Sermon for the Nativity of Our Lord

Preached on December 23, 2018 at Grace and December 24, 2018 at Canadochly
Preaching text: None

I find more and more that I have a rather ambivalent reaction to this festive holiday. Like many people, my emotions around Christmas are mixed. Some are very positive. Others bittersweet, and still others downright unpleasant. So I’m not always eager to jump on the bandwagon of nostalgia and sentimentality that drives so much of this season. But that’s me. That’s my personal issue on which I’ll dwell no more.

No, most of my ambivalence really comes down to the vast gulf between the way the world celebrates Christmas and what the Church lifts up on this holy night. To the world, this has become a festival of greed, buy buy buy, spend spend spend. He who dies with the most toys wins. You can’t have a real Christmas without...(insert whatever expensive item the retailers are selling this year.)

To the world, this is a festival of saccharine sentiment and nostalgia, as I already mentioned. Pine for those Christmases past when it was Mom, Dad, brother, sister, dog, cat all opening their gifts by the fireplace. Pine for the time when downtown department stores had these amazing displays in their windows on Christmas. Pine for the visits to Santa’s lap and looking through the Sears catalog for your most wanted toy. It’s a time when the lonely find love and everything is perfect. And if it isn’t, you darn well better pretend it is or else.

To the world, this has, somewhat recently, become also a holiday of arrogance. Don’t you dare replace “Merry Christmas” with “Happy Holidays.” Don’t you dare allow those non-Christians to celebrate their winter festivals! This is OUR time. Ours and ours alone, despite the fact that nearly all religions have a winter holiday centered around the solstice and there are also more than a few secular holidays as well (New Years anyone?) But no, they aren’t allowed to exist anymore. It’s Christmas and nothing else. And we won’t dare give those heathens even a portion of our good will and peace towards men and all that Christmas spirit that belongs to us and to us alone.

That’s the world’s Christmas. That’s what it’s become. And we are as caught up in it as anyone. Perhaps willingly. Perhaps reluctantly. It’s insidious and inescapable. But this night we turn to the tiny town of Bethlehem. To a stable behind the inn. Gone is the glitz and the glamour. Gone are the flashing lights and the memories of our childhoods. The guns of the War on Christmas have fallen silent. And all that remains is a child in a manger.

A child that comes to put right what has gone wrong in the world. A child that will make the last first and the first last. A child that will welcome all people into his kingdom. A child who will weep with the brokenhearted and bind up their wounds. A child, a Messiah, who could not be more the antithesis of the world and its view of Christmas if he tried.

In fact, the whole story of the real Christmas flies in the face of what we so often celebrate during this time of year. Mary is a teenager mother and we all know what we normally think of them, accompanied by a man much older who claims to be her husband. Tell me the optics of that aren’t a bit off.

And this teenage mother, when word of her pregnancy comes to her, she bursts into song. And it’s not a “Yay, status quo” song. It's not a "Yay, everything is going to stay the same as it was" song. It’s a “tear it all down and start over song.” Shaming the rich and uplifting the poor. How often does that happen in our world?

And not long after this birth, she and Joseph and the child are chased out of Bethlehem by the threat of marching soldiers. They feel to Egypt as refugees. Probably a good thing they didn’t try to come here, given how we treat those similar at our borders.

No, if this story happened today. If Mary gave birth to a baby in a barn with her much older husband at her side, they would not be lauded. They would not be praised. They’d be condemned. Hated. Seen as leeches upon society at best or downright dangerous radicals at worst. They are literally everything that society teaches us to hate: poor, brown-skinned, homeless, a teenager who clearly made the wrong choices, a predatory man taking advantage, punks wanting to tear down the system, to challenge “the man.” They’re scum or so the world would claim of them.

Is it any wonder then that Christmas as we’ve come to celebrate it has as little to do with them as possible? And yet from these hated outcasts comes the salvation of the world.

That was, of course, intentional. God sent his son into the world so that we would be challenged by him, even in his very birth. Will you welcome this outcast king? Will you follow his Word? Will you work to change the world, to flip it all upside down? To make peace instead of war. To embrace instead of reject. To comfort rather than condemn. To feed rather than starve. To heal rather than harm. To love rather than hate.

That question is before us every day of our lives, but it is most keen I suspect at this time of year. The world throws up a glittering spectacle before us and calls it Christmas. It is meant to obfuscate not merely who Jesus is, but what he is about. It’s not greed. It’s not shallow sentiment. And it certainly is not hatred and rejection. It is the beginning of a kingdom where all that is wrong in this world is made right. Where sin is forgiven. Love has the last word. Where all are welcomed, fed, clothed, and healed. Which Christmas matters most to you? The one that serves our bases desires? Or the one that will one day bring paradise? Your call. Amen.

