Preached at Canadochly on January 13, 2019 (Grace closed due to weather)
Preaching text: Luke 3:15-22
“What a long strange trip it has been.” I swear that will be my epitaph, the quote that will grace my tombstone for generations to come. Because that’s been a good descriptor of my life so far and I don’t imagine that changing for years yet to come. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. God has been good to me throughout the years of my life. I see hand in all sorts of things that have happened to me. Long and strange, perhaps, but also wondrous.
I’m reflecting on this because today is the festival of the baptism of our Lord and that’s got me thinking about my own baptismal journey. My baptismal anniversary is January 7, 1973; 46 years ago this past Monday. I remember that date because A) my baptismal cert hangs on my office wall and B) there was a post on the Facebook ELCA page asking if people remembered their baptismal date, to which I read and replied. I loved hearing the baptismal stories of others, the journeys God has taken others on. Many of them were far more strange and wondrous than mine, but I’m not jealous. I love my life, even if it’s not perfect and occasionally quite difficult, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Part of that is how the grace of God works in people’s lives. His preference, really, for taking some of the least likely people to do the most extraordinary things. Myself included. I am not a people person. Stick me in front of a video screen or in a library full of books with no human contact whatsoever and I will be happy as can be. And yet, here I am, a pastor now for 18 years (that anniversary, my ordination, also just passed recently. December 28, 2001.)
In many ways, THAT is really what I want to talk about today. How God uses people like you and me to change the world in profound ways. And that ties in very much so with what we read in Scripture today.
There’s always that question that surrounds this particular event that we remember today. Why? John’s baptism of one of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. Repentance means “turning around,” changing, doing things differently than you did them before, presumably because you were doing something wrong and need to do it right. Jesus comes to John for baptism, yet he is without sin. He is without error. There is no need for him to repent of anything. No need for him to be forgiven of anything. Why then is he there?
Even John is confused by this. Although Luke omits it, the Baptizer objects to Jesus being there. As Matthew tells us, John tries to reverse things. “I should be baptized by you.” He says to his cousin. But Jesus insists. Again, why?
Because baptism has a two-fold purpose and this is true for our own baptisms as well. One, yes, it is about forgiveness and repentance. It is about God’s choice to make us a part of his family, to bind himself to us via the Holy Spirit, something which sin does not normally allow. God says in baptism, “Your sin no longer matters. It is forgiven. I love you and you are mine.” This is, of course, the part that Jesus doesn’t need.
But then there’s part two. Part two is where we say to God, “Yes, Lord, I will do with my life what you wish me to do.” That’s the part we often miss. You see, Jesus has a choice. He’s human. He has free-will. And he can choose to do whatever he wants with his life, just like we can. He doesn’t have to live out his destiny. He’s not required to obey God’s plan for his life. He can do whatever he pleases. But he submits to baptism because he has made a choice with that free-will and his choice is to go where God would have him go and do what God would have him do.
And you and I, we too have that choice.
I said yes to God once and it led me to seminary and 18 years of ministry as a pastor of the church. Not quite what I expected (although others, like my mother, would tell it was obvious to them.) But what about you? What does it mean for you to say yes to God’s call? And, of course, saying yes at age 10 or 15 or 20 is a whole lot different than saying yes at 65 or 70 or 80. A person working will have a different call than one who is a student or a retiree. But some things don’t change.
That call will always be to put others first, to serve them as Christ would. That call will always be to make the world a better place, to better show the kingdom of God to those not yet a part of it. That call will always be to welcome the stranger, to heal the sick, to bind up the broken-hearted, to speak for the voiceless, in whatever way you can. That call will always be to show them Jesus by what we say and do. The details may change for who you are and where you are in life, but those generalities will be constant.
So what does God wish you to do with your life right now, in this moment? Of course, we’re here in worship, but worship is meant (in part) to recharge and reinvigorate us for our work in the world. What is that work for you? How will you make the world a better place? Right now, it needs it as much as ever. God has embraced you in baptism, made you his own, called you by name and named you his beloved. How will you respond when he sends you forth into the world? What will you do?
I cannot answer these questions for you. You must find those answers yourself. But they are being asked. God is asking. How will you answer? Amen.
Monday, January 14, 2019
Sermon for the Epiphany
Preached at Canadochly and Grace on January 6, 2019 (Portions taken from sermon of Jan 6, 2002)
Preaching text: Matthew 2:1-12
Approximately every seven hundred years, the planets Jupiter and Saturn come into alignment, appearing for a brief time to be not two distinct lights in the sky, but one single bright star. These planets do this while appearing within the constellation of Pisces, low in the sky, near the horizon.
