"I Know You by Name"

Luke 3:15-16, 21-22; Isaiah 43:1-7

 

How can picking a name be so hard? From the moment Susan knew the life within her would be a girl, she and John had argued over the appropriate name. Their decision would last a lifetime. John was very practical. The child was their first-born, therefore the name must continue the family tradition. Why not Susan Fritz (for his father) Rollenhead? While Susan was flattered by her husband’s intensions, she felt  the name sounded like something that should be followed by a title, such as Attorney at Law. While the thought thrilled Susan, the name did not. She wanted her child to be named after her two grandmothers, Mary Margaret Rollenhead. John said that was a name for a nun.

Books were purchased and discarded. Rachel Rebecca Rollenhead? Too many r’s. Samantha Teresa Rollenhead? Too many syllables. Jenny Lynn Rollenhead? Too country. Rickie Lee Rollenhead? Too rock and roll. Finally in exasperation Susan screamed, “The problem is your last name. Nothing goes well with Rollenhead!” John reminded Susan changing their last name might solve the problem but would most likely injure some folks they dearly loved.

Our scriptures this morning are all about names. The writer of Second Isaiah had quite a task. For centuries the residents of Jerusalem were recognized by everyone.  Their city stood in the middle of the known world. If you wanted to go to Babylon from Cairo or Antioch, the road ran through Jerusalem. The centerpiece of Jerusalem was the magnificent temple. The city’s library contained masterworks that reached back to the time of David. But that was before the exile. The mighty hand of Babylon crushed Jerusalem, turning the walls to dust and disassembling the Temple brick by brick. Those not massacred were placed in chains and dragged across hundreds of miles of desert to become prisoners along the Euphrates. Their city was ruined, their culture destroyed and their God discredited. For a generation they sat in utter disgrace. At the end of a generation their names were forgotten. In forty years the Hebrew people had gone from being the center of the universe to a tiny, miserable and insignificant band of uprooted men and women standing on the margins of a hostile empire. To these people Isaiah dared to bring word from Yahweh. “Do not fear, despite what you have become, I have redeemed you. I have called you by name and you are mine.” These tender words struck a chord in the hearts of a people who believed they were forgotten. God’s word identified them as more than a particular family, a particular tribe or even a particular nation. They were claimed as part a kingdom beyond flesh and blood.

The exiles in Babylon were chained to an ancient belief in a God who was confined to the Temple. When the Temple was destroyed and the survivors exiled, the relics of the past crumbled. Tribal systems disintegrated because there was no land.  Religious beliefs collapsed because there was no Temple. Even national pride disappeared because there was no Jerusalem.  All they had was the voice of a prophet who sang, “Fear not! You are precious in the eyes of God.”

For many folks three questions haunt us for a lifetime. Who am I? Where do I belong? What makes me worthy? During my ministry I have spent a lot of time listening to folks reminisce their past endeavors. They will begin by telling me the wonderful things they accomplished. But as I get to know them better, and they begin to trust me with their stories, I can hear the doubt creep into their voice. Time after time I hear an ancient voice quiver, “If I had it to do all over again, there are some things I hope I would do differently.” From the moment we are born we search for our name, our identity. From the moment we are born we reach for something that often seems just beyond our grasp. From the moment we are born we grapple to live up to a name, or a reputation, or the expectations of others. But worst of all we struggle live up to our own expectations. Who are we? Where do we belong? What makes us worthy?

What if we changed the questions? Instead of asking “Who are we”, what if we concentrated on “Whose are we? To whom do we belong? Who makes us worthy?” The writer of Isaiah had the nerve to say to a generation with no home and no hope, “Do not remember what just happened and be preoccupied with past failures. Consider this.  I am about to do a new thing! Do you not perceive it?”

The exiles in Babylon got so caught up in who they could have been they forgot to whom they had always belonged. They were created out of a promise to Abraham. “I will make you a great nation.” They were rescued with a promise to Moses, “I will give to your people a new land.” They were inspired by promises sung by David, “I will be your shepherd.” But they forgot the promises and along the way, they even forgot their name. What does one do when you have forgotten who you are?

