Christmas Eve/Day 2013 - Love is the Meaning of Christmas

         How difficult the time of Jesus’ birth must have been for Mary!  For Jesus, God-made-man, it could have been no easier.  Madeline L’Engle, writes about the nativity in a poem called “The Risk of Birth:”

That was no time for a child to be born,

In a land in the crushing grip of Rome;

Honor & truth were trampled by scorn –

Yet here did the Savior make his home.

         How can we find the meaning of the birth of our Savior in Bethlehem?  When we hear this familiar gospel story of Jesus’ birth, what do we think?  Kathleen Norris reflected on the familiarity we have with “the Christmas story”—especially this version from Luke: “We have many defenses against hearing the Christmas readings and taking them to heart.  The images are resoundingly familiar . . . and the nativity story is so colored by nostalgia that listening takes considerable effort.  It’s hard for us to remember that, as is always the case with scripture, we are continually invited to hear ‘a new song,’ words full of possibilities we have not yet seen and can’t imagine.  All we need are the ears to hear, but our tired old ears resist us at every turn.”

         Madeline L’Engle sees Jesus’ birth as God incarnate, God taking on human form, as “The Glorious Impossible.”  Here’s what she says about it, “What an amazing, what an impossible message the angel brought to a young girl! But Mary looked at the angel and said, 'Be it unto me according to your word.’

And so the life of Jesus began as it would end with the impossible.  When he was a grown man he would say to his disciples, ‘For human beings it is impossible.  For God nothing is impossible.’

Possible things are easy to believe.  The Glorious Impossibles are what bring joy to our heart, hope to our lives and songs to our lips.”

          Mary and Joseph had traveled quite a distance, Luke tells us, from Nazareth near the Sea of Galilee to Bethlehem a bit south of Jerusalem.  Her labor had begun in the midst of less than ideal accommodations.  The couple had to take what was available, and so a food trough for animals became the baby’s “cradle.”  Yet Mary wrapped him in “bands of cloth,” a lovingly maternal act in the midst of uncertainly—a lovingly maternal act to make the baby feel secure.

How were Mary and Joseph on this night of glorious impossibility?  Tired to the bone from their long journey?  Exhausted from laboring to birth Jesus?  Distracted a bit, wanting comfort, hoping for a bit of peace soon?

         Christina Rossetti described the moment of incarnation this way: “Love came down at Christmas, love all lovely, love divine; / love was born at Christmas: stars and angels gave the sign.”

The first evidence of the presence of God’s love can be seen in Mary’s care for her newborn.  Her heart was moved by love, because she knew the vulnerability of Jesus.  Our love for our children is always a sign of God’s love for humanity.

         But there was more.  Shepherds out in the night, guarding some sheep, had witnessed the glorious power of God in message of an angel:  “I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.  This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.”

The message given to the shepherds spoke to the hope for freedom from the oppression. For the shepherds, who lived at the bottom of the social structure of first century Palestine nothing could surpass receiving news of  “ a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.”  The Messiah found in Hebrew prophecy who will save God’s people—Jesus’ name means “God saves—promises liberation. The sign of that liberation from bondage—a baby, born in difficult circumstances, who is loved.

Madeline L’Engle describes God’s taking a risk to show God’s love for us:

When is the time for love to be born?

The inn is full on planet earth,

And by a comet the sky is torn –

Yet Love still takes the risk of birth.

         The shepherds told Mary and Joseph, and perhaps others nearby, what the angels had told them.  Luke reports that “all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them.”  How could this beloved, vulnerable baby, be a sign of the liberation for which many had hoped for centuries?  Can we believe that God’s love came to us that night in an unexpected way?  Can we trust that our salvation comes through love?

         W. H. Auden, the English poet, wrote these words about that holy night during the dreadful days of Britain’s suffering in 1941 and 1942:  “Remembering the stable where for once in our lives / Everything became a You and nothing was an It.”  For in that moment there was nothing but God’s glory, nothing but God’s love.  That stable was “thin place” where the barrier between God’s love and our humanity—our sinful humanity—was crossed.

         Mary’s response to the shepherd’s words was to treasure and ponder them.  Our response to the Jesus’ birth, God’s love becoming enfleshed in a human being, must be like Mary’s.  We must treasure what we have seen and heard about Jesus.  We must ponder what Christ’s life means for us.  Then we must become God’s heart and hands in the world. Wrap those who share our lives in bands of love.  Offer them the security of love through our words and actions.  Give love as Mary gave it, in whatever circumstances we find ourselves.

