On the cover of the Christian Century magazine two years ago, there was a delightful and very different Nativity scene. Joseph and Mary, dressed as Latin American peasants, are off to one side, while dominating the scene are a throng of shepherds and black-faced sheep, all crowding in around the glowing manger. Shepherds? Well, if you listened carefully to Luke’s story of the birth of Jesus, you noticed that the shepherds are the first humans with speaking parts. But shepherds? Why would shepherds camping out with their sheep be important players in this story?1 Theirs was a rough and dirty life, especially when they were out with the sheep. No way to get clean or do laundry or get rid of the smell of the sheep: no showers or bathtubs, no concentrated detergent, no hot water, unless they built a fire to heat it themselves, no running water unless they camped by a river. So when these shepherds reached Mary and Joseph they probably smelled strongly of sheep, wood smoke, and garlic from that day’s meal. Their clothes were probably torn and musty from the caves and tents that they usually slept in. Most of them were probably boys ranging in age from eight to fourteen, with a few grown men to generally keep guard. The older boys would be learning how to shear, butcher, and perhaps sell sheep, so the hardest, dirtiest part of the job of raising sheep was left to the younger boys. And yet here they came, these dirty, scruffy, street-smart kids. By some miracle, they had a vision of angels, and they left the sheep with a couple of bigger boys and ran pell-mell into the village. Pushing, shoving, maybe making wisecracks, they crowded in to see a teenage girl cradling a baby. What a scene! Did God really send God’s Son and God’s own messengers to these folks?
What an unlikely story. It’s true that King David, the ancestor of God’s anointed one, was a shepherd, and that Israel’s kings were often called shepherds. But really. Angels announcing the birth of the anointed one to those scruffy kids? And it’s true that one of the prophecies had said that the Messiah was to be born in Bethlehem. But really. That tiny, poor village whose main source of income was the bread it sent up to Herod’s towering palace? And it’s true that we heard only last week how an angel had told another poor no-account teenager that she was to give birth to the savior of the world. But really. It would be as if the savior of the world were born in a homeless shelter or a truck stop. Wouldn’t the world’s savior have been delivered by a trained midwife in a rich well-appointed place? Wouldn’t the first people to hear that he was born be wealthy, well educated folks? Yes, God seems to have a preference, especially in Luke’s way of telling the story, for poor, down at the heels people, even for women. But really. Luke’s story is all so unlikely.
Actually, maybe the whole story is unlikely. The Word made flesh, God coming to us in a human body, the all-powerful God becoming totally powerless, totally dependent on poor, working class people. As Madeleine L’Engle said, “Cribbed, cabined, and confined within the contours of a human infant. The infinite defined by the finite? The Creator of all life thirsty and abandoned? Why would [God] do such a thing? Aren’t there easier ways for God to redeem … fallen creatures?” Can we really believe that God comes down to us, into the midst of “civil wars, demonstrations, conspiracies, and petty fights,” into a body as frail and intricate as ours?"2 And the child growing up to be a refugee, a working man with dusty feet, a man who would radically challenge and transform the world around him. The adult Jesus fulfilling his promise to feed us with his own body and blood, so that we might be his Body in the world. The holy one breaking into our world again and again and again. It is an unlikely story, even a ridiculous story, a mystery that we celebrate this day. Indeed, the whole Incarnation, the coming of God in history in human flesh is still as much a mystery today as the incomprehensible nature of God.
Do we just stop right there? Do we sit awestruck, open-mouthed, rooted to our pews in the face of such mystery? Of course, in one sense, awestruck silence is the right response. But maybe God hopes for something more of us. Maybe we need to look again at those angels and shepherds. Maybe we need to hear again the heavenly choir belting out, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace for people whom he favors.” Are those angels really saying that through the birth of this holy child, who is the Messiah, that all people will enjoy God’s gracious favor, and that the world will know peace?
If so, then we need to respond to that proclamation of grace! And this story suggests there are three ways we can do that. First, we can imitate the angels. We can join the heavenly choir in their singing out of God’s glory. We too can offer praise and thanks to God for God’s great gift of God’s son, indeed for all of God’s gifts to us. We can do that in our own individual prayers, as we travel through our days. What’s more important, we can offer our praise and thanks to God through regularly joining in worship with others, through hearing God’s Word in Scripture and joining ourselves more firmly to Christ’s Body in the Eucharist. Second, we can imitate the shepherds. We too can obey the angelic summons and go to seek Jesus wherever he may be found. We too can glorify and praise God for all that we have heard and seen. We can heed the angels by seeking and serving Christ in all people and by sharing with others not only our material goods but, what is more important, the good news of what Christ has done for us and for the world. And we can heed the angels by actively seeking to spread God’s peace in our world, a world as brutal and warring as that of the shepherds. And third we can imitate Mary. We hear no words from Mary in this story, but Luke tells us that, “Mary kept all these things to herself, holding them dear, deep within herself.” When the presents are all opened, the Christmas dinner is finished, the last guests have left, and the house is quiet again, perhaps we too can reflect on the glorious announcement, perhaps we too can savor its wonder in our own hearts. Praise, share, reflect. That’s what our life as Jesus’ disciples is all about.
“Angels we have heard on high.” Together with those scruffy boys, we too have heard the angels. Lord, grant us the grace to join them in saying to ourselves and others, “Come to Bethlehem and see him whose birth the angels sing.”
_____________________________
1. The description of the shepherds is based on Sandra Herrmann, “Shepherds Camping in the Neighborhood,” Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit, (Lima, OH: CSS, 2011), 26-7.
2. Julie Polter, “’Say, Say the Light,’” Sojourners, December 2011, 9.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Monday, December 19, 2011
What Would She Say?
What would you have said? What would you have said if a holy presence had suddenly made itself known to you, and then asked you to do something totally incredible? What would you have said? [Query a few people in the congregation.]
