The Other Christmas Story

Matthew 2:13-23

 

        I imagine we have told the Christmas Story about every way imaginable.  We ponder Luke’s version which has Mary, Joseph and the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in a manager.  We kind of include Matthew’s story which is told from the perspective of Joseph.  It includes Wise Men from the East who confront and rebuke the advances of Herod.  I think most of us prefer the Luke story with Jesus being taken to Jerusalem and presented to the priest Simeon.  After the ceremony Jesus and his parents return to Nazareth where the child “grew and became strong, filled with wisdom and the favor of God.”

        Matthew has a different story to tell.  Sometimes I think that it is good that the passage we will read this morning comes the Sunday after Christmas.  A lot of folks are traveling and to be honest a lot of folks came to the Christmas Eve service and are done with church for the week.  For whatever the reason, the Sunday after Christmas tends to be a pretty sparse crowd.  So maybe this passage is best read when most of the folks are home.  Or maybe this is a passage that should be read when everyone is here, so no mistake is made as to why God felt it was necessary to dwell among us.

        Let me refresh your memory. King Herod went ballistic when the wise men “went home by another way.”  Historically we know Herod was not the most stable of personalities.  He was convinced everyone was out to take his throne.  Herod took the kingship by murdering his father and he kept it by killing his two brothers and even ordered the death of one of his sons.  Herod trusted no one.  When the Wise Men informed Herod of the birth of the Messiah, the king set into action a horrific law declaring every child under the age of two would be killed.  Jesus managed to escape but many a parent had an innocent child ripped from their hands.  Quoting Jeremiah, Matthew wrote, “There was wailing and weeping throughout the land from mothers who could not be consoled.”    

        There is no disputing the evil and tyrannical nature of Herod.  But Herod represents more than an historical psychopath.  Herod embodies the underbelly of the human experience.  Herod is those unspeakable horrors that conflict with God’s desire for harmony.  Herod reminds us that God’s plan for the salvation of humankind is just as necessary today as it was 2,000 years ago.  Jesus was born to embrace you and me and anyone else with the unfathomable boundaries of God’s grace.  Herod is a microcosm of the world in which we live with all its dangers and uncertainties.  Herod might be that person who is trying to undermine you.  Herod might be a job which enslaves you.  Herod might be a friend who overwhelms you.  Herod might be a lifestyle that leaves you crippled in more ways than you can imagine.  Sometimes we become Herod, leaving a path of broken relationships in order to grasp some mysterious aspiration that seems always just beyond our reach.

        Whatever the circumstance, when Herod disrupts our lives, we long for a place of respite, of safety, of escape.  We search for a place to wipe the slate clean; a chance to start all over; a land where Herod cannot follow us.  Mary and Joseph, much like their ancestors fled to Egypt.  The long arm of Herod could not stretch across the Nile.  The Holy family was safe among the Pyramids.  Jesus could be nursed without fear of death.  But the destiny of Jesus was not in the land of Egypt. 

        In many ways Egypt symbolizes something just as perilous as Herod.  Egypt is the place to which we rush when the world begins to crash down on us.  Egypt seems safe, an oasis.  But there is always a price to pay for the hospitality offered.  The sons and daughters of Abraham welcomed the generosity of Egypt when famine ravaged Palestine.  They loved it so much when the drought ended, they chose to say.  They forgot all their customs; they forgot what it was like to be free.    Worst of all, they forgot their God.  By the birth of Moses, the children of Israel had been enslaved not only by Pharaoh but by their failure to remember their Holy covenant.  Egypt, the place we flee to escape adversity, quietly rocks us into a false security where we forget our past and ignore our future.  Egypt numbs our minds and extinguishes our destiny. 

        But God does not forget.  Just as Yahweh lifted the children out of captivity and sent them on the treacherous road to the Promised Land, God brought Joseph home.   Herod had died, but the road Jesus was to travel was not less perilous than the one his ancestors had trod years before.

        To cross the Jordon,

                One must walk through the wilderness.

        To cross the Jordan,

                One must face a death threatening personal crisis.

        To cross the Jordan,

                One must risk the unknown.

        Imagine the decision Joseph had to make;

                Stay in the imaginary safety of Egypt,

                                                Or

                Travel in the real world,

                        Where Herod lurks

Around every corner.

 

Sometimes the Christmas Season can give us a false sense of security.    We think to ourselves, “Why can’t the whole year just be Christmas?  Why must we leave this warm place of peace and tranquility?”  The answer begins and ends with the question Joseph must have asked, “Why do we have to go back to the land of Herod?”

I think the angel of the Lord probably said to Joseph, “You are not going back to the land of Herod.  You are going back to fulfill the promise of God.”

 Imagine how our lives would be different if we could come to believe that the mystery of Advent and the celebration of Christmas could really make a difference in our lives.  Imagine how this January might be transformed if our eyes are opened to the possibilities afforded by God’s grace.  Imagine taking one small step to change the way Herod has disrupted our life.

