Christmas 2021

Christmas 2021

Isaiah 62:6-12, Titus 3:4-7, Luke 2:(1-7)8-20, Psalm 97

 

Merry Christmas! Here we are, the day of incarnation. We have been waiting, preparing, anticipating, 

 

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness - on them light has shined. Here in front of us is this story, this story that not only tells us but shows us that the light shines in the darkness. The prophet Isaiah not only spoke to the people of thousands of years ago, but speaks to us today. You and me and all of humanity yearn for, long for, the goodness and light to call us out of our darkness. What is true is that you and me and all of humanity yearn to know the God who sees us, who favors us, who loves us so completely, that God breaks into our present with the presence that swaddles us in the love that heals, the love that sustains, the love that forgives, the love that wins.

 

We pick up the story today, as Joseph and Mary are arriving in Bethlehem. Mary is ready to give birth to this child, this bundle of flesh, this vulnerable baby. And they must travel to another town to be there for the census, with hundreds, if not thousands of others, marching across the border from Galilee to Bethlehem, to be counted. So many people, and no place to stay. So out back, with the animals, Mary sits down, and has her baby. They wrapped that baby up tight, and waited for the next thing to happen.

 

And the next thing that happens is that people start coming from all over the place. Shepherds, angels, and eventually those wise guys from the east. It’s almost like a gawker slowdown on the interstate. Something has happened, and we all slow down to look.

 

Luke tells us and has been telling us about this birth since we began reading Luke at the beginning of Advent. We began our Advent journey at the end, remember? Endings look a lot like beginnings and beginnings look a lot like endings. Here we are tonight, at the end, or is it the beginning, of the story. We accompanied John the baptizer in the wilderness. We were with Mary and Elizabeth as they recognized God’s favor with them. God sees them, and God sees us. John the baptizer is in the wilderness, not the seats of power. Elizabeth is in the hill country, not the seats of power. And Mary’s baby is born in a stable, not the seats of power. Luke uses all of this to point us to what is important. 

 

And what is important to Luke is that the good news of God in the flesh, God in all flesh, is delivered to the shepherds. Not the seats of power. Luke says to us, Jesus will be your savior and lord, not the emperor. Luke says all will be favored. God comes to the angels in the field. The meeting of the human and divine is in the fields, not the temple, not Jerusalem. God is here, God, in the flesh, is here. 

 

A child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. The good news is that God breaks into our present with the presence that swaddles us, all of us, in the love that sees us, heals us, sustains us, forgives us, the love that wins.

 

This unbelievable, unreasonable, inconceivable truth, that God is in our midst, is no longer unbelievable, unreasonable, or inconceivable. Because the grace is all around us. This story that we tell as each Christmas comes and goes, is the story of the baby born in the manger, the angels singing and the shepherds coming to see him, the wise men who read the stars and recognize this world changing event. This story is not about comfort, or nostalgia or romance. It is about God who loves us absolutely and abundantly, and who wants us and all of creation to know that Love wins. It is about God who loves us absolutely and abundantly, and who wants to meet us flesh to flesh. It is about God who loves us absolutely and abundantly, and who wants us to join with Mary as she says yes to the difficulty and pain and joy of new life and new birth. It is the story that changes everything.

 

We continue to experience much tragedy, we wonder about how to make peace in our homes, our communities, our countries. This Christmas event, this wonderful counselor, mighty God, everlasting father, prince of peace, shows us the way. This Christmas event, this Galilean carpenter, shows us the way. This Christmas event, these angels and shepherds and prophets, show us the way. This Christmas event, this baby born in a barn, shows us the way.

 

Christmas is about God showing us the way to love. Christmas is about God showing us the way to peace. Christmas is about God showing us the way to hope. God shows us through this birth, this new life, this new beginning, this powerless baby and these powerless parents in this ordinary stable. God came to dwell with humanity to show us about love. God comes to dwell with us in the flesh so that in the flesh we live life fully and completely. Emmanuel, God with us in the flesh. God came to be with us in the flesh not to relieve us of the mess and the muck of this life, the suffering and the pain of this life, but in the flesh God stands by our side, takes our hand, sometimes even carries us, and loves us.

 

And that kind of love changes us, we can't help but be changed. God in the flesh reminds us in our flesh that we don't need to be perfect because we are perfectly loved. We don't need to consume and acquire to possess worth, we are enough just the way we are created. God in the flesh reminds us in our flesh that we don't need to gain attention to earn God's love, God has already loved us into ourselves.

 

Transformation happens in our lives as we take seriously the love that God shows us in the flesh. Our hearts expand, our hearts break, we give, we receive, we grow, we die. We do not despair, or lose hope, we do not harm, we work for the good of the others with whom we share this rock, because we know that love wins. Transformation happens in our lives as we take seriously the love that God shows us in the flesh. We come here on this night/morning seeking God in the flesh, and we receive God in the flesh, Jesus, in the bread and the wine at this table, at these steps, and we are made into that flesh which God is. We are made into God's body in the world.

 

We go home, and share our own meals, we gather around our own tables, we spend time together, we give and receive presents. And we go out into the world bearing God's love, bearing the light that grows and grows and grows. We go out into the world as God's transformed body, God's flesh in our flesh, making a difference in every dark corner, in the places that need healing and wholeness and love. We go out into the world as God's body, God's flesh in our flesh, seeking God’s presence in everyone we encounter, and we show the world that love wins.

 

This birth more than 2000 years ago matters as much to us today as it did then because there continues to be those who don’t understand the nature of God’s love for all of God’s creation. There are people who continue to think that hate can defeat love, there are those who continue to think that violence is a solution when we disagree, but we know differently.

 

We know that the God who created all that is seen and unseen, the God of love, dreams for us a world in which all people are treated with dignity and respect and compassion. The God of love, who comes to us as a baby born in a barn, who comes to us as the child who must flee it’s home, who comes to us as the one whose arms of love embrace the hardwood of the cross, dreams for us a world in which we keep Christ in Christmas, by feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, forgiving the unforgivable, welcoming the stranger and the unwanted, caring for the sick, loving our enemies.