If you had been Mary, the entire cosmos would have been waiting, breathless, to hear your answer to Gabriel. In St. Paul’s Church in Antwerp, Belgium, on the north side aisle, hang fifteen paintings, depicting what are called the “mysteries” of Jesus’ life.1 The very first painting is by the 16th century artist Hendrik van Balen. The painting depicts the first of the “joyful mysteries,” i.e., the Annunciation. Christians believe that the coming of the Word into our neighborhood was part of God’s plan from the beginning of creation. In the van Balen painting God is on the point of fulfilling God’s promise to send a savior, a promise which we have heard over and over in the Hebrew Scriptures, and which we just heard John the Baptizer proclaim again for first century Jews and Gentiles. God is always dependent on human cooperation for the fulfillment of God’s plans. Now God is dependent on a young woman’s willingness to take the risk of letting God the Son come into her body. And so in this painting God the Father, God the Holy Spirit, and countless throngs of angels hold their breaths, suspended in time, as they wait for the response of this young woman. What would she say?
Understandably, she was cautious, perhaps even amazed. She no doubt asked herself first whether she was truly in the presence of a heavenly messenger, or whether she was just imagining it all. And why on earth would God’s messenger address her as “favored one?” She was poor, perhaps all of fourteen, and a woman, in a culture that had a decided preference for wealthy, older males. She lived in a no-account town, in an obscure corner of a country dominated for centuries by other countries. She was even more perplexed when the messenger suggested that she was called to give birth to a holy child. She retorted, “You’re kidding me, right? My fiancé and I haven’t even slept together yet.” When he shook his head to show he wasn’t kidding at all, she knew that if she agreed to his proposal, her life, from that day forward, would change radically. So the cosmos waited: what would she say?
And, of course, they all let out a collective sigh of relief when she said, “Yes, I see it all now: I'm the Lord's maid, ready to serve. Let it be with me just as you say.” Yes, she agreed, but let’s be clear: Mary was not a passive player in God’s plan, she was not speaking lines already written for her, and she was not coerced into answering as she did. She had a choice. Though she knew that she was not one of the great ones of this world, perhaps Mary sensed, perhaps even dimly at first, that she was indeed called by God to take up her unique role in God’s plan of salvation. Surely she could not foresee all that was to unfold – Luke tells us that she “kept all these things in her heart.” Nevertheless she believed that the presence she felt was indeed holy, she trusted in God to work God’s will, and she said, “Yes.”
Mary’s “yes” was not the end of the story. Nor was the willingness of God the Son to take up residence among us the end of the story. The holy presence continues to break into our world. When and how do we sense the holy presence? Often, when we allow ourselves the time and space, when we take the ipods out of our ears or turn the TV off for a few minutes, when we open our prayer books or journals, or just sit expectantly, the holy presence makes itself known. Sometimes God’s presence is even more fragmentary: a verse from Scripture, a line of a hymn, a chance conversation may make us aware of God’s presence. If we are attentive, the holy presence also comes to us as we gather together in Christian community, as we hear Scripture read, as we are immersed in the waters of baptism, and as we are nourished with Christ’s Body and Blood. If we realize that we are all God’s children, we can then perhaps see how the holy presence also seeks out a welcome among Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs, Buddhists, and even those who deny its reality. Those who welcome that holy presence, become holy people, and through them God’s plan for creation continues towards its ultimate fulfillment.
When we sense the holy presence breaking into our world, our reaction may not be so different from that of Mary. “Is God really here?” we may think, “or am I just imagining it? And why would God take the trouble to come to me? I’m not anybody. I’m just a schoolteacher, or a retiree, or a homemaker. I’m just trying to do my best to provide for my family and community.” We might even ask the same question of our parish. “Why would the holy presence come to St. Peter’s? We’re just a small struggling parish in a struggling town down on the Ohio River, far from anywhere. Who are we to be part of God’s plan?” Surprise! We too, as individuals and as a parish, may find ourselves not only visited by the holy presence, but asked or called to participate in God’s plan in some unexpected way. “God with us” barges into our lives, sometimes into our very bodies, and lays out God’s plan for us. “You’re kidding, right?” we may say, “I’m too young, I’m too old, we can’t afford it, no one has the time, right?” And just as the angels and archangels, as the whole company of heaven stood holding their breaths until Mary answered Gabriel, the cosmos waits on our answers too. What will he say? What will she say? Will they do it?
Surely the angels and archangels waited expectantly last month as the congregation of St. John the Baptist Church in Corona, California got a glimpse of the holy presence in the form of Erin Tharp.2 Now twenty-eight, Tharp was paralyzed by viral encephalitis at the age of fourteen. Ever since she has been unable to speak and has been confined to a wheelchair. In a sermon that she laboriously typed out with one finger and that was read from an ipad by Deacon Karen Chavez, Tharp acknowledged her need for constant care. Yet she expressed her gratitude for her wheelchair. “It has allowed me to take family vacations, ‘walk’ with my [Centennial High School] class at graduation and pick out my canine daughter, Maggie,” she said. “I can also do the little things with the family. I never thought just eating dinner, as a family, would be so special.” Which led to “thinking about people less fortunate than me. They deserve the same feeling of freedom I enjoy. Where they were born or their economic situation shouldn’t hinder that.” Despite her limitations, Tharp became an enthusiastic supporter of the Free Wheelchair Mission, a nonprofit, nonsectarian ministry that has already supplied more than 600,000 wheelchairs worldwide. Along with Bishop J. Jon Bruno, Tharp has helped the Diocese of Los Angeles meet a challenge to underwrite the cost of sending out 2,750 wheelchairs. When Tharp addressed the congregation of St. John the Baptist, she had already donated $630 of her own, enough to buy 10 wheelchairs. She challenged the congregation to raise enough money for 100 chairs. People wondered if it were really possible to raise that much. Tharp, along with the angels and archangels, held her breath. What would the congregation say? All breathed a sigh of relief as the congregation accepted the challenge. At last count they’d raised enough to purchase 122 wheelchairs. As for Tharp, she is more concerned about continuing her outreach than about her own health challenges. “Advent is the perfect time to shed light on the extreme giving Free Wheelchair Mission does for God’s forgotten children, liberating them from the yoke of bondage,” she told the John the Baptist congregation. “In many places around the world, the disabled truly are the least of his brothers .… Let’s take time out of the busy-ness of this Christmas season to remember those who are often forgotten, if not ignored. At the risk of sounding corny, I think that’s the perfect birthday gift for Jesus.”
