laying them bare before us and God. This stripping away process is what reveals the truth and causes us to know our finitude and frailty so that we can experience the mercy of God. Now that’s a pretty radical departure from what we've been told through popular culture and even some New Testament writings.

Satan thus may be understood as the one who would test Jesus and attempt to strip away any falsehood immediately after his baptism to prepare him for the ministry and, ultimately, his death and resurrection. And perhaps this is a helpful image for us too. All of our readings reference baptism today and it looks like we will have at least one, if not four, baptisms at Easter Vigil this year. Our own baptism is a preparation for a life where we will be tested and tried – where Satan as “prosecuting attorney” will find ways to dig at our egos and lay bare our sin and our wounds. Everything in us will resist this and it isn't fun. But it is necessary so that we can be driven to our own wilderness and in our weakness discover the mercy and grace of God.

There’s an image I cannot get out of my head this Ash Wednesday. It’s the image of 21 Egyptians … 21 Coptic Christians kneeling in orange jumpsuits on a beach in Libya in front of their executioners – ISIS terrorists in black jumpsuits with their faces covered. 21 men martyred because they were Christians and, as the ringleader of the ISIS executioners said, “They have the cross of Christ in their heads.” They were beheaded because they had the cross of Christ in their heads.

Zack Hunt wrote a blog post that I ran across today where he shares his feelings about this. He spoke of his sense of helplessness, sadness, but most of all rage: pure unmitigated rage. He writes:

"And yet, in my just wrath, I struggle to understand how I’m supposed to respond to the evil that is consuming the Middle East because every urge I have to see those barbaric executioners wiped off the face off the earth is met with a still small voice. It’s a voice I confess I don’t want to hear right now. I want to beat the drums of war and lead the charge to rid the world of these monsters. But as hard as I try to ignore it and no matter how much my heart fills with rage, that still small voice continues to haunt me with words like 'Blessed are the peacemakers,' 'Love your enemies,' 'Turn the other cheek' and “Pray for those who persecute you.'"

This, he confesses, is his greatest struggle with the gospel and I share this too. Because the gospel is hard and it is scandalous in its claim that Jesus didn't just show up to extend grace and mercy to me or even to the oppressed … but also to the oppressors. I won't lie to you … I hate that! The idea that Jesus Christ died not just for the 21 martyrs on that beach but also for their executioners is scandalous and sounds completely insane. And yet, as Jürgen Moltmann so powerfully states:

"The message of the new righteousness which eschatological faith brings into the world says that in fact the executioners will not finally triumph over their victims. It also says that in the end the victims will not triumph over their executioners. The one will triumph who first died for the victims and then also for the executioners, and in so doing revealed a new righteousness which breaks through the vicious circles of hate and vengeance and which from the lost victims and executioners creates a new mankind with a new humanity. Only where righteousness becomes creative and creates right both for the lawless and for those outside the law, only where creative love changes what is hateful and deserving of hate, only where the new man is born who is neither oppressed nor oppresses others, can one speak of the true revolution of righteousness and of the righteousness of God." – The Crucified God, pg. 178

Like Zack Hunt, there are days when this is so much easier to claim and proclaim – but right now, this is where the gospel just burns me and I suspect it may burn you too. It’s one thing to pray for those who gossip about you or stab you in the back figuratively, but what about praying for those who murdered your family? It’s easy to love “enemies” whose “crimes” against you are taking your parking space or disagreeing with your politics … but what about loving someone who would kill you if only they could? Everything in me doesn't want to love people like that. But if grace and mercy can extend to me, who am I to withhold the possibility of it extending to them?

Don't get me wrong. This isn't about letting these criminals off the hook. But it is to say that accountability and justice have to simultaneously coexist with the possibility of repentance and forgiveness for all. I don’t understand it and it isn't up to me … and on days like today, I confess I don’t even like it! But it isn't up to me, or you, is it? The response of the families of these men who were killed for their faith makes me ask myself if somehow grace showed up on that beach in a way I cannot fathom … and likely never will. Can I trust God’s grace can hold out the possibility of transformational conversion for the executioner as well as the executed?

As we come forward this night, we will be marked with the cross of Christ on our heads and remember this cross is in our heads too. While none of us will likely ever be executed because we are Christian, the cross of Christ in our heads will draw us to die to our ways of living and part of that dying is to the idea that Christ only died for some of us and not all of us. It is a scandalous God who can absorb all of this violence and, in some way I cannot understand, redeem it all.

