First: What does it mean? Look it up in a dictionary or wikipedia. Let me know if it helps. Basically it's the idea that most things, especially biological things, are greater than the sum of their parts. The world is not made up of machines, whose function can be reduced to different parts, broken, replaced, and fixed. Rather most biological and human systems emerge from simpler systems but cannot be reduced to those simpler systems. For instance the formation of bee hives. The order and complexity that is expressed in these formations cannot be explained simply by reference to each individual bee and their capacity for design and construction. The hive can only be explained by the interaction and relationship of the bee's together. The hive emerges from the bees acting as if they were one. We see similar behavior in most social insects: wasps, ants, etc.

It's not a new idea, but it is a difficult one for people to sometimes grasp because we have a very mechanistic view of the world, that everything can be reduced to simpler things: gears, valves, pistons, that each explain, one to one, how the more complex thing works. That's how engines work, but it is not how daisies and termites and gnus and chimpanzees and humans work.

As you can probably tell, the term is used in the sciences quite a bit, but first arose from philosophy as a way of explaining certain observations of the world. It is vital for evolutionary biology as a model for understanding complex, irreducible systems like plants, animals, and biological environments. Emergence is especially important in understanding how adaptations happen, particularly in the formation of complex animals: for instance how all of your organs work together to keep you alive as an individual or how the brain gives rise to consciousness, or rather how “mind” emerges from the brain and its interaction with the world. What is tricky about emergence is that it is nearly impossible to predict what might emerge from adaptation. For instance: That self-reflective consciousness would emerge as a survival adaptation is pretty much impossible to predict from what we know about the evolution of life on earth. But here we are.

What does that have to do with the church? Well, take a look at the Bishop's letter in this month's Lutheran (the one with the cheerleaders on the cover). “Transformation, paradigm shift, change, sustainability.” All these are words related to emergent adaptation. We are faced with something new in our culture. Not utterly unfounded, but definitely a new context and a new environment. In these cases we can't predict the future or know what is to come, or how the church will evolve. Only that it will. One of the consequences of this uncertainty is that there are no experts, no know-it-alls. If an alien space craft landed outside the White House, we would presume the president would go out to speak. But there is nothing that informs that decision other than our old assumptions about the world. It might actually be better if his dog goes out to greet our new visitors. We simply can't make assumptions in that case.

What do we do about all this? The story of Lent is the challenge of change: dieing to our old self and being made new by Christ. Perhaps the most important thing we can do is take up our cross and die, so that we can be raised; lose our life so that we can gain it. Does that mean we lose who we are? Of course not. That never happens: righteousness and peace have kissed and nothing is ever truly lost. But when we seek to hold on too tightly, life slips from our grasp. It is only in letting go that we emerge as a new creation.

Of course it's called Black Friday for a reason, not just because it is a chance for some companies to get in the black, but because it can become a dark feeding frenzy. The term apparently started up with the Philadelphia police department in the 1960's because it was such a crazy day. The crazy has not gone away; it's gotten worse. People have been trampled, shot, stabbed, beaten, department store doors are smashed by the onslaught of shoppers.

This consumer mania contrasts quite sharply with what we tend to believe Christmas and the holidays are supposed to “be all about.” Joy, cheer, generosity, what Dickens called the “milk of human kindness,” all of those things we and others are supposed to be and emulate, at least between Thanksgiving and Boxing Day.

We are not even mentioning the heart of the Christian proclamation in this season, that God became a human being and lived among us. So Christians in particular should not get quite so wrapped up in the holiday hysteria, though I've seen more than one harried shopper with a “Jesus is the reason for the season” pin. Makes me wonder if they are paying attention to their own bumper sticker theologies.

On top of all that madness, there is gathering of family and friends, the days spent together, the cooking, the eating, the presents. For many people that is even more dreadful and stress inducing than the sorties to the mall. Yet again, we are to believe that this is a time when families gather and old grudges are set aside and people are more nice than tolerant.