Sermon for Fourth Advent

Preached at Canadochly on December 23, 2018
Preaching text: Luke 1:46-55

If the season of Advent could be said to have a theme, it is this: “The world is not as it should be, and Christ is coming to make things as they are meant to be.” It echoes out from the apocalyptic readings we get on the first sunday. It is found in the words and the mission of John the Baptist. And we hear it today in Mary’s words of praise that we know as the Magnificat.

The world is broke and God is going to fix it.

This is however not a message of Good News to those who benefit from the brokenness of the world. Or by those who think they will someday or somehow. I’m starting to understand why Advent is not popular and why there’s this great rush to get to Christmas. It’s not unlike the way we approach Easter as well: Rushing along to avoid the crucifixion to get to the resurrection, here we rush to the birth without dwelling on all the messy reasons of why Jesus is being born.

It also explains a great deal of early Christian history. Why the crucifixion occurred and why the early disciples were almost all martyred for the faith. The vision of Advent is transformation of a world that doesn’t necessarily want to be transformed.

Which brings us back to this virgin girl whom God has selected to bear the salvation of the world. His pick is not accidental. Again, in an effort to mute the radical nature of the King she carries in her womb, we’ve made Mary into a demure little creature, pretty, dressed in blue, and completely harmless. But as the words of her song imply, she is anything but.

An increasingly popular song around this time of year is “Mary, did you know?” Well, read the words of the Magnificat again and then ask the title of that song a second time. Of course, she knew. In fact, she knew more than the lyrics of that modern song leads on. She knew that he would be rejected. She knew he would be arrested. She knew she would have to watch him die.

And she also knew that this what it would take. The world is broken and God is going to fix it. Her son was how. His life. His death. And his resurrection.

We portray her as something of a weakling. Yet Mary is one tough cookie, a radical herself, hungry and eager for God to get to work. She was not chosen by accident. This teenage punk (as I’ve called her before) was the perfect vessel for God’s son.

We would do well to emulate her. To think like her. To be as fearless as she. To hunger for what God seeks to do with this lost world. But the question before each of us is do we? Are we? Is there anything of Mary’s fire in us? Or are we comfortable with the world as it is?

Many of us are, of course, very comfortable with the world as it is. Particularly here in America where the true ravages of hunger, poverty, disease, and war are spared most of us. We are the privileged few who do not experience the brokenness of the world except on rare occasions. Often times, we don’t even realize how broken things really are.

But they are quite broken even if we don’t always see it. I had a moment when I saw it just this week. There was an article about a great discovery. Some lucky chap had found a newspaper from the 1770s in his attic. Only one of four such copies still in existence. Incredibly rare find. Worth, to collectors and interested museums, around $18,000. Eighteen grand for a piece of faded newspaper. And then I realized, if I was the one who had found that, and if I had sold it to an interested buyer for $18,000, it still would not be enough to cover a single dose of my medicine that I take to treat my UC.

How on Earth do people do it? Those without insurance or other aid? They don’t. Research suggests that anywhere from 30,000 to 50,000 people die each year in this country from diseases they can’t treat because they can’t afford to. Jesus healed the sick, made the lame to talk, the blind to see. He knew disease was breaking the world. Do we?

It was a tragic scene that crossed our TV screens some weeks ago. A young girl, so emaciated you could count every rib. She became the poster child for the horrific war in Yemen. Seven years old, little Amal Hussain captivated the world after her picture was featured in the New York Times. She also died not long after that photo was taken. Starved to death. Jesus fed the multitudes and called for us to lay down our swords. He knew hunger and war break the world. Do we?

And speaking of tragedies of children, many of us heard this week about Jakelin Caal Maquin, the little Guatemalan refugee girl who died in ICE custody. She too was seven years old. Held in captivity because a portion of our people are frightened without reason of those coming here for a new life. Jesus himself was a refugee at one point, and he was ever eager to welcome the outcast and the stranger. He knew xenophobia, bigotry, and fear break the world. Do we?

And lest we think it’s only the big tragedies that hear about in the news, it’s not. No, it’s the inner struggle as well. It’s the brokenness inside us. It’s that compulsion that keeps us going back again and again to cigarettes and alcohol, porn or drugs. It’s that fear of “those people” that has no basis in reality and yet chills our hearts nonetheless. It’s the poison of our hearts and minds, the poison we dare not admit often times even to ourselves. Jesus knew about that too when spoke that what is within corrupts and breaks the world.

This is what Jesus came to change. This is what Jesus came to fix. He came to fix the world and he came to fix you and me, because we can’t do it. Sin prevents that. Even our best efforts are naught without him. But don’t let that discourage you. All good repair jobs take time. And God is at work. He is working in each one of us. He is working in the world, often times through people like us. People who see that brokenness and say aloud “no more.”

