Matthew and Luke begin their Gospels with stories about the birth of Jesus of Nazareth. The Gospel of John is less concerned with the historical birth of Jesus and more concerned with the universal and cosmic importance of that birth (John 1:1-18). John uses the word “Word” to describe Jesus. In Greek this word, Logos, is used to mean Wisdom – and Wisdom is often personified and divine (See the Old Testament book of Proverbs, chapter 9, for an example).

For John, this is no ordinary child. In the birth in Bethlehem, the divine became human – the Word became flesh and dwelt among us. John does not want you to miss the theological importance of this. This turns the world upside down – the Almighty Creator of heaven and earth taking the vulnerable and frail form of humanity. No ordinary prose can be used to describe this cosmic event, John instead uses the rhythm of poetry to evoke images that are beyond human understanding.

On Christmas Eve, we usually read from Luke 2 (see below). But the story doesn’t begin there – it begins with two women: Mary and Elizabeth (Luke 1:26-56).

“The Annunciation” is the name for the story when the angel Gabriel announces the Mary that she is pregnant with God’s chosen Messiah. Sometimes, Mary’s response (“Let it be with me according to your will”) is depicted as meekness and gentleness. However, it is far better to see the incredible strength and boldness that this required of her! Standing in the face of one of the most frightening creatures of all creation – an archangel of God – Mary holds her own, looks him in the eye, and agrees to an amazing and unbelievable plan to save all of humanity – through her.

Following the Annunciation, Mary goes to visit her relative Elizabeth – an elder in her family who is also pregnant at this moment. And on greeting Elizabeth, Mary breaks out into song – much like John, she uses poetry to describe things that are beyond human understanding. This song is called the Magnificat after the first word (My soul magnifies the Lord). In this song, Mary describes the work of God. In line with the promise of the Old Testament, Mary describes a God who turns the world upside down: who protects the vulnerable and weak, who humbles the powerful and empowers the humble.

The Song of Mary sets the tone for the rest of what follows in Jesus life, teachings, and ministry.

Luke tells the story of Jesus’ birth as a story of contrasts (Luke 2:1-20). On the one hand, an Emperor who can order a worldwide census; on the other a helpless child born in a stable. On the one hand, the rulers of the world; on the other a choir of angels.

The birth of Jesus is a story of humility, vulnerability, and poverty. A pregnant woman away from her home. Shepherds in the middle of the night.

God did not come into the world in all the forms of power that we are used to – instead, God came into the world through the things that we call weakness. This is the birth of a Messiah who will say “The first shall be last and the last shall be first.”

In our Sunday School Christmas pageants, we often smash Luke and Matthew’s stories together. But they are very different.

Luke gives us the story of Mary and the Shepherds. Matthew gives us the story of Joseph and the Magi (Matthew 1:18-2:23).

Joseph comes to us as a man who acts with mercy instead of judgment. Learning that his fiance is pregnant with a child that is not his, Joseph mercifully decides to end the engagement rather than charge her with adultery. But the angel calls Joseph to even greater mercy – he is called to stay with Mary, to protect her, and to raise the child as his own.

We sometimes know the next characters in the story through the song “We Three Kings of Orient Are.” This is a catchy tune, but the Bible characters are not kings, not Oriental, and there are not three of them. “Magi,” sometimes translated “Wise Men,” are priests and astrologers likely from Persia (what is now Iran).

They arrive showing us that the first witnesses to the good news of Jesus are not who we expect – they are not Jewish. Pagan magicians. They are the faithful ones. And they invite us to ask who are the faithful people today that we don’t expect? Who are the outsiders that are better witnesses than many of the “believers”?

The story ends with Matthew’s description of worldly power and authority. This child Jesus is such a threat to Herod that he orders the murder of countless children in the hope of killing Jesus. Did you know that many dictators throughout history have banned the Magnificat because they viewed the Gospel as a threat to their power?

With words straight out of Isaiah, John the Baptist appears in the desert of Judea (Matthew 3).

John reminds us that what comes next is deeply connected to the prophets of the Old Testament. Yes, to the promise of comfort and peace — but also to the call to justice and righteousness.

John is the son of Elizabeth and her husband Zechariah – Jesus’ cousin. In the context of all four Gospels, he is the “forerunner” – the one who prepares the way for Jesus. We often read his story during the church season of Advent – that time leading up to Christmas when we are preparing ourselves.

The word at the center of John’s message is “repent.” I really like the translation of this word as “Change your hearts and lives.” If we are going to do a new thing, we have to stop doing the old thing. What in our lives needs to change to make room for the work of Jesus and the Gospel?