 

We are to be the surprise, we are to do the unexpected. We are to say yes with Mary to this inconceivable incarnation. We are to say yes to God made really present in you. We are the light bearers, we are the peace bearers, we are the love bearers. Amen. 

Fourth Sunday of Advent Yr C Dec 19 2021

Fourth Sunday of Advent Yr C Dec 19 2021

Micah 5:2-5a, Hebrews 10:5-10, Luke 1:39-45, (46-55), Canticle 15

 

When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leapt in her womb. Elizabeth, barren and too old to conceive, Mary, unmarried and too young to have a baby, both of these women have been favored by God. Elizabeth exclaims, “This is what the lord has done for me when he looked favorably on me and took away the disgrace I have endured among my people.” Being barren in Elizabeth’s world was shameful. Shame means unworthy, and yet in this story Elizabeth is far from shamed, far from unworthy, she is favored by God. And Elizabeth recognizes Mary also as a favored one. Favor here means being seen, being regarded. 

 

Elizabeth’s and Mary’s stories are woven together, they are both favored by God. They are both seen by God, they are both regarded by God. Elizabeth stands up and claims God’s regard for herself, and then proclaims God’s regard for her young cousin Mary. Elizabeth knows the blessedness of Mary because she has experienced it herself. Elizabeth calls Mary “mother of my Lord.” And Elizabeth feels a leap of joy in her womb. These are indeed inconceivable conceptions. 

 

Being seen, being regarded by God, as both Elizabeth and Mary are, this is no small thing. One of the deepest longings of the human soul is to be seen. You see, this is what is happening in these inconceivable conceptions. God came into Elizabeth’s life when her culture judged her worthless and barren, and God lifted her up among women and she bore John, the preparer of the way. God came into Mary’s life, a young Jewish girl, and told her she would be the mother of God. And yes, Mary did know. God came low, and saw Elizabeth and Mary, regarded Elizabeth and Mary, favored Elizabeth and Mary. God comes into our midst, God comes low. God comes into the mess and the muck of our lives, our stables. God stoops, and looks into our eyes and says, you are worthy, you are favored, you are loved. 

 

God finds Elizabeth and Mary, in the temple and in the farmyard, around the family table, and God sees them. God sees Mary, young Mary, of no means, and God risks everything, and enters creation in the same way you and I did, as a baby. Before God fed us with bread and wine, body and blood, God was fed by a mother who was exhausted and unsure. 

 

Have you ever asked yourself why you are a follower of Jesus? I have, and this is why. Right here, God, the creator of all that is seen and unseen, comes low, and in the vulnerability of a baby, says to Mary, and Elizabeth, and all the women before them and after them, I see you, you are favored. And not just the women, but men too, and all the others in between. God enters the wilderness and lifts up the lowly and scatters the proud. God sees us, God loves us, God favors us. God wants to know us. 

 

Even when that is so hard to believe. Remember, faith is not reasonable because it wasn’t for reason, but for love that Jesus came. 

 

It is for love that Jesus came, and maybe we can respond like Mary, like Elizabeth. Maybe we can respond with shouts of joy, with dances of gladness. This Good News changes us forever; it changes our world forever. It is as inconceivable and unreasonable that each of us is a God-bearer as it is that Mary is a Christ-bearer. It is inconceivable that God bursts into our world. And yet, all of Advent we wait in active anticipation of the moment that God bursts into our world as a baby, and that God bursts into our world to bring our history; our lives, to fulfillment. 

 

Mary takes her place among the messengers of God’s kingdom, from Miriam and Hannah to Isaiah and Malichi, all those who were prompted by the spirit of God to call their people to repent and rejoice. Mary’s song calls us to respond in joy and praise. The gospel of Luke is filled with people singing songs of praise. I want you to open those prayer books in front of you and remind yourselves. The Benedictus, known as the song of Zechariah, Luke 1:68-79, page 92, Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel. The Nunc Dimittus, the song of Simeon, Luke 2:29-32, p. 93, Lord, you now have set your servant free, the Magnificat, the song of Mary, Luke 1:46-55, p. 91, My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord. And Luke’s gospel ends in the temple with praise, after the ascension, they returned to Jerusalem with great joy; and they were continually in the temple blessing God. The response to joy is praise. Luke gives us the words to praise. 

 

Mary has been seen by God. She has been raised a good Jewish girl. She knows her scripture, she knows her place. Saying yes to God puts her in a very awkward, precarious, and dangerous position. She is not perfect, but she is perfectly loved. God comes low to inhabit a most vulnerable creation, a baby, born from a woman of no account, in a most humble place, a barn. And Mary responds, my soul proclaims the goodness of the Lord. 

 

And she also sings about the justice God brings to God’s people with the birth of love. Mary’s song of praise is also Mary’s song of justice. God is born in a barn, to Mary, and to Joseph, who have very little, but who say yes to this love. Mary knows that this life will be filled with heartache that will give birth to God in our midst. God favors Mary, God sees Mary. Saying yes to God makes this life joyful, but not easy. 

 

God sees you too, God loves you too. What is your Magnificat? What is your response to God’s magnificent love? I find my Magnificat contained in a Christmas Hymn,

 

O Holy Night!

The stars are brightly shining

It is the night of the dear Savior's birth!

Long lay the world in sin and error pining

Till he appear'd and the soul felt its worth.

A thrill of hope the weary soul rejoices

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!

 

May you say yes with Mary, may you trust that you have found favor with God and recognize yourself in the mirror of God’s love, may your soul cry out with a joyful shout that the God of your heart is great.

 

Amen.

Third Sunday in Advent Dec 12 2021

Third Sunday in Advent Dec 12 2021

Zephaniah 3:14-20, Philippians 4:4-7, Luke 3:7-18, Canticle 9

 

John, the unlikely bearer of good news, is the one who from the wilderness, not the seats of power, announces the coming of the kingdom. Prepare, the world is about to change. You are about to change. Remember, the repentance that John calls us to is not about feeling bad or good or even shame, repentance is a change of direction in mind and action. It is a change of perspective accompanied by bearing fruit. John describes specifically what should happen. John addresses the question that the crowds, the tax collectors, and the soldiers ask; what should we do? And John’s answer is do something. Do what you know is right, share your warm clothing and your food. Make sure you take only what you need, no more. And know what is enough. This is the good news that John proclaimed to the people. 