It makes me wonder about what we are all expecting; what we are all waiting for. There is the kind of waiting that is passive, a waiting that just keeps on doing the same thing every year, playing the same game, waiting in the same lines, and believes that if God is going to fix it, God will miracle it all better. Or that if we just find the right formula, cook just the right meal, say just the right thing, get just the right present, that God will miracle it all better. In the professional thinker business we call that magical thinking and it pretty much never works, and when it does, it's just blind luck (or a miracle, you can never be sure).

But there is another kind of waiting, a waiting that is active, a waiting that is faithful and patient. It is a waiting that doesn't expect things to fix themselves all at once, but knows that if we don't change ourselves, then nothing ever will. It is the day-by-day, year-by-year change that can really mold something different for us and those we love. It is the water dripping on the rock that wears it away, the life-style change verses the crash diet. It is trusting that when we are faithful the change will happen so don't give up when the results don't pop right away. It is the waiting that is awake and watchful for the hints of hope. The waiting that each advent sees the arrival of Jesus in the thousand ways he makes himself known to us.   

The oldest argument in support of God's existence, and probably still one of the best is “Why is there something rather than nothing?” Which is not a question about the big bang, but an observation about the known universe, an observation which science continues to confirm. Everything we know about the everything of the universe is that everything in it, matter, anti-matter, energy, exists in a web of necessary relations on which it is dependent for existence. Nothing exists on it's own; it is contingent. If the nature of the universe is one of contingency, then how can it have brought itself into existence, or even always existed? Therefore, so the argument goes, God becomes the non-contingent source of all things, and not at some point in the distant past, but moment by moment upholding the contingent everything in existence. Some foolish people dismiss this as hooey; others see it for a rather deep conundrum, have sophisticated ways of dealing with it, and are still atheists. That's all fine.

Because the question is, after all, a philosophical question. A question that might do us all well to consider or even study at times, but a question which has almost no bearing on why people, including me, really believe in God. When it comes down to it, the real reason I believe in God has nothing to do with arguments or debates. It's because I have a relationship with God.

Indulge me in an analogy for a moment. By simple argument it is actually very difficult to prove that my wife exists. I see her; I hear here; I can touch her. But senses can be fooled; hallucinations are a known part of our lives. For all I know there is something controlling my brain that is making me experience all this. In the based-on-a-true-story movie, A Beautiful Mind, the main character, a brilliant mathematician, experiences exactly this: a series of very life like delusions that convince him that non-existent persons are a part of his life.

But at some point, I have to ask the question: does it matter? Is it arguments that convince me that Michelle exists? No. Not really. I believe Michelle exists because I have a relationship with her. I trust that she is there not only because I can see and hear her, but because we have this mutual living of life going on between us. I keep bumping up against her in my life.

That is the same reason I really believe, or trust in, God. Not because of a clever argument, not because someone told me it was true, and not because I walked down an aisle or had an ecstatic experience. Not because “Jesus touched my heart.” It is the ongoing, day to day experience of relationship with God that shapes my belief. The word of God from the Scriptures, the meal, the presence of God in the people I see, the love of God I see in nature, the give and take of prayer and life and work. It's not a big idea, or a convincing argument, or even a flash of light from the heavens. I believe in God because I keep bumping into God. Simple as that.

The following is a reprint of an article I wrote a few years ago. I reprint it because of some questions I have heard recently.

Last month's newsletter article ended with a description of someone at the last judgment. Several of the readings in the last few weeks and in coming weeks refer to a place where there is “weeping and gnashing of teeth.” This month I thought I would write an article that puts together – however briefly - some of my own ideas about hell. Any discussion of hell tends (for obvious reasons) to revolve around two questions: “What is it?”and “Who's going to be there?”

First I should say that these are opinions that I hold lightly; they are not foundational. Second, none of them are really my own. They have been derived from various theologians, writers, conversations I've had with others, etc. Third, and perhaps most important, hell is only spoken of in metaphorical ways. That is, it is never discussed in a discreet and explicit way, only using images, usually of heat and darkness. These images have mutated and changed over the years, depending on the culture they find themselves in.

