"Strange Gifts For a Baby"
Matthew 2:1-12
Monday, January 6, is designated on the Christian calendar as the Day of the Epiphany of the Lord. It's a feast day signifying the ending of the Christmas season, emphasized in some Christian circles more than others for sure, but laden with historical meaning for all of us. It has actually been an occasion of celebration by Christians longer than Christmas has been. It originally was a day set apart to focus on the birth stories, the idea of God appearing in the flesh in Jesus and of Jesus’ baptism. In our day it has become more a time of celebrating and contemplating the meaning of the wise men bringing gifts to the Christ child.
Now, there are twelve days between Christmas Day and Epiphany. For a variety of reasons these twelve days have gained a notoriety of their own and have even earned for themselves a very distinct and quite creative descriptive name - The Twelve Days of Christmas. The Twelve Days of Christmas are probably some of the most misunderstood days of the church year. The origin of The Twelve Days of Christmas is a bit too complicated for a sermon (google it and have some historical fun!). For now, we'll just note that it has to do with differences in calendar, church traditions and a variety of cultural influences. Some cultures give gifts on the day of Epiphany, like most of us do on Christmas Day. Other cultures give gifts on each of the days between Christmas and Epiphany.
The popular and traditional song The Twelve Days of Christmas was born out of this tradition of giving a gift a day. It’s believed by some that the song was written during the 16th century religious wars in England as a way to secretly teach the basics of the Christian faith to children. Although there continues to be some debate about whether this explanation is historically accurate or simply another “urban myth,” what those who hold to this explanation claim is that each of the daily gifts in the song symbolizes something important about our faith.
Very quickly: it is suggested that the “true love” mentioned in the song is a reference to God – the “me” is a reference to everyone who is a Christian – “The partridge in a pear tree” is a reference to Jesus Christ on the cross – “two turtle doves” are interpreted to be a reference to the two testaments, the old and new – “three French hens” are believed to be the three theological virtues of faith, hope and love – the intention of the “four calling birds” are to be a reference to the four Gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John – “five golden rings” a reference to the first five books of the Old Testament, the Pentateuch or Books of Law: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy – “six geese a-laying” is meant to call to mind the six days of creation that confesses God as Creator and Sustainer – “seven swans a-swimming” is believed to be used to remind us that there are seven main gifts of the Holy Spirit: prophecy, ministry, teaching, exhortation, giving, leading, compassion – “eight maids a-milking” is believed to be a reference to the eight Beatitudes – the intent of the “nine ladies dancing” is to remind us that there are nine fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control – “ten Lord’s a-leaping” is believed to remind us that there are ten commandments – “eleven pipers piping” is believed to be a hidden reminder that there were eleven faithful disciples – and lastly, “twelve drummers drumming” is perceived to be a reference to the fact that there are twelve points in the doctrine of the Apostles’ Creed. (1)
Now, with those explanations of The Twelve Days of Christmas, both the time designated as such and the song, let me pose a question. If the song isn’t a fun way to learn something and is instead really simply about a bunch of gifts given by someone’s true love, what kind of person is this “true love?” I mean, what kind of person would give such a bunch of frivolous things to someone they love? - A partridge in a pear tree? - Two turtle doves? - Three French hens? Pretty strange gifts if you ask me. I’m just thankful that my true love hasn’t ever given me any of them!
I love O. Henry's The Gift of the Magi. The irony in the story helps to highlight the attitude that is behind authentic gift giving. The gifts Della and Jim gave each other were only strange and inappropriate because of the stupendous sacrifice the other made in order that they would be able to provide what they believed would be a treasured gift by the other. There’s no doubt that these two were each others “true love.” And it was the sacrificial nature of their gifts that is the proof of it. Their gifts to each other were useful and they would have really been appreciated if the other had not sacrificed something precious to them in order to obtain the gifts they gave. Worthless gifts, strange gifts in the final analysis but not because of any lack of trying or lack of thought or lack of planning or lack of love.
We’re dealing with gift-giving because the Gospel reading designated for the start of the Epiphany season concerns some wise men going to visit the new born Jesus bearing gifts. Now, I have to admit to you that I have always found the gifts they gave a bit strange for a baby – gold, frankincense and myrrh? What’s up with those gifts? – for a baby? They are almost as peculiar as the ones given by the true love character in The Twelve Days of Christmas song. A literal reading of the text should cause people to wonder how wise those guys really were.
Now, here’s another one of those good times to be reminded of the why and how the Bible was written. It’s important to remember that the Bible was written to tell a religious story, to help we readers better understand something’s theological or religious meaning or significance. The purpose of the Bible being written wasn’t necessarily to record history – it wasn’t written to record things as happening on this day, in this way – the facts. It was written to make memorable something about God or Jesus or the church. It was written to help us remember.
While a star may not have literally moved through the sky to guide some wise men to Bethlehem, something stirred within some people to cause some of them to leave the comfort of their homeland and set out to search for a baby. The account of the star in the story calls us to pay attention to the story – it helps us recognize that something significant is happening here.
Legends abound about the wise men. Early in the eastern tradition it was believed that there were as many as twelve wise men. A later legend reported that the wise men were kings. Another one named them and described how they looked and which gift they brought.
Contrary to the attitude of some of us Christians, referencing something as a legend or a myths does not make what they're highlighting false. Understanding a Bible story as a myth or a legend isn't dangerous to the faith – legends and myths do not negate the truth the Bible is trying to communicate. Rather, their role is to enhance the Bible story, to enable the Bible story’s truth to be better able to be heard and understood. It’s not important whether three or twelve wise men traveled to Bethlehem, whether they stopped off to have a visit with Herod or not, whether their actual gifts were gold, frankincense and myrrh or something else. Historical facts are not what is important here. The message trying to be communicated is what is. And the strange gifts for a baby are used in the story to call attention to some things the early Christian community deemed pretty important about Jesus.
Gold is regarded as the king of metals and thus it is understood to be a fit gift for a king. As far as the early church was concerned, Jesus was born to be King. To be sure, just as he was not born in a palace like other kings, he was not going to rule like them either. His Kingdom was going to be in the hearts and the minds of people rather than a portion of land - his power was going to be motivated out of love rather than might - he was going to rule from a cross, sacrificially, not a throne, politically. The gift of gold in the story is to remind us that Jesus was born to be king and is king of our lives. (2)
Frankincense was used by priests in the temple during worship and during the sacrificing services. It smelled sweet and thus masked the stench of the burning animals. The function of a priest is to open the way to God for people – they are bridge-builders between us and God. The gift of frankincense in the story is to remind us that Jesus is our high priest – that he opens the way for us to God. (3)
Myrrh was used to embalm persons in Jesus’ day. Jesus came into the world to live with us and in the end to die for us. The gift of myrrh in the story is to remind us that Jesus’ role in the great scheme of salvation is to die for us. (4)
Gold for a king, frankincense for a priest, myrrh for one who is to die – these were the gifts of the wise men. And impractical as they first appear, symbolically they add meaning for those who read the story with the eyes, the hearts and the minds of faith. Strange gifts for a baby perhaps, but not for our Lord and Savior.
Happy New Year! May your year be full of new epiphanies of God's presence in you and all those you encounter!
1 Dennis Bratcher, Christian Resource Institute, 2001.
2 William Barclay, The Daily Study Bible: The Gospel of Matthew, Vol. 1, (The Westminster Press: Philadelphia, 1958) p. 23.
3 Ibid.
4 Ibid.
Saturday, January 4, 2014
Thursday, January 2, 2014
SERMON: "What Kind of Leader?"
What Kind of Leader?
Matthew 25:31-46
Today’s parable may be one of the most vivid ones Jesus ever told. Its basic message is almost impossible to miss: on judgment day, on the day of reckoning, the Son of Man will assume this king-like role, only it’s more like a shepherd king, and he will divide all of humanity into two groups. Some will be directed to stand on the right and some to stand on the left. The ones on the right he likens to sheep, and the ones on the left to goats.
Those on the right will be there because the king will say that they have cared for his hunger, thirst, loneliness, and nakedness. The ones on the left will be there because they've neglected to care for those needs of the Son of Man. And both groups will be shocked by the encounter with the judging shepherd-like king. They will both wonder when they saw the Lord in such predicaments. And the shepherd-like king will answer both groups of people: "When you did it for one of the least around you, you did or did it not to me.”
There’s no possible way we can miss Christ’s message here is there? “You’re in if you satisfy the basic human needs of the unfortunate and you’re out if you neglect them.” Sure it’s hard at times. Sure there are some situations we would rather not get involved in. Sure there are some people who stretch our patience, challenge our sensitivities and our political way of seeing the world, or are in conflict with the morals we have established for ourselves. We need to somehow adopt into our being that attitude that Mother Teresa offered as an explanation for how she could minister to the people in the kind of horrid conditions she did. “I just pretend they are Jesus.” Every time we do something that helps those who cannot help themselves, we are ministering to Jesus.
Bishop William Willimon tells of a Sunday after church when he and his family stopped at a local restaurant for a bite to eat. The restaurant was crowded and the woman serving their table seemed especially tired, practically weary.
When they finished their meal and the restaurant was emptying, Willimon decided to be a little pastoral and said to her: “You look tired – are you okay?”
She shared with him that she had been up most of the night with her sick little boy but that she was really okay.
Willimon then said to her: “It must be hard after being up all night, having to stand on your feet and work so hard.”
She just nodded.
Then he asked: “What’s the hardest day of the week at work?”
(She didn’t know that he was a reverend.) She answered, “The hardest day of the week is Sunday. I dread all the people who come here after church. They make so many demands and some of them are so hateful. And they never tip hardly anything.” (1)
“When, Lord, when did I…?”
Willimon also tells of times when his daughter was little that she would ask him the same question over and over: “Daddy, where’s Jesus? Where’s Jesus, daddy?” He said it went on for close to three years but then she stopped perhaps because she got tired of wondering and his pathetic answers.
Later in his sermon he reflected on the fact that today she is a parent and teaches third graders. He noted that she often comes home and tells him about her kids. “La Tron, whose only safe place in all his life is that little classroom. The Indian student barely able to understand English who comes and sits as close to her desk as she can get day after day with frightened eyes. The bully that wants her attention all day long.”
And he concluded his sermon with: “If I ever asked my teacher-daughter where I might find Jesus today, I think I know what she would say. I think I know.” (2)
“When, Jesus, when did I…?”