Who are our holy visitors? What do you hear in prayer, in Scripture, in conversation with each other? What is the holy presence that we discern asking us to do? Do we have a perfect birthday gift for Jesus? Are we called to new ministry “out there?” Or perhaps we are called to strengthen the bonds among the members of this parish. This week take a few minutes to let God’s holy presence visit you. Take careful note of what you hear. Remember that Gabriel’s message to Mary began with “The Lord is with you,” and concluded with “Nothing is impossible with God.” Good words to remember when God’s holy presence calls us into unexpected partnership with God.
1. As noted by Paul Wesley Chilcote in “Monday in Advent III,” Come Thou Long-Expected Jesus (Harrisburg, PA: Morehouse, 2007), 36-7.
2. Pat McCaughan, “Corona Episcopalian inspires support for wheelchair ministry,” Episcopal News Service, December 15, 2011, accessed at http://episcopaldigitalnetwork.com/ens/2011/12/15/corona-episcopalian-inspires-support-for-wheelchair-ministry/
If you had been Mary, the entire cosmos would have been waiting, breathless, to hear your answer to Gabriel. In St. Paul’s Church in Antwerp, Belgium, on the north side aisle, hang fifteen paintings, depicting what are called the “mysteries” of Jesus’ life.1 The very first painting is by the 16th century artist Hendrik van Balen. The painting depicts the first of the “joyful mysteries,” i.e., the Annunciation. Christians believe that the coming of the Word into our neighborhood was part of God’s plan from the beginning of creation. In the van Balen painting God is on the point of fulfilling God’s promise to send a savior, a promise which we have heard over and over in the Hebrew Scriptures, and which we just heard John the Baptizer proclaim again for first century Jews and Gentiles. God is always dependent on human cooperation for the fulfillment of God’s plans. Now God is dependent on a young woman’s willingness to take the risk of letting God the Son come into her body. And so in this painting God the Father, God the Holy Spirit, and countless throngs of angels hold their breaths, suspended in time, as they wait for the response of this young woman. What would she say?
Understandably, she was cautious, perhaps even amazed. She no doubt asked herself first whether she was truly in the presence of a heavenly messenger, or whether she was just imagining it all. And why on earth would God’s messenger address her as “favored one?” She was poor, perhaps all of fourteen, and a woman, in a culture that had a decided preference for wealthy, older males. She lived in a no-account town, in an obscure corner of a country dominated for centuries by other countries. She was even more perplexed when the messenger suggested that she was called to give birth to a holy child. She retorted, “You’re kidding me, right? My fiancé and I haven’t even slept together yet.” When he shook his head to show he wasn’t kidding at all, she knew that if she agreed to his proposal, her life, from that day forward, would change radically. So the cosmos waited: what would she say?
And, of course, they all let out a collective sigh of relief when she said, “Yes, I see it all now: I'm the Lord's maid, ready to serve. Let it be with me just as you say.” Yes, she agreed, but let’s be clear: Mary was not a passive player in God’s plan, she was not speaking lines already written for her, and she was not coerced into answering as she did. She had a choice. Though she knew that she was not one of the great ones of this world, perhaps Mary sensed, perhaps even dimly at first, that she was indeed called by God to take up her unique role in God’s plan of salvation. Surely she could not foresee all that was to unfold – Luke tells us that she “kept all these things in her heart.” Nevertheless she believed that the presence she felt was indeed holy, she trusted in God to work God’s will, and she said, “Yes.”
Mary’s “yes” was not the end of the story. Nor was the willingness of God the Son to take up residence among us the end of the story. The holy presence continues to break into our world. When and how do we sense the holy presence? Often, when we allow ourselves the time and space, when we take the ipods out of our ears or turn the TV off for a few minutes, when we open our prayer books or journals, or just sit expectantly, the holy presence makes itself known. Sometimes God’s presence is even more fragmentary: a verse from Scripture, a line of a hymn, a chance conversation may make us aware of God’s presence. If we are attentive, the holy presence also comes to us as we gather together in Christian community, as we hear Scripture read, as we are immersed in the waters of baptism, and as we are nourished with Christ’s Body and Blood. If we realize that we are all God’s children, we can then perhaps see how the holy presence also seeks out a welcome among Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs, Buddhists, and even those who deny its reality. Those who welcome that holy presence, become holy people, and through them God’s plan for creation continues towards its ultimate fulfillment.
When we sense the holy presence breaking into our world, our reaction may not be so different from that of Mary. “Is God really here?” we may think, “or am I just imagining it? And why would God take the trouble to come to me? I’m not anybody. I’m just a schoolteacher, or a retiree, or a homemaker. I’m just trying to do my best to provide for my family and community.” We might even ask the same question of our parish. “Why would the holy presence come to St. Peter’s? We’re just a small struggling parish in a struggling town down on the Ohio River, far from anywhere. Who are we to be part of God’s plan?” Surprise! We too, as individuals and as a parish, may find ourselves not only visited by the holy presence, but asked or called to participate in God’s plan in some unexpected way. “God with us” barges into our lives, sometimes into our very bodies, and lays out God’s plan for us. “You’re kidding, right?” we may say, “I’m too young, I’m too old, we can’t afford it, no one has the time, right?” And just as the angels and archangels, as the whole company of heaven stood holding their breaths until Mary answered Gabriel, the cosmos waits on our answers too. What will he say? What will she say? Will they do it?
