Grace to you and peace from our loving God, and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

One of the questions that today.s readings raise is this: What.s the best way to share our faith? There are those these days who take to the airwaves to share the good news. Others work quietly in soup kitchens, food pantries, after-school programs, or shelters for the homeless. Some do both. So what works best?

"What works best" is a bit of a trick question, of course. What we see in the bible passages before us is that God is made known in all manner of places, by all sorts and conditions of people, doing all kinds of different things. There is not one answer nor one kind of person.

In today's Old Testament reading, we see that Isaiah's understanding of how God is proclaimed is fierce and uncompromising. The whole world—its very existence—shouts out the presence of God. Folks have only to look up at the vastness of all there is and realize the majesty of God. Isaiah writes, "God gives power to the faint, and strengthens the powerless." (Is. 40:29) Even princes and rulers have no more claim to power over God's earth than the grass that grows under their feet.

In the gospel, Jesus heals Simon's mother-in-law in the common circumstances of a visit in the home of Simon and Andrew—a place that I was privileged to visit several years ago near the western shore of the Sea of Galilee. And in the epistle, the apostle Paul boldly speaks of his commission to preach the good news of Christ to everyone he encounters. Who is to say which approach is best?

As we consider the readings for today, we can at the very least conclude that God has no one preference for making known the power of the divine. In this season of Epiphany, we acknowledge the light of God that animates all of creation in a multitude of ways.

At worship, we do "the work of the people" or the liturgy. We all join together to make worship happen. Regardless of the size of our part, in all that we do, our Lord is made known. It isn't about fame, recognition, or high profiles. It's about the power of the ordinary, made extraordinary by God.

The story of Mother Teresa.s call is described in this way:

And when (you hear God's call) the only thing to do is say "Yes." The message was quite clear—I was to give up all and follow Jesus into the slums—to serve Him in the poorest of the poor. I knew it was His will and that I had to follow Him. There was no doubt that it was to be His work. I was to leave the convent and work with the poor, living among them. It was an order. I knew where I belonged but I did not know how to get there. (Eileen Egan, Such a Vision of the Street, Doubleday, 1985)

God moved to bring great power to the very ordinary life of this woman. Her story helps us see that ordinary work is hallowed by the One who is served.

In contrast, it may seem that Paul makes statements that are prideful. Just listen:

To the weak I became weak, so that I might win the weak. I have become all things to all people, that I might by all means save some. I do it all for the sake of the gospel, so that I may share in its blessings. (vv. 22-23)

Becoming all things to all people may strike us as devoid of principle. But there is another way to look at Paul's words. I suspect that it may simply be that Paul was willing to set his personal feelings aside, not counting anything that might become a stumbling block to others a matter of personal prerogative or right. In the end, he may simply have been willing to humble himself, not presuming to Lord his Jewish background or his strength—or whatever else might hamper the hearing of the gospel—over others.

On second look, we may see not presumption, but humility. Paul is willing to do what many of us are unwilling to do.set aside our personal rights for the benefit of the individual and the community as a whole. He knew where true greatness lay. It was not in himself but in the One whose great work was accomplished through his ordinary life.

Paul's humility is shown in other ways too. He preaches, not for personal benefit, but for the benefit of his hearers. "If I proclaim the gospel, this gives no ground for boasting." And "in my proclamation I may make the gospel free of charge." Paul is humble enough to acknowledge that he preaches because he must, not in order to earn wages.

Pauls shares freely what was for him a free and precious gift. And for doing this, he is no more to be commended than is the creation. Isaiah does not congratulate the created world for bearing witness to its creator—it does so simply because that is part of its purpose.

And, just like the creation, Paul is not free to dictate the terms under which he proclaims God's message. He cannot insist that people accept it only in one particular kind of package. It almost sounds as though Paul is saying that he will sink to any kind of subterfuge to make himself acceptable to people, but that is to miss the sense of compulsion in Paul.s description of his calling.

