A Thought For The Week Of January 18, 2016

"For with you is the fountain of life; in your light we see light." (Psalm 36:9) When I read these words, my mind immediately jumped back to the three baptisms I conducted this past Sunday, and to the many baptisms I've conducted over the years. I was especially taken with the image of God as a "fountain of life." When I think of fountains, many different things come into my head. There are very gentle fountains that don't do much more than fill a pool that then overflows, with the water then being recycled and the whole process starting again. Then there are the more powerful fountains that literally shoot jets of water up into the air - but, of course, once again it falls back into some sort of pool when gravity takes over and - again - the water is recycled and the process starts all over again. The more I think of it, the more I realize that this may not be a bad analogy for God. Sometimes God is very gentle with us, just gradually brimming over. Other times, God soars into the skies above us - a symbol of power, commanding our attention. Either way, God is there as a fountain of life, the Bible says. And as often as we may try to push God away, just like the water of a fountain God cannot be stopped. Rather, God continues to reach out to us, over and over again, until we finally draw near and take a closer look.

January 17, 2016 sermon: The Still Waters Of Baptism

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul. He leads me in right paths for his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff - they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.

(Psalm 23:1-6)

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     It may be the best known Scripture passage that there is. Even people with little or no church background can recite at least a few words of it, possibly even without realizing that it comes from the Bible. It’s the 23rd Psalm, also called the Shepherd’s Psalm. I chose it today to help us reflect upon baptism. I’ll readily acknowledge that it’s an unusual choice. Most people are probably familiar with the use of the 23rd Psalm as an end of life sort of ritual. Over the years, when I’ve been with people who are approaching the end of their lives, they’ve often asked me to read the 23rd Psalm, and the 23rd Psalm is a common reading at funeral services. Perhaps we might even come to think that death and dying are what the 23rd Psalm is about. And how wrong we would be if we came to that conclusion. So I chose today to think of the 23rd Psalm not as an end of life reading, but as a start of life reading. As we baptize three children today, I want to focus on the idea that God leads us “beside still waters.” I believe that the 23rd Psalm has some important lessons to teach us about life and God and faith - which are surely the things that baptism is really all about.

     The waters that the Psalm is referring to are almost certainly the waters of the Jordan River. As I was saying with the children, the Jordan River is important - even essential - to the people of that region. It is today; it always has been. It’s no exaggeration to say that the waters of the Jordan River are life-giving waters. The Jordan River is almost certainly what was on the mind of the author of the 23rd Psalm when those words were written; the Jordan River is where Jesus himself was baptized, most probably at a small pool of water fed by the Jordan called Al-Maghtas. In its headwaters to the north the Jordan is a rather  turbulent river with steep drops and violent rapids, but by the time it reaches the place where the 23rd Psalm would have been written or where Jesus was baptized, the Jordan becomes a very calm, meandering sort of river - still waters, indeed. And because of how important it is as a source of fresh water - a literal source of life - it’s no surprise that the Jordan would come to be looked on as a symbol of the life-giving qualities of God. Jesus, in a way, began his ministry on the banks of the Jordan River with his baptism in those still waters. And, upon his baptism, a voice came from heaven, declaring, “This is my son, whom I love. With him I am well pleased.”

     Baptism is always a beginning. Baptism should never be looked upon as a mere rite of passage, or as an end in itself. Baptism is the start of a life that is meant to be dedicated and devoted to God. Baptism is the start of a life meant to be guided by faith.  If baptism makes no difference, then baptism is worth nothing. But baptism matters. That’s why we’re here. But baptism matters only if it’s a beginning, and never if it’s an end. That’s why I find the 23rd Psalm to be an interesting reflection for us as we think about baptism. Baptism is the start of a life meant to be guided by faith, and the 23rd Psalm teaches us some valuable lessons about both life and faith.