Surely the angels and archangels waited expectantly last month as the congregation of St. John the Baptist Church in Corona, California got a glimpse of the holy presence in the form of Erin Tharp.2 Now twenty-eight, Tharp was paralyzed by viral encephalitis at the age of fourteen. Ever since she has been unable to speak and has been confined to a wheelchair. In a sermon that she laboriously typed out with one finger and that was read from an ipad by Deacon Karen Chavez, Tharp acknowledged her need for constant care. Yet she expressed her gratitude for her wheelchair. “It has allowed me to take family vacations, ‘walk’ with my [Centennial High School] class at graduation and pick out my canine daughter, Maggie,” she said. “I can also do the little things with the family. I never thought just eating dinner, as a family, would be so special.” Which led to “thinking about people less fortunate than me. They deserve the same feeling of freedom I enjoy. Where they were born or their economic situation shouldn’t hinder that.” Despite her limitations, Tharp became an enthusiastic supporter of the Free Wheelchair Mission, a nonprofit, nonsectarian ministry that has already supplied more than 600,000 wheelchairs worldwide. Along with Bishop J. Jon Bruno, Tharp has helped the Diocese of Los Angeles meet a challenge to underwrite the cost of sending out 2,750 wheelchairs. When Tharp addressed the congregation of St. John the Baptist, she had already donated $630 of her own, enough to buy 10 wheelchairs. She challenged the congregation to raise enough money for 100 chairs. People wondered if it were really possible to raise that much. Tharp, along with the angels and archangels, held her breath. What would the congregation say? All breathed a sigh of relief as the congregation accepted the challenge. At last count they’d raised enough to purchase 122 wheelchairs. As for Tharp, she is more concerned about continuing her outreach than about her own health challenges. “Advent is the perfect time to shed light on the extreme giving Free Wheelchair Mission does for God’s forgotten children, liberating them from the yoke of bondage,” she told the John the Baptist congregation. “In many places around the world, the disabled truly are the least of his brothers .… Let’s take time out of the busy-ness of this Christmas season to remember those who are often forgotten, if not ignored. At the risk of sounding corny, I think that’s the perfect birthday gift for Jesus.”
Who are our holy visitors? What do you hear in prayer, in Scripture, in conversation with each other? What is the holy presence that we discern asking us to do? Do we have a perfect birthday gift for Jesus? Are we called to new ministry “out there?” Or perhaps we are called to strengthen the bonds among the members of this parish. This week take a few minutes to let God’s holy presence visit you. Take careful note of what you hear. Remember that Gabriel’s message to Mary began with “The Lord is with you,” and concluded with “Nothing is impossible with God.” Good words to remember when God’s holy presence calls us into unexpected partnership with God.
1. As noted by Paul Wesley Chilcote in “Monday in Advent III,” Come Thou Long-Expected Jesus (Harrisburg, PA: Morehouse, 2007), 36-7.
2. Pat McCaughan, “Corona Episcopalian inspires support for wheelchair ministry,” Episcopal News Service, December 15, 2011, accessed at http://episcopaldigitalnetwork.com/ens/2011/12/15/corona-episcopalian-inspires-support-for-wheelchair-ministry/
Sunday, December 11, 2011
He Came to Testify to the Light
”He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” What light? With the frenetic holiday celebrations taking place on the other side of the red doors, we often don’t see much of the Light of the World at this time of year – or any time of year. And in a world where gunmen kill police officers on college campuses and suicide bombers still threaten innocent worshippers, it may be hard even to believe in the Light of the World.
A middle manager in a small factory – let’s call him Tom – stood looking at his desk on Christmas Eve.1 His report to his boss was overdue. Everyone else had left, and the building was eerily quiet. “I hate Christmas,” he sighed. This month had been one of the worst in his career. His department had lost several key positions to budget cuts, and everyone was expected to “work smarter,” i.e., get everything done with fewer people. “Don’t worry about me,” he’d told his staff members as he sent them home to their Christmas Eve celebrations, “I’ll be done very soon.” But Tom knew that the report would take him a long time to finish. He might be in the office for several hours yet. “I hate Christmas,” he sighed again.
About 8:00, he decided to go out to the corner deli and get something to eat. Making his way out the back door into the icy air of the alley, he nearly fell over a pile of rags, cardboard, and what seemed to be a tarpaulin. As he lifted his foot to kick the pile out of the way, a woman’s voice said weakly, “Sorry, mister. No one usually comes through that door at this time of night. It’s a good place to sleep, you see, because of the warm air coming out from under the door.” Tom had enough on his mind, so he just turned away, headed towards the deli, and muttered again, “I hate Christmas.” As he waited in the long line at the deli, Tom had time to read “A Pastor’s Christmas Note” in the local free newspaper. The pastor told the story of a homeless man whom he had watched sharing a stale hunk of bread with a flock of birds gathered round him. The man would take a bit of bread, break it in two, eat one part, and give the other part to the birds. No one bothered the homeless man, who seemed perfectly content sharing his meager meal with the birds. When he got to the counter, Tom ordered his usual corned beef on rye. Then he burst out, “No, make it two. And throw in a couple of pot pies and some veggies. I’ll have some orange juice too. How about a couple of Hershey bars? And do you have any warm hats?” Tom left the deli with two full sacks. Now he was eagerly looking forward to his Christmas Eve dinner with the homeless woman by the back door. He didn’t care if the report got done in time. Who would read it on Christmas anyway? As he walked through the cold night to his office, an old hymn floated back to him, “Rejoice! Rejoice! Emanuel shall come to thee, O Israel ….”
“He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” What was John the Voice in the Wilderness up to? As he gathered followers around him and began baptizing people, the religious authorities confronted him. They questioned him, just as they would later challenge Jesus. “Who the devil are you, and why are you baptizing people?” “I know you’re waiting for the Messiah, God’s anointed one, but I am not he,” John told them plainly. “I’m not Elijah either, nor am I the prophet like Moses whom Moses said would be the Messiah’s forerunner.” Not, not, not. Then who was he?