         The moment of incarnation, of God becoming one of us through Mary’s love:  truly this was a “glorious impossible!” Impossible to fully understand, this moment—seen through the eyes of faith—has the power to re-make our lives, “bring[ing] joy to our heart[s], hope to our lives and songs to our lips” and giving us the strength we need to love as Mary did.

        

 Madeline L’Engle, “The Risk of Birth – 1973” can be found on the internet by searching for it; “The Glorious Impossible,” Simon & Schuster, 1990. It’s still in print.

W. H. Auden, “For the Time Being:  A Christmas Oratorio” final section (hard back copies available on line)

Kathleen Norris quote:  The Christian Century, (December 13, 2005, p. 19.) Also available online.

The 4th Sunday of Advent - O Come Emmanuel!

Psalm 80 repeats this refrain:  "Restore us, O God of hosts, show the light of your countenance, and we shall be saved."  The psalmist was praying for a renewed relationship with God.

Advent gospel readings over the past three weeks have told us to keep awake in expectation of Christ's coming, to prepare for Christ by repenting our sins, and to recognize the deeds of Jesus as the inbreaking of God's holy reign.  Now we have the final Sunday of Advent and our readings shift from emphasizing our response to God to highlighting God's initiative in establishing a relationship with us.  The comfort for us this week rests in knowing that God is as interesting in having a relationship with us, as much as—or even more than—we are interested in having a relationship with God.

We may, as the psalmist did, pray for God to show us "the light of God's countenance."  In praying this we express our need for a clearer view of God, so we can be guided in making choices and in understanding what our lives are supposed to mean.

Isaiah expressed his feelings inadequacy when he had been called by God to be a prophet.  When he is finally able to say, “Here am I, send me,” he receives a frightening oracle about the destruction of Jerusalem. Yet he also receives a message of hope from God.

Isaiah relays the message that, despite the prophecy of destruction, King Ahaz must trust God to send a sign of hope.  But Ahaz cannot even manage to ask God to give him a sign.  Despite this lack of trust, a prophecy of hope did come to Ahaz through a child whose name, Emmanuel, means "God is with us."  God reached out to a reluctant Isaiah with a vision of God's power and glory.  God reached out to a stubborn Ahaz with a prophecy of hope.

How often are we facing a great challenge? It may involve our work or in our family or our health. Do we ask for a sign that God has not deserted us?  Truth be told, we often plow ahead, figuring that we'll have to manage the challenge without much help from anyone. Signs of God's presence may be subtle, usually more subtle than an oracle from a prophet.  But God does reach out to us to give us strength, patience, and hope.  How can we discern God's reaching out to us, God's calling us?

St. Paul considered himself "called" by God to be an apostle, sent to bring the story of Jesus Christ to those outside the Jewish faith. His “calling” experience consisted of being knocked to the ground, seeing the bright light of God presence, and hearing God's voice as he was traveling to Damascus to arrest Christians. Yet his understanding of what had happened continued to grow.  His discernment continued through conversations with Ananias of Damascus who baptized Paul.  Then Paul joined Jesus' disciples in Jerusalem for a period of time.  In these conversations Paul came to a deeper understanding of God's action in reaching out to him. As a result, he became a tireless preacher of the Gospel and founded many Christian congregations.  His words we heard today from his letter to Roman Christians explain how he now understands God's call to him and to those who will hear his letter read.

Unlike Paul's call, Joseph's calling came quietly through a dream.  His challenge was what to do about his betrothed Mary finding herself pregnant.  Should he shame her in front of the community?  Strict observance of the law would lead to her being stoned.  He must have loved her deeply, because he decided to handle the situation privately.

Yet God reached out to Joseph in a dream to call him to both trust and compassion beyond simple righteousness and to take Mary for his wife.  Matthew reminded the people who would hear and read his gospel that the promise of God's presence among us would come through this baby as it had in Isaiah's prophecy to King Ahaz.  Joseph's call from God asked for him to do more than even a good man might be expected to do.   Joseph understood and followed God's leading.

Our place on this fourth Sunday of Advent may not be all that different from King Ahaz or St. Paul or Joseph or the psalmist.  In the midst our challenges and troubles, we need God's presence.  We need to be prepared to receive what God wants us to hear and understand.  We need to be aware of how God may come to us--perhaps through some dramatic event or sign, but more likely in a quiet way through a conversation with someone or in our prayers or even in a dream.  God may be calling us beyond what we think is needed or what appears proper given the circumstances.  Above all, God will be asking us to trust that God's presence will continually support us with God's grace and love.  In the light of God's countenance we may rest secure, no matter how dark the night or how turbulent the storm of our lives.  God has promised to be with us, Emmanuel--O Come, O Come Emmanuel!

