Is Christmas only for children? Certainly, when we look around us at cultural, secular Christmas, we might think so. Just think of all the effort that goes into providing toys for children at Christmas. We encourage our children to tell Santa Claus what they want, or write a letter to Santa, and then we search for just the “right” toys for our children, just the ones they wanted. And we also make sure that we provide toys for children in need. Every civic group, school, bank, hospital, and office has a drive for toys, to say nothing of the trees in malls with tags that direct shoppers to buy and donate toys. And that’s all good and praiseworthy: as followers of Jesus, we are always called to share with others – and not only at Christmas.
By the same token, when we think of Christmas day, what are our fondest memories? Are they the years when we ourselves were children? When he hung stockings somewhere, left out cookies for Santa, and woke up too soon on Christmas Eve, chasing our weary parents out of bed so that we could root around in our stockings and tear open brightly lit packages? Perhaps it was the year there was a shiny bicycle parked by the tree. Those of us who are older may recall the years when our own children were young, as we watched them replay the rituals of our own childhoods. Or now we watch our grandchildren express their own wonder and delight as they race to the Christmas tree to discover its offerings.
Even in our churches our celebrations seems to revolve around the children. In many churches no Advent 4 or Christmas Eve service would be complete without a Christmas pageant, that annual enactment of the Christmas story according to Luke, with the cardboard stable, baby Jesus doll, children in bathrobes, children toting fleecy sheep, and, of course, an army of sweet-faced angels. Last year, we had such a pageant, and I even preached about a Christmas pageant that went delightfully awry, but was mercifully saved by a resourceful pianist and a gracious, welcoming congregation.
So is Christmas only for children? What about us adults? Do we somehow have to recreate for ourselves that bright anticipation of Christmas morning that we work so hard to create for our own and others’ children? Do we have to believe in Santa Claus? (Of course, it’s perfectly OK to honor the memory of St. Nicholas of Myra, the ancestor of Santa Claus. Although he was a bishop in the fourth century, we can still follow his example and give generously to poor children as he did.) Do we have to take Luke’s account of Jesus’ birth literally, since we have immortalized it in pageants and Christmas carols? Do we have to take it as actual history? If so, then how do we account for the fact that gospel of Matthew gives a quite different version of Jesus’ birth, and even that Jesus’ birth is not even mentioned in the gospels of Mark and John, or in any book of the New Testament?
What happens to faith when we suspect or realize that Luke composed his version of the Christmas story for a particular community, using deliberate rhetorical strategies? What happens to faith when we remember that we celebrate Christmas on this day at least partly because the church inherited from the pagans of Rome a celebration of the return of the sun following the winter solstice? Do we turn our backs on Christmas and declare, “Bah, humbug?” Is it only for the sake of the children who are the future of the church that we go through all this? Is Christmas only for children?
My brothers and sisters, the truth is that Christmas is for adults. Its meaning is far deeper than most of us could grasp as children. Indeed, it takes a lifetime of plumbing the depths of Christmas for most of us to begin to glimpse that deeper meaning. And we are here, because we need to be reminded at least annually, if not more often of that deeper meaning. In fact, in the end it doesn’t’ really matter when and how Jesus’ birth happened – these details are ultimately unimportant. Does it matter for my ministry among you that I was born in Crown Heights Hospital in Brooklyn, New York, and that my mother’s physician was a woman?
What matters in what our Scripture stories tell us is the deeper truth that they enable us to glimpse, the deeper truth that Christians have proclaimed ever since Jesus’ followers began to gather after that first Easter. And that deeper truth is no less than this: that God became inseparably joined with human beings, that “God has a mom,” as one writer put, or that God put skin on, as another suggested, that the great, unknowable Mystery beyond all times and worlds came into our midst in the most dependent, vulnerable way possible, first as a fetus inside a woman’s body, and then as a helpless baby. And more: that God came us to us not in pomp and circumstance, not in the glare of social media like the children of British royalty, but in the poorest possible circumstances, in a stable in a poor country ruled by a foreign power that would soon destroy Jerusalem. And even more: that the unfathomable Mystery, the Source of all that was, and is, and is to come, chose to be born to an unmarried teenage mother, and that the first people to hear about the birth were surprised, working class people, who were grubby and smelly by the time they reached the birthplace. This is the truth: that God snuck into our world and took human form while no one was watching and where no one expected God to show up.
And there’s more: there’s another truth embedded in Luke’s account. God may have snuck into our world, but at least some people were aware of God’s coming. They were low-life, working class, despised folks, to be sure, but somehow they had heard the angels’ song of “good news,” somehow they had had a revelation that something had happened. Those grubby folks, who wouldn’t have even gotten close to the gate of Herod’s palace, didn’t just stand there and say, “Wow, that’s nice.” They picked themselves up, followed the angels’ bidding, took themselves to Bethlehem, joyfully praised God, and then shared with others what had happened to them.
And here’s where we come in. We’re in that story too. God continues to sneak into our world. All of us are like Mary in some sense. We’re poor, too young (or too old, as in the case of Mary’s cousin Elizabeth), not yet married, from a small town. Yet God continues to come into the world through us. Jesus continues to be born through us. And all of us are like the shepherds in some sense. We’re poor, grubby, sinful, weary, and tired – especially tired of the long nights of war and injustice. And then we catch the faint echoes of angel song. We hear a rumor of God’s presence in some unlikely place. And we go there and find God: in a quiet church, in our backyard at dawn, in the face of a child, at the altar rail, in a hospital or nursing home room, in the kitchen at Loaves and Fishes.
When we catch a glimpse of God with us, what do we do? Do we shout for joy? Do we dance and sing? Do we ponder the mystery in our hearts? Do we share it with others? Do we care more generously for those around us? Most important, do we remember that the child whose birth we celebrate this night showed and shows us the depth of God’s love for us, and that the adult he became enabled us, through his life, death, and resurrection, to share God’s love with everyone we meet?
Is Christmas for children? Of course it is. And we adults would do well to reclaim children’s spontaneous joyfulness. But Christmas is also for adults. Christmas is for all of us who need to remember, rejoice in, and celebrate God’s coming into our lives. In this darkest time of the year, in the dark times of our lives, when the darkness of the world threatens to overwhelm us, we all need to remember that God came, comes, and will continue to come into our lives. All of us need to remember that God may sneak into our lives, that God may show up when we least expect God to show up, and that God may reveal Godself to or through unlikely people. And when God does show up, all of us are called to share with others the great love that we find in God’s presence.