The Fourth Gospel introduces us to John immediately after its opening hymn to the incarnate Word, immediately after its celebration of the light of life, the light that enlightens everyone, the light that darkness cannot quench. Who was John? John was a witness to that light. John was not a witness to a cute little baby, lying in a stable surrounded by adoring animals. John was a witness to an adult, an adult who would, through his own death and return to life, give life to the world. “This is the Messiah for whom you are waiting,” John told the religious authorities. “In all the old prophecies, in Isaiah, in Jeremiah, in Micah, in Malachi, God promised you a savior. Now God has made good on God’s promises. As I point to him, I am preparing people to receive him. And I rejoice to see this day, for God is faithful.”
“He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” In a story in the Huffington Post last year, Lynne Hybels wrote, “When Jesus comes, everything changes.”2 About a hundred years ago, Egyptians from rural villages migrated to Cairo. Most of them were unskilled and illiterate, and so they wound up becoming itinerant trash collectors. In the 1970s, the zabaleen, as the trash collectors were called, were forced into a kind of tin-shack ghetto near Cairo’s Mt. Muqattam. Poor, filthy, and dangerous, Garbage Village had no churches, schools, electricity, running water, health care, or even stores. Disease, addiction to drugs and alcohol, and violence were widespread. One day, in 1974 a young trash collector asked a Christian businessman whose trash he collected, to tell him about Jesus. Then the young man persuaded the businessman to teach a Bible study in one of the shacks in Garbage Village. The zabaleen rejoiced to hear the message that God loved them. Within a few years, there were so many believers that the Coptic Orthodox built a church in the village. The villagers were free to select their priest, so they chose the businessman who had shared God’s love with them. After the businessman was ordained by the Coptic Church he became known as Father Samaan. “When Jesus comes to a place, it changes the whole society,” said Father Samaan.
“He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” What about us? Do we recognize the light to whom John pointed? Do we recognize that we too are loved by God? Do we share with John the sense that God has given us a purpose in the story of salvation? Dare we believe that we are less important than John the Voice or Father Samaan? Advent is a special time. Advent is a time to stop, pause, and reflect. Instead of getting caught up in the activities that beckon us at every turn this month, take the gift of Advent quiet to prayerfully reflect on your own life. Reflect on the miracle of your own birth, your life choices, and your vocation. What do close friends and family members see in you? What are your gifts and from whom have they come? Who needs what you have to offer? Could it be that you too are a beloved child of God, with a unique and essential purpose? Could it be that you too are called to enable people to see the light?
Could it be that you are called to be an evangelist? Episcopalians shy away from that word. We say, “The Episcopal Church is the best kept secret,” and I sometimes think we prefer it that way. Faith is a private affair, some of us would say. Is that what the prophets say? Is that what Paul says? Is that what John the Voice in the Wilderness says? If our faith is a source of joy to us, how can we not want to share it? I’m not talking about damning non-believers to hell. I’m not talking about coercing or manipulating people into believing. I am talking about pointing to Jesus, enabling people to see the light, either through our words, or, better yet, through the quality of our lives and ministries. If we are truly his disciples, then as individuals and as parishes, we cannot be ashamed or afraid to say, “There he is.” During Epiphany tide we will hear the passage that comes a little later in this same chapter of John’s Gospel, in which Philip tells Nathanael that he has found the Messiah, Jesus of Nazareth. “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Nathanael scornfully asks. Philip’s answer: “Come and see.” We too are called to say, “Come and see.” We too are called to point to the light, to share the good news of Jesus, using words, if necessary, as Francis of Assisi said. We too are called to stand at the foot of the Cross and point to him.
“He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” Such is our call too.
1. The following story is based on Tom Gordon, “A Deeper Meaning,” in Within an Open Eye (Iona: Wild Good Publications, 2011), 24-29.
2. The following is based on material in Synthesis, December 2011, 3. The story by Lynne Hybels originally appeared in the Huffington Post on December 21, 2010.
A middle manager in a small factory – let’s call him Tom – stood looking at his desk on Christmas Eve.1 His report to his boss was overdue. Everyone else had left, and the building was eerily quiet. “I hate Christmas,” he sighed. This month had been one of the worst in his career. His department had lost several key positions to budget cuts, and everyone was expected to “work smarter,” i.e., get everything done with fewer people. “Don’t worry about me,” he’d told his staff members as he sent them home to their Christmas Eve celebrations, “I’ll be done very soon.” But Tom knew that the report would take him a long time to finish. He might be in the office for several hours yet. “I hate Christmas,” he sighed again.
About 8:00, he decided to go out to the corner deli and get something to eat. Making his way out the back door into the icy air of the alley, he nearly fell over a pile of rags, cardboard, and what seemed to be a tarpaulin. As he lifted his foot to kick the pile out of the way, a woman’s voice said weakly, “Sorry, mister. No one usually comes through that door at this time of night. It’s a good place to sleep, you see, because of the warm air coming out from under the door.” Tom had enough on his mind, so he just turned away, headed towards the deli, and muttered again, “I hate Christmas.” As he waited in the long line at the deli, Tom had time to read “A Pastor’s Christmas Note” in the local free newspaper. The pastor told the story of a homeless man whom he had watched sharing a stale hunk of bread with a flock of birds gathered round him. The man would take a bit of bread, break it in two, eat one part, and give the other part to the birds. No one bothered the homeless man, who seemed perfectly content sharing his meager meal with the birds. When he got to the counter, Tom ordered his usual corned beef on rye. Then he burst out, “No, make it two. And throw in a couple of pot pies and some veggies. I’ll have some orange juice too. How about a couple of Hershey bars? And do you have any warm hats?” Tom left the deli with two full sacks. Now he was eagerly looking forward to his Christmas Eve dinner with the homeless woman by the back door. He didn’t care if the report got done in time. Who would read it on Christmas anyway? As he walked through the cold night to his office, an old hymn floated back to him, “Rejoice! Rejoice! Emanuel shall come to thee, O Israel ….”
