​The Lord said to Moses, “Come up to me on the mountain, and wait there.
~Exodus 24:12a
 
…suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!”
~Matthew 17:5
 
Before Christmas, before Easter, there was Transfiguration. Paralleled in Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and referenced in Second Peter, it is one of the oldest feast days in the early church and, according to the scholarship, predates what are now these more dominant stories in the Christian calendar. What are we to make of this?
 
The hunger for encounter, for the exploration of the edges of our human experience and the meeting of the numinous, the mysterious, the holy that we hope and expect to encounter there reveals something of the hungers of heart and soul, the inner landscape of our lives. We seem to understand reflexively that we need to do our “edge work” if we are going to live life well, if we are going to be ok. We seem to know intuitively that our capacity to love and be loved absolutely requires following the story to the very precipices of life, and to the astonishing and transforming vision of the tender love and amazing grace we encounter there.
 
Enter into worship.
 
Readings: Exodus 24:12-18 † Psalm 2 † 2 Peter 1:16-21 † Matthew 17:1-9
 
About the Art: Moyers, Mike. Be Thou My Vision, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=57145 [retrieved February 4, 2026]. Original source: Mike Moyers, https://www.mikemoyersfineart.com/.

"A life not lived for others is not a life.”
~Mother Teresa
 
[God] has told you, O mortal, what is good;
and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God?.
~Micah 6:8
 
Do justice. Love kindness. Walk humbly. These are the simple, straightforward behaviors at the heart of true religion according to Micah.
 
Jesus’ words to the crowds in Matthew 5:1-12—the Beatitudes, or “blessings”—expand on Micah’s shorthand while also echoing the Torah, the commandments of Moses.
 
Interestingly, Jesus does not speak these as commands. He doesn’t speak them as if they are requirements of a demanding, record-keeping God, but as statements of fact, as a preexisting and confoundingly counter-intuitive reality. Blessed are the poor? The mourners? The hungry? Thomas Merton thought a better translation for meek was nonviolent. Blessed are the nonviolent? They will inherit the earth. Here, perhaps we can begin to make some cognitive leap toward what Jesus seems to be naming in Matthew—an upside-downness of this Way of Christ that turns us right-side up.
 
Enter into worship.
 
Readings: Micah 6:1-8 † Psalm 15 † 1 Corinthians 1:18-31 † Matthew 5:1-12
 
About the Art: Mother Theresa her Weapon : Relentless Compassion, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56291 [retrieved January 19, 2026]. Original source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/ladymissmarquise/4534743419.

"Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will send you out to fish for people.” At once they left their nets and followed him. 
~Matthew 4:19-20
 
What does it mean to fish for people? Many of us were told by church voices it was a sort of collection, a saving of souls of one kind or another, like gathering so many fish in a net, as if the entity that became “the church” was somehow the way of salvation rather than a sign of it.
 
Ironically this wouldn’t be good news for the fish! Nor has it been good news for other religions and their paths to God. These notions grew out of a particular identity, out of a sense that we who were doing the fishing had already achieved something—some understanding or status or privileged relationship with the holy that situated us on the inside of a circle we were looking to draw wider.
 
Is there another way to understand this that takes into account what we have learned about our own stories and others’, that resist our predilections toward division and the ego’s need for self-justification that drives it? “I belong to Apollos, ” “I belong to Cephas…” said our ancient Corinthian siblings in their embittered community. Paul rejoins, “Has Christ been divided?” (1 Corinthians 1:12-13).
 
The practice of the early church seemed to have much to do with making a space in the present for those who were not finding one. Mothers and brothers—siblings with which to travel life joyfully and with everything that was needed, an astonishingly rich tapestry of the human family. It was the presence of a new economy, if you will, and a way of thinking about whatever we do—fishing or otherwise—as a vocation, as a way to use what we have been given—talents and tongues, bread, education, medical care, time, even suffering—to bless and be blessed.
 
Enter into worship.
 
Readings: Isaiah 9:1-4 † Psalm 27:1-4-9 † 1 Corinthians 1:10-18 † Matthew 4:12-23
 
About the Art: Koenig, Peter. Ceiling Painting for St Bede's, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58545 [retrieved January 20, 2026]. Original source: Peter Winfried (Canisius) Koenig, https://www.pwkoenig.co.uk/.
 
About the Artist: Peter Koenig is a Catholic artist located in the United Kingdom. Of his work, he says, “The goal of my life is to make a richer Christian-Catholic art. I want to paint the drama, romance and poetry of the sacred book.”
 