And because poets are often better than preachers at expressing how we experience God’s presence with us, listen to the last three stanzas of English poet John Betjeman’s poem, “Christmas:”
And is it true,
This most tremendous tale of all,
Seen in a stained-glass window's hue,
A Baby in an ox's stall?
The Maker of the stars and sea
Become a Child on earth for me?
And is it true? For if it is,
No loving fingers tying strings
Around those tissued fripperies,
The sweet and silly Christmas things,
Bath salts and inexpensive scent
And hideous tie so kindly meant,
No love that in a family dwells,
No caroling in frosty air,
Nor all the steeple-shaking bells
Can with this single Truth compare —
That God was man in Palestine
And lives today in Bread and Wine.
God give you a most blessed Christmas tide.
Saturday, December 26, 2015
Sunday, December 13, 2015
What Then Should We Do?
“And the crowds asked him, ‘What then should we do?’” Even the tax collectors and the soldiers asked him, “And we, what should we do?” And the lawyers and judges, the nurses and doctors, the teachers and the stay-at-home moms and dads, even the priests and deacons asked him, “And we, what should we do?”
It’s Gaudete Sunday. We’ve lit the pink Advent candle. We’ve begun to anticipate celebrating Christmas and especially finding the gifts that mysteriously appear under the tree. Why then do we hear John the Baptist’s thundering exhortation? Why do we hear his answers to the plaintive questions of the crowds?
All the other Scripture readings for today tell us to rejoice. Following his recitation of the judgments of God on the people of Israel, the prophet Zephaniah now calls on them to rejoice: “Sing aloud, O daughter Zion; shout, O Israel! Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem!” In the canticle from the prophet Isaiah, which we said in response to the reading from Zephaniah, we hear a similar theme. Looking ahead to the return from the Exile in Babylon, the prophet exhorts the people “Cry aloud, inhabitants of Zion, ring out your joy….”
Most important, we hear the call to rejoice in Paul’s letter to the Christians at Philippi. Written from prison in 64AD, this was Paul’s last letter. We heard the opening section of the letter last week, in which Paul gave thanks for the help and support he received from the Philippian Christian community. Now, at the end of the letter, Paul twice commands the Philippian Christians to rejoice. The Latin for the command to “rejoice,” gaudete, gives us the name for this Sunday.
In seeming contrast to all these commands to “rejoice,” in our Gospel reading we hear John’s pronouncements and promises of judgement. We even hear him fulminate at the crowds who come out to be baptized by him: “Brood of snakes! What do you think you’re doing slithering down here to the river? Do you think a little water on your snakeskins is going to deflect God’s judgment?” And then the evangelist tells us that, “with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people.” Good news?
Advent is strange. To begin with, it’s counter-cultural. Out there, we’ve been celebrating “Christmas” since Thanksgiving – or even before – and for many people, the Twelve Days of Christmas begin today, rather than after Christmas day. Moreover, in Advent we live in three time zones at once. We look back to the past, to the past even before the birth of Jesus, we look to the future, to the coming celebration of Jesus’ birth and to Jesus’ Second Coming, and, we acknowledge Christ’s coming to us in the present. But Advent also has two faces, both of which are reflected in today’s readings. It has a joyful aspect, in which we rejoice at the coming celebration and trust in God’s future, in God’s promises of a renewed creation. And Advent also has an aspect of judgement, in which we are called to reflect on how we live our lives as we wait for God’s coming, God’s coming at Christmas, in the future, and in our lives now.
How then are we to live? What do we see in our readings? In John the Baptist’s exhortations, we are asked to recognize that God’s call to repentance, to changing our way of life, is addressed to all of us. While Matthew directs John’s hard words at the religious leaders, here in Luke, John’s exhortations are to the “crowds.” John is not shouting at the Scribes or Pharisees, he is shouting at ordinary people. And not only ordinary people but also the hated tax collectors, who colluded with the Roman occupiers, and even with Roman soldiers themselves, who enforced Roman rule. He was especially critical of those who claimed special status as God’s chosen people, reminding them that “children of Abraham are a dime a dozen. God can make children from stones if God wants.”
John also calls the crowds to recognize that immersion in water is a symbolic act that reflects an inner commitment to draw closer to God. But it is a commitment that has to be realized in concrete acts, in concrete individual and communal behavior. So, if those who were baptized were serious about preparing to greet the one who will baptize us “with the Holy Spirit and fire,” they must be generous with their worldly goods, honest in their business dealings, kind and compassionate in their personal relationships, and content with their station in life.
With all these prescriptions, John also asked the crowds to recognize what Barbara Brown Taylor called “an altar in the world.” That is, they were to understand that their ordinary lives, their daily lives, were sacred and holy. Although John himself was a desert ascetic, who wore garments of camel’s hair and ate locusts and honey, he did not ask people to follow him into the wilderness. Instead, he asked them to show their commitment to God’s way in their day-to-day lives. Moreover, they were to trust that God was at work in them and in the world, and that God would deliver on God’s promises.
Don’t we hear a similar message in the letter to the Philippians? After commanding these new followers of Jesus to “rejoice,” Paul also exhorts them. He calls them to “forbearance,” or as The Message puts it, “Make it as clear as you can to all you meet that you’re on their side, working with them and not against them.” Moreover, they are to let God’s nearness change their behavior now, by behaving more compassionately with others, and by trusting that God is aware of their needs. If they do, again quoting The Message, “Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.”
Not surprisingly, our canticle and reading from Zephaniah echo Paul’s call for a deeper trust in God in all that we do. As Isaiah puts it, “I will trust in him and not be afraid. For the Lord is my stronghold and my sure defense….” Similarly, Zephaniah calls the people to trust in God’s promises, most especially God’s promise that, “I will make you renowned and praised among all the people of the earth, when I restore your fortunes before your eyes says the Lord.”