“He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” What was John the Voice in the Wilderness up to? As he gathered followers around him and began baptizing people, the religious authorities confronted him. They questioned him, just as they would later challenge Jesus. “Who the devil are you, and why are you baptizing people?” “I know you’re waiting for the Messiah, God’s anointed one, but I am not he,” John told them plainly. “I’m not Elijah either, nor am I the prophet like Moses whom Moses said would be the Messiah’s forerunner.” Not, not, not. Then who was he?
The Fourth Gospel introduces us to John immediately after its opening hymn to the incarnate Word, immediately after its celebration of the light of life, the light that enlightens everyone, the light that darkness cannot quench. Who was John? John was a witness to that light. John was not a witness to a cute little baby, lying in a stable surrounded by adoring animals. John was a witness to an adult, an adult who would, through his own death and return to life, give life to the world. “This is the Messiah for whom you are waiting,” John told the religious authorities. “In all the old prophecies, in Isaiah, in Jeremiah, in Micah, in Malachi, God promised you a savior. Now God has made good on God’s promises. As I point to him, I am preparing people to receive him. And I rejoice to see this day, for God is faithful.”
“He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” In a story in the Huffington Post last year, Lynne Hybels wrote, “When Jesus comes, everything changes.”2 About a hundred years ago, Egyptians from rural villages migrated to Cairo. Most of them were unskilled and illiterate, and so they wound up becoming itinerant trash collectors. In the 1970s, the zabaleen, as the trash collectors were called, were forced into a kind of tin-shack ghetto near Cairo’s Mt. Muqattam. Poor, filthy, and dangerous, Garbage Village had no churches, schools, electricity, running water, health care, or even stores. Disease, addiction to drugs and alcohol, and violence were widespread. One day, in 1974 a young trash collector asked a Christian businessman whose trash he collected, to tell him about Jesus. Then the young man persuaded the businessman to teach a Bible study in one of the shacks in Garbage Village. The zabaleen rejoiced to hear the message that God loved them. Within a few years, there were so many believers that the Coptic Orthodox built a church in the village. The villagers were free to select their priest, so they chose the businessman who had shared God’s love with them. After the businessman was ordained by the Coptic Church he became known as Father Samaan. “When Jesus comes to a place, it changes the whole society,” said Father Samaan.
“He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” What about us? Do we recognize the light to whom John pointed? Do we recognize that we too are loved by God? Do we share with John the sense that God has given us a purpose in the story of salvation? Dare we believe that we are less important than John the Voice or Father Samaan? Advent is a special time. Advent is a time to stop, pause, and reflect. Instead of getting caught up in the activities that beckon us at every turn this month, take the gift of Advent quiet to prayerfully reflect on your own life. Reflect on the miracle of your own birth, your life choices, and your vocation. What do close friends and family members see in you? What are your gifts and from whom have they come? Who needs what you have to offer? Could it be that you too are a beloved child of God, with a unique and essential purpose? Could it be that you too are called to enable people to see the light?
Could it be that you are called to be an evangelist? Episcopalians shy away from that word. We say, “The Episcopal Church is the best kept secret,” and I sometimes think we prefer it that way. Faith is a private affair, some of us would say. Is that what the prophets say? Is that what Paul says? Is that what John the Voice in the Wilderness says? If our faith is a source of joy to us, how can we not want to share it? I’m not talking about damning non-believers to hell. I’m not talking about coercing or manipulating people into believing. I am talking about pointing to Jesus, enabling people to see the light, either through our words, or, better yet, through the quality of our lives and ministries. If we are truly his disciples, then as individuals and as parishes, we cannot be ashamed or afraid to say, “There he is.” During Epiphany tide we will hear the passage that comes a little later in this same chapter of John’s Gospel, in which Philip tells Nathanael that he has found the Messiah, Jesus of Nazareth. “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Nathanael scornfully asks. Philip’s answer: “Come and see.” We too are called to say, “Come and see.” We too are called to point to the light, to share the good news of Jesus, using words, if necessary, as Francis of Assisi said. We too are called to stand at the foot of the Cross and point to him.
“He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” Such is our call too.
1. The following story is based on Tom Gordon, “A Deeper Meaning,” in Within an Open Eye (Iona: Wild Good Publications, 2011), 24-29.
2. The following is based on material in Synthesis, December 2011, 3. The story by Lynne Hybels originally appeared in the Huffington Post on December 21, 2010.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
The Beginning of the Good News
Ya’acov ben Shimon was perplexed. He frowned as he looked around his village in Galilee.1 He’d heard that the Romans had started besieging Jerusalem after some radical Jewish sect started a revolt. Some people were overjoyed and said that God was at last driving the Romans out of Israel. But others said that the only way to have peace and security was to tolerate the Romans. Ya’acov had also heard that the emperor Nero had died last year. Four candidates had been acclaimed as the next emperor and then assassinated in short order. Now Vespasian, who’d ordered the siege of Jerusalem, had been crowned. How would this effect the war? And would prices finally come down?
There was conflict right here in Ya’acov’s village too. The Jews and the Gentiles were fighting about the war. Formerly close neighbors and even family members were on different sides. However, there was a small group of people who refused to fight on either side. They were followers of a Galilean rabbi named Yehoshua, whom the Romans had crucified as a rebel about forty years ago. Everyone was disgusted with these folks. The rabbis thought they were dead wrong about this Yehoshua, and those who hated the Romans were sure that Yehoshua had done nothing to help drive the Romans out. But again Ya’acov wondered. How could it be that Yehoshua’s execution was a sign of God’s favor towards both Jews and Gentiles? One day one of Yehoshua’s followers handed him a scroll in Greek with a strange opening: “The beginning of the good news about Jesus, the Messiah, the Son of God.” Beginning? What was beginning, and when? Messiah? Isn’t that what all the Jews were waiting for? Son of God? Isn’t that what they called the Roman emperor?