Peter Storey, former bishop of The Methodist Church in South Africa, preached a powerful sermon based on Matthew 6:33. He observed in it: “Who is the focus of the Church? Who is the person we are concerned about? The person we exist to serve? For Jesus there was no question. In the Kingdom, the humble are lifted high and the most vulnerable have pride of place. That is why you cannot ask Jesus into your heart alone. He will ask, ‘Can I bring my friends?’ You will look at his friends and they will consist of the poor and marginalized and oppressed, and you will hesitate. But Jesus is clear: ‘Only if I can bring my friends.’”
And he continued with: “Ask yourself which Christian has most powerfully impacted the imagination and conscience of the modern world. A satin-suited, prosperous televangelist (who offers you your best life now)? Or a wizened old Albanian nun, who made herself the servant of the poorest of the poor, the dying people of Calcutta?” (3)
“When, Lord, when did I…?”
Jim Wallis of Sojourners tells of a morning when the volunteers, who gathered early to prepare the food to feed the hungry homeless who were in a long line waiting on the outside of the building, asked one of their coworkers to pray. She prayed: “Jesus, help me to see your face when you come through the line.” (4)
Since the first time I heard that prayer it changed how I offered prayer before rummage sales and dinners where persons not from the church were invited. And I have had more than one person involved in serving at those events comment on what a difference simply being reminded made.
“When, Jesus, when did I…?”
Anne Lamott came to the faith later in life. Mainly because of her experiences at St. Andrews Presbyterian Church in Marin County, California she has a way of seeing the world a bit differently than most of us. She has dedicated two of her books to that congregation because of how instrumental they were in helping her find her way.
In her book Traveling Mercies she tells of one of the things that helped open her eyes. She writes in the book of a time when a new member of that church was a man by the name of Ken Nelson. He was dying of AIDS. Despite the death of his partner of the disease Ken kept coming to the church week after week. The people of the church could tell he was also slowly dying.
Anne writes of a large, jovial black woman in the choir named Ranola – one of the most devout members of the church. There was no question that she kept looking at Ken out of the corners of her eyes and that she was a little standoffish. She’d been raised in the south by Baptists and had been taught that Ken’s way of life was an abomination. It was hard for her to see Ken as he was. Anne said that she thought Ranola and several other members of the church were afraid they might catch what Ken had. So they kept their distance. But Ken kept coming and coming anyway and finally most of the members were won over. During prayer time he would share that even in his decline he had felt the grace and redemption of God.
Well, on one particular Sunday morning the congregation began singing “His Eye Is on the Sparrow.” The whole church was standing, except for Ken who was now too weak even to stand. And the church began to sing: “Why should I feel discouraged? Why do the shadows fall?” And Ranola, from the choir, kept watching Ken and then suddenly her face began to contort and tears came to her eyes and she left the choir loft. She went directly to Ken, bent down and picked him up, lifting him like a white rag doll. Anne says Ranola held him next to her, as if he were her child as they all sang together: “His eye is on the sparrow and I know he cares for me." (5)
“When, Lord, when did I…?”
One of the places I most often caught glimpses of Jesus was in the fellowship hall of a former church on Thanksgiving day. I saw him in many of those who came to eat a meal there. Some there were elderly folks for whom the meal was an obviously welcome nutritious one; and there were those for whom those who gathered were the only family they know. There were several of our homeless friends. There were those families who came and helped serve and ate with all the others gathered in fellowship hall. There were those families who brought in dishes of food to share even though they had family waiting at home to eat. There were those unseen who spent hours making preparations so the rest of us could do what we came to do. There were those in charge who made leading look a lot like serving and who shared their hearts both with those who volunteered and those who came to eat and fellowship. There were those who decorated and set the tables. And, there was the young woman who told me that she was there with her young daughter (oh, I’d guess about 10-years-old) because she wanted her to experience at a young age how important it was to help others.
Yep, I saw Jesus a time or two on those days during those meals. His way of leading was obvious. He does indeed lead in a different way than the rest of the world.
“When, Lord Jesus, when did we…?”
Let us pray. (The first part of the prayer is one printed in a Dear Abby column a few years ago.) Again, let us pray: “O, Heavenly Father, we thank thee for the food – and remember the hungry. We thank thee for health – and remember the sick. We thank thee for friends – and remember the friendless. We thank thee for freedom – and remember the enslaved. May these remembrances stir us to serve – that the gifts to us may be used for others.”
Jesus, we do want to see you – to thank you. It’s hard to imagine that we already have or haven’t – that we daily have the opportunity to or not. We know that what you require of us will not be easy and we seek the conversion in our hearts which will enable us to see beyond our stereotypes, our images of those in need. We know our belief that others are the way they are because they want to be is an excuse for us not to have to respond. Break through our thick walls of hatred and suspicion, and wall of self pride. Open our eyes and hearts and minds to the needs that are all around us. Help us to follow your lead, O Lord, for it is in your name we pray. Amen.
1. William Willimon, “Where’s Jesus?,” Pulpit Resources, October – December, 2008, p. 36. 2. Ibid., 34-35.
3. Peter Storey, “Let God Be God!,” With God in the Crucible (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2002), p. 154 as quoted in “Where’s Jesus?”, p. 36.
4. “Where’s Jesus?”, p. 36.
5. Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies (New York: Pantheon Books, 1999) as quoted in “Where’s Jesus?,” p. 35.
Matthew 25:31-46
Today’s parable may be one of the most vivid ones Jesus ever told. Its basic message is almost impossible to miss: on judgment day, on the day of reckoning, the Son of Man will assume this king-like role, only it’s more like a shepherd king, and he will divide all of humanity into two groups. Some will be directed to stand on the right and some to stand on the left. The ones on the right he likens to sheep, and the ones on the left to goats.
Those on the right will be there because the king will say that they have cared for his hunger, thirst, loneliness, and nakedness. The ones on the left will be there because they've neglected to care for those needs of the Son of Man. And both groups will be shocked by the encounter with the judging shepherd-like king. They will both wonder when they saw the Lord in such predicaments. And the shepherd-like king will answer both groups of people: "When you did it for one of the least around you, you did or did it not to me.”
There’s no possible way we can miss Christ’s message here is there? “You’re in if you satisfy the basic human needs of the unfortunate and you’re out if you neglect them.” Sure it’s hard at times. Sure there are some situations we would rather not get involved in. Sure there are some people who stretch our patience, challenge our sensitivities and our political way of seeing the world, or are in conflict with the morals we have established for ourselves. We need to somehow adopt into our being that attitude that Mother Teresa offered as an explanation for how she could minister to the people in the kind of horrid conditions she did. “I just pretend they are Jesus.” Every time we do something that helps those who cannot help themselves, we are ministering to Jesus.
Bishop William Willimon tells of a Sunday after church when he and his family stopped at a local restaurant for a bite to eat. The restaurant was crowded and the woman serving their table seemed especially tired, practically weary.
When they finished their meal and the restaurant was emptying, Willimon decided to be a little pastoral and said to her: “You look tired – are you okay?”
She shared with him that she had been up most of the night with her sick little boy but that she was really okay.
Willimon then said to her: “It must be hard after being up all night, having to stand on your feet and work so hard.”
She just nodded.
Then he asked: “What’s the hardest day of the week at work?”
(She didn’t know that he was a reverend.) She answered, “The hardest day of the week is Sunday. I dread all the people who come here after church. They make so many demands and some of them are so hateful. And they never tip hardly anything.” (1)
“When, Lord, when did I…?”
Willimon also tells of times when his daughter was little that she would ask him the same question over and over: “Daddy, where’s Jesus? Where’s Jesus, daddy?” He said it went on for close to three years but then she stopped perhaps because she got tired of wondering and his pathetic answers.
Later in his sermon he reflected on the fact that today she is a parent and teaches third graders. He noted that she often comes home and tells him about her kids. “La Tron, whose only safe place in all his life is that little classroom. The Indian student barely able to understand English who comes and sits as close to her desk as she can get day after day with frightened eyes. The bully that wants her attention all day long.”
And he concluded his sermon with: “If I ever asked my teacher-daughter where I might find Jesus today, I think I know what she would say. I think I know.” (2)
“When, Jesus, when did I…?”
Peter Storey, former bishop of The Methodist Church in South Africa, preached a powerful sermon based on Matthew 6:33. He observed in it: “Who is the focus of the Church? Who is the person we are concerned about? The person we exist to serve? For Jesus there was no question. In the Kingdom, the humble are lifted high and the most vulnerable have pride of place. That is why you cannot ask Jesus into your heart alone. He will ask, ‘Can I bring my friends?’ You will look at his friends and they will consist of the poor and marginalized and oppressed, and you will hesitate. But Jesus is clear: ‘Only if I can bring my friends.’”
And he continued with: “Ask yourself which Christian has most powerfully impacted the imagination and conscience of the modern world. A satin-suited, prosperous televangelist (who offers you your best life now)? Or a wizened old Albanian nun, who made herself the servant of the poorest of the poor, the dying people of Calcutta?” (3)
“When, Lord, when did I…?”
Jim Wallis of Sojourners tells of a morning when the volunteers, who gathered early to prepare the food to feed the hungry homeless who were in a long line waiting on the outside of the building, asked one of their coworkers to pray. She prayed: “Jesus, help me to see your face when you come through the line.” (4)
Since the first time I heard that prayer it changed how I offered prayer before rummage sales and dinners where persons not from the church were invited. And I have had more than one person involved in serving at those events comment on what a difference simply being reminded made.
“When, Jesus, when did I…?”
Anne Lamott came to the faith later in life. Mainly because of her experiences at St. Andrews Presbyterian Church in Marin County, California she has a way of seeing the world a bit differently than most of us. She has dedicated two of her books to that congregation because of how instrumental they were in helping her find her way.
In her book Traveling Mercies she tells of one of the things that helped open her eyes. She writes in the book of a time when a new member of that church was a man by the name of Ken Nelson. He was dying of AIDS. Despite the death of his partner of the disease Ken kept coming to the church week after week. The people of the church could tell he was also slowly dying.
Anne writes of a large, jovial black woman in the choir named Ranola – one of the most devout members of the church. There was no question that she kept looking at Ken out of the corners of her eyes and that she was a little standoffish. She’d been raised in the south by Baptists and had been taught that Ken’s way of life was an abomination. It was hard for her to see Ken as he was. Anne said that she thought Ranola and several other members of the church were afraid they might catch what Ken had. So they kept their distance. But Ken kept coming and coming anyway and finally most of the members were won over. During prayer time he would share that even in his decline he had felt the grace and redemption of God.