A midnight trip to Egypt, or perhaps the Christmas season, has always served as a respite from our personal Herod.  Truth is we all need to be rescued from something  and sometimes we even need to be rescued from ourselves.  God knows this.  In the next couple of days we will  go back into a world filled with Herods.  How might tomorrow be different from yesterday?

Barbara Brown Taylor writes, “Salvation is a word for the divine spaciousness that comes to human beings in all the tight spaces where our lives are at risk.  Sometimes it comes as an extended human hand.  Sometimes it comes as a bolt from the blue.  Either way, it opens a door through what looked like a wall.  This is the way of life and God alone knows how it works.”

We all love Luke’s cozy story of Christmas. But we better not ignore Matthew’s. Why?

Because Herod is always out there.

But so is God. 

        Amen.

 

Walking Beyond Darkness

Isaiah 9:2-7

 

        Christmas is three days away. I’m sure you were expecting a sermon about Mary and Joseph. Some of you would be thrilled if I had opened with, “Jacob Marley was dead.” Instead I have retreated deep into the Old Testament to retrieve a promise to a people overwhelmed by darkness.

        Why such a Grinch-like attitude? Is succumbing to just one Ho-Ho-Ho beneath my melancholy personality? Maybe one of Dickens’s spirits should invade my dreams and offer an invitation to celebrate a new dawn. You would think I would rejoice at the lights which blazes from each lamp post.  I should celebrate the constant jingles declaring Santa’s arrival in every department store. I know it is Christmas because my mailbox is filled to capacity with gracious holiday greetings. Even Kline’s is selling peppermint ice cream. So what is my problem? Why can’t I get with the program and give Amazon some business?

        Maybe I am too busy reflecting on the ghost of Christmas past. For many of us Christmas is a time flooded with memories. I am fortunate to have wonderful yuletide recollections. I am old enough to have walked the Duke of Gloucester Street with a lamplighter who hollered to local residents, “Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Jones, light your candles.” I remember Christmas caroling in the back of a truck filled with hay where snuggling with your girl friend became permissible when the temperatures dropped below freezing.

I spent one winter near the DMZ in an oversized tin can lamenting a ham stolen by a Korean saint.  In Virginia Beach, Deb, the kids and I spent Christmas mornings delivering meals before our first gifts were opened. Then there was Emma, an ancient wonder ravished by time who one Christmas taught my son everything he didn’t want to know about death. These stories of redemption fill my soul each Christmas. They are my light against the darkness.

        It is good to have these memories. When the shopping, noise, and expectations wear me down these anecdotes remind me that once upon a time Christmas wasn’t so complicated. That is not true for everyone.  For many, memories of Christmas are filled with darkness. A loved one lost during this season leaves a permanent shadow across any holiday. This is why I believe any celebration of Christmas should never be without with Isaiah’s ancient poem to those walking in darkness. Certainly Luke remembered this promise when he sat down to write the story of Jesus to a community which was desperately searching for light amidst their despair.

        Seven hundred years before the birth of Jesus the people of Judah were filled with distress and anguish. The King was dying.  There was nothing particularly positive about king Ahaz but his death was about to place his very young son on the throne in an extremely perilous time.  Isaiah had the gall to announce this boy would be a godly king who would establish justice and righteousness. Isaiah promised Hezekiah would be celebrated as a wonderful counselor and prince of peace. While history records Hezekiah was a far superior king than his father, Hezekiah never lived up to the Isaiah’s expectations. But folks never forgot Isaiah’s words. His poetry continues to burn within the heart of anyone longing not just for a Messiah but an assurance of hope against the prevailing darkness. Isaiah reminds us that there is no end to the birth of God.

 

        In the deepest of night, there was a star.

        In the midst of the despairing, there was an angel.

        In a manger filled with no room, there was a birth.

        In a world consumed by darkness, there was light.

        I love what happens throughout December but I wish we could celebrate Christmas at a different time.  I love buying gifts for loved ones. It is fun getting cards from folks I miss. I enjoy the festivities and the food is great. I especially take pleasure in the generosity exhibited toward less fortunate folks in the week before Christmas. It is a wonderful way to celebrate the winter solstice. Cultures since the beginning of humankind have engaged in this sort of festivity. It is the last fling before the snow officially arrives and we are forced to flee into our caves and pray fervently for the early arrival of spring.

But why must Christmas be associated with darkness? Why does Christmas exhaust us? Why do we work so hard to decorate our houses but fail to decorate our souls? Why is Christmas for so many a time of sadness?

If we could eliminate the decorations, the silly songs, the gift giving, the cards, all the food, and dare I say it, even peppermint ice cream, what would be left?

Only a light,

shining in our darkness.

Only a son,

given to us.

Only a Wonderful Counselor,

establishing justice.

Only a Prince of Peace,

upholding righteousness.

Only a promise that

Despite our sorrow,

God will share our pain.

        Because God so loved the world.

                No single day can contain Christ’s birth.

        No amount of darkness can conceal God’s light. Because God so loved the world.