In 1989 I was serving a church in Virginia Beach but my heart was beginning to wander. I had been a campus minister, an associate minister and pastor of a small church. I felt it was time to make a name for myself. I wanted a big steeple. I wanted to be the keynote at major conferences. I wanted publishers to ask me to write a book. I had big dreams. So that year, with my family looking at me as if I had lost my mind, we packed up and headed to a fairly large church in the middle of West Texas. It was there people would learn my last name was Andrews.

We arrived in January. Have you ever been to West Texas in the middle of the winter? I have no idea why people want to go to the moon. All they have to do is visit Monahans or Pecos, or Van Horn. At least in San Angelo has a lake, and you don’t even have to be Jesus to walk across it. I had never seen such a dry barren land. Then two months after we arrived, Deb decided she wanted to visit a relative who lived in Eastern New Mexico. On that trip I learned why the people in Carlsbad are so proud of their little cave. At least underground it’s too dark to see where they live.

I had had it with wind, sand, and the lack of anything green. I had lost sight of why I felt called to ministry. That is when I discovered  that God remembers our name.

 We attended worship that Sunday at the Presbyterian Church in Carlsbad. The minister was away on vacation and the Shannon Webster, Stated Clerk of the Presbytery filled the pulpit. Shannon didn’t look like any minister I had ever seen. He wore a beautiful stole over his open collared plaid shirt. To finish off the ensemble he wore jeans and his Sunday boots. I don’t remember the sermon but I shall never forget his benediction. He grabbed a guitar and sang a verse from a song based on Isaiah 43. It was a song i had sung a thousand times without ever hearing the words.

When through the deep waters I call thee to go,

The rivers of sorrow shall not overflow;

For I will be near thee, they troubles to bless,

And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress. 

I went to Shannon, and asked him how he knew I needed to hear that verse. He smiled and said, “Sometimes we all forget whose we are.” 

Remember the Rollenhead family? Well, the glorious day came and a beautiful child was born. Not wanting to forever call her baby girl Rollenhead, Susan and John finally agreed on a name. Four weeks later, the proud parents stood before their congregational family and celebrated their faith at the baptism of the child. The minister turned to the young couple and asked, “What is the name of your child.” Together they responded, “Christina Marie”. The minister took the infant into her arms, dipped her hand into the holy water and touched the child’s forehead. “Christina Marie Child of God, I baptize you in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost.” The minister then whispered to the child, “Do not fear. I have called you by name, and you are mine.”

Each of us bears the same last name, “Child of God”.  From baptism to benediction, that is our holy epitaph.

To God be the Glory.    Amen.

We are not the Messiah

John 1:1-8

        John the Baptist was the opening act for Jesus.  His job was to warm up the audience so when the main attraction appeared, every one would be excited and ready to jump right into the first song.  Being the warm-up band is a thankless job.  Nobody pays their hard earned money to see YOU.  Only family members and few close friends have ever heard the songs you are about to sing.  And the crazy thing is, if you are actually good, the headliner will get someone else.  Opening acts must never outshine the star.

        So imagine how John must have felt?  He was opening for his baby cousin.  It wasn’t like John couldn’t make it on his own.  He had developed a loyal band of followers who were quite happy to chase him into the wilderness and dine on his peculiar diet of bugs and honey.  Folks came from near and far to hear John preach sermons that only Jonathan Edwards could love.  But the Baptizer knew his role.  He was the opening act.  He was the guy that would forever be known as the one who joyfully proclaimed, “Heeeeeer’s Jesus.”

        I wonder if John ever became confused?  I wonder if he got jealous?  We know John had quite a following.  Many remained loyal to him, even after Jesus arrived. John could have easily started his own movement.  He would not have been the first nor the last to claim the mantle of Messiah.  But John stood firm.  From birth he had been the forerunner.  His purpose was to announce that God’s joy would soon cascade down on a people in darkness.  We could sure use a voice like that today.

        I was with my grandkids for a couple days this week. Grandchildren can quickly move us from the realities of this world into a never-never-land that is really quite pleasant. Siddalee has never heard of ISIS. Austin’s world revolves around Minions and Luke Skywalker wannabes.   But Andy has turned eight. While 90 percent of his thoughts revolve around the plight of the Carolina Panthers, he is becoming very aware of the world that surrounds him. During a break on one of our bike rides, out of the blue he asked, “Granddaddy, if Donald Trump becomes President, will we have to leave America?”