What is it? My own idea is itself a metaphor. I think the thing we can say about hell that is not metaphorical (assuming it exists at all) is that it is a place without God. It is a place that is closed off from God, separated from God's influence and grace. Since I believe there is a continuity between the now and the then, for me hell is a kind of penal colony, a world in which humanity rules without God's mercy. I think of the world which Mad Max lives in, or the island prison in Escape from New York (check out the 80's section in your local movie rental store). These are places of wealth but no joy, of power but no love, places where every desire can be fulfilled and satiated, so that only the novel titillates. Jesus describes hell as a valley of garbage. I think it would be a place that operates by the rules God has consigned to the dust bin of history, but which we humans still cling to far too tightly. Hell, then, is not a place made by God to punish the evil, but a place created by people, who want to live by their own rules.

Who is going to hell? In the past this has often been answered with allusions to dogmatic beliefs or moral deeds. One must either believe a certain thing or do a certain thing(s) (in which case faith and works become the same thing). Certain acts (mortal sin) without contrition and penance were punishable by consignment to eternal torment, as was heresy.

I do not think that is what Jesus and the apostles taught. First, as Lutherans, we have argued (and I believe the church has always taught) that it is faith and not works that “saves” us. That is: bad people do not go to hell and good people do not go to heaven. That is not how it works: it is faith. However, we can all too often transform faith into a work as well: one must believe “enough,” one must believe “the right thing.” I think this misses the point. The point, we discover, is that what is important is to trust God, and trust the good news that God loves us, that we have a relationship with God, a relationship created and founded by God and in God. This doesn't mean we always “believe” it, but that not the same thing as trust. After all I can doubt all kinds of things, but still trust, even when everything else in life and the world is pointing in the opposite direction. There are times when I have found the love of God hard to believe, but I still trust it.

Who could resist this good news? Perhaps, in the end, no one. There are plenty of passages that point to what is sometimes called “universal salvation,” that in the end no one and no thing in lost. Jesus says he will draw all people to himself; several epistles say things like, God is reconciling all things, salvation comes to all. There are ancient theologians who believed in this idea (Gregory of Nyssa to name one) that God and God's love are ultimately omnipotent, that God will win every heart and renew every blade of grass, such that nothing will be left unredeemed. I find this a very compelling argument.

On the other hand, it is Jesus who speaks of hell and judgment more than any other figure. It is hard to disregard, or balance, his harsh words with some of his other sayings and some of the apostle's writings. People who simply want to dismiss hell as an archaic idea from a barbaric time are merely ignoring and discounting the words of Jesus, rather than seeking to understand them.

So if there is a hell (I'm not sure there is) and there are people “in it” (I'm not sure there are), who will be there? I first have to start with the principle that I cannot be more compassionate than God. For some this is a controversial statement, and opens up another line of argument that I will not indulge in. However, if I cannot be more compassionate than God, and I look around and see all the people who I could not consign to even a moment of intentional pain, I find it hard to believe that God would.

So I am left with two understandings of who might be in hell. First, the people who end up in hell are the people who do not want to be with God. This may sound strange at first, but I believe it is a valid point. There are people who do not like the Christian God. They do not like the way God holds up the weak and forgives evildoers. I think there will be people who, if they see Hitler or an abusive parent rejoicing in the Kingdom, will turn and leave God behind. These are the Elder Brother from the story of the Prodigal Son, who cannot forgive and cannot rejoice at the reconciliation of others. They are self-righteous, entitled, and ultimately make themselves judges of God. These are the people who will march into hell, their head held high.

The second idea is one which the Eastern Church has presented for many years. Hell is the other side of heaven. There are some who experience love, forgiveness and reconciliation as the worst kind of torture, the worst kind of betrayal. For them the love of God and the forgiveness of God are unbearable, and because that love and forgiveness will be experienced in such High-Definition clarity and intensity for all time in the Kingdom to come, it will be a kind of unending hell for them.

