3 Epiphany

 

January 25, 2026

 

Matthew 4.12-23

 

+ Well, here we are on this Annual Meeting Sunday once again.

 

And I have to say, sometimes Annual Meeting Sunday is a time to rejoice and sometimes it can be a time to despair.

 

That simply is the way parishes work sometimes.

 

Well, this morning, as we gather for Annual Meeting, we do so rejoicing.

 

It has been a truly great year.

 

And we had a great Stewardship campaign.

 

I thank Laura Nylander especially for her hard work on Stewardship this year.

 

But what I especially want to thank her for is helping us do a spiritual reappraisal of pledging of our time, our talent and our financial means.

 

She has helped us truly see our resources here for what they are—gifts from God.

 

Manna from heaven.

 

Part of the offering we make to God for all that God has done for us.

 

Thank you, Laura, for that and all you do.

 

We gather for our Annual Meeting in a very good place.

 

St. Stephen’s is a vital, healthy congregation.

 

And we should rejoice in that fact today.

 

And we are a place in which we are truly committed to our following of Jesus.

 

 

In our Gospel reading for today, we hear this call to “follow” Jesus.

 

Now, if you’re anything like me, following is not an easy thing to do.

 

I know I preach a lot about following Jesus and how a Christian is a follower.

 

But, deep down, sometimes such talk really grates on me at times.

 

I am not a natural follower.

 

I’m not the kind of person who falls in line very well.

 

I’ve always kind of done my own thing.

 

As many of you know.

 

And so when we come across this talk of Jesus telling us to follow him, I will do it.

 

I get it.

 

I understand it.

 

And I try hard to do it.

 

But it has not been easy for me at times.

 

And I can imagine if I had lived in his time, I would’ve been the one who would have done so a bit reluctantly.

 

I would have been the disciple standing off to the side, with my arms crossed.

 

I’d be there.

 

I’d be listening.

 

And I would follow.

 

But I’d do so with a bit of a drag in my feet as I did it.

 

And you know what?

 

That’s all right.

 

The fact is, we don’t all have to follow Jesus in the same way.

 

Some of us might be enthusiastic.

 

Some of us might…not.

 

Being a follower of Jesus doesn’t mean being a stereotype.

 

It doesn’t mean I have to follow him the same way you follow him.

 

We can follow in our own particular way.

 

The key isn’t how we follow him.

 

The key is that we simply do follow in whatever way we can.

 

This is our rallying cry on this Annual Meeting Sunday.

 

Today it is a time for us to stop and to think about the unique and eclectic ways in which we can follow Jesus in this coming year as a congregation and as individuals.

 

But, as I say that, I want to stress one very important thing:

 

Following—and this is real point for me in all of this—doesn’t mean conforming.

 

Which is what makes us, especially here at St. Stephen’s, so…how shall I say it...eclectic.

 

Notice that I didn’t say eccentric.

 

Though we are definitely that as well.

 

Following means doing what Jesus did.

 

Following means striving to be what Jesus was to those he encountered.

 

Following Jesus means embodying Jesus.

 

Being his presence in a world that needs his presence. 

 

Being a loved child of God just as Jesus was himself a loved Child of God.

 

And that means standing up, like Jesus to the authorities of this world that demean and fracture us.

 

It means standing up and speaking out against those forces that treat people like trash, like less-than.

 

Or just murder people in the streets of Minneapolis like dogs

 

It means being a presence for those children of God who seen by others as refuse, as something to be marginalized and arrested and discarded.

 

And murdered.

 

As followers of Jesus we are called to stand up—strongly, surely, and without fear—to proclaim our equality before God.

 

I stress that---without fear.

 

We have all been called by Jesus, just as he called the disciples in today’s Gospel, to be fishers of people.

 

And doing so means following him in all that we do in the name of justice and equality.

 

In our collect for today, we prayed

 

Give us grace, O Lord, to answer readily the call of our Savior Jesus Christ and proclaim to all people the Good News of his salvation, that we and the whole world may perceive the glory of his marvelous works…

 

I think that is pretty good summary of what following Jesus entails.

 

We are compelled us to answer the call of Jesus and to proclaim to all people the Good News of the Kingdom of God.

