I like to think that we celebrate the baptism of our Lord for the special thing it is on its own as a celebration of God’s humanness coming to be with us and to be washed with us and share in our righteousness.

I hope too we celebrate this baptism as a connection, a direct connection between not just God and us, but with Christ as well.

We are but the shepherds receiving the good news, we are but the shepherds passing on the good news to others for we have found salvation.

For the Lord saves us all.

On this morning, in this chilly air and under bright skies, Jesus is born of Bethlehem. In John’s version we do not hear of Jesus’ birth, his time as an infant. Instead, we are given the gift of knowing Jesus has been with us all along.

Jesus was born within community. Not to be found in a barn at the end of some lonely street, Jesus was born close to a family’s love.

That is important.

For Jesus is born this night and in this hour; he is born within the very hearths and homes of our hearts.

By shifting and adjusting our expectations of how life should be to reacting to what life truly is, we are listening to God’s call. I will tell you, it was not always easy, in trying new things there is trepidation at the unknown and sadness as well. Sadness that I just didn’t seem to fit into those places I worked at, but so much hope. Hope that this next place would be the right fit, the place where I belonged. And in that hopefulness was the clarity to, at least in retrospect, try on what God was asking me to do.

How wonderful to listen to God’s call!

That child’s careful walk to and through the attic, bringing the proper amount of light to retrieve those baubles and trinkets, unwrapping the porcelain, unwinding the light string, those were acts of preparation.

And those are acts we can carry over into our own lives, adult versions of a child’s hand laying out snow made of foam and polyester.

Friends, we prepare by entering into the attics of our hearts and minds in prayer and meditation, unwinding that which ails us, shining light upon all that is good in our lives and giving thanks, thanks to God, thanks to each other, we are grateful for love.

And you look at the crowd around you, you see the tax collectors, the soldiers, the cops, the nurses, the business people, your neighbors and you see them as they are, your siblings in all things, your partners who can help you build a better world a world that can escape the winnowing fork, the fires to come, for you will all be building a community of peace and transformation.

For yours is a love of action and feeding and clothing and actively loving those who might be hard to love and realizing you are a part of that love to.

You are a part of everything.

Perhaps it is not yet a Paradise realized through our human eyes, but when we look through the lens of Christ’s hope for all of us, through the salvation offered, we can understand the possibility of such a thing.

Paradise is here.

Today.

My times at church back then were more about anticipation and recollection than they were about being present before God. I would sit there in the pew, placed between my parents and brother and I would look so holy.

Looking front, eyes wide open, staring at whatever I was supposed to be staring at, the priest with his big arms during Eucharist was especially iconic.

But ask me what was said, and I am not exactly sure I would answer correctly.

He looked good. Strong. His silver white hair was perfect, he was tanned from the Jersey shore. He lost his limp acquired years ago when a back surgery did not quite go right.

He put up his hand, stoic at first he smiled.

“I didn’t realize how much I missed you,” I replied.

That is my confession. That is my blind spot. Sometimes, I am prideful. Jesus is preaching humility. And I need to remember to humble myself before God.

Jesus, be merciful to me, a sinner!

If I find myself in this story, let me be the one who finds mercy through humility.

If my faith was but the size of a mustard seed, I could do great things. For my faith would be in great things. It is not that the seed will grow and transform and root, it is the seed itself.

You hold.

I hold.

We hold the amount of faith we need, just the right amount, to change the world. Our faith does not have to be terribly large, for what we have faith in is infinitely big.

How do we worship God in community now that so much has changed? Well, that’s where hope begins.

We can lament and lament only a dying church. Or we can find hope in a dynamic church.

Yes, this story is about who to associate with and who we should supper with, and it is also a story about who we are as a people, sinful and exclusionary at times, and how it is Jesus who calls us away from those very human inclinations towards being children of God.

And as disciples they were to follow Jesus and heal people and lift up the poor and do all of those things and all of those things took them away from family. To follow Christ properly, they had to change their lives and loves and headings and they were most likely hated for it.

That is what makes this passage so difficult.

For if we are to be followers of Christ, we are to upend our own lives.

Even today with all of our machines that take us places faster and our work lives more efficient requiring less physical effort, we still have problems with rest, with taking time to reflect on ourselves, where we are headed, focusing on God.

This story is not just a great and dramatic story, it is evidence of God’s love for all of us. It is a part of our Christian DNA; it is a part of us. Unchangeable. Real. Tangible.

Except, what if it never happened?

And still faith does not derive solely from the evidence placed before us by Paul, faith too is immensely personal, individualized to our own beliefs within the structure of scripture, reason, and tradition, of God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit.

And we too are created in the image of God.

God is both the taskmaster, the creator who out of nothing formed creation and the teacher who gave us the law.