This painting on the ceiling of St. Bede’s church in Newport Pagnell, UK, was inspired by a number of passages, including:
Psalm 144
Reach down your hand from on high;
deliver me and rescue me
from the mighty waters
Psalm 18
He reached down from on high and took hold of me;
he drew me out of deep waters.
Matthew 4
“Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will send you out to fish for people.” At once they left their nets and followed him.

[My servant] will not cry or lift up his voice,
or make it heard in the street;
     a bruised reed he will not break,
and a dimly burning wick he will not quench;
he will faithfully bring forth justice.
~Isaiah 43:2-3

The image from Isaiah—the first of the “servant” passages offers this breathtaking image of compassion, care, and gentleness: a bruised reed he will not break, nor snuff out a wick in danger of losing its fire. And yet, justice is the ultimate end of this tenderness. The contexts for both the ancient poet and our own share more than we would like to acknowledge. Black and brown bodies continue to be targeted by state actors. Our queer children and siblings are increasingly marginalized by policies that threaten their well-being. Our own leaders occupy the news programs with their neo-imperial message that we have every right to invade whichever countries we wish, to take and take whatever we want as long as we have the arms to do so. Abuses of power and callous demostrations of force are seemingly divorced from the well-being of people. We might wonder about the link between compassionate care and acquisitiveness, how the one can follow from the other.
 
And yet, here it is. Our Christian story suggests that the way to justice somehow travels through the wildernesses of vulnerability. This exposure is not something we want to achieve or experience. We do not seek it or praise it. But there is something about knowing vulnerability that can awaken in us a sense of the possible, of a dying to self that rebirths us as agents of solidarity, as the body of Christ in the world in which God genuinely delights.
 
Enter into worship.
 
Readings: Isaiah 42:1-9 † Psalm 29 † Acts 10:34-43 † Matthew 3:13-17
 
About the Art: Zelenka, Dave. Baptism of Christ, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56385 [retrieved January 6, 2026]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Baptism-of-Christ.jpg.​

And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.
~Matthew 2:12
 
Yet again in Matthew, a dream alters the future. This one comes to the magi (did they all three share it?). Do not trust Herod and his hungers. Go home by another way.
 
Another route home, of course, is also no new thing. Whenever we meet truth we are changed by it; souls awakened, lives transformed, we are set on a corrected path, the way forever altered.
 
Enter into worship.
 
Readings: Isaiah 60:1-6 † Psalm 72:1-7, 10-14 † Ephesians 3:1-12 † Matthew 2:1-12
 
About the Art: Herod with the Wise Men, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58872 [retrieved December 22, 2025]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Ahrweiler_St.Laurentius609.JPG.

14 Since, therefore, the children share flesh and blood, [Christ] himself likewise shared the same things, so that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death…
~Hebrews 2:14

Joseph the dreamer—not that one, not Jacob’s son, the one with the fabulous coat, but his namesake, the husband of Mary—is dreaming again. Things happen in the scriptures when this space between waking and sleeping is crossed! Three times on the heals of the Magi visit, in this short Matthew passage he dreams, and then acts, to save the child and his family from powerful forces protecting their narrow interests. He is attune not only to the message of the angels, but to the political realities on the ground and their intersection in time. 

The holy migrant family make a journey that mirrors that of Jacob’s son, finding hospitality and refuge in Egypt. Like so many families in our own time, they cross borders and rivers seeking safety from leaders who fume and plot and terrorize.

There is a strange comfort in knowing that these ancient scriptures looking to such different times than our own know something about the human condition that spans all time…and our time. “It was fitting,” says the writer in Hebrews, “that God…should make the pioneer of [our] salvation perfect through sufferings.”

Suffering was not the end of Joseph’s imagination but the beginning. His dreams imagined and then engendered new possibilities that come from without, from a holy otherness, like a gift. He dreamed. He opened the gift, and acted, finding a way through the wilderness for the savior of the world to find us.

What is God dreaming up for us? What sharpening images do these times offer to us of new possibility and new life and new faith?

Enter into worship.
 
Readings: Isaiah 63:7-9 † Psalm 148 † Hebrews 2:10-18 † Matthew 2:13-23
 
About the Art, Hunt, William Holman, 1827-1910. Triumph of the Innocents, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=59340 [retrieved December 15, 2025]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:William_Holman_Hunt_-_The_Triumph_of_the_Innocents_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg.