Some things never change. Just like today, in Jesus’ time most people viewed the world through a lens of scarcity. Most people looked at the material goods they had and said “not enough.” And just like today, some people had more than enough and others struggled to get buy.

In a world like that, in a world like ours, Jesus and his friends were gathered with a large crowd when it got close to mealtime (Mark 6:30-44). And the disciples had a reasonable response: Send the people home to get their own food. And Jesus gives them a response that reminds us of our work still today: “You feed them.”

He then goes on to show them that there is more than enough. The miracle of the feeding of the multitudes is not about he miraculous multiplying of food – it is about the truth that we already have more than we need. The Gospel calls us to stop looking at the world through a lens of scarcity, and to start looking at it through a lens of abundance. What we have is enough.

We love stories about miracles – stories about the impossible becoming possible.

But it is important to notice how Jesus’ healing ministry happens in the Gospels. The story of the Four Friends and the Paralyzed Man is a perfect example (Luke 5:17-26).

The four friends bring their paralyzed compatriot to Jesus – expecting that Jesus will do something for him. But notice! Jesus doesn’t immediately heal his physical ailment. Instead, Jesus addresses his soul, his spirit. “Your sins are forgiven” says Jesus. Your spirit is healed.

Then, only because the people watching doubt Jesus’ ability to heal the soul, then Jesus heals his body.

How often do we go looking for physical healing, for changes in our material situation, when what we really need is the healing of our spirits and the renewal of our souls.

What does it mean to be good? Who is a good person?

That’s the central question of the story of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37). “Samaritans” were cousins of the Jewish people. They were descendants from the Kingdom of Northern Israel, who were conquered by the Assyrians. They followed the first five books of the Old Testament (Torah) but not the writings of the rest of what we call the Old Testament. They did not worship in Jerusalem, but on a mountain in Samaria (in between Jerusalem and the sea of Galilee).

Jewish people considered the Samaritans to be ritually unclean – they could not come in contact with them and then go to worship at the Temple. They were often viewed as heretics and persons of questionable moral character.

Once you understand all that, the story of the Good Samaritan begins to make sense. Jesus points out the foolishness of all of our categories of “good people.” It’s not about what someone believes, or what faith someone belongs to, or what nationality or ethnicity a person is. Still today we often use these as markers of “goodness.” But, asks Jesus, who is the one who is a good neighbor? The one who shows mercy.

Parables are short stories that Jesus uses to teach about hard-to-understand things. Following the example of the Prophet Nathan teaching King David, parables often help us to see the thing that is right in front of us – giving us insight into ourselves, the world, and God.

Talking to a group of good religious folks, Jesus tells this story about a lost son and a forgiving father (Luke 15:11-32). The story of forgiveness between the father and younger son is powerful and moving. But the story doesn’t end there.

The story ends with the older son: the one who has always done the right thing, who never left home. And while the father throws a party celebrating forgiveness and mercy, the older son is outside, pouting. He is angry because his little brother doesn’t deserve it. Because it isn’t fair. Because as he looks at grace and mercy through the lens of scarcity, there is not enough.

Remember that this story is told to good religious folks – to older brothers. It is a warning. Like the loaves and fish, there is enough of God’s mercy and forgiveness. And the love of God is not about deserving.

If we make the love of God about deserving and fairness, we are likely to end up outside the of the party by ourselves.

If the Magnificat is Mary’s poetry about the upside-down values of the Kingdom of God, then the beatitudes are Jesus’ poetry on the same subject (Matthew 5:1-16). The Beatitudes are Jesus’ song of the values of God’s Kingdom and God’s call on us.

Here Jesus makes explicit what is implied in many of the stories we have been reading. It is not the mighty and the powerful who are blessed by God; it is the vulnerable, compassionate, humble, and suffering who most closely reflect who God is.

How often have we looked for God to be vengeful rather than merciful? How often have we looked for God among those who are celebrating rather than those who are mourning? How often have we expected God where people are full and satisfied rather than among the poor, hungry, and thirsty?

Once again, Jesus tells a parable to those who are self-righteous and convinced of their own goodness (Matthew 25:31-46).

This is a parable about a judge, a parable about measuring goodness. On the one side stand those who were convinced of their goodness, on the other people who are filled with humility. And instead of asking what they believe, what faith they belong to, or anything else, the judge points to their actions.

In particular: how have they treated the people who could do nothing for them in return? The hungry, the naked, the sick, the imprisoned, the hungry, the homeless.

The judgment parallel hinges on this: How we treat the most vulnerable people in our society is how we treat Jesus.