What then should we do? The virtues to which John the Baptizer calls us twenty-first century followers of Jesus are good for all seasons. Perhaps, though, it is especially important to hear John’s message at this time of year, when the “Christmas season,” tends to overwhelm us. Make no mistake: we too are part of the crowds who heard John’s exhortations, and we too must change our lives. First, we too are called to realize that ultimately no human status will save us. We will not be saved through our class, our caste, or our ethnicity. Neither will our possessions, our wealth, or our attainments save us. We will not be saved solely because we are Episcopalians. To paraphrase John, we cannot say to ourselves, “We have Thomas Cranmer as our father,” as if that alone guaranteed us special treatment before God.
Like the crowds who heard John, we are also called to be generous. As we scurry to find the perfect Christmas gift, as we worry if we cannot afford everything on our children’s gift lists, do we remember those who have no coat? Right in this parish, you can be generous with hats, scarves, gloves, and diapers. Can you donate to food banks, the Outreach Center, or Serenity House? National and international charitable organizations abound. Episcopal Relief and Development is an especially worthy organization, as it works in disasters in this country, including one right here in Gallia County, and in partnership with church organizations overseas. Consider supporting them with a monthly donation. Or how about organizations working on environmental issues? Two to consider: the National Parks Conservation Association, which works to protect our own national parks, and the World Wildlife Fund.
Like the tax collectors who heard John, we are also called to be honest in all our dealings. And that includes honesty with ourselves. Self-examination, as twelve-step programs repeatedly stress, is an important practice. I invite you to practice reviewing your day or week regularly. Like the Roman soldiers, we are also called to contentment, to “bloom where you are planted,” as we used to say. Ambition and the desire for transformation, challenge, and growth, are all important parts of maturity. Yet, we are also called to contentment, to staying grounded where we are, doing our best to be Christ for others where we are. And, of course, we are called to kindness and compassion, to gentleness or forbearance with all. Random acts of kindness are wonderful, but the deeper challenge is to see all people as children of God, to see Christ’s face in all those whom we meet and treat them as we would treat Christ.
So is there good news after all in John the Baptist’s message? My sisters and brothers, here’s the good news. We can trust that God loves us so much that God wants to transform us, that God wanted to gift us with God’s son to provide us with a model of how we are to live, and that ultimately God gives us God’s Spirit to guide us in what we do. “The Lord is near.” The Lord is always near, walking beside us, not just at Christmas, but now and forever. What then should we do? “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say Rejoice.”
It’s Gaudete Sunday. We’ve lit the pink Advent candle. We’ve begun to anticipate celebrating Christmas and especially finding the gifts that mysteriously appear under the tree. Why then do we hear John the Baptist’s thundering exhortation? Why do we hear his answers to the plaintive questions of the crowds?
All the other Scripture readings for today tell us to rejoice. Following his recitation of the judgments of God on the people of Israel, the prophet Zephaniah now calls on them to rejoice: “Sing aloud, O daughter Zion; shout, O Israel! Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem!” In the canticle from the prophet Isaiah, which we said in response to the reading from Zephaniah, we hear a similar theme. Looking ahead to the return from the Exile in Babylon, the prophet exhorts the people “Cry aloud, inhabitants of Zion, ring out your joy….”
Most important, we hear the call to rejoice in Paul’s letter to the Christians at Philippi. Written from prison in 64AD, this was Paul’s last letter. We heard the opening section of the letter last week, in which Paul gave thanks for the help and support he received from the Philippian Christian community. Now, at the end of the letter, Paul twice commands the Philippian Christians to rejoice. The Latin for the command to “rejoice,” gaudete, gives us the name for this Sunday.
In seeming contrast to all these commands to “rejoice,” in our Gospel reading we hear John’s pronouncements and promises of judgement. We even hear him fulminate at the crowds who come out to be baptized by him: “Brood of snakes! What do you think you’re doing slithering down here to the river? Do you think a little water on your snakeskins is going to deflect God’s judgment?” And then the evangelist tells us that, “with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people.” Good news?
Advent is strange. To begin with, it’s counter-cultural. Out there, we’ve been celebrating “Christmas” since Thanksgiving – or even before – and for many people, the Twelve Days of Christmas begin today, rather than after Christmas day. Moreover, in Advent we live in three time zones at once. We look back to the past, to the past even before the birth of Jesus, we look to the future, to the coming celebration of Jesus’ birth and to Jesus’ Second Coming, and, we acknowledge Christ’s coming to us in the present. But Advent also has two faces, both of which are reflected in today’s readings. It has a joyful aspect, in which we rejoice at the coming celebration and trust in God’s future, in God’s promises of a renewed creation. And Advent also has an aspect of judgement, in which we are called to reflect on how we live our lives as we wait for God’s coming, God’s coming at Christmas, in the future, and in our lives now.
How then are we to live? What do we see in our readings? In John the Baptist’s exhortations, we are asked to recognize that God’s call to repentance, to changing our way of life, is addressed to all of us. While Matthew directs John’s hard words at the religious leaders, here in Luke, John’s exhortations are to the “crowds.” John is not shouting at the Scribes or Pharisees, he is shouting at ordinary people. And not only ordinary people but also the hated tax collectors, who colluded with the Roman occupiers, and even with Roman soldiers themselves, who enforced Roman rule. He was especially critical of those who claimed special status as God’s chosen people, reminding them that “children of Abraham are a dime a dozen. God can make children from stones if God wants.”
John also calls the crowds to recognize that immersion in water is a symbolic act that reflects an inner commitment to draw closer to God. But it is a commitment that has to be realized in concrete acts, in concrete individual and communal behavior. So, if those who were baptized were serious about preparing to greet the one who will baptize us “with the Holy Spirit and fire,” they must be generous with their worldly goods, honest in their business dealings, kind and compassionate in their personal relationships, and content with their station in life.
With all these prescriptions, John also asked the crowds to recognize what Barbara Brown Taylor called “an altar in the world.” That is, they were to understand that their ordinary lives, their daily lives, were sacred and holy. Although John himself was a desert ascetic, who wore garments of camel’s hair and ate locusts and honey, he did not ask people to follow him into the wilderness. Instead, he asked them to show their commitment to God’s way in their day-to-day lives. Moreover, they were to trust that God was at work in them and in the world, and that God would deliver on God’s promises.