But ultimately, who knows? I find it hard to believe that any evil can withstand God's reconciliation, that any power can withstand God's love. If anything is clear it is that the Kingdom of God and hell start right here and now, are available right here and now, and we begin our ultimate journey towards them (spending time on both paths, no doubt) in the here and now. Yet somehow I also feel that there is enough hell now, and that all eternity will be too short to fully enjoy the Kingdom of God.

This month I feel a certain need to talk about our Welcoming Statement that was voted on and approved on June 5th. I spoke in my sermon at Pentecost about this subject, but not everyone is there for every Sunday, and it was a busy day as well. Perhaps I can simply summarize my main points about this statement and what I think is important.

First: The statement is, and needs to be, explicit. It is a general welcoming statement, but in today's world we must be explicit about who we are not excluding from that welcome, specifically gay, lesbian, trans-gendered and bisexual persons. In doing this we are following the example of Paul, when he was explicit as well: In Christ there is now neither Jew nor Greek, neither male nor female, neither slave nor free. Paul could not settle for a general “All are Welcome,” and frankly neither can we. And it is an explicit welcome into full participation in the life and ministry of this congregation; one's orientation or gender identity will not be a barrier to serving in any capacity, whether serving on committees, teaching Sunday school, participating in worship or moving chairs.

Second: The statement is a public statement not a private one. This statement, as a welcoming statement, is not simply something we have agreed upon amongst ourselves. It is a statement about who we are to the broader community. It is a witness about how we understand the gospel and the abundant love of God for us all and where we are being led by the Holy Spirit. By its very definition it is not for us, but for others.

I look forward to the continuing conversation we have together as we seek to live out this new statement. I am sure we will have more to do in this area, but I also feel another tug right now....the tug of summer.

July is upon us and if you're like me the last couple of months have been busy. It seems like everyone is doing everything in the first couple weeks of June as everyone tries to get everything done before the beginning of summer. Now July stretches before us. And it kind of looks quiet(er).

Is this a chance to have some quiet before Festival? A chance to relax? A chance to reflect? A chance to take some time off, visit family, get away from it all? Maybe a chance to learn something new?

I hope to take some time off in July. I'm not sure when yet. I'm also planning on learning something new. Michelle and I are (Lord willing) learning some Spanish downtown at the JC Community Center. I also hope to spend some time reflecting and planning what the rest of this year might hold. Or even not thinking about it. I'm amazed at what I learn when I step away from something, get a good night's rest and look at it again the next day.

Take some time to breathe in July. The rain has stopped, the sun is out, the vegetables are growing. Festival is far enough away and “tomorrow's worries are enough for tomorrow.”

Kids love ten dollar words. I don't know why, and adults find them irritating, but kids love'em. Whether it was fake words made up by magical governesses or real ones, I remember as I child delighting in saying, Tyrannosaurus Rex, and Triceratops or antidisestablishmentarianism. We even got big words in church. The favorites were the omni-words. We learned that God was omnipresent (not bad), omniscient (better) and omnipotent (best church word ever).

We learned that these words meant God was everywhere, knew everything and could do anything. For kids God becomes a kind of superhero, faster than light, stronger than Superman, smarter than Einstein. God is big, and strong and lives up in heaven. We learn the word infinite and begin to wrap our minds around that. But there is a problem with this. God can become distant, strange, unapproachable; God can seem powerful just to be powerful. But that is never how God is presented in the Scriptures. In fact those omni-words never appear in the Bible, they are words made up to explain God's attributes based on passages like this in Psalm 139:

Psalm 139:1-18

O LORD, you have searched me and known me.

You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from far away.

You search out my path and my lying down, and are acquainted with all my ways.

Even before a word is on my tongue, O LORD, you know it completely.

You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me.

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is so high that I cannot attain it.

Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence?

If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.

If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,

even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast.

If I say, "Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light around me become night,"

even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is as light to you.

For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother's womb.

I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well.

My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth.

Your eyes beheld my unformed substance. In your book were written all the days that were formed for me, when none of them as yet existed.

How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!

I try to count them-- they are more than the sand; I come to the end-- I am still with you.