        One thing you can be sure of during a Presidential Election is a lot of promises are going to be made. Some inspire us, some give us hope, some cause us to flinch and then the occasional words are uttered which causes folk older than eight to shake their heads in utter disbelief. Basically every candidate has a different way of attempting to say the same thing. They want us to believe they are the next great hope by promising peace and prosperity to a world dominated by despair. We pick our guy and desperately want to believe he or she is The ONE. Why? Because we long for a word of joy from one who will dispel the darkness. Unfortunately, when we take a long hard look at the folks running for messiah, we know deep down in our heart of hearts no one person can bring an end to the chaos that dominates our lives. We long for harmony, a condition this world has seldom known. We long for stability, a dream only perfected by those who dominate. We long for peace, a concept which finds its way into many songs but is seldom sung by those trusting coexistence over power.  We long for a Messiah with an agenda that fits our eye. But perhaps what we actually need is another John the Baptist, although I am not sure we would tolerate the emergence of one whose favorite word was “Repent.”

        John was born into a world not unlike ours because John was born into a culture remarkably similar to every other culture in any other moment in history. John was born into a world where insurgents desired to overthrow the powerful and the powerful declared the insurgents to be terrorist. John was born into a world in which one percent controlled ninety percent of the wealth and an Empire that had already seen its better days. John  was born into a world of refugees, revolutionaries, reformist, and traditionalist each with a different plan to transform their own particular definition of chaos while never giving an inch to those they feared. Is it any wonder the only word John dared to utter was “Repent.” There could be no hope until there was a new beginning. Furthermore, what good is a Messiah if no one is willing to engage in some serious self-evaluation?

        At my last church we had a children’s after school program called Second Wednesday.   During the Christmas Season, I began the program by gathering all children round an Advent Wreath in the fellowship hall.  Before I lit the candles, I asked the children what we called each candle.  They looked at me as if I had lost my mind. So I gently reminded them that the candles represented Hope, Peace, Joy and Love. I asked them to repeat the words with me, Hope, Peace, Joy and Love; Hope Peace Joy and Love. When I thought they had it, I then lit the candles and asked those small children what we really wanted for Christmas. Right on cue they all said, Hope, Peace, Joy, Love. I knew they were just repeating what they had been told, but I can’t tell you what a sweet song they sung.

After the opening we divided the children by age and they scampered off in different directions to crafts, recreation, puppets or The Bible Story.  The youngest group always did the Bible Story first. I wanted to get them when I had a chance of still holding their attention.  We went into the sanctuary and reenacted the Christmas story.  After the wise men had made their way to the stable, I asked the children what they were going to give Jesus for Christmas.  They gave me a startled look.  One of them even asked, “Why would we give Jesus a gift?”  I responded, “Christmas is his birthday.”   Well if there is one universal truth known among children it is when you are invited to a birthday party, you better bring a gift.  For the next couple of minutes I was given a tremendous list, most of which reflected what they hoped was waiting for them under their tree back home. So I asked them to think of what JESUS might desire. One of the little kings said, “I will give him my gold.”  I asked, “And how much gold do you have?”  He shook his head, a bit confused. One of the other children rescued the awkward moment by quietly saying, “I will give him hope.”  Then another said, “I will give him peace.”  And another added, “I will give him joy.”   Then they all concluded by saying, “We will give him love.”    In those words, the children became John the Baptist, and I was transformed by their proclamation.

My friends, in this season of Christmas, our job is not to be the Messiah.  But we can become one who proclaims.  What proclamation, what gift, might we offer to a world dominated by chaos? Our self appointed messiahs interject solutions that include words like “Bomb”, or “Isolate”, or even “Assimilate”. Are those actions that have found success or desperate measures that insure deeper resentment?

 The language of Christmas begins with the word “Repent”. Without repentance, how can there possibly be any hope or peace or joy or love beyond our carefully framed characterization of what we desire the world to be. Without repentance, how can we possible recognize that we, in some small way, might be responsible for the chaos that causes us such great fear?

