Christmas 2019

Audio   Christmas 2019

Isaiah 9:2-7, Titus 2:11-14, Luke 2:1-20, Psalm 96

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

Many of you know we recently had our first grandchild. Elijah. Elijah means, my God is Yahweh. What a wonderful child he is, the cutest and happiest I know. Remember when your baby was born? We all have stories about our baby’s birth, or the day and circumstances of adopting. When we tell those stories we often have a bit of a bias. When I’m with a first-time pregnant mom, I usually talk about how wonderful the births were. But I leave the details of pain, and long labor, and exhaustion for when I’m talking to a well-seasoned mom.

I think the nativity passage from Luke is something like that, the writer has left out a lot of details. Like all the details, no pushing, or pain, no mess, no exhaustion. Except one, one detail. Mary swaddled her baby. Mary wrapped her baby in bands of cloth. Swaddling is an age-old practice of wrapping infants in blankets or similar cloths so that movement of the limbs is tightly restricted. Our kids call swaddling a “baby burrito.” A blanket wrapped snuggly around a baby’s body can resemble the mother’s womb and help soothe a newborn baby. What a lavishing love Mary shows.

I understand why the gospel writer Luke has left out all the other details, it’s not his birth story. It’s Mary’s. Mary would have told us about how uncomfortable she was making that journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem when she was 9 months pregnant, ready at any moment for this birth that was so surprising, so unexpected, so fearfully awesome. Mary would have told us about knocking on the doors of the homes in Bethlehem, small structures, with a room for all the animals to be taken in at night, with a manger, a feeding box for the animals, and a space nearby for the whole family to sleep. Mary would have told us that there were so many people in Bethlehem that she and Joseph had trouble finding someplace to lay down and rest. Mary would have told us about those who finally took them in, let them stay with their animals that were also in for the night.

Mary would have told us that the birth came quickly, much more quickly than she had expected. And that by the time the baby was born she was exhausted, and messy, and nestled in for the night with the animals. Mary would have told us that she knew this child, Mary would have told us that she knew someday her heart would break.

So Mary took what she had, some bands of cloth, and Mary swaddled her baby, her baby Jesus. She wrapped him up, comforted him, nursed him. She held him to herself, she whispered in his ear, she sang to him and she knew, as every mother knows, that her heart was now exposed to the world to be broken.

This was an ordinary birth, a salt of the earth birth, a birth attended by livestock, and people these parents hardly knew. This was an ordinary birth, these were ordinary parents, they didn’t have much, but they had enough; today we may even describe them as poor. Also in attendance were the shepherds, and along with Mary and Joseph they have a front-row seat to welcome the good news of great joy for all the people. You know that shepherds were, well, undesirable. They lived outside all the time, guarding sheep from wolves and thieves, guiding them to suitable pasture. A younger son for whom there was no hope of inheriting the family farm, might become a shepherd, as would a man who for some reason was not suitable for marriage. It was among these that Jesus’ birth was first celebrated.

But the attendance of angels alerts us to the reality that this was also an extraordinary birth, a totally unreasonable, inconceivable, glorious impossible birth. The angels alerted the shepherds to this birth, and they alert us to this birth, and they alert all of creation to this birth. Because not only is there a baby born in Bethlehem, of ordinary people in an ordinary way, but there is a baby born in Bethlehem that changes the world. As Mary held her newly born son, she also holds all possibility, all love, and all creation waits as God’s dream blossoms.

God’s dream for creation is born in Jesus, on that day, on this day, and on each day we choose to follow. Jesus is born in us. God’s dream for us is much like Mary’s dream for her child. God’s dream for us is much like your dream for your child, and those whom you love. And love for a child is a lot like having your heart exposed to the wills of the world. Our hearts break in pain, and our hearts soar with joy, as does God’s, I believe.

