Christmas - 2012

         To hear the nativity story from the Gospel of Luke is to hear something so familiar your mind skips along comprehending, but not comprehending.  To enter this story as more than one who listens to a familiar tale—that is our task.  Luke is a wonderful story teller and entering the story allows us to draw closer to the mystery of God's coming to live as a human being.  Let's look at the characters in this story, what might it be like to experience this amazing birth—to be both puzzled and in awe, to glorify and to ponder.  What did it mean for them?  What does it mean for us?

         First let's consider the shepherds. The shepherds were living in the fields with their sheep keeping watch—for predators most likely.  But despite the fact that King David tended his father’s flocks and that we have the image of Jesus in our minds—and in stained glass windows—as “the Good Shepherd” of his parable, shepherds in the first century practiced a despised occupation.   Shepherds received the label “shiftless and dishonest,” because people felt they allowed the sheep to wander and graze on other’s lands.   Then, living outside made shepherding a dirty job. (Those of you who have camped out “under the stars” where there was no water pump know how dirty one can get.)  Homeless people who live on the streets look “disreputable,” because they can never stay clean.  But not only were the shepherds physically dirty, they could also never be ritually clean.  They were outcasts from the religious life of the community.  And yet to these shepherds, social outcasts, physically dirty, and ritually unclean, Christ became present.

         How do we think about those who are homeless?   The story in  the newspaper today about a family who became homeless when the husband lost his job shows a family like most of us.  Christ can become present in all sorts of difficult circumstances—even our own.

         Let's consider the angels next.  Luke said, “Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people.’”   The darkness of the shepherds suddenly became illumined by the light of God’s glory.  Their status as only “despised and unclean ones” became altered forever by their experience of God’s presence with them.  After they had come to Bethlehem to see Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus, “they made known what had been told them about this child; and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them.”   They became evangelists, spreading the Good News of the Messiah’s birth.

         To be the bearer of God's illumination—even in the worst of circumstances, perhaps we can be like those angels.  Yes, we can pray for those who suffer from natural disasters or from human violence.  But we can also take action.  Can we through both prayer and action be God's light for someone in need? 

         Finally, there was Mary. Luke’s sparse two-verse account of Jesus’ birth goes by quickly:  “While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.”

         But we wonder about how things were for Mary—and in our imagination we fill in all details Luke didn’t find important.  Look at our crèche and wonder.  During the pain of childbirth who was with Mary?   Was her faithful husband, Joseph, by her side or had he walked away to take a break from Mary’s crying out?  Were the animals we all love to see in our crèches respectfully attentive—not one of them sniffing or chomping or making noises?  Was it really “Silent night, holy night” in the stable?  No matter who was with her, however, could her memories of the angel Gabriel’s message have sustained her?  “Greetings, favored one!  The Lord is with you . . . You will be with child and give birth to a son. . . He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High.”

         Mary participated in God’s work of salvation, giving birth to Jesus, the one whom we call “Emmanuel, God with us.”  And in this holy birth, Christ became present no only to Mary, but to all of us. His life and his teachings can lead us into holy living.  His death on the cross and his resurrection point to God’s power over evil, God’s never failing grace, and God’s saving love for us.  After hearing the “Christmas Story” once again and singing our beloved Christmas carols and hymns, can we, like Mary, ponder in our hearts what it means for God, made human flesh in Jesus, to be among us.  Can we be a God-bearer for others?

         “Emmanuel, God with us”—God’s grace can be seen in Christ’s presence with us no matter what happens.  Christ’s presence, sustaining us, loving us, making us whole and complete—no matter what our circumstances are—this is the true gift of Christmas.  We give thanks tonight/today for God’s gift of Jesus Christ.  For through Jesus we become daughters and sons of God, heirs through Jesus of everlasting life. 

         So as we continue our worship and our Christmas celebrations, let us remember the shepherds, the angels and Mary—each with a role to play, each an example for us as we open ourselves to God's love so freely given to us in Jesus.  When we are puzzled, may we be awed and drawn closer to God.  When we have come to know God, may we give God glory. Then may we ponder the wonder and mystery revealed in the incarnate God, Jesus Christ.

