Community Church of Durham
Isaiah 43 (The 1st Sunday of Deep Advent)
1.
 |
| Baptism 2025 |
And you were here just last Sunday for the 20th Anniversary of our Open & Affirming Covenant. You wept a little as we sang songs of unity and healing.
For gay and for straight, a place at the table.And you smiled broadly as we baptized Margo and Tabitha right out there. I’ve got the pictures to prove it. Water, water and rainbows everywhere! And you felt that surge of courage—as I sure did—as we repurposed that original statement for a new day of service and witness. “We honor human relationships—all of them—that are based on love, responsibility, mutual respect, trust and fidelity.” Again, wow! God is good.
Transgender and queer, a rainbow of light,
Many the ways of loving and living:
For gay and for straight, a future that’s bright!
And it’s not simply the case that you’ve been part of the action—you have (in so many ways) dreamed it into being, and you have (in so many ways) invested in it, and you have (in just about every way) made it happen. Through your prayers. By your faithfulness. Because of your energies. And so it is that we have seen the Holy Spirit at work, we have seen the Holy Spirit at play, we have seen the Holy Spirit breathing life and courage into and through a community we love. It has been a very special and memorable month indeed!
2.
So when we read in the ancient scroll that God is doing a “new thing,” we have only to remember what our own eyes have seen, what our own ears have heard, what our own hearts have experienced. In this very place. In just these last weeks. Among these people.
And just as the prophet has imagined, what we’ve seen here is a diverse community of curious seekers and devoted leaders gathering from the east and west, from the north and south, around good news and gladness. Not despair and division. But God’s good news and God’s gladness. “Don’t you recognize it?” That’s the prophet speaking. “Don’t you recognize it?” “I’m making a way in the desert, paths in the wilderness.” “I have put water in the desert, and streams in the wilderness.” And these stunning promises, these tender reassurances: framed as they most often are in scripture with, “Don’t fear, for I am with you.” Don’t fear, for I have called you by name. Don’t fear, for you are mine.
So—there is a way in the desert, a path in the wilderness. And we have walked a fair piece already. Baptized and fearless. Claimed for God's purpose. Named indeed by God.
And if you’re wondering, by the way, why we’re so lavish with the water (or maybe I should say 'extravagant' with the water) when we baptize Margo and Tabitha as we did last week, it’s because we believe that our symbols have to match our gladness, our liturgies have to correlate with God’s commitments. In the text, our God doesn’t say: “I’m putting a drop of water out there in the desert…so you can grovel and suffer and beg for mercy.” Our God doesn’t say: “I’m setting out a thimble of sustenance in the wilderness…so you can wipe a little on your forehead and be on your way.” No, no, no.
Our God says: “I’m making a way in the desert, so you can get home.” “I’m setting before you holy paths, so you can travel together.” “I’m putting running streams in the wilderness, so you can touch my power and immerse yourselves in my grace and go joyfully into a future of hope and justice and care for one another.” I’m doing a new thing! So, yes, my friends. Your baptism in Christ—and that’s what it means to belong here, to be connected as we are here—your baptism in Christ is a baptism of running streams and hustling rivers, a baptism of plenty and power, a baptism that washes away any hint of shame or inadequacy. Your baptism joins us as one people, to travel these holy paths, to go gladly together, to follow Jesus together, to revel in the love of the One who calls us by name and invites us all home. For singing and praising. For feasting and serving. For making peace and giving thanks. Your baptism, my baptism, Margo’s baptism, Tabitha’s: a way in the desert, running streams and hustling rivers!
3.
So this 43rd chapter is, in a luminous way, God’s promise to an immigrant community, God’s declaration of solidarity with a community traumatized by the violence of nations, the politics of greed, and their own fears for families left behind. This is a people on the run. This is a people far from home. This is a people without the proper papers, piecing things together, always aware that the next knock on the door could be the last one.
And God, this God, our God refuses to abandon this dear, dear, dear immigrant community. This God, our God defies imperial powers that would cast them aside, relegate them to insignificance or worse. And this is where the promise of Advent, the tenderness of God, and yes the Gospel itself is born. “I have called you by name; you are mine,” says God, “because you are precious in my eyes.”
And in this context, in the context of exile, this poetry vibrates with loving defiance and tender courage. “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; when through the rivers, they won’t sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you won’t be scorched and flame won’t burn you.” There is a way in the desert, a path in the wilderness. Let's meet there. And we’ll go home together.
You know, as thrilling as these last two weeks have been up here in the sanctuary, I continue to be moved to tears by your faithfulness, by this community’s steadfastness, in keeping watch in that hallway two floors below: in keeping watch that one particular immigrant—who has surely walked through the fire, who has passed many times through the waters—be kept safe from harm and reminded of his own calling, reminded of his own precious calling in the eyes of God. You have been brave. You have been steadfast. You have been faithful. Isaiah’s words made flesh in your kindness and courage.
 |
| Chicago, IL, November 2025 |
4.
The thing is, my friends, that Christ is already among us. Advent has everything to do with keeping watch and resisting despair. We light these four candles, week by week, not because we’re worried he might not show; but because he’s among us and we must help one another remember. This is the radical confession, even the animating confession of our Christian faith. That Christ is sheltering in a church basement, even now, aching for his family far away. Stepping out from time to time for a long conversation in the hallway, about things that matter most. Wow. That Christ is among us in two women who never in their wildest dreams imagined being baptized together; but there they are on a Sunday morning, drenched in rivers of gladness, surrounded by new friends and a whole new family. Two women loved and affirmed for the commitments they’ve made to one another and to God. And, yes, wow. That Christ is among us, a composer of hymns to grace and gladness, a choreographer of jazz bands and church choirs; Christ inspiring us, on a stool, in a mask, to dream dreams of justice and join our voices as one in sweet determination and delight.
“Because I have put water in the desert,” says God, “and streams in the wilderness, to give water to my people, my chosen ones, the people whom I formed for myself, who will recount my praise…” If we have eyes to see, and if we have ears to hear, Christ is never far, never distant, and always, always among us.
So here’s my pitch. There’s a lot of stress in the world these days. You know this is true. In the larger arenas of political life, institutional fragility, and economic disruption. And in our own families, perhaps, and certainly the vulnerability many of us feel around mental health and despair. There’s a lot of stress in our lives. And most of us are feeling it. But I encourage you to take today’s bulletin home this afternoon, find an index card or just a scrap of paper, and take out a good pen. If possible, a bright color! And maybe you’ll copy onto that index card these two verses from Isaiah 43: verses two and three:
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;And maybe that little index card, just those two verses become the first gift of this Advent season. Not a prayer you say to God; but a prayer God offers gladly to you. Maybe you fold the prayer up, tuck it in a pocket or a purse, and you know that it’s there. Maybe you pull it out from time to time, and you begin to understand. That this is for you. That this is for you and that this is for all of us. That this is for you and that this is for the friend downstairs. That this is for you and that this is for the choir director on Wednesday night. This is for the two women we baptized last week and for their remarkable family of beautiful, fragile, precious children.
when through the rivers, they won’t sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire, you won’t be scorched
and flame won’t burn you.
I am the Lord your God,
the holy one of Israel, your savior.
So let this, then, be the Gospel that binds us all. Let this, then, be the Gospel that makes us new. Let this be the Gospel that transforms our Christmas celebration from just another holiday to the prayer we need the most. The prayer God offers to us.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;Keep it close.
when through the rivers, they won’t sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire, you won’t be scorched
and flame won’t burn you.
I am the Lord your God,
the holy one of Israel, your savior.
Amen and Ashe!
