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Signs of the Times • 7 December 2018 • No. 178

IN THIS ISSUE: a poem, and a litany for worship, focused on John the Baptist. Below that, a large collection of Advent and Christmas resources for personal reflection and public worship. —Ken Sehested

The baptizer’s bargain
A poem based on John the Baptist

John.
Such a tame name for a man
     born to inhabit the wild side
    of heaven’s incursion.
    You startle children with
    your leather-girdled, camel-haired attire,
    hot breath bidding the devout
    into Jordan’s penitential wake,
    the same waters that marked
    the boundary of beneficence: of the Hebrew
    slaves’ long march from Pharaoh’s provision
        (the latter hard, to be sure, but also secure)
    to Providence of another, riskier kind,
    though laced with promise of milk and honey.
What drove you to this scorched abode,
    abounding in wild beasts, hostile foes
    and scarce sustenance?
—continue reading “The baptizer’s bargain”

The treasures of darkness

A poem for Advent

by Ken Sehested

It has been said:
You shall know the truth,
and the truth will set you free;
but first it will make you miserable.

The pilgrimage to mercy
necessarily passes through
valleys of misery, for the far Horizon
of hope’s disclosure can only be seen

The Baptizer’s Bargain

A sermon based on Luke's story of John the Baptist

by Ken Sehested,
Texts: Luke 3:7-18; Zeph. 3:14-20; Phil. 4:4-7

The text and sermon for this week is a continuation of the story from Luke, and Joyce’s commentary last week: the story John the Baptist. Or, more properly, John the Baptizer. (John really wasn’t a Baptist—although, one summer during college I worked as a youth minister in a church whose pastor believed that Baptists can trace their history back to John. If that were true, that means there were Baptists before there were Christians!)

Before I read the second part of the text from Luke 3, let’s review the first part.

The baptizer’s bargain

A poem on John the Baptist

John.
Such a tame name for a man
     born to inhabit the wild side
     of heaven’s incursion.
You startle children with
     your leather-girdled, camel-haired attire,
     hot breath bidding the devout
     into Jordan’s penitential wake,
     the same waters that marked
     the boundary of beneficence: of the Hebrew
     slaves’ long march from Pharaoh’s provision
          (the latter hard, to be sure, but also secure)
     to Providence of another, riskier kind,
     though laced with promise of milk and honey.
What drove you to this scorched abode,
     abounding in wild beasts, hostile foes
     and scarce sustenance?

John.
The shape of your profile
     was cockeyed from conception:
     born to parents long since impotent and barren;
     your father stunned speechless by
     the angel’s approach;
     your future yoked with that of Elijah,
     ancient antagonist to royal deceit.
           (And you paid with your head.)
What was it in Mary’s voice that prompted
     your recoil in Elizabeth’s womb?
And why the abandonment of familial legacy
     in the choice of your name?
What incredulous politics is this that the
     Word of God would bypass
          lordly Tiberius and Pilate,
          princely Philip and Lysanias,
          priestly Annas and Caiaphas,
     to locate you, of honey-smeared beard,
     amid such remote and wayward landscape?

John.
Spirit-drenched baptizer of repentant flesh,
     exposing shameful inheritance to the Advent
     of mercy and an anthem of praise.
Lonely minstrel of pledged Betrothal,
     announcing dawn’s infiltration
     of destiny’s dark corner,
     scattering death’s shadow with
     the footfalls of peace.
Witness to dove’s descent, reversing heaven’s
     flooding threat with lauded applause
     to Mary’s assent and Messiah’s demand
     for hills’ prostration and valleys’ upheaval.
Speak, John: Roar the Complaint against every
     crooked and cragged thoroughfare.
Should the elect resist, the stones themselves
     will produce heirs worthy of Abram’s fealty.
Echo the insistent Refrain: revive, return, repair.

News, views, notes, and quotes

Signs of the Times • 15 November 2018 • No. 177

¶ Processional. "Pie Jesu" (“Merciful Jesus”) by Sarah Brightman, Paul Miles-Kingston. The music accompanies actual film footage (3:34) from World War I’s “Battle of The Somme,” when French and British allies took the offensive against German troops in France, 1 July-18 November 1916. The British suffered 57,000 casualties on the first day of the offensive. All totaled, more than 1 million men were wounded or killed, making it one of the bloodiest battles in history.

The taunt of Lamech’s revenge

Authorization for Use of Military Force: 60 words that bring the US to the edge of a permanent state of war

by Ken Sehested

Fifteen years ago today, 14 September 2001, the US Congress approved a 60-word joint resolution—with only one dissenting vote, by Rep. Barbara Lee (D-CA)—named The Authorization for Use of Military Force (AUMF). It grants the president sweeping latitude for authorizing military action. The implications it carries have become so commonplace they no longer raise public attention. Not unlike the lyrics to some popular children’s songs, the AUMF’s assumptions are repeated so often we are numbed to their significance.

This is unfortunate, for the AUMF, approved amid the trauma and rage of the 11 September 2001 terror attacks, has brought us to the edge of a permanent state of war.

King Jesus and Brother Pontius

A litany for worship, "Christ the King/Reign of Christ" Sunday

by Ken Sehested

Prior to his lynching at the hand of Roman rage, and to the cheers of Caiaphas’ temple tyranny, Pilate asks Jesus, “So, are you to be king?”

“So say you, Brother Pontius,” Jesus replies. (Which is to say, I am but not as you think.) “My reign is not planted in the world you imagine. If it were, all who claim me as lord would bloody the sword.”

News, views, notes and quotes

Signs of the Times • 23 November 2016 • No. 98

¶ Processional. “Now Thank We All Our God,” arr. by John Rutter, performed by The Cambridge Singers and the City of London Sinfonia.

Above: “Farm Scene” painting by Walt Curlee.

¶ Invocation. “Of the things God has shown me, / I can speak but a little word; / not more than a honeybee / can take away on its foot / from an overflowing jar.’ —Mechthild of Magdeburg, 13th century mystic