The 3rd Sunday of Advent - A Homily in a Time of Tragedy - Sandy Hook School

How are you feeling this morning?  Grief shows itself in many ways.  Honor what you are feeling—even if you want to avoid feeling anything.

I had written a sermon on Friday morning.  Even as late as Friday evening, I thought I still might have a chance of delivering it with some modification of the introductory section.  But I cannot.

Diana Butler Bass (writer who has explored the nature of Christianity in the 21^st century) blogged after the shooting of Rep. Gabrielle Giffords that preachers must speak about a violent tragedy, not ignore it or pass if off with an extra prayer.  She said, “American pulpits should be places to reflect on theology and life, on the Word [of God] and our words.”

So here is my best effort today:

Yesterday I wrote this on my Facebook page:  “Our Book of Common Prayer has eloquent prayers that can be adapted to pray for all who died in Newtown, CT--but since I heard about the killing yesterday, I don't want words. I simply want to hold up to God's healing light those who perished, those who grieve, those whose hearts are broken, and the darkness in one human heart who caused this tragedy. O God, hear the cry of our hearts.”

But today I need some words, please God, the right words.

I believe in the presence of evil in the world that opposes God’s love for all people.  I do not confuse evil with mental illness—but both may operate in an event and may have done so at Sandy Hook.  Evil exists in the choices a person makes to harm others and by making these choices causes God to grieve.

Here is a passage from the second chapter of Matthew:

When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men. Then was fulfilled what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah: “A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.”

I also believe in God’s love and protection in all the circumstances. 

Here is Psalm 121:

I lift up my eyes to the hills— from where will my help come?

My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot be moved; he who keeps you will not slumber.

He who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.

The Lord is your keeper; the Lord is your shade at your right hand.

The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night.

The Lord will keep you from all evil; he will keep your life.

The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in from this time on and forevermore.

  

What can the psalmist mean with these words: “The Lord will keep you from all evil; he will keep your life?”  Where was God when those shots rang out at Sandy Hook?

·      God was with the teachers who tried to protect their students—and many succeeded.

·      God was with the first responders who rushed into the building, despite the danger, because they have been trained not to wait for the SWAT team in order to save the most people possible.

·      God was with the students who obeyed their teachers to hide and keep quiet.

·      God is with those who grieve—those who are angry, those who find themselves depressed—through the care and love of those who share their lives—perhaps even through other grieving parents.

·      God will be with courageous people who work to diminish the violence in our society.  Indeed, in the 5^th chapter of Matthew, Jesus said, “Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called the children of God.”

When I worked in Cecil County Public Schools, I was a certified non-violent intervention trainer. One of the scenarios we discussed was what to do if a weapon appeared in your classroom.  Each middle and high school I worked with developed a plan that all staff was trained in.  Eventually, after Columbine and 9-11, this work was taken over by public safety professionals.  But I have thought about what I would do; I have imagined myself facing a gun or a knife with people in my care that I must do all I can to protect. And then I back away from that image—it is just too hard to imagine—and I pray that would show the courage the staff at Sandy Hook did.

I want to end this homily with three sections of the Great Litany – the earliest English liturgy written in a very dangerous time, the 16^th century:  Your response is “Good Lord, deliver us.”

From all evil and wickedness; from sin; from the crafts and assaults of the devil; and from everlasting damnation,

Good Lord, deliver us.

From all oppression, conspiracy, and rebellion; from violence, battle and murder; and from dying suddenly and unprepared,

Good Lord, deliver us.

In all time of our tribulation; in all time of our prosperity; in the hour of our death, and in the day of judgment,

Good Lord, deliver us.

Now please join me in the Agnus Dei:

O Lamb of God you take away the sins of the world.  Have mercy on us.

O Lamb of God you take away the sins of the world.  Have mercy on us.

O Lamb of God you take away the sins of the world.  Grant us your peace.

The 2nd Sunday of Advent - To Repent of What Binds Us

         Zechariah wasn't a bad fellow.  He and his wife, Elizabeth, obeyed God's laws and lived the sort of life God wanted to see God's people live—just and compassionate lives.  But their lives were not perfect.  Elizabeth could not have children—a condition which caused them great sadness.  Even after much prayer, no baby came.