This past week one of our members, Dawn Reid, had a close encounter of the “what was that??!!” kind. Last Wednesday, she and a friend were at the Silver Spring train station. They had to take a footbridge over the tracks and an elevator to the train platform. As they crossed the bridge to the elevator, they noticed a man standing at the elevator who seemed to be waiting for it. When they approached the elevator, they noticed the man had not pushed the button for the elevator. Dawn pressed the button and when the elevator arrived, all three of them got onto it – Dawn, her friend, and this man. The man said nothing to them and was dressed a bit differently. His suit was retro – like it was out of the 1930’s or early 40’s. He didn’t say a word and Dawn and her friend continued to converse. When the elevator reached the platform, the doors opened. Dawn and her friend exited the elevator … and her friend said, “Hey, where did that guy go?” Dawn said, “What guy?” Her friend said, “You know, the man who was on the elevator with us.” Dawn saw the man as did her friend, but when they looked around he was nowhere to be seen. Later that week, Dawn was showing this same friend some pictures of her grandfather, Theophilus Cain, who had died on Monday. Her friend pointed to one of the pictures and said, “It’s him! The man at the elevator at the train station!” Lo and behold … there he was. Theophilus Cain wearing the same suit as the man at the elevator and who had died two days before this encounter. Now both Dawn and her friend saw the man. Both of them could describe him and his unusual manner of dress. They both saw the same thing at the same time. But, by all reasonable and rational thought, Ted Cain could not have been there … or could he?

I think this story helps us enter into the rather odd story of the Transfiguration which we always hear on the last Sunday after Epiphany. And let’s be honest … the story is a bit weird. Jesus goes up on the mountain with Peter, James and John and they all see him talking to two dead guys?! Strains credulity, doesn’t it? Well, after Dawn’s encounter, maybe not so much.

The story opens by saying “after six days” Jesus took Peter, James and John with him up the mountain. What happened before six days? Well, six days earlier Jesus had the conversation with his disciples about his identity. “What’s the buzz in the street? Who do people say I am?” The answers come back “some say Elijah, others John the Baptist, and others one of the prophets of old.” While Moses is not specifically mentioned, he was considered among the great prophets of Israel as the story recounted of his death in Deuteronomy 34 says, “There has never arisen another prophet like Moses who knew the Lord face to face.” Jesus says, “Yeah, yeah, but who do YOU say that I am?” Peter blurts out, “You are the Messiah!” He got that right! So six days after Peter confesses Jesus’ true identity, Peter goes with Jesus and two other disciples up the mountain to encounter Jesus, Moses and Elijah talking together. In an affirmation of Peter’s statement, we see that Jesus is clearly not Moses or Elijah – he is in fact, something more.

But now Peter, who earlier blurted out the right answer about Jesus’ identity, says something utterly clueless: “let us build three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.” Mark even tells us he didn’t know what he was saying for they were terrified. That seems to be one of the two responses we have in the face of witnessing something so extraordinary: total silence or say something stupid. Humans haven’t changed much. Then a cloud overshadows them and a voice says, “This is my Beloved Son, listen to him!” The phrase carries the connotation of “listen to him and keep on listening to him!” These are words that will be difficult to hold onto in the face of the crucifixion to come.

It is important to note that we are about to begin our Lenten journey together. This Wednesday is Ash Wednesday, a day marked by fasting and penance where we are marked with ashes and told to remember we are dust and to dust we shall return. The season is marked by introspection where we examine our lives, let go of things which draw us away from God, confess where we have fallen short, ask for forgiveness and seek reconciliation where possible. It prepares us to enter into the dramatic events of Holy Week so that we can connect to the source of such perfect love as one who would come to lay down his life for each of us.

Today, on this last day of Epiphany, we hear the recounting of a glimpse of the glorified Christ – a glimpse seen by the disciples and one which we occasionally even get ourselves in this life. The glorified Christ is the resurrected Christ and this glimpse today is the promise of what lies beyond the cross and the tomb – a life greater than we can imagine. A life unbound by the limits of time, space, and physicality. You see, that is the glimpse Dawn received of her grandfather last Wednesday – a glimpse of a man no longer bound by time and space but who now lives in the nearer presence of the glorified Christ. And it is this glorified Christ who comes to us through the Sacraments.