 

John’s baptism was not exactly the same as Jesus’ baptism. John’s baptismal call was to repentance, turn around, don’t be doing the same stuff you’ve been doing all along. This is necessary John tells us, and then John says Jesus will add another layer. Jesus will baptize with the Holy Spirit. You see, change is hard, the change that John calls those who were at the Jordan River to is hard, the change that we are called to is hard. But Jesus brings along the Holy Spirit, Jesus is the one who says, with the Holy Spirit you can do hard things, and maybe even impossible things. 

 

Look at the gloriously impossible things that have already begun to happen in Luke’s story. We are reminded of the glorious impossibility of Sarah, who in her very old age laughed to know that she would finally bear a child, and not just any child, but one who would be the father of nations. We are reminded of the glorious impossibility of Elizabeth, who in her old age also would bear a son, a son who announces the Messiah. And we are reminded of the glorious impossibility of Mary, who should not be pregnant at all, who was spared stoning for being pregnant, and who bore Jesus, the love that would cause her heartache and the love that walks with us through this life.  

 

Luke’s story is about turning, about change, about transformation and this glorious impossibility that Jesus brings to all of us who follow. But it’s not just about our own personal turning, which is indeed necessary, but it is also about the turning of our communities. Diana Butler Bass, a well known contemporary writer on the church in society, wrote in the Huffington Post, "Christians recollect God's ancient promise to Israel for a kingdom where lion and lamb will lie down together. The ministers preach from stark biblical texts about the poor and oppressed being lifted up while the rich and powerful are cast down, about society being leveled and oppression ceasing. Christians remember the Hebrew prophets and long for a Jewish Messiah to be born. The Sunday readings extol social and economic justice, and sermons are preached about the cruelty of ancient Rome and political repression. Hymns anticipate world peace and universal harmony." 

 

Diana Butler Bass describes advent, and yet we want easy, and romantic, and nostalgic. But that’s not what the story tells us. John calls us to be ready for the one who is coming, the one who has come, the one who turns the world. God in our midst, Emmanuel, the baby born in a barn, the one who shows us that Love wins and calls us to deepen our commitment to loving one another, calls us to deepen our commitment to compassion and to mercy.

 

These winter days are dark. They are short, the light is with us for only a few hours. These winter days are dark, there is much violence and sadness that may lead us to believe that the light really has gone out of the world. But Advent reminds us that the Light is never extinguished. Advent reminds us that even if it seems dark, the Light is there, and the Light will brighten even the darkest corners of our world when. Advent reminds us that God walks with us, God does not take away our sadness and our pain, but God walks with us through the sadness and the pain.

 

We live in this in-between time, in this time of the already but not yet. We live in this time where we tell the story of Jesus birth, we await Jesus’ birth, and we imagine the end, God's fulfillment of all time when the lion lays down with the lamb. This is where our hope is. It is in the already but not yet. We know what God has done in creation, we await what God will do in creation, and we live our lives in God's grace. There's no guarantee of happiness, there's no guarantee that pain and sadness will not visit us, there's no guarantee of prosperity. But there is love, there is hope, there is joy.

 

So what do we do in this dark time, what do we do as we wait for the Light to fill the room? What do we do as all around us we hear hate filled speech? What do we do when we hear calls to exclude and mark the ones who are not like us? What do we do when those who seek power rile us up by spewing fear? We don't do nothing. Waiting is not doing nothing. We love one another as God has loved us. We speak out, and we live out, against exclusion and hate. We speak out and we live out, our belief that God loves all of God’s creation, heck, God loves us, it’s certain that God loves all the others as well.  We stand up with and for our neighbors, the neighbors who live next door and the neighbors who live across the world.  

 

We hold one another, we listen to each other, we bring light into each other's lives, we do not wait alone. We are God's household, you, and me, and all of us. We bear God's light and love into. We bring healing and wholeness to those whose lives are torn apart. We bear the Good News that Love wins. 

 

As you know, there's always a lot of chatter about wishing folks a Merry Christmas at this time of the year. One of the problems with that conversation is that it misses the point. The point being that we are not at Christmas yet. And when we finally get to Christmas, and it's time to wish one another Merry Christmas, many are already tired of the whole thing, and their Christmas trees and Christmas wrappings are in the trash.

 

We live in Advent because we human beings need to spend time waiting and preparing for this event that turns the world, this event that brings light into the darkness, this event that makes the first last and the last first. We can't just jump into it. We can't just jump from Halloween to Christmas without some time to be immersed in the mystery of incarnation; this mystery that we struggle so to understand, this mystery that seems unreasonable and impossible, this mystery that takes leaps with our imaginations. In Advent, we get glimpses of God’s inbreaking, but it takes time for that mystery to grow in our hearts, and in our souls, and in our lives. It takes space for God who is with us, to sit down next to us and teach us that Love wins. It takes quiet to hear the voice of the one crying in the wilderness, and to hear the voice that calls us to turn, the voice that calls us to love one another. Amen.

 

Second Sunday of Advent Yr C 2021

Second Sunday of Advent Yr C 2021

Baruch 5:1-9, Philippians 1:3-11, Luke 3:1-6, Canticle 16

 

Nine months Zechariah was quiet, nine months he could not speak, nine months Elizabeth didn't hear him complain, nine months he had to think about what his first words would be. And those first words out of Zechariah's mouth were "Blessed be The Lord God of Israel, for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them." Zechariah was a priest in the temple. What did he do for those nine months of silence, those nine months of preparation for this child who could not be, this child to be born to his barren wife Elizabeth, this child who was an impossibility, this child who would prepare the way for the one to come after him. Zechariah waited in silence. Silence in the face of mystery, silence in the presence of new life, silence, as the world is about to turn.

 

John the Baptist, son of Zechariah, the priest of the temple and his wife Elizabeth, was as different from his father as locusts are different from lobster. John, son of Zechariah and Elizabeth, lived in the wilderness, not in the temple confines like his father and mother. John, an itinerant preacher, son of Zechariah, priest of the temple, proclaimed a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. Not temple sacrifice, not temple piety, but repentance. John, son of Zechariah and Elizabeth, preparing the way for the one who is to come. The one who changes everything.