Well, on one particular Sunday morning the congregation began singing “His Eye Is on the Sparrow.” The whole church was standing, except for Ken who was now too weak even to stand. And the church began to sing: “Why should I feel discouraged? Why do the shadows fall?” And Ranola, from the choir, kept watching Ken and then suddenly her face began to contort and tears came to her eyes and she left the choir loft. She went directly to Ken, bent down and picked him up, lifting him like a white rag doll. Anne says Ranola held him next to her, as if he were her child as they all sang together: “His eye is on the sparrow and I know he cares for me." (5)
“When, Lord, when did I…?”
One of the places I most often caught glimpses of Jesus was in the fellowship hall of a former church on Thanksgiving day. I saw him in many of those who came to eat a meal there. Some there were elderly folks for whom the meal was an obviously welcome nutritious one; and there were those for whom those who gathered were the only family they know. There were several of our homeless friends. There were those families who came and helped serve and ate with all the others gathered in fellowship hall. There were those families who brought in dishes of food to share even though they had family waiting at home to eat. There were those unseen who spent hours making preparations so the rest of us could do what we came to do. There were those in charge who made leading look a lot like serving and who shared their hearts both with those who volunteered and those who came to eat and fellowship. There were those who decorated and set the tables. And, there was the young woman who told me that she was there with her young daughter (oh, I’d guess about 10-years-old) because she wanted her to experience at a young age how important it was to help others.
Yep, I saw Jesus a time or two on those days during those meals. His way of leading was obvious. He does indeed lead in a different way than the rest of the world.
“When, Lord Jesus, when did we…?”
Let us pray. (The first part of the prayer is one printed in a Dear Abby column a few years ago.) Again, let us pray: “O, Heavenly Father, we thank thee for the food – and remember the hungry. We thank thee for health – and remember the sick. We thank thee for friends – and remember the friendless. We thank thee for freedom – and remember the enslaved. May these remembrances stir us to serve – that the gifts to us may be used for others.”
Jesus, we do want to see you – to thank you. It’s hard to imagine that we already have or haven’t – that we daily have the opportunity to or not. We know that what you require of us will not be easy and we seek the conversion in our hearts which will enable us to see beyond our stereotypes, our images of those in need. We know our belief that others are the way they are because they want to be is an excuse for us not to have to respond. Break through our thick walls of hatred and suspicion, and wall of self pride. Open our eyes and hearts and minds to the needs that are all around us. Help us to follow your lead, O Lord, for it is in your name we pray. Amen.
1. William Willimon, “Where’s Jesus?,” Pulpit Resources, October – December, 2008, p. 36. 2. Ibid., 34-35.
3. Peter Storey, “Let God Be God!,” With God in the Crucible (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2002), p. 154 as quoted in “Where’s Jesus?”, p. 36.
4. “Where’s Jesus?”, p. 36.
5. Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies (New York: Pantheon Books, 1999) as quoted in “Where’s Jesus?,” p. 35.
Saturday, December 28, 2013
"From the Other Side of the Bed"
"From the Other Side of the Bed"
When I was first diagnosed four years ago, a young clergy friend, a camper years ago in a camp I was the dean of, stopped to see me. One of the things she said to me was, "Write! "
I said, "About what?"
She began to talk about such things as my upcoming health journey and what it's like from the other side of the bed. Hmmm... I'm not sure how many of the things I've posted on my blog have done that, but I had something happen to me a few weeks ago leading up to Christmas that certainly caused me to think about that theme and that perspective of the circumstance.
A couple from the church brought dinner to us and stayed to enjoy it with us. Part way through the meal they informed us that some others from the church were coming after the meal to carol to us.
I must admit that I zoned out a bit after that (sorry, Bob and Jeanne!) My thoughts turned to remembering the years of caroling with high school friends, YF groups, other church groups; sometimes just down the street , sometimes door-to-door, but most of the time it was to the homes of the shut-ins, the homebounds.
The carolers arrived and soon the rooms of our home were full of the familiar and favorite carols. Oh, how I appreciated the faces and lives and voices of those who shared with us their love and spirit that night.
But sometime during their sharing I became aware of a mixture of emotions vieing for space in my heart, head, and tears. Yes, my wonderful church friends were there because they cared, but I was both full of joy and in pain because I was the one being sung to, the one in need - of being comforted, of being refueled with the hope of the season, of being the recipient of the caring of a community of faith.
Now, fellow clergy, carolers, friends, please do not hear this as a concern about the appropriateness of caroling to people in need or alone. This is simply a commentary about the variety of emotions present when we attempt to minister to one another.
(Now, I probably would write more if it weren't for the fact that I have just successfully written my first blog post with my eyegaze machine, mostly with my eyes, and my eyes are tired!)
When I was first diagnosed four years ago, a young clergy friend, a camper years ago in a camp I was the dean of, stopped to see me. One of the things she said to me was, "Write! "
I said, "About what?"
She began to talk about such things as my upcoming health journey and what it's like from the other side of the bed. Hmmm... I'm not sure how many of the things I've posted on my blog have done that, but I had something happen to me a few weeks ago leading up to Christmas that certainly caused me to think about that theme and that perspective of the circumstance.
A couple from the church brought dinner to us and stayed to enjoy it with us. Part way through the meal they informed us that some others from the church were coming after the meal to carol to us.
I must admit that I zoned out a bit after that (sorry, Bob and Jeanne!) My thoughts turned to remembering the years of caroling with high school friends, YF groups, other church groups; sometimes just down the street , sometimes door-to-door, but most of the time it was to the homes of the shut-ins, the homebounds.
The carolers arrived and soon the rooms of our home were full of the familiar and favorite carols. Oh, how I appreciated the faces and lives and voices of those who shared with us their love and spirit that night.
But sometime during their sharing I became aware of a mixture of emotions vieing for space in my heart, head, and tears. Yes, my wonderful church friends were there because they cared, but I was both full of joy and in pain because I was the one being sung to, the one in need - of being comforted, of being refueled with the hope of the season, of being the recipient of the caring of a community of faith.
Now, fellow clergy, carolers, friends, please do not hear this as a concern about the appropriateness of caroling to people in need or alone. This is simply a commentary about the variety of emotions present when we attempt to minister to one another.
(Now, I probably would write more if it weren't for the fact that I have just successfully written my first blog post with my eyegaze machine, mostly with my eyes, and my eyes are tired!)
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
CHRISTMAS EVE SERMON II: "Light Casts Out Fear"
"Light Casts Out Fear"
Several years ago during a Lima area ministerial meeting we were sharing with one another our favorite Christmas stories. I told them about The Piano Man’s Christmas and several from The Guideposts Christmas Treasury including “Trouble at the Inn”, the story of Wallace Purling. I was desperate for a new one.
Dawna Boyles, minister of Central Christian Church, introduced us to storyteller Roger Robbennolt and his book Tales of Gletha The Goatlady. I want to share with my blog community on this Christmas Eve one of my favorites from that book: "Lanterns in the Snow." (I'm pretty sure this is way too long to be considered legal. My confessing that probably could be forgiven if a few of you go out and purchase the book! But, certainly don't repost!)
I suppose one of the primary reasons I originally chose to share this story was because of my having so many first-hand experiences with families who've had their own challenges with mental illness - the most personal being my own brother and the impact on the whole family. I suppose I choose it this year because of the growing seemingly popular notion that all mental illness might result in tragic consequences or that all tragedies are the result of someone coping with mental illness. But, I'm a little ahead of the story. The book itself needs a little background before I share today's/tonight's chosen story.
Gletha was called the goatlady because she raised goats. Most of the people in Bear Run Township where Roger Robbennolt grew up just “knew” she was a witch. Roger thought himself to be the one person in the whole human race she really liked. It was to her home he often escaped when his manic-depressive adoptive father went on a tirade. Roger was born in a prison where his birth-mother was an inmate. She tried to raise him for three years. He was finally dropped off at an orphanage with a battered head and three broken ribs. Gletha was Roger’s adoptive mother’s maternal aunt. With that brief introduction hear now “Lanterns in the Snow” for the insights it offers us this Christmas Eve.
My father feared the darkness. His fear deepened in the gloom of December as Christmas, the time of light, drew near. As long as the kerosene lamps were ablaze from sundown until bedtime, he could endure the star-shot blackness that surrounded our tiny shack.
In the Yuletide season, his spirits healed a bit as he watched the lamplight reflected on the Christmas tree decorations: the single ten-cent package of tinsel - bought years before and carefully removed from each ensuing tree because there was no money to buy new - and the patches of sparkle on the eleven peeling red balls which had graced evergreens the twenty years of my parents’ life together.
When my father was at the height of his anger or the depths of withdrawal, Gletha would appear, a pail of warm goat’s milk in her hand, its secret additives disguised by a dash of Karo Syrup. He would swear and order her out of the house and forbid my ever moving through the woods with her again. However, her offerings occasionally shortened his times of darkness. To this day, I wish I knew the healing herbal combination in her gifts.
The Advent season when I was nine glows in my memory. Thirty-seven inches of snow had fallen in three weeks. Four days before Christmas, the wind-driven flakes began to fall again. My father and I fought our way to the barns to care for the cows, sheep and horses. During a break in the storm, we watched a tragic wilderness ballet: a deer floundering in the deep drifts killed and devoured by a pack of wolves.
There was little to do during those blizzard-shrouded days. However, one pastime went on incessantly: rubbernecking. (Young people who are reading this may want to talk about "rubbernecking" with your parents and/or grandparents at some family gathering.) There were eighteen families on the party telephone line - each with its own distinguishable “ring.” Our ring was effected by someone cranking out a short and a long and a short and a long. When another family’s ring was heard, everyone on the party line became adept at covering the mouthpiece with one hand while quietly easing the receiver off the hook with the other in order to listen in on the conversation.
My aunt Floy was among the more persistent rubberneckers. She had one handicap: a small dog named Yip who tore loose with a horrendous cascade of barking at the slightest provocation. As Floy listened, she’d forget to cover the mouthpiece. Yip would sight an offending squirrel through the window and let out a torrent of noise. One of the callers might well shout,“Floy, git off the phone. We want to talk about you.”
The blizzard continued through Christmas Eve Day. Each passing hour brought more concern to Mother and me. We had used the last of the kerosene - and God only knew when we’d be able to get to town to purchase more. The candles, too, were gone. We faced the prospect of celebrating the Christ Child’s birth in fear-filled darkness fought by my father with outbursts of physically expressed anger.
As night erased the pines on the far edge of the clearing, my father and I came in from the barns. He had clung to my hand like a jittery child as we made our way through the thick-falling snow. Entering the tiny kitchen, he opened the lid to the cast iron cookstove. The red glow from the coals reflected on the tears coursing down his face as he cried out to my mother, “Mary, can’t you do something about the dark?”