Now, there was once a time when I was quite the amateur astronomer and such an event, known as a conjunction, would be quite noteworthy to see. But in the large scope of things, something that takes place every 700 years isn't really all that big a deal. After all, when you consider the vast quantities of time and space one deals with in astronomy, 700 is a very small number. It may seem a special event, but it really is rather routine.
But what makes this particular astronomical event so important is its timing. It will next take place roughly 80 years from now, around the year 2100. Now do the math. It’s last visit was around the year 1400. Prior to that 700, and then around the year 1 AD or so. Now do you know what I’m talking about and why this is something I’ve brought up on this day in our worship? Oh, yes, what I have described to you is what some scholars believe is the origin of the fabled "Star of Bethlehem."
Now, this little bit of astronomical curiosity may have just spoiled the story for you. We like the mystery of the story of the magi. The magical star that leads the wise men to the cradle of Jesus. But the reality is, it was just an ordinary astronomical event. It happens all the time. Every 700 years, the star reappears in the sky. Granted, in terms of our lifetime, that's quite a long time. But in the grand scope of things, it really isn't all that special or unique.
But what makes this event special isn't anything that has to do with the event itself. It's what God does with it. God uses it to announce the birth of his son. An event that the magi would be able to interpret. Why? Because of who they were. They were diviners, astrologers, scholars. We’ve called them kings, but they were more accurately “wizards.” Now, they had no real magic, but in more superstitious times, people certainly believed they did. They looked to the stars to determine the signs of the times. And this time, they looked and saw God at work.
I love the Epiphany story because it is such a wonderful mix of the mundane and sublime. It’s a beautiful picture of the way God works in the world. The star is not magic or miracle. It’s a commonplace astronomical phenomena, and yet this mundane thing is turned into a herald for an event that will change the universe. And the people who see it and understand are not royalty or the rich. Even though they had positions of some influence at court, these magi or magicians were often considered to be a bit off kilter. And the gifts they bring. What statements they make.
Gold, however valuable, is the least controversial. It makes perfect sense for a newborn “king of the Jews.” The other gifts, however, make little sense at all.
Frankincense is, well, incense. You burn it and it makes a pleasant odor and a bit of smoke. It’s purpose was to be used in religious rite and ritual. It’s the gift for a priest. One who would go into the temple and make intercession for sins. That’s not something a king would do, and yet, that is what this king, this Christ, will do.
And Myrrh is embalming fluid of a sort. Perfume meant to mask the foul smell of decay that comes from a dead body. "Hello, Mary, Joseph, here’s the stuff you’ll use to bury your son when he dies. Merry First Christmas.” They’re breaking a taboo here. You’re not supposed to talk about the king’s mortality. “Long live the king!” is the more proper gesture. But not only to the magi disregard this protocol, they do it at the side of the child’s crib, a far different and even more inappropriate place than say, his bed in his aged decrepitude. But for this child, the inappropriate oddity of the gift of myrrh reveals a truth. Death is, after all, the Christ’s purpose.
These magi have revealed how truly wise they are. They understand what Jesus’ later disciples often missed. The Christ has come to die to make intercession for our sins. He is both priest and sacrifice, as well as king. His love for his people will lead him all the way to a cross. It’s the Gospel story in a nutshell. All right here, in one single tale from the very beginning of Jesus’ life. And the magi have figured it all out before Jesus is even out of diapers.
I said last Sunday that the Scriptures tell our love story with God. And that’s here too. The magi are weirdos. Oddballs, the strange and the stranger, as brilliant people often are. They stare at the stars with the expectation that the night sky will reveal some manner of deep truth to them, and they weren’t wrong. Their gifts are unconventional and unexpected, and not entirely appropriate (Or, at least not obviously so). And yet, God has brought them into the story to help tell a very important part of it. As a person who often self-identifies as a “weirdo,” I find immense comfort and joy in God’s choice here. He’s embraced the oddball and made them matter.
The star? The star is ordinary, a routine event in the life of the cosmos. Nothing special really, and yet it too is brought into this story to tell us something important. Many of us are not the rich or the powerful, the famous or the important. We’re the ordinary and routine of the world. And yet God again has chosen to embrace us and show us we matter.
That’s Gospel too. All its parts are here. Who Jesus is and what he’s here to do, but also who he’s here to do it for. For you and for me, regardless of who and what we are.