As he read the first part of the scroll, about John the Baptizer, Ya’acov wondered where the story of the Good News really began. The scroll writer – let’s call him Mark – started with a quotation from two Hebrew prophets, Isaiah and Malachi. Is that where the story really began, all those centuries ago, when God spoke through the prophets? Or did it begin when God brought the Jews back from exile in Babylon? Or did the story begin with John? Did the story begin with the hints in John’s proclamation? Clearly Mark and his community understood that John was a herald, and that, like the prophets, he was announcing God’s plan. But Mark also wanted his hearers to understand the meaning of John’s proclamation. So he looked back to the past and used the prophet Isaiah as an analogy for John. Isaiah had proclaimed that God would rescue the Jews from exile. Similarly, Mark and his community, in their current troubled world, understood that John had proclaimed the same kind of comfort and rescue that Isaiah had.
And then Ya’acov had another question. Where did the story end? Hadn’t the prophet Malachi, who had seen the newly completed second temple, said, “See I am sending my messenger to prepare the way before me, and the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple”? So Mark also must have used Malachi as an analogy for John. Malachi had looked forward, although with dread, to the new thing that God was doing, to the deliverance and judgment that God’s coming would bring. Similarly, for Mark, John proclaimed a new and powerful savior, someone who would judge everyone in the world and whose coming would radically change the world, someone who would initiate a new covenant with them through the Holy Spirit. So perhaps the witness of John the Baptizer, John the herald, was the beginning of the good news, but its fullness, the end of the story, was yet to be revealed.
Now we are reading the scroll that Ya’acov read. We call it the Gospel According to Mark. As we read and reread the entire story, perhaps we too wonder just where the Good News really begins – and ends. Perhaps the whole first half of Mark’s scroll, which recounts Jesus’ ministry in Galilee and all his teachings about God’s reign, is the true “beginning of the good news.” Or maybe the beginning of the Good News is Mark’s whole scroll and the story it tells. Perhaps the story begins when it comes alive for its hearers, when it encourages its hearers both to look back to God’s saving works in the past and to look forward in hope to the new thing that God is doing. Perhaps the story truly begins when people ponder how it could or should unfold in their own lives.
The truth is that the “beginning of the good news” always begins with God and God’s works, and that story has yet to end. At the same time, the story of the good news begins for us when we see ourselves in it, when we make it our own, and we only know the true end of it when our life on earth is over. As we live in our own middle time, we can follow Mark’s example and look both back to the past and forward to God’s future. We can understand ourselves both in terms of who and where we have come from and in terms of what God has yet to do with us.
In this Advent time, we can begin by looking back to our own predecessors in faith, to those who were God’s heralds for us. Take a few minutes to ponder who first introduced you to faith, who modeled devotion to God for you. Though faith is ultimately a gift of God, few of us come to faith all by ourselves. Even if we were baptized as adults, the chances are that someone was a guidepost for us on the way to the font. Was your herald a family member or close friend? What did that person do to introduce you to God? Did he read the Bible to you? Did she teach you the wonderful old hymns? Did their lives inspire you? Did they see Jesus in the “least of these” and generously offer themselves to others? Is there any way to honor those heralds of faith? Or perhaps your model of faith a saint from the past. In addition to John the Baptizer himself, many people still find Francis of Assisi, Julian of Norwich, John of the Cross, Evelyn Underhill, Thomas Merton, or Mother Teresa compelling examples of faith. You might ponder this too: for whom are you a herald of Jesus, a model of faith and devotion? Who would be inspired by your life? Are there areas of your life that you need to change in order to be a more compelling example of faith? Do we hesitate to even admit that we need to repent?
In this Advent time, we also continue to look ahead. Like John the Herald, like Mark, and Ya’acov, like all those who preceded us in faith, we’re also still in the middle of the story. We believe that “the Lord whom you seek” will suddenly return to his temple, to complete and restore the world. We too long for that day, even though along with Malachi we may wonder, “Who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?” As we continue to look forward in hope, and as we do our best to prepare for the Lord’s appearing, this Advent time is also a good time to reflect on another question. We might wonder what our place is in God’s plan. How does God expect us, both as individuals and as a parish, to partner in bringing in the reign God heralded in John and initiated in Jesus? What ministries has God prepared “for us to walk in?”
Thursday December 1st was World Aids Day. In addition to those affected by HIV/AIDS themselves, many have been widowed and orphaned by AIDS. Today, for example, there are more than 16 million children orphaned by the AIDS scourge, many of them in east Africa. While we were celebrating Thanksgiving Day, Christian and Muslim leaders in Kenya met in Nairobi to discuss how to improve their responses to a disease that is a social, economic, political, and medical issue. Katherine Jefferts Schorri, Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church, and Mark Hanson, ELCA Presiding Bishop, issued a joint statement committing both their churches on World AIDS Day to a renewed partnership in ministry to AIDS victims and their families. Meanwhile, Tennis star Roger Federer, entertainer Madonna, and Episcopal priest Bill Rankin, who recently retired as CEO of the Global AIDS Interfaith Alliance (GAIA), all committed themselves to continue the fight against AIDS in Malawi. Is AIDS a problem in Gallia County? Are there AIDS victims or AIDS orphans among us? How would we know? Are there prophetic voices among us who could point us to answers to these questions? Where else might the Holy Spirit lead us?
Come, thou long expected Jesus. Your story began in ages past and continues into God’s future. Come and find us ready to proclaim our thanksgiving for your past gifts, our hope for the future, and our willingness always to seek and serve you in all whom we meet.
1. The following is based on the account in Christopher R. Hutson, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2008), 44ff.
There was conflict right here in Ya’acov’s village too. The Jews and the Gentiles were fighting about the war. Formerly close neighbors and even family members were on different sides. However, there was a small group of people who refused to fight on either side. They were followers of a Galilean rabbi named Yehoshua, whom the Romans had crucified as a rebel about forty years ago. Everyone was disgusted with these folks. The rabbis thought they were dead wrong about this Yehoshua, and those who hated the Romans were sure that Yehoshua had done nothing to help drive the Romans out. But again Ya’acov wondered. How could it be that Yehoshua’s execution was a sign of God’s favor towards both Jews and Gentiles? One day one of Yehoshua’s followers handed him a scroll in Greek with a strange opening: “The beginning of the good news about Jesus, the Messiah, the Son of God.” Beginning? What was beginning, and when? Messiah? Isn’t that what all the Jews were waiting for? Son of God? Isn’t that what they called the Roman emperor?
