Who knew that when Moses led the Israelites out of slavery it would mean forty years of wandering in the desert before they were able to enter the Promised Land? Many of us experience periods of wandering in our life. Perhaps we made some poor judgment calls in our younger days, or maybe as adult children we returned home to live because of struggling with substance abuse, or unemployment, or a divorce. Or maybe we fell away from Church for a bit. This is nothing new.

Elizabeth Barret Browning wrote, “Earth’s crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God, But only he who sees, takes off his shoes; The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.” We are challenged today to experience the mystery of God with the image of Moses and the burning bush—a God who answers all questions in a simple, bold manner. Like an exasperated parent telling a child “Because I said so,” God tells Moses “I am who I am,” and “tell the Israelites I AM sent me to you.” God may as well have said, “Save all your questions, and trust in me. Quit being so stubborn.”

We can imagine the splendor of the Transfiguration in our Gospel, and in a manner similar to the Baptism of the Lord, we hear the voice of God booming down announcing Jesus the Son. It is another of the great epiphanies. But if you think about it, each reading this weekend has a sort of “Aha” moment to it. A moment of mutual commitment, of trust. In Genesis, God makes a covenant with Abram, promising him descendants numerous as the stars in the sky.

Face it, the last couple of years have worn us all down. Sometimes we don’t know how to pray, or we don’t seem to find the words we want. It is easy to falter and waver. Lent is a time to get back to the basics. There is much hope and strength in our readings as we begin our Lenten journey. The letter to the Romans tells us today that “everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved,” and this is an idea we hear throughout the scriptures.

As we approach the season of Lent, Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians gives us a sneak peek of Easter, waiting for us on the other side: “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” Paul’s conclusion, telling us to remain steadfast and devoted to the Lord’s work, could serve as a Lenten motto. The reading from Sirach provides a series of adages regarding discipline of the tongue, and of our speech. Maybe not a bad Lenten practice to observe.

It’s likely that some friends or followers of Jesus told him, from time to time, to “get real” when his teachings seemed too hard or impractical. John’s Gospel, near the end of the Bread of Life discourse, reports that some disciples out and out turned away because it was too hard to continue following Jesus. When Jesus said to love our enemies, pray for those who hurt us, or do good for those who hate us, the response, “get real,” wouldn’t be surprising. And yet, the very life and witness of Jesus is filled with his prophetic examples of doing just that; of refusing to return harm for harm. The lives of the saints are likewise filled with such examples, especially those saints who were laborers in the field for justice and peace. Is this command of Jesus difficult? Yes. Is it impossible? No.

Today we hear once again of the deep connection between Jesus and Israel’s prophets. In the reading from Jeremiah, God's curses at the opening are counterbalanced by God's blessings in the second part. In Luke’s version of the Beatitudes, Jesus begins with blessings, then counterbalances with a “woe” section. The point is clear: the way we live our lives has a direct connection to whether we will experience curses and woes, or blessings instead.

Isn’t it comforting to know that others have struggles with low self-esteem? Today Isaiah calls himself a man with “unclean lips.” Paul is “not fit to be called an apostle.” Simon Peter tells Jesus (perhaps unnecessarily) “I am a sinful man.” All of these may be true, but God chose these three— unclean, unfit, sinful—as important, essential messengers in the work of salvation. We all can remember this whenever we are tempted to view ourselves as unqualified for (or excuse ourselves from) sharing the Good News.

The “fulfilled in your hearing” statement of Jesus today is also the conclusion of last week’s Gospel, with the words of Isaiah about the breadth of God’s mercy and justice at its heart. The response of the crowd in the synagogue is united: all are amazed, but all likewise ask if he’s not merely the son of Joseph the humble carpenter. Jesus calls them out for seeming to think that he ought to be doing his ministry only locally, and - selfishly - only for them. (After all, they know where he comes from!)

Community is important. Community is essential. Community is crucial. This message is the foundation of today’s readings from Nehemiah, Corinthians, and Luke. Ezra’s reading of the scroll is done in front of the community, including—a radical act at the time—women, and children old enough to understand, groups usually not counted among those hearing God’s promise proclaimed. Community is important. The mystical Body of Christ, like the human body, functions best and most fully when all members are playing the role for which they were meant.

“For Pete’s sake will you kids be quiet?” This question, no doubt, has passed the lips of numerous parents through the years. It’s tempting to speculate as to who, exactly, was instructing Isaiah to be quiet. Neighbors? Fellow prophets? Family? No matter. Isaiah says firmly that for the sake of Jerusalem and Zion he will not be silent. Conversely, in the familiar passage in today’s Gospel reading, Mary chides her son to break his silence, to save the wedding soon to run out of wine.

The Advent/Christmas cycle that began on November 28 ends with the Baptism of the Lord. We likely have an image in our minds (based on details from the Gospels and works of art) of what that scene looked like. We might wonder, “Who else was there and who wasn’t?” No disciples were present because Jesus had not yet begun his ministry. They would have to wait until the Transfiguration to hear a similar message.

Gifts are everywhere at this time of year. Christmas gifts. Hostess gifts. Hidden gifts. Wrong-size gifts. Unexpected gifts. Unwanted gifts. Unreciprocated gifts. And in today’s readings we hear about even more gifts: gold, frankincense, and myrrh. But we know intuitively (or, one hopes, eventually!) that gifts are symbols of something much deeper and less tangible. The gift of God’s Son is, of course, at the heart of our Christmas festivities.