The writer of John wrote, “In the beginning was THE WORD.” Imagine typing this and putting WORD in the upper case. On the other hand John the Baptist used words (lower case) to proclaim THE WORD INCARNATE (upper case) Why? Because John was not THE WORD but rather the one who proclaimed THE WORD. And he did this by using the word, “Repent”. 

That might not have been the word you would have chosen. My small friends back in Clinton selected, “hope, peace, joy, and love”. Some of you might expand that list by offering, “compassion, justice, hospitality, forgiveness and reconciliation”. The world needs all these words but who among us perfectly embodies each of them. Remember, we are not the Messiah. But the ones call to proclaim. What if, in this year of 2016, each of us picked one godly word and did our godly best to live up to that word’s godly potential. It sounds impossible, and it is, unless you are willing to give it a try.

Let me offer an example. Let’s say you are a person who always sees the glass half empty or in other words you tend to be a bit of a pessimist. Imagine how you could brighten the world around you by living one year of your life hopefully.

Perhaps you tend to be a bit antagonistic. How would your world change if this year your goal was finding personal peace?

Maybe this year one of you could be a little more forgiving.

Maybe one of you could be a little more joyful.

What if one of you became a bit more compassionate, or generous, or even a bit more hospitable?

My gracious, let’s not stop there. Perhaps one of you could spend less time looking at the stock market and more time interested in economic justice.

Maybe one of you living in Stoney Creek could make a new friend of someone who lives in Afton, or one of you who lives in Faber could meet someone from Stoney Creek?

Pick One Word and make it yours.

Pick One Word and claim it for a year.

Remember, we aren’t THE WORD (upper case).

We can’t save the world but we can pick a word, and embrace the word and live the word and by doing so change who we are. Who knows what might happen next.        Amen.

Feast of Fools

Luke 1:39-55; Psalm 80:1-7

 

        In the Middle Ages, during the week after Christmas, the peasants, the outcast and anyone who was no one participated in a parade that meandered through the streets of most villages and every township. It was known as the Feast of Fools. Folks dressed up in costumes which lampooned any political or ecclesiastical character of note. Bishops and Earls, Kings and Popes who constantly disputed amongst themselves all agreed the Feast of Fools was an abomination to everything sacred. Eventually those with the power to make laws declared the Feast of Fools to be heretical and banned the local citizenry from participating in such debauchery. By the 16^th century the Feast of Fools disappeared, never to return, although I have been told the Mummers Parade on January 1^st in Philadelphia expresses some of the mischief and naughtiness of the original.

        As we enter this most holy time of the year, why on earth would anyone want to revive thoughts of an absurd festival banned 500 years ago?  Maybe the problem is I read too much. Recently I have spent a great deal of time with my head firmly planted in this incredibly dangerous book called the Gospel of Luke. It begins like this.

A long time ago, in a culture far, far away, a mighty empire ruled all of the world that was thought to be known. No one was safe. The roads and the cities were overrun with legal thieves and local rogues who robbed the population blind. It was a time of great darkness. The people cried out to their God, “Give us your ear, O Shepherd of Israel. Restore us, O God of Jacob. Let your face shine through the darkness that we might be saved.” After years of pleading and seemingly centuries of being ignored, God responded. You won’t believe God’s Holy solution.

It began with two women. We live in the 21^st century. To offer a solution for the ills of the world by saying, “There were two women”, gives me great hope. Today, women run families, businesses, and even run for president. We celebrate the brilliance and imagination of women and you must admit men have a history of making a real mess of  this world? Thank goodness, today is different. If you ask a majority of people living outside the United States who is the leader of the free world, the over whelming response would be Angela Merkel. That is not a slight to President Obama. When Mr. Reagan was president the same people would have responded Margaret Thatcher.

But the world of today and the world in which the writer of Luke lived are vastly different. Women had no status in the Roman Empire. Their primary role was to have babies and hope those babies were boys. So imagine my surprise when the first chapter of Luke centers around an old woman who is assumed barren and a pregnant virgin.

IS THIS GOD’S PLAN TO SAVE THE WORLD????