It’s an amazing story. It’s God’s love for us. Perhaps this is why they call it Epiphany. An epiphany is a realization, a revelation, the appearance of an idea. Here we see it in this mundane little story about a group of wizards following a star to bring gift to a child. Here we find again the width and breadth of God’s immense love. Love for you and me, no matter who or what we are. Amen.
Preaching text: Matthew 2:1-12
Approximately every seven hundred years, the planets Jupiter and Saturn come into alignment, appearing for a brief time to be not two distinct lights in the sky, but one single bright star. These planets do this while appearing within the constellation of Pisces, low in the sky, near the horizon.
Now, there was once a time when I was quite the amateur astronomer and such an event, known as a conjunction, would be quite noteworthy to see. But in the large scope of things, something that takes place every 700 years isn't really all that big a deal. After all, when you consider the vast quantities of time and space one deals with in astronomy, 700 is a very small number. It may seem a special event, but it really is rather routine.
A conjunction of Mars and Mercury on Feb 11, 2013
But what makes this particular astronomical event so important is its timing. It will next take place roughly 80 years from now, around the year 2100. Now do the math. It’s last visit was around the year 1400. Prior to that 700, and then around the year 1 AD or so. Now do you know what I’m talking about and why this is something I’ve brought up on this day in our worship? Oh, yes, what I have described to you is what some scholars believe is the origin of the fabled "Star of Bethlehem."
Now, this little bit of astronomical curiosity may have just spoiled the story for you. We like the mystery of the story of the magi. The magical star that leads the wise men to the cradle of Jesus. But the reality is, it was just an ordinary astronomical event. It happens all the time. Every 700 years, the star reappears in the sky. Granted, in terms of our lifetime, that's quite a long time. But in the grand scope of things, it really isn't all that special or unique.
But what makes this event special isn't anything that has to do with the event itself. It's what God does with it. God uses it to announce the birth of his son. An event that the magi would be able to interpret. Why? Because of who they were. They were diviners, astrologers, scholars. We’ve called them kings, but they were more accurately “wizards.” Now, they had no real magic, but in more superstitious times, people certainly believed they did. They looked to the stars to determine the signs of the times. And this time, they looked and saw God at work.
I love the Epiphany story because it is such a wonderful mix of the mundane and sublime. It’s a beautiful picture of the way God works in the world. The star is not magic or miracle. It’s a commonplace astronomical phenomena, and yet this mundane thing is turned into a herald for an event that will change the universe. And the people who see it and understand are not royalty or the rich. Even though they had positions of some influence at court, these magi or magicians were often considered to be a bit off kilter. And the gifts they bring. What statements they make.
Gold, however valuable, is the least controversial. It makes perfect sense for a newborn “king of the Jews.” The other gifts, however, make little sense at all.
Frankincense is, well, incense. You burn it and it makes a pleasant odor and a bit of smoke. It’s purpose was to be used in religious rite and ritual. It’s the gift for a priest. One who would go into the temple and make intercession for sins. That’s not something a king would do, and yet, that is what this king, this Christ, will do.
And Myrrh is embalming fluid of a sort. Perfume meant to mask the foul smell of decay that comes from a dead body. "Hello, Mary, Joseph, here’s the stuff you’ll use to bury your son when he dies. Merry First Christmas.” They’re breaking a taboo here. You’re not supposed to talk about the king’s mortality. “Long live the king!” is the more proper gesture. But not only to the magi disregard this protocol, they do it at the side of the child’s crib, a far different and even more inappropriate place than say, his bed in his aged decrepitude. But for this child, the inappropriate oddity of the gift of myrrh reveals a truth. Death is, after all, the Christ’s purpose.
These magi have revealed how truly wise they are. They understand what Jesus’ later disciples often missed. The Christ has come to die to make intercession for our sins. He is both priest and sacrifice, as well as king. His love for his people will lead him all the way to a cross. It’s the Gospel story in a nutshell. All right here, in one single tale from the very beginning of Jesus’ life. And the magi have figured it all out before Jesus is even out of diapers.
I said last Sunday that the Scriptures tell our love story with God. And that’s here too. The magi are weirdos. Oddballs, the strange and the stranger, as brilliant people often are. They stare at the stars with the expectation that the night sky will reveal some manner of deep truth to them, and they weren’t wrong. Their gifts are unconventional and unexpected, and not entirely appropriate (Or, at least not obviously so). And yet, God has brought them into the story to help tell a very important part of it. As a person who often self-identifies as a “weirdo,” I find immense comfort and joy in God’s choice here. He’s embraced the oddball and made them matter.