My mother moved to the wall-mounted phone and cranked out three shorts and a long. The booming voice of a mile-distant neighbor could be heard rolling out over the receiver. My mother pleaded with him: “Ted, can you spare a little kerosene for tonight? We got terrible sickness over here. Frank is really down. We just can’t face spending a night with no light.”
“Mary, I got a little extree, but it’s still snowin’ to beat the devil, and there ain’t no way I can get it to you unless the snow stops. There’s not much chance of that happenin’.
“Well, bye, Ted - and thanks anyhow. Don’t let yerself git blowed away. And listen - you all have a Merry Christmas.”
She hung up the receiver and paused for a moment, leaning wearily against the wall beneath the phone. Daddy had seated himself in his creaking rocking chair by the potbellied stove, clenching and unclenching his fists.
I stood by the window, staring at the last ghosts of blizzard-shattered light. Then I saw her: Gletha, the goatlady. With her soft grey cloths flowing behind her, she appeared to be riding the drifting snow, waving her arms in a slow cadence as if conducting a symphony of the elements. The wind gentled. The falling snow lessened. Through the clouds, burst the incredibly bright light of a full moon starkly detailing every aspect of the Christmas Eve landscape. I blinked my eyes in disbelief - and Gletha was gone.
Then they appeared like fireflies in the distance - some from the north and some from the south: lanterns - seventeen lanterns growing larger as their bearers came nearer. My father heard my gasp of amazement. He stumbled to the window and shoved me roughly aside. He cried out, “Mary - my God - the lights - look at the lights!”
They came on that Christmas Eve, the light bearers. But they bore more than light. Though jobs were scarce and gardens had dried up and the snow was too deep to care for trap lines, everybody brought something to share. Tilllie Mauldin had come up with the makings of mincemeat pie. Bill Cooley had some ground venison. Gyp Matthews brought corn to pop. Thirty people or more crowded into the tiny living room and kitchen. In their midst was Gletha, the goatlady, with her magic pail of milk and secret powders and the dash of Karo Syrup. For those few moments on that magic evening, the fact that she was suspected of witchcraft - and smelled pungently of the goats she cared for - was forgotten.
She suddenly lifted her hands, and silence settled on the celebration. She said quietly, “I think there’s good spirits a’bornin’ here.” She raised her rich voice in “Silent Night,” and everyone joined in. The Child in the manger became as the snowbound sheepsheds fifty paces off.
We sang and laughed and shared far into the night. Ted rolled in our kerosene barrel, and everyone poured half a lantern-full into it. We would not be without light.
As the crowd moved out to the front yard shouting Christmas greetings, Gletha’s voice was joined by all in one last hymn, “Amazing Grace.” As folk, lanterns in hand, moved out across the moonlit snow, blessed on their way by the sung words of God’s gifting, their pattern assumed the shape of a gigantic moving star. I knew that our Bethlehem had been visited by flesh-shaped hope. (1)
We will attend Christmas Eve services because we believe and to remind ourselves of that belief that Jesus Christ is the light of the world - we’ll attend Christmas Eve services because we believe and to remind ourselves of that belief that Jesus Christ is the light that casts out fear and brings new meaning to all we experience in this life and the life after - we’ll attend Christmas Eve services because we and our world are in need of the hope and peace, the light of the world, Jesus Christ, provides - we’ll be present in order to reconnect with the light of the world, to have the spark of faith within us blown upon by the Holy Spirit so that the fears that threaten to immobilize us might be consumed by the inferno that results and we’ll go to recommit ourselves to living our lives as light-bearers to those in need of a little light in their lives. Jesus Christ is the light of the world. We are his light-bearers.
The world is in need of our doing what we can to provide light where there is darkness. It certainly isn't in need of our closing doors or extinguishing the light in others by beating them up with God's Word become flesh. Inclusion, not exclusion. Love, not hate. Peace, not war. We need to be the light-bearers of hope, kindness, understanding, compassion, acceptance, and encouragement. May it be so in all of our lives!
Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays! Seasons Greetings! To all this day, night, tomorrow and every day.
1. Roger Robbennolt, Tales of Gletha the Goatlady (Ave Maria Press, 1993).
Several years ago during a Lima area ministerial meeting we were sharing with one another our favorite Christmas stories. I told them about The Piano Man’s Christmas and several from The Guideposts Christmas Treasury including “Trouble at the Inn”, the story of Wallace Purling. I was desperate for a new one.
Dawna Boyles, minister of Central Christian Church, introduced us to storyteller Roger Robbennolt and his book Tales of Gletha The Goatlady. I want to share with my blog community on this Christmas Eve one of my favorites from that book: "Lanterns in the Snow." (I'm pretty sure this is way too long to be considered legal. My confessing that probably could be forgiven if a few of you go out and purchase the book! But, certainly don't repost!)
I suppose one of the primary reasons I originally chose to share this story was because of my having so many first-hand experiences with families who've had their own challenges with mental illness - the most personal being my own brother and the impact on the whole family. I suppose I choose it this year because of the growing seemingly popular notion that all mental illness might result in tragic consequences or that all tragedies are the result of someone coping with mental illness. But, I'm a little ahead of the story. The book itself needs a little background before I share today's/tonight's chosen story.
Gletha was called the goatlady because she raised goats. Most of the people in Bear Run Township where Roger Robbennolt grew up just “knew” she was a witch. Roger thought himself to be the one person in the whole human race she really liked. It was to her home he often escaped when his manic-depressive adoptive father went on a tirade. Roger was born in a prison where his birth-mother was an inmate. She tried to raise him for three years. He was finally dropped off at an orphanage with a battered head and three broken ribs. Gletha was Roger’s adoptive mother’s maternal aunt. With that brief introduction hear now “Lanterns in the Snow” for the insights it offers us this Christmas Eve.
My father feared the darkness. His fear deepened in the gloom of December as Christmas, the time of light, drew near. As long as the kerosene lamps were ablaze from sundown until bedtime, he could endure the star-shot blackness that surrounded our tiny shack.
In the Yuletide season, his spirits healed a bit as he watched the lamplight reflected on the Christmas tree decorations: the single ten-cent package of tinsel - bought years before and carefully removed from each ensuing tree because there was no money to buy new - and the patches of sparkle on the eleven peeling red balls which had graced evergreens the twenty years of my parents’ life together.
When my father was at the height of his anger or the depths of withdrawal, Gletha would appear, a pail of warm goat’s milk in her hand, its secret additives disguised by a dash of Karo Syrup. He would swear and order her out of the house and forbid my ever moving through the woods with her again. However, her offerings occasionally shortened his times of darkness. To this day, I wish I knew the healing herbal combination in her gifts.
The Advent season when I was nine glows in my memory. Thirty-seven inches of snow had fallen in three weeks. Four days before Christmas, the wind-driven flakes began to fall again. My father and I fought our way to the barns to care for the cows, sheep and horses. During a break in the storm, we watched a tragic wilderness ballet: a deer floundering in the deep drifts killed and devoured by a pack of wolves.
There was little to do during those blizzard-shrouded days. However, one pastime went on incessantly: rubbernecking. (Young people who are reading this may want to talk about "rubbernecking" with your parents and/or grandparents at some family gathering.) There were eighteen families on the party telephone line - each with its own distinguishable “ring.” Our ring was effected by someone cranking out a short and a long and a short and a long. When another family’s ring was heard, everyone on the party line became adept at covering the mouthpiece with one hand while quietly easing the receiver off the hook with the other in order to listen in on the conversation.
My aunt Floy was among the more persistent rubberneckers. She had one handicap: a small dog named Yip who tore loose with a horrendous cascade of barking at the slightest provocation. As Floy listened, she’d forget to cover the mouthpiece. Yip would sight an offending squirrel through the window and let out a torrent of noise. One of the callers might well shout,“Floy, git off the phone. We want to talk about you.”
The blizzard continued through Christmas Eve Day. Each passing hour brought more concern to Mother and me. We had used the last of the kerosene - and God only knew when we’d be able to get to town to purchase more. The candles, too, were gone. We faced the prospect of celebrating the Christ Child’s birth in fear-filled darkness fought by my father with outbursts of physically expressed anger.
As night erased the pines on the far edge of the clearing, my father and I came in from the barns. He had clung to my hand like a jittery child as we made our way through the thick-falling snow. Entering the tiny kitchen, he opened the lid to the cast iron cookstove. The red glow from the coals reflected on the tears coursing down his face as he cried out to my mother, “Mary, can’t you do something about the dark?”
My mother moved to the wall-mounted phone and cranked out three shorts and a long. The booming voice of a mile-distant neighbor could be heard rolling out over the receiver. My mother pleaded with him: “Ted, can you spare a little kerosene for tonight? We got terrible sickness over here. Frank is really down. We just can’t face spending a night with no light.”
“Mary, I got a little extree, but it’s still snowin’ to beat the devil, and there ain’t no way I can get it to you unless the snow stops. There’s not much chance of that happenin’.
“Well, bye, Ted - and thanks anyhow. Don’t let yerself git blowed away. And listen - you all have a Merry Christmas.”
She hung up the receiver and paused for a moment, leaning wearily against the wall beneath the phone. Daddy had seated himself in his creaking rocking chair by the potbellied stove, clenching and unclenching his fists.
I stood by the window, staring at the last ghosts of blizzard-shattered light. Then I saw her: Gletha, the goatlady. With her soft grey cloths flowing behind her, she appeared to be riding the drifting snow, waving her arms in a slow cadence as if conducting a symphony of the elements. The wind gentled. The falling snow lessened. Through the clouds, burst the incredibly bright light of a full moon starkly detailing every aspect of the Christmas Eve landscape. I blinked my eyes in disbelief - and Gletha was gone.
Then they appeared like fireflies in the distance - some from the north and some from the south: lanterns - seventeen lanterns growing larger as their bearers came nearer. My father heard my gasp of amazement. He stumbled to the window and shoved me roughly aside. He cried out, “Mary - my God - the lights - look at the lights!”
They came on that Christmas Eve, the light bearers. But they bore more than light. Though jobs were scarce and gardens had dried up and the snow was too deep to care for trap lines, everybody brought something to share. Tilllie Mauldin had come up with the makings of mincemeat pie. Bill Cooley had some ground venison. Gyp Matthews brought corn to pop. Thirty people or more crowded into the tiny living room and kitchen. In their midst was Gletha, the goatlady, with her magic pail of milk and secret powders and the dash of Karo Syrup. For those few moments on that magic evening, the fact that she was suspected of witchcraft - and smelled pungently of the goats she cared for - was forgotten.
