First Sunday after Christmas Dec 31 2023

First Sunday after Christmas Dec 31 2023 at Sts. Luke and  John Episcopal Church

Isaiah 61:10-62:3, Galatians 3:23-25; 4:4-7, John 1:1-18, Psalm 147 or 147:13-21

John begins at the beginning; in the beginning was the Word. John, very intentionally, places us at the beginning. The first words of John’s gospel are quite similar to the first words of scripture in Genesis. These must have been words that John had on his heart, in the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth. And John very intentionally introduces us to one of the themes that for him shapes all of faith, the light that comes into the world.

John 1 from The Message reads, “The Word was first, the Word present to God, God present to the Word. The Word was God, in readiness for God from day one. Everything was created through him; nothing—not one thing!—came into being without him. What came into existence was Life, and the Life was Light to live by. The Life-Light blazed out of the darkness; the darkness couldn’t put it out.”

John’s beginning parallels Genesis 1. From the Message Genesis 1 reads, “God spoke: “Light!” And light appeared. God saw that light was good and separated light from dark. God named the light Day, and named the dark Night. It was evening, it was morning—Day One.”

How do we imagine this wondrous thing that God does? Creation, incarnation, resurrection. Sometimes it seems so huge I cannot even begin to reason it out, and yet, every year we try to reason it out by visiting again the story of the baby, born in a barn, attended by shepherds, and angels, and animals, his parents, and eventually the visitors from the East. But, as my favorite author Madeleine L’engle writes in her book, Bright Evening Star, it is not for reason that God comes into our lives, but for love. 

So, this is how I imagine it. I’m swimming, maybe snorkeling or even SCUBA diving in a beautiful, sun filled ocean. I dive. I dive deep. I dive to the depths of the ocean. It is cold, and dark, and beautiful. I see fish I’ve never seen before, and vegetation, but it is through the darkness of that ocean water. And I can see only what is in front of my face. My breath is shallow, not deep and complete. Not only are there beautiful fish, but there are fish that look like monsters. I return to the surface and the sun and warmth and light, but very slowly, because I must - having dived so deep. On my return, I see more clearly, breathe more deeply.

I think this is what incarnation is like, this is what resurrection is like, this is what life is like. God dives down deep into our dimly lit lives, our lives as we live them in the depths of God’s ocean. And this is what Jesus does, Jesus swims around and enlightens our underwater vision so we can see and care for all of the teeming creation. And Jesus picks us up off the bottom of the ocean and carries us into that sunshine, into that new life that we inhabit. You may love completely; in ways you could never have imagined before, feeling the warmth of the sunshine all over your body. 

Incarnation, resurrection, birthed out of the waters of creation, the waters of baptism, the waters of new life. Bathed in the light that dispels the darkness. John holds on to the hope that the smallest source of light might create the possibility of belief. 

John uses this theme of light and dark to try to show us something really important. For John, darkness represents the lack of relationship. God speaks the Word into this darkness, Jesus dives into our lives for light, for love, for relationship. John calls us to turn around and face the Light, to fall on our knees and be forgiven. And today John calls us to be partners with him in showing the way to the Light.

We are yet in the season of incarnation, God in the flesh meeting 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, 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. 

Incarnation is a mystery, and yet it is not so hard. Incarnation, God in the flesh, is about love in a very real sense, it is about God’s commitment to you and to me to walk this journey with us, and it is about our commitment to love. Christmas is not about the presents; it is about God’s presence with us, and your presence with those whose path you cross.

Incarnation is about showing up, and showing forth the light that covers all darkness, and the love that wins. 

Love is born into human flesh. We are at the beginning, and we are at the end. And here in the middle, is where love turns us around, turns our world around. Here is our commitment to love as we have been loved.

I leave you with a poem today. Because Madeleine L’engle can always say it better than me. Madeleine L’Engle, First Coming, from A Cry Like a Bell, 1987, before we became concerned with pronouns.

He did not wait till the world was ready,
till men and nations were at peace.
He came when the Heavens were unsteady,
and prisoners cried out for release.

He did not wait for the perfect time.
He came when the need was deep and great.
He dined with sinners in all their grime,
turned water into wine.

He did not wait till hearts were pure.
In joy he came to a tarnished world of sin and doubt.
To a world like ours, of anguished shame
he came, and his Light would not go out.

He came to a world which did not mesh,
to heal its tangles, shield its scorn.
In the mystery of the Word made Flesh
the Maker of the stars was born.

We cannot wait till the world is sane
to raise our songs with joyful voice,
for to share our grief, to touch our pain,
He came with Love: Rejoice! Rejoice!

Amen.

Christmas Blessing

May the joy of the angels,

the eagerness of the shepherds,

the perseverance of the wise men,

the obedience of Joseph and Mary,

and the peace of the Christ child

be yours this Christmas;

And the blessing of God,

Creator, Redeemer, Spirit 

be with you today and always,

Amen.

 

3 Advent Yr B December 17 2023

 

3 Advent Yr B December 17 2023

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11, 1 Thessalonians 5:16-24, John 1:6-8,19-28, Canticle 15

The light shines in the darkness. The Word becomes flesh. These are all ways the gospel writer John shows us who Jesus is, and what that means to us, the followers of Jesus. The gospel writer John, through the baptizer John, points us to Jesus, the light, God in the flesh.