Jesus last days begin with a celebration (Luke 22:1-23). With his friends, Jesus was celebrating Passover – the Jewish holiday in which they remember and celebrate the events that unfold in the book of Exodus.

Here, while celebrating this holiday with a traditional meal, Jesus gives the day and the meal new meaning for his followers. This meal on the upper room is the root of the Christian practice of Holy Communion – the meal we share together on Sunday mornings.

Jesus gathers around the table and blesses all of his disciples – including the one that would betray him later that night. When Jesus taught that we should love our enemies, he also showed us what that looks like during this Last Supper.

The central event of the Gospel stories is the death of Jesus (Mark 15). We often skip quickly past this, and hurry to the resurrection. But the Gospel writers did not hurry past it. They made sure we would notice it.

Crucifixion was a particularly cruel form of capital punishment. It was reserved for the most heinous of crimes – usually reserved for people who were considered traitors to the Roman Empire and the Emperor. It was a slow, painful death, and it humiliated the criminal and anyone associated with them. Crucifixion was intended to terrorize anyone who agreed with the executed criminal – to scare them out of their treasonous beliefs and into obedience to the Emperor.

The closest modern parallel to crucifixion is lynching – the mob justice of the Jim Crow South by which African Americans who broke the unspoken racial code were punished, and other African Americans were terrorized into obedience to the Jim Crow way of life.

In this story, we read how all the powers came together to execute an innocent man: the secular power of Pontius Pilate, the religious authority of powerful religious institutions, and the impulsive power of a worked-up mob. We are called to ask ourselves: When have we gotten caught up in the power and authority we have? When have we (like many in the crowd) been silent when injustice takes place right in front of us?

Against all this power, Jesus does not resist. He speaks peacefully. He acts lovingly. Just as the story of Jesus birth is one of contrasts, so too the story of his death. Against the hatred and anger of those who crucified him, Jesus embodied the values of the Beatitudes.

Every Gospel has different stories about the resurrection. They all begin with the women going to the tomb, and discovering it empty.

The empty tomb is God’s answer to the power of the Empire, religious authorities, and the mob. The empty tomb is God’s answer to the crucifixion.

Love wins. Mercy wins. The powerless, vulnerable, and the victims of injustice win in the Kingdom of God.

With a wild swing from the despair of the death of their friend and leader, the stories of resurrection morning depict the confusion of the followers of Jesus. Slowly they move from mourning to bewilderment, and from bewilderment to joy.

Like all the resurrection stories, those in John’s gospel (John 20) emphasize the fact that Jesus was physically resurrected. This was not a spirit or a ghost. You could touch him, eat with him. And yet, he passes through doors and appears out of nowhere.

The Gospels don’t try and make perfect sense of this. They are not a textbook about what happens during resurrection. Instead, they invite us into the confusion and joy. They invite us to imagine the turning upside down of our world, just as the disciples got turned upside down. What would it look like if the Kingdom of God broke into my life? Today? Here?

This is sometimes called the “Emmaus Road” resurrection story (Luke 24:13-35).

Once again, Jesus’ resurrection is inexplicable. He walks beside his friends, and he eats with them, but they don’t recognize him. And once they do recognize him, he disappears.

I love this story precisely because the disciples don’t get it.

After the news of the resurrection starts to circulate, these disciples of Jesus are confused and doubt it. And Jesus says, “You fools!”

This story is an invitation to be curious: When have I not trusted the good news of Jesus? When have I been unable to see the ways that God is working in the world?

The moment of recognition for the disciples does not come when Jesus explains everything though. It comes in a shared meal. Recognition and insight and spiritual awareness don’t show up in the reason or the logic. They show up when we gather in community.

The word Pentecost means 50. Pentecost is a Jewish holiday that occurs 50 days after Passover.

It was the first Pentecost after the death of Jesus, and his disciples were all in Jerusalem. Having experienced the resurrection, they were still confused and sure of what to do.

And then the Spirit of God shows up. This is the same Spirit that moved over the waters (Genesis 1) and the same Spirit who spoke through the prophets. And filled with the Spirit, the disciples of Jesus begin to preach. Amazingly – despite people from many nations and ethnicities being gathered in Jerusalem – the people could all understand the message of the disciples.

This event – sometimes referred to as the Birth of the Church – points to a faith that is intended to heal divisions and bring people together.

In the first years of the church, the Christian faith was a movement within Judaism. The Apostles mostly stayed in Jerusalem, teaching about Jesus to other Jewish people. When they did leave Jerusalem, they would go to a synagogue and teach there. After all – Jesus was Jewish, and they were all Jewish, and the God Jesus taught about was the God who had been known through the people of Israel.