The star? The star is ordinary, a routine event in the life of the cosmos. Nothing special really, and yet it too is brought into this story to tell us something important. Many of us are not the rich or the powerful, the famous or the important. We’re the ordinary and routine of the world. And yet God again has chosen to embrace us and show us we matter.
That’s Gospel too. All its parts are here. Who Jesus is and what he’s here to do, but also who he’s here to do it for. For you and for me, regardless of who and what we are.
It’s an amazing story. It’s God’s love for us. Perhaps this is why they call it Epiphany. An epiphany is a realization, a revelation, the appearance of an idea. Here we see it in this mundane little story about a group of wizards following a star to bring gift to a child. Here we find again the width and breadth of God’s immense love. Love for you and me, no matter who or what we are. Amen.
Sermon for the First Sunday of Christmas
Preached at Canadochly and Grace on December 30, 2018
Scripture text: John 1:1-18
New Years is a time when we look over the width and breadth of our lives. We review who we are and what we’ve done and ask ourselves, what could we do differently? What could we do better next year? This is, of course, the origin of the often-not-kept-for-very-long New Years Resolution.
When I do this, I don’t find a whole lot of things I’d like to change, or least things I’d like to change that I can. Much in my life, such as my diseases, is largely outside my control. The rest however is something I’m rather content with. I know who I am. I know what I am and what I wish to be.
Now, if I were to summarize all that, who and what I am, I’d have to say I’m a storyteller. I like that. It integrates nearly everything about my life. My hobbies, my gaming, my family, my friends, and my ministry in the church.
Story is vitally important to us, even if we don’t think about it. It’s how we make real that which we want to express: our hopes, our desires, our past, our present, our needs, and our wants. It’s one thing to say to someone “I love you;” Those three words slip off the tongue easily enough. But to have a story of two people who have dedicated themselves to one another, will do anything for one another, will live their lives for one another and those words become real in a way they wouldn’t otherwise. That’s the power of story.
Of course, what we come here to this place each Sunday is to immerse ourselves in a particular story: the story of God and Christ. Perhaps the most important story of them all.
But what sort of story is it? I had an interesting observation this week as I was preparing my sermon. The one game I play, Dungeons and Dragons, along with all manner of fantasy novels and stories, have their origin in what we today call the fairy tale, but what would have been called a few hundred years ago as the medieval romance.
A medieval romance has a very simple plot. The hero spies from afar a fair maiden and his heart is immediately captivated and captured by her. He falls madly in love. And he then dedicates this whole being and life to her glory and honor. He will protect her. All his great achievements are done for her. His whole self is hers to his dying day.
Now there’s a catch. Often times, this fair maiden is already spoken for. She is unreachable, untouchable, unavailable. And in only a very small handful of these stories is the hero able to overcome that in someway so that he ends up with his love and has the happily-ever-after. (These are typically the stories we remember from those centuries, but they are the exception rather than the rule.) But that doesn’t matter to the hero. It doesn’t matter that he probably can never have her. He loves her nonetheless and all his life is hers.
This (the Bible) is that sort of story.
God looked out one day and had a vision of you and a vision of me and a vision of the whole human race. And he fell madly in love with us. And he dedicated his whole self to us, to our glory, our honor, our protection,our life, our prosperity. All of his great achievements are done for us. His whole self is ours and always will be.
Not every human appreciates that or even understands it. Many don’t even know that they are loved so passionately, so intensely, by our God. But that doesn’t matter, God loves them anyway.
But God has determined that there will be a day when he will be united with his true love. And so he put in place a plan that would win him his people. He revealed pieces of it through prophecy and promise to people such as Abraham and Moses, Isaiah and David, Jeremiah and Micah. And these wrote parts of the story down and they became the books of the Old Testament. And then when the time was right, he sent forth his angels to search the world for two people, a couple after his own heart, who could help him complete the next step. And these angels found Mary and Joseph. And they were told, you will give birth to the Son of God, to the Christ, God’s love made incarnate in the world.
That, of course, is the part of the story we are most focused on right now. The story of the first Christmas and the birth of Jesus. This was hugely important step in God’s plan, because here he was going to make real in a way he hadn’t before his love for his people. His love would be flesh and blood, something we could see and touch and listen to as if he were one of us.
And then Jesus goes and shows us what it would be like to live in God’s world. The sick are healed. The broken-hearted have their tears wiped away. The dead are raised. The outcast is welcome. All are loved and valued for who they are. In fact, Jesus even shows us that God’s love is so immense for us that he would even die for us. Because he does, on a cross. That’s how far he’ll go.