She suddenly lifted her hands, and silence settled on the celebration. She said quietly, “I think there’s good spirits a’bornin’ here.” She raised her rich voice in “Silent Night,” and everyone joined in. The Child in the manger became as the snowbound sheepsheds fifty paces off.
We sang and laughed and shared far into the night. Ted rolled in our kerosene barrel, and everyone poured half a lantern-full into it. We would not be without light.
As the crowd moved out to the front yard shouting Christmas greetings, Gletha’s voice was joined by all in one last hymn, “Amazing Grace.” As folk, lanterns in hand, moved out across the moonlit snow, blessed on their way by the sung words of God’s gifting, their pattern assumed the shape of a gigantic moving star. I knew that our Bethlehem had been visited by flesh-shaped hope. (1)
We will attend Christmas Eve services because we believe and to remind ourselves of that belief that Jesus Christ is the light of the world - we’ll attend Christmas Eve services because we believe and to remind ourselves of that belief that Jesus Christ is the light that casts out fear and brings new meaning to all we experience in this life and the life after - we’ll attend Christmas Eve services because we and our world are in need of the hope and peace, the light of the world, Jesus Christ, provides - we’ll be present in order to reconnect with the light of the world, to have the spark of faith within us blown upon by the Holy Spirit so that the fears that threaten to immobilize us might be consumed by the inferno that results and we’ll go to recommit ourselves to living our lives as light-bearers to those in need of a little light in their lives. Jesus Christ is the light of the world. We are his light-bearers.
The world is in need of our doing what we can to provide light where there is darkness. It certainly isn't in need of our closing doors or extinguishing the light in others by beating them up with God's Word become flesh. Inclusion, not exclusion. Love, not hate. Peace, not war. We need to be the light-bearers of hope, kindness, understanding, compassion, acceptance, and encouragement. May it be so in all of our lives!
Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays! Seasons Greetings! To all this day, night, tomorrow and every day.
1. Roger Robbennolt, Tales of Gletha the Goatlady (Ave Maria Press, 1993).
Monday, December 23, 2013
CHRISTMAS EVE SERMON: "Night Lights"
"Night Lights"
Christmas Eve
Christmas Eve is a night when we think about lights - especially ones that help us see in the midst of darkness - that cause hope to emerge within us even while things aren't going so well - that birth within us a sense of "Wow!" because of their beauty being able to break through the darkness all around. I guess what I'm trying to say is: Christmas Eve helps me ponder those times in life when light punctures through the darkness of life and impresses upon us the power there is in light - reminds us that even a little light can do battle with darkness.
One of the images of night lights that comes into my mind are those one can see when flying at night. I find them especially impressive both when they can be seen from a distance from the plane many feet above the earth and when the plane prepares to land and circles a community. Night lights of a city, when seen from above, make every city appear to be a beautiful – clean - crimeless – welcoming place. It doesn’t matter what the reality of the community is, its night lights make it an inviting thing of beauty.
Another image of night lights that fills me with warm feelings are the night lights of this season itself – the lights on trees inside buildings and homes or outside them adorning the trees or hanging from the rooftops. They impart a sense of calmness and peacefulness to my spirit and they heal me, if even for only a moment, of all the strife and anxiety in my life and the world. Over the years Dorothy and I have enjoyed taking drives into the neighborhoods of the communities in which we have lived. It’s a tradition of the season for us. Viewing them on the tv or internet just doesn't do these night lights justice.
When we owned a cottage on Indian Lake we had a night light plugged into the wall outlet in our bathroom. While it didn’t provide a whole lot of light, what it did provide was enough to make the cottage feel warmer, more secure, more comfortable. And remarkably, the darker it got during the night, the more light that little night light seemed to offer.
Night lights produce hope in me – a sense of peace – a reminder that there is something more powerful than all the darkness present in our world.
“The Christmas story begins in darkness. There was the darkness of oppression, for God’s people were a conquered people. They were a beaten and a defeated people. There was the darkness of persecution. Indeed, it was a despised universal taxation that brought the participants in the story together on that fateful night. There was the darkness of disillusionment. There was an ever-increasing number who felt that violence, not faith, was the most effective path. Yes, on that first Christmas, the mood was one of despair and resignation.” (1)
Things aren't that much different in our own day, now are they? Darkness is a part of the world we live in. Wars, rumors of wars, disease, hunger, unemployment, death, child abuse, racism, sexism, threatening weather conditions – these all are a part of our modern world. There’s not a person among us who has not been touched by the darkness of life. We will not attend Christmas Eve services because we are naïve about the darkness. We won't go because we're trying to deny that darkness exists. Despite what some of our popular religious friends sometimes try to persuade us and the rest of the world to believe, the scriptures do not suggest to us that everything is alright around us because God is with us. Rather, the scriptures openly confess that there is real pain in this world – that darkness is real and present. (2)
But, the scriptures also reveal that darkness isn’t all there is – that that’s not the whole story - that there is light at the end of the tunnel – that there is hope.
The good news of Christmas, especially powerfully proclaimed and experienced during Christmas Eve services, is that in the midst of the darkest of days, light comes. Darkness cannot overcome/snuff out this light. This light is an eternal flame, not just some temporary flicker. There’s no question that we live in a day when it feels as if the light is being snuffed out. As we continue to hear the mounting death toll in wars all around the world, the suffering that results from natural disasters, the violence of bullying fueled by words of scripture taken out of context by people who choose to hate and exclude rather than love and include, the violence in the streets and boardrooms of our own community because of race/greed/drugs/unemployment/sex/rivalries/fanaticism/politics/abuse/etc., missing children, the plight of the homeless, we need to hear the words of the Christmas story and know in our hearts and in our minds that the light still shines and there is hope.
Light is always stronger than darkness. I don't offer that observation as simply a hopeful faith statement. If there’s even a little bit of light in a very dark room, we know that light is present. We attend Christmas Eve candlelight services because we want to physically and visually be reminded of that truth which the experience of lighting candles provides. Light always intrudes upon darkness.
Christmas Eve reminds us that Jesus Christ is the light of the world and his coming then and down through the ages into the world and into the lives of individuals rekindles hope. It’s what we celebrate in a unique way on Christmas Eve each year. And each year we pray that it will take hold a little more in our lives – in our communities of faith – in our communities – and in our world.
Christmas Eve is a night like none other – a night when darkness is understood in a new way – a night when light coming into it is filled with meaning. Christmas Eve is a night when we reaffirm our belief that light is more powerful than darkness – that love is more powerful than hate – that peace is more powerful than war – that reconciliation is possible – that God can be known in a baby – in you and me – and through us others can see the light and have hope reborn in them.
The greatest need in our mixed up and confused world this day is to let people know that there is hope – that life is worth living no matter what the circumstances are around us. We are the people of light and we must share that light in a dark and dreary land so that hope will shine through the darkness. Let us make that our resolve this Christmas Eve.
Merry Christmas and God bless you one and all!
Brett Blair and staff, “A Great Light,” www.esermons.com.
Ibid.
Christmas Eve
Christmas Eve is a night when we think about lights - especially ones that help us see in the midst of darkness - that cause hope to emerge within us even while things aren't going so well - that birth within us a sense of "Wow!" because of their beauty being able to break through the darkness all around. I guess what I'm trying to say is: Christmas Eve helps me ponder those times in life when light punctures through the darkness of life and impresses upon us the power there is in light - reminds us that even a little light can do battle with darkness.
One of the images of night lights that comes into my mind are those one can see when flying at night. I find them especially impressive both when they can be seen from a distance from the plane many feet above the earth and when the plane prepares to land and circles a community. Night lights of a city, when seen from above, make every city appear to be a beautiful – clean - crimeless – welcoming place. It doesn’t matter what the reality of the community is, its night lights make it an inviting thing of beauty.
Another image of night lights that fills me with warm feelings are the night lights of this season itself – the lights on trees inside buildings and homes or outside them adorning the trees or hanging from the rooftops. They impart a sense of calmness and peacefulness to my spirit and they heal me, if even for only a moment, of all the strife and anxiety in my life and the world. Over the years Dorothy and I have enjoyed taking drives into the neighborhoods of the communities in which we have lived. It’s a tradition of the season for us. Viewing them on the tv or internet just doesn't do these night lights justice.
When we owned a cottage on Indian Lake we had a night light plugged into the wall outlet in our bathroom. While it didn’t provide a whole lot of light, what it did provide was enough to make the cottage feel warmer, more secure, more comfortable. And remarkably, the darker it got during the night, the more light that little night light seemed to offer.
Night lights produce hope in me – a sense of peace – a reminder that there is something more powerful than all the darkness present in our world.
“The Christmas story begins in darkness. There was the darkness of oppression, for God’s people were a conquered people. They were a beaten and a defeated people. There was the darkness of persecution. Indeed, it was a despised universal taxation that brought the participants in the story together on that fateful night. There was the darkness of disillusionment. There was an ever-increasing number who felt that violence, not faith, was the most effective path. Yes, on that first Christmas, the mood was one of despair and resignation.” (1)
Things aren't that much different in our own day, now are they? Darkness is a part of the world we live in. Wars, rumors of wars, disease, hunger, unemployment, death, child abuse, racism, sexism, threatening weather conditions – these all are a part of our modern world. There’s not a person among us who has not been touched by the darkness of life. We will not attend Christmas Eve services because we are naïve about the darkness. We won't go because we're trying to deny that darkness exists. Despite what some of our popular religious friends sometimes try to persuade us and the rest of the world to believe, the scriptures do not suggest to us that everything is alright around us because God is with us. Rather, the scriptures openly confess that there is real pain in this world – that darkness is real and present. (2)
But, the scriptures also reveal that darkness isn’t all there is – that that’s not the whole story - that there is light at the end of the tunnel – that there is hope.
The good news of Christmas, especially powerfully proclaimed and experienced during Christmas Eve services, is that in the midst of the darkest of days, light comes. Darkness cannot overcome/snuff out this light. This light is an eternal flame, not just some temporary flicker. There’s no question that we live in a day when it feels as if the light is being snuffed out. As we continue to hear the mounting death toll in wars all around the world, the suffering that results from natural disasters, the violence of bullying fueled by words of scripture taken out of context by people who choose to hate and exclude rather than love and include, the violence in the streets and boardrooms of our own community because of race/greed/drugs/unemployment/sex/rivalries/fanaticism/politics/abuse/etc., missing children, the plight of the homeless, we need to hear the words of the Christmas story and know in our hearts and in our minds that the light still shines and there is hope.
Light is always stronger than darkness. I don't offer that observation as simply a hopeful faith statement. If there’s even a little bit of light in a very dark room, we know that light is present. We attend Christmas Eve candlelight services because we want to physically and visually be reminded of that truth which the experience of lighting candles provides. Light always intrudes upon darkness.