Do we read here a God who is omnipresent, omniscient and omnipotent? Yes. But notice the why. God is all these things for us. These are not stark attributes of a distant deity, but are presented as the power and strength of God's infinite and intimate love for us. God is not naked power, presence and knowledge. God is infinite love, a love so strong that “neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, not things present, nor things to come, nor power, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

This sermon was written by John Chrysostom 1700 years ago, and I still think it is the best Easter sermon ever delivered.

If any person is devout and loves God, let them come to this radiant triumphant feast.

If an y person is a wise follower, let them enter into the joy of their Lord, rejoicing.

If any have fasted long, let them now receive refreshment.

If any have labored from the first hour, let them today receive their just reward.

If any came at the third hour, let them keep the feast with thankfulness.

If an arrived at the sixth hour, let them have no misgivings for they shall not be deprived.

If any delayed to the ninth hour, let them draw near, fearing nothing.

If any have waited even until the eleventh hour, let them no be alarmed at this tardiness.

For the Lord will accept the last even as the first.

Therefore, all of you, enter into the joy of your Lord.

Rich and poor together, hold high festival.

Diligent and heedless, honor this day.

Both you who have fasted, and you who did not fast, rejoice together today.

The table is full; all of you, feast royally.

The calf is fatted; let no one go away hungry.

Enjoy the feast of faith; receive the riches of God's mercy.

Let no one bewail their poverty, for the fullness of the kingdom is revealed.

Let no one weep for their iniquities, for forgiveness shine forth from the grave.

Let no one fear death, for the savior's death has set us free.

He who was held prisoner by death has annihilated it.

By descending into death, he made death captive.

He angered it when it tasted of his flesh.

Isaiah saw this, and he cried: Death was angered when it encountered you in the lower regions.

It was angered, for it was defeated.

It was angered, for it was mocked.

It was angered, for it was abolished.

It was angered, for it was overthrown.

It was angered, for it was bound in chains.

It received a body and it met God face to face.

It took earth and encountered heaven.

It took that which is seen and fell upon the unseen.

O Death, where is your sting?

O Grave, where is your victory?

Christ is risen and you are overthrown.

Christ is risen and devils have fallen.

Christ is risen and the angels rejoice.

Christ is risen and life reigns.

Christ is risen and no one dead remains in the tomb.

For Christ being raised from the dead is become the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep, and to him be glory and honor forever and ever Amen!

This month brings us to the conclusion of Lent and the conclusion of our journey with Jesus toward Jerusalem, a journey that is always beginning and ending. We find ourselves telling the story that defines who we are, that defines our faith, a faith which finds it's own meaning in the faith of one man, Jesus of Nazareth. As we enter this particularly sacred and solemn time of year, I would like to focus on one aspect of that story, the trial of Jesus.

 I've been reading through Christ on Trial, a book by Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury and head of the Anglican Church. It is a very good book, and one that I highly recommend, and it has made think through the trial of Jesus in some different ways.

Most of us probably imagine the trial, or trials, as the case may be, since Jesus was before both the temple council and Pilate, as kangaroo trials. We think that these trials were all about trumped up charges, that Jesus was perfectly innocent of what he was being accused of; that Jesus, unlike Barabbas, posed no more threat to society than any other law abiding citizen.

But I want to challenge that view of things. I disagree. I think that in every important way, Jesus was guilty of exactly what he was accused of, and short of actually leading an armed revolt (which would have been the exact opposite of his message and life anyway) he posed a very real threat to his society.

First, the accusation that he claimed to be the Messiah was obviously true. That this was blasphemy also had to be true, unless of course he was the Messiah, but for the temple council that was no more likely than that he was from Mars. Jesus' claim, as much as anything else, was to be of a higher authority than the council. He claimed to speak for God and that in him all the promises by God to the Jews were being fulfilled. It was dangerous for Jesus to make this claim because he was so popular. The council could not arrest him in public because they were afraid of a riot, so they arrested him privately (for which they needed someone to betray him). If he had showed deference to the council, perhaps they would have relented, but he defied them, unequivocally. The danger of this undermining authority had to be dealt with or the fragile peace they had forged with Rome would fail and Rome would destroy them, which is exactly what happened 40 years later when the temple was destroyed and the Jewish people scattered. So they take him to Pilate.