     A life of faith isn’t promised to be an easy life; a life lived with God isn’t promised to be a prosperous life - and the 23rd Psalm acknowledges that. It tells us that from time to time we’ll have to travel through the darkest valleys; it doesn’t tell us that we won’t have to face evil - it tells us not to fear the evil that we face. It tells us that we’ll have enemies to contend with. No. There’s nothing easy about this life of faith that starts with baptism. There will be trials and hardships and illnesses and - yes - eventually even death to contend with. Faith isn’t a free ticket away from those things; baptism gives us no exemptions. I’m not promising that because of what we’ve done today everything in Morgan’s or Evan’s or Jace’s life is going to go completely smoothly. There will always be challenges and problems. But, if they can hold on to faith and if we can hold on to faith, there will also always be God.

     I love the imagery of the 23rd Psalm. It acknowledges the reality of life - with all its challenges, but also with all of God’s promises. Green pastures, still waters, a table prepared, a cup overflowing, goodness and mercy being with us all the days we live. And, finally, eternity with God.

     I think about Jesus being baptized at Al-Maghtas on the banks of the Jordan River. That still water of the Jordan suddenly means a lot to me. Whenever we baptize today we’re baptizing in those same still waters - not in the same place but with the same faith. These waters represent no escape from trouble, but they do give us a place to return to, to rest in the presence of God, to be strengthened to face the next chapter. Those still waters of baptism mean a lot to us. Water is life giving and life enhancing - and even peaceful, still water is powerful. And water can teach us a lot. Margaret Atwood wrote that “Water does not resist, water flows ... water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. ... If you can't go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does.”

     Those are good words - words to live by, in fact. May the still waters of baptism remind us all that even when life is at its most chaotic and even if everything seems to be falling apart - there is somewhere we can go to find rest, and to gain the strength to go around those obstacles that appear in our way. That somewhere isn’t  a place - but in our spirit we can always go back to the still waters of baptism, and find the peace that Jesus promises us, and the strength to carry on.
   

   

A Thought For The Week Of January 11, 2016

"When King Herod heard this he was disturbed, and all Jerusalem with him." (Matthew 2:3) Yesterday in church, I spoke on the subject of epiphany, using Isaiah's prophecy. This, of course, is the traditional epiphany reading - the story of the magi. And as I read it last week I found myself wondering why "all Jerusalem" was disturbed? Herod I could understand. The fact that someone else (even a child) was being called "the King of the Jews" was a threat to him. But why "all Jerusalem"? I would have thought that at least a big part of Jerusalem would have been overjoyed at the thought that someone else might be the "King of the Jews." Herod, after all, was a ruthless, petty tyrant, who had no legitimate claim to the throne. He was a Roman puppet, despised by the people at least in part for that reason. So - shouldn't at least some of Jerusalem be happy at this news? Perhaps even overjoyed? Shouldn't this be an early version of Palm Sunday? Haven't the magi who spoke to Herod essentially brought a message of the liberation of the people from Herod's rule (and, by extension, Rome's rule)? And doesn't that make this even messianic? And yet, "all Jerusalem" was "disturbed." Why? I wonder if the people weren't simply worried that this potential liberator or messiah might just upset the apple cart, so to speak? Living under the rule of Rome and Herod was no picnic - but perhaps there was a bit of "the devil we know" attitude here. Just how much trouble might the appearance of messiah cause? (Plenty, as it would turn out, and pretty quickly!) Perhaps the people would have preferred just to leave everything as it was. And perhaps we learn something about ourselves from this. The reality is that for many people their troubles are rather predictable. We can get into a routine with them, find coping mechanisms, learn to live with them. There's a certain comfort to a routine - even if it's not a happy one. But Jesus promises change - and change can be a frightening thing, even if the status quo isn't all that pleasant. Maybe it's not that hard to understand why "all Jerusalem" was "disturbed" by messiah's appearance; maybe it's not that hard to understand why so many today prefer to ignore or dismiss Jesus. In some ways that makes everything so much easier, because change is frightening. Jesus might very well turn the world upside down if we let him. In a way that might seem scary - but take a good, long look at the world and ask yourself: Would that really be a bad thing?