                Every day,

                        Unto us,

                                Hope is born.             Amen

Privilege

Isaiah 11:1-9

 

        Writing a weekly sermon is a strange phenomenon. Normally I read the text a couple of times on Monday. I pick a idea and write a prayer that is printed in the bulletin. I think and sometimes dream about the text until Wednesday. Then I sit at my computer and begin to compose something I audaciously, sometimes fearfully, will throw your way come Sunday morning. The last couple of weeks have been different. Everything during our Advent season is revolving around four candles. Weeks ago I chose the scriptures that would complement the distinctive identities we chosen for each candle.  Today we lit the candle of Privilege. Webster’s New World Dictionary defines privilege as, “a right, advantage, or immunity granted to a particular person, group or class which is withheld from all others.”

By Monday morning I was paying more attention to the candle than the text. My imagination took me to the world of Charles Dickens. He championed the children of 19^th century London more ferociously than anyone. Oliver Twist exposed the cruelty that befell orphans. Hard Times takes a critical look at English culture and the disparity between the privileged and the rest of society.  Perhaps Dickens’s greatest personification of the English gentry was exhibited in the character of Ebenezer Scrooge.

Tuesday morning I traveled to a prison, hospital and nursing home. Time alone in a car is a dangerous commodity for someone on a holy mission to expose the dark side of American society. I began a sermon that would have made a few of you angry, most of you guilty, and caused some of you to exclaim, “Finally, the sermon I’ve been waiting to hear.”

But often something happens on the road to Emmaus. A few members of the Adult Sunday School class took a field trip. Tuesday afternoon we gathered at the Zeus Theater in Waynesboro to watch It’s a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood starring Tom Hanks as Mr. Rogers. It was not the movie any of us expected to see. But it was the movie I needed to experience.

I remember watching Mr. Rogers with my children. Martina thought he was a rock star. I have to admit, I didn’t quite understand what all the fuss was about. To begin with, the show was too quiet. There were no dancing clowns, pies in the face, and sophomoric jokes. There was very little humor, just this mild mannered man and his imaginary friends having an intimate conversation with my child. The   production was amateurish and the message seemed terribly naïve, yet the message molded my children.

When I was in my 30’s and our world was struggling with The Cold War, Mutually Assured Destruction, and AIDS, Mr. Rogers seemed……childish. Mr. Rogers endorsed the absurdity of a wolf lying down with a lamb. I let my kids watch the show because I wanted them to be neighborly toward their friends. But I knew no one was going to bring about World Peace with a hand puppet.

I announced my skepticism to a clergy friend who told me of an incident that had happened years ago in Pittsburg. One Monday afternoon, with the temperatures rising close to 100, some African-American children climbed the fence of a local country club and went for a swim. The club was closed on Monday’s in order to clean the pool. Residents were outraged, local authorities were notified, and the children were hauled off to jail. A week later Mr. Rogers sat in front of the children of America filling a little plastic swimming pool with water when his friend Officer Clemmons dropped by to visit. Together they took off their shoes and socks and placed their tired and hot feet into the pool. The swimming pool incident was never mentioned. Officer Clemmons, a regular on the show, was played by an African-American actor. I quickly became a fan of Fred Rogers.

Needless to say, Tuesday, with tissues in my pockets, I joyfully sat down in my theater seat. Little did I know Fred Rogers was about to interrupt a sermon that was already bustling in my head and ready to be placed on paper.

I will not spoil the film for you. I just noticed that every time Fred Rogers, on or off camera, met someone he began the conversation by telling them what a privilege it was to meet them. Now those might not be the exact words, but it is what God allowed me to hear. Mr. Rogers stopped everything he was doing and made the person in front of him the most important person in the world. I watched as people were transformed by this incredibly act of kindness and recognition. He listened, and by listening, made each person’s life unique. He would take a picture at the end of the conversation and then write their name down in order not to forget them. Each night Fred Rogers would open a book filled with names and he would mention each by name as he began his evening prayer.

Tuesday morning I was hopelessly raging against the machine that always seems controlled by a small privileged group of the economically elite. By Tuesday evening I was transformed by two gestures of righteous behavior. 

People come up to all the time and will ask me why God is not more involved in solving the problems of poverty, inequality, climate change, racism, sexism, and I could go on and on and on. I always give the same answer, “God created us to lead the way.”

The quick response is always, “I am doing the best I can. It is all those other people who are the problem.” I understand that response. We don’t live in a world where the wolf and lamb lie down together because everyone we disagree with is a wolf…………and vise versa.

So allow me be a bit naïve. How often do we say to someone, “It is a privilege to meet you”, and then listen to their story? How often do we go home and put their name in a book filled with folks for whom we will mention is our prayers? You might be thinking, “I don’t have a prayer book.” Sure you do. It is called the church directory.

Deb and I moved to Wilmington NC in 1981. We had one baby, one job and one car. Deb needed to work so we could survive. This meant we needed a second car. I got a call from Carl Ferger, a man who lived down the street. Carl had a proposal. He had a car which he could no longer drive. Carl’s body ws being destroyed by arthritis and he could not function without a wheel chair. Carl said I could have his car if once a month I would drive him to his doctor. The car was in worse shape than Carl but the deal was struck. Once a month I would lift him from his bed, carry him to the car, and take him to the doctor.