Commentary (adapted from The  Visual Commentary on Scripture): The painting depicts a joyously dreamlike quality to  Hunt’s depiction of the flight into Egypt—a markedly hopeful juxtaposition for a  story that carries such unspeakable tragedy. The dreaminess is especially  evident in the presence of the innocents who join the travelers on their  migrant flight to safety in Egypt. Neither Joseph, nor the donkey, seem to  notice this mysterious band of travelers who seem to exist at various stages of  reality. The infants themselves seem preoccupied with their own  concerns—exploring their new existence or resuming games cruelly interrupted by  Herod’s soldiers. But the Christ child sees them clearly and reaches out in  solidarity. Mary too, as she directs her smile down to her newly-expanded  family. Note the bubble in the center. It contains an image of the tree of life  and its delicate promise of paradise restored. 

​6 For a child has been born for us,
  a son given to us;
authority rests upon his shoulders;
  and he is named
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
  Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
7 His authority shall grow continually,
  and there shall be endless peace
  for the throne of David and his kingdom.
He will establish and uphold it
   with justice and with righteousness
  from this time onward and forevermore.
The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.
~Isaiah 9:6-7
 
19 But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.
~Luke 2:19
 
We find a little distance in the Christmas story between what is promised and what is experienced. Isaiah leads off with confidence and strength about the ways God delivers for the health and well-being of creation. Good (wonderful) counsel, strength and might, endless peace, predictable, good governance. The promises are robust and self-assured from this prophetic tradition that knows so much about what is wrong as well as what is right.
 
Luke’s gospel begins more humbly—with stories that speak to unusual, unexpected things—and a whole lot of unknowing. And yet these words are treasured…and treasures. Attention to them yields understanding and hope that helps us into the genuine promises of the story beyond the glitter and acquisitiveness that so quickly becomes cold comfort.
 
What is our story as Christians? God being totally vulnerable, totally poor, a little child. A seemingly dead stump with so much life and promise remaining. A humble, helpless baby who has come to love us in ways that we may not be ready to be loved. And yet, here, beloved ones, is our salvation. What treasures are waiting to be opened and pondered in this season?
 
Enter into worship.
​
Readings: Isaiah 9:2-6 † Psalm 96 † Titus 2:11-14 † Luke 2:1-14 (15-20) (Proper 1)
Isaiah 62:6-12 † Psalm 97 † Titus 3:4-7 † Luke 2:(1-7), 8-20 (Proper 2)
Isaiah 52:7-10 † Psalm 98 † Hebrews 1:1-4, (5-12) † John 1:1-14 (Proper 3)
 
About the Art: Emma Oehler © 2025 ReformedWorship.org, CC BY-NC-SA 4.0. Used by permission.
 
Comments: The olive tree was chosen for its biblical resonance. It is one of the few trees in Scripture explicitly described as both flowering and fruit-bearing. In addition, olive branches hold deep symbolic meaning in the biblical tradition, representing peace and reconciliation, which is especially fitting for the season of Advent. 

When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him;
~Matthew 1:24
 
Dreams, angels, the subconscious, principalities, powers. Call it what you will. There is likely more we don’t know than we do about what literally to make of these stories. But most of us know something about those inner voices that speak to us with prescience, of warning, of promise, of a deep sense of what is or what is coming. We know about dreams and dreaming and hope.
 
Immediately after Joseph resolves to quietly dismiss Mary to an uncertain and fraught future without him for the child that is not his, he is confronted with a counter call to courage, to faith.
 
And he listens!
 
Joseph listens—like Mary, like Elizabeth, like Zechariah before him, girded by the 42 generations of ancestors Matthew lists just before this story—including Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and Bathsheba—four remarkable grandmothers of faith who knew a little bit about scandal, and the pressures of shame, and the kind of gracious, gritty faithfulness that comes from outside the system to bless it.
 
Joseph listens and responds with courage. And the result seems to be a developed ear for faith. He gets two more visitations that steer him and his family from the danger that awaits as the story unfolds. He grows an ear for the God who comes to him with goodwill promising a future that will unfold in blessing and safety—accompanied by the soundtrack of Mary’s daring song about a world about to turn.
 
Most of us know something about that inner voice, that voice that speaks good, not harm, that sets our future path. Let us train our ears and tune our hearts to the promise of the birthing, saving, rising, loving one Advent promises.
 