January 10, 2016 sermon: A Live Epiphany Scene

Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you. For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the Lord will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you. Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn. Lift up your eyes and look around; they all gather together, they come to you; your sons shall come from far away, and your daughters shall be carried on their nurses’ arms. Then you shall see and be radiant; your heart shall thrill and rejoice, because the abundance of the sea shall be brought to you, the wealth of the nations shall come to you. A multitude of camels shall cover you, the young camels of Midian and Ephah; all those from Sheba shall come. They shall bring gold and frankincense, and shall proclaim the praise of the Lord.

(Isaiah 60:1-6)

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     Almost everyone knows what a live nativity scene is. Many of you have probably gone to one at one time or another, or perhaps you’ve even been a part of one. They start to appear sometime in December as Christmas approaches. They’re a re-creation of the scene at the manger on Christmas night. There are two main differences between a live nativity scene and the sort of Christmas pageants that often take place in churches. One is that the live nativity is outdoors, and the church Christmas pageant is indoors. The other is that the live nativity scene uses real animals. So the manger is surrounded by real sheep. For some reason that’s hard to fathom, churches shy away from having live sheep in their sanctuaries, and so we usually have children dressed up as sheep (and possibly a few teenagers as we had a few weeks ago.) Most of us have seen live nativity scenes, but in the last few days I started wondering what a live Epiphany scene would look like.

     Epiphany was last Wednesday. It’s always on January 6. The name comes from the Greek root word “epiphanos,” which means basically “the manifestation” or “the revelation” or something along those lines. In an epiphany, something is suddenly revealed that had either been hidden or had only been understood very vaguely. A veil gets removed; darkness gets lifted; light appears. Isaiah speaks of light - “your light has come,” is how the prophet put it. Suddenly - we know. There may still be some mystery. We may not know exactly what has happened - but we know that something has happened that has changed our lives. Change and transformation are a big part of epiphany experiences. Light always changes the world. Some have said that the most important invention in human history was Thomas Edison’s invention of the first commercially viable light bulb. With the light bulb providing a consistent and clean source of light, all of a sudden human lives were no longer governed by the rising and setting of the sun. The light bulb revolutionized human society almost 150 years ago in the same way cell phones have done - suddenly, there didn’t have to be any down time. Night and day didn’t matter. I’d like to think that the Epiphany that happened with the appearance of Jesus revolutionized human society as well - but in a perhaps more peaceful and gentle and productive way.

     The great Epiphany story of the Bible , of course, is the story of the appearance of the magi to present gifts to Jesus and to worship him. We get it wrong, of course. For whatever reason we’ve forced it into the Christmas story, so that the magi appear at the manger, but actually Matthew’s Gospel tells us that they travelled from the east and came to King Herod, explaining that they were looking for the one whose coming had been foretold by a star - and Herod was disturbed. The magi then found Jesus as a boy at a house. This is a different story from what Luke tells us. The magi were Gentiles. Traditionally we portray them as three - and in most artwork, one is pictured as black, one as white and one as Asian, which is a way of saying that they represent all the races of the world who now share with Israel knowledge of God. There’s another epiphany story in the Bible that’s less known as an epiphany story. It’s in John 12. Jesus has entered Jerusalem to the cheers of the crowds, and the Pharisees were disturbed. “The whole world has gone after him,” they cried, and then (as if to show that what the Pharisees had said was true) some Greeks appear in the story. They go to Philip and say, “sir, we would like to see Jesus.” Again - people from outside the Jewish community have heard of Jesus in some way, and they’ve appeared with a desire to find him. The point of both stories is that Jesus came for the world. This is the message of Epiphany. Jesus came for the world. No one can box him in or claim him as simply their own. The role of believers is simply to be the light that draws people to an encounter with Jesus. So, at a time of year when the live nativity scenes that draw people to see them are finished, where are the live epiphany scenes?