Don’t we hear a similar message in the letter to the Philippians? After commanding these new followers of Jesus to “rejoice,” Paul also exhorts them. He calls them to “forbearance,” or as The Message puts it, “Make it as clear as you can to all you meet that you’re on their side, working with them and not against them.” Moreover, they are to let God’s nearness change their behavior now, by behaving more compassionately with others, and by trusting that God is aware of their needs. If they do, again quoting The Message, “Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.”
Not surprisingly, our canticle and reading from Zephaniah echo Paul’s call for a deeper trust in God in all that we do. As Isaiah puts it, “I will trust in him and not be afraid. For the Lord is my stronghold and my sure defense….” Similarly, Zephaniah calls the people to trust in God’s promises, most especially God’s promise that, “I will make you renowned and praised among all the people of the earth, when I restore your fortunes before your eyes says the Lord.”
What then should we do? The virtues to which John the Baptizer calls us twenty-first century followers of Jesus are good for all seasons. Perhaps, though, it is especially important to hear John’s message at this time of year, when the “Christmas season,” tends to overwhelm us. Make no mistake: we too are part of the crowds who heard John’s exhortations, and we too must change our lives. First, we too are called to realize that ultimately no human status will save us. We will not be saved through our class, our caste, or our ethnicity. Neither will our possessions, our wealth, or our attainments save us. We will not be saved solely because we are Episcopalians. To paraphrase John, we cannot say to ourselves, “We have Thomas Cranmer as our father,” as if that alone guaranteed us special treatment before God.
Like the crowds who heard John, we are also called to be generous. As we scurry to find the perfect Christmas gift, as we worry if we cannot afford everything on our children’s gift lists, do we remember those who have no coat? Right in this parish, you can be generous with hats, scarves, gloves, and diapers. Can you donate to food banks, the Outreach Center, or Serenity House? National and international charitable organizations abound. Episcopal Relief and Development is an especially worthy organization, as it works in disasters in this country, including one right here in Gallia County, and in partnership with church organizations overseas. Consider supporting them with a monthly donation. Or how about organizations working on environmental issues? Two to consider: the National Parks Conservation Association, which works to protect our own national parks, and the World Wildlife Fund.
Like the tax collectors who heard John, we are also called to be honest in all our dealings. And that includes honesty with ourselves. Self-examination, as twelve-step programs repeatedly stress, is an important practice. I invite you to practice reviewing your day or week regularly. Like the Roman soldiers, we are also called to contentment, to “bloom where you are planted,” as we used to say. Ambition and the desire for transformation, challenge, and growth, are all important parts of maturity. Yet, we are also called to contentment, to staying grounded where we are, doing our best to be Christ for others where we are. And, of course, we are called to kindness and compassion, to gentleness or forbearance with all. Random acts of kindness are wonderful, but the deeper challenge is to see all people as children of God, to see Christ’s face in all those whom we meet and treat them as we would treat Christ.
So is there good news after all in John the Baptist’s message? My sisters and brothers, here’s the good news. We can trust that God loves us so much that God wants to transform us, that God wanted to gift us with God’s son to provide us with a model of how we are to live, and that ultimately God gives us God’s Spirit to guide us in what we do. “The Lord is near.” The Lord is always near, walking beside us, not just at Christmas, but now and forever. What then should we do? “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say Rejoice.”
Sunday, December 6, 2015
Questions
“But who may abide the day of His coming? And who shall stand when He appeareth? For He is like a refiner's fire.” These are the lines from an air in part 1 of Handel’s “Messiah.” Although it was actually written to be heard in Easter tide, “Messiah” is now often sung near Christmas. When we do hear it at this time of year, we often listen attentively to the opening tenor air, “Comfort ye, my people.” Then in our minds we rush ahead to “O thou that tellest good tidings to Zion.” We often miss, or we don’t pay attention to, these words from the prophet Malachi. Actually, this is a challenging air to sing. It’s even more challenging to hear. Do we really want to hear the questions it asks?
Actually, three of our four lections for today pose challenging questions, questions that are appropriate for Advent. Our Hebrew Bible reading, which we just heard sung, is from the prophecy of Malachi. Malachi is traditionally considered the last prophetic book. For Christians, it is the very last book in the Hebrew Bible. It is also the last prophetic book for Jews, although Jews place all the prophets in the middle of the Hebrew Bible, between the Torah and the other writings. Traditionally, Jews read this portion of Malachi on the Sabbath before Passover, as they look forward to hearing again the great story of God’s deliverance of the Israelites from slavery.
Malachi was written for those who had returned to Judea from Exile, i.e., after 515 BC. Although the returnees were under Persian rule, they were allowed to restore sacrificial worship and begin rebuilding the temple. The entire book, only four chapters, is actually a dialogue between prophet and people, in which the prophet challenges the people with God’s word, and the people respond. In the section we just heard, the prophet, speaking for God, announces the coming of God’s messenger. He flings challenging questions at the people: can you stand to be in the presence of God’s messenger? How will you respond when God’s messenger lays out all the ways in which you have strayed from God’s covenant with you? The prophet then warns them that God will subject them to cleansing processes that will transform them into the people God wishes them to be. Can you picture those processes? A refiner’s fire can reach 1500 degrees Fahrenheit. Fuller’s soap is an abrasive bleaching soap. The purification process that God desires will be painful indeed. But there’s also a promise. God will accomplish God’s purposes, so that indeed the people may offer appropriate worship as they rebuild the temple. When today’s Jews hear this promise on the eve of Passover, they hear a promise that they may some day be able to build a third temple – the first one, Solomon’s temple, having been destroyed by the Babylonians in 586 BC, and the second one, having been destroyed by the Romans in 70 AD. (The Temple Mount in today’s Jerusalem, sacred to Jews, Christians, and Muslims, is what remains of the second temple.)
Malachi’s questions to the people in his prophecy were explicit. In our reading from Paul’s letter to the Christians at Philippi, the question is implicit. This was probably the last of Paul’s letters. It was probably written from a Roman prison about 64 AD. As you heard, Paul thanks the Philippians for their gifts and support. Then he prays for them. As we hear Paul’s prayer, do we ourselves wonder, “Who will be ‘pure and blameless’ in the ‘day of Christ?’” Do we wonder what it will take for us to be “pure and blameless” when Christ comes to us?