 
Readings: Isaiah 7:10-16 † Psalm 80:1–7, 17–19 † Romans 1:1-7 † Matthew 1:18-25
 
About the Art, La Tour, Georges du Mesnil de, 1593-1652. The Angel Visiting Joseph in a Dream, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=46742 [retrieved December 12, 2022]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Georges_de_La_Tour_022.jpg.

When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?”
~Matthew 11:2-3
 
You also must be patient. Strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is near.
~James 5:8
 
John sits in prison, reflecting on a mission that now seems lost in the past. The staff of his prophetic message broken, the red garment a sign of his impending martyrdom, the faint light over his shoulder a glimmer of those bright baptismal wilderness days—or perhaps a hint of what is coming. You could consider it a crisis of faith.
 
“Are you the one?” he wonders.
 
So much seems to ride on this question. Perhaps everything. How can one be patient while wasting away in prison—literal or figurative?
 
Which begs the question: why is John in prison? What did he do? What does his presence there, and Jesus’ ultimate destination say about us and about what is true in the world, what will hold us firmly?
 
Advent is a season of remembering, expecting, and waiting. We await the coming of Jesus into the world. We await the coming of our salvation. But we cannot do so through the lens of historical or religious amnesia. No amount of nostalgia or magical thinking will hold us as we consider the debris of a life that seems past. You can only understand miracle through the clarity of the need for it. You can only understand salvation through the memory of what was so badly wrong, what was so badly needed in the first place. You can only understand freedom if you know the story of bondage.
 
Advent is about truth-telling—the truth of our past, of our present, so we can be prepared for the coming of the One who is, astonishingly, already here.
 
Enter into worship.
 
Readings: Isaiah 35:1-10 † Psalm 146:5-10 or Luke 1:46b-55 † James 5:7-10 † Matthew 11:2-11
 
About the Art, St. John the Baptist in the Prison, Juan Fernández de Navarrete, Painting, late 1560s, Public Domain. Retrieved on December 8, 2025 from: https://politicaltheology.com/the-politics-of-identifying-jesus-and-john-the-baptist-matthew-112-11-richard-davis/.
 
Art Notes (Adapted from The Art of Advent: St. John the Baptist in the Prison): In this image, St. John sits alone in a prison cell, illuminated only by a faint light entering through a small, barred window. Perhaps this is an appropriate depiction of our feelings at many points throughout life. Still, Advent is meant to remind us that a greater Light is coming, even in the midst of so much darkness, a faint light that will pierce the darkest darkness.
 
John gazes on two important items with a very pensive look on his face—the staff he carried and a red garment, symbolic of his impending martyrdom. The staff has been broken into a much smaller piece; John’s prophetic message has been cut off. The red garment lies in a pile, also leading John to question whether his ministry was “worth the sacrifice.” These might be questions we too ponder during Advent. 

Besides this, you know what time it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep.
~Romans 13:11
 
“But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father… Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.”
~Matthew 24:36, 44
 
What time is it anyway? And by what clock? What measure shall we use?
 
Here is one measure. Advent marks the beginning of a new church year and, with it, the hope for something new as any beginning invites. This season comes once a year, though. It comes every year. Why is it we always seem to be hoping for something new? Why is the present so unsettling?
 
It depends on where you sit, of course. If you are just concerned about yourself and you’re doing fine, that’s one thing. But once God expands our perspective, once God grows our loves outward, there is, of course, always more to hope for, long for, work for. There is always more to be done.
 
The wolf and the lamb haven’t settled in together yet, by any measure. Human tendencies will be what they are. Greed always seems to be in season in one form or another. Self-interest too.
 
But we can imagine. We can imagine something better. We can imagine the soldier coming home from war, and becoming the farmer, the protector of seedlings and all fragile life. And this is, at root, the hope of Advent. The refusal to settle with anything less than what can be. And the promise of this Gospel is that God has a hand in bringing it about. God is always bringing it. This is what God always does. This is the Advent of our God.
 
So we watch. We wait. We hope. We stay awake…keeping vigil with the creation that is always ready for something new, something longed for, something built into the very heart of what she is and who we are.
 
Enter into worship.
 
Readings: Isaiah 2:1-5 † Psalm 122 † Romans 13:11-14 † Matthew 24:36-44
 
About the Art, Michael Cook, Swords into Plowshares, Hallowed Art. Retrieved on November 18, 2025 from: https://www.hallowed-art.co.uk/product/swords-into-ploughshares/.
 
Artist Notes: The painting was commissioned by Melbourne Parish Council to commemorate the centenary of the Armistice.