The Corinthians seem to think that being an apostle might be a bit of a power trip or, at the very least, an easy way to make a living. But Paul recognizes—and makes plain—that proclaiming the good news of Jesus is a spontaneous act. He knows that he is merely an ordinary vessel for an extraordinary message.

In the gospel too, we learn about the compulsion of God's mission, as well as about the ways it takes hold of common people. After Jesus heals Simon's mother-in-law, the whole city gathers at the door of the home; and he heals many. Despite all that activity and clamor, in the quiet of the next morning Jesus goes to a lonely spot to pray. When his disciples follow him there, he tells them that they will now go to the next towns to preach there also because, in his own words, "that is why I came out." He didn't stay to bask in the praise of those who gathered; he moved on to share the good news.

He could have stayed at Simon's house indefinitely, and all the sick for miles around would have come to him for healing. Surely that would have been a good thing. Simon clearly thought so. He was very likely enjoying his new-found fame. It's likely that he had a hand in organizing the people and ushering those with special needs forward to be seen by Jesus.

So, when Simon goes looking for Jesus in the early morning, there is a tone of impatience in his voice. "Why are you wasting your time out here in the desert, when there are people who need you?"

But then Simon too gets swept up into the whirlwind of Jesus. ministry, proclaiming the message of God's kingdom. He too learns that the focus is on the message not the messenger, and that amazing things become possible when God's Word is spoken and lived, even if in the most common of ways.

It is of some comfort that this miracle story happened in a home. We're so apt to think of Jesus present in the gathered congregation on Sunday morning, making himself known through Word and Sacrament. And this is most certainly true. But the problem lies in our imagining this to be so much so that our Lord has little time or care to be elsewhere.

In the story of this miracle, Jesus is actively present in the midst of ordinary life. He is where we live—in a home. He is where our greatest needs arise in our family relationships and responsibilities. He is where we are—in the mundane and ordinary activities of daily life.

This miracle brings us into touching distance with our Lord. It takes him out of the churchly setting and complex doctrines and places him firmly at the very center of our daily lives. At every table where people gather together in faith, Christ is present. Even when we dine alone, our Lord is our guest. Beside every bed of sickness and suffering, Christ is standing. In every hour of need, our constant companion. Our Lord is present in the ordinary, healing with a touch and calling to proclamation.

In a large inner-city church one Sunday morning, the pastor made an impassioned plea for more financial support for their program with the underprivileged of the community. After the service a widow came to him and said that although she had been deeply moved by his sermon there was little she could give. She worked nights scrubbing floors in an office building, and it took every cent she earned to support herself and her children.

But then she added, "I understand you are going to hire another sexton to help in the cleaning of the church. I would like to do that job with no pay. Take the money you would have spent for such an additional worker and use it for your community program."

The pastor could not refuse her. So each morning when she finished her night work in the office building, she would come to the church, clean the rest rooms, dust the pews, and vacuum the carpets. The church was spotless—and a pride and joy to the whole congregation.

Years later when this devoted woman was dying, the pastor visited her. He noticed she was disturbed about something. "What's wrong, Mary?" he asked. "Well, pastor," she replied, "I'm about to meet my Lord and he has been so good to me. What can I say to him when he asks what I have done with all the loving grace so generously given me?" The pastor was silent for a moment and then he softly spoke. "Say nothing at all to him, Mary; just show him your hands." (Richard Hoefler, Does Jesus Live Here?, from "There Are Demons In The Sea")

I know that story smacks a bit of works righteousness, but the point I want it to drive home is the power of ordinary people offering their common gifts to God. Preaching doesn't always take place from a pulpit on a Sunday morning. Sometimes our ordinary lives speak louder than words. Jesus, Paul, Simon, and Isaiah all have a message for us today. They are witnesses to the light of God. In public and private deeds, in the spoken word, and in prayer, each of them was called to bear witness to that light, proclaiming our extraordinary God through the power of the ordinary. And, like them, so are we. Amen.

May the peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep our hearts and minds through faith in Christ Jesus our Lord, unto eternal life. Amen.