As he read the first part of the scroll, about John the Baptizer, Ya’acov wondered where the story of the Good News really began. The scroll writer – let’s call him Mark – started with a quotation from two Hebrew prophets, Isaiah and Malachi. Is that where the story really began, all those centuries ago, when God spoke through the prophets? Or did it begin when God brought the Jews back from exile in Babylon? Or did the story begin with John? Did the story begin with the hints in John’s proclamation? Clearly Mark and his community understood that John was a herald, and that, like the prophets, he was announcing God’s plan. But Mark also wanted his hearers to understand the meaning of John’s proclamation. So he looked back to the past and used the prophet Isaiah as an analogy for John. Isaiah had proclaimed that God would rescue the Jews from exile. Similarly, Mark and his community, in their current troubled world, understood that John had proclaimed the same kind of comfort and rescue that Isaiah had.
And then Ya’acov had another question. Where did the story end? Hadn’t the prophet Malachi, who had seen the newly completed second temple, said, “See I am sending my messenger to prepare the way before me, and the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple”? So Mark also must have used Malachi as an analogy for John. Malachi had looked forward, although with dread, to the new thing that God was doing, to the deliverance and judgment that God’s coming would bring. Similarly, for Mark, John proclaimed a new and powerful savior, someone who would judge everyone in the world and whose coming would radically change the world, someone who would initiate a new covenant with them through the Holy Spirit. So perhaps the witness of John the Baptizer, John the herald, was the beginning of the good news, but its fullness, the end of the story, was yet to be revealed.
Now we are reading the scroll that Ya’acov read. We call it the Gospel According to Mark. As we read and reread the entire story, perhaps we too wonder just where the Good News really begins – and ends. Perhaps the whole first half of Mark’s scroll, which recounts Jesus’ ministry in Galilee and all his teachings about God’s reign, is the true “beginning of the good news.” Or maybe the beginning of the Good News is Mark’s whole scroll and the story it tells. Perhaps the story begins when it comes alive for its hearers, when it encourages its hearers both to look back to God’s saving works in the past and to look forward in hope to the new thing that God is doing. Perhaps the story truly begins when people ponder how it could or should unfold in their own lives.
The truth is that the “beginning of the good news” always begins with God and God’s works, and that story has yet to end. At the same time, the story of the good news begins for us when we see ourselves in it, when we make it our own, and we only know the true end of it when our life on earth is over. As we live in our own middle time, we can follow Mark’s example and look both back to the past and forward to God’s future. We can understand ourselves both in terms of who and where we have come from and in terms of what God has yet to do with us.
In this Advent time, we can begin by looking back to our own predecessors in faith, to those who were God’s heralds for us. Take a few minutes to ponder who first introduced you to faith, who modeled devotion to God for you. Though faith is ultimately a gift of God, few of us come to faith all by ourselves. Even if we were baptized as adults, the chances are that someone was a guidepost for us on the way to the font. Was your herald a family member or close friend? What did that person do to introduce you to God? Did he read the Bible to you? Did she teach you the wonderful old hymns? Did their lives inspire you? Did they see Jesus in the “least of these” and generously offer themselves to others? Is there any way to honor those heralds of faith? Or perhaps your model of faith a saint from the past. In addition to John the Baptizer himself, many people still find Francis of Assisi, Julian of Norwich, John of the Cross, Evelyn Underhill, Thomas Merton, or Mother Teresa compelling examples of faith. You might ponder this too: for whom are you a herald of Jesus, a model of faith and devotion? Who would be inspired by your life? Are there areas of your life that you need to change in order to be a more compelling example of faith? Do we hesitate to even admit that we need to repent?
In this Advent time, we also continue to look ahead. Like John the Herald, like Mark, and Ya’acov, like all those who preceded us in faith, we’re also still in the middle of the story. We believe that “the Lord whom you seek” will suddenly return to his temple, to complete and restore the world. We too long for that day, even though along with Malachi we may wonder, “Who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?” As we continue to look forward in hope, and as we do our best to prepare for the Lord’s appearing, this Advent time is also a good time to reflect on another question. We might wonder what our place is in God’s plan. How does God expect us, both as individuals and as a parish, to partner in bringing in the reign God heralded in John and initiated in Jesus? What ministries has God prepared “for us to walk in?”
Thursday December 1st was World Aids Day. In addition to those affected by HIV/AIDS themselves, many have been widowed and orphaned by AIDS. Today, for example, there are more than 16 million children orphaned by the AIDS scourge, many of them in east Africa. While we were celebrating Thanksgiving Day, Christian and Muslim leaders in Kenya met in Nairobi to discuss how to improve their responses to a disease that is a social, economic, political, and medical issue. Katherine Jefferts Schorri, Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church, and Mark Hanson, ELCA Presiding Bishop, issued a joint statement committing both their churches on World AIDS Day to a renewed partnership in ministry to AIDS victims and their families. Meanwhile, Tennis star Roger Federer, entertainer Madonna, and Episcopal priest Bill Rankin, who recently retired as CEO of the Global AIDS Interfaith Alliance (GAIA), all committed themselves to continue the fight against AIDS in Malawi. Is AIDS a problem in Gallia County? Are there AIDS victims or AIDS orphans among us? How would we know? Are there prophetic voices among us who could point us to answers to these questions? Where else might the Holy Spirit lead us?
Come, thou long expected Jesus. Your story began in ages past and continues into God’s future. Come and find us ready to proclaim our thanksgiving for your past gifts, our hope for the future, and our willingness always to seek and serve you in all whom we meet.
1. The following is based on the account in Christopher R. Hutson, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2008), 44ff.
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