The 1st Sunday in Advent - Serenity About What Is To Come

On this first Sunday of Advent when I hear about the expected apocalypse in Matthew's gospel an indelible image comes to mind.  The Chapel of the Good Shepherd at General Seminary is very formal, but every once in a while students create "chapel pranks."  Creativity and keeping within a very broad boundary of good taste mark these pranks, which only take place at Evening Prayer.  I walked in one evening to see some clothing draped rather haphazardly across both student and faculty seating.  The faculty, who chose to attend this evening, processed in their cassocks, surplices, and academic hoods from the front of the chapel to their seats.  That's all as it should have been, but in their hands they held (given to them by students) boldly lettered signs saying, "Left Behind."  Muffled laughter arose from the seated students and staff.  Of course, that meant we students who attended that evening were also condemned to being "left behind."  Just a bunch of unprepared sinners, I guess!

Being prepared for God's revealing of God's self for the second time, probably at the end of time or at the beginning of a new age--or being unprepared--this theme colors our scripture readings in Advent.  But this concern may have little place in our thinking today.  We figure it's been over 2,000 years and may be quite a few more.  Most of us have no feelings of urgency about it. 
 
In fact, W. H. Auden, the poet, calls this time in which we live the "Time Being."  He writes, "In the meantime / There are bills to be paid, machines to keep in repair, / Irregular verbs to learn, the Time Being to redeem from insignificance."  Certainly St. Paul would agree, for in his letter to the Roman Christians he tells them to wake-up from sleep.  Only those who are alert can respond to God's call to them and make decisions to live life in such a way that important things take priority—that the Time Being is redeemed from insignificance.
 
Now Paul did believe that the apocalyptic second coming of Christ was quite near.  But whether near or far away in time, Paul's admonition would have been the same: ". . . put on the armor of light . . . live honorably as in the day."  For Paul darkness represented the power of sinful desires that pull us away from God.
 
For Auden our sin makes up part of the picture of our sorry state, but he also views us as actively working against being reflective about two important things:  first, who we are and, then, how our existence consists of more than just our daily tasks.  Not only do we lack urgency about this, we can also allow guilt about our sin repress the joy we might feel as we consider the mystery of God's incarnation as one of us--a human being.  We often feel unworthy of God’s love.
 
David Bartlett, a New Testament scholar, sees two temptations for us in our uncertainty concerning salvation history.  First, Christians may think that understanding all this is just an impossible situation. Then Bartlett says we may "fall into a state of perpetual apathy."  When we find our selves in this state of apathy, we may decide that what we do—or don’t do—matters very little.  On the other hand if we are constantly focused on the apocalypse, Bartlett thinks we will "fall into a state of perpetual anxiety."  We will focus on whether we are among the "saved" or not, often forgetting to address the needs of others with compassion.
 
As with many issues there is a middle ground here.  That middle ground consists of serenity about the future, trusting the words of Jesus that we cannot know when the Son of Man will come.  It also consists of remembering the cautionary story of Noah as an archetype of faithfulness to God's leading.  In this middle ground we also take comfort in the affirming message of Jesus' life, death and resurrection made present each Sunday in the Eucharist.
 
It means gathering with others in a community of hope--neither succumbing to apathy or anxiety.  In that community of hope we can care for each other and together respond to the needs of the world in God's name--while being alert for signs of God's reign of justice and peace, already begun, but not yet fulfilled.  Bartlett calls this "eschatologically sensitive serenity"—serenity about how it all ends.  In this community of hope—in a parish like St. Nicholas’, for example—we can received assurance that, in Bartlett's words, "we are God's people, and that the history in which we live [is] moving from God and [going] to God."
 
The words of Jesus are these: "Therefore, you must be ready. . ."  How can we accomplish this?  Let us make ourselves ready by caring for each other and responding to the needs we see around us.  Let us make ourselves ready through our individual efforts within this community to make it a community of hope, knowing, of course, that only through God's gracious blessing can our efforts be fruitful.  Stemming from God's love for us, may our attitude of serenity allow us to be ever alert for how God is moving in our lives and in the life of this community to help us grow more and more into Christ's likeness.  May we be ever alert for the dawning light of God's justice and peace.

• "For the Time Being: A Christmas Oratorio" in Collected Poems, 1976, p. 308.
• David Bartlett, "Pastoral Perspective" on Matthew 24: 36-44 in Feasting on the Word, Year A, Vol.1, p. 22-24.