This is the greatest love story ever written. And you and I and everyone are the recipient of it. This is why Christmas matters. This is why Easter matters. It’s why the whole thing matters. It’s the story of God’s love for his children, for his people, for you and for me. Can you imagine? The Almighty Divine desires you above all else. You don’t really have to imagine it. It’s in his story, the story we hear each and every Sunday in this place. Amen.
Scripture text: John 1:1-18
New Years is a time when we look over the width and breadth of our lives. We review who we are and what we’ve done and ask ourselves, what could we do differently? What could we do better next year? This is, of course, the origin of the often-not-kept-for-very-long New Years Resolution.
When I do this, I don’t find a whole lot of things I’d like to change, or least things I’d like to change that I can. Much in my life, such as my diseases, is largely outside my control. The rest however is something I’m rather content with. I know who I am. I know what I am and what I wish to be.
Now, if I were to summarize all that, who and what I am, I’d have to say I’m a storyteller. I like that. It integrates nearly everything about my life. My hobbies, my gaming, my family, my friends, and my ministry in the church.
Story is vitally important to us, even if we don’t think about it. It’s how we make real that which we want to express: our hopes, our desires, our past, our present, our needs, and our wants. It’s one thing to say to someone “I love you;” Those three words slip off the tongue easily enough. But to have a story of two people who have dedicated themselves to one another, will do anything for one another, will live their lives for one another and those words become real in a way they wouldn’t otherwise. That’s the power of story.
Of course, what we come here to this place each Sunday is to immerse ourselves in a particular story: the story of God and Christ. Perhaps the most important story of them all.
But what sort of story is it? I had an interesting observation this week as I was preparing my sermon. The one game I play, Dungeons and Dragons, along with all manner of fantasy novels and stories, have their origin in what we today call the fairy tale, but what would have been called a few hundred years ago as the medieval romance.
Thank you, Walt Disney, for keeping this literature alive.
A medieval romance has a very simple plot. The hero spies from afar a fair maiden and his heart is immediately captivated and captured by her. He falls madly in love. And he then dedicates this whole being and life to her glory and honor. He will protect her. All his great achievements are done for her. His whole self is hers to his dying day.
Now there’s a catch. Often times, this fair maiden is already spoken for. She is unreachable, untouchable, unavailable. And in only a very small handful of these stories is the hero able to overcome that in someway so that he ends up with his love and has the happily-ever-after. (These are typically the stories we remember from those centuries, but they are the exception rather than the rule.) But that doesn’t matter to the hero. It doesn’t matter that he probably can never have her. He loves her nonetheless and all his life is hers.
This (the Bible) is that sort of story.
God looked out one day and had a vision of you and a vision of me and a vision of the whole human race. And he fell madly in love with us. And he dedicated his whole self to us, to our glory, our honor, our protection,our life, our prosperity. All of his great achievements are done for us. His whole self is ours and always will be.
Not every human appreciates that or even understands it. Many don’t even know that they are loved so passionately, so intensely, by our God. But that doesn’t matter, God loves them anyway.
But God has determined that there will be a day when he will be united with his true love. And so he put in place a plan that would win him his people. He revealed pieces of it through prophecy and promise to people such as Abraham and Moses, Isaiah and David, Jeremiah and Micah. And these wrote parts of the story down and they became the books of the Old Testament. And then when the time was right, he sent forth his angels to search the world for two people, a couple after his own heart, who could help him complete the next step. And these angels found Mary and Joseph. And they were told, you will give birth to the Son of God, to the Christ, God’s love made incarnate in the world.
That, of course, is the part of the story we are most focused on right now. The story of the first Christmas and the birth of Jesus. This was hugely important step in God’s plan, because here he was going to make real in a way he hadn’t before his love for his people. His love would be flesh and blood, something we could see and touch and listen to as if he were one of us.
And then Jesus goes and shows us what it would be like to live in God’s world. The sick are healed. The broken-hearted have their tears wiped away. The dead are raised. The outcast is welcome. All are loved and valued for who they are. In fact, Jesus even shows us that God’s love is so immense for us that he would even die for us. Because he does, on a cross. That’s how far he’ll go.
This is the greatest love story ever written. And you and I and everyone are the recipient of it. This is why Christmas matters. This is why Easter matters. It’s why the whole thing matters. It’s the story of God’s love for his children, for his people, for you and for me. Can you imagine? The Almighty Divine desires you above all else. You don’t really have to imagine it. It’s in his story, the story we hear each and every Sunday in this place. Amen.
Thursday, December 27, 2018
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.
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 1770sin 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.
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
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.
Monday, December 17, 2018
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.
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.
Monday, December 10, 2018
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.
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.
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