And then Peter gets an unusual request: Go and share the message of Jesus with a Roman soldier (Acts 10).

Peter has to unlearn all of his biases about who is clean and who is unclean; all of his biases about who God speaks to and who God works through.

Peter goes to this Roman soldier. Remember, it was Roman soldiers who did the actual crucifying of Jesus; who beat him, mocked him, whipped him, and nailed him to the cross. Much like Jonah going to Nineveh, Peter goes to this Roman soldier and shares the good news of God’s upside-down kingdom and the mercy and love of God.

“Truly, I understand now that God shows no partiality.”

Who would we rather not tell about God’s love and forgiveness? Who would like to believe that God does not love? God loves them too.

The largest portion of the New Testament are letters from a disciple named Paul to early Christian communities. The book of Romans is one of these letters.

As the capital of the Roman Empire, ideas arrived quickly in Rome. The Christian idea was no exception, there seems to have been Christian community in Rome fairly early on. It was to this community that Paul wrote the book of Romans. It was intended as an introduction, to prepare them for his arrival later. One of his friends – a Christian from Rome who was known to the community there – would have carried the letter back to Rome.

In this longest of Paul’s letters, he lays out much of what he thinks about Jesus and the Kingdom of God. And a the center of the letter, Paul addresses an age-old question: Why do good people suffer?

For Paul, the suffering of this life can only be understood through the lens of the cross. We follow a God who knows suffering: the suffering of the cross. And so God walks beside us in our suffering, we are not alone. It is not that God makes our suffering go away, instead it is that God helps us to have the strength to endure our suffering. The Spirit “groans with us.” Or, to put it another way, Even though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, God is with us.

This section of Paul’s letter to the Romans ends with one of the most quoted verses of Scripture, one that we read at every single funeral.

What will separate us from God’s love? I’m convinced that nothing can separate us from God’s love in Christ Jesus our Lord: not death or life, not angels or rulers, not present things or future things, not powers or height or depth, or any other thing that is created.

We often read 1 Corinthians 13 at weddings. It’s beautiful.

But it has nothing to do with weddings.

Like Romans, 1 Corinthians is a letter from Paul to an early Christian community. And this particular community of Christians in Corinth was in the middle of a huge conflict. They were falling apart, and the whole church in Corinth was on the verge of imploding. The community had divided into factions and groups, parties and sects. Each one was convinced that they were right, and the others were wrong.

In this situation, Paul wrote a guide for living together (1 Corinthians 12-13). Chapter 12 is a celebration of the diversity of gifts, talents, and skills in the church. It is an affirmation that there is no one right way to be a Christian, but we need each other. Chapter 13 is not a love song for a romantic partner, but a description of what is required to live together in Christian community.

“I am basically a good person” was as frequent a refrain in the ancient world as it is today. I’ve earned my place in heaven. I deserve God’s love.

Paul will have none of it (Ephesians 2:1-10). God’s love is mercy, it is grace, it is a gift. We do not deserve it or earn it.

A parent who only loves their children IF they deserve it is a terrible parent. Parental love is not conditional, it is a gift.

You are saved by God’s grace because of your faith. This salvation is God’s gift.

The love of God is not about us earning – it is about who God is. God is love.

And if we are loved even when we don’t deserve it, if we are loved unconditionally, how then should we treat our neighbors?

Paul is the master of prose. The book of Romans is full of complex theological arguments. The book of 1 Corinthians is a compelling case for the importance of community. But eventually, even Paul turns to poetry to describe the indescribable (Philippians 2:1-11).

Paul tells the church in Philippi that they should be less selfish, that they should be more like Jesus. And then, he writes what is sometimes called the “Hymn to Christ” to describe what he means.

Once again, we find ourselves in the upside-down Kingdom of God. Here, Jesus shows his power by becoming humble. Like the Gospel of John, Paul describes how the divine takes on human form and then wins a victory over the power of this world.

Near the end of the New Testament are three very small letters that come from John, written to a Christian community that he knew and loved (1 John 4:7-21). Like Paul, John summarizes in his letters some of what he considers to be the most important aspects of the Christian faith.

Here we encounter one of the most profound insights into the God who is made known to us in Jesus Christ. God is love, says John, and when we see love we have seen God.

According to John, true faith is not about knowing the right creed or holding the right belief. If you see someone loving their neighbor – that is what faith looks like.

Look for the people showing mercy like the Good Samaritan. Look for those who forgive like Joseph. Look for those who care for the most vulnerable as if they were caring for Jesus himself. Look for those who live with the love of 1 Corinthians 13.

And more importantly, be those things.