 

The world is about to turn. The coming of Christ into the world changes everything. Blessed be the Lord God. 

 

You see, what is happening in this gospel passage has far reaching effects. This story of John, and the story of Jesus, is set squarely in the political context of its day. In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas. It is at this time and this place that God is doing something new, that the world is turning, that change is happening. We are being pointed toward this absolutely new thing that God is doing in the world. 

 

Luke is clearly setting up the dichotomy between this roll call of important persons, and those on the margins and in the wilderness: John the one who baptizes, Mary, who sings “he has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly”, Elizabeth who has been thrown away because she cannot conceive a child, and the others in Luke, the widow whose son Jesus seemingly raises from the dead, the woman who anoints Jesus’ feet, the man who crosses the road to help his neighbor, the son who is lost, Zacchaeus, these are just a few. 

 

God is doing something new, and we are to prepare for it, we are to stay awake, keep alert, be ready. The birth of two baby boys, first John and then Jesus, has everything to do with everything, Luke is saying. These seemingly insignificant baby boys change the world, Luke knows that and is telling us that. 

 

Luke has John say these words from Isaiah. “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.”

 

In Isaiah these words are about God leading God's people out of exile, back to their land. God will make straight paths through the wilderness, a smooth and easy return -- in essence a new "exodus" -- bringing the people of Israel out of bondage and back to the Promised Land. The path is for the people; God-made, God-led. And in Luke, John points directly at Jesus, who comes to empower and finish the re-turn of God's people to their God. John points to Jesus who shows all humanity that Love wins.

 

These two bundles of promise, John, born to Elizabeth and Zechariah, and Jesus, born to Mary and Joseph, bring God's love into time and space. These two bundles of hope, show us that the world is about to change. These two bundles of peace, speak truth to power. These two bundles of joy, bear such grief to their mothers. These two bundles show the world that love wins. 

 

John, who is the unlikely bearer of good news, the one who from the wilderness, not the seats of power, announces the coming of the kingdom. Prepare, the world is about to change. You are about to change. That is the repentance that John calls us to. You see, waiting is not doing nothing. Waiting is about preparing for the surprise, waiting is about turning around and paying attention, waiting is about participating in the reality of God's kingdom, waiting is about the not yet that already is. Waiting is about being who God calls you to be, whether or not you know who that is yet. The repentance that John calls us to is a change of direction in mind and action. It is not about feeling bad or good or shameful. Repentance is being who God calls you to be, and who God calls us to be. And being who God calls us to be is what we do in the waiting, it is what we do in the preparing. And who God calls us to be may be surprising, indeed, if it is not surprising, it may not be God doing the calling.

 

So in this Advent waiting that is not doing nothing, we may hear God's voice surprising us. God's voice that says you are already loved, you can do nothing more or less to earn my love. Let go, give up control. Put up your tent, make camp right here. Enjoy what this is, right here, right now. The one next to you is also already loved, just as much as you are. Give her a smile, buy his coffee, make their day. 

 

So in this Advent waiting that is not doing nothing, we may hear God's voice surprising us. Take time to pray, to listen, to wonder, to invite God into this day, this circumstance, this ordinary stable in which we live. Give up the busyness, the worry, the noise, the stress. Be filled with the Love that is born in the mess of the stable, the Love that is born in your heart, the Love that is born here each time the one who is looking for something more finds their way to this table. Be filled with the Love that wins your time and attention, your pocketbook, your heart and your mind and your soul. 

 

And in this Advent waiting that is not doing nothing, in this in between time that is the now and not yet, remember Zechariah’s silence, remember Elizabeth’s surprise. In this Advent waiting that is not doing nothing, in this in between time that is the now and not yet, remember John’s call to turn around, listen, pay attention, prepare a place for Love to be born.

 

First Sunday of Advent Yr C November 28 2021

First Sunday of Advent Yr C November 28 2021

Jeremiah 33:14-16, 1 Thessalonians 3:9-13, Luke 21:25-36, Psalm 25:1-9

 

Endings look a lot like beginnings, and beginnings look a lot like endings. Today, we begin at the end. Next week we move to the beginning. But as today we begin at the end, it will serve us well to remember some things we need to know. In this passage we read today, Luke, who is writing this in the later part of the 1^st century, has Jesus telling the people who are listening three very important things. First, Jesus tells them about the destruction of the Temple, the place where God is located. Secondly, Jesus tells them about the destruction of the whole of Jerusalem, the city that is home. That destruction happened around 70. Thirdly, And Jesus tells them about the coming of the Son of Man. Those first two things, the destruction of the temple and the destruction of the whole of the city of Jerusalem are historical, that happened. The third thing, the coming of the Son of Man, is how Luke tells the disciples and us, about who Jesus is. 

 

What we are reading today is called apocalyptic literature. Now, that may seem a big, scary word, but it’s not really. Apocalyptic means revealing. In Jewish and Christian Apocalyptic, it means, God is being revealed. And God is being revealed in an absolutely new way, it is big, but not so scary. 

 

If you were a Jew at the time, it would be big and scary. Your place of worship, and your home, are destroyed by the Roman Empire. Everything you know to be true is gone, there is no stone left upon stone. The question asked in those times was, where is God located if not in the Temple? As you and I listen to the entire story, we know that God is now located in the flesh and blood of Jesus, that is incarnation, God with us, God in our midst, Emmanuel, all names for Jesus. And in this passage, Luke also calls Jesus the Son of Man. 

 

But it must have been like the beginning of the end of the world to them. Those who surrounded Jesus wonder what would happen next, what would their lives be like, would they even live to see the next day? This looked like the end. And the end seems scary. This seemed like God is no longer present. It seemed like chaos was overtaking order. 

 

And it seems like all those post-apocalyptic stories I love to read. As humans we are always searching for God, and our stories are filled with the possibility of an absent God, or an abandoning God, that’s what the people in Jerusalem were wondering, did God abandon them? What we are reading today is a post-apocalyptic story, as wild and fearful as any post-apocalyptic story written today. 