Second, Jesus, by making the claim to be the Messiah was committing sedition. Messiah means king, and by making a claim to be the Messiah, he was making a claim to be the rightful ruler of his people. Pilate sees before him a peasant accused of treason. The peasant does nothing to defend himself. The Jewish leaders of the city are clearly upset. Pilate does not need any more trouble in Jerusalem during the passover than there already is. They want the man executed. He is executed. Case closed. Peace is upheld; there are no riots. Whatever deranged claims to power he made were clearly a delusion. Unless, of course they were not, and the very indictment Jesus brings against Pilate and his society will one day cause such a revolution that Rome will never be the same.

I recast these stories to make a point. The religious and political rulers of that day had every right to see Jesus as a danger. He was. Their decisions were wise, and their work in the execution of Jesus was what any wise leader would and should due to preserve the integrity and tranquility of the society they are given authority over to manage. It is important to understand the trial of Jesus in this way because otherwise we let ourselves off the hook. We place ourselves where Jesus is, or as one of the innocent bystanders hoping Jesus will be released.

But that is not who we are. That is not how we have acted for the past 2000 years. It is only when we place ourselves on the temple council and on the seat of Pilate that we see the thousand ways we have silenced Jesus in our own lives, the thousand little compromises we have made for comfort, safety, and security. It is only when we see the greatness of their wisdom that we can truly understand the message of Jesus, and what Paul called the foolishness of God. Only when we see our civilization as a death-dealing monstrosity do we then understand the cross as the death of death and realize our need for Easter.

I'd like to take a little time to talk about prayer this month. There are many ways to pray, of course: out loud, silently, with words, with intentions, with silence. We pray together and alone. We pray using words that have been written, such as the Lord's Prayer, the confessions, even many of our hymns. But we also pray using our own words as they come to our minds and lips. Sometimes we pray only by offering up our feelings and intentions toward God.

There are even different kinds of things we do in prayer, giving thanks, praising God, talking over problems, and offering up our petitions, asking God to help us and help others. Our service is wrapped in prayer from beginning to end, asking forgiveness, praying for ourselves and others, praying for the world, giving thanks. Our liturgy captures most of the forms of prayer we know: praying together, one praying on behalf of all, written prayers, free form prayers, asking, thanking, silently and aloud.

This may all seem kind of complicated, as if there is a lot to learn about prayer, but actually, like most things about our relationship with God (or anyone else for that matter), things are simpler than they appear. Prayer is, after all, simply communicating with God, and like any human relationship, communication is a key component of that relationship. But when it comes to God, we sometimes forget that communication has two parts: talking and listening.

When people talk about prayer, they usually speak about it in terms of talking, how to talk to God. Unfortunately there is too little reflection on how to listen to God, and often very little attention paid to how God speaks to us. I'd like to maybe start to remedy that.

How does God speak to us? Let me suggest three ways: Word and Sacrament, other people, and what I'll call meditation. First God speaks to us in Word and Sacrament. That means God speaks to us through reading and hearing the Scriptures. God does this when we hear something we've heard a thousand times as fresh, or when a particular scripture hits us where we are. God also speaks to us at the font and the table and the countless experiences of God's presence we have in our services. God speaks to us directly and unequivocally in these things telling us we are God's children, that Jesus is present with us, caring for us and feeding us, and that God loves us with an unquenchable love. God is speaking if we are listening.

Second, God speaks to us in other people. This happens when someone gives us good advice or a hug or comforts us in times of trouble. God tells us that God loves us when we hear others tell us that they love us, when we feel valued and appreciated. God speaks to us in appeals to be kind and do justice, when we are challenged to follow the path laid out by Jesus. God speaks to us through others, but also sometimes in the beauty of nature as well and the abundance of provision we have from it.