 

And that Good News is that we are all God’s children.

 

We are loved by our God.

 

And in God’s eyes, we are all equal.

 

In today’s Gospel, when we find Jesus and his first followers going through Galilee, “proclaiming the good news of the kingdom,” we realize that call to us to be “fishers of people” is not necessarily a call to holier-than-thou.

 

It is not a call to be exactly like everyone else in our proclamation.

 

Proclaiming the good news and being fishers of people might simply involve us communicating the truth of that reality in our own unique way

 

It means being a followers of Jesus and a loved child of God  through our demeanor, through the choices we make in our lives and the very way we live our lives.

 

It means standing up for what is right in our own way.

 

And it means doing so without fear.

 

If we do so in such a way, our whole life then becomes a kind of walking sermon, even if we personally don’t say a word.

 

“Follow me and I will make you fishers for people,” Jesus said to those first followers.

 

 And he continues to say that to each of us this morning, and in our year ahead.

 

So, today, on this Annual Meeting Sunday, let us follow him.

 

Let us follow him to whatever place he leads us in our lives.

 

Let us stand up for truth.

 

Let us stand up for justice.

 

Let us stand up for equality.

 

Let us stand up and pray aloud the name Renee Good.

 

Let us stand up and pray aloud the name Alex Pretti.

Let us stand up.

 

Let us speak out.

 

Let us give essentially give a strong—though wholly Christian—equivalent of a middle finger to ICE and all the forces of injustice and violence that not only back ICE but that give ICE the authority and power it has to do the evil it does.

 

Let us do so.

 

Without fear.

 

Let us not let fear win out in our lives and in this world.

 

We are the ones who can stand up and fight against fear and injustice and inequality by simply being who we are.

 

We have nothing to fear.

 

How can I say that?

 

Because, I know this:

 

The forces of violence and injustice WILL be brought down.

 

Those who promote what we are witnessing will be brought to justice.

 

History shows us that.

 

God promises that.

 

The saints proclaim that again and again.

 

Let us go out and proclaim this amazing message of God’s all-powerful love  in our own unique and eclectic way.

 

Let us fish for people and let us bring in a hearty harvest.

 

This is what it is all about.

 

This is how we truly follow Jesus where he leads.

 

And knowing this—truly knowing this—we can follow him—even when we are tired and broken and exhausted—with true joy and gladness singing in our hearts.

 

I close to day with yet another item Annette Morrow sent me just as I was leaving the house this morning for church.

 

Annette has an uncanny ability to do this, since she just did it a few weeks ago. 

 

 

This a prayer by Prairie Rose.

 

 

Holy Mystery, God of breath and body,

God who walks streets in cold air and feels pavement under wounded feet,

We come to you shattered and furious, our hearts pounding with grief and disbelief. Again, a life has been taken in the open air, on streets meant for neighbors, not executions.

We name this violence.

WE NAME THIS VIOLENCE. Terror.

We do not soften it. We will not soften it.

We refuse to call it anything but what it is.

Holy one, they’re gathering the martyrs. Minnesota martyrs, we pray for the martyrs, those whose lives have been stolen by the machinery of the state. Witnesses, martyrs, hold them in your mercy. Wrap their families, their loved ones, their communities in a care so strong it does not erase their rage, and steadies them to survive.

We pray for the observers, for those who stand in yellow vests and plain clothes, for those who step forward when fear says step back, those who put their bodies between weapons and breath. Those who now know they could be sacrificed to this machine of hate, terrorizing our streets, putting fear into our children and families.

Holy holy, bless the witnesses. Protect those who choose presence over safety, truth and solidarity over silence. Hold those who stand now as shields, who carry cameras, notebooks, radios, prayers, who know they may be targeted and go anyway. As they patrol, alert and stand up, hedge them with protection.

We pray for those who understand that witness itself has become an act of resistance, that seeing and being seen is now a risk, that some are called to lay down their bodies not because they seek sacrifice, but because they refuse abandonment.

We will not abandon our neighbor.

We will not abandon our community.

We will not abandon the martyrs.

We will not abandon justice.

Guard them, Holy One. Sharpen their clarity without hardening their hearts. Keep them alive.