Christmas Eve reminds us that Jesus Christ is the light of the world and his coming then and down through the ages into the world and into the lives of individuals rekindles hope. It’s what we celebrate in a unique way on Christmas Eve each year. And each year we pray that it will take hold a little more in our lives – in our communities of faith – in our communities – and in our world.
Christmas Eve is a night like none other – a night when darkness is understood in a new way – a night when light coming into it is filled with meaning. Christmas Eve is a night when we reaffirm our belief that light is more powerful than darkness – that love is more powerful than hate – that peace is more powerful than war – that reconciliation is possible – that God can be known in a baby – in you and me – and through us others can see the light and have hope reborn in them.
The greatest need in our mixed up and confused world this day is to let people know that there is hope – that life is worth living no matter what the circumstances are around us. We are the people of light and we must share that light in a dark and dreary land so that hope will shine through the darkness. Let us make that our resolve this Christmas Eve.
Merry Christmas and God bless you one and all!
Brett Blair and staff, “A Great Light,” www.esermons.com.
Ibid.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
SERMON: "Joseph's Response" or "Joe's Story"
"Joseph’s Response" or "Joe's Story"
Matthew 1:18-25
Most of the time when we think about the Christmas story - about the coming of God as a human - we think about it the way the author of Luke recorded it. Our hearts warm with the memory of how the author records the prediction of John's birth to Zechariah and Elizabeth - the described appearance of the angel Gabriel to Zechariah and Mary - Mary's beautiful and poetic response known as the Magnificat - Mary's and Elizabeth's visit with one another. We know that story. We are enthralled by that story - especially on Christmas Eve do we marvel at its beauty - at its significance for us as a story of Mary's obedience - as a story of her willingness to be used by God. Luke's better known story is the Christmas story from Mary's perspective.
But what about Joe's story? Is there something for us to learn by how Joseph responded to what was going on around him?
Joe's story is also a marvelous story. It's a story about a man looking forward to getting married - a story about a man finding our his fiancee is pregnant, but not by him. It's a story about the struggle he went through with what to do about the situation. It's Matthew's spin on the Christmas story.
I'm going to let one of my favorite storytellers, John Sumwalt, recreate the essence of the biblical story to prepare us for our pondering the story anew:
“Mary didn’t know what to do. How could she break the news to Joe? They had only been dating for six weeks, but she knew that he loved her. She could see it in his eyes. And she knew that she loved him. He was so gentle and understanding. There weren’t many men in the world like Joe.
“Mary had met Joe in the emergency room on the very night of the assault, and they had been together every day since, as if it was meant to be. Joe was there waiting for a friend who had twisted an ankle in a softball game. She sat next to him in the waiting room before they took her in to be examined. Mary had been too upset to talk, and Joe hadn’t tried to make conversation. He didn’t even ask what had happened. He simply looked at her with tenderness and said, ‘It will be okay. They will take care of you.’ Even those few words had been enough to create a bond between them. And Joe had come back later, after he took his friend home, to see if she was all right. By then Mary was able to talk about the rape; the horror she had felt during the attack and the humiliation and anger that were still growing within her. She was grateful for his presence. Somehow it was easier to talk about it with him than with the counselor who had been assigned to her case. Joe had listened quietly for several hours that night, and had called or come to keep her company every night since, gradually coaxing her out of her small apartment into the world again.
“Joe had never once tried to touch her, and Mary loved him for that. He seemed to know without her saying it that she couldn’t stand to be touched - - not yet. Soon, maybe. She had found herself longing for that moment and wondering what it would be like during the last couple of weeks. Mary knew that Joe would wait until she gave him a sign, and she had thought that it might be tonight. But when she let him know what the doctor had told her today, would Joe want to touch her? Was this the end of her hope that their love would lead to marriage and a family? What would Joe do when she told him about the baby?” (1)
So Sumwalt's story ends. Obviously his intent was to create within us the enormity of the situation Mary and Joseph faced with the news of their pregnancy. Pretty effective, wouldn’t you say? When Joseph learned that his fiancee was pregnant, his first thought was that Mary had been stepping out on him. He knew what had gone on between them and he knew there was no way this organism growing within her was his child. In order for us to understand the significance of Joseph’s response we need to know a few things about what preparing for a Jewish couple to marry in Mary and Joseph’s day involved.
First, there was an engagement period. Often, the parents of the couple or a “match-maker” made these early arrangements and sometimes when the couple was still quite young. Marriage was deemed too important a step to be left to emotion. (2)
Then, following the engagement period there was the time of betrothal. It was similar to our time between when a couple gets engaged and when they actually marry, but a lot more legally binding. The couple either ratified the prior arrangements or they ended it. But, once the betrothal began, that was it. There was no turning back. Contracts were signed. Dowries were exchanged. Agreements made between them and their extended families were now legally binding. (3)
This betrothal time lasted about a year. During the betrothal they were known as husband and wife, although without the rights of husband and wife. The only way the relationship could be terminated was by divorce and then only for some well spelled out and documented reasons. (4)
So, Mary was pregnant. She and Joseph were in this betrothal time. Joseph wasn’t the father of the baby growing inside her. When Joseph heard about her condition, he assumed the worst - that she had been unfaithful – that she had committed adultery. It was one of the things that by law meant he could divorce her. In fact, it was what was expected of him.
Now, as a “righteous” man, Joseph could have accomplished this divorce in a couple of ways. One way would have been to publicly humiliate her – parade her around the community and let the law and the public opinion have their way with her. Making a spectacle of someone who has deviated from the laws or the values of a community is certainly one way to keep order and to safe-guard further erosion of acceptable behavior. It would be considered by some the “righteous” thing to do.
On the other hand, it was possible for a “righteous” man to carry out the policies, laws, values of the community, more mercifully. Joseph also had the option of taking with him two witnesses and going to see Mary privately; confronting her about her behavior and then quietly divorcing her with only the two witnesses present. It was an option Joseph probably considered. It would allow Mary to save face – keep her from being disgraced publicly. It would truly have been a very “righteous” way to have handled the predicament. Even his considering this option revealed the special kind of man Joseph was.
But, another one of those angels of God’s got involved and planted within Joseph the idea that there was even another, even a more radical form of “righteous” behavior he could exhibit. He could take Mary as his wife despite public opinion, legal rights, or the appearance of broken values!
And guess what? That’s what he did. Joseph married Mary and thus earned for himself a special place in religious history. He had every right to have said, “Yeah, right,” and been on his way when he heard Mary’s story. But, he didn’t. He chose instead to believe the explanation provided him by the angel and proceed with the marriage. He chose to obey God’s leading – to do the merciful thing – to protect Mary and her baby, Jesus, from the rumor mongers and the legalists – to accept potential embarrassment for himself rather than public humiliation which would surely be Mary’s lot if he divorced her and let her go full-term on her own. And the baby that would be born, well, heaven help him or her.
I would like to suggest that the world is desperately in need of people who are willing to be so used by God – willing to model this unique way God wants us to deal with one another and our mistakes, sins, wrongdoing, human condition. Joseph’s response models for us a new understanding of how God wants to relate to God’s people. His response serves as a precursor to the new understanding that Jesus himself goes on to proclaim and model in his life and teachings. It’s compassion, grace, forgiveness, mercy that should guide our meting out of justice – that should mold the way we relate to one another. Gone from righteousness shall be condemnation, punishment, chastisement, excommunication, banishment, rigid judgment. The world is in need of persons who will follow Joseph’s lead and respond with compassion – who will side with trying to understand, hospitality, acceptance, encouragement, grace rather than further laying on people guilt, grief, embarrassment, rejection.
All of us – and the children and the marginalized among us most of all – need to feel secure, feel protected, experience the comfort there is in knowing that God’s promises are true – that it doesn’t matter to God who we are, where we live, how much we make, how much or little we have – we are all loved by God the same. People need to know God as a Being with staying power – as one who doesn’t abuse, doesn’t abandon, doesn’t heap on when we’ve made a mistake. And, I think people come to believe that, understand that, when the people of God walk the walk and talk the talk.
In The Guideposts Christmas Treasury there is a story that I think speaks volumes about the importance of our modeling Joseph’s response. The story is entitled “Sit next to Me, Please.”
Many service clubs do things to serve their communities. A Kiwanis Club adopted a boys' orphanage as their project. The orphanage was 40 miles from the club's community but the members decided to drive the distance once a month to spend an evening with the boys. One of the members, Bob Rockwell, reluctantly finally agreed to go one month after having made excuse after excuse for several months. He really believed his monthly check should have been enough.
It was dark by the time the men arrived, but the boys could be seen crowded on the porch waiting for them to arrive. One of Bob’s friends whispered to him as they walked up the path toward the home, “This is such a big night for these boys. It’s almost embarrassing the way they enjoy us coming.”
About that time Bob felt a tug on his coat. It was a seven or eight-year-old who pleadingly asked him, “Will you be my company?” And then without taking a breath he continued with: “My name’s Jimmy – Jimmy Thompson. What’s yours?” Bob answered and noticed that some emotions were stirring inside him that he hadn’t expected despite how tired he was after the long drive and day at work.
Jimmy spoke again: “First time here, isn’t it Mister? Want me to show you around?” Bob no sooner agreed than Jimmy was off proudly pointing out the gym and the library and then his dorm – which was nothing more than a narrow room lined with rows of small iron beds.
Jimmy’s breathing seemed a bit labored and Bob wondered if they’d climbed the stairs too fast. But, even while struggling to breathe Jimmy called Bob’s attention to his very own wardrobe. Bob was shocked at how little was inside and felt a bit guilty when he thought of his own son’s overflowing toy chest.
The dinner bell sounded and Jimmy encouraged Bob to hurry. But, he asked him not to run because he had asthma. Jimmy turned toward Bob and asked, “Will you sit next to me, sir? Please sit next to me!” Bob did.
By the time the meal was over Bob and Jimmy were buddies. Bob listened to Jimmy as he told about his not having a father and how his mother had to work all week, but came out on Sunday to take him home for the day. He also learned that Jimmy lacked the ability to play ball very well because of his health problems. And he learned about Jimmy’s hope for the future. At one point, Bob, when Jimmy thought he wasn’t paying attention, noticed that Jimmy left his little hand on his arm for a long moment. Bob closed his story with these words: “This boy needs a father! He’s overflowing with love and there’s no one to receive it!”
Then he heard Jimmy ask: “Will you come again next month, Mister? If you do, I’ll save a place for you. Right next to me.”