Needless to say I spent a lot of time with Carl. We would sit together at the hospital. Nurses and doctors would come up to speak to him. I was amazed that he knew everyone’s name. The conversation would quickly switch from his health to their lives. I watched as this crippled old man became a healer.

After six months I began to notice the folks who spoke to Carl were just not five or six regulars. I couldn’t keep up with all the folks that stopped to talk. Finally I asked Carl, “How do you keep up with all these people and their stories.”  His answer was, “I pray for them every night.

By that simple transition from, “It is a privilege to meet you” to “It is a privilege to pray for you”, miracles happen.

A kind and gentle man talked to America’s children telling them he had the privilege to be their neighbor. Did he make a difference?  Ask my daughter.

A kind and crippled man sat in a hospital healing folks with his ears. Did he make a difference? Folks in Wilmington still remember Carl Ferger.

The spirit of the Lord rested on both these men. It was a spirit of wisdom and understanding, a spirit of counsel and knowledge. It was a spirit that delighted in God. And what was their reward for such righteous behavior? They sat down as wolves and lambs and became friends.      Amen.

Fall on the Rock

Isaiah 2:2-12

 

        We will spend the entire month of December, minus about four hours, celebrating. Many of you began in November. I bet a few of you have already sent out your Christmas cards. Some of you have probably finished your Christmas shopping. There is a hard and fast rule at the Andrews’ house.  NO CHRISTMAS CAROLS UNTIL WE LISTEN TO ALICE’S RESTURANT ON THANKSGIVING.

        If your calendar resembles mine, your next evening with nothing penciled in, is December 26. There are obligations, parties, special events, travels and travelers that completely wear us out.  We come to church these four hours of Advent to escape the world, run away from the noise, slip comfortably into our pew and exhale. Church is our sanctuary. You are so starved for peace and quiet we could sing Silent Night every Sunday and no one would complain.

        That is why we observe Advent. While everyone else is sitting on Santa’s lap, cooking chestnuts, and decorating the tree, we will be asking the question, “Why did Jesus come?” We will sing those dark Advent hymns some swear were composed by the writer of Lamentations. We will comb the book of Isaiah looking for hints and clues concerning the identity of Jesus. We will talk about waiting and longing for something that has already happened. Where is the Joy? Where is the Love? Can’t we have at least one Ho-Ho-Ho?

        During Advent I often find myself as a majority of one. Most folks don’t want to be challenged by Christmas. They just want to endure it. Yet I feel duty-bound to take you on a journey that leads to Bethlehem and beyond. Who was Jesus? Why did he come? What does he expect? How might he heal our wounded hearts?

        I have always thought Advent is kind of like Tina Turner singing Proud Mary. John Forgerty and CCR performed the song adequately, but Proud Mary didn’t really capture me until Ike and Tina adopted it as their anthem. They made it rough. When Ike growls, “Left a good job in the city” I become very afraid. Then Tina rips the song wide open and punctures my soul. That is what Advent is supposed to do. Too often I fear we celebrate what God did without daring to ask why God did it.

        We read Isaiah 2:2-4 every year as one of the prescribed Advent passages. It is a marvelous poem describing the coming Messiah. “He will judge between the nations. He will beat swords into plowshares. He will not teach war anymore.” That is where we stop. All the responsibility is on the Messiah. He will come and everything will be fine. Only the text doesn’t end at verse 4. Listen to the next verse. “Come and walk in the light so you can see who you are?”

        Now Tina starts singing. “You tell lies. You worship money. You prepare for war. You worship power. And when the Messiah shows up, you run for a rock and hide.” No wonder we love Frosty the Snowman. Frosty allows us to exist in the delusional world we have created.

        A number of years ago I discovered a strange guitar player named Buddy Miller. He hung out with Emmy Lou Harris and Guy Clark. Buddy couldn’t write like Guy nor sing like Emmy Lou so he did the next best thing. He married Julie Miller who could do both. Soon after their wedding Julie was diagnosed with MS. Dealing with this disease had a profound and alarming effect on the songs she wrote. They became raw. They didn’t run from the truth. They revealed a well hidden secret about that “babe wrapped in swaddling clothes that we dare to call the Messiah.” Listen while I bring some friends up to share one of her songs with you.

Fall on the Rock with John, Marianne and Phyllis

O Lord, won’t you come to me, on my dying bed.

Let me from the Book of Life, hear my name be read.

Children, listen to me now, these words are not my own.

Jesus said, “A man is gonna reap what he has sown.”

(Chorus)

You’ve got to fall. (Fall on the rock)

You’ve got to fall. (Fall on the rock.)

You’ve got to fall on the rock or the rock’s gonna fall on you.

 

There’s a day that’s coming soon and it’s a day coming fast,

When God will make the last the first, and the first the last.

Man looks on the outside but the Lord looks on the heart.

He sees every secret hidden in the deepest part.

(Chorus)

Now Jesus is the rock that was rejected and refused.

But He is the cornerstone that God Almighty has used.

Now like a little lamb he came down to the children of men.

But He’ll be the king of kings when he comes back again.