Let them all come home.

We pray for the vulnerable those without protection, with and without documentation, without power, without rest.

For children who learn fear too young.

For elders who have seen this before

and are tired of this fight.

We ask not for calm, but for courage.

Teach us to pray with our feet, to pray with our schedules, to pray with our money, our voices, our bodies. Let our love show up in the streets, in courtrooms, in shelters, in policy rooms and holding cells.

When we are too exhausted to hope, hold hope for us. When we are too angry to speak gently,

hold us anyway. When the weight of this all feels unbearable, remind us that we are not carrying it alone.

Be with Minnesota

Be with those who mourn.

Be with those who witness.

Be with those who resist.

Move us.

Send us.

Do not let us look away.

Holy One. hear our prayers.

Amen

 

 

 

2 Epiphany

January 18, 2026

 

John 1.29-42

 

+ This past week, we had a couple of visitors to the church.

 

As they looked around at the windows and the stations of the cross and all the others things from our church, they were especially taken with our altar.

 

And more specifically with the illustration of the Lamb on it.

 

They just could not stop talking about how powerful that image was, and how appropriate it was to have it on our altar.

 

When I designed the altar about five years ago, I really struggled to find what the center piece should be.

 

I knew I wanted the Alpha and Omega on the sides.

 

That was a nod to the original altar that stood in the church from 1956-1970.

 

But that center piece was a struggle.

 

I tried different illustrations about—there was a Last Supper, there was a Celtic
cross. There were a few I don’t even remember.

 

But then I came across this.

 

The artist is not known.

 

It actually was a design made for a rubber stamp by a company that advertised on Pinterest.

 

But, when I saw it, I remember just feeling as though I had been struck by lightning.

 

This was it!

 

It was perfect!

 

And it really fit who we are at St. Stephen’s

 

And since the altar was built and installed and consecrated, people have told me how drawn they are to that image.

 

It’s a great image.

 

All of this, of course, hits home to me this week because, of course, our Gospel reading for today deals with Christ as the Lamb of God.

 

And for some reason, this past week, as I was meditating on our Gospel reading for today, the whole image of Jesus as the Lamb of God really came home to me in a new way.

 

In today’s Gospel reading we find John the Baptist calling out not once but twice, identifying Jesus as the Lamb of God.

 

It’s a seemingly very nice image of Jesus.

 

A nice fluffy, sweet-natured lamb.

 

But…is that the right image we have of Jesus?

 

If God chose have the Son to be incarnate in the flesh, would God want that Son to be looked upon as a sweet, fluffy lamb?

 

No, not all.

 

And that’s not what John is getting at when we calls out the way he does.

 

Sweet and gentle is not what John saw when he observed Jesus as the Lamb of God.

 

For John, what he observed when he looked at Jesus and saw the Lamb of God walking past, was truly a  thing that would most vegans cringe:

 

He saw that sacrifice that was seen in the Temple in Jerusalem.

 

There, the lamb was sacrificed—and quite violently sacrificed—as a sin offering for the people.

 

He saw before him not Jesus the man, but the sacrificial Lamb, broken and bleeding.

 

To be fair, in our own images of the Lamb of God here on our altar, we don’t have a fluffy little lamb.

 

The image we have on our altar here is not a sweet lamb.

 

Look at it.

 

That is a defiant lamb!

 

It is a Lamb that stares right at us and confronts us.

 

And, if you look closely, you will see the Lamb pierced.

 

We see blood pouring from the side of the Lamb.

 

We see a sacrificed Lamb.

 

And that look of strength and defiance can also be seen directed at the one who has done the piercing.

 

And in the midst of all of that, there is a banner the Lamb is holding.

 

Do you see it?

 

It has one word.

 

PAX.

 

PEACE.

 

Awwww, sweet Peace!

 

What a wonderful concept!

 

See, why I love this image so much!

 

We also find other references to the Lamb in our Eucharistic celebration.

 

On Sunday morning and Wednesday night Eucharists, we sing the Agnes Dei—the Lamb of God—after I have broken the bread.

 

 I am so happy we do that.

 

This “fraction anthem” as we call it, carries such meaning.