There’s even an implied question in our gospel reading. At the moment, of course, we’re getting the story backwards. With the ministry of John the Baptist, we’ve jumped forward thirty years after Jesus’ birth, just before the beginning of Jesus’ own ministry. Here the evangelist shows us the adult John – the story of his birth comes before Jesus’ birth. In fact, in place of our psalm, we said what is called the Benedictus, from its first word in Latin, which is John’s father’s prophecy about John. Instead of becoming a priest like his father, John has become an ascetic. Like the prophets of the Hebrew Bible, he has come out of the desert to speak God’s word, to “prepare the way of the Lord,” as he says, quoting the prophet Isaiah. In preparation for Jesus’ ministry, he has called out the entire community – not isolated individuals, but everyone – to a change of heart, and to be immersed in water to symbolize their readiness to change their way of life. And let’s be clear about this: in the New Testament, “repent” does not mean feeling sorry for your sins. “Repent” means changing your entire way of life. And the questions? Surely as difficult for us as they were for those ancient Judeans. Does God really want us to change our way of life? Are we willing to do more than go down into the Jordan River? What does it really take to live differently? Hard questions all.
Advent is the time for such questions. Prophets often ask us hard questions. And often their questions inspire terror, not joy. We don’t want to hear the challenge in their questions. We certainly don’t want to undergo a painful process of letting go of what keeps us from hearing God’s words more clearly, and we don’t want to change our way of life. Yet that is our call in Advent. Advent is our time for self-reflection. It is our time to ask ourselves the questions we hear in Scripture today. It is a time for self-examination, for opening ourselves to God and allowing God to begin in us the slow work of transformation.
So what kinds of questions am I suggesting that we ask ourselves this Advent? We profess to be followers of Jesus. Does our commitment to Jesus affect our lives as citizens in any way? In the wake of the recent gun tragedies – dear God, yet another – shouldn’t we be asking ourselves whether we are doing all we can as a nation to prevent such tragedies? Or have we let the NRA buy off our politicians, so that assault weapons are freely available, and background checks virtually non-existent? Is it time to ask ourselves as a nation whether all our citizens, regardless of their income or their employer, have access to decent healthcare – like the citizens of every other industrialized nation in the world? As we beat down the doors of our stores or flood the sites of online vendors in our quest for the perfect Christmas gift, do we give a thought to the poor in this country? Ironically, today is St. Nicholas day. St. Nicholas, the ancestor of our modern Santa Claus, was a fourth-century bishop who was known for secretly putting coins in the shoes of the poor. As the climate change talks progress in Paris, are we thinking at all about creation care? Are we trying to pare down, reuse, and recycle our “stuff?”
Advent also challenges us with questions we might ask as a parish. For example, is our worship prophetic? Do our hymns, prayers, and lections enable us to hear God’s word more clearly? Does our worship provide entertainment or edification? Diversion or direction? Amusement or awareness? Most important, does what we do here on Sunday impact our lives? Does worship lead to transformation?
And what about our personal lives? Are we willing to honestly look at what needs changing in our lives and ask God’s help to make those needed changes? Many of you may be familiar with twelve-step programs. Franciscan Richard Rohr, who has had a long prison ministry, has recently been reflecting on each of the twelve steps. They provide a wonderful introduction to the spiritual life! After admitting their need for God and their obligation to make amends to those whom they have harmed, alcoholics are reminded, in step 10, “We continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.” Do those of us who are sober need to take such a personal inventory? Advent is a time to do that. Remember that Advent is a gift from the church that enables us to prepare more seriously and more intentionally for receiving Christ at Christmas.
After the first performance of “Messiah” in London in 1741, Handel wrote to a friend: “I should be sorry if I only entertained them. I wished to make them better.” Although by 1751 Handel was blind, until his death in 1759, he continued to conduct “Messiah” every year as an annual benefit for a hospital that served widows and orphans of the clergy. “And he shall purify the sons of Levi.” As we engage in self-examination in Advent, as we ask ourselves hard questions, as we ponder where our lives need to change, we can trust that God is at work in us. We can trust that, if we are open to God, God will fulfill God’s promises to us, in the world, in the church, and in ourselves.
Actually, three of our four lections for today pose challenging questions, questions that are appropriate for Advent. Our Hebrew Bible reading, which we just heard sung, is from the prophecy of Malachi. Malachi is traditionally considered the last prophetic book. For Christians, it is the very last book in the Hebrew Bible. It is also the last prophetic book for Jews, although Jews place all the prophets in the middle of the Hebrew Bible, between the Torah and the other writings. Traditionally, Jews read this portion of Malachi on the Sabbath before Passover, as they look forward to hearing again the great story of God’s deliverance of the Israelites from slavery.
Malachi was written for those who had returned to Judea from Exile, i.e., after 515 BC. Although the returnees were under Persian rule, they were allowed to restore sacrificial worship and begin rebuilding the temple. The entire book, only four chapters, is actually a dialogue between prophet and people, in which the prophet challenges the people with God’s word, and the people respond. In the section we just heard, the prophet, speaking for God, announces the coming of God’s messenger. He flings challenging questions at the people: can you stand to be in the presence of God’s messenger? How will you respond when God’s messenger lays out all the ways in which you have strayed from God’s covenant with you? The prophet then warns them that God will subject them to cleansing processes that will transform them into the people God wishes them to be. Can you picture those processes? A refiner’s fire can reach 1500 degrees Fahrenheit. Fuller’s soap is an abrasive bleaching soap. The purification process that God desires will be painful indeed. But there’s also a promise. God will accomplish God’s purposes, so that indeed the people may offer appropriate worship as they rebuild the temple. When today’s Jews hear this promise on the eve of Passover, they hear a promise that they may some day be able to build a third temple – the first one, Solomon’s temple, having been destroyed by the Babylonians in 586 BC, and the second one, having been destroyed by the Romans in 70 AD. (The Temple Mount in today’s Jerusalem, sacred to Jews, Christians, and Muslims, is what remains of the second temple.)
Malachi’s questions to the people in his prophecy were explicit. In our reading from Paul’s letter to the Christians at Philippi, the question is implicit. This was probably the last of Paul’s letters. It was probably written from a Roman prison about 64 AD. As you heard, Paul thanks the Philippians for their gifts and support. Then he prays for them. As we hear Paul’s prayer, do we ourselves wonder, “Who will be ‘pure and blameless’ in the ‘day of Christ?’” Do we wonder what it will take for us to be “pure and blameless” when Christ comes to us?