God’s dream for us is to love one another, God’s dream for us is to serve one another, God’s dream for us is to forgive one another. We live in a world that is at times messy, hateful, imperfect. We bring our whole self’s to this space, often messy, sometimes hateful, always imperfect. And this baby born in Bethlehem, near a very messy manger, to a very young mother who may not have known much about motherhood, but who wrapped her baby tight and loved him, this baby who is God with us, accepts us with all of our imperfections, and loves us perfectly. We are not unlike Mary and Joseph, searching for a place to be home and give birth. Mary and Joseph and the shepherds, all of these, for whom there was no room, find room in Jesus. We find love, a love that is compassionate, and merciful, and just. May we, here at Trinity church, always be a home for those who like the shepherds, have no other home, may we always welcome each one of God’s children home.

This child who arrives in the ordinary way, becomes a home for humanity. This child who arrives in the ordinary way welcomes us home and heals us, puts us back together when we are broken. This child in whom God’s dream is made real, whose birth is impossible and unreasonable. Because remember, it is not for reason that God comes to be with us and all of creation, it is for love.

Christmas, 2013

Audio mp3

Love breaks in, Love bursts through. We are here, we waited, 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. No matter how many times I come to this place, this celebration, each time I am awestruck at the Love that wins. 

God, who is the baby born in a barn, the King on a bed of straw, Jesus, enters our world, our lives, our hearts, because God, the creator of all that is seen and unseen, loves us. God, the creator of the universe, breaks into history, to show us the way to mercy and compassion and justice. In this night/morning, all of creation, the sheep and shepherds, the angels, Mary and Joseph, join together singing the love song of the ages, Holy, Holy, Holy. 

We prepare for this birth each year, we wait in the quiet, we are illuminated by the increasing light, and we come to this night/morning, so that we remember who we are. We remember we are God's beloved, we remember Emmanuel, God with us. We look ahead with hope, trusting that our brokenness will be healed. 

Life breaks through, love will not be contained, sometimes painfully, sometimes dangerously. This night/day changes things. This birth changes the world. Jesus, born in the muck and the mess of a stable walks with us, not to take away our humanity, but to fulfill our humanity. Jesus, born to ordinary people, Mary and Joseph, walks with us, not to take away the pain and suffering of this life, but to be with us in the midst of the messiness. Jesus, born in an obscure corner of the earth, walks with us so that the fragments of our lives may be made whole. Jesus, born to set us free.

Incarnation. Inconceivable, incarnation. Unreasonable, inconceivable, incarnation. 

This birth means no more business as usual, signified by the events of that night and the circumstances of this birth. They were waiting for a King and all those kingly things, and here was a child born in a barn with shepherds in attendance. They were looking for the Messiah, 

the one who would rescue them, and they received a boy, who brought his father's message, Love one another, as you have been loved first.

For us that means that even our lives, sometimes filled by regret and disappointment, sometimes colored by cynicism, sometimes fueled by revenge, are transformed by this birth. It means that God even comes into our deepest sadness and pain and bears it for us, so that we may begin again.

This birth calls us to change, to transformation. And change can be scary, but thrilling at the same time. This birth, this life that will not be contained, speaks to a place deep down inside each of us that wants something more, something more than a better job or higher income, something more than a more comfortable home or enjoyable retirement. These things may all be good, but they don't satisfy for long. We desperately want a sense of meaning and purpose, we desire to believe that there is more to this life than meets the eye, we need to hold onto the hope that despite all appearances we are worthy of love. This birth is about that love, this birth shows us that Love wins, every time. 

And so God comes into the muck and the mess that is this barn, and that is our lives, to speak quietly but firmly through the blood, sweat, and tears of the labor pains of a young mother and cry of her infant that God is absolutely for us, joined to our ups and down, our hopes and fears, and committed to giving us not just more of the same, but something more. Christ comes, that is, not just to give us more of the life we know, but new and abundant life altogether. For in Christ we have the promise that God will not stop until each and all of us have been embraced and caught up in God's tremendous love and have heard the good news that "unto you this day is born a savior, Christ the Lord." No wonder we sing, "Let heaven and earth rejoice!"