“There were two women.” Too often when we read the gospel of Luke we start with chapter two. We all know the story of a man and wife traveling 60 miles by foot to pay taxes. What an absurd demand on a woman nine months pregnant.  But then we rationalize; no one wants to get in trouble with the IRS. Anyway, once the child was born, Mary and Joseph got to claim their first deduction. It was a win, win situation.

We occasionally we raise our eyes at the idea of Jesus being born in a barn. But the truth is we have heard the story so many times when are mystified when no stable makes it into Matthew’s version. As for the shepherds, who else would proclaim the birth of the son of David but shepherds? We sanitize the story, making the baby in the barn scenario seem like the most natural occurrence. We wrap the story up so neatly all Mary has to do is “ponder” what she has observed. No pain, no mess, and no cleaning up afterwards.

Let me invite you back into Luke 1. It begins with Elizabeth, a woman who had been trying to get pregnant for as long the day was long. She had reached the age where most women are spoiling their grandchildren. Then suddenly, out of the blue, her husband gets a visit from an interested party and the next day they are turning the sewing room back into a bedroom. Elizabeth was with child and cannot contain her joy. Her husband was literally speechless.  After months of a one-sided conversation, Elizabeth was thrilled to receive a visit from her younger cousin and share the miraculous news. But Elizabeth was not the only one with a story to tell.

“Elizabeth, I heard the good news.”

“Yes Mary. Who can explain the wonders of God?”

“You can say that again. Elizabeth you are not the only who has been blessed. I am also expecting.”

“God be praised! Who is the father?”

Mary smiled, “Who can explain the wonders of God?”

Two pregnant women, both believing they are touched by God, sat down to share a meal. To the rational or the faithless, this most assuredly was a feast of fools. And then things went completely out of control.  In an explosion of gratefulness, Mary began to sing.

My soul magnifies the Lord.

God has blessed this lowly servant.

        Generations from now people will call me blessed.

        If Mary had stopped right there, things would have been just fine. How could anyone argue with her joy? She was about to have a son and the son was a gift from God. But this was not an ordinary baby shower. This was a feast of fools and this fool refused to be quiet. Mary continued.

                God will scatter the proud.

                        God will bring down the powerful.

                                God will lift up the lowly.

                        God will fill the hungry.

                God will send the rich away empty.

        What on earth got into this girl? Mary sounds like Bernie Sanders railing against Wall Street, or to be more precise, like those 14^th century peasants who took one day out of the year to raucously remind Popes and Princes alike that Christ didn’t come just for the powerful.

        I am not sure we react well to Christmas Day as a feast for fools. But what better way to celebrate the vision of Mary and the grace of God then by acting just a little bit foolish on the one day of the year when we are allowed to be bold enough to remember that at the wrong place, under the most precarious circumstance, Jesus was born.

        Not quite two years ago Deb and I drove to Columbia to be with Martina as she delivered our first granddaughter. Since Deb is wonderful with the boys and I do equally well with solitude, it was mutually decided she should entertain Andy and Austin while waited outside the delivery room. When the glorious moment arrived, Zach rushed out to tell me Siddalee was fine but Martina was having an emergency procedure to stop some excess bleeding. Right on cue the nurse came through the door with my granddaughter. I nodded for Zach to go to Martina. The nurse placed this delicate life into my hands and nothing else mattered. Such is the amazing love of our God.

        One might assume since God created the universe, life’s fragility might be forgotten.       But Jesus, like all of us, was born powerless and dependent on the loving hands that held him. What an eternal memory this must have fashioned. 

        Jesus was born, not among the powerful and not in germ free hospital. Jesus was born absolutely reliant on the whims of an exhausted teenager, a confused husband, and nothing but Jesus mattered to them.

        The absurdity of Christ’s birth, the absurdity of any birth, reflects the contradiction of our lives. We imagine we are so powerful, but compared to what. We imagine ourselves to be in complete charge of the universe, but we know better. Jesus, who was born in obscurity, knows our fears, knows are confusions, knows our insecurities because Jesus was born into our confusion, lived among our insecurities, and eventually died because of our fears.

And Mary,

Sweet Mary,

Dangerous Mary,

        Perhaps even Proud Mary

Continues to sing:

God will scatter the proud.

        God will bring down the powerful.

                God will lift up the lowly.

        God will fill the hungry.