“The pleading eyes were almost too much for me,” Bob continued. “I was having trouble with my breathing. Me! The smart guy who didn’t want to give up an evening of TV to come here! Who thought generosity came through the checkbook. Why, this tyke had given me more in an hour than I could give to the home in a hundred years!”
“How selfish I was to consider money alone an adequate gift. Why does it take so long for most of us to learn that the real gift is of one’s self?”
“Promise you’ll come next month?” The request was wheezed again.
“Scout’s honor,” Bob replied. To himself he said, “I’ll be here, Jimmy. I wouldn’t miss being here for anything, because you will be saving me a place – right next to you." (5)
The purpose of our retelling the stories of Mary and Joseph every year and their roles in this most holy of births is not just to glorify them. It's also done to remind us that God continues to ask of each of us this very personal gift of ourselves as we celebrate the birth. Just as God's very being was given at Christmas - just as Mary and Joseph gave themselves for the revelation of God in history in a new way - so we are asked to do the same - to give ourselves to the Christ child, to give the heart of who we are to a needy world. Joseph was able to do God's will - to be used by God - because he had a change of heart. Yes, he was already known as a "righteous" man - but he needed something more - something that only God working on our hearts can bring to pass.
As this Advent season - this holy time of preparation - enters its final days, it's important that we consider where it is God wants to work on us - where it is God is leading us to invest our whole being. We need to ponder what it would mean if God wanted our whole being under the Christmas tree this year.
Joe's story is about what God can do with the ugly situations we sometimes get ourselves into - even when we don't mean to. It's about what can happen when we turn our lives and those situations over to God. Joe's story - Joseph's story - can be our own story if we open our lives up to the God of creation. The Christmas story is not just about God's activity - God's coming in the form of a baby once in history. It's about God being present with us here and now. There's no gift God wants more than you and me.
Merry Christmas! Happy Holiday! Seasons Greetings!
John Sumwalt, “A Righteous Man,” Storyshare, December 19, 2004 issue.
William Barclay, The Daily Study Bible: The Gospel of Matthew: Vol. 1 (Edinburgh, Scotland: The Saint Andrew Press, 1958), p. 9.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Robert H. Rockwell, The Guidepost Christmas Treasury, “Sit Next to Me, Please,” (Carmel, New York: Guideposts Magazine Guideposts Associates, Inc., 1972), pp. 176-178.
Matthew 1:18-25
Most of the time when we think about the Christmas story - about the coming of God as a human - we think about it the way the author of Luke recorded it. Our hearts warm with the memory of how the author records the prediction of John's birth to Zechariah and Elizabeth - the described appearance of the angel Gabriel to Zechariah and Mary - Mary's beautiful and poetic response known as the Magnificat - Mary's and Elizabeth's visit with one another. We know that story. We are enthralled by that story - especially on Christmas Eve do we marvel at its beauty - at its significance for us as a story of Mary's obedience - as a story of her willingness to be used by God. Luke's better known story is the Christmas story from Mary's perspective.
But what about Joe's story? Is there something for us to learn by how Joseph responded to what was going on around him?
Joe's story is also a marvelous story. It's a story about a man looking forward to getting married - a story about a man finding our his fiancee is pregnant, but not by him. It's a story about the struggle he went through with what to do about the situation. It's Matthew's spin on the Christmas story.
I'm going to let one of my favorite storytellers, John Sumwalt, recreate the essence of the biblical story to prepare us for our pondering the story anew:
“Mary didn’t know what to do. How could she break the news to Joe? They had only been dating for six weeks, but she knew that he loved her. She could see it in his eyes. And she knew that she loved him. He was so gentle and understanding. There weren’t many men in the world like Joe.
“Mary had met Joe in the emergency room on the very night of the assault, and they had been together every day since, as if it was meant to be. Joe was there waiting for a friend who had twisted an ankle in a softball game. She sat next to him in the waiting room before they took her in to be examined. Mary had been too upset to talk, and Joe hadn’t tried to make conversation. He didn’t even ask what had happened. He simply looked at her with tenderness and said, ‘It will be okay. They will take care of you.’ Even those few words had been enough to create a bond between them. And Joe had come back later, after he took his friend home, to see if she was all right. By then Mary was able to talk about the rape; the horror she had felt during the attack and the humiliation and anger that were still growing within her. She was grateful for his presence. Somehow it was easier to talk about it with him than with the counselor who had been assigned to her case. Joe had listened quietly for several hours that night, and had called or come to keep her company every night since, gradually coaxing her out of her small apartment into the world again.
“Joe had never once tried to touch her, and Mary loved him for that. He seemed to know without her saying it that she couldn’t stand to be touched - - not yet. Soon, maybe. She had found herself longing for that moment and wondering what it would be like during the last couple of weeks. Mary knew that Joe would wait until she gave him a sign, and she had thought that it might be tonight. But when she let him know what the doctor had told her today, would Joe want to touch her? Was this the end of her hope that their love would lead to marriage and a family? What would Joe do when she told him about the baby?” (1)
So Sumwalt's story ends. Obviously his intent was to create within us the enormity of the situation Mary and Joseph faced with the news of their pregnancy. Pretty effective, wouldn’t you say? When Joseph learned that his fiancee was pregnant, his first thought was that Mary had been stepping out on him. He knew what had gone on between them and he knew there was no way this organism growing within her was his child. In order for us to understand the significance of Joseph’s response we need to know a few things about what preparing for a Jewish couple to marry in Mary and Joseph’s day involved.
First, there was an engagement period. Often, the parents of the couple or a “match-maker” made these early arrangements and sometimes when the couple was still quite young. Marriage was deemed too important a step to be left to emotion. (2)
Then, following the engagement period there was the time of betrothal. It was similar to our time between when a couple gets engaged and when they actually marry, but a lot more legally binding. The couple either ratified the prior arrangements or they ended it. But, once the betrothal began, that was it. There was no turning back. Contracts were signed. Dowries were exchanged. Agreements made between them and their extended families were now legally binding. (3)
This betrothal time lasted about a year. During the betrothal they were known as husband and wife, although without the rights of husband and wife. The only way the relationship could be terminated was by divorce and then only for some well spelled out and documented reasons. (4)
So, Mary was pregnant. She and Joseph were in this betrothal time. Joseph wasn’t the father of the baby growing inside her. When Joseph heard about her condition, he assumed the worst - that she had been unfaithful – that she had committed adultery. It was one of the things that by law meant he could divorce her. In fact, it was what was expected of him.
Now, as a “righteous” man, Joseph could have accomplished this divorce in a couple of ways. One way would have been to publicly humiliate her – parade her around the community and let the law and the public opinion have their way with her. Making a spectacle of someone who has deviated from the laws or the values of a community is certainly one way to keep order and to safe-guard further erosion of acceptable behavior. It would be considered by some the “righteous” thing to do.
On the other hand, it was possible for a “righteous” man to carry out the policies, laws, values of the community, more mercifully. Joseph also had the option of taking with him two witnesses and going to see Mary privately; confronting her about her behavior and then quietly divorcing her with only the two witnesses present. It was an option Joseph probably considered. It would allow Mary to save face – keep her from being disgraced publicly. It would truly have been a very “righteous” way to have handled the predicament. Even his considering this option revealed the special kind of man Joseph was.
But, another one of those angels of God’s got involved and planted within Joseph the idea that there was even another, even a more radical form of “righteous” behavior he could exhibit. He could take Mary as his wife despite public opinion, legal rights, or the appearance of broken values!
And guess what? That’s what he did. Joseph married Mary and thus earned for himself a special place in religious history. He had every right to have said, “Yeah, right,” and been on his way when he heard Mary’s story. But, he didn’t. He chose instead to believe the explanation provided him by the angel and proceed with the marriage. He chose to obey God’s leading – to do the merciful thing – to protect Mary and her baby, Jesus, from the rumor mongers and the legalists – to accept potential embarrassment for himself rather than public humiliation which would surely be Mary’s lot if he divorced her and let her go full-term on her own. And the baby that would be born, well, heaven help him or her.
I would like to suggest that the world is desperately in need of people who are willing to be so used by God – willing to model this unique way God wants us to deal with one another and our mistakes, sins, wrongdoing, human condition. Joseph’s response models for us a new understanding of how God wants to relate to God’s people. His response serves as a precursor to the new understanding that Jesus himself goes on to proclaim and model in his life and teachings. It’s compassion, grace, forgiveness, mercy that should guide our meting out of justice – that should mold the way we relate to one another. Gone from righteousness shall be condemnation, punishment, chastisement, excommunication, banishment, rigid judgment. The world is in need of persons who will follow Joseph’s lead and respond with compassion – who will side with trying to understand, hospitality, acceptance, encouragement, grace rather than further laying on people guilt, grief, embarrassment, rejection.
All of us – and the children and the marginalized among us most of all – need to feel secure, feel protected, experience the comfort there is in knowing that God’s promises are true – that it doesn’t matter to God who we are, where we live, how much we make, how much or little we have – we are all loved by God the same. People need to know God as a Being with staying power – as one who doesn’t abuse, doesn’t abandon, doesn’t heap on when we’ve made a mistake. And, I think people come to believe that, understand that, when the people of God walk the walk and talk the talk.
In The Guideposts Christmas Treasury there is a story that I think speaks volumes about the importance of our modeling Joseph’s response. The story is entitled “Sit next to Me, Please.”
Many service clubs do things to serve their communities. A Kiwanis Club adopted a boys' orphanage as their project. The orphanage was 40 miles from the club's community but the members decided to drive the distance once a month to spend an evening with the boys. One of the members, Bob Rockwell, reluctantly finally agreed to go one month after having made excuse after excuse for several months. He really believed his monthly check should have been enough.
It was dark by the time the men arrived, but the boys could be seen crowded on the porch waiting for them to arrive. One of Bob’s friends whispered to him as they walked up the path toward the home, “This is such a big night for these boys. It’s almost embarrassing the way they enjoy us coming.”
About that time Bob felt a tug on his coat. It was a seven or eight-year-old who pleadingly asked him, “Will you be my company?” And then without taking a breath he continued with: “My name’s Jimmy – Jimmy Thompson. What’s yours?” Bob answered and noticed that some emotions were stirring inside him that he hadn’t expected despite how tired he was after the long drive and day at work.
Jimmy spoke again: “First time here, isn’t it Mister? Want me to show you around?” Bob no sooner agreed than Jimmy was off proudly pointing out the gym and the library and then his dorm – which was nothing more than a narrow room lined with rows of small iron beds.
Jimmy’s breathing seemed a bit labored and Bob wondered if they’d climbed the stairs too fast. But, even while struggling to breathe Jimmy called Bob’s attention to his very own wardrobe. Bob was shocked at how little was inside and felt a bit guilty when he thought of his own son’s overflowing toy chest.