 

I think the question that we ask today is how do we boldly go where no one has gone before? Where is our hope after this storm, this destruction, this apocalypse of pandemic? To whom does the future belong? And as we embark upon Advent, how do we prepare, how do we anticipate the inbreaking of Jesus in the midst of the chaos that we may be feeling in these days? And how do we wait in faithful anticipation?

 

Part of waiting is in anticipation of what life will be like when the waiting is over. As we wait, we may have the opportunity to reflect on life as it is and possibly to come to appreciate the glimpses of the wonder and beauty of life as it is. Maybe, we begin to see life differently, more clearly. Maybe, all the things we thought were important aren’t so important anymore. Maybe, the falseness is being stripped away, and what is left is a truer person, a person who wants to plunge into every moment of life, no matter what, instead of sleepwalk through it. Maybe there is actually transformation in the waiting. At its deepest, Advent waiting transforms us. We are shown a glimpse of “what if.” What if we approach our Advent waiting as a radical time of transformation? 

 

The Good News is that Advent transformation isn’t born out of fear, fear of the end of the world, fear of war and destruction, fear of those who are different than us. Advent transformation comes from joy because the promise has already been given. Advent transformation comes from the hope that Love wins. For those with the eyes of faith, “what if” has already happened. God is already with us. The reign of God is at hand. Heaven is already here. And nothing will break God’s promise.

 

Our Advent waiting may then be about making the world look more like the heaven that we already see by faith. We do this by focusing on the essentials—the basic things every human needs in order to reflect the divine. The poor have to be cared for, the hungry have to be fed, the homeless have to be sheltered, the refugee has to be welcomed, and the sick need to be healed. Forgiveness has to be offered, those at war must stop, and peace must be our legacy.

 

It’s almost as if Advent calls us to faith in the Real Absence of Christ—to believe in Emmanuel even in our darkness, in God-With-Us even when we hear no answer, and in the Incarnation even when we feel nothing at all. And so during Advent waiting, we may abstain from the flurry of Christmas not as a penitential punishment, but as a way to train our eyes to see God even without the angels and trees, crèches and stars. We focus instead on the basics of light in the darkness, silence in the chaos, and stillness in the turmoil. Advent waiting is waiting for Love to be born, again.

 

The promise in all of this in Luke, in the midst of the distress in our scripture reading today, in the midst of the terror and chaos that the Jews of the 1^st century were experiencing, is that the end of times reality is that the end is not the end, our end is a person. The alpha and the omega, the beginning and the end. You see, Jesus is our end, our end is in the living Christ and the end is filled with new possibilities. And because you and I are living in this in between time, after Jesus was born into our world, after Jesus lived, died, resurrected from the dead and ascended, and before the fulfillment of all things, you and I are living in new possibility, new hope, new life. 

All Saints Sunday Yr B Nov 7 2020

 All Saints Sunday Yr B Nov 7 2020

Isaiah 25:6-9, Psalm 24, Revelation 21:1-6a, John 11:32-44

 

The Feast of All Saints is a celebration of family, a household celebration, and a celebration of all our relations. It is about the cloud of witnesses, the communion of Saints. It is about Lazarus and Martha and Mary and the witnesses that stood at Lazarus' tomb and watched Lazarus come out, and those in the stories we have been reading for weeks now, the witnesses whose names we spoke aloud in this morning's litany, and the witnesses that sit right here beside us in these pews. It is about baptism and baptismal promises. For in your baptism your creation as God’s beloved is realized, you are already one in the communion of Saints. The Feast of All Saints is a time when our faith holds us. All the saints, past and present, who said yes to God’s love, and whose faith sustains us even when our own faith falters.

 

Oh Lazarus, whom Jesus raised from the dead, stand here beside us. Oh Martha and Mary whose grief was complete, stand here beside us. Oh women and men who stood at the tomb, stand here beside us. Stand here beside us and show us the way. Stand here beside us and witness to the freedom that Jesus offers from all that holds us hostage. Stand here beside us and shout before the whole world, Love wins. O cloud of witnesses teach us how to follow the way.

 

Lazarus came out of the tomb bound with strips of cloth. Following Jesus is about throwing off that which binds us. Following Jesus is casting away that which is killing us. Following Jesus is being freed to live the new life Jesus' life, death, and resurrection affect for us. Oh Lazarus, stand here beside us and show us what it is that binds us. Show us what it is that is killing us.

 

What is it that binds you? What holds you hostage and keeps you from the new life that Jesus promises you today? Fear holds many of us hostage, and yet the definition of courage is to act in the face of fear. We are called to be courageous in these days. We are called to seek and serve all persons in these days.

 

The fear of not having enough or the pursuit of as much as possible gets in the way of real relationship with God and with others. Lay it down. Perfection, expecting ourselves to be perfect, expecting others to be perfect, just one of many idols that we erect between God and ourselves. Lay it down. Being in control, now that’s an illusion. Lay it down. Immortality, none of us gets out of this life alive. Lay it down.

 

Martha and Mary, stand here beside us. Their brother has been dead and in the tomb for four days. The grief washes over them in waves of misery. We know much of grief in these days, in these months. There must be someone to blame, there has to be someone to blame. Jesus, if only you had been here earlier, none of this would have happened. Martha and Mary, stand here beside us and show us the way to faith, the kind of faith that lets Jesus in, even in misery and grief. The kind of faith that does not build walls, but instead builds relationships. The kind of faith that embraces sorrow and grief so that the new growth, new life may emerge. Martha and Mary, stand here beside us. 

 

Oh unnamed widow, who gave every penny, stand here beside us. Stand here beside us and show us how to respond to God's amazing and abundant love with all that we are, with all that we have, even when we think we have so little. Oh unnamed widow, who gave out of her poverty, show us our poverty so that we may learn to give. What is our poverty? Time? We have so little time, not enough time to do all we wish to do. Not enough time to spend it with those we love. Not enough time to travel. Not enough time to volunteer. Not enough time. Is mercy and compassion our poverty? We are quick to judge. We are quick to seek revenge. We are quick to explain our rightness. Is forgiving our poverty? We are slow to forgive when we believe we have been wronged. We will not forgive when we believe we are right. Oh unnamed widow, stand here beside us, and show us our poverty. Show us that all belongs to God, all that we are, all that we have, the earth we walk upon, the sky that is above our heads. Show us how to be stewards, those who care for all that has been entrusted to us, show us how to give.