There’s even an implied question in our gospel reading. At the moment, of course, we’re getting the story backwards. With the ministry of John the Baptist, we’ve jumped forward thirty years after Jesus’ birth, just before the beginning of Jesus’ own ministry. Here the evangelist shows us the adult John – the story of his birth comes before Jesus’ birth. In fact, in place of our psalm, we said what is called the Benedictus, from its first word in Latin, which is John’s father’s prophecy about John. Instead of becoming a priest like his father, John has become an ascetic. Like the prophets of the Hebrew Bible, he has come out of the desert to speak God’s word, to “prepare the way of the Lord,” as he says, quoting the prophet Isaiah. In preparation for Jesus’ ministry, he has called out the entire community – not isolated individuals, but everyone – to a change of heart, and to be immersed in water to symbolize their readiness to change their way of life. And let’s be clear about this: in the New Testament, “repent” does not mean feeling sorry for your sins. “Repent” means changing your entire way of life. And the questions? Surely as difficult for us as they were for those ancient Judeans. Does God really want us to change our way of life? Are we willing to do more than go down into the Jordan River? What does it really take to live differently? Hard questions all.
Advent is the time for such questions. Prophets often ask us hard questions. And often their questions inspire terror, not joy. We don’t want to hear the challenge in their questions. We certainly don’t want to undergo a painful process of letting go of what keeps us from hearing God’s words more clearly, and we don’t want to change our way of life. Yet that is our call in Advent. Advent is our time for self-reflection. It is our time to ask ourselves the questions we hear in Scripture today. It is a time for self-examination, for opening ourselves to God and allowing God to begin in us the slow work of transformation.
So what kinds of questions am I suggesting that we ask ourselves this Advent? We profess to be followers of Jesus. Does our commitment to Jesus affect our lives as citizens in any way? In the wake of the recent gun tragedies – dear God, yet another – shouldn’t we be asking ourselves whether we are doing all we can as a nation to prevent such tragedies? Or have we let the NRA buy off our politicians, so that assault weapons are freely available, and background checks virtually non-existent? Is it time to ask ourselves as a nation whether all our citizens, regardless of their income or their employer, have access to decent healthcare – like the citizens of every other industrialized nation in the world? As we beat down the doors of our stores or flood the sites of online vendors in our quest for the perfect Christmas gift, do we give a thought to the poor in this country? Ironically, today is St. Nicholas day. St. Nicholas, the ancestor of our modern Santa Claus, was a fourth-century bishop who was known for secretly putting coins in the shoes of the poor. As the climate change talks progress in Paris, are we thinking at all about creation care? Are we trying to pare down, reuse, and recycle our “stuff?”
Advent also challenges us with questions we might ask as a parish. For example, is our worship prophetic? Do our hymns, prayers, and lections enable us to hear God’s word more clearly? Does our worship provide entertainment or edification? Diversion or direction? Amusement or awareness? Most important, does what we do here on Sunday impact our lives? Does worship lead to transformation?
And what about our personal lives? Are we willing to honestly look at what needs changing in our lives and ask God’s help to make those needed changes? Many of you may be familiar with twelve-step programs. Franciscan Richard Rohr, who has had a long prison ministry, has recently been reflecting on each of the twelve steps. They provide a wonderful introduction to the spiritual life! After admitting their need for God and their obligation to make amends to those whom they have harmed, alcoholics are reminded, in step 10, “We continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.” Do those of us who are sober need to take such a personal inventory? Advent is a time to do that. Remember that Advent is a gift from the church that enables us to prepare more seriously and more intentionally for receiving Christ at Christmas.
After the first performance of “Messiah” in London in 1741, Handel wrote to a friend: “I should be sorry if I only entertained them. I wished to make them better.” Although by 1751 Handel was blind, until his death in 1759, he continued to conduct “Messiah” every year as an annual benefit for a hospital that served widows and orphans of the clergy. “And he shall purify the sons of Levi.” As we engage in self-examination in Advent, as we ask ourselves hard questions, as we ponder where our lives need to change, we can trust that God is at work in us. We can trust that, if we are open to God, God will fulfill God’s promises to us, in the world, in the church, and in ourselves.
Wednesday, December 2, 2015
The Days are Surely Coming
We’re an impatient people. We want what we want when we want it. Think about what was once called “mail order.” We pored through the Sears and Roebuck catalog, then we filled out the order form, dropped it in a mailbox, and waited. Now, open a website, point, click, and done, and your order is at your door two days later. Or think about computers. In the late ‘80s, the dark ages, we had little monochrome screens, you could read a novel waiting for programs to load, and polish off another novel waiting for your email messages to come in over a dial-up connection. Now, we’re on instantly, and downloads come in at warp speed. And you just better answer my email or text within twenty-four hours!
We’re an impatient people. Except in Roman Catholic, Episcopal, and a few Protestant churches. Unlike the rest of the world around us, we have not rushed headlong into Christmas. As you see, except for the Advent wreath, there are no decorations or trees here – and we won’t put them up until after the service on Advent 4. We won’t sing any Christmas carols until Christmas tide. And if you came to hear “comfort and joy” in the sermons for next four Sundays, you are in the wrong place. So did the priest-in-charge steal Christmas, like Dr. Seuss’ Grinch? Is she like Mr. Scrooge, stingily dismissing Christmas with, “Bah, humbug?”
Not really. We have begun a new church year, and with it, the holy season of Advent. It’s a quiet, solemn, and serious season. You can see that seriousness reflected in the color of our vestments and paraments – they’re a subdued blue. We’re using our liturgy with the old seventeenth-century language, honoring our history as we pray in more solemn tones. Even the settings of the sung parts of our liturgy are simpler.
While the world outside us may be in the throes of the “Christmas season,” the church gives us a valuable gift in the quieter season of Advent. We can slow down, take a deep breath, and listen for the stirrings of the Holy Spirit. More important, we can take the time for quiet reflection on what God has done, what God is doing among us now, and what God will do in the future.