This incarnation, this unreasonable, inconceivable, incarnation, this birth, is about this God who creates us, who loves us so very much, this God comes be with us, delivered into our world 2000 years ago as a baby just like us, crashing into our world as the miracle of birth. This God comes to us as a still small voice that we may only be able to hear at the most desperate times in our lives, when we fall to our knees and give it all over. This God comes to us in the indescribable words of prayer. This God comes to us crying in the voice of those who continue to be hungry and thirsty. This God comes to us singing in the voice of the child. This God comes to us in the multitude of voices calling for reason as the rich get richer and the poor get poorer. This God comes to us in the unfamiliar voice of the immigrant, looking for a better way. This God comes to us in the howling voice of the wind and the rain, redrawing the landscape of our lives. This God comes to us in the voice of the one who cries, remember me, when you come into your kingdom. 

This God comes to us when all will be fulfilled at the end of time.

This is the God who loves you so very much, unreasonably so, not because of what you've done or not done, not because of who you are or what you're worth. Not because of anything, other than you are a wonderfully and fearfully created child. And it is this love that wins, it is this love that transforms your heart, and your mind and your soul. It is this love that grows in you, that gives you reason to live fully and completely alive. It is this love that doesn't judge whether you have enough, are enough, or even give enough. Indeed, it is this love that makes dead people alive.

Love wins, Alleluia, Alleluia! 

1 Advent Yr C December 2 2012

Happy New Year! You all know that, right? Today is the first day of the new year. We begin again on this day, the first day of Advent. We count time differently in the church. Time in the church looks much more like a circle than a line. Our beginnings look like endings, and our endings look like beginnings. Our church year looks much more like a circle than like a line so that we would always remember that for every ending there is a beginning, and for every beginning there is an ending. This time is the time for getting ready, this time is the time for preparing, this time is the time for waiting. What is it we wait for? We wait for the great mystery of Christmas, the inconceivable incarnation, the baby born in a barn, Jesus born in our hearts, the Cosmic Christ that turns the world.

What are you waiting for? Some of us are waiting for presents. Some of us are waiting to see our families and our relatives. Some of us are waiting to see if the Mayan calendar that has no more days after December 21 means anything. Some of us are waiting to die, some of us are waiting to be born again. Some of us are waiting for the economy to collapse, some are waiting for the president to fail. Some of us are waiting for the president to succeed. Some of us are waiting for the world to change, some of us are waiting to change the world.

Advent is a time of waiting, and I think the waiting in and of itself is what we are waiting for. I think Advent may be about creating some room in our very loud and busy lives, for the surprise. The surprise that Christmas is. The surprise of Love born anew, Love born again, Love born.

I do think it is much like the waiting for a baby to be born. There is nothing you can do to make it go any faster or any easier. The baby just grows. And once that baby starts growing, it will change your life forever. Nothing will ever be the same. You, will never be the same. And, no matter how much we think we know about that new life growing inside, the birth itself is surprising, the baby itself is surprising, and we can never be fully ready for the changes to our lives the baby will bring. At every moment, we are changed by that new life. At every moment we are surprised by that new life. At every moment the possibilities will change us.

Advent comes to us every year. In that way it is a gift. We need Advent. We need to pull away for a time, from the cacophony of the cultural Christmas, and be quiet, and wait. We need to be in a space where God can find us and surprise us with new life and new birth. We need to hear the wonder of new birth, we need to hear the mystery of God with us, we need to hear the thunder and the roaring sea. We need to taste the fig from the tree. We need to ponder the mystery of Jesus, of God with us, and God who will fulfill all time.

We are in this middle place, a time between time. We live in the time when God is bringing all of creation, all of humanity, to Godself. God’s reign on earth is what we anticipate, the birth of God into the world 2000 years ago and the raising of Jesus from the dead, inaugurated God’s reign. We live in the time between the beginning and the end, and advent is the time we are given to wonder about and to anticipate God’s reign.

What are we waiting for? We wait for birth, and then we can’t wait for a child to grow out of being two, or six, or thirteen. We can’t wait to finish college and get a real job, we can’t wait for our children to finally make it on their own. We wait for a parent or loved one to die.

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 best, 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 of the end of the world. 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 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, 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.