        (Chorus)

 

        This year our first Advent Candle will be called the candle of Freedom. You see, before the Messiah can release us, the Messiah has to expose our enslavement. The crowd to whom Isaiah was preaching believed the Messiah was going to rescue them from a foreign invasion. Isaiah turned the tables and proclaimed the Messiah was going to save Judah from itself. Isaiah proclaimed, “You are walking in darkness and therefore in fear. Step into the light.”

        That is a hard thing to do. Instead of running toward deliverance we hide under a rock. In this dark damp refuge we become enslaved by our fears, our delusions, and our uncertainties. Our reality is no longer God’s reality. Our nightmares are void of God’s dream. By Christmas morning we have consigned our hopes to fancy dinners and the exchange of gifts. By Christmas night our hearts are as empty as our checkbooks.  

        Fall on the Rock. Fall on the ancient dreams of a voice crying in the wilderness.  Freedom! Freedom! Freedom will come to those who walk in the light of the Lord.        Amen.

Is He a King?

Luke 23:33-41; Colossians 1:19-20

 

        Today can be a confusing Sunday. We all know it is the Sunday before Thanksgiving. We have celebrated this through our hymn and prayer. But the scripture we heard sounds strangely out of place for a service of Thanksgiving. Wouldn’t such a text be more appropriate on Good Friday? Long after the first Thanksgiving was celebrated at Jamestown in 1607, or Myles Standish and his hearty crew landed at Plymouth Rock, or George Washington suggested a day of Thanksgiving in 1789, or Abraham Lincoln declared Thanksgiving a Federal Holiday, Pope Pius Xl in 1925, declared on the Sunday before Advent we celebrate Christ the King. Pope Pius feared that the world was retreating from the reign of Christ and becoming more dependent on the forces of nationalism and secularism.

        The starting point for the celebration surprises me. I always thought Christ the King Sunday had its origins back in some ancient festival created in Medieval Europe. But 1925? In church history that is like yesterday. Historically, this declaration by Pope Pius has legitimacy. 1925 falls squarely between the end of the War to end all Wars and the economic depression that would soon ravage Europe and the United States. Between those two catastrophic events existed the Roaring 20’s. Attendance in churches was at an all time low.  Nationalism was once again on the rise. The Weimar Republic in Germany was collapsing and Fascism was dismantling the political system in Italy. Pius could envision what lay ahead. Nine years later a small group of German pastors wrote the Theological Declaration of Barmen as a warning to Germans who saw no contradiction between Christianity and Hitler’s National Socialism. The declaration rejected the “False doctrines being proposed by the German government and claimed freedom in Jesus Christ who was Lord in every area of life.”

        Well, that’s ancient history. It is not 1925 or 1934. It is four days before Thanksgiving and Christ the King Sunday just seems a bit out of place. Even the idea of Jesus as King feels awkward. We prefer to think of Jesus as the good shepherd, the savior, or our eternal friend. In our songs we claim Jesus as Lord but do we really mean it? I suspect there are a lot of other things such as family, or country, or even our favorite football team that we give equal status. The idea of Jesus as King makes us just a little uncomfortable. After all, we live in the home of the free where no one, except perhaps Elvis, wears a crown.

        We prefer Jesus in a manager. There he is a sweet babe among the shepherds and Wise Men.    The picture is not only endearing it keeps us from examining Christmas as anything deeper than a family celebration.

        We like Jesus in the tomb. There Jesus is fully appreciated as the one who will “Prepare a place for us.”

But between his birth and death lived a man who turned over more than a few tables outside the temple. Sometimes he was a bit esoteric. “Why are you so anxious about tomorrow? Remember the lilies of the fields.” Sometimes he was pastoral. “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd will lay down his life for his sheep.” Sometimes he argued with religious leaders. “Woe to you hypocrites. You are filled with greed and self-indulgence.” Sometimes he spoke out against injustice. “I have come to release the prisoner and set the oppressed free.” Sometimes he was weary. “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you are the city that stones the prophets. How often have I wanted to gather your children but you are not willing.” Sometimes he was a voice of hope. “I am the resurrection and the life.” We are no better at figuring out who Jesus was then that confused and outraged mob that asked if he was king of the Jews. The truth is any conversation concerning kingship still makes us uncomfortable. But need it be beyond our comprehension? 

The title king is always preceded by an adjective. “He was a benevolent king; he was a wrathful king; he was a deranged king; he was a triumphant king; he was a faithful king; he was a cruel king.” No matter how the picture is painted, there is always an underlying fear that claiming a king undermines our  quest for freedom.

If I claim Jesus as the Good Shepherd, do I become sheep-like? If I believe Jesus is the resurrection and the life do I lose my free will? If I claim Jesus as Lord, can that challenge the autonomy of my nation?

Those are hard questions which only you can answer. When I was younger and great deal more foolish I became enamored with a statement written by Dietrich Bonhoeffer as he awaited his execution in 1945.