God will send the rich away empty.

       

That should cause us to pause.

Are we proud?

                        Are we powerful?

                                Do we oppress the lowly?

                        Do we ignore the hungry?

                Will God send us away empty?

       

Certainly those are questions worth considering,

but not today.

It’s Christmas,

That day when God’s memory was fully charged.

It’s Christmas,

The day when Jesus invites us to a feast of fools, where the only item on the menu is the grace of God.      

                                                                                Amen

Rejoice

Philippians 4:4-9

 

Of all the letters attributed to Paul, Philippians is my favorite.  If you have not read this epistle, I encourage you to pick up your Bible and do so.  Philippians is only four chapters long.  It will take 15 to 30 minutes.  Once read, I promise you will read it over and over and over again.

        As you read Philippians, it will quickly become apparent that Paul dearly loved this church.  Paul knew the congregation intimately and while imprisoned in Rome found time to thank the Philippians for their generosity and faithfulness.  But there was a second reason Paul wrote his beloved friends.  The Apostle had received some discouraging news of discontent among the church membership.  We are never made privy to the source or extent of these problems, but the rift afforded Paul the opportunity to share a side of his faith that we may not always appreciate when reading Romans or Corinthians.  Paul wrote to the folks he loved about the God he loved.  Then Paul revealed things we might take to heart during this Christmas season.

Paul began by exhorting all Christians to rejoice.  Sometimes life in the church becomes so complicated by details, by dotting every “i” and crossing every “t”, by meeting budgets, by doing all the so called necessary “stuff” that we forget that first and foremost the church is called to be in the rejoicing business.  Paul was not suggesting we become a bunch of Polly-Anna’s that have lost touch with reality. Paul understood what it was like to be overwhelmed by the doubts and uncertainties that cloud our hearts.  But Paul never tired of rejoicing over that moment when he first “saw the light”.  He frequently recalled that experience on the Road to Damascus where he encountered God’s revelation in the gospel of Jesus Christ. Paul believed with all his heart that God’s grace overcomes darkness, God’s grace overcomes confusion, God’s grace overcomes chaos, and God’s grace overcomes the apathy which leads to despair. 

It reminds us of those angels that disrupted the sleep of shepherds the night Jesus was born.  The shepherds lived in a dark world, ruled by fear and trepidation.  Being a shepherd was not an honor.  Children did not dream about watching sheep.  Only those qualified to do nothing else spent their nights tending the flocks.  Yet it was to lowly shepherds that God appeared.  Remember the instructions of the angels?  “Rejoice! Something incredible is happening.  Rejoice! Darkness is turning into light!  Rejoice! God has come among us! 

Then the Angel of the Lord gave the most absurd instructions.  “Go to Bethlehem and see this thing which has come to pass.”  We have heard those words for so many years they slip right past us without a thought.  Let me offer a modern translation.  The Angel of the Lord declared a revolution, a transformation of power, an overthrow of darkness, and then added, “If you want to see it for yourself run down to Stuart’s Draft.  That is where it will all begin.”  Revolutions happened in Jerusalem or Rome, not places like Bethlehem.  Revolutions happened in the palaces of kings, not in the stable of an Inn keeper.  Revolutions began with political intrigue and often ended with death.  The revolution of God began gently, with a birth, in the most unlikely place you might ever imagine.  I love the carol written by Joseph Cook.                 

“Gentle Mary laid her child, lowly in a manger.

There he lay the undefiled, to the world a stranger. Such a babe in such a place, can he be the Savior?

Ask the saved of all the race, who have found his favor.”

 

Doesn’t that sound a lot like what Paul wrote to his troubled friends, “Let your gentleness be known to everyone.  Remember the Lord is near.” 

We don’t live in a gentle world, and neither did Paul.  The Apostle was imprisoned, beaten, rejected, and often ignored.  He started churches only to see them disintegrate in the midst of fiery arguments ranging from disagreements over the sacraments to who was in charge of the kitchen.  Early in Paul’s adventures as a missionary, he would wade into fights with both theological fists blazing.  But as Paul sat in Rome, removed from the fight but not from the faith, be wrote, “Be gentle to one another.” 