Today, we will baptize Brianne Nicole into Christ’s One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church. She will become part of Christ’s family – sealed as his own forever. It is the glorified Christ who comes to her through this sacrament and the same Christ who comes to us through the Bread and Wine of the Eucharist. This is the Christ who is present to us always and everywhere throughout the many little deaths and resurrections which we will experience over the course of our lives. This pattern, one of death followed by resurrection, is the Christian life. It is not an easy journey. I really wish we could get to the glory of resurrection without dying first. That would be awesome … but it’s not how life works. Resurrection only comes after death – whether the death be a loss of something in this lifetime, or the final Death of our bodies. It is the glorified Christ who promises through these sacraments to walk with us each step of the way – through our life, through our death, and beyond.

Last year I read a book by Frederick Schmidt entitled “The Dave Test: A Raw Look at Real Faith in Hard Times.” Fred is an Episcopal priest and the book is named after his brother Dave Schmidt who died after an eight year battle with brain cancer. Dave had been an ophthalmologist and surgeon whose brain cancer robbed him of not just his life but also his livelihood and purpose: he completely lost his ability to do surgery which gave the gift of healing and sight to so many people. His suffering was deep, raw and real as he not only spent eight years in a dying process but also lost his sense of purpose and life’s meaning in the loss of his vocation. Dave fell away from church because, in his words, he got sick of “stained glass language” and “people blowing sunshine up my ass.” His two best friends through this journey were recovering alcoholics who knew the hell of addiction and didn’t “blow sunshine” up anywhere.

Today’s gospel reading is a continuation of a theme – liberation through healing and the casting out of demons. Jesus, after casting out the demons from the man in the synagogue in Capernaum last week, continues this work of liberation by healing Simon Peter’s mother-in-law. To our ears this is a strange story because it’s easy to get annoyed that her first instinct is to get up and start serving everybody. Kind of like Johnny Cammareri’s mother on her deathbed in Moonstruck when, upon hearing her son will get married, suddenly recovers and starts cooking for everybody, right? But in first century Palestine, the social role and vocation of a mother would be to show hospitality to guests and being ill robbed her of her vocation and sense of purpose. Being healed by Jesus freed her from the bondage of illness and restored her vocation, purpose and meaning. She didn’t just experience freedom from illness; she also experienced freedom to live into her rightful place in society. This is one of the meta-themes in the gospels, and especially in the Gospel of Mark. Healing is liberation, whether it is healing from physical illness or release from spiritual demons. It gives both the freedom from bondage and oppression and the freedom to live fully into a greater God-given purpose and meaning.

As we continue this journey of Epiphany, we are now closing in on the season of Lent. The focus and the questions begin to get more introspective now. We still are exploring the question of “Who is Jesus to us?” but now it is getting personal. We also need to contemplate the ramifications of who he is to us. If he came to liberate people through the healing and casting out of demons, what does that look like for me? What is holding me in bondage? What does freedom from that look like … feel like? For what purpose does Christ want to free me?

This is where it all gets hard in the harsh light of real life. There’s a real temptation to blow sunshine … or smoke … up your butt in all this talk of freedom. And there are a lot of preachers who do just that … you know … the kind who, in Fred Schmidt’s words, “Smile so much it makes your face hurt” while telling you God has a purpose for you. Right … tell that to a young person dying of cancer. Tell that to a mother grieving the death of her child. Tell that to the alcoholic who killed someone driving drunk and the family of the victim. Where’s your healing and liberation there?

Well … I wish I had a snappy answer for that, but I don’t. Maybe the only thing we can honestly do in the face of the crushing blows of life which come and rob us of meaning and purpose is to say with all honesty “life sucks.” That’s the first question in the Dave Test … can you just admit that sometimes life sucks? Can we live in a space where we can hear today’s gospel reading and hold the tension that our life might just suck right now and the appearance of healing and liberation that seems to come so easy in the Biblical narrative may not happen that way in real life? Can we hold to the hope that healing and liberation will come, but maybe not in the way we want it? Maybe it will come in a different package? Can we let go of our desires to have liberation on our terms and our timeline? Can we accept that restoration, a reversal of outcomes or cure isn’t always possible but that healing can come anyway? This is where faith gets down and dirty because it means opening the eyes of our hearts to see beyond our own pain and suffering so that when healing comes (note I said “when”) we won’t be so mired in resentment, anger and hatred that we miss the moment when it gets here!