If you set out to seek freedom, then learn above all what governs your soul and senses. If not, your passions and longings may lead you away from the path you should follow. Dare to do what is right, not what fancy my tell you, valiantly grasping occasions, not cravenly doubting. Freedom comes only through deeds, not through thoughts taking wing. Faint not nor fear but go out into the storm and the action, trusting God who you faithfully follow. Freedom, exultant, will welcome your spirit with joy.

Christ the King Sunday is awkward. It doesn’t quite fit in our transition from pumpkin pies to candy canes. But it does remind me who is Lord.               Amen.

God's Creative Imagination

Isaiah 65:17-25

 

By my calculations we are inside 40 shopping days left till Christmas.  For you Biblical scholars the number 40 has great theological significance. Noah was on the Ark for 40 days, the children of Israel were in the wilderness for 40 years, and Jesus spent 40 days in the desert before beginning his ministry.  The number forty is not to be taken literally. It is the Biblical way of saying, “a long time”. But for those of us who have children and grandchildren, forty days will be here in no time at all.  There are so many decisions. Do I buy practical gifts? Would the children rather have money? Should I spend the same amount on each grandchild? Most importantly, do I dare make any decision without first checking with Deb?

There are 40 shopping days left till Christmas.  What sort of dreams and visions do you have for the coming days?

        The writer of 3^rd Isaiah is very much aware of the number 40.  His generation had spent 40 years in exile, roaming the streets of Babylon, waiting for that precious moment when God’s grace would allow them to travel back to Jerusalem.  The writer was familiar with that marvelous song of hope that serves as the eloquent prelude to Second Isaiah.  “Comfort ye, Comfort ye my people.  Speak tenderly to Jerusalem.  Cry to her that the penalty has been paid for all her sins.  Through the wilderness the Lord has prepared a way.  Every valley shall be lifted up, every mountain shall be made low and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed.”   This song gave him and his generation optimism for the coming years.  They traveled west with the excitement of building a new city, starting new lives and living in the light of the Lord. The exiles made a perilous trip across the desert, gleefully expecting the transformation of Jerusalem to be the simple task of reassembling a few bricks.

But hope gave way to reality.   The exiles discovered a disaster.  The walls around the city no longer existed. Not a hand had been lifted to restore the temple.  The Jerusalem of their dreams quickly turned out to be a nightmare.  Optimism turned to pessimism. It was hard to imagine anything rising from the ashes of Jerusalem.   Yet the voice of third Isaiah would not be silenced. In a vision, our writer encountered the very imagination of the Almighty.  “God is in the process of doing a new thing.  God is creating a new heaven and earth. The former things shall not be remembered.  God will transform Jerusalem as a joy.”

  The poet spoke of a time when peace would reign, a time when the inhabitants of the city would be righteous and a time when good tidings would lift even the poor and the broken hearted.    The poet declared, “One day everyone will own a home and harvest fruit from their garden.  One day, children will live to be adults and the elderly will be respected.” 

Imagine being born in slavery. Imagine witnessing your children slaughtered by your enemies. Imagine seeing the elderly cast aside. This was reality for the exiles. They had suffered, they had experienced grave disappointments, and they were not about to be swayed by fancy words.

  Hope can be a dangerous mistress.   Let’s face the facts.  We don’t have to pick up a newspaper to know that many folks feel they are slogging their way through complicated and difficult days.  Some find it impossible to see the world as anything other than a survival of the fittest.  Yet this passage from Isaiah serves to remind our weary and suspicious minds that God has always encouraged us to strive to create for beauty, and goodness and holiness, even in the midst of our chaos.

Please note the words I used. “God has always encouraged us.” That is a far cry from saying, “God will do it for us.”  It would be so easy to judge God based on the desires of our hearts. If I were God there would be no wars, no hurricanes, no school shootings, no poverty, no disease, no madness. What about you? If you could be God for a day what would be first on your priority list.  Knowing that you are a compassionate people, I suspect your wishes mirror everything God desires for humankind. So why do we know we will soon wake up to another tragedy?

You know the answer before it leaves my lips. God has placed us in charge and we are driven and derailed by memories. We remember the Alamo, we remember the Maine, se remember Pearl Harbor, we remember 911. Tucked deep in our psyche is the idea there is someone out there trying to get us. It might a terrorist; it might be a politician; it might be a stranger that lives in the neighborhood; it might be our brother-in-law. Regardless who it is I believe our level of trust toward other humans is not great enough to create a society based on God’s desire for justice and compassion. We have memories and those memories are not easily reconciled.

When the exiles from Babylon arrived in Jerusalem the first thing they did was kick out all the current residents. They believed only those who had suffered captivity could be trusted. They believed the ones left behind must have collaborated with the enemy. Those memories fueled distrust, this distrust forced long time residents from their homes, and this expulsion left the city with too few folks to build a wall in a timely manner. Memories derailed the task at hand.

So God announced, “Together we will build a society where children are treasured. The elderly will be honored. Folks will live in the homes they build. Each family will eat from the gardens they cultivate. But in order for this to happen, you are going to have to forget the past and embrace the opportunity of today.”

