There is a particular sort of response that I have whenever someone really pushes my buttons; maybe it’s an inflamed issue that gets lots of attention in the media or something more deep-seeded and woven into childhood wounds, but no matter the cause, I tend to have the same response, and since it’s my last sermon with y’all as Associate Rector, now’s the time to confess it. Whenever someone’s really riled me up, and I’m going on a rant, there will be some little speed bump in the back of my mind that reminds me that this person is more than annoying, that they are, in fact, first and foremost, a beloved child of God. One of my best friends cackles every time I say this through gritted teeth, because he says that “Becca reminding herself of people’s belovedness” is a whole category of frustration. I wish I could remember people’s belovedness without reminding myself through gritted teeth, but things are tough these days.
As I was praying through the texts set for today for the Feast of the Baptism of our Lord, I was overcome with the way in which calling and belonging and belovedness were woven throughout the centuries and generations of God’s people. This week, news of the wildfires in Southern California have flooded my news sources. I have been heartbroken to watch and see and hear the stories of people across race and class and gender and sexuality, be ravaged by this natural disaster. The tragedy and the grief are truly unimaginable, and maybe this is why Isaiah 43 spoke to me this week. It is a poetic prayer of hope about how God deeply cares for God’s people.
The imagery of Isiah 43 is so beautiful, “pass through waters that will not overwhelm you,” and “walk through fire and not be burned,” that I as held space for these images and what they said to God’s people about what God would do for them in times of trial, I realized that the words of the poetry felt a little stiff. When this happens, I pull up other translations of scripture, and this time, I knew that I wanted to hear how The Message worded this Hebrew poem; The Message is translation that combines the authority of God’s Word with the cadence and energy of conversational English,. If you’ll indulge me, here is Isiah 43 from the Message
But now, God’s Message,
the God who made you in the first place, Jacob,
the One who got you started, Israel:
“Don’t be afraid, I’ve redeemed you.
I’ve called your name. You’re mine.
When you’re in over your head, I’ll be there with you.
When you’re in rough waters, you will not go down.
When you’re between a rock and a hard place,
it won’t be a dead end—
Because I am God, your personal God,
The Holy of Israel, your Savior.
I paid a huge price for you:
all of Egypt, with rich Cush and Seba thrown in!
That’s how much you mean to me!
That’s how much I love you!
I’d sell off the whole world to get you back,
trade the creation just for you.
“So don’t be afraid: I’m with you.
I’ll round up all your scattered children,
pull them in from east and west.
I’ll send orders north and south:
‘Send them back.
Return my sons from distant lands,
my daughters from faraway places.
I want them back, every last one who bears my name,
every man, woman, and child
Whom I created for my glory,
yes, personally formed and made each one.’”
When we look back to the story of the Hebrew people, we hear the author of Isaiah remind these Judean exiles that they do have a home, and that God does in fact still love and care for them, it’s important to know that he is not writing to newly exiled folks, but likely their children or their children’s children. The poem from Isaiah is for those who are not just feeling uneasy with their current reality, but who are feeling threadbare and raw. And like much of our holy scripture, it’s a poem that speaks not just to the reality of the Babylonian exiles of the 5th Century BCE, but also deeply and directly to many of us in 2025.
We are twelve days into this calendar year and the tragedy and grief are already unimaginable. Literally, it is impossible to imagine the pain and suffering of our fellow humans to the extent to which we know that wars rage on, violence is enacted or threatened by word or deed, and we watch in horror as natural disasters destroy generations of a community in literal seconds. And for most of us in the Nave this morning, that doesn’t even touch our everyday concerns of illness, death, disappointments, and hurts that are so deep that they struggle to see the light of day. Beloveds, whatever pains you carry, I hope you know that none of us benefits from comparing our griefs, and no matter what we carry, the tragedy and grief of this world are just plain unimaginable. . .but so too is God’s unwavering and all-encompassing love and grace.
Just as the tragedy and grief of this world are incomprehensible, so is God’s capacity for grace and love is even more phenomenal. And the deeply painful truth of this world is that our hearts and minds will never be able to fully anticipate the pain and turmoil through which we may go or the violence through which humanity can inflict upon each other, but my friends, the only thing—truly, the only thing, that gets me through that is that I know that we can never exhaust God’s grace and love. I know that when God spoke to God’s people and said, “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine,” that God meant it. And I know that when the heavens opened at Christ’s baptism, and the Spirit descended as a dove, and God named Jesus’ belovedness, that something shifted for all of us who would follow him.
Throughout the history of God’s people, God has continually reminded us that we are not meant to navigate this difficult world alone. That we are redeemed, that we are known by name, that we are God’s very own, even in the face of the great overwhelm and heavy burdens. And those of us who follow the one who God called Beloved, we follow in Christ’s footsteps to strive for justice and peace, and I hope you can hear me with all the as much intensity as I can muster when I say, we cannot do the work of Christianity without also beginning where Christ began his ministry, firmly planted in God’s belovedness. My friends, I am deeply convicted that God is invested in who we are and what we do and how we do it, and every bit about how we move through this world should be impacted by that fact. Because we are redeemed, we are beloved, and we are called to seek and serve Christ in all persons, but we can only do so when we remember God’s inexhaustible grace and love. Amen.
A sermon delivered to the people of Christ Episcopal Church in Bowling Green, KY on January 12, 2025 for the Feast of Our Lord on Isaiah 43:1-7
Becca Kello 