Advent initially was a forty-day season of fasting, to prepare for the baptisms that would take place on Epiphany, January 6th. In fact Orthodox Christians, who emphasize Epiphany rather than Christmas, still keep a forty-day fast to prepare for Epiphany. Western Christians like us keep Advent for the four Sundays before Christmas. Our lessons for the first Sunday in Advent focus on God’s promises for the future. John the Baptist thunders his message on the second and third Sundays. Only on the fourth Sunday do we look ahead to Christmas, when we hear Mary’s response to the Annunciation. In this season of Advent, the lectionary readings and the special devotions that the church invites us to undertake are meant to awaken us, to make us more aware of the surprising ways God comes to us, and to enable us to wait patiently and attentively for God to continue to act.
All our readings for today remind us of our call to wait patiently and attentively for God. Jeremiah’s prophecies were first written in the midst of the chaos and despair that followed the sack of Jerusalem and the exile to Babylon in 586 BC. To remind people of God’s covenant with them, the prophet uses an image familiar to the people of his time, viz., a king who would victoriously lead them out of exile. He exhorts his hearers to remember God’s promises, especially the covenant that God made with the Israelites after the Exodus. In that covenant, God declared that Israel would be God’s people forever. The prophet also reminds his downcast people to remember God’s promises to David, which we heard last week in David’s last words, and especially David’s confidence that God had made an everlasting covenant with him. As a response to the reading from Jeremiah, Psalm 25 also calls us to remember God’s promises and to trust God to deliver on God’s promises.
Paul’s letter to the Christians in Thessalonica was Paul’s first letter, written about 50 AD, to one of the earliest of the new communities of Jesus’ followers. Christians in this community were earnestly waiting for Christ to return, and they believed that they would see his return before they themselves died. We don’t know whether Paul himself believed that Christ’s return was imminent. Even so, Paul clearly exhorts these new believers to wait for Christ, whenever he comes, with gratitude, love, and holiness.
The gospel according to Luke – we will be hearing a lot from Luke in this third year of the Revised Common Lectionary – was written in the ‘80s AD, after the fall of Jerusalem, and the destruction of the Jewish Temple by the Romans. Here too the evangelist uses symbols his hearers would appreciate. This part of Luke’s gospel is apocalyptic, like the book of Revelation, i.e., it is symbolic writing that looks ahead to the future. In using apocalyptic symbols, the evangelist reminds his hearers that despite the chaos and destruction that they see all around them God is at work. As faithful followers of Jesus, they are therefore called to “stand up and raise your heads,” i.e., they are to be watchful for further signs of God at work, and they are to trust that God’s reign is near. More important, they are to trust that they are already living in God’s realm, despite what they see around them. As Jesus himself had proclaimed, “The Kingdom of God is at hand,” i.e., it is here already. Even as they trust that God has already inaugurated God’s realm, even as they wait for its final culmination, they are to use God’s gifts to them wisely, not squandering God’s gifts in indulgence, drunkenness, and worldly cares, but watching and waiting patiently and attentively for signs of God at work.
And so, in this first Sunday of the new church year, in this first week of Advent, we wait patiently, with hope and holiness. We look attentively for signs of God’s presence, trusting that God is at work and seeking ways to partner with God in God’s work. In our personal lives, we savor the gift of Advent, the gift of time to reflect on the ways that God was, is, and will be present to us, changing and shaping us into the people God created us to be. Can you use this gift of Advent to find time for more intentional prayer? I invite you to use, for example, the Forward Movement meditations in the booklet we are giving you. I also invite you to light your Advent candles, perhaps at the same time that you use the booklet. Can you take some time for self-reflection? Perhaps at the end of the day? Can you see God at work in your own life?
Can you see God at work in our parish? I recently learned that someone who had once been connected to this parish left us, because it seemed to this person that St. Peter’s had no future, and that the parish was dying. That’s not what I see. Yes, the parish is smaller than it was in twenty-five years ago, but so are many Episcopal parishes, especially in small towns. Even so, this is not a dying parish. God is at work here. I see a parish that has begun to grow again, especially with people deeply committed to prayer, worship, and mission. I see a parish that has kept the red doors open, raised up a deacon, and been given a resident priest-to-be. I see a parish that is even now discerning the new ministries into which God might be leading us. Can we wait patiently and attentively for what God might do next among us?
It’s hard to miss the chaos and destruction in the world outside our parish. Paris, Beirut, Mali, Charleston, Oregon, Colorado, Phoenix. As I wrote this, a gunman had wounded several people and was holed up in a Planned Parenthood facility in Colorado Springs, Colorado. Meanwhile, global warming is playing havoc with our planet and causing ever more severely destructive weather. Is God at work? Are there signs of hope? There are. On Friday, for example, we learned that all the women kidnapped by Boko Haram in Nigeria have been released. And today, as we turn our hearts to God in this peaceful, sacred space, after only two weeks since the attacks in Paris, 147 world leaders have arrived in the city for a mega-conference on climate change. God willing, the talks will produce solid agreements among all these nations that will help reduce greenhouse gas emissions. And I see other signs of God at work. I see community gardens, solar panels and other forms of renewable energy, composting and recycling, thirty-mile meals and farmers’ markets, and more fuel-efficient cars. I see a Habitat for Humanity group that built a house in honor of three Muslims who were murdered in North Carolina. I see The National, a Scottish newspaper, welcoming Syrian refugees with the banner headline, “Welcome to Scotland.”
So in this holy season of Advent I wait. We wait. We trust in God’s promises. We wait patiently for God for fulfill God’s promises. We watch for signs and wonders, in our own lives, in the lives of this parish, and in the world around us. And we attentively seek God’s leading in our work to bring God’s realm ever nearer.
We’re an impatient people. Except in Roman Catholic, Episcopal, and a few Protestant churches. Unlike the rest of the world around us, we have not rushed headlong into Christmas. As you see, except for the Advent wreath, there are no decorations or trees here – and we won’t put them up until after the service on Advent 4. We won’t sing any Christmas carols until Christmas tide. And if you came to hear “comfort and joy” in the sermons for next four Sundays, you are in the wrong place. So did the priest-in-charge steal Christmas, like Dr. Seuss’ Grinch? Is she like Mr. Scrooge, stingily dismissing Christmas with, “Bah, humbug?”