     There’s a need for them. The prophet Isaiah wrote that “darkness shall cover the earth and thick darkness the people.” There is darkness out there. One of the more interesting public opinion polls I’ve ever seen was one conducted back in 2011. It suggested that 30% of Canadians don’t believe in God. That I didn’t find surprising. What surprised me about the poll was that 28% of those who self-identified as Protestants said that they didn’t believe in God. Which, to me, is mind boggling. But perhaps it’s not that surprising. Our culture seems to deliberately discourage the light of faith from shining. I’m not getting into the silliness that some people spread about Christianity being persecuted in our society. It’s not persecution. It’s the growing belief that religion and faith are private matters; that they’re not to be spoken of in public. Religion and faith are for home and church and nowhere else. And too often we give in to that. We stop being light; we stop sharing the stories of our faith; we stop inviting others to explore this faith that’s so precious to us. And we do it in spite of Isaiah’s call for us to be an Epiphany: “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you,” the prophet said. “For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the Lord will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you.” If there’s darkness out there - and as I said, I believe there is - then we are called to confront it. We are to arise and shine with the light of God. Jesus said to his disciples that he was the light of the world, but he also told his disciples that they were to be the light of the world. So, the truth is that we don’t really need live nativity scenes. What we need are live epiphany scenes. Where do we find those? The answer is simple: look around you.

     We are the live epiphany scene. We are the light that is to draw the world to Jesus. Sometimes we think that’s hard work, or that it’s scary to think of doing it, but it doesn’t have to be. I’m not talking about door to door evangelism or street corner preaching. Rachel Held Evans is 34 years old and lives in Tennessee. She left the Christian faith after a fundamentalist upbringing and returned to faith as an Episcopalian and she’s now a well known writer and commenter on the religious scene. Here’s what she wrote about her journey back to faith:

What finally brought me back, after years of running away ... was ... Baptism, confession, Communion, preaching the Word, anointing the sick - ... those strange rituals and traditions Christians have been practicing for the past 2,000 years. [These] are what make the church relevant, no matter the culture or era. They don’t need to be repackaged or rebranded; they just need to be practiced, offered and explained in the context of a loving, authentic and inclusive community. ... No one’s trying to sell me anything. No one’s desperately trying to make the Gospel hip or relevant or cool. They’re just joining me in proclaiming the great mystery of the faith - that Christ has died, Christ has risen, and Christ will come again - which, in spite of my persistent doubts and knee-jerk cynicism, I still believe most days.

     Rachel Held Evans journeyed back to Jesus because she encountered a live epiphany scene: light shining from people who simply chose to be authentically themselves, and authentically for Jesus. I hope that as you look around you in this sanctuary on any given Sunday, you’ll also see a live epiphany scene, and I hope we’ll continue to live as that live Epiphany scene when we leave this place, sharing light, showing others the love of God and drawing them to Jesus.

An Image Of The Universe That Makes Me Feel God's Presence

This is an image of the universe:

I came across it yesterday. It's been on my mind since, and it leaped up at me this morning as I was reading a "short version" of a doctoral thesis written by a colleague who's seeking feedback. The thesis is on the subject of helping congregations and congregants "feel" the presence of God - and I realized as I was reading it that this image had that effect on me, and I thought perhaps writing about it would help me understand why. It's not a "picture" per se. It's more of a composition or an interpretation. It was made by the Argentinian artist and musician Pablo Carlos Budassi, who drew this image of the universe from the perspective of the Hubble Telescope. The edges of the picture are the farthest things that Hubble can detect; what's in the middle is, I suppose, Hubble itself - our planet, our solar system. I shared some brief reflections on this image yesterday on some of the social media sites and boards that I participate on, and I haven't really been able to let go of the image. I found it to be very moving and very inspiring. To me, when I saw it, it brought my mind immediately to a place where I could see God through this image. It brought back to my mind what were probably the first stirrings of spirituality in my life (although I wouldn't have called it that at the time) when, as a child, I developed an interest in astronomy and the universe. So vast; so immense; so mysterious. There were "places" - planets and stars and galaxies - that we could see but could never possibly visit because they were so unimaginably distant. All these places existed in the realm of mere possibilities. What would they be like if we could actually go there? But even if all we could do was speculate about them, they were still there. Looking back on it, I think that was the beginning of my journey of faith. There was more to life than what I could understand or see or experience. I think that's what made this image appealing to me.