 

In it we sing, essentially:

 

Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us

 

Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us.

 

Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, grant us---what?----

 

---PAX----

 

---- peace----.

 

Then you see me hold up the broken bread and the Deacon hold sup the chalice and you hear me say,

 

“This is the Lamb of God. This is the One who takes away the sins of the world. Happy are we who are called to this supper.”

 

That broken body.

 

That shed blood.

 

That sacrifice.

 

I cannot tell you how many times I have stood at this altar during that anthem and looked down at the broken bread on that paten and looked into that cup and had a moment of spiritual clarity.

 

So many times I have looked at the broken bread and the cup and thought,

 

This is truly the Lamb of God.

 

For me, that moment of spiritual clarity is very much like the moment John announces Jesus as the Lamb.

 

For me, it might as well be the Baptist’s voice in my ear, announcing to me that “This is the One!”

 

And it should be for all of us.

 

But all of this is more than just some mystical experience is this concept of the Lamb being broken.

 

Why do we break the bread at the Eucharist?

 

Why do I, when I hold up that broken bread with the chalice, and say, “This is the Lamb of God. This is the One who takes away the sins of the world…”?

 

We do it to symbolize the broken body of the Lamb.

 

The Lamb was broken.

 

The Lamb was sacrificed.

 

And it is importance to recognize that.

 

Trust me, we understand brokenness right now in our world, in our society, and, no doubt, many of us know it in our lives.

 

Let me tell you, that’s what’s going on in Minneapolis right now.

 

We are witnessing and experiencing is true brokenness.

 

And a response to brokenness.

 

Brokenness is part of this imperfect world in which we live.

 

And it is hard to bear.

 

When we gaze upon that broken bread, when we gaze upon that broken lamb, we gaze upon our own brokenness as well.

 

If we look at the Lab as something wholly other than ourselves, we have missed the point completely.

 

In following the Lamb, we are called to embody the Lamb.

 

We are called to be the Lamb to others.

 

And to do that, we must embrace our brokenness as well.

 

We see here on this altar before God the brokenness of our nation, of our world, of our own lives.

 

Right now.

 

But we gaze upon a God who understands our brokenness.

 

A God who understands these fractures and these pains each us bear within us and in this world in which we live.

 

A God who saw that brokenness in the Lamb who was sent to us.

 

But it also symbolizes something even more practical.

 

We break bread, so we can share it.

 

We don’t get the option of just sitting around, wallowing in our brokenness.

 

We don’t get to just close up and rock back and forth in pain over the unfairness of this world and society and our lives.

 

We are called to go out and do something about our brokenness.

 

We break this bread and then break it and then break it again until it becomes small pieces that we must share with one another.

 

By sharing Jesus’s message of love and compassion and peace and wholeness to a broken world and to broken people, by sharing of our broken selves, we do something meaningful.

 

We undo our brokenness.

 

We become whole by sharing our brokenness.

 

It means we take what we have eaten here—this Lamb, this Jesus, God’s Son, God’s Messiah, who knew pain and suffering and death—and we share this Jesus with others, through our love, through our actions of love, through our acceptance of all people in love.

 

It is not enough that we simply recognize the Lamb.

 

We must recognize the Lamb, broken for us, so that we can share the Lamb with others.

 

And that is the purpose of our lives as followers of Jesus.

 

Yes, we gather here and are Christians.

 

But we are also gathered here so we can go out and share this Lamb that has been revealed to us.

 

And in sharing the Lamb, others too can share the Lamb.

 

So, let us listen to the voice of the Baptist proclaiming in our ears, “Behold the Lamb of God!”

 

Let us hear that voice when Deacon John and I hold up the Bread and the Chalice.

 

Let us hear that voice as we come forward to share that bread and drink from that chalice.

 

But let us be that voice when we leave here.

 

Let us actually BE God’s Lamb, in our own brokenness, in all that we do as Christians, in the differences we make in this world around, in all the good we do and say in our lives.

 

When we do that we will find ourselves, as we heard in the collect from this morning, “illuminated by [God’s] Word and Sacraments.”

 

And being illuminated, we will “shine, even in our broken state, with a light that will burn away the darkness of hate and division in our midst. Amen.