         Then one day when Zechariah was performing his priestly duties in the Temple of the Lord, he was chosen by lot to burn incense on the altar.  Even a priest doesn't expect an angel to appear when you're busy with your work—and Zechariah was no exception!   Raddling Zechariah's composure, that angel, Gabriel, brought a divine message concerning Elizabeth's gift of a special child.

         When you see an angel, it's best to listen carefully and not talk back or question.  But Zechariah—despite his religious training—blew it.  Gabriel told Zechariah that he and Elizabeth would conceive a son whom they were to name the child, John.  John would become a mighty prophet like Elijah.

         “How can this be, because my wife and I are old,” Zechariah challenged Gabriel.  So Gabriel silenced him until the child was born.  Zechariah returned home after his Temple duties ended, and, indeed, Elizabeth became pregnant.  But all this time Zechariah still could not speak.

         Finally, their son was born.  On the day the baby was to be named and circumcised, the neighbors asked Zechariah what the baby should be named.  Elizabeth had said to call him John, but no one thought that name was appropriate, because he should be named after his father.  Then Zechariah asked for writing materials.  At last he acted on what Gabriel had told him he must do.  As Zechariah wrote, “His name is John,” his power to speak returned.

         His first act was to praise God and proclaim God's prophecy for Israel and for John—who John was to become and what this meant for Israel.  When we read Canticle 16 together this morning we were reading Zechariah's prophecy that began, “Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel, he has come to his people and set them free . . .”

         In order to be set free we must be bound or hemmed in by something that we cannot overcome by ourselves.  This past week I went to see a musical adaptation of Charles Dickens story, “A Christmas Carol.”  You remember Ebenezer Scrooge, don't you?  Bound by his need for security that turned to greed, he was set free by “spirits” who visited him one night and showed him his life's past, present and future. The visions into which the “spirits” led him created a change inside his spirit.  He began to change when he encountered the ghost of his dead business partner Jacob Marley in chains. He continued to repent when he realized the harm his greediness had caused.  As he repented his greed, he found that his spirit now embraced generosity. And with this change came a freedom to love, an emotion he had driven out of himself in order to never be vulnerable.

         But now we need to get back to Zechariah: he had over nine months to contemplate how his distrust of God's messenger kept him from acknowledging God's love and God's power to redeem a most distressing situation.  We see him act to repent and repair his sin of mistrust when he followed Gabriel's directive and named his son, John.

         How appropriate that inviting people to repent becomes the theme of John's ministry.  The Gospel of Luke tells us that John “went into all the region around the Jordan proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.”  John's preaching aimed to set people free from the bondage of their sins.  What was binding these folks?  Was it greed?  Was it failing to honor one's responsibility in relationships?  Was it stealing or lying or worse?  Was it worshiping someone or something other than God?

         The interesting thing about John's preaching, however, was its pointing beyond itself.  The repentance John called for had a purpose—to prepare for something that would happen next.  Zechariah's prophetic song put it this way, “You, my child, shall be called the prophet of the Most High, for you will go before the Lord to prepare his way.”

         To prepare for the Lord—that is also a theme of our season of Advent.  Consider this: to prepare for Jesus' coming we must repent of what is binding us and keeping us from building “a level highway” for God right into our hearts and lives.

         What binds us and keeps us from being free and fully prepared to welcome God into our hearts and lives?  We wouldn't ever think of ourselves as Ebenezer Scrooge—we are not miserly misanthropes!  No, of course not!  But perhaps like Scrooge we put up strong defenses against loving God and loving our neighbor too deeply, because such love makes us vulnerable.  Do we fear being fully known by God?  Do we fear being too transparent to our neighbor? 

         If repentance means turning away from such defensive fears and turning toward an attitude of gratefulness to God and compassion toward our neighbor, then our repentance will not be based on shame or guilt, but on a desire to prepare ourselves to see and welcome Christ—as Celtic Christians would say, to welcome Christ in friend and stranger.

         May this Advent be such a time for us—a time repent of the fears which bind us.  And through this repentance free ourselves—free to be ready to receive Christ and then free to manifest Christ in all we say and do.