John, the gospel writer, points us to Jesus, the light, God in the flesh, not as a nice idea, but as the real thing. John, the gospel writer, points us to John who is not a Baptist, but a witness, who gives testimony to the coming of the Word in the world. John is not I AM, and John points us to who is I AM.

We really live in Advent time most of the time. Advent is a time in between. It is liminal. It is waiting, and preparing, and anticipating. Most of our lives are spent waiting for the next thing, waiting in excitement or waiting in dread. Our son says that’s what the military is all about, hurry up and wait. We look back at our lives sometimes with regret for mistakes made and perfection not achieved. Often we look back with joy in memories of those we have loved and who have loved us. We look forward with longing to what we wish may be. And Advent calls us to presence. Advent calls us to live in this liminal time with purpose, with intention. In this Advent time, we wait, but in our waiting we don’t do nothing. Advent is being fully present to what it is God births in us. In Advent we pay attention to the now of not knowing, instead of the nostalgia of what was, and the wish of what may be. And at the very same time, we are enveloped by the stories that have informed us our whole lives, the stories that call us to justice, mercy, and love. The stories that teach us who we are.

Today we find ourselves at this third Sunday of Advent, with John who points us to Jesus, the Light of the world, God in the flesh, continuing in our wait, our preparation, our anticipation. What is it that John who does not baptize Jesus, point us to? What does John the gospel writer want to show us?

This third week of Advent, we, like John the Baptist, are called to know who we are, we are God’s beloveds, and to witness to the light so that all may believe and like John the Baptist, to witness to this light that continues to brighten the darkness. John is not the light, but points to the light, in our society today, that is rare and refreshing. John has zero-interest in making this about himself. We are so used to this character John the Baptist, that I think we don’t feel the extent to which he puts himself aside for Jesus. John has his own posse, his own band of followers. And here comes this upstart Jesus, preaching a new way. 

John stands as a model and example of what life lived in response to God’s call looks like. And what does that look like? You are God’s beloved, you are enough, you are what God made you to be. So many could be disappointed and frustrated with John not taking power and opposing Jesus. John is very clear in himself that he is the voice in the wilderness, the one that points to Jesus, but is not the long expected Messiah. 

As we consider John as a model and example of what life lived in response to God’s call looks like, we must also consider Mary, whose Magnificat we read together. This song of Mary is the oldest Advent hymn. It is also the most passionate, the wildest, and one might almost say the most revolutionary Advent hymn that has ever been sung. This is not the gentle, tender, dreamy Mary as we often see her portrayed in paintings. The Mary who is speaking here is passionate, carried away, proud, enthusiastic. There is none of the sweet, wistful, or even playful tone of many of our Christmas carols, but instead a hard, strong, relentless hymn about the toppling of the thrones and the humiliation of the lords of this world, about the power of God and the powerlessness of humankind. This is the sound of the prophetic women of the Old Testament—Deborah, Judith, Miriam—coming to life in the mouth of Mary. Mary, who was seized by the power of the Holy Spirit, and who speaks, by the power of this same Spirit, about God’s coming into the world, about the Advent of Jesus Christ. Like John, Mary puts aside her own self interest for this glorious impossible. 

She, of course, knows better than anyone else what it means to wait for Christ’s coming. Her waiting is different from that of any other human being. She expects Jesus. As his mother, Jesus is closer to her than to anyone else. She knows the secret of his coming, she knows about the Spirit, who has a part in it, about the Almighty God, who has performed this impossibility. In her own body she is experiencing the wonderful ways of God with humankind: that God does not arrange matters to suit our opinions and views, does not follow the path that humans would like to prescribe. God’s path is free and original beyond all our ability to understand or to prove.

All we can do is trust that Mary knows. She knows that this is a glorious impossibility, and she knows that she is not equal to the task, but with God’s help, with her cousin Elizabeth’s help, with her community’s help, she can be the God-bearer. She knows that this is not reasonable, but that Jesus did not come for reason, but for love. 

So with Mary and with John, who do we point to in Advent waiting?  I hope we point to the one who is Love. The  Love that breaks in, the Love that  bursts through. The Love that shows up. We are here, we are waiting, ever patiently, ever watchfully. And love is born. The Divine Love Story begins again. God so loves the world, that God breaks into our world to be with us. Emmanuel, God with us. 

I am and we are God’s beloveds, and part of our call is to set ourselves aside and point to Jesus. Advent, and preparation for Christmas, has often been a time of stress, a time of expectation that cannot be met. But this time, we have the opportunity to name it all, and do it quite differently. Rather than hiding sadness and grief and loss from the world and from our friends, the gift is that we are all in it together. Rather than working ourselves into a frenetic ball of nerves about not getting it all done, we let go of our perceptions of control and affirm our call as god-bearers, and like Mary we receive the gift of new birth. And as those of you who have given birth know, it’s scary and joyful all at the same time. And with Mary and John at our side, we claim our voice to call out God is here.