The dinner bell sounded and Jimmy encouraged Bob to hurry. But, he asked him not to run because he had asthma. Jimmy turned toward Bob and asked, “Will you sit next to me, sir? Please sit next to me!” Bob did.
By the time the meal was over Bob and Jimmy were buddies. Bob listened to Jimmy as he told about his not having a father and how his mother had to work all week, but came out on Sunday to take him home for the day. He also learned that Jimmy lacked the ability to play ball very well because of his health problems. And he learned about Jimmy’s hope for the future. At one point, Bob, when Jimmy thought he wasn’t paying attention, noticed that Jimmy left his little hand on his arm for a long moment. Bob closed his story with these words: “This boy needs a father! He’s overflowing with love and there’s no one to receive it!”
Then he heard Jimmy ask: “Will you come again next month, Mister? If you do, I’ll save a place for you. Right next to me.”
“The pleading eyes were almost too much for me,” Bob continued. “I was having trouble with my breathing. Me! The smart guy who didn’t want to give up an evening of TV to come here! Who thought generosity came through the checkbook. Why, this tyke had given me more in an hour than I could give to the home in a hundred years!”
“How selfish I was to consider money alone an adequate gift. Why does it take so long for most of us to learn that the real gift is of one’s self?”
“Promise you’ll come next month?” The request was wheezed again.
“Scout’s honor,” Bob replied. To himself he said, “I’ll be here, Jimmy. I wouldn’t miss being here for anything, because you will be saving me a place – right next to you." (5)
The purpose of our retelling the stories of Mary and Joseph every year and their roles in this most holy of births is not just to glorify them. It's also done to remind us that God continues to ask of each of us this very personal gift of ourselves as we celebrate the birth. Just as God's very being was given at Christmas - just as Mary and Joseph gave themselves for the revelation of God in history in a new way - so we are asked to do the same - to give ourselves to the Christ child, to give the heart of who we are to a needy world. Joseph was able to do God's will - to be used by God - because he had a change of heart. Yes, he was already known as a "righteous" man - but he needed something more - something that only God working on our hearts can bring to pass.
As this Advent season - this holy time of preparation - enters its final days, it's important that we consider where it is God wants to work on us - where it is God is leading us to invest our whole being. We need to ponder what it would mean if God wanted our whole being under the Christmas tree this year.
Joe's story is about what God can do with the ugly situations we sometimes get ourselves into - even when we don't mean to. It's about what can happen when we turn our lives and those situations over to God. Joe's story - Joseph's story - can be our own story if we open our lives up to the God of creation. The Christmas story is not just about God's activity - God's coming in the form of a baby once in history. It's about God being present with us here and now. There's no gift God wants more than you and me.
Merry Christmas! Happy Holiday! Seasons Greetings!
John Sumwalt, “A Righteous Man,” Storyshare, December 19, 2004 issue.
William Barclay, The Daily Study Bible: The Gospel of Matthew: Vol. 1 (Edinburgh, Scotland: The Saint Andrew Press, 1958), p. 9.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Robert H. Rockwell, The Guidepost Christmas Treasury, “Sit Next to Me, Please,” (Carmel, New York: Guideposts Magazine Guideposts Associates, Inc., 1972), pp. 176-178.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
SERMON: "Being Favored"
Being Favored
Luke 1:26-38
Two of the notables of the nativity are Mary and Elizabeth. Now, there are two things in these two unusual pregnancy stories that I think it’s important for us to pause and think about. The two ideas include the idea mentioned in both of being favored and then the willingness of the two women to let God’s will be done in and through their lives.
Both women came to understand that they were favored. Elizabeth announced that she considered herself favored and that she understood her pregnancy to be God’s way of reminding her of it. Luke reported that Mary heard the angel tell her that she was.
I spent several years as an apprentice of Deb Campbell learning about and leading Servant Leadership. One of the books we studied was Henri Nouwen’s The Life of the Beloved. He uses the word “beloved” to try and capture the meaning of this idea of being favored. According to Nouwen, we are all God’s beloved – we are all loved by God. He references the account of the baptism of Jesus as the place where the word first came to him as the one that best describes how God wants to define God’s relationship with us. Let me remind us all of the way the gospel writers described that scene: “No sooner had Jesus come up out of the water than he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit, like a dove, descending on him. And a voice came from heaven: ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; my favor rests on you.’” God sees us as God sees Jesus, as beloved. (1)
Nouwen further states in his book that understanding ourselves - accepting ourselves - as the beloved involves/begins with our believing, our understanding, ourselves to be chosen by God, to have found favor with God. Now, this chosenness isn’t the kind we think of when we think of being chosen for a team. It’s not a choseness that means that others have to be rejected or excluded - it’s not that you have to do something better than everyone else in order to be chosen. It’s not that you have more skills – more important gifts – are more talented. Every one of us is chosen the way God chooses. God favors each one of us because we are God’s children. God wants to take up residence in each of our lives just as God did in Mary’s life. God wants to be born again in each one of us and through us into the world around us. God wants every one of us to understand ourselves as chosen – as beloved – as favored. (2)
God has already taken the initiative. We’re already loved. We’re already chosen. The first step on the journey with God is accepting the idea that we are loved by God. God wants to be a baby in the wombs of our souls. God wants us to nurture God’s presence inside us and be nurtured by that presence.
The interview with Gabriel ended when Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” “Do in me - do through me - Lord, what you want and need to do.” Despite the fact that she surely knew there were going to be some rough times ahead, Mary accepted the role God wanted her to assume. She was so overwhelmed – so joyous of the news that she was favored by God in spite of her feelings of unworthiness - that she put aside all her feelings of inferiority and turned her whole being over to being an instrument for God to carry out God’s plan for the world.
In order to come to earth in human form, God had to have the cooperation of a human and her body. Like Mary, we need to make our bodies available for God’s will to be carried out in our day. Good happens to us, in us, and through us when we turn our lives over for God’s service and let God live in and through us – when we let ourselves be a part of the continuing story of the incarnation.
Meister Eckhart, a medieval mystic and theologian once wrote: “We are all meant to be mothers of God. What good is it to me if this eternal birth of the divine Son takes place unceasingly but does not take place within me? And, what good is it to me if Mary is full of grace and if I am not also full of grace? What good is it to me for the creator to give birth to his Son if I do not also give birth to him in my time and my culture? This, then is the fullness of time: When the Son of God is begotten in us.” (3)
God needs the wombs of favored ones to continue God’s Son’s entering the world. Each one of us are favored ones of God – each one of us are God’s chosen ones. Let us ponder today – consider today – what letting God take up residence in us in a new way might mean. Today, let us hear the good news that we are favored – that we are chosen – that we are the beloved. Let us allow Christ the opportunity to grow in us.
Henri J. M. Nouwen, Life of the Beloved, (New York: The Crossroad Publishing Company, 1995) pp. 25 – 33.
Ibid., pp. 45 – 47.
Meister Eckhart.
Luke 1:26-38
Two of the notables of the nativity are Mary and Elizabeth. Now, there are two things in these two unusual pregnancy stories that I think it’s important for us to pause and think about. The two ideas include the idea mentioned in both of being favored and then the willingness of the two women to let God’s will be done in and through their lives.
Both women came to understand that they were favored. Elizabeth announced that she considered herself favored and that she understood her pregnancy to be God’s way of reminding her of it. Luke reported that Mary heard the angel tell her that she was.
I spent several years as an apprentice of Deb Campbell learning about and leading Servant Leadership. One of the books we studied was Henri Nouwen’s The Life of the Beloved. He uses the word “beloved” to try and capture the meaning of this idea of being favored. According to Nouwen, we are all God’s beloved – we are all loved by God. He references the account of the baptism of Jesus as the place where the word first came to him as the one that best describes how God wants to define God’s relationship with us. Let me remind us all of the way the gospel writers described that scene: “No sooner had Jesus come up out of the water than he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit, like a dove, descending on him. And a voice came from heaven: ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; my favor rests on you.’” God sees us as God sees Jesus, as beloved. (1)
Nouwen further states in his book that understanding ourselves - accepting ourselves - as the beloved involves/begins with our believing, our understanding, ourselves to be chosen by God, to have found favor with God. Now, this chosenness isn’t the kind we think of when we think of being chosen for a team. It’s not a choseness that means that others have to be rejected or excluded - it’s not that you have to do something better than everyone else in order to be chosen. It’s not that you have more skills – more important gifts – are more talented. Every one of us is chosen the way God chooses. God favors each one of us because we are God’s children. God wants to take up residence in each of our lives just as God did in Mary’s life. God wants to be born again in each one of us and through us into the world around us. God wants every one of us to understand ourselves as chosen – as beloved – as favored. (2)
God has already taken the initiative. We’re already loved. We’re already chosen. The first step on the journey with God is accepting the idea that we are loved by God. God wants to be a baby in the wombs of our souls. God wants us to nurture God’s presence inside us and be nurtured by that presence.
The interview with Gabriel ended when Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” “Do in me - do through me - Lord, what you want and need to do.” Despite the fact that she surely knew there were going to be some rough times ahead, Mary accepted the role God wanted her to assume. She was so overwhelmed – so joyous of the news that she was favored by God in spite of her feelings of unworthiness - that she put aside all her feelings of inferiority and turned her whole being over to being an instrument for God to carry out God’s plan for the world.
In order to come to earth in human form, God had to have the cooperation of a human and her body. Like Mary, we need to make our bodies available for God’s will to be carried out in our day. Good happens to us, in us, and through us when we turn our lives over for God’s service and let God live in and through us – when we let ourselves be a part of the continuing story of the incarnation.
Meister Eckhart, a medieval mystic and theologian once wrote: “We are all meant to be mothers of God. What good is it to me if this eternal birth of the divine Son takes place unceasingly but does not take place within me? And, what good is it to me if Mary is full of grace and if I am not also full of grace? What good is it to me for the creator to give birth to his Son if I do not also give birth to him in my time and my culture? This, then is the fullness of time: When the Son of God is begotten in us.” (3)
God needs the wombs of favored ones to continue God’s Son’s entering the world. Each one of us are favored ones of God – each one of us are God’s chosen ones. Let us ponder today – consider today – what letting God take up residence in us in a new way might mean. Today, let us hear the good news that we are favored – that we are chosen – that we are the beloved. Let us allow Christ the opportunity to grow in us.
Henri J. M. Nouwen, Life of the Beloved, (New York: The Crossroad Publishing Company, 1995) pp. 25 – 33.
Ibid., pp. 45 – 47.
Meister Eckhart.
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