 

Oh blind Bartimaeus, stand here beside us. Show us what we cannot see. Show us that which blinds us. Who do you not really see? Who sits at your lunch table, or your family table, whom you do not really see? What words and actions of others cause you to close your eyes to seeing those with whom you disagree? 

 

Oh, James and John, stand here beside us. Show us how the first will be last and the last will be first. 

 

Oh witnesses that have gone before us, stand here beside us and show us the path. There are so many in our lives who are examples of giving. Our mothers, our daughters, our sisters. There are so many in our lives who are examples of loving no matter what. Our fathers, our sons, our brothers. There are so many in our lives who were broken and put back together by God's love, Jesus' gift. There are so many in our lives who believe in us, who teach us to believe in ourselves, and who show us God's love. Our teachers, our preachers, our coaches, our friends. There are so many in our lives who show mercy and compassion, who show us that Love wins. Oh witnesses, stand here beside us.

 

Household of Trinity, stand here beside us. Hold each other in our grief. Cheer for each other in our joy. Help each other when we fall. Teach each other about who we are. Encourage each other in our compassion. Pray for each other when we cannot pray ourselves. Tell the truth to each other when the truth seems hard. Be the light and the life and the love that shows that Love wins. Show the way of love, the way of mercy, the way of compassion.

 

All the saints of God, stand here beside us. Show us the way in front of us. Our passage from Revelation shows us the way. It gives us a glimpse of the world God dreams for us. God will dwell with God’s people and will wipe away every tear from our eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away. All things are made new. You see, this celebration of All Saints, reaffirming our baptism, reminds us that, painful though it may be, we need not fear death, and we need not fear life. Death brings grief and sadness, absolutely. But this celebration, as well as all our celebrations at the altar, reminds us that death does not have the last word. So even through our tears and sadness, along with all those who have lived and loved before us, we will make our song, 'Alleluia Alleluia Alleluia.'

 

All the saints of God, stand here beside us.

Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost, Proper26 Yr B Oct 31 2021

Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost, Proper26 Yr B Oct 31 2021

Ruth 1:1-18, Psalm 146, Hebrews 9:11-14, Mark 12:28-34

 

Jesus may have been asked the hardest final exam question ever. Which is the greatest commandment, and why, give examples, show your work, and cite your sources. 

 

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength. You shall love your neighbor as yourself. There is no other commandment greater than these. And we spend our entire lives trying to work this out. 

 

So today I want to tell you a story about how we got to this great commandment, consider this me showing my work and citing my sources. 

 

The Ten Best Ways story follows.

 

Desert Box

People of God

heart-shaped box with commandments

Mount Sinai

 

This is the desert. It is a dangerous place. People do not go into the desert unless they have to. There is no water there, and without water we die. There is no food there. Without food, we die.

 

When the wind blows, it changes the shape of the desert. People get lost. Some never come back.

 

In the daytime, the sun is so hot that people must wear lots of clothes to protect themselves from the sun and the blowing sand. The sand stings when it hits your skin. The sun scorches you by day. At night it is cold. You need many clothes to keep warm The desert is a dangerous place. People only go there if they have to.

 

(Put some of the People of God in the far-right corner. Arrange them in a circle. Also, place Mt. Sinai in the left hand corner of the Desert Box, the corner nearest you.)

 

The People of God went through the water into freedom. They were free! So Miriam led the dancing! 

 

Now that the people are free, they can go anywhere they want to go and do anything they want to do. So where should they go now? What should they do? Where will they go now? What is the best way?

 

God loved the People so much that God gave them the Ten Best Ways to Live. Sometimes these ways are called the Ten Commandments. 

 

(Show the heart-shaped box as you say this, but don’t open it yet.)

 

As the people traveled across the desert, they followed fire by night and smoke by day. They began to complain. Some even wanted to go back to Egypt. There was not enough food. There was not enough water. God helped Moses find food and water. Finally they came to the great mountain.

 

(Begin to move the people to your left. Mt. Sinai is in the lower left corner of the Desert Box, closest to you, so that most of the children can see what happens. Move the people carefully until they are all at the foot of the mountain.)

 

The people came close to the mountain, but they were afraid to touch it. Mt. Sinai was covered with fire and smoke. Moses was the only one who had the courage to climb up into the fire and smoke to meet God. 

 

(Move Moses up to the top of the rock. AS he moves up the mountain, hide the figure in your hand to show his disappearing in the smoke.)

 

When Moses was on top of the mountain, he came so close to God, and God came so close to him that he knew what God wanted him to do. 

 

God wanted him to write the Ten Best Ways to Live on stones and bring them down the mountain to the people.

 

God gave the Ten Commandments to Moses. Moses gave them to the people and they gave them to us. 

 

(Present the heart-shaped box, and then open it. Begin with the summary. One tablet says, “Love God.” The other one says, “Love People.” A third triangular piece completers the shape of a heart and says, “God loves Us.” As you lay these pieces flat in the sand, read them aloud.) 

 

Here are the Ten Best Ways. when we put the Ten Best Ways all together, this is what they tell us: Love God. Love People. God Loves Us. when we say “us,” we mean God’s love for each one of us as well as all of us together. 

 

(Place the tablets in a line behind “Love God”) 

1)    Don’t serve other gods.

2)    Make no idols to worship.

3)    Be serious when you say my name

(Place the fourth tablet in the middle because it tells us how to love both God and people)

4)    Keep the Sabbath holy.

(Read the next tablets slowly and place them behind “Love People.”)

5)    Honor your parents.

6)    Don’t kill.

7)    Don’t break your marriage. You know, when people get married they think they will be married forever. Sometimes that just doesn’t work out. 

8)    Don’t steal.

9)    Don’t lie.

10) Don’t even want what others have.

 

These are all hard. God did not say that these are the “ten easy things to do.” They are the Ten Best Ways. They are hard, perhaps even impossible, but we are supposed to try. They mark the best way – like stones marking a path. 