Finally God speaks to us in what I'll call mediation. This is often very direct as the experience of listening to God is a very direct intention of meditation, times of quiet when we can mull over life and pay attention to what is going on and be at peace. I think Rowan Williams, archbishop of Canterbury has good words here:

One of the primary tasks of any prayer is 'How do I let God be God? How do I empty my mind and heart – not so as to confront a kind of void, but so that the personal presence of God can come in?'

If all prayer is trying to listen to God we have to remember that the God that we are seeking to meet is a person, and we come into a personal presence. And that means of course, that praying is about a great deal more than words in the same way that personal presence is about a great deal more than words. The Word of God – the way God communicates – is by being God, by being himself; so one of the primary tasks of any kind of prayer is 'How do I let God be God?' 'How do I empty my mind and heart, not so as to confront a kind of void but so that the personal presence of God can come in? And words are part of that but only a very small part.

Are you praying? I hope you are. If communication is the most important part of any human relationship, why would we think it is different for a relationship with God. Talk to God. God is listening. And don't forget to listen on your part. You may be amazed to hear what God is saying to you.

Did you notice that each year at some point, we change which Gospel most of the readings come from? How does that work? The church year starts with Advent, and each advent we change the core of the Gospel readings to a different Gospel. This year, Cycle A, we will primarily be reading from the Gospel of Matthew. The previous year, Cycle C, most of the Gospel readings were from Luke, and the year before that, Cycle B, the readings were from Mark.

Hence: Cycle A=Matthew; Cycle B=Mark; Cycle C=Luke, just as they are laid out in our New Testament. These are the three synoptic Gospels, which means that they see Jesus very much through the “same vision.” The basic outline of Jesus' story and the events of his life are closely similar. What about John? The fourth Gospel is read mainly during important seasons, especially Lent and Easter, and on important feast days such as Easter and Christmas day. John is also used in Cycle B, since Mark is the shortest Gospel, to fill in during the summer.

As we begin the new year, I thought it might be nice to introduce you to the Gospel of Matthew. As you may have already noticed, at its beginning Matthew focuses on the story of Joseph rather than Mary, and uses his genealogy. Matthew also tells the story of the magi from the east, the slaughter of the innocents and the escape of Jesus' family to Egypt, while in Luke's Gospel we have the story of Mary, Zechariah and Elizabeth, the trip to Bethlehem, and the angels and shepherds. Other than the virgin birth, that Jesus being born in Bethlehem, and his parents names, Matthew and Luke share very little in common.

Matthew was written in the latter half of the first century, probably somewhere between 75 and 95 AD. It is written from a strongly Jewish perspective. Matthew is written by Jews for Jews. Matthew highlights the Jewish origin and identity of Jesus, and is interested in portraying Jesus as a part of the history of the Jewish people.

This emphasis crops up in some interesting ways. Matthew quotes the Hebrew Bible (the Old Testament) more than any other Gospel. He also uses it in a particular way: more than any other Gospel writer he cites the Hebrew Bible to explain and validate the work and actions of Jesus, and perhaps more importantly, to show how the life and story of Jesus is in harmony with the prophetic word to Israel.

Jesus consistently demonstrates a keen knowledge and understanding of the ancient history of his people, and specifically the Torah, often better than the other experts around him. He is the great interpreter of the Torah for the people. He fulfills the role of Moses in his Sermon on the Mount, ascending up to a high place as Moses did, to give out the new law, beginning with the Beatitudes.

Matthew is also interested in showing Jesus to be a great prophet, in the vein of Isaiah, Jeremiah and Daniel. Jesus speaks for God to the current situation of the people of Israel in the same way a great prophet would. He is also a king, the heir of David, the promised Messiah and the rightful ruler of the kingdom of heaven, the kingdom promised to the people of God in the writings of the prophets.

Yet for all the difference, the Jesus of Matthew is still the Jesus of the synoptic Gospels. You will hear many stories from Matthew that you heard from Luke and Mark. Jesus meets many of the same people, says many of the same things. The events of Jesus life are recounted in much the same way as in these other gospels. We do not see a different Jesus here in Matthew's gospel, but we do see him from a different perspective.