One of my favorite Christmas stories is “The Greatest Christmas Pageant Ever”.  You might recall The Herdman’s. They  were the worst kids to ever darken the door of any church.  They traumatized everyone they encountered. The boys stole candy from the other kids. The girls terrorized the women of the church by smoking cigars in the bathroom. Gladys portrayed the Angel of the Lord by hollering out, “Shazzaaamm!”  But in the end, Imogene sheds a tear in the bathroom as she removes her earrings and make-up thereby transforming herself into the most improbable Mary.  She embraces the doll, wraps it an old blanket, and mystifies an anxious congregation with her gentleness.

Where do we find that brand of gentleness today?  It seems to be little out of vogue.  What could be gentler than stepping back and allowing the spot light to shine on someone else?  What could be more Christ-like than to gently walk through life creating a path that others might choose to follow?  Gentleness never seems to have an agenda.  Even in this time of greed and vanity, the campfires of gentle people continue to burn bright. 

Paul’s third suggestion is without a doubt the most difficult. He has the audacity to suggest we not worry about tomorrow.    I can rejoice…. for a day.  I can be gentle….. for maybe an hour.  But how do we not worry about tomorrow?  As parents and grandparents we have already sacrificed the New Year’s budget for that smile we receive when gifts are open on Christmas morning. But let’s be honest.  We decorate the tree, share wonderful gifts, and eat a great meal. Then we take the tree down, put the gifts in the back of the closet, and wonder what we have to do to lose the weight we gained. We celebrate the holiday but find ourselves right back where we started, with the same worries, the same uncertainties, the same life. 

Remember those shepherds we left out in the fields.  In all our Christmas plays they enter the stable, and silently kneel before the Christ child.  But in the Gospel of Luke, from the moment the shepherds arrive, there was no shutting them up.  They went on, and on, and on about the Angels and their promise of a universal transformation through this child.  Mary listened.  Mary treasured each word. Mary pondered them in her heart.  For Mary, Christmas was not about the moment. Christmas was about tomorrow.  Mary pondered the words of the angels and discovered the amazing truth of what was to come.

 

 

                Soaring above the cry of the dying,

                Rising above the whimper of the starving,

                Floating above the flying machines of death,

                LISTEN to the long stillness.

                New life is stirring,

                New dreams are on the wing,

                New hopes are being readied.

                Humankind is fashioning a new heart,

                Humankind is forging a new mind.

                Listen! God is at work;

Listen! This is the Season of Promise.*

 

Imagine allowing Christmas to fulfill its actual intention.  Christmas was never an event unto itself.  Christmas was only a beginning, an incarnation to the everlasting promise of God’s grace.  So often celebrating Christmas is like blowing air into a balloon.  As the 25^th gets closer, our anticipation expands to an improbable size.  And then Christmas is over. Sometime before New Year, we let the air out of Christmas and start to plan for the next big event.  I think we blow so much air into our Christmas balloon that we often fail to leave room for God’s Holy expansion.  Imagine coming to the stable with the expectation of discovering more than a child.  Imagine coming to the stable to discover the entire Christ event. Imagine coming to the stable as a beginning rather than an end.

Ann Weems writes, “Christmas is that hope which tenaciously clings to the hearts of the faithful and announces in the face of any Herod the world can produce that with God all things still are possible, that even now unto us a child is born.”

Against that dark night of despair 2,000 years ago, the Angel of the Lord declared, “Glory to God in the highest; Peace to all God’s children.”   Isn’t that what Paul wrote to his friends?  Isn’t that what Paul is still saying to us today. “Rejoice always.  Act gently. Place your worries in God’s hands. Allow the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, to guard your hearts and minds now and forever more.”     Amen.

 

*Howard Thurman

Going Home

Luke 3:4-6; Luke 1:68-79

 

        Imagine living in a world where rushing toward the waters of chaos is a more sensible alternative than being home. Images of mothers and fathers urging their children into boats to escape oppression is burned into the back of my eyelids, yet I have no starting point to comprehend their pain, their rationale, or their terror. I grew up within the confines of a safe community where my most radical act was daring to listen to shaggy haired poets sing about a brave new world.  Ironically, a few years later as I sat in my Quonset hut in Korea the words of my more radical songsmiths were trumped by an unremarkable Jewish kid from Queens named Paul Simon who wrote:

                Home, where my thought’s escaping,

                Home, where my music’s playing,

                Home, where my love lies waiting,

                Silently for me.