Dave Schmidt never did get the cure he wanted. He died from his cancer. He never went back to the vocation which had given him a sense of purpose and meaning in life. He had to leave that behind. That sucked. In truth, it will happen to all of us eventually and in some way or form. Throughout our lives, there are times when we have to leave things behind too – jobs, relationships, health, aspirations, dreams, loved ones – and it sucks, it hurts, and it feels oppressive and dark. The last thing it feels like is freedom.

In time though, if we hang on, stop blowing sunshine/smoke and spewing bogus religious platitudes, a deeper sense of the mystery of God emerges. In the midst of suffering, illness and loss, Dave did end up having a purpose. It’s one I hope to have when my life is ending. He taught others how to live in grace, cut the BS, and get real. He helped his brother be a better priest and, in so doing, he inspired a powerful book to teach us all more about a real faith in the face of a hard life. He didn’t get the healing and liberation he likely wanted initially but in the bigger picture he was freed to give a gift that would outlast his earthly pilgrimage: a witness to faith that’s more real and more sustaining than smoke blowing and stained glass platitudes - a faith which makes sense and, in its own way, heals and liberates me.

“Who do you think you are Jesus of Nazareth?!” That’s not exactly how our gospel reads this morning, but it could. We hear today the beginning of Jesus’ ministry where he enters a synagogue in Capernaum – in Galilee … Galilee of the Gentiles … that place where the known Jewish world collides with the Greco-Roman culture. Jesus isn’t from that town – he’s from Nazareth and we heard a few weeks ago the words of Nathaniel, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”

So the stage is set and he’s teaching in this space and some guy blows up at him. Now Mark doesn’t tell us anything, but I’m always curious as to what Jesus might have said that pressed this guy’s buttons. The phrase he utters is actually kind of hard to translate from Greek. Our rendering this morning is, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth?” but the question in Greek, literally translated, is, “Who to you and to us, Jesus of Nazareth?” This can also be rendered, “Who are you to us, Jesus of Nazareth?” … or “Who do you think you are, Jesus?”

This demon possessed man goes on to ask if Jesus is out to destroy them and then, rightly, identifies Jesus as the “holy one of God.” Notice how the demon speaks the truth: Jesus is the Holy One of God. Demons know exactly who he is. Their job isn’t to deny the identity of Jesus at all. Their job is to get Jesus to question his own identity. You know, it can be done with a tone of voice – imagine the demon saying “you are the Holy One of God” in a mocking, sarcastic tone in front of all of these people. Who do you think you are? Indeed! The demon is attacking Jesus’ very sense of identity as God’s son.

We speak of Jesus as one who was tempted in every way as we are and, if you think about it, you have been assailed in the same way, haven’t you? It begins as far back as elementary school, right? You know, the time when you had the answer to the teacher’s question when nobody else did? What was the reaction of the others students? “You think you are so smart!” “Teacher’s pet!” Right? You likely were thrown nasty little barbs from others born out of petty jealousy and insecurity to knock you off your game. It’s an attack on your identity – meant to sow seeds of self-doubt and even loathing. Adults do it too and for the same reasons. They backstab you in the workplace, triangulate and spread malicious rumors or knock you down personally and professionally. All of this is demonic in nature – it is not of God and intended to make you doubt who you are and, more importantly, whose you are.

 Jesus doesn’t take this guy’s bait. He doesn’t let this attack on his identity and mission knock him off his message. Instead, he rebukes the unclean spirit – he calls it out for what it is. We don’t hear his words exactly, but he commands it to be silent and come out. Now, for us in our modern scientific world, this sounds a little “woo woo.” But naming demons is still important. Calling out aberrant behavior, naming the dysfunction, and telling the truth takes the power away from demons. Oh sure, they don’t go down without a fight (even the story tells us they convulsed the man before leaving), but naming those behaviors in others which attack your identity and are not of God takes their power to hurt you away.

There are all kinds of people who will do their best to try and attack your identity, your gifts and your graces. In every case, their attacks speak volumes about their brokenness and often little to nothing about you. When the attacks come, especially when they are sneaky, backstabbing, and malicious, think back to this story and how Jesus responded. He claimed God’s power over his life and rebuked the demon who tried to make him doubt who he was and whose he is. When you are attacked, remind yourself that no person on earth can steal your rightful place as a child of God in Christ. No matter who you are or what you have done … nothing can ever destroy your identity as beloved in Christ. Thanks be to God.