I've seen pictures of astronomical phenomenon. Beautiful pictures that also can be very moving. But they are pictures. In a way those kinds of pictures seem to be an attempt to strip away mystery by showing me what certain things look like. One of the first "space" pictures I remember seeing as a child was of the famous horsehead nebula:

It's interesting and intriguing, but somehow it took the mystery away. It became for me what it was - a cloud of dust and gas that looked like a horse's head. It wasn't unlike looking at the clouds in the sky and seeing shapes. It's fun, but it wasn't what I would call "spiritual."

A work like Budassi's does much more for my soul, if I can put it that way. At first I was troubled by the fact that the sun and our solar system were in the centre of the picture. Necessitated as it was by the way Budassi was putting his composition together, it still seemed a bit arrogant. But the more I thought about it, the more that seemed to make a valuable point. If we do live in an infinite universe (not everyone agrees with that theory, but it has a lot of support) then the fact is that we - every single one of us - is the centre of the universe, from our perspective. We usually use a phrase like "centre of the universe" to refer to selfishness or arrogance, but perhaps this is why the Budassi image, with the sun in the middle of everything , made such an impact on me. Seeing it as Budassi drew it, I realized that being the centre of the universe doesn't make me the most important thing in the universe; nor does it mean that everything revolves around me. Instead, it means I am immersed in something much bigger - in fact, immeasurably and even inconceivably bigger than myself. Far from arrogance, if that isn't humbling then I'm not sure what is. That's when the image starts to touch my soul; that's when I start to see God in the image.

I'm not arguing here for pantheism. It's not that the universe is God or that God is the universe. Not at all. But in the 24 hours or so since I discovered it, this image has become a sort of icon for me. It draws my mind and my spirit to God. It reminds me that an infinite God - who exists beyond time and beyond space - still loves me; that I am always in the centre of an infinite and eternal God's thoughts. But it also reminds me that the same can be said for all of us. The way this image is ut together just reminds me that each one of us are a part of something much greater than our minds can comprehend - a whole, possibly infinite, universe that was created by an even more unimaginably powerful and still loving God. I've never really been much into icons, but at least for now, this image has become something of an icon for me.

A Thought For The Week Of January 4, 2016

"Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!" (2 Corinthians 9:15) God's gift. We've just come through a time of year when it's natural for us to think about gifts. The funny thing about Christmas presents is that while we're thankful to have received them and thankful for those who have given them, the reality is that few if any of the Christmas gifts we receive are going to change our lives in any significant way. Some, even as grateful as we are to have received them, may even have disappointed us. Those ones weren't really what we wanted, we aren't going to use them, and likely we're going to put them away and not think about them much anymore. Such is the reality of Christmas gifts. But then there is the gift of God - the "indescribable gift" as the Bile calls it. What exactly is that? I suppose it could be looked at in many ways. First and foremost is seems reasonable to think of it as Jesus - not in the sentimental way that Jesus gets thought of at Christmas (as a baby in a manger) but as the Incarnate God who lowered himself out of love to live a human life. That's actually so indescribable that many people can't even begin to believe it! And there are other gifts from God - invariably connected to Jesus. Things like peace, joy, love and hope - the gifts we reflect on during Advent.We're thankful for God's forgiveness, which tells us not to be burdened by our past failures. We're thankful for God's grace, which assures us that we can never be separated from God. We're thankful for the Bible which offers us guidance. We're thankful for the Holy Spirit, who keeps us ever aware of God's presence. We're thankful for faith, which allows us to believe even in those moments when we're facing doubts. These are all gifts from God - all of which should move us to expressions of thankfulness. "Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift." So many gifts, in fact, that the sheer volume makes it impossible to describe them adequately or to number them appropriately.