Not really. We have begun a new church year, and with it, the holy season of Advent. It’s a quiet, solemn, and serious season. You can see that seriousness reflected in the color of our vestments and paraments – they’re a subdued blue. We’re using our liturgy with the old seventeenth-century language, honoring our history as we pray in more solemn tones. Even the settings of the sung parts of our liturgy are simpler.
While the world outside us may be in the throes of the “Christmas season,” the church gives us a valuable gift in the quieter season of Advent. We can slow down, take a deep breath, and listen for the stirrings of the Holy Spirit. More important, we can take the time for quiet reflection on what God has done, what God is doing among us now, and what God will do in the future.
Advent initially was a forty-day season of fasting, to prepare for the baptisms that would take place on Epiphany, January 6th. In fact Orthodox Christians, who emphasize Epiphany rather than Christmas, still keep a forty-day fast to prepare for Epiphany. Western Christians like us keep Advent for the four Sundays before Christmas. Our lessons for the first Sunday in Advent focus on God’s promises for the future. John the Baptist thunders his message on the second and third Sundays. Only on the fourth Sunday do we look ahead to Christmas, when we hear Mary’s response to the Annunciation. In this season of Advent, the lectionary readings and the special devotions that the church invites us to undertake are meant to awaken us, to make us more aware of the surprising ways God comes to us, and to enable us to wait patiently and attentively for God to continue to act.
All our readings for today remind us of our call to wait patiently and attentively for God. Jeremiah’s prophecies were first written in the midst of the chaos and despair that followed the sack of Jerusalem and the exile to Babylon in 586 BC. To remind people of God’s covenant with them, the prophet uses an image familiar to the people of his time, viz., a king who would victoriously lead them out of exile. He exhorts his hearers to remember God’s promises, especially the covenant that God made with the Israelites after the Exodus. In that covenant, God declared that Israel would be God’s people forever. The prophet also reminds his downcast people to remember God’s promises to David, which we heard last week in David’s last words, and especially David’s confidence that God had made an everlasting covenant with him. As a response to the reading from Jeremiah, Psalm 25 also calls us to remember God’s promises and to trust God to deliver on God’s promises.
Paul’s letter to the Christians in Thessalonica was Paul’s first letter, written about 50 AD, to one of the earliest of the new communities of Jesus’ followers. Christians in this community were earnestly waiting for Christ to return, and they believed that they would see his return before they themselves died. We don’t know whether Paul himself believed that Christ’s return was imminent. Even so, Paul clearly exhorts these new believers to wait for Christ, whenever he comes, with gratitude, love, and holiness.
The gospel according to Luke – we will be hearing a lot from Luke in this third year of the Revised Common Lectionary – was written in the ‘80s AD, after the fall of Jerusalem, and the destruction of the Jewish Temple by the Romans. Here too the evangelist uses symbols his hearers would appreciate. This part of Luke’s gospel is apocalyptic, like the book of Revelation, i.e., it is symbolic writing that looks ahead to the future. In using apocalyptic symbols, the evangelist reminds his hearers that despite the chaos and destruction that they see all around them God is at work. As faithful followers of Jesus, they are therefore called to “stand up and raise your heads,” i.e., they are to be watchful for further signs of God at work, and they are to trust that God’s reign is near. More important, they are to trust that they are already living in God’s realm, despite what they see around them. As Jesus himself had proclaimed, “The Kingdom of God is at hand,” i.e., it is here already. Even as they trust that God has already inaugurated God’s realm, even as they wait for its final culmination, they are to use God’s gifts to them wisely, not squandering God’s gifts in indulgence, drunkenness, and worldly cares, but watching and waiting patiently and attentively for signs of God at work.
And so, in this first Sunday of the new church year, in this first week of Advent, we wait patiently, with hope and holiness. We look attentively for signs of God’s presence, trusting that God is at work and seeking ways to partner with God in God’s work. In our personal lives, we savor the gift of Advent, the gift of time to reflect on the ways that God was, is, and will be present to us, changing and shaping us into the people God created us to be. Can you use this gift of Advent to find time for more intentional prayer? I invite you to use, for example, the Forward Movement meditations in the booklet we are giving you. I also invite you to light your Advent candles, perhaps at the same time that you use the booklet. Can you take some time for self-reflection? Perhaps at the end of the day? Can you see God at work in your own life?
Can you see God at work in our parish? I recently learned that someone who had once been connected to this parish left us, because it seemed to this person that St. Peter’s had no future, and that the parish was dying. That’s not what I see. Yes, the parish is smaller than it was in twenty-five years ago, but so are many Episcopal parishes, especially in small towns. Even so, this is not a dying parish. God is at work here. I see a parish that has begun to grow again, especially with people deeply committed to prayer, worship, and mission. I see a parish that has kept the red doors open, raised up a deacon, and been given a resident priest-to-be. I see a parish that is even now discerning the new ministries into which God might be leading us. Can we wait patiently and attentively for what God might do next among us?
It’s hard to miss the chaos and destruction in the world outside our parish. Paris, Beirut, Mali, Charleston, Oregon, Colorado, Phoenix. As I wrote this, a gunman had wounded several people and was holed up in a Planned Parenthood facility in Colorado Springs, Colorado. Meanwhile, global warming is playing havoc with our planet and causing ever more severely destructive weather. Is God at work? Are there signs of hope? There are. On Friday, for example, we learned that all the women kidnapped by Boko Haram in Nigeria have been released. And today, as we turn our hearts to God in this peaceful, sacred space, after only two weeks since the attacks in Paris, 147 world leaders have arrived in the city for a mega-conference on climate change. God willing, the talks will produce solid agreements among all these nations that will help reduce greenhouse gas emissions. And I see other signs of God at work. I see community gardens, solar panels and other forms of renewable energy, composting and recycling, thirty-mile meals and farmers’ markets, and more fuel-efficient cars. I see a Habitat for Humanity group that built a house in honor of three Muslims who were murdered in North Carolina. I see The National, a Scottish newspaper, welcoming Syrian refugees with the banner headline, “Welcome to Scotland.”
So in this holy season of Advent I wait. We wait. We trust in God’s promises. We wait patiently for God for fulfill God’s promises. We watch for signs and wonders, in our own lives, in the lives of this parish, and in the world around us. And we attentively seek God’s leading in our work to bring God’s realm ever nearer.
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