His servants will worship him; they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads.

—Revelation 22:3-4

In Exodus 3, when Moses hears God calling to him from a burning bush, Moses instinctively hides his face, afraid to look directly at God. Many chapters later, after Moses encounters God on Mount Sinai, he descends from the mountain “radiant”—to a degree, in fact, that the people of Israel are afraid to come near him. And at the opposite end of your Bible, in the book of Acts, when Saul encounters the risen Jesus on the road to Damascus, he receives temporary blindness and a permanent new purpose and name. As we read in today’s text from Revelation, the author John proclaims, “[God’s] servants will worship him; they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads.”

I wonder what would have happened to Moses had he not averted his eyes; what would he have seen? I wonder what exactly it was about Moses’ incandescence, as he returned from the mountaintop, that caused the Israelites to keep a safe distance. What did the light that Paul saw look like, and what precisely did John see on the foreheads of those who served God?

There’s a mystery and a sort of “you had to be there” element in all of these accounts. But one theme is prominent: there’s something about encountering God that leaves us both utterly awestruck and indelibly changed.

I have not heard God’s audible voice and I have never yet had anyone tell me I have that just-saw-Jesus glow about me. Perhaps you have had dramatic and pivotal moments of encountering God; or perhaps, like me, you’ve acquired a lifetime of experiences, each of which revealed more and more of God’s awe-inspiring face. Either way, those encounters have shaped who we are and continue to transform us.

What’s interesting to me is that in each of these biblical accounts about seeing God’s face or God’s glory, the change is outwardly discernible. Those who encounter God don’t just feel different; they look different. (And, in Moses’ case, it was the reaction of others that alerted him to his own transformation.)

This common thread causes me to question my own “appearance”: do the people I meet see God’s brilliance reflected in me? How might I open myself up to let other people observe God’s transformative power in my life? How might I glow with God’s astonishing glory, goodness, and love in ways that are unmistakable to everyone I meet? How might God’s glory radiate from me not just in what I say, but in who I am and how I live?

Wonderful God, may I approach you with awe and humility fitting to who you are. Continue to reveal your face to me so that I might more boldly reflect you in the world.

Amen.

God blessed them, and said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it.” —Genesis 1:28

I recently watched a comedy news program that discussed plastic waste and how surprisingly little of it can actually be recycled. A couple of not-so-comedic points stuck with me. First, I learned that in the Pacific Ocean, there’s a garbage patch full of plastics that is larger than the combined area of France, Germany, and Spain; and it’s still growing. I also learned that by 2050, the ocean is expected to hold more plastics than fish.

Humanity has done an abysmal job at carrying out God’s instructions to hold authority over creation. 

Hearing facts and projections like the ones above leaves me feeling angry (how could the people in charge allow this to get so out of hand?), guilty (I use and dispose of plastics every day!), and overwhelmed (when the problem is this huge and this rampant, what hope do we have to turn anything around?).

While we are always called to lives of introspection, confession, and repentance, Lent is a season when we are especially mindful of these behaviors. At this time of year, we reflect differently on our desperation for a savior. While I tend to reflect and seek forgiveness individually, when I consider the abuse we have done to God’s perfect creation, I am reminded to ask for mercy and forgiveness for humanity collectively. I am keenly aware of our need for redemption when I see where sin is so tightly woven into our daily lives that we can’t imagine how possibly to free ourselves from it. Together, we commit large-scale sins that have global and irreversible consequences. When we confess, we can confess both our own sins and the sins of humanity.

Feeling overwhelmed at the scale of a problem like plastic waste can cause me to throw my hands in the air and give up any sense of personal responsibility. After all, the problem is so large that we need powerful leaders and industries to fix these things, not me. And it’s true—problems this large cannot be solved by only individual efforts. But, in today’s Scripture reading, we remember that God gave large-scale instructions for the care of the planet to two individuals: Adam and Eve. He charged just two people with what would ripple into a global responsibility. God speaks the same instructions to me and you. I cannot, by myself, remove plastics from the ocean, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do anything. That doesn’t mean I don’t have the ability to influence those who hold power. That doesn’t mean I ignore God’s instruction to steward Creation to the best of my ability. You and I, as Adam and Eve, bear God’s image. God is a creator who breathes life into God’s creation, and we are made to imitate these creative and life-giving qualities.

Our individual behaviors, however small, do matter. Individual behaviors, collectively, change outcomes. Individual behaviors, collectively, change societal norms. 

Lord, have mercy on us. May we take more seriously our individual and collective obligations to your creation. Amen.

Today’s reflection is written by Deacon Karen Katamay.

“Everyone then who hears these words of mine and acts on them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock.” —Matthew 7:24

I remember first learning about the wise man/foolish man story in Sunday School a long time ago, and to this day I still remember most of the song we learned along with the story. Songs are such a fun way to learn stories, aren’t they? And a great way to help you remember. In the song for this story, the first verse teaches us that the wise man built his house upon the rock and when the rains came down and the floods came up, the house on the rock stood still. The second verse teaches us that the foolish man built his house upon the sand and when the rains came down and the floods came up the house on the sand fell down. But the third verse is my favorite.  It tells us that when we build our lives on the Lord, Jesus Christ, the blessings will come down as the prayers go up. Building our lives on the Lord fills our lives with blessings and gives us a firm foundation for those stormy times in our lives so we don’t come crashing down. 

I’m not sure if they still teach this song and others like it in Sunday School, but I hope they do. From the wise man/foolish man story to this little gospel light of mine, the words of Jesus (and the songs based on them) still teach us today how to live and love and care for others. And as Jesus reminds us in Matthew 18:3, when we become like children, with open minds and hearts, eager to learn, we will begin to truly see the kingdom of heaven! Amen.

“If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and he will deliver us from Your Majesty’s hand. But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.” —Daniel 3:17-18

Math was never my favorite subject in school. I always gravitated to history and literature, to stories about people. The layers of human character and identity fascinated me. Learning about interactions between people and groups was endlessly compelling. (I never got far enough along in math to encounter the wonder and creativity that I’m sure exists in that subject, too.)

And yet despite those preferences there’s a part of me that wants God to be more like a math equation and less like a person, less like a character with agency and freedom. I want to know with certainty that if X happens, God will do Y. But that’s not how it works.

When the nation of Israel was conquered and many of its people taken into exile in Babylon, individual men and women with agency and freedom were forced to make choices within new constraints and in the face of new threats. The king of Babylon set up a golden image—an idol—and commanded that all people worship it. Three faithful Jews—members of the nation of Israel—refused to do so, knowing that their God had commanded them not to worship “other gods.” These three had been given significant responsibilities in the Babylonian Empire, but this did not exempt them from the king’s order. When they persisted in refusing to disobey God, the king ordered that they be burned to death.

Their response—today’s verses—is a model of faith in God. They believe that God will rescue them. But they also recognize that God is not a math equation. We can be sure of God’s faithfulness, but not sure how that faithfulness will play out in a specific situation. There are times when people of faith aren’t given what they want, and times when God doesn’t seem to come through. But those who have a relationship with God trust him even when they do not get what they want—or even get what it seems obvious that they need. Commitment to God means committing to his true way even when we can’t see the immediate payoff in our own lives. Faith is proved when we follow him into the darkness even when we can’t see the light on the other side.

These three faithful men were rescued from the fire. But even if they had not been, they would have rested secure in their trust in God’s way. This is faith in the living God.