Hold onto hope, my friends. Mary’s vision is coming to pass. Her son is born, lived, died, and rose again. The world will be put to right in its time. Not our comfort at the brokenness nor the brokenness itself can stop it. The world is broke and God WILL fix it all. Amen.

Sermon for Third Advent

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on December 16, 2018
Preaching text: Luke 3:7-18

I’ve been seeing this meme show up on Facebook a lot this week. It plays to one of those little games we pastors like to play with our congregations, taking a moment to poke fun at our people by using John the Baptist’s rather harsh words. Of course, y’all are not a brood of vipers. That’s the joke.

And you wouldn’t have been back then either, if somehow we could all jump into a time machine and travel back to those days. John doesn’t launch into this insult until after he starts seeing the Pharisees and other officials start showing up at the Jordan to receive his baptism. Ordinary everyday folk met a very different John than those “important people.”

Now if we had decided to take along in our time machine someone like Donald Trump or Bill Gates, Nancy Pelosi or Elon Musk, Franklin Graham or Pope Frances, we might see the nastier John after all. If we had as guests the power players in government, industry, and religion, John would probably not be happy with us. And that gives us a good clue as to why John throws the insult in the first place: These are the people that should know better. They’re the ones in charge. They’re the ones who’ve been given power and responsibility. And what have they done with it to help the people?

You and I could probably debate all day over that very question. But the fact that there’s a debate implies that these leaders have often not lived up to the expectations set for them by society. They may or may not have tried to do good. They may or may not be sincere when they say they want to serve the people. All that is open to interpretation, often guided by our own biases and opinions. But in John’s day it was far more clear cut. Leaders back then hoarded wealth and power, taught false teachings to justify their behavior, made exceptions for themselves in the laws, and did far more to help themselves than any of the ordinary everyday folk that needed the help. They were indeed a brood of vipers.

So how does one not become a viper in John’s eyes? Well, he tells us. “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise...Tax collectors...Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you. Soldiers...Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.” These instructions, while quite specific to John’s audience, give us the first glimpse of what Jesus will call the Kingdom of God. If someone is in need, help them. Give of your abundance. Take no more than you need. Be generous, compassionate, and humble.

And that’s precisely what Jesus does when he comes on the scene. When he encounters the sick, he reaches out to heal them. He makes the lame to talk, the blind to see. When people are hungry, he takes bread and fish and multiplies it so that even upwards of 5000 people can be fed to satisfaction. He casts out demons, gives honor to women and children and outcasts and lepers. And he commends those who follow him to do likewise.

And, of course, that now falls to us. What would we do if we had gone back in our time machine back to the Jordan of 30 AD and heard John give these instructions and exhortations? What would we do when we came home to December 2018 in York County?

Luke says that what John is preaching is “good news” at the conclusion of this text. A lot of what John says doesn’t sound like good news to me. It’s harsh and demanding. But those in need, it’s like water in the desert. And while we are not the movers and shakers of society, we are not those who “should know better” as John implies by his insults, we do have much to offer in a world that desperately needs a taste of hope.

The Gospel is just words until we make it real for people. You can tell someone “God loves you” until you are blue in the face and it won’t matter if they’re starving, homeless, brokenhearted, alone, hated, and lost. But give them food, a roof over the head. Give them companionship, acceptance, and a sympathetic ear, and suddenly “God loves you” isn’t so abstract anymore. It becomes real. Why? Because it is easier to believe God loves you when you know one of his followers loves you.

That’s really what John is trying to tell us. Love people. Help people. Give to people who need. Do what the Messiah is going to do or, to us who live 2000 years later, do as the Messiah did. Jesus showed people how much they mattered to God, that their lives were worth something. John the Baptist was just kick starting all that, showing people the way the Messiah would take. When he shows up, this is what you’re going to see. This is how the world will start to work.

Well, John is long gone and Jesus has long since ascended back into heaven. But their vision of a new world is now our inheritance as Christians. What are we going to do with it?

We are now a little more than a week away from Christmas, the one holiday our society dedicates almost universally to these ideals of compassion, generosity, and companionship. And there’s always those sentimentalists who lament “Why can’t we have Christmas all year round?” I’m not particularly keen on the saccharine nostalgia that often fuels such ideas, but I do like the idea of making compassion, generosity, grace, mercy, peace, companionship, and love virtues we practice every day of our lives. Can we do that? Can we show the world the Kingdom of God? John shows us the way. Jesus lived the way. What can we do? Amen.

Sermon for Second Advent

Preached at Canadochly and Grace on December 9, 2018
Preaching text: None

[Pastor's Note: Very much enjoyed my vacation last weekend. It was the first time I'd taken a Sunday off for something other than a medical emergency or a family visit in nearly 4 years.]