So how did that workout? Not so well. As long as there is no trust, there can be no peace. Look at our divisions today.  Forget our political impasses. Forget Liberal and Conservative. Forget Palestinian and Jews. Forget North Korea and Iran. Forget Global Warming. Just think of one personal issue you believe cannot be resolved. You know what it is. It boggles your brain and rips out your heart. You can’t let it go because you don’t want to let it go. That memory has become a permanent part of your psyche. You feast on it not realizing you are the one being devoured.

 How can we move toward healthy resolutions if we refuse to place our memories aside? You can quote until you are blue in the face, “Those who forget the past end up repeating the past,” but fixating on the past seldom leads to new and creative ways to mend a broken relationship.

Christmas is less than 40 days away.  Maybe this year God desires us to do a new thing. The next 40 days we are probably going to spend a boat load of money on children, grandchildren, spouses, and even ourselves. Why not spend some time on examining our memories? Keep the good ones. But let go of the ones that hurt and destroy your inner peace. Trust in what tomorrow can bring.  If the past controls your future, then your past is probably controlled by your fears. For the next 40 days, imagine a world where the lion and the lamb lie down together. Imagine the possibility of working toward God’s peaceable kingdom in your little neighborhood. Imagine letting go of your hurtful memories in order to create a better future. Imagine restoring just one relationship in the next 40 days. Imagine what kind of Christmas you might celebrate if you forget the past and welcome an old advisory into a new future.                                         

There are less than forty days until Christmas. What kind of dreams and visions will you work toward in the coming days?

To God be the Glory.   Amen.

Whoops

II Thessalonians 2:1-5, Luke 20:27-38

 

        Wednesday I gazed out my window toward the autumn sky. My 4:00 appointment had canceled and there was nothing scheduled for the rest of the day. The golf clubs in the trunk of my car were screaming my name. With no guilt whatsoever I bolted from the office and headed toward Stoney Creek. If you don’t play golf you may not have experienced the glorious view off the tee box on Tuckahoe number one. The leaves shimmer in the golden sunlight and are beautifully reflected in the lake along the right side of the fairway.  In the distance the mountains are incredibly framed by a sky so blue one might believe God did graduate from the University of North Carolina. I was in heaven.  Enjoying the day more than the golf, by the fifth hole I had forgotten about the recent time change and found myself alone in the dark. I begin to ponder about how often the transition from light to darkness confounds our understanding of the unknown.

        All of us have experienced the loss of a loved one. In this transition from light to darkness, life to death, the church has tried its best to offer hope. The uncomfortable reality that clouds our thinking is exposed when we carefully look at texts like the ones before us.

        I and II Thessalonians are the earliest writings in the New Testament. They predate the gospels by as many as 30 years. Paul, in his early ministry, confidently proclaimed that Christ would return in all his glory very soon. The message of first Thessalonians was to daily prepare for the coming of the Lord.  This message gave comfort to folks being ridiculed and persecuted for their faith. 

        But Jesus didn’t come. People began to die. Folks asked Paul if a believer died before Jesus returned would the believer be with God. The circumstances of the day caused a total reversal in the thinking of Paul. He went from the message of don’t worry about today because Jesus is coming, to a strange proclamation that the Lawlessness One must be revealed before Jesus will return. In Paul’s later writings he steps away this belief and eventually proclaimed no one knows the mind or plans of God, therefore live each day with the assurance that nothing, not even death, can separate us from the love of God.

        Paul was confused and we need to give him a break. When walking in the sunlight we see everything clearly. But when the sun disappears behind the mountain and the shadows of life cross our path, things can get murky. We begin to speculate about what lies beyond the darkness. Some folks tell compelling stories of near death experiences. Some folks have overactive imaginations. While most of us cling to the later promise of Paul that nothing can separate us from God, what does that actually mean?  Speculation concerning the mind of God raises questions for some and gives comfort to others. There is no right or wrong answer. Experience has taught me the transition toward death with people of faith is different than with people who find the notion of God to be old-fashion and outdated. But even that statement comes with a disclaimer. Living with the approaching shadow of death is not easy.

        2,000 years after Paul’s letters to the Thessalonians what do we believe about life and death? I will not make the mistake Paul made and suggest what I believe can be proved. Statements of faith only ring true with those who believe them. Furthermore, often our obsession with defining the indefinable only leads to meaningless declarations that appear strange even to those who do believe.

        In the Luke text Jesus was having a conversation with the Sadducees.  They were a theologically conservative group of teachers perplexed by the concept of resurrection.  Their disdain was reflected in their questions.

        “Jesus, Moses taught us if a man dies and has no children, his brother must marry his brother’s wife and attempt to impregnate her so that the dead man’s legacy might continue to flourish. What if the dead man had seven brothers? Each died before the woman had a child. When she dies, and goes to heaven, who will be her husband?”

        We laugh at the absurdity of this question yet the statements we proclaim about heaven expose a similar lack of depth. Songs are sung about heaven’s gold paved streets. Some cling to the idea of finding a loved one. Some claim a physical transformation where perfect health will be restored.  Is any of this true? Often when I sit with a family after a loved one has died, in order to transition through the pain the survivors often seek reassurances that the family will be together again. I learned a long time ago, death is not the time to grapple with ones dreams. But now, flooded by sunlight, allow me to suggest that our vision of God’s future is too small and too stuck in this world. Jesus said, “God is not the God of the dead but of living.” Then Jesus added this radical thought, “In God’s eyes everyone is alive.”