January 3, 2016 sermon: Yet Another New Beginning

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God. And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth. (John testified to him and cried out, “This was he of whom I said, ‘He who comes after me ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’”) From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known.

(John 1:1-18)

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     John’s Gospel begins “in the beginning.” Appropriate enough, I suppose, but it is the only book of the Bible that dares to deliberately connect itself with the grand story of creation that we find at the beginning of the Bible, in the Book of Genesis: “In the beginning,” says the Book of Genesis - “when God created the heavens and the earth.” And John picks up this language and this theme, making me wonder if - just perhaps - John doesn’t intend for his Gospel to be a sort of extended commentary on the creation story itself. It certainly starts out that way. John says “in the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God,” and Genesis tells us that God created by the Word: “and God said ‘let there be light,’ and there was light,” etc. etc. And John tells us that “All things came into being through [the Word] and without him not one thing came into being.” John, as a witness to the life of Jesus, is telling us that in Jesus he saw for himself the creative and life giving power of God in: “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” John and Genesis create for us a magnificent portrait on paper of an unimaginable scale of all that exists, and then John tells us that, ultimately, what it comes down to is Jesus. That creative and living force that was God’s Word became Jesus, and continues today the divine work of creating - now a transformative work to return things to that picture of perfection that we eventually come to at the end of the Genesis creation story when we’re told that God saw everything he had created - and it was all good.

     All this hearkens back to a time that can only be described as “in the beginning.” What an appropriate way to begin a new year of worship as we gather together on the first Sunday of 2016 to continue that never-ending journey of faith; that never-ending quest to really know Christ.

     What can we say of Christ based on this passage known as the Prologue to John’s Gospel. Well, we can say that all things began with Christ. We can say that Christ has always been present; that Christ is the power of God; that it is through Christ that God has created everything that exists. We can say, as John clearly does, that Christ is God; that all that is God is contained in Christ: in Christ we see power, law, gospel, love, compassion, hope - life itself. All this in Christ! And we see that Christ came in the flesh - “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.”

     Incarnation. What a fancy sounding word. Incarnation. It means “the Word became flesh.” It means that Jesus was God in the flesh. It means that through Jesus God experienced a human life and all that it contains. It is the ultimate display of divine love for the creation that God would choose to become a part of the creation. For me everything about Christian faith - including the resurrection - takes its meaning from the incarnation. And yet, here we are on the Second Sunday of Christmas and many people want to rush ahead and make today the celebration of Epiphany instead. I choose to pause. This is the Season of Christmas. The is the season when we mark and celebrate the incarnation of God. And I think there’s something truly meaningful about the fact that the Season of Christmas spans two calendars: that as one year ends with Christmas, the next year begins with Christmas. Our hope - from the beginning of our life to the end of our life - is ultimately found in the incarnation, just as the years begin and end with Christmas.

     T.S. Eliot, in Four Quartets (a set of four poems he wrote over a six year span), wrote that “Last year’s words belong to last year’s language. And next year’s words await another voice.” That may well be true, but what about this year? Because, really, it’s always this year. This year’s words - the words that mean the most to us at any given moment are our words of faith and how we express that faith. As our understanding of and our relationship with God deepens, our language about God broadens and changes; new images spring forth that help us capture the divine. But even more important, this year - and, again, it’s always this year - our word is God’s Word; the Word made flesh. And that word - God’s Word - is a constant. It has always been; it will always be. “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever.” Also in Four Quartets, T.S. Eliot wrote that ‘Time past and time future - What might have been and what has been - Point to one end, which is always present.” That one end - that which is always present - is God; God’s Word; Jesus Christ. Our beginning and our ending is established by the Word; our eternity is with the Word; our lives are lived surrounded by and immersed in the Word. That’s ultimately what faith is about.

     For us, today, January 3, 2016 - the first time we gather in a new year - is yet another new beginning. Throughout the year, may we keep in mind John’s thoughts: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God … The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” The rest of our faith flows from this!