Ah, Advent. My favorite season of the Church Year. The time of preparation for the coming of the Lord. We get a dose of apocalypse (last week), John the Baptist (this week and next), and Mother Mary (final week). We hear the ancient prophecies from Isaiah and other Old Testament writings. We see all the steps that lead up to both Jesus’ birth and his arrival on the scene as an adult.

It’s a bit like watching that cable TV show “How It’s Made,” where they show things like how cars are build or Oreos are baked and so forth. In Advent, we see how all the parts come together for this singular moment in human history, when God incarnated as one of us in order to save us all.

At this point in my ministry, I think I’ve preached a thousand sermons on what this is all about. God seeking to save the world, fulfilling the promises he made to Abraham all those centuries before. But part of me wonders if I’m not missing an important point, something that gets lost in all these grand world-changing gestures by the divine.

As it is for a lot of folks, the holiday season can be a bit hard on me emotionally. My depression flares up mightily and I end up wrestling with my demons more than usual, particularly this year in light of my summer of sickness. So, in an effort to stave off some of that, I was watching some inspiring videos on YouTube this week. One was a TED talk by social researcher Brene Brown about vulnerability and the power of being real with people. It really got me thinking about something.

Human beings, by in large, are terrified of vulnerability. We don’t want to be vulnerable. We don’t want to be flawed. And we hide our vulnerable parts; we hide our flaws. We pretend to be something we are not and it makes us absolutely miserable. We treat this misery often times with addictions of all sorts: drugs, alcohol, gambling, pornography, food, you name it. And it’s the malaise that is infecting our society. Why is politics the way it is? Why are we so divided? Because we can’t dare admit (not even to ourselves) that, just maybe, we might be wrong about something. That would make us vulnerable. And we can’t have that.

But where does this fear come from? Simple. We are afraid that if people see us as we truly are, they will reject us. They won’t love us. They won’t want anything to do with us. I know that’s my fear. It’s part of why I’m so open about some of my oddities, my hobbies and interests. It’s an effort to fight off that fear. But lest you think I’m bragging here, there’s a whole lot I don’t let people see also. Things no one sees. Parts of myself that I do not and probably cannot love.

And if we’re honest, we’d all admit the same.

So what does this have to do with Advent and the coming of Jesus? I want to flip the script a little and highlight a truth that can get lost in the midst of everything else. A truth I think we sometimes try to lose. I want us to think about all this prep, all these prophecies, all this energy that God is spending out, not as something he’s doing to save the world, but as something he’s doing to save you.

Yes, you. The whole you. All your beautiful parts that you love to show the world and all the ugliness and weakness you hide away even from yourself. The parts of yourself of which you’re proud and the parts of which you are ashamed. He’s doing all this for you, and for all of who and what you are. Jesus is coming for you.

Sometimes, when I talk about God’s universal love, that’s what gets lost. Yes, of course, God loves everybody and I am part of everybody and you are part of everybody, but that feels abstract and distant. I want to make it personal this time. Intimate, close. For God so loved you, that he sent his only son. That’s just as true.

You know, it’s the very first thing we learn when we become Christians. The very first lesson of Sunday School for those of us raised in the church. God loves you. So simple. So basic. But as we grow older, we become more aware of those ugly parts of ourselves. We come to realize we’re not perfect and some of us are downright flawed. And we doubt that love, because we regret our mistakes and we are embarrassed and ashamed of our ugly parts. We reason that if people knew the whole truth, they’d never want anything to do with us. And since we know also that God does know all those parts, he too wants nothing to do with us.

Yes, God knows all those things about you, but here’s the thing. He still loved you enough to send his son for you. He always intended to. There was never another option. In fact, I would wager that if you were the only person on Earth who needed Jesus, Jesus would have come anyway. And he would have gone to the cross and risen from the tomb for you and for you alone if that’s what was necessary.

That’s what it means when I say “God loves you.” Because that’s the kind of love it is. It’s not blind to your flaws. It embraces them. There may be parts of yourself that you cannot love. God does.

At Grace, we use a different form of the Confession and Absolution in worship than we do at Canadochly. The words of forgiveness that I speak there begin with the phrase, “God loved us even when we were dead to sin.” That’s a paraphrase of Romans 6, which is arguably one of the greatest chapters in all of the Scriptures. God loves you even with your sin, even with your flaws, even with your shame. He can’t not love you. You are his precious child, worth more to him than anything else. You are worth living for. You are worth dying for.

In spite of all the things you can’t stand about your inner self, God still loves you. And all of this that we celebrate in Advent, the words of John the Baptist about preparing the way, the prophecies that point to the birth of Christ, the song of celebration by John’s father, Zachariah, all of it is because of you. All of it is for you. All of it is so God can be with you forever.

The Scriptures are a great love story; a romance, in a sense. A love story between God and humankind. Or more specifically and perhaps more importantly, a love story between God and you. Amen.