(End of story)

 

These ten best ways get translated into the Shema that Jesus repeats when questioned by the scribe, and it is extraordinary. This was not a new thing with Jesus. This love ethic is built into the law and the Ten Best Ways. 

What Jesus does is to restate the commandment. 

 

So now we wonder. This is where you participate. I wonder what it means for you, that the greatest commandment is, You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength. You shall love your neighbor as yourself. And that the Lord your God, the Lord is one.

 

We have been hearing from Mark for weeks now these stories of following Jesus. Following Jesus is about being healed from blindness, it's about seeing with new eyes. Following Jesus is about being baptized into the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Following Jesus is to walk with the poor. Following Jesus is to be in relationship with all of God's creation, and to protect the most vulnerable of God's creation. Following Jesus is to cast off the idol, to lay down that which is killing you. Following Jesus is to live one's life as if God matters. Amen.

 

Twenty-Second Sunday after Pentecost Proper 25 Oct 24 2021

Twenty-Second Sunday after Pentecost Proper 25 Oct 24 2021

Job 42:1-6, 10-17, Psalm 34:1-8, (19-22), Hebrews 7:23-28, Mark 10:46-52

 

We take up with the gospel of Mark again in the shadow of Jerusalem, on the way to the cross. We've been on this road for a while now, partners with those in the story who are also on the way. Before the followers of Jesus were called Christians, they were, as we are, people of the way. This story of the blind Bartimaeus is the last story of Jesus’ ministry before the cross, the passion, and resurrection. I think this story of Bartimaeus is in stark contrast to the story that we heard last week, the story about James and John. James and John ask Jesus for power and status, Bartimaeus asks Jesus for healing. God lavishes love on them all, Jesus calls them as followers, and yet each of them must let go of something they’ve been holding on to live fully free, fully alive.

 

"What do you want me to do for you?" Jesus asks Bartimaeus, it’s the same question that Jesus asked James and John only a moment ago in the story, and that we talked about last Sunday. But the gulf between the request that James and John make, and the request Bartimaeus makes is cavernous. James and John were somewhat confused, remember, they ask Jesus for power, they think the kingdom is about a seating chart at a party. But Bartimaeus, Bartimaeus asks to see. Nothing like the power and status, the place at the table that James and John were all about, and what’s more is that Bartimaeus wasn’t even officially a disciple.

 

Imagine Bartimaeus, sitting in the road, probably at the main gate of Jericho, day after day, all day, in the hot sun, begging. But Bartimaeus knows who Jesus is, he’s listened to the talk, he calls out to Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me. Let me see.

 

Two things here that are so unlike the James and John story, or the story of the earnest young man, which we also heard a couple weeks ago. First, the request, have mercy on me, heal me. Second, the ramifications of that healing, what it means to follow Jesus.

 

Have mercy on me, Bartimaeus asked, mercy. You know what mercy means? A heart for other people’s troubles. Bartimaeus was asking Jesus to have a heart for his troubles. That’s all, hear me, see me, and if you’ve got it in you, heal me. And that’s what Jesus did, Jesus heard him, Jesus saw him, and having a heart for his trouble, Jesus healed Bartimaeus.

 

So once Bartimaeus is healed, what does he do? Bartimaeus’ profession is begging. Once he is healed, his life is changed, he can’t go on begging anymore, so he follows Jesus. Just like the others, he gets up and follows. Bartimaeus exchanges a life of begging, a life of blindness, a life of being on the margins, for this life of following Jesus. And you and I know where that’s going, straight to the cross.

 

No matter how much we think we have, no matter our wealth, our status, our power; or no matter what we think we don’t have, our lack of health, our lack of wealth, our lack of support, we leave it all behind when we follow Jesus, none of that matters. We get so wrapped up in our own shortcomings, or we spend so much time valuing our worth by what others think is important, that we forget that we are God’s beloveds, and we forget to have mercy, a heart for other people’s troubles.

 

Jesus calls us to follow, Jesus calls us to surrender things that poison us, or things that keep us from seeing what is around us, Jesus calls us to be merciful, to have a heart for other people’s troubles. Jesus' call to us, the call to be followers, is to open ourselves up, to surrender the stuff that insulates us from our neighbors, to let Love win. Being healed isn't easy for us. Anne Lamott, in her book, Almost Everything, Notes on hope, writes, ”Being healed is finally recognizing your loveliness in Jesus’ eyes and finally letting yourself be loved, and finally letting go whatever it is you’re sick and tired of, because you can’t control it anyway.”

 

That is the risk in being healed. We can’t control it. That is the risk in letting Jesus change you, you can’t control it. Life will never, can never be the same. But out of what seems like death, and letting go is a death of something, comes resurrection. 

 

We cling so desperately to that which we believe is our identity, no matter how healthy or unhealthy; it's nearly impossible to give that up to an identity as beloved of God. Letting go of what we believe defines us to take on our true identity as God’s beloved, is hard. But unless and until we let die what is killing us, we can never be healed, we will never be transformed into the new person in Christ. The Good News is that when we make room for Love to interrupt our precisely organized patterns, we make room for Love to change our path; we make room to go home by a different way. And there will be new life in ways we can hardly begin to imagine.

 

As we listen to this story of Bartimaeus, there is another hard truth to listen to. Healing doesn’t look like what we expect it to look like. In the pages we hold between our hands, we read of the ones whose diseases were cured, because what fun is it to write about the ones who were not. But the truth is healing cannot be controlled. Not all are healed of their obvious or maybe not so obvious disease. Most of us are in that group, most of us cannot tell a story about a personal miraculous healing, some of you can, but not most of us. Most of us tell stories about the pain and difficulty of disease that is our own or our loved ones. Most of us live with chronic pain and addiction. Most of us live with broken bodies and broken hearts. This is what it means to be human. So the hard truth is that we are God’s beloveds. 

 

You see, I believe the healing in Bartimaeus’ story is not so much regaining sight, but in being restored to the community. In every one of the healing stories, that is the point. Jesus calls us from the margins back into the community. Bartimaeus is called, and healed, and follows Jesus. We are called, healed in obvious ways and not so obvious ways, and we follow Jesus. Not in a transactional sense, but in a deepening sense. The journey to the cross is as difficult as it is exhilarating; following Jesus is not for the faint of heart. But the good news is that we are all in this life together. When we are in this life together, the burden of a broken heart and a broken body becomes a bit lighter. Hope is born in and among us, Jesus is born in and among us. 