        Standing on the tee box of the sixth hole I was cloaked in darkness. I swung hoping my drive would find the middle of the fairway. I never found the ball, but I believe when the light returned someone did.

        Beyond what we perceive to be our final sunset awaits God. I dare not imagine anything beyond simply being found.                     For me, that is more than enough.                Amen.

A Clenched Fist

Luke 19:1-10

 

        (sing)      Zacchaeus was a wee little man,

                        And a wee little man was he.

                        He climbed up in a sycamore tree,

                        The Lord he wanted to see.  (stop)

 

        How many of you have heard that song? Do you remember where you learned it? I first heard it the basement of Memorial Presbyterian Church in Greensboro, North Carolina in 1955. 64 years and I still can’t get it out of my head. Bill Haley was singing Rock around the Clock. Tennessee Ernie Ford was crooning Sixteen Tons.  Oklahoma was selling out on Broadway and I am still singing, Zacchaues was a wee little man and a wee little man was he.  WHY? Because before there was Randy Newman, before there was Napoleon and his complex, there was short little guy who liked to climb trees. In 1955 I was tall for my age but I was only five. Do you remember what it was like being five? You rode in the back of the family car and watched the top of telephone poles. You wanted to play baseball with the neighborhood kids but you are only tall enough to be second base. I don’t mean the position, I mean the actual base. And then along comes Zacchaeus . Like me, he was short. Like me, he wanted to see what was going on. Unlike me he lived in a land of low hanging branches.

According to the story word got around that a parade was coming. I hated it when the Christmas parade came to town. When I was three, dad put me on his shoulders and I could see everything. But when I was five my little sister took my place.  It was four more years before I was tall enough to see Santa and by then I didn’t believe he was real. 

Zacchaeus didn’t believe in Santa either. He didn’t believe in much of anything except himself. Yet when word got around that the miracle man was stopping off before heading to the capital, Zacchaeus made plans to see him. Was he curious? Did he think Jesus would make him tall? The story doesn’t tell us the reason. All we know is Zacchaeus would not be denied in his quest to see Jesus.

 You know the story as well as I. He discovered the parade route, picked the perfect tree, climbed up and waited. Jesus appeared, saw the wee little man, and called up to him. “Zacchaeus, I am going to your house for dinner.”

When you are five years old ……. and a member of the kindergarten Sunday School class …….. most teachers aren’t going to tell you that Zacchaeus was not a very nice man. Mrs. Cartledge was not the exception to the rule. She taught us Zacchaeus was small and so were we. But take heart. Jesus sees you, Jesus loves you, and Jesus will walk with  you when you enter the first grade.

A lot of folks were taught the Zacchaeus story by their own Mrs. Cartledge. A lot of folks remember the cute little song. But too few folks go to Sunday School long enough to hear the real story.  Zacchaeus was short on morals, short on integrity, and short on principles. In other words, Zacchaeus was a scoundrel. He is the used car salesman who sells you a beauty of a deal that two weeks before was hauled in with a blown engine. He is the guy who sells you a reversed mortgage and tells you not to worry about the fine print. He is the guy who always has his mind, and his heart, and his fist, clenched.

Zacchaeus was a tax collector. In other words he was a collaborator with an oppressive foreign government whose sole objective was to suck the very life out of the common citizen. This is the way the game was played.  Rome had an army to feed. Rome had roads it wanted to build back home. So Rome took thirty cents on the dollar and gave nothing back. As long as Rome got its thirty cents it did not care what the tax collector charged. A person like Zacchaeus often charged as much as forty cents on the dollar and kept the ten cents difference. Rome protected its collectors to ensure the flow of money was continuous.

The people of Jericho hated Zacchaeus. They hated the way he cheated them. They hated the protection he received from Rome. Most of all they hated his clenched fist which seemed to be both a threat and a symbol of what was being stolen from them.

Jesus walked through Jericho. He looked up and saw a pathetic little man way up in the branches. He hollered up at him, “Zacchaeus”. Everyone fell quiet knowing what was going to happen next. At the very least Jesus was going to expose him as a crooked little man. At the very worst Jesus was going to zap the branch of the tree causing the scoundrel to fall to his well deserved death. But that is not what happened. Jesus said, “Come out of the tree. I need for you to feed me dinner.”

I am not sure who was more surprised, Zacchaeus or the good folks of Jericho who hated his guts. Everyone looked up, except Zacchaeus, who stared down at the man who had invited himself to dinner. Zacchaeus had a choice. He could stay in the tree or he could have dinner with a stranger. Choice number two presented a problem. How could he get down out of the tree with his fist clinched?

Ever so slowly, Zacchaeus pried open his fingers. Ever so slowly, God pried open his mind. Ever so slowly, Jesus pried open his heart,  and miraculously, Zacchaeus was no longer a “wee little man.”

To God be the glory. Amen.