                     

        There is something about going home. For many the holiday season offers just the excuse needed to suffer all kinds of inconveniences for a day or two with family or friends.   Deb and I are no exception. As much as I preach the good news, sing the blessed carols, and faithfully script the holiday greetings, if both Martina and David aren’t around the tree on Christmas morning, the glorious day is tinged with sadness. Christmas never feels quite right if everyone hasn’t made it home.

        An often forgotten piece of Luke’s Christmas story is the song of Zechariah. In every way it is about coming home. Zechariah and his wife Elizabeth had grown old but not content. They had not been blessed with children. The poor man gave up hope of ever having a child, much less a son. Then completely out of the blue, an angel of the Lord announced Elizabeth would have a child. Zechariah, instead of rejoicing, mocked the announcement. Gabriel responded, “What is impossible for man is never impossible for God.” Then, as a reminder of his lack of faith, the old man was left speechless. Eight days after the birth of the child, Zechariah finally, speaks. What does one say after nine months of silence?

        For nine months, and eight days, Zechariah thought about the promise of Gabriel, “Your son will prepare your people for the Day of the Lord.” Zechariah, being a priest, knew exactly the implication of the inspired words. The Messiah was coming. He would be the one to lead God’s people home. Zechariah also understood that his son was not the Chosen One but rather the one who would announce the Messiah’s arrival.

        For nine months, and eight days, Zechariah must have gone through a silent agony. One day he would rejoice the homecoming was near. The next he would lament that his son was playing second fiddle. What a complex and combustible concoction of fear and joy. Eventually Zechariah began to remember the story of God’s people. Moses played second fiddle when God brought the Hebrews out of Egypt. Cyrus may have defeated the Babylonians but no one doubted who orchestrated the movement of Israel coming home to Jerusalem. 

        After nine months, and eight days, Zechariah spoke. “Blessed be the Lord. God has remembered the covenant and raised a mighty savior for us. We will be rescued from the hands of our enemies. My son will prepare the way for the Messiah. His message will be this. “By the tender mercies of God, the dawn will break, giving us light and guiding all into the way of peace.”   Sometimes going home begins when we remember the tender mercies of our God.

        Last week I was making my monthly visit to Dillwyn prison to visit Dane Roberts. Dane has completed 16 months of his three year sentence. Because he has stayed out of trouble he was moved to a new pod designated for prisoners within eighteen months of released. In our conversation he remarked how different the new section is. On the one hand, everyone wants to stay out of any trouble that would land them back in the general population. On the other hand, the existence of drugs, particularly meth, is very prevalent in this section.  I asked Dane, who is a meth addict, what he was doing to resist temptation. He held out his right hand. “Once I had a wife and a daughter.” The he held out his left hand. “I lost both of them because of what meth made me. I’ll never see either again because once in my life I could have chosen home, but I chose drugs. Today I have that choice again. I can choose meth or I can choose home.”

        Dane and I have grown close and can be very honest with each other so I said, “Dane, you are right. You will never see your wife or daughter again. They have moved on. So where is home now?”  

        He hesitated for a moment then responded, “It is more than Pricilla. It is you, and Mr. Clark, and all the folks at your church who are praying for me. I believe with all my heart when I see your church again, I will know the way home.”

        Is that the gibberish of a convict telling a minister what he wants to hear, or the words of a re-born man who honestly believes God is working to make the way home possible by filling his valleys and making his hills low?

Years of ministry have made me a bit suspicious, yet years of ministry have also taught me that Advent remains that season we need to open our hearts to the words of Isaiah and remember the glorious deeds of our God.

Comfort ye, comfort ye my people.

Speak tenderly of home,

Your term has been served.

        Within your wilderness,

                In the midst of your loneliness,

                        God has already made a highway straight.

        Every valley has been be lifted up,

                Every mountain and hill has been made low.

                        Softly, tenderly,

God’s glory has been revealed.

                                        Come home,

Come home.

                                Ye who are weary,

        Come home.