A Sermon by Sydney V. (Skip) Jackson — January 8, 2012
Indianola Presbyterian Church, Columbus, Ohio
Texts:  Exodus 3:1-15;  John (12 selected texts in the sermon)

Thus you shall say to the Israelites, “I AM has sent me to you”  …This is my name forever, and this my title for all generations. — Exodus 3:14-15

The Bible gives so many names for God—from the familiar “Shepherd” and “King” to lesser-known ones like “Diadem of Beauty” in the book of Isaiah.  Your bulletin cover lists just a small portion of the names for God.  But surely no name is stranger than the one near the center of the cover, the two-word name “I AM.”  In our opening hymn we sang to “the Lord, the great I AM.”  This is the one name offered directly by God in Scripture.  We just heard the story from Exodus 3.

God speaks to Moses out of a burning bush telling him to go to Egypt to free the Israelites from slavery.  Moses resists.  “Who are you?” he asks.  “What is your name?”  What should he say when the elders ask where he get his authority?  Or Pharaoh?  He wants to be able to give a name.  But his question goes far deeper, because knowing a name is connected with power and control.  Name something, and we think we understand it.  A doctors says you have TMJ, temporomandibular joint disorder, and because of the highfalutin name you think she’s on top of things, but that’s just a fancy way of saying you have a chronically sore jaw.  You already knew that.  Names for God let us think we understand God and know just exactly who God is.  Thereby they set limits on who God is.  But beyond that, knowing a divine name was thought to grant you power to command God to act.

But God will have none of that.  No single name (or even many names) can limit God’s freedom.  In Hebrew, God says to Moses “‘ehyeh ‘asher ‘ehyeh,” a marvelous mix of ambiguity and humor.  The translation we heard earlier is, “I AM WHO I AM.  You shall say to the Israelites, ‘I AM has sent me to you.’”  God simply is whoever God is.  God will not be pinned down by names.  But the ambiguity is even greater, for the Hebrew doesn’t distinguish between present and future tense.  The Hebrew ‘ehyeh ‘asher ‘ehyeh can mean, “I am who I am” or “I will be who I will be” or even [as Martin Buber pointed out]  “I will be present as I will be present.” It means each of these, and all of them together at the same time.  God is always free to be whoever, whatever, or wherever God chooses to be.

 

A Sermon by Sydney V. (Skip) Jackson — December 25, 2011
Indianola Presbyterian Church, Columbus, Ohio
Text:  Luke 2:8-20 — Christmas Day

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace, good will among peoples.”  — Luke 2:13-14

 Christmas is a time for stories—especially miracle stories.  In the story we just heard, our hearts are touched by the wondrous details of Jesus’ birth—the stable, a babe in a manger, angels singing, shepherds coming.  It’s all so miraculous!  But I want to focus on one aspect, the words sung by an angel host—“Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace, good will among peoples.”  God’s messengers declare this in the face of all evidence to the contrary—an occupied land under Roman domination, where poor peasants are ordered from their homes and a client king will slaughter babies to quell any threat to his power.  Yet this is how it is, the angels sing.  This is reality when God’s kingdom is among us:  peace on earth, good will among peoples.

Oh yes, there is still plenty of evidence that this is NOT how our world is.  The powers-that-be resist and do not step aside easily.  There are so many barriers to peace and divisions that stifle good will among peoples.  Last week church member Judy Lee returned from an international peace conference in Bethlehem, bringing back a symbol of those barriers and divisions—a Nativity crèche carved by an Israeli artist with a wall between the Magi and the stable.  It’s a reminder of the 26-foot high “security” wall of separation surrounding Bethlehem, a wall that would restrict entry by three wise men from the east, all probably Arabs.  The crèche is on our Communion Table where we will celebrate the joyful feast of the people of God where people will come from east and west and from north and south to sit at table in common fellowship in the kingdom of God.  The contrast is striking!  The world and its barriers on one hand and God’s kingdom of peace and good will on the other.  But peace and good will do break through, as in two more miracle stories I want to share with you this morning.

 

A Sermon by Sydney V. (Skip) Jackson — December 11, 2011
Indianola Presbyterian Church, Columbus, Ohio
Text:  John 1:1-14, 16-18

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it… The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.—John 1:5, 9

At Easter time in 1989, Brian Wren wrote a hymn text about light.  We’ll sing it in a few minutes to a lively traditional Scottish dance tune.  But right now I want us to read the words and reflect on light as a metaphor for God’s presence and activity among us.  In the Gospel according to John, we are promised that in Jesus, the living Word, we see “the light of all people,” that this light “shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it,” and that “the true light which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.”
Each verse of Brian Wren’s hymn begins and ends with a question.  First:

1.  Will you come and see the light from the stable door?
It is shining newly bright, though it shown before.
It will be your guiding star, it will show you who you are.
Will you hide, or decide to meet the light?

Well, of course I’ll come and see the light!  I have a touch of “seasonal affective disorder,” and as the days grow shorter I crave light… SUNSHINE  to flood everywhere to wash away my “winter blues”!  We’ve been lighting candles throughout Advent, preparing to “see the light from the stable door,” getting ourselves ready to celebrate the light of Christ coming into our world.  May it drive away all of the blues of the world!

 

A Homily by Sydney V. (Skip) Jackson — December 4, 2011
Indianola Presbyterian Church, Columbus, Ohio
Texts:  1 Samuel 2:1-10;  Luke 1:46-55

Hannah prayed and said, ‘My heart exults in the Lord; my strength is exalted in my God…  [The Lord] brings low, he also exalts. He raises up the poor from the dust; he lifts the needy from the ash heap, to make them sit with princes… — 1 Samuel 2:1, 7b-8a

And Mary said, ‘My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant…   He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly… — Luke 1:46-48a, 52

The word magnificat is the very first word in Latin of what has come to be called the Canticle (or Song) of Mary in the first chapter of the Gospel According to Luke.  Magnificat means “magnifies”—so magnificat, “my soul magnifies the Lord.”  Upon being told by the Angel Gabriel that she will bear a son whom she is to call Jesus, Mary goes to visit her cousin Elizabeth who is also pregnant.  When Elizabeth praises Mary for her faith, Mary responds with the words of Luke 1:46-55.  Her song echoes many aspects of the song that Hannah sings in 1 Samuel 2 after bearing her first-born son Samuel and dedicating him to God’s service.

The Magnificat has long played a vital role in Christian worship.  It is spoken or sung during evening vespers services in the Roman Catholic, Anglican/Episcopal, and Lutheran traditions, while in Eastern Orthodoxy it is usually sung during early morning prayers.  The list of composers who have created settings for Mary’s Magnificat goes back to at least the 1500s and includes such luminaries as Bach, Vivaldi, Mozart, Schubert, and Tchaikovsky.  Contemporary settings include works by Ralph Vaughan Williams, John Rutter, and this morning’s piece by Mark Hayes.  In the foreword to his composition, Mark Hayes writes, “When I sat down to set this time-honored text, I was struck with the unrestrained yet quiet joy that Mary expressed to God.  I knew I wanted to compose a work that expressed the same joy.”