 

And that is where mercy and love grow. Mercy and love and compassion grow out of the broken places. It’s like when you are hiking on the granite rocks of Lake Superior, and in the middle of all that hard rock, there is a fissure, a crack, and out of the crack there is a tree. The good news is seeing, seeing, the grace, the joy, the wonder, in all that life throws at us. And unlike Bartimaeus and the others, we know the end of the story. We know that resurrection happens. We know that life always wins over death. We know that we are part of resurrection. There is hope.

 

Twenty-First Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 24 Yr B Oct 17 2021

Twenty-First Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 24 Yr B Oct 17 2021

Job 38:1-7, Psalm 104:1-9, 25, 37b, Hebrews 5:1-10, Mark 10:33-45

 

Teacher, we have something we want you to do for us, James and John ask Jesus. Arrange it, they say, so that we will be awarded the highest places of honor in your glory - one of us at your right, the other at your left. James and John ask Jesus for something Jesus has shown no desire to give, placing some above others. Or giving some more or better attention. But James and John are not ill-informed or ignorant. They’ve witnessed Jesus’ miracles and listened to his teachings. James and John are doing what humans do best, hoping and praying that the world has not and will not change as much as it already has and as much as they know it will. But there is no return for James and John to what once was after the heavens were ripped apart. There is no going back to life before the storm. 

 

This misunderstanding follows the third time in Mark’s story Jesus tells the disciples the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes and will be condemned to death. The disciples, even though this is the third time they’ve heard Jesus say this, find this news astounding, alarming, and frightening. And equally as astounding, I think it causes James and John especially, and the others as well, to be confused about their own calling, and who Jesus is. James and John seem to think this is about seating order at a party, not life in God's kingdom. They don’t seem to remember that Jesus has just taught them about laying down their life, or about what greatness looks like, or the words about being last of all and servant of all. And so Jesus has to tell them again. Jesus says, this is hard, are you willing to accept that? Are you willing to drink the cup I will drink? Are you willing to be in this all the way to the end? Are you willing to participate in this earth shaking change? Are you willing to receive my love, my gift, for your freedom? Because, Jesus’ love for us, God’s beloveds, washes over all of us no matter what.

 

For James and John and the other disciples, and for us, there is no going back to life before the storm. But we try. And we have been trying. Hoping and praying that the last twenty months are a mere blip in our shared life. That everything will return to normal when this is all over. Even a bump along this road of declining church attendance. We are more like James and John than we care to admit. We fall back on what we know—what’s comfortable; how the world always worked. The “used to be’s”. For James and John, that meant glory as hierarchy and power as prestige. For the 21^st-century church, it’s no different, with a bushel of denial of the truth and a doubling down on a kind of privilege our culture never should have exercised in the first place.

 

But the world changed for James and John. Jesus went to the cross. The world has changed for us. What once was, is not working anymore. We know that. Deep in our hearts and souls. And we don’t know how to fix it. There is no going back to life before the storm.

 

So we remember, Jesus’ love for us, God’s beloveds, washes over all of us no matter what.

 

Aren’t we a lot like James and John though? If Jesus were anything like me, and thank goodness he’s not, Jesus would say to James and John, since when did you think this was about you? Since when did you think this is about your power, your prestige, your privilege? It’s about Jesus’ love for us, and we are God’s beloveds. It’s about Jesus’ call to us to love our neighbor. Have we lost our way? We get frightened or confused about our calling as citizens of God’s kingdom, and we forget who Jesus is.

 

Jesus’ love for us, God’s beloveds, washes over all of us no matter what. The call that James and John seem to be missing is right there in front of them, and is really good news, whoever wants to be great must become a servant. In the household of God, no one can claim privilege of place; we are all adopted children by our baptism. Jesus asks James and John if they are willing to dive into the water with him. "The cup that I drink you will drink; and with the baptism with which I am baptized, you will be baptized." Jesus’ journey in the gospel of Mark began in the waters of the Jordan, in baptism, and that journey will be to the cross and resurrection. The grace in this story is that Jesus is the one who comes and shows the way of love, Jesus shows the way of vulnerability all the way to the cross. You see, speaking and acting in terms of who deserves what, who deserves health care or housing or hospitality, who deserves eternal life, who deserves to be on Jesus’ right hand, are so beside the point. The grace in this story is that Jesus, with his very life, death, and resurrection, puts himself in our place, in your place, and in my place, and says, everyone of you is worth my love.

Jesus’ love for us, God’s beloveds, washes over all of us no matter what.

 

You are God’s beloved. You are baptized into Jesus' life, suffering, death, and resurrection. Taking Jesus' cup is about diving into the waters of our own baptism, waters that bring the dead to life, waters that fill an empty soul, waters that give a heart the only thing worth living, and worth dying for. We get completely wet in these holy waters. There is grace in diving into the waters of baptism, and receiving the unconditional, undeserved, underrated love that is God’s love. When we take the cup that Jesus drinks, when we are washed with the waters of baptism, we, God’s beloveds, are called to respond to Jesus’ love, with love. We are called not to the seat of power, but to the posture of service. And our lives are made new, our lives are transformed, our lives become the wave of change. The wave of change, the wave of love, the wave of mercy, the wave of kindness. 

 

The world has changed forever, there is no going back to life before the storm. But remember that when the heavens were ripped apart, the Spirit was let loose into the world, descending from firmament’s fissure and into Jesus.

It would be that same Spirit who would be present with Jesus in the wilderness, on the cross, and in that cold, dark, and seemingly hopeless tomb.

It would be that same Spirit who would stir the hearts of Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome to go back to that grave and look death in the eye once again.

And it is that same Spirit who is in and among us, with us and beside us, calling us to change our perspective, to see what can be, to trust that the kingdom of God has come near and still is.

It is that same Spirit who is inspiring God’s church once again to lead from and preach the